#might be a little pathetic to ask about someone you met once after 1 month and a half but honestly i really did like her a lot

[yellowocaballero]

Jon's Trapped in Temporal Time-Out: A TMA Time Travelling Tale

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him. 

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary. 

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

I kept on bitching about how much I dislike the beginning scenes of TMA time travelling AUs so my friend @lazuliquetzal​ (who wrote the best TMA time travelling fic in the fandom) told me to put my money where my mouth is. It’s nowhere near her level, but in my defense it’s probably even stupider than Reflection. 10K of stupid under the cut. 

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him. 

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary. 

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

****

There was, indeed, a corpse in the Archives.

More specifically, in the stacks. The worst place to die, or least be dumped. Sasha had to admit the logic of it: it was the darkest depths of the library that Martin had informed her was ‘somewhat creepy’ and ‘kind of ominous’ so ‘please stop sleeping there you’re going to give me a heart attack’. After Martin flipped on a few lights that were never flipped on (apparently Elias was a cheapskate, which explained the breakroom) they could all gawk at the corpse to their heart’s content. 

Very kindly and thoughtfully, Tim asked Martin if he wanted to stay out of the library and maybe to ‘tell someone’ or something. Both Sasha and Tim had mutually and silently agreed that Martin seemed the type to have a delicate constitution. Granted, he hadn’t seemed the type to win Magnus Anarchist every month by breaking into abandoned buildings with absolutely no shame, so maybe he was the kind that surprised you. 

But Martin had just looked a little unimpressed. “Do you seriously think this is my first corpse? I went to university.”

That somewhat intimidated Sasha, who abruptly worried that she had missed out on an essential university experience again. “Is that a typical university experience?”

Martin paused a beat. 

“Uh,” he said, “yeah, sure, of course. Hazing, you know.”

“Is that what hazing…?”

“Fraternities.”

Tim, from where he had been standing at the entrance to the stacks snapping on the sterile gloves he had liberated from the cleaning supply closet, looked delighted. “You were in a frat too, Martin? What kind of hardcore frat had corpse hazings? Was it the Sigma Gammas? My frat always thought they were way too crazy, but we were a business one -”

“You know what,” Martin said, “let’s just worry about the corpse.”

After Sasha tied her hair in a ponytail and Martin snapped on his own gloves, they awkwardly approached the aisle where Tim had been trying to find a reference book for Jon. Sasha was worried that they would have to hunt for it a little, or that there would be a bad jump scare, but when they found it she saw that it wasn’t subtle at all.

It was sprawled on the ground, face mashed into the cheap and somewhat gross carpet. Sasha approached it with absolutely no hesitation, which Tim and Martin gladly let her do, and squatted down to get a better look at the figure. 

She definitely needed to make a coroner’s report. She was the objective expert in coroner’s reports. 

 “Tim, can you run back and get one of Jon’s silly little tape recorders for my coroner’s report?”

“Did you just see that on the telly?” Tim asked skeptically. “Because if you did -”

“Oh, here one is. That’s really convenient!” Martin grabbed one off the shelf and pressed play, letting the tape roll. “Good idea, Sasha. We need proof to Jon that we were researching.”

Probably...not what Jon meant for them to be researching, but Sasha liked to believe that it was the intent that mattered. She pulled a pencil out of her pencil skirt pocket, poking the figure thoughtfully. “Report by Sasha James, Archival Assistant.” There, now it was work. “At 1:30pm today, Tim Stoker discovered a corpse in the Archives, thereby referred to as John Doe -”

“Do we have to call it John Doe?” Tim complained, standing next ot her and crossing his arms. “Then we have too many Johns, it’ll get confusing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sasha said dismissively. “Ours is Jon, this guy’s John. Completely different.”

“Sasha, I’m not sure that’s how words work.”

“What are you, an English major?”

“Yes! I was an editor for a living!”

“Sorry if I don’t listen to guys who were fired from book editing school -”

“Uh,” Martin said, “have we checked to see if he’s actually dead?”

Sasha and Tim fell silent. Sasha looked at Tim. Tim shook his head. 

“Seriously, mate?” Sasha asked, unimpressed. 

“I didn’t want to touch the corpse!” Tim cried. “So sue me! It’s not as if he’s moving!”

Pussy. Sasha gently reached out and pushed aside a little of the corpse’s very long and pretty curly hair. What was that, 3C? Jesus, that had to be work. Sasha was 3A and the amount of hair care products she owned was insane.

She waved her hand at the boys for silence and put her thumb against his pulse, concentrating hard. Martin quietly walked over and crouched down too, eyeing his chest. 

“I don’t feel a pulse,” Sasha said finally. 

“Also, uh, I’m not a doctor,” Martin said, “but he’s definitely not breathing.”

“I told you,” Tim said defensively. “You just look at the thing, and you go - yep, that’s a corpse!”

“Corpse appears to be an ethnically ambiguous adult man with very nice hair,” Sasha said loudly. Martin helpfully held out the recorder to catch her voice better. “Maybe 190cm. Incredibly skinny - potential cause of death. He’s dressed in...some very ratty clothing. Potentially homeless.”

“It definitely smells,” Tim said, pinching his nose. Sasha didn’t blame him - the clothing was an overlarge green hoodie, ratty and threadbare, and his jeans weren’t any better. His boots were worn and soft leather. “Maybe he’s a homeless guy who snuck in and died?”

“That’s so sad,” Martin said softly. “Also a little gross.”

“Have some respect for the dead, guys,” Sasha said, as she poked the dead guy with a pencil. “Tim, go flip him over.”

Tim held his hands up, stepping away. “I couldn’t possibly. Martin loves flipping people over.”

“This again?” Martin asked, frustrated. “This is just like when you made me handle the Rawlings case because you’re scared of the suburbs!”

“They have too many eyes, Martin!”

“I am surrounded by cowards,” Sasha noted for the recorder. Nothing for it, then. Sasha carefully straightened, wobbling on her heels, before solidly wiggling her hands underneath the corpse’s chest. He was cold - dead a while. 

It was surprisingly difficult to flip over a limp adult man. Sasha was strong, but the corpse’s flesh was weak, and he was all floppy. Eventually Tim got over himself long enough to help her, making a very disgusted face the entire time, and they were able to finally get a good look at the man’s face.

Abruptly, upon seeing it, they all quieted. 

There was something about seeing a man splayed out on the ground that was a little funny, if you worked for the Magnus Institute and had probably encountered a Leitener two years ago and lost all empathy. No more impediments in the search for science. But there was something very different about looking at a person, who had a nose and lips and a very ratty hoodie, and knowing that it was no longer a person. Just a lot of cloth and meat and blood and organs and nice hair that once was a person, back when things were easier and the world was a little less harsh.

But maybe Sasha was caught by sentimentality: after all, the corpse looked a little like Jon.

Judging from the stunned faces of her compatriots as they all bent around the figure, they all thought the same thing. Tim’s jaw was open, and Martin’s hand was covering his mouth in shock. 

“Man,” Tim said. “This sucks. And it’s really creepy.”

“He must have been really gorgeous,” Martin said. “That’s so sad.” 

Actually, Sasha tilted her head and took another look. He had sharp and severe features, elegant and striking. A large and thin, sharp nose, and equally sharp lips. His face was just as sharp and gaunt, as emancipated as the rest of him. He had strange scars trailing up his neck and curving around his jaw, but it just kind of accentuated the intense atmosphere. 

It was probably a pretty stupid thing to focus on, but in her defense it wasn’t really the face of a homeless guy. Well, maybe. Hot homeless people existed.

Sasha frowned. She’s only met one other person this hot. 

“Hey,” she said, “doesn’t he look like Jon?”

Both the men titled their heads. 

Finally, Tim said, “Nah, he’s hotter.”

“Agreed,” Sasha said. “I think the scars really do it.” 

“Uh, guys,” Martin said. 

Sasha grabbed her tape recorder out of Martin’s hands, resuming her coroner’s report. “Subject appears to be in his thirties. Weirdly attractive, but that’s probably not as important as we feel it is.” She looked down at his hands, carefully using her pencil to push up the sleeve. “What looks like an aged and badly healed burn scar on his right hand. Supports homeless guy evidence.”

“Knife scar over his throat,” Tim quietly observed. “Someone tried to kill this guy.”

“Guys,” Martin said. 

“Well, I guess this is the point where we worry about body disposal,” Sasha said, straightening. “I think Elias could handle this discreetly and professionally, but that might involve letting Jon know. And I don’t think any of us want that kind of stress in our lives.”

“So, are we not even pretending to want to call the cops, or…?”

“Listen to me!”

Both Tim and Sasha shut up, somewhat guiltily. Martin had straightened too, fists balled, looking firm and determined and resolute - everything that Martin wasn’t, really. Martin lived unsure of himself, never expressing his own feelings or ending every opinion with an “I don’t know, maybe, that’s just my thoughts, what do you think?”. 

So Tim and Sasha paid attention, and when Sasha nodded encouragingly at him he seemed to find further courage. Solemnly, with the air of a wise man by the side of the road, Martin said, “This guy isn’t hotter than Jon.”

Christ. Sasha takes it all back.

 Tim propped a hand on his hip supportively as Sasha rolled her eyes. “Look, mate,” Tim said, “I know that you think Jon’s the hottest person in existence, and maybe objectively he’s fine as hell, but once you know him for longer than three months he loses all attractiveness. It would be like being into the DMV clerk. The really pretentious cousin at all of your family reunions who tries to explain your own job to you. The dude in your English class who thinks he invented feminism.”

“That was you,” Sasha said. 

“I am the objective expert in Jon,” Martin said firmly, shutting down the dissent. “He’s, like, my muse, okay? And can I say, as I have spent so many long hours memorizing the curve of his jaw - that’s the same jaw.”

If Sasha had a retort to that, or if Tim wanted to judge Martin for his taste in men further, neither of them had a chance. There wasn't an opportunity to say anything more, because the corpse opened its eyes. 

Sasha’s first thought was this: wow, what green eyes. 

Sasha’s second thought was: the fuck?

His eyes didn’t focus on her, or snap anywhere. They drifted a little lazily, fixed on the right, but the man was undoubtedly aware. His fingers twitched, he tilted his head from left to right, and his left hand - doubtlessly the hand that still felt texture - clenched the thin and cheap rug. The man’s jaw slackened a little, as if in surprise. 

For their part, the Assistants frantically looked at each other, all conveying the exact same thought - you said he was dead!

Sasha froze to her spot, petrified. She could handle corpses, or coroner’s reports, or mysteries. Sasha was intelligent, unkind, firm, socially incompetent, and a Libra. She could handle the dead, but the living? Sasha had no idea what to do with alive people.

But Tim did. He hesitated two moments, reeling back in shock, before he abruptly composed himself. He crouched down to the guy, and modulated his voice to sound calming and firm. “Hey, don’t strain yourself. Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere?”

The man turned his head in Tim's direction, hiding his expression from Sasha, but she saw Tim’s eyes widen. Martin, standing closer to his feet, wrung his hands - clearly torn on what to do, uncertain how to help. Martin always hated being uncertain how to help the most. Which was pretty unfortunate, because Martin always wanted to help, and Martin was always uncertain. 

“Can you speak?” Tim asked gently. “If you can’t speak, go ahead and knock on the floor for me, okay?”

“If we pack him into your car, we can say that we found him on the street,” Sasha piped up. As much as she distrusted NHS, and as much as the NHS refused to touch anybody who had ever stepped foot inside the Institute, they could hardly refuse somebody if they just lied their ass off about it. “They’ll have to treat him then, right?”

“We could make it so much worse if we move him,” Martin said quickly, just as strangely firm. “We need to take our chances with 999.”

“We don’t even know if he’s injured,” Sasha pointed out, somewhat optimistically. “Maybe this whole thing can just, like, not be a problem.”

Yeah, Sasha definitely preferred corpses. 

The man was opening and closing his mouth, before he coughed wetly. Sasha clinically noted that it was the first time she had seen his chest move. As Tim reached forward, murmuring gently, and helped the man sit up, she saw that his chest didn’t move at all.

“Alright, let’s try to get you up.” Tim helped the man shift so he was leaning against the bookcase - uncomfortable, but a better position if he started coughing up blood. “We should fetch you some water - Martin, I don’t think he has any injury like that, he just seems out of it. His eyes aren’t focusing on me at all.”

Strangely, the man scoffed at that. The sound made him cough again, but the derision was unmistakable.

The derision was extremely familiar. 

When Sasha looked at Martin his eyes were wide behind his glasses, and she knew that he had heard the same thing that she did. 

Finally, with a raspy and hoarse voice, the man said, “Well, isn’t this fucking fun.”

Everybody stared at him. His voice...different, definitely, with a less posh accent and strained vocal cords scratching his tones. But when Sasha glanced at Tim, she just knew that he was remembering when Jon had insisted on coming into work with a terrible cold and Martin had to bully him home. He had sounded eerily like…

“Is this your idea of a joke?” the man said. 

Tim, from where he was crouched next to the guy, turned his attention back to him. “I’m a funny guy, but last time I checked head injuries aren’t a joke.” He tracked his finger across the man’s eyes, frowning when they didn’t follow. “You definitely have a concussion, mate. If you can walk, we need to -”

“Lord, alright, I get it.” The man raised his burned hand and clumsily rubbed his eyes. “You’re mad at me, I’m sleeping on the couch, whatever. Is all of this really necessary?”

“Uh,” Tim said intelligently. “Mate, I’m not your boyfriend.”

The man waved his other hand in Tim’s direction as he pressed his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion. “I’m hardly speaking to you.” Tim’s jaw dropped in shock as the man angled his face upwards, the crown of his head jamming uncomfortably against the metal shelving. “In my defense, I was doing the best I could with the resources you gave me. It’s water under the bridge. I’ve forgotten about it already! So let’s just get back to our eldritch hellscape.”

Everybody stared at each other. 

“We should move this into the break room,” Martin said. “There’s tea there.”

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Jon said, “making Martin into a caricature of himself. You like Martin, you told me so.”

“Counterpoint,” Sasha said weakly, “the bullpen has Jon. And I really don’t want to explain this to Jon.”

“I don’t even know who this one is,” the man said. “What? Not going to tell me?”

“Okay, like, fucking rude, but whatever.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” Tim said firmly, reaching out and putting a firm hand on the man’s arm. The man didn’t recoil or jerk away, just looking down in vague surprise. “But they aren’t here right now. You’re in the basement of the Magnus Institute, alright? I’m Tim Stoker, at your service, and these are my coworkers. I think you have a brain injury. If you can walk, we need to get you -”

“I can’t eat here,” the man said, but he made no effort to remove Tim’s arm. He moved his other hand, pressing it against Tim’s own, as if they were friends. “Cutting me off from my Knowledge -” it was capitalized, Sasha could hear it “ - chaining me to my desk, for - what? You’re not even answering me? Come on!” The man’s voice raised, and for the first time Sasha could hear something ragged in it. “Don’t give me the silent treatment!”

“Jon.”

It was Martin, standing at a distance from the man - from all of them. He was wringing his hands again, shoulders hunched and tense, but his expression was caught in that same mysterious firmness. 

The man didn't react. Not in surprise, not in shock, not in unrecognition. He just scowled a little, ignoring all of them. 

“Jon,” Martin said, louder. “This isn’t solving anything. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not the one being stubborn, Martin,” Jon - Jon?! - muttered, folding his arms. Like an infant. Like, hypothetically, something Jon would do. “I just don’t think omniscient fear gods should be petty.”

Everybody looked at each other. 

“This needs tea,” Martin proclaimed finally, and everybody nodded in silent agreement.

Every nodded in agreement - even, strangely enough, Jonathan Sims himself. 

****

This plan had a few complexities. 

The first complexity was dealing with Jon - their Boss - himself. In an act of cunning psychological warfare, Martin had gone ahead of them and used his endless and infinite subtle acts of manipulation to guarantee that Jon wouldn’t interrupt them. This situation was already Quite A Bit, nobody wanted to babysit their boss. 

Who Sasha frequently felt as if she babysat a bit. Having the youngest person in the office be the very rigid and authoritarian boss was objectively a little funny. But you know what’s not funny? Transphobia. 

Eventually Martin came back and waved them forward, and Tim gently yet firmly dragged the man upwards and put a hand on his back. 

“Do you mind if I touch you?” Tim asked. He sounded resigned about it - barely expecting Jon to respond. “Let me know how you want me to guide you.”

“Oh, it’s whatever. If you’re going to play it this way.” Jon easily looped his arm through Tim’s, who didn’t bother to mask his shock. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Sasha went ahead of them, watching Tim walk Jon down the aisle - hah! - with his arm looped through his elbow and a hand on his back. It was exactly the kind of care and meticulousness that Sasha always saw in him when it came to others. He literally walked grannies across the street. It was horrendous. She got second-hand embarrassed whenever she saw it.

Tim was loudly, extremely, messily kind. He was a person who adopted lost causes, like young men too grumpy to make real friends and women who only knew academia and never people. Sasha told him that once he got his teeth into something he never let go. It would get him into trouble one day. Maybe it already had. 

Sure enough, when Sasha opened the library door for them and peeked her head into the hallway, she saw that Jon’s office door was very firmly shut and locked. Even more incriminatingly, she heard his cute little theater drama monologues starting. Tim had found Jon’s theater aspirations very adorable and he had tried recording them to put on his Snapchat and maybe get him discovered by an agent, but unfortunately the videos made Tim’s phone bleed. They had given Martin ten pounds to taste the blood. Man would do anything for ten pounds, but seeing as they all worked this job that probably applied to all them. 

A workplace made out of people who always picked ‘dare’ in truth or dare. It was kind of a miracle they were still alive. Sasha was a little uncertain how she had survived to thirty five, actually. 

Once Sasha gave the all clear, Tim was able to bring Jon (Neo-Jon? Nega-Jon? Dark Jon? Mean Jon? No, that was just Jon) into the bullpen. Softly narrating what he was doing, he pulled out a chair and lowered Jon into it. 

Homeless Jon hasn’t been blind for very long, Sasha noted clinically. Long enough that he seemed more mildly irritated by it than anything else, but instead of orienting himself or testing out where he was he just kind of slumped in his chair. 

“Jon - uh, the Boss is taken care of?” Tim asked Martin, who was rapidly bustling into the bullpen with four cups of tea that he seemed to be under the impression would help. Tim had sat Homeless Jon in Martin’s chair, which seemed to fluster Martin a bit. 

“Uh, yeah. Gave him a normal statement to get his guard down, then five of the - you know, weird - statements and said that he has to go through all of them today. He’ll be in there for an hour at least.” 

Sasha frowned. “After two he gets a headache and gets bitchy.”

“Three o’clock exactly,” Tim said solemnly.

“Oh, leave off,” Homeless Jon said, “it wasn’t that bad.”

Everybody double taked and looked at each other significantly - which was quickly becoming their predominant mode of communication in a ruthless act of ableism. But Martin just held out a cup of tea, faltering as he clearly stopped to wonder the easiest way to give it to him. 

“Can you hold out your hands, Jon? I have some tea for you. It’s hot, so be careful, okay?”

“If the tea’s spiders I’m going to take it out on Annabelle,” Weird Jon said, but he held out his hands anyway and let Martin put the mug in them. He sniffed it cautiously, checking for spiders, before taking a cautious sip. 

To Sasha and Tim, Martin said, “I know, he’s going to fall asleep after two. I mean, it might be because I drugged his tea a little -”

Weird Jon spat out his tea back into the mug. 

“ - so we shouldn’t be interrupted,” Martin said brightly, clapping his hands. “Now! I think it’s time for explanations, don���t you?” He turned his mighty gaze upon Thankfully Blind Jon, who was occupied carefully holding the tea away from himself. “Drink your tea, Jon.”

Jon drank his tea. His expression twisted. “It tastes just like his.”

Everybody looked at each other. Tim mouthed the word ‘time traveller’ very clearly. Both Sasha and Martin nodded. It was the obvious explanation. 

“An explanation now, please,” Martin said pleasantly. “If you’re a time traveller, you can tell us. This is a safe space.”

Jon-from-the-future’s expression harshened in creases. He hadn’t once relaxed, expression permanently tightened in annoyance and disgruntlement. It was ridiculously Jon. 

Definitely a time traveller. You didn’t work at the Magnus Institute without secretly spending your life deeply hoping you run into a time traveller. Every researcher upstairs secretly prayed to discover the majesty. Everyone in Artifact Storage eagerly gathered around mysterious clocks and dared each other to touch them. Sasha, Queen of Truth-or-Dare, was the undisputed expert in making other people touch weird clocks and recording their reactions.

“Fine,” Super Time Traveller Jon said. “I know this is what you want. Statement of a stupid punishment by the pettiest little color in the evil crayon box. Recorded by the Archivist, in situ. Statement begins.”

Wow, Jon still had his job in the future? That’s a surprise. 

Martin was mouthing the word ‘evil crayon box’ to himself, looking increasingly concerned. The forgotten tape recorder, clenched in Sasha’s fist without her even realizing it, clicked and whirred. 

Then the Archivist began to speak. 

***

In the hazy amber of a memory, there exists an office.

You can see it clearly in your mind’s Eye, even now. You could likely navigate all of it blindfolded - which you now see that your god has the intention to test. Every corner of it is known to you, in the most subtle and mundane of ways. There’s a dust bunny in that corner, never tidied. A mysterious stain on the far right ceiling. The faint smell of blood, just under the vents. The hot waft of tea; your hands wrapped around a mug. 

Through these lonely offices, ghosts roam. They cling to desks and chairs; lingering in favorite mugs or in forgotten hair ties. A metal file cabinet holding neat rows of clothing, blood-stained jackets abandoned. A whiteboard with stubborn flakes of dried marker, forgotten handwriting clinging to life. These imprints no longer evoke terror or grief or pain. They are as familiar as the bloodstains and tea. Even death, eventually, is familiar. After long enough in a nightmare, it becomes indistinguishable from reality. 

There is nothing unfamiliar in the Magnus Institute.

Nothing save these voices, emerging from nothing. Every one of your six million senses have been cut off - your hundred eyes reduced to none. You are cognizant only of two familiar voices, and one unfamiliar one. A firm hand, with calloused fingers from leafing through aged paper. A creaky desk chair - Martin’s, undoubtedly, always squeaking as he fidgeted in distraction. The air tastes the same as it used to back then, before the AC broke and no repairman would step inside to repair it. Daisy did, eventually. Three familiar voices, rendered unfamiliar by the harsh tides of wind and cruel plastic hands. 

You are afraid of very little, these days. In this world that you’ve built, there is nothing that can harm you. The twisted little puppet strung up in his tower has been long since been disposed of, and the awful and terrifying future has settled into a gentle present. The apocalypse grows tedious after a while, and the buffet of fears start tasting a little samey.

But if anything could frighten you, this would. If anything would petrify you, it would be Tim’s kind smile, which died a year before Tim did. If anything could freeze you to your chair, it would be the sight of Sasha with red-rimmed eyes asking why you never even noticed that she was gone. 

The sanctuary of memory corrupted. A mental place of safety infiltrated. A mind turned inside out, exposing its vulnerable flesh to the world. 

There is nothing else this could be but your own personal hell. 

Your loyal servant crouches on bended knee, giving this final prayer to you. He asks, humbly and with great reverence, one simple question:

Why couldn’t this have waited until after I got my milk?

***

The spell ruptured.

It was almost tangible, like a change in air pressure making your ears pop. Sasha blinked harshly, rubbing at her ears and trying to soothe strange ringing. Tim exhaled heavily and Martin screwed his eyes open and shut harshly, as if he was seeing spots. 

The only person unaffected was Weirdly Christian Jon, who was slumped in Martin’s chair with his arms folded over his chest. He was still looking at the ceiling - speaking to whoever he had been addressing this entire time. 

“Just one day,” Jon was saying. “Just one day! It was going to be a nice day! We had decided to take a day trip to the Flesh garden and have a picnic! My darling and beautiful husband was going to make us a cake! ‘Walk down to the Hell corner store’, my husband says. ‘Pick us up some Eldritch milk’, he says. ‘Why do I have to do it’, I says, ‘I’m in the middle of something’. ‘We need cake for bridge night with the girls and I’ll divorce you if you don’t do it’, he says. I didn’t even change out of my nightmare pyjamas! What did I ever do to you? How are you still upset about the eye thing?”

Sasha and the Assistants, still digesting the extremely disturbing monologue, let him talk. Sasha was caught up in how it felt exactly like Jon’s little drama monologues. Granted, he had obviously gotten a lot more practice - guy could go to Broadway - but the weird lilting and falling sing-songyness was just the same. And he only ever did that for the very weird ones. The ones that they were pretty certain were actually true. 

So that probably meant at one point in the future, if Jon was speaking about the Archives as if they had worked there for years. Probably during the apocalypse. Which was happening. Which Jon had...built? Like, as a personal thing, or in a metaphor for capitalism and the human race? Definitely the capitalism thing - Jon was prone to flights of filing-induced passion that sometimes accidentally resulted in a stapler flying and punching a hole through the wall, but she couldn’t even imagine him even purposefully punching someone, much less being the Antichrist. Unless it was one of those things that just happened to you, like a rare genetic defect. 

“Seriously. What was the alternative here? Endless horrorterrors, everybody screaming all the time? It was boring. You eat one Statement about somebody standing in line at a slaughterhouse conveyor belt and you’ve eaten them all. I didn’t do it because I didn’t like you, although for the record I don’t. But you have to admit that having Eldritch Lidls are much more practical than just having a bunch of people lying around screaming all the time. It’s not as if I don’t have other eyes, I hardly miss them. There’s no chocolate cakes in the swirling vortex of mankind’s worst nightmares!”

Okay. They had to find a way to engage with this guy. He was completely ignoring them, probably because he thought that they were mean ghosts. Sasha was only one of those things, and it was hurting her feelings. Judging from the expression on Tim’s face he was thinking the same thing. 

Or - wait, Sasha knew that eyebrow. That was the ‘please please please tell the apocalypse has zombies’ eyebrow. Great. 

But Martin was just looking thoughtful again. Sasha was pretty proud of him - it was probably very difficult for the poor man to remain coherent in the face of the crazy time-traveller who was definitely hotter than their already objectively unfairly hot boss. 

“Jon,” Martin said, cutting Jon’s tired rant about how eggs benedict were much better these days, “Uh, I have an idea? Maybe you can’t get out of the - nightmare by bargaining with it. Do you know how to normally escape these things?”

Jon angled his head down and frowned in Martin’s direction. So far Martin seemed to be the only person who could shut Jon up, which was a hilarious turnaround from normal life. Sasha hadn’t heard anything about Martin being a sad little ghost, but it was hard to believe that Martin was a survivor in the zombie apocalypse. 

“You go through the statement and you walk through it,” Jon said, in a very ‘duh’ kind of way. “Give the statement, highfive corpses, whatever.”

“Right, right.” Martin wrung his hands, biting at his lip. “So maybe it’s like that. Maybe instead of asking to be let out - you just have to walk through it. Like - like it’s a maze. Does that make sense? I’m not sure, it’s just an idea.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Right as always, Martin.” Everybody’s jaw dropped, and Martin squeaked. “Fine, fine. Let’s...interact with the evil ghosts.” Jon gestured out with his arms, in a very ‘come at me bro’ gesture. “Go ahead and shoot. Hit me with how much you hate me and how disappointed you are that I never amounted to anything and started the apocalypse.”

Finally! Interrogation time! 

But before Sasha could finally find out if global warming had killed the world, Tim jumped in. “Are there zombies in the apocalypse?!” Tim cried, way too excited. “Is it like the Walking Dead? Or is it more Last of Us?”

Jon squinted in Tim’s direction. “Define zombie.”

“...hunger for human flesh, shambling, gross looking?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen any zombie movies.”

“I’m omniscient, I’ve seen every zombie movie,” Jon lied blatantly. “I just think that you’re - you know, stereotyping. Sometimes people are the undead and eat humans and they’re - they’re very normal people.”

“Yeah, Tim, be sensitive,” Sasha said gleefully. She put the tape recorder on Martin’s desk, deciding that she would definitely need a transcript of this interview later. Also maybe ask more questions about that omniscient thing, but she was sure Jon was just exaggerating. If you asked Jon today if he was the smartest person on Earth he’d probably say yes. Jon wasn’t even the smartest person in the room.

For good measure, she drew out her little notebook from her pencil skirt pocket, flipping through it looking for a clean page. “The Archives have never gotten a time traveller before. This is unprecedented in its history.” Well, she really didn’t know what Gertrude had gotten up to, but she dearly hoped it wasn’t this. “Do you have any warnings? Desperate messages from a ruined world, that kind of thing?”

“I’m not a time traveller,” Jon said flatly, “so no.”

Everybody stared at him in abject pity.

“Mate,” Tim said sympathetically, “it’s 2015. You’re a time traveller.”

“No, I’m in a pocket hell dimension in a period beyond time and space,” Jon corrected arrogantly. “Time travel doesn’t exist.”

“The apocalypse exists but time travel doesn’t exist?” Martin cried. “That’s so unfair! Like, give us something, you know?”

“Your life is very hard,” the extratemporal reject said. 

Typical Jon. A classic case of time travel and here he was denying it. Sasha crossed her arms, upset that they were wasting time debating temporal physics when they could be talking about zombies. She was a historian and had priorities. “Your denial ain’t cute, mate. You’re just wasting all of our time.” Jon opened his mouth, but Sasha steamrolled over him. “You want evidence, right? Do you need to, like, touch my face? Make sure that I’m not a sexy ghost?”

“That’s a stereotype that nobody actually does,” Jon said. 

“Insensitive as always, Sasha,” Martin condemned. 

“How else are we going to prove it to him?” Sasha said, somewhat defensively. “It’s not as if we have any evidence that we’re not sexy ghosts.”

With utmost care and incredible gentleness, Tim reached out an open hand and gently smooshed it into Jon’s face.

Jon slumped in his seat, arms folded, unimpressed. 

“No mortal who is not my darling husband has dared to touch me since I became the Antichrist,” Jon said.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, withdrawing his hand and looking at Sasha. “What’s more unbelievable: Jon as the Antichrist or Jon with a husband?”

“Jon’s gay?” Martin cried, face beet red. “Gay Jon? Gay Jon real?”

“So, like, how do you get the Antichrist gig?” Sasha asked as she silently passed Tim a fiver. Her queerdar had never been so wrong. “Is it like an adventurer quest you can do or would you call it more of a rare genetic disorder thing?”

“Definitely rare genetic disorder.”

“Then does that mean that our Jon also has the Antichrist gene?” Tim asked, alarmed. “You’d never think so just looking at him! It’s always the quiet ones.”

“No, this makes sense,” Martin said.

Tim stared at him. “So, is that, like, a negative for you, or a positive…?”

Martin’s silence was incriminating. 

“It’s a positive,” Jon said helpfully, startling everyone. They had conveniently forgotten not to talk about one very horny man’s very horny crush in front of sad grumpy time travelling crush. “He’s into it.”

“Wow, Jon,” Tim said, “what would your husband say?”

In a completely pointless show of sass, Jon rolled his eyes. “My useless husband is likely much more concerned with how I managed to get trapped in a nightmare dimension on my way back from the Hell corner store.” He waved a hand absently. “So, if we can hurry this up? Get started on the whole torturing me thing? Right now you’re just on track to annoying me to death.”

“We annoy you to death now!” Tim exclaimed, as Martin’s eyes boggled. “Isn’t that more proof for the time traveller theory?”

“It wasn’t annoying,” Jon said curtly. “I secretly enjoyed it. I always felt a little bad that I wasn’t included. Or wouldn’t let myself be included.”

That, abruptly, made everyone feel a little bad. Not guilty, seeing as Jon neither wanted nor deserved their affection, but just kind of bad. Future Jon didn’t seem any happier than regular Jon. Sasha liked to imagine that if she was trapped in an indeterminate period in time and space in a post-apoc hellscape, she’d at least be having fun.

Everybody looked at each other, equally a little uncomfortable. Tim was the one who finally took control of the situation, as the self-appointed Jon & Everyone Else mediator. He had taken up the mantle years ago and worse it with pride, and occasional exhaustion. 

“Look,” Tim said, as reasonably as possible. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, this was super cool and awesome time travel. Let’s also say maybe this was completely baller and you’re from a post apoc future where everyone wears leather.”

“That’s just Melanie.”

“Put it down as one person who wears leather in the future!” Tim cried, and Sasha obediently jotted it down.”But let’s just put all of this in a hypothetical situation where you aren’t...uh, in a bad dream? So would there, hypothetically, be a way to stop the apocalypse or something?”

Jesus christ. What a try-hard. 

Sasha crossed her arms, glaring at Tim. From next to her, Martin looked just as peeved. “Seriously, dude? Like we can just up and stop capitalism?”

“I don’t want responsibility for stopping the apocalypse,” Martin protested. “I can barely navigate the bus system. What if the Terminator comes after my mother or something?”

“You’ll be a bit better off, frankly,” Jon said. Martin nodded, conceding the point, before looking faintly disturbed. 

“But he said that he caused it,” Tim protested. “Maybe the power of friendship can fix this? I mean, the apocalypse is cool, but I feel like this is the part where we’re all badasses and we fight evil or something.” Tim’s eyes widened. “That’s what the Magnus Institute is for. To stop the apocalypse!”

“Every day I feel a slight sense of emptiness due to my internalized guilt about your death, but you are usually wrong about things,” Jon said flatly, which seemed to both perk Tim up and depress him slightly. “And no. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no one event that precipitated the apocalypse; no rules of engagement. You are puppets on strings, indulging in the fantasy of free will. Yes, Sasha, the apocalypse is capitalism.”

Everybody stood in slightly depressed silence over this. Sasha, personally, was a little relieved. She really didn’t have to deal with the whole ‘preventing the apocalypse’ thing. She’d rather spend the finals days of the world in hedonism, frankly. 

Really, the unique providence of the millennial was to live your entire life half-way convinced you were in the twilight years of the world. This hedonism and apathy was second nature. Or maybe the apathy was a Leitner - Sasha had lost track of that too. 

“Aw, man,” Martin said, summarizing the abstract and complex feelings deftly and succinctly. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, this blows,” Tim agreed. “So should I buy my muscle car now, or later, or what?”

Then Martin and Tim started arguing over fuel efficiency in the apocalypse, and Jon royally checked out of the conversation. Sasha imagined that he was internally having a bit of a Saving Private Ryan moment where flashbacks of bombshells exploded behind his eyelids or whatever the fuck. The important thing is that everyone was distracted, and Sasha could finally check up on their most important gambit of the day: making sure Jon wasn’t bothering them. 

Sasha listened carefully for the sounds of Jon’s little theater monologues, and caught only faint hints of sound. She slipped past everyone into the hallway and approached Jon’s office door, pressing her ear against the cheap wood. But she didn’t need to worry: he was still reciting away, oblivious to the actual interesting shit that was happening outside his door. Jon was a delicate plant, you couldn’t stress him out too much or he would die. Hopefully Martin’s drugged tea would kick in soon -

But Antichrist Jon’s head jerked towards her, directly behind him, and Sasha saw his unfocused green eyes fixate directly on her. No, not on her - on the door, or something beyond it. For just a second, his eyes flared a sharp and toxic green. 

“There you are,” Creepy Jon hissed. 

Well, sorry for leaving rooms without telling him, but she hadn’t thought that he even noticed, much less got resentful about it. But Weird Jon was standing up with no hesitation, and effortlessly swerved around Martin’s desk and stalked into the hallway. For the first time, his expression looked a little dangerous. It was bizarre and off putting, like seeing a ragged yet murderous two meter kitten. 

He reached out an arm and let it trail across the wall, stopping short when he felt it hit wood instead of plaster. Tim and Martin surged forward to stop him, yelling warnings, but Sasha quickly stepped back. She never impeded the timeless march of science and progress. Sasha had done far worse in Artifact Storage for knowledge. 

Jon brushed his hand down the door until it hit the doorknob and angrily twisted it, heaving the door open with unnecessary force. Tim and Martin spilled into the hallway as Angry Jon stalked inside, and Sasha eagerly hung in the door frame for a front row seat into the drama. 

“This is your fault,” Jon intoned dangerously, directly in the face of a deathly affronted Jon. 

In the spirit of the First Directive, Sasha heroically stretched out an arm and prevented Tim and Martin from spilling into the office. It was the right call. Jon stalked forward into the office, hair whipping in a nonexistent wind, expression obscured but undoubtedly thunderous, advancing on the terrified Archivist, as -

He tripped over a chair left carelessly in the center of the office, rocketing forward to land flatly on his face. 

Beside her, Martin went white as a sheet. “Oh no.”

Simultaneously, in complete and total unison, Jon and the Archivist yelled, “Martin!”

****

Jon and the Archivist sat across from each other, exuding waves of pure mutual hatred.

Tim had quickly helped the Archivist up, moving the chair forward and getting him situated there. The Archivist’s mood was not improved by any of this. Which was difficult enough to handle by itself, if manageable. Sasha knew how to manage grumpy time travelling blind Antichrists who had gotten lost on their way to the corner store.

She even knew how to handle their boss, who was extremely grumpy about being harassed by a random homeless person with nice hair. Jon hated statement givers at the best of times, much less seemingly homeless ex-corpses. Or, well, Sasha didn’t know if he was an ex-corpse, but he was certainly an animate one. 

They were both being so annoying about it Sasha was trying to determine if she should change their nicknames to something more derogatory. Thing 1 and Thing 2? Too long. 

Both of them were very grumpy about the fact that Martin had pushed aside the chair for guests in front of Jon’s desks when he deposited the drugged tea, accidentally moving it close to the center of the office. Jon had known this because he saw it happen. The Archivist had known this because he, apparently, knew Martin very well. 

Today had really been a bonding experience with Sasha, Martin, and Tim. Their skill at silent communication had reached borderline telepathy. They all looked at each other significantly as the Jons were caught in their mutual dyad of hatred, silently commiserating over the fact that their one goal had been spoiled by the greatest wildcard of all. Sasha privately liked to consider herself somewhat of a wildcard, but she was depressingly aware that the entire Archive team was composed of wildcards. Maybe that’s why half of them didn’t survive the apocalypse. 

It was a little unlikely that Jon was a survivor/instigator in the zombie apocalypse, actually. Dude definitely would have bit it if he wasn’t cheating with Antichrist powers. Now, if Sasha had Antichrist powers, this whole game would be looking very different -

“Boss, this is a statement giver,” Tim hinted desperately, hands clenched so hard on the back of the Archivist’s chair that his knuckles were turning white. “Remember what Elias said about statement givers? About how we can’t harass them?”

“I was in the middle of a recording and this man was unnecessarily confrontational,” Jon said crisply. Sasha caught her eye jumping frantically back and forth between the two, trying to reconcile them. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Martin’s horny surety, she wouldn’t have realized that they were the same person at all. The Archivist’s most defining attribute was his big and fluffy hair, and Jon was sadly lacking in the nice hair department. That fade and twists were the shackle around his ankle. So was the sweater vest, baggy tweed jacket, and ill-fitting.“He’s lucky I’m not throwing him out.”

Martin, who looked as if he was having his tenth gay crisis of the morning, didn’t seem to hold the same opinion, but he was king of bad taste anyway. 

“Remember what Elias said about harassing confused, blind statement givers? Remember that? Boss?”

Jon looked confused. “He didn’t specify the community of people with disabilities.”

“It was implied? Jon?”

“The optics would be terrible,” Sasha said, before snickering. Martin stomped on her foot. She stomped on his back, which definitely hurt a lot more. “Look, Jon, sorry about all of this. He was just - uh - really insistent that he talk to you -”

“I think if our visitor hassles Jon then maybe, objectively, you can say that Jon brought it on himself,” Martin said, in a daring show of anti-Jon sentiment.

This act of subtle rebellion was the first thing that broke the Archivist out of his cycle of hatred. He threw out a hand, bowling over Jon’s desktop cup of pens and sending them tumbling over the desk. Sasha saw him specifically orient his hand to do so. “Thank you, Martin! Your understanding of paraphysics is always immaculate.”

“Wow, really?”

“Stop complimenting my assistants,” Jon hissed, frantically diving to save his pens. “And stop - gesticulating over my desk! You did that on purpose!”

“Harassing the blind, Jon!”

“You don’t even need to tearfully blame me for how I ruined your life,” the Archivist said flatly. “You existing in my vicinity is torment enough.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Sasha said, before pausing a beat. “I meant the first part, ha ha ha, obviously -”

“This man is a very normal statement giver who will be leaving any minute now,” Martin jumped in, “so there’s really no reason for us all to fight, when you think about it -”

“If you all don’t get out of my office, you are all fired -”

“You are listening.”

Everybody stopped talking at once, staring at the Archivist. He was still staring intently ahead, straight into his counterpart. Jon was hiding it, quite badly, but he was unsettled. He hadn’t even acknowledged that he and the man looked alike - the thought undoubtedly running through his brain and soundly dismissed - but it was clearly rattling him. But there was something else that was scaring him too - maybe the Archivist’s green eyes, so foreign from his own brown? His intense and furious expression, like cut glass? The particularly strange and heavy feeling in the air, prickling down the back of Sasha’s neck?

He hadn’t even stopped the recorder. 

“You are here,” the Archivist continued calmly. “You were listening in. Why you were listening in on him, and his regurgitated aftertaste of Statements, I do not know. I felt you, and I came to you. We cannot forsake each other. Do not hide yourself from me.”

The effect was immediate. 

The Archivist’s neck snapped forward, so harshly he cracked his head on Jon’s desk. Strangely enough, Jon screamed too, holding a hand to his temple as if he was suddenly pierced by a blinding headache. Tim immediately bent down to check on Archivist, making sure that he hadn’t hurt himself, as Martin bustled around the desk to check on Jon. Jon batted his hands away, scowling, so he was just fine. But the Archivist didn’t groan, or stir, or moan. He just lay there, still and limp, and when Tim shook him he didn’t even tense. 

The air was heavy, a tang of metal in her mouth like the crackle before a storm, and Sasha couldn’t fight a shiver. But she couldn’t take her eyes off Jon, either: the way he stared at the Archivist, hand on his forehead, eyes wide and growing wider. 

“Dad…?”

When the Archivist stirred, the spell was broken, and Jon’s mouth snapped shut so quickly it was as if he had never spoken at all. He turned his head and moaned, eyes opening uselessly. They were back to their usual toxic green, no flaring or flashing. 

“Mar’in? Where…”

“I’m here,” Martin said quickly, and ducked around the desk to grab the Archivist’s hand and squeeze. For just a second, Jon looked a little jealous. Sasha had the sense that Jon had never been mothered than anyone other than Martin and Tim, and the prospect confused and frightened him so much he reacted aggressively to it. “Everything alright? You hit your head.”

“How many eyes?” the Archivist asked weakly. 

“...physically, or functionally?”

But the Archivist just ran his burned hand over his smooth hand, kneading it and feeling the skin. “Still gone. Damn it.” He straightened, grimacing and spitting out a stray tendril of hair out of his mouth. “So it’s true…”

“So what’s true?” Tim asked urgently. “Do you finally believe us about the time travel thing? Because man, I have so many questions -”

He didn’t get the opportunity to say anything. The Archivist reached out a hand, fingers brushing against his shirt, and the Archivist’s hand abruptly clenched on the fabric. Tightly, roughly, the Archivist pulled him down and extended his other arm, and caught Tim in an awkward and lopsided hug. 

Tim carefully straightened him and returned the hug, gracing the Archivist with the patented Perfect Stoker Hug, and the Archivist buried his face in Tim’s shoulder. His chest didn’t heave, and his breath didn’t catch, but the element of desperation was pungent and unmistakable. 

“You were right,” Jon whispered. “We messed it all up.”

“Sure, yeah, totally!” Tim said, clapping the Archivist on the back in a masculine, yet sensitive way. “So, does this mean the zombie apocalypse is totally a-go, or…”

“Sasha,” the Archivist said, and Sasha chose to ignore her own personal distaste for hugs and being touched so she could step forward and hug him too. 

He clutched onto her just as tightly as he had Tim, which surprised her a little. Jon and Tim had probably been best friends in the future, and Sasha couldn’t imagine her and Jon ever truly being close. He respected her as a colleague, but that was probably because Sasha purposefully left her manuscripts around the office and aggressively used as many big words in front of him as possible. Jon had always been an obstacle to her - innocently stupid at best, malicious at worst. To think that he would grip her so tightly…

With meticulous care, the Archivist separated from her. His expression was crumpled, and for the first time Sasha saw something over than aggravation or impatience in Jon’s face. Relaxed and soft, he looked like a different man. No - he was a different man, it was just apparent. The change softened his sharp lines into something a little friendlier; his striking exterior melting into something pretty instead of imposing. 

Slowly, he raised his hand a little to tangle it in her hair. He frowned a little, gently tugging at it and feeling it spring back into place. “So it was curly…like mine…”

A lot of little hints snowballed into one strange and foreign realization. “Do you not remember me?”

“Dolls stole your identity,” the Archivist said apologetically. 

“Like credit card fraud, or -”

“Metaphysically.” He paused guiltily. “I mourned you as an abstract concept?”

“Like I’m every woman in Hollywood?” Sasha screeched, outraged. This was not trans rights. “Alright, royally fuck that. Feel my hair, mister. Full permission to touch it. Feel that? You call that abstract?” The Archivist shook his head, eyes wide, and Sasha gently moved his hand to rest on the top of her head. “Taller than you in eight cm heels, remember? You asked me how I walked in them, and I said -”

“ - Barbie’s Princess Charm School,” the Archivist said automatically, eyes widening. “I do remember.”

Martin clearly waited around to be tenderly embraced, and was disappointed. 

The Archivist stepped away from Sasha, expression creased in furious thought. “So it’s real. So far as anything’s real, I suppose. But I don’t understand how -” the Archivist’s eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers in realization. “The manhole!”

Everybody stared at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon said pleasantly, “what is going on -”

“I was walking down the street, and I remember hearing city work!” the Archivist said brightly. “They were doing their monthly ‘clearing the gators out of the sewer pipes’ maintenance! And the Beholding told me that there was an open manhole, and I said oh it’ll be fine, I’m a demigod on Earth, I don’t fall down manholes - and then -”

The door to Jon’s office dramatically crashed open, and everybody jumped straight in the air. Jon, whose office had seen two more incredibly theatrical entrances than usual today, immediately bristled and opened his mouth to earn them all another harassment complaint, before he abruptly shut his mouth. 

It was Elias, their miniature and unspeakably boring boss extraordinaire. He stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorframe, suit jacket askew and chest heaving. Had he ran down here?

“Is someone here?” the Archivist asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” Tim said, stepping forward cautiously. “It’s our boss, Mr. Bouchard. Elias, we’re taking a statement, can we help - ?”

“How did that get here?” Elias asked, voice strangely tense and coiled. “How did you - not even I could -”

“That makes sense!” Martin cried, thumping a fist on his open palm. “Elias wants to time travel just as much as everyone else in the Institute!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, pathetically behind, “time travel -”

“Did the time traveller sensor alarms in the basement go off?” Sasha asked, surprised. “I thought only Artifact Storage had those.”

“Uh, Mr. Statement Giver, are you okay?” Tim asked, but it was already too late.

The Archivist had turned to face Elias, expression unreadable. Sasha felt that crackle again, weighing down the air, and she saw the Archivist’s hair puff and frizz slightly with a green crackle. His neon green pupils shone again and spun, like an infernal wheel. 

“What’s wrong, Elias?” the Archivist mocked, as energy coursed through him. “Upset that Mama has a new favorite?”

And Sasha saw in that moment that the Archivist, who possessed the most inhuman green eyes she had ever seen, had eyes the same shade as Elias. 

“Oh, man,” Sasha said, “is Elias a time traveller too?”

“Only in the most mundane way. Can’t even get a little bit of special attention, Elias? Sad!” It was second-hand thrilling to watch someone mock their boss, living the dreams of everyone in the room. Even if it was a little weird how much Jon seemed to hate this guy - nobody hated Elias, just like nobody liked him, and nobody had any strong feelings at all besides unpromoted women.

 At the door, Elias’ expression was slack in - amazement? Was amazement the right word? He was staring at Jon as if...words didn’t even describe it. At least in any way that Sasha wanted to think about. 

“Mr. Bouchard, I swear I can explain,” Sasha, who could not explain, said hurriedly. “We found this corpse and we were going to tell you, but -”

But the Archivist cut her off, as if nothing was less important than explaining himself to Elias. “Did you want to know how to stop the apocalypse, Sasha?”

Sasha froze. Martin and Tim did too. Jon, who nobody had actually bothered to brief since he was kind of the fifth most important person in the room, dropped his pen. “Uh,” Sasha said, sweating. For the first time she understood the possible upsides of not knowing something. “I mean, if I have to, but you said that it was inevitable -”

“Oh, yes. But, just once every one or two centuries, a man comes along who fancies himself fate.” The Archivist raised a hand, eyes spinning and spinning, as Elias stood frozen in the doorframe. “I’ll be honest, Jonah. This isn’t to save the world. That’s so last year. I just really fucking hate you.” Something cracked in the air. “Ceaseless watcher, smite this -”

The door slammed shut. Sasha heard Elias lock it behind him. They all stood around as footsteps quickly echoed through the Archives, and another door slammed. Which was probably being locked too. 

They stood in silence, the Archivist having clearly heard the slams. He let his hand fall, but the energy didn’t cease crackling around him. He didn’t look resentful or disappointed - just thoughtful. 

“Everything in due time, I suppose. I guess it is pretty unfair to get to smite that man twice,” the Archivist said thoughtfully. “I’ll give someone else a turn.” His mouth twitched wryly. “You know, Sasha, there’s one other way to prevent the apocalypse.”

“Is it work?” Sasha asked tiredly. 

“You may kill the man who arranged the dominos,” the Archivist intoned, before hanging his head towards a petrified Jon. “Or you may kill the man who toppled them over.”

Sasha stared at Jon. Jon stared back, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Martin silently passed Sasha a penknife from Jon’s desk. 

“I’m very qualified for this job,” Jon protested weakly.

“Queen of feminism, I very much support you,” Tim said quickly, putting himself in between Sasha and Jon in a heroic display of stupidity, “but, maybe, killing your boss to take his job, is perhaps, maybe not that much of a great idea, just a thought?”

“The job’s being the Antichrist,” the Archivist pointed out, crossing his arms. 

“The direct action against sexism, xenophobia, and transphobia is very admirable,” Tim said, eyes held up as if he was placating a tiger, “but think of it this way - if you kill the Antichrist, then you become the Antichrist, like in - uh -”

“Pokemon,” Martin volunteered. 

Tim snapped his fingers. “Pokemon! So you shouldn’t -” He halted, turning back to Martin. “Pokemon? Seriously? That’s becoming champion -”

“A - alright, alright! Everybody stop!” Jon shakily stood up, brushing aside the empty tea mug right next to him. “That’s enough of all of this! I may not know what’s going on, or who this man is, or why he looks like me -”

“Hm,” Martin said, eyeing the empty tea mug. 

“ - why he looks like a homeless person, why he barged into my office and insulted me, why you are all defending this atrocious behavior, why you are calling it the work of time travel, which does not exist and you have no proof for it anyway -”

“Jon,” Martin said, watching Jon’s arm tremble, “maybe you should -”

“Shut up, Martin!”

“Don’t be rude to him!” the Archivist snapped. 

“You’ve been rude to him twice today!”

“I’m allowed to be rude to him! He’s even ruder to me! I’m the nice one!”

“ - and you were glowing in my office, which is just frankly rude,” Jon continued viciously, steamrolling over the Archivist. “You gave me a terrible headache, you hugged my assistants very inappropriately for the workplace, you made my boss walk in before trying to smite him, you encourage violence against my own person in revenge for a job that I definitely deserve -”

Both of Jon’s arms were shaking, and Tim’s eyebrows were slowly raising. “Boss, you should sit down, I think -”

“ - I want an explanation!” Jon yelled, slamming the desk. “And I’m not going to stop until you tell me what’s going on!”

Then Jon passed out. 

Everybody watched it happen. Everybody, save perhaps the Archivist, had noticed that it was about to happen: at first a tremor, then a shake, and then a final collapse. Like a marionette with his strings cut, Jon slumped over and crumpled solidly on the floor. 

Everybody stood in disaffected silence. Martin carefully stepped over and prodded Jon with his foot. “Out cold.” He shot a considering gaze at the empty tea mug. “Sorry, guys. Looks like I accidentally used the delayed action sedative.”

"It’s alright,” Tim said magnanimously. “At least that problem is solved now. Maybe we can convince him this was a bad dream when he wakes up.”

“If he insists it was real, we’ll just ask him for evidence and refuse to believe him without it,” Sasha suggested. 

“Isn’t that kinda gaslighting?” Martin asked. “Isn’t that, you know, a little morally dubious -”

“You did drug him,” Tim pointed out.

“I mean, hardly the first time?”

“Maybe Martin should be the Antichrist,” Sasha said thoughtfully.

The Archivist’s face was doing something extremely interesting, yet inscrutable.

“I really don’t want to be Antichrist, though,” Martin said apologetically. “Does it even pay?”

“Jon did say it was a job…” Sasha said, already considering herself in the role. “Do you guys think I’d be sexier as the Antichrist? Be honest.”

“Yes and completely,” Tim said immediately, before realizing that he said that too quickly. “I mean. I’d never objectify you. I respect women. But -”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Martin said, throwing up his hands. “When you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot it’s normal and M/F of you. But when I do it, then it’s ‘gross’ and ‘get that away from me’. Great double standards, guys.”

“It’s not the fact that it’s a guy,” Tim protested, “it’s the fact that it’s Jon -”

“Oh, when you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot then it’s normal and cis of you,” Sasha said heatedly, “but when Tim respects trans women, then it’s ‘gross’ and -”

“I respect all women,” Tim said, equally heatedly, “but I do want to acknowledge the systematic marginalization of trans women within the community, especially trans women of color like yourself -”

A hoarse wheeze echoed through the office.

Everyone froze, terrified by the haunted sound, but after a second Sasha realized it was the Archivist - Jon - who was laughing. 

They had never heard him laugh before. He was practically wheezing with it, bent over with his hands on his knees, with a strained cackle that fizzed with static around the corners. He was smiling broadly, his grin splitting his cheeks, for the first time that Sasha had ever seen. 

He straightened and threw his head back and laughed too, a greater belly-laugh that was so hysterical and fragile and free that it struck something strange and raw in Sasha’s heart. He rubbed his face with his hand, still laughing, and eventually broke into coughs. 

“I understand now,” Jon said, when he stopped coughing. “I thought that you had deposited me here in revenge. You had sensed that I was happy - that the green skies were beautiful, that your large eye seemed kind that day - and that you found it a waste of emotion. But that wasn’t true, was it? It must have been an accident. I’ve never been happier to hear these idiots arguing, and you’ve lost me like a toy behind a bookshelf. The strange stupidity of it! I’m enchanted.” He sombered a little, expression falling from hysterical glee into a soft and resigned happiness. He held up his hand, feeling the crackle of electricity run across his palms. “But you See me now. The foolish man brought you down upon us, and I intercepted your lightning bolt. His eyes, mundane and paltry, are closed, and you feel my consciousness in replacement of him. I can feel you already - my Eyes opening, the Reality that we built together calling me back. When your infinite grace re-aligns with every one of my atoms, forming the fabric of my world, I’ll snap back.”

Just like that?

Sasha had thought that there would be an...adventure, or quest, or something. At least a research binge. Some kind of heroic group effort. But the Archivist was a stretched rubber band, held tightly and out of position, and after long enough straining against its center it had to snap back. A telly flickering in and out, blaring the song of a dead channel. 

“Do we have time to group hug or something?” Tim offered weakly, undoubtedly thinking the same thing as she was. “Last goodbyes? Anything?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle moment?” Martin asked urgently. “I’ll find you in the future, right? We’re still together there, right?”

“Martin,” Jon said, strangely fond, “we were never apart.”

Martin turned a unique shade of red. 

But it was Sasha who Jon turned to, face angled to the sound of her voice. His expression was still distantly fond, but there was something strange in it too - a wry recognition, a subtle knowledge, a faint recollection of a joke that only he knew. 

“Sasha,” Jon said, “so long as you’re brave, and buy ten fire extinguishers and hide them around the office, things will be just fine. Buy twelve fire extinguishers, just to be safe. And don’t ever go inside Artifact Storage again. Not even for Alicia’s birthday party. If it’s a choice between worms and Artifact Storage then choose worms, the scars add a certain appeal. I cannot stress enough, not even if you lose your jacket in Artifact Storage -”

“Are you sure you don’t have anything to say to me?” Martin asked desperately, almost crying. Sasha, personally, wanted to circle back around to the worm thing. “Sad goodbyes? Waving a handkerchief? I thought you said I was alive? Don’t you have anything?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Goodness, Martin, if you insist. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. In fact, I do believe it’s about time.” 

Martin’s mind clearly projected very loudly ‘I’ve been in love with you this entire time’ in blatant wish-fulfillment. Everybody held their breaths. 

Jon drew himself up to his full, imposing height, and sternly looked at all of them. “I’m tired of holding my tongue about this, Martin,” Jon said finally, and Martin qualified. “For the last time, I don’t load the dishwasher wrong. I load the dishwasher correctly. It’s you who’s always insisting that the cups go on the bottom. It’s a freakish way to live your life, and I’ll never forgive you for -”

Static blared in Sasha’s ears and overwrote her mind, and she screamed. The sensation was a pickaxe driven into her ears, an unforgivable rip and tear, and she heard her screams echoed in concert. 

Then the pain abated, and was gone. 

Sasha, Tim, and Martin were left standing in an empty office, accompanied only by the unconscious figure of their boss. There was nothing left of the Archivist, nor any suggestion that he had ever been here - just a drained mug, some scattered pens, and a lingering sense of malaise and confusion. 

Everybody looked at each other, feeling strangely and uniquely connected. It was hardly Sasha’s strangest Magnus Institute experience, but maybe it was the funnest. 

“Well,” Tim said finally, “at least one day this week wasn’t boring.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even have to get drunk today.” Sasha sighed. “We definitely have to gaslight Jon about this.”

Martin was already carefully lugging Jon onto his chair, arranging him so his arms were folded on the desk with his cheek resting on his forearm. “We’ll pretend it was just a weird dream.” He propped his hands on his hips, satisfied. “Hopefully this convinces him he needs more sleep.” Martin gasped in sudden realization. “Maybe he becomes the Antichrist because he needs more sleep! Guys, I have a great twenty step plan for saving the world.”

“Oh, come on, we said that was too much work.” Tim shrugged and opened the office door, holding it open and gesturing for them all to come out. “I think if we just friendship Jon to death, all of our problems will be solved.”

Martin just shrugged, following him out. They really did have paperwork that they needed to get back to. “Both are vital components. But...hey, it’s not weird to put the mugs on the bottom rack, is it? There’s not really that much of a difference, right?”

“Mate, you’re a fucking freak.” Tim looked backwards at Sasha, who was still standing in the office, dazed. “Sash, you coming? Let’s go day-drinking.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “in a sec.”

He shrugged and left the door propped open, and Sasha heard their bickering fade slowly as they walked down the hallway. 

But she couldn’t help staring at Jon sleeping at his desk, chest falling in and out, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose. His short, carefully maintained hair and meticulous fade. His baggy tweed and ill-fitting slacks. The subtle and shameful kind of earnestness, the desire mixed with fear mixed with hope mixed with genuine desire for a better future. He just wanted to be happy, to not be afraid anymore. He seemed weirdly human, when compared with his inhuman self. Or maybe it was the other way around. 

The tape recorder on Jon’s desk was still running. Sasha squinted at it, taking a second to listen to the staticy hiss. It was familiar, in the strangest possible way. It felt familiar -

Sasha reached out and grabbed the tape recorder, stuffing it in her pencil skirt pocket. “Just remember,” Sasha whispered, “I’d make a great candidate for Antichrist.”

She ran to go catch up with her coworkers, shutting the door behind them and leaving Jon sleeping contentedly in his office, head pillowed on his arms, dreaming strange and comforting dreams.

#i know I say 'this is the stupidest thing i've ever written' EVERY TIME BUT #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #tma fanfic #tma time travel au #crack #jonathan sims #sasha james #tim stoker #martin blackwood #elias bouchard

[helpistolethesecharacters]

Death Does Not Discriminate Between the Sinners and the Saints

Part 1

Tony Stark x Male Demon Reader

Word Count: 3361

This is for the amazing @charliedakotariley who keeps absolutely making my day with all the sweet things they say.

This one is a bit angsty, but there is fantastic tooth rotting fluff at the end for anyone who gets that far. Keep yourselves safe and don't read anything that will make you go down a bad path.

Warnings: The title kind of says it, we are going to be dealing with the concept of a loved one dying in this. NO-ONE ACTUALLY DIES.

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

Y/n had known for months now that something was wrong with Tony. They had gotten past the hurdle of Tony's new self-consciousness thanks to the arc reactor that was a part of him now, or at least Y/n thought they had. He had spent weeks reassuring Tony (in and out of bed) that he still found him attractive.

Of course, the rest of the world would be surprised to see Tony Stark be self-conscious about anything, but they didn't know him like Y/n did. He found Tony's public persona to be hilarious. As a literal demon he loved to watch Tony wind up anyone who thought they could get under his skin.

That had been a surprise to Y/n. He had approached Tony at a party one night for a little bit of fun. Hey, he wasn't about to censure himself, he was a demon. Fun was what he did best.

As cliche as it is, Y/n hadn't expected to fall for the dashing young man so many years before. He sighed for at least the tenth time that night. They had been together for years and still no-one had connected the dots.

'Friends my ass,' Y/n snorted as he thought back to that latest tabloid headline, 'or Tony's ass, as the case may be.'

The problem right now was that Tony was avoiding him. Y/n watched disinterestedly as Tony got eye-wateringly drunk at his birthday party.

Y/n was long over the days where all chaos was his preferred fun. That had stopped when he fell properly for the billionaire. He much preferred it when the chaos didn't stem from his boyfriend getting drunk, putting on his Iron Man suit and proceeding to destroy large parts of his home.

Pepper stood beside him looking equal parts furious and worried. She was alternating between biting her fingernails and sighing in frustration. She looked up at the much taller man.

"Isn't there anything you can do to stop him Y/n?"

Y/n's expression soured.

"No, he hasn't told me what's bugging him. He hasn't even looked at me once tonight."

That was when Rhodey came busting in wearing one of Tony's other suits. For a minute Y/n considered getting between them, but then he decided that if Tony couldn't be bothered to even talk to him, then he could get out of his own mess.

It wasn't until Y/n was back in his own apartment staring out into the darkness of the night sky that he realised what it was that had been bugging him.

Tony smelled like death.

----------

Y/n was a man of many talents. As a demon, he had lived for over a hundred years, all the while, seemingly never aging a day. He had been all over the world and met (and ruined) many amazing people. (Thank the devil for the light telepathic abilities he had that allowed him to make people see him as human looking. Well, at least more human than he really was.)

He had never once been in love. Until Tony. Y/n was starting to regret not getting closer to other humans over the years, because now he had no idea how to deal with the idea of Tony dying.

What was he going to do? He was a demon, they lived for over a thousand years at least. That was like the lowest natural age to die for a demon. He couldn't live the rest of his life without Tony, he was his everything.

That pulled Y/n up short. When had he fallen so low as to be so affected by the death of a lowly human? But that lowly human was Tony, his adorable chaos-creating boyfriend. He wasn't even dead yet, but Y/n was already acting like he was gone.

A glimmer of a thought flickered through Y/n's head.

There had to be something he could do, instead of sitting back and letting this happen. Tony could NOT die. Y/n wouldn't let it happen, no matter who had to fall in his place.

'How do you stop the death of someone who doesn't even know they are dying. If only there was a google search for something like this.'

Y/n grinned manically. They had healers in Asgard. Some of the best in the universe. He had heard whispers of paths between the realms here on Earth. Heck, he had even used some of them himself, how else did you think he got here in the first place?

Y/n's face set in determination. He could do this. He would stop Tony from dying even if it meant his own death.

He wasn't a demon for nothing after all.

-----------

Getting into Asgard shouldn't have been that easy Y/n lamented as he stepped out into the lush forest that surrounded the portal. He was pretty sure that there was supposed to be some all powerful, all seeing God that watched over the realms. Y/n wasn't sure what to do about that, but figured that if there wasn't a squad of Asgardian guards waiting to arrest/remove him on arrival then he must not be a valid concern.

Y/n bared his teeth at the thought. He considered letting his perception field fall and making a big dramatic entrance, but let it go.

'For Tony.'

Y/n walked as carefully as he could through the forest. It wouldn't do to get all tattered and look even more suspicious than he already would.

Luckily it didn't take more than an hour to get to the edge of the forest, and even more luckily it bordered on the golden city itself.

Y/n stopped to take in the grandeur of the city of Asgard and thought that he must be the only demon to have ever set foot in this realm. How ironic that he wasn't even there to try to destroy it like so many of his kin had dreamed of doing.

No one really paid Y/n much mind as he made his way into the city proper. It turned out Asgardians were taller than humans generally speaking, so Y/n actually fit in better here than on Earth where he just about towered over everyone.

He even saw a couple of other people with skin as pale as his was, and the same white hair. No one had eyes like his though. Y/n knew that his eyes looked like the lava that covered so much of his home realm. They even glowed if he got too emotional.

This realm was so much more open. The streets were wider, there was so much more room to move than on Earth. Y/n was starting to feel like a tourist, gaping at every little thing in the city. That wouldn't help him in blending in, but he couldn't help it. He had the sudden urge to see if he could do a full spin and not knock anything over.

That had been one of the hardest things to unlearn when he first made it to Earth. His long armored tail was pretty unwieldy in such tight enclosed spaces, so he had had to learn to balance all over again with his tail tucked closer to his body. Unfortunately his perception field only changed how people saw him, so if they tripped over his tail and really looked to see what had tripped them, they sometimes saw what he really looked like. Luckily for him, they were usually written off as insane or, as one really unlucky woman found, it was written off as women's hysteria.

Y/n reined that thought back in and tucked it away for later. If he got out of this alive he would think about it later.

Y/n was sure that the best healers would work in the palace, but that would mean trying to sneak in and abscond with a royal physician. That would be noticed much more quickly, and would be met with a much harsher response.

Y/n set his shoulders back in determination. He would just have to be incredibly convincing, or this would go sideways much too quickly.

'Well,' Y/n thought grimly, 'at least that would solve the problem of watching Tony die slowly.'

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

The palace was quiet. This was just too odd. Something supernatural must be at work here.

Y/n was starting to freak out. He had made his way into the palace totally unhindered, and even his admittedly amazing luck had never been that good.

He slunk around another corner, still on high alert. Which was why he didn't miss the shimmer in the air that meant something else was in this space with him.

Y/n shot out an arm at it, aiming for the same height as his own neck.

His hand caught around a slimmer neck than his own, and he tightened his grip to almost unbearable for a demon. He wasn't about to underestimate the people of Asgard.

The stories of Asgardians from back on his own realm lauded them as incredibly strong and fast, and able to live as long as demons themselves.

The Asgardian struggled fiercely for a moment, but when it became apparent that Y/n was stronger than them, they slumped and dropped whatever incantation had allowed them to be invisible.

They appeared to be male, and around the same age as Y/n, but then, so had Tony when they had first met.

Y/n shoved the man away from him hard, and took up a fighting stance.

The other man sputtered and heaved in deep breaths to make up for his previous lack, thanks to Y/n. He looked pretty pathetic, laying against the wall, black hair falling over his face, which was red from lack of air.

"Why have you brought me here mage?"

The man looked up, affecting a surprised expression.

"What makes you think I have brought you here? Are you not an assassin, here to remove either the King or Crown Prince? Both are in the throne room, if you were interested."

Y/n remained in his stance, passive.

"I have the feeling that you know why I'm here already."

The man pulled himself up at last.

"Fine, I might have sensed you when you first stepped foot in our realm. I must say, I haven't seen anyone from Helheim before. Whatever are you doing here, a place that some have dubbed the promised land, home of the Gods?"

"You don't half think highly of yourself, do you?"

The man's response is a sneer.

"I need help."

Y/n stood up from his stance. It didn't feel like this man was going to attack him, and he could hardly ask for help much less receive it while preparing to attack.

He definitely gave off an odd vibe, but it wasn't an 'I'm about to kill you and all of your family just for breathing near me' vibe.

The man looked positively delighted.

"A demon of Helheim needs help," He crowed. "What can I, the humble Loki of Asgard, do to help you Oh Great Demon of Helheim?"

Y/n's left eye twitched, but he reigned himself in once again. Just because Loki seemed like he would benefit from a good smack upside the head, that didn't make it his job to deliver it.

"My, paramour, is in need of a healer. We do not have the ability to heal him, and I will not see his life ended without every attempt having been made to save it."

Loki apparently noticed the pause at the beginning of my request.

"My, my, what type of paramour could you possibly have that would warrant such a delicately put request? Surely not another demon, I thought you were nigh on indestructible?"

He was wandering around Y/n now, getting closer in his circling, all the better to whisper intimidatingly in his ear.

"Perhaps, to be in such desperate need of rescue that you, a demon, would risk everything by coming here of all places, your 'paramour' is something a little more frail?"

Y/n took it back, Loki was pure evil. He grit his teeth and squashed the urge to deck him in his smug face.

"Me thinks, perhaps, something so frail as, a human?"

They stood face to face in silence.

"Your silence speaks volumes my dear."

Y/n lost the battle. With a cry of outrage that came from somewhere deep inside he leapt at the smug God and prepared to smash his stupid face into pieces.

Shockingly his fist simply went through Loki's face. The image rippled and flickered out as it did so.

It flickered back into place beside him.

He spun into a roundhouse kick and the God went down.

"Stop! Dammit, just stop!"

'Some God,' thought Y/n.

"I was sent to get you."

Y/n was done with these so-called Gods and their mind games.

"What do you mean you were sent to get me? Spit it out!"

Loki looked up and glared at Y/n from his position on the floor.

"You were Seen. The moment you stepped foot into Asgard Heimdall Saw you and reported it to the All-Father. Luckily for you Queen Frigga Saw that you weren't here to attack, and that you only sought our help. I was sent to collect you and bring you to her rooms."

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

The Queen turned out to be much sweeter than Y/n had assumed. He had heard stories of course, but how much could be believed from the daughter who was banished to Helheim?

"Y/n, come, sit. How was your trip dear?"

Y/n was confused. She was acting like they were old friends. As far as he knew he had never met the Queen of Asgard before.

"Ma'am, I'm here for aid. My partner is not long for our home realm. I could smell death on him."

Y/n looked at the ground and clenched his hands into fists.

"I can't lose him. I thought once before that he was gone for good, but he fought tooth and nail to come back to me. Now I am having to sit and watch as something pulls him ever closer to deaths waiting arms. Please, I'll do anything, but please, heal him."

Y/n knew he was begging, but what else could be done. He had thought maybe he could intimidate a regular healer into healing Tony. After that was hazy, but he had been prepared to do anything that would be necessary to make Tony better.

This was not going to plan. He couldn't do anything to make the Queen decide to help him, he would just have to appeal to her softer side.

Frigga knelt by Y/n's side and softly took one of his hands in hers. Her eyes softened as she took in the genuine distress on Y/n's face.

"There is nothing to be done dear. No, don't panic, your loved one is fine. You were right, he was dying, but events have conspired to keep Tony Stark alive. Something needs him still alive, and I am talking about something bigger than you or I. He lives, and at this moment is going just a little bit more out of his mind than normal in his search for you."

Y/n was on his feet and by the door before Frigga had even finished speaking.

"Wait!"

Y/n turned, not wanting to waste another second when he knew that Tony was looking for him, but not able to be disrespectful of the one who had given him hope back.

"Eventually, when you are both ready for that next step, come back and bring your partner. I can organise for one of Idunn's golden apples. You can grow old together."

Tears gathered in Y/n's eyes at the offer.

"But, why? I'm a demon. Tony is a human. Neither of us are anything special. Why are you offering this to us?"

Frigga smiled, beautiful but so broken.

"Because you remind me of someone. So passionate and loyal to the ones who you love that you are willing to flatten entire realms."

Y/n didn't know what to say to that, so he turned back to face Frigga fully. He bowed from the waist to her.

"Thank you Queen Frigga of Asgard. I am in your debt."

Y/n heard her words spoken softly as he left, not entirely for his ears.

"Will you ever forgive us, my dear daughter?"

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

Tony was broken. He had thought that the lowest he could get was knowing that he was dying from something that was supposed to be saving his life.

He was wrong. When he had finally come up for air after the whole thing with his arc reactor, Shield and the Hammer Fiasco as he was calling it, he had realised that he hadn't seen Y/n since his disastrous birthday.

He had searched for what felt like forever. Not even Jarvis could find any mention of Y/n anywhere in the world. It was like he had dropped off the face of the planet.

Tony was now spending his time in his boyfriends apartment. He was sure that when he finally came back from wherever he had been, this was one of the first places he would go. He loved his boyfriend, but they were both equally as vain as the other. Any big dramatic entrance back into Tony's life would need to be planned out meticulously by Y/n. So he was sure if he just waited in his apartment he would see him again.

He was not wrong, he realised with rising hope as he heard the door swing open. He poked his head up over the back of Y/n's couch, hair a mess, goatee completely unkempt, knowing that he was wearing rumpled clothes that hadn't been washed in a few days.

In short, he was the only thing that Y/n wanted to see when he got home.

They collided with a slightly painful thump, banging limbs into each other, but not caring in the slightest.

"Oh God, Y/n, I'm so sorry! I--"

"Tony! Thank God you're alright!"

They fell into hysterics at this. Both knew that it wasn't funny at all, but after all the stress they had been through lately, simply being in each others arms was the most amazing feeling in the world.

Neither of them wanted to move, but common sense won out in the end, and they found themselves on the couch some time later.

They had pulled a soft blanket out of somewhere and where wrapped up together, totally unwilling to move for as long as possible.

"I was so scared when I realised you were dying. Why didn't you tell me?"

Tony had never heard Y/n so quiet before. He sighed heavily.

"I wanted to, but then whenever I tried to tell anyone, it wouldn't come out. It was never the right time, and then I realised that I didn't want anyone's last memories of me to be clouded with the knowledge that I was going to die soon. You especially. I didn't want you to have to carry that around, that I was dying and there was nothing you could have done about it."

They were silent for a while after that.

"Maybe that makes me selfish, but I couldn't bear the thought of adding to the hurt you were already going to feel when it happened. God, I'm so sorry."

Y/n just pulled Tony in closer, wrapped him up a little tighter into his arms.

"It's okay, but next time, tell me. I know you remember that I'm a demon. You have the best memory in the world. Next time you have some unsolvable problem, let me in. There might be something I can do that you can't, but even if there isn't, we would still shoulder that problem together. There's nothing I would rather do, than try to help lighten the load."

Tony was crying now, he could feel the tears dripping openly down his face, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I love you, so much it hurts. Never leave me."

"I will always love you Tony. You've changed me irrevocably. If there ever was a point where I could have turned away from you, if was long ago. You're never getting rid of me now."

#Tony Stark x male reader #Male reader #iron man #tony stark #Iron man 2 #Loki #Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints

[percydarling]

After Percy apparates the Weasley family stand there trying to process the new information.

Percy had a wife who was a pregnant and they're both dead.

George feels like such an arse for blaming Percy. He doesn't know how to react, he doesn't know what to do or say or anything so he just stands there trying to think of something.

He's been so selfish, thinking only about himself not caring about others feelings and now he had a what, a nephew? No he doesn't because he's dead.

Dead.

Dead.

He hates that word, he hates everything associated with that word. He hates it, hates it, hates it.

George tries to take a deep breath and closes his eyes, he cannot deal with his family right now so he does a Percy and disappears in his(and Fred's) room.

Molly needs to sit down, she really needs to sit down. Her head is throbbing and her heart aching for the dead. She remembers Penelope Clearwater. How can she not?

The 16 yr old Percy had spoken so fondly of his girlfriend then about how he thinks he's in love with her and so worried about letting her down. And now considering the fact that she's now his wife, Molly understands how much he had cherished her.

To think that that sweet girl is now dead doesnt sit right with Molly. It doesn't seem fair.

Percy's son is dead. Her grandson is dead.

Molly lost her son, but she has people around her to help her through the grief but Percy? Percy had noone to help him and that makes her heart ache.

Molly thinks about the grandson she could have had. She thinks about how he would have had Percy's features.

Molly weeps for her daughter-in-law, for her first grandson, but more importantly she weeps for Percy who had to go through all that alone.

Arthur can't comprehend the information. He can't picture it. He doesn't know who Penelope Clearwater, he wish he did. She sounds like a lovely girl.

Sounded, he corrects himself.

Arthur wonders if Penelope was still alive, would Percy and him still be separated, still be fighting? He wonders whether Percy would have come to him for advice on being a father. Arthur wonders about the what ifs but he also knows he has to focus on the now.

He's lost a son, so has Percy. And maybe they can repair their relationship and get over their grief together.

Arthur doesn't cry, he has to be strong for his family but when Percy tells him he was going to name him Lance as a nod to Lancelot, he locks himself in the bathroom and cries softly for the grandson he never had.

Bill is worried, not for Percy but for Fleur and that sounds so selfish but he can't help think about his child. He's pacing around the house, his scars itching and his mind running.

He was supposed to be the elder brother, the one who takes care of them and Percy having to go through that alone, it's a torture. Bill hates himself. He should have done something, said something but nothing. He did nothing.

He's still thinking about it when he feels her hand on his and Fleur just gives him this reassuring smile which relaxes him immediately.

Fleur won't be like Percy's wife. She won't die.

Fleur holds her husband's hand and thinks about her brother-in-law, the one who is different drom others. In some way she feels that they have a bond of being outsiders.

She thinks about the boy she met at the tournament, the look of fear same as hers when she couldn't save Gabrielle. The way he waded into the water towards his brother, all dignity forgotten.

Fleur remembers the boy who was scared for his brother. In a way she understands why Percy left. The Weasley family might look perfect from the outside but she was mistreated as well by her mother-in-law, something that she hasn't yet apologised for.

Losing a child is the worst thing imaginable. Fleur doesn't have a child, but she does have a little sister, who she cared for like a mother, so she understands.

Fleur looks at her stomach thinking about her child, she wishes that it doesn't end up as Percy's. She wishes desperately that she lives and so does she.

Charlie sits on the grass outside and wonders. He never really understood love. Oh sure he understood that his parents and siblings and friends loved him and he loved them back too,but romance? Not his department. He'd rather be with his dragons.

But Charlie does know that mother dragons get extremely depressed when their young die at an early age. It is absolutely awful, they wail and refuse to eat and would rather die with their young than live. Even months later you would see them with their dead young.

And if Percy had managed to go through that absolute hell and not drink himself to a coma, Charlie was proud of him. He really was. On the other hand he was aware that his nephew was dead.

Charlie sits next to Bill and crys softly on his shoulder. Bill's hand on his hair the only comfort.

Ron does what he does best, he tells Harry and Hermione about it because they're his family too and he needs to know how to react.

Hermione is devastated, she knew Penelope at Hogwarts and hearing about her death is a shock. Hermione leaves to be alone and neither Ron nor Harry object. They both understand. Ron felt the same when he heard that Lavendar died.

Harry asks Ron,"Where's Percy?"

Ron shrugs and tells him," He just apparated away."

Harry says he'll find him for Ron and gives him a weak smile and apparates away. Ron thinks he should not have told Harry about this because he knows Harry would think that it's his fault and -

Ron breathes. He does not cry. He should. But the tears won't fall.

What's wrong with him? His brother's fiance is dead, his nephew is dead and he can't even cry for them. It's pathetic.

Maybe he does have an emotional range of a teaspoon.

Ron feels horrible about not feeling horrible. But with so many deaths, he's just tired. He wants to feel good for once and then his brother says this and....

He's a horrible person.

Ron sits in his room of orange and wonders when he'll feel blue.

Ginny doesn't stay with her family, instead she takes her broom and soars into the sky, for fresh air.

The winds in her hair as she maneuvers her broom around trees and going further away from the Burrow so she can escape the madness.

But Penelope Clearwater's face doesn't escape her mind.

And for a minute, Ginny can't breathe..

She flies and lands on the ground, full of life as she glances at the Lovegood cottage on top of the hill.

Luna should know about this. She knew Penelope.

Ginny knew her too.

An 11 year old Ginny had walked in on Percy and her kissing. And it was intense and embarrasing.

No younger sibling should ever see that again.

That same 11 year old Ginny had threatened Penelope to not break Percy's heart and she hadn't.

Her heart died instead.

Ginny is angry at Percy for not telling her, she is angry at herself for not knowing and that anger turns into tears as she realises she's upset.

Penelope was nice to her after the whole first year incident. She even helped her study once. It's just not fair.

Ginny should be used to losing people by now but she's not. Everytime she hears someone is dead, her heart constricts and she realised that the ending of war is not an end to anything.

There is no "happily ever after"

She doesn't even think about the baby. She can't even think of Teddy being an orphan, how can she think about this baby's death?

However it's not just any baby, it's her nephew. She could have been an aunt and there were so many things she could do and-

He's dead, just like his mother who Ginny never had to chance to know about either.

For once, Ginny wishes she could be young again, maybe a toddler or a child, one who still was naive about the world and did not know the aftereffects of the war.

But she's not.

She's old enough to know that her brother needs her right now.

She has to tell Luna about it too. As she glances back at the blue cottage, she thinks to herself, 'not today'.

With determination on her face and sorrow in her heart, Ginny makes her way back to the Burrow.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

#percy weasley #weasley fanfiction #percy weasley deserves better #penelope clearwater

[pink-flame]

Juke Bodyguard AU Pt.3

Here it is! The third and final part of the Juke Bodyguard AU inspired by your requests from the trope game. I reserve the right to do a standalone in this universe at some point but this wraps things up nicely for now. Enjoy! 

Part 1

Part 2

Bodyguard AU + Love Confessor (Character A confessing their love for Character B to Character C)  

Julie was used to change.

Bad change like when her mom got sick and she had to learn who she was when she couldn’t see it reflected back at her through her mother’s eyes. Bad change like when music felt like a stranger and everything she had ever wanted seemed suddenly pointless.

Good change like when she found her way back to it with a vengeance, Alex and her dad and Reggie and Carlos and Flynn refusing to give up until she started chasing her dream again. Good change like when against all odds those dreams actually started coming true, the record deal, and the hit albums and now her first national tour, a new city every night.

What she wasn’t used to was waiting for a change that didn’t seem to be coming.

She had been so sure after what she now internally referred to as “the flu incident” that things between her and Luke would change. That their vaguely flirty dynamic would transition naturally into more flu incident level expressions of affection and then a love confession, marriage and 2-3 obnoxiously good looking babies. Not right away on those last two or anything but still.

And yet here they were, three months and 24 shows later, and they were right back in vaguely flirty territory. Only she was finding it harder and harder to flirt back now that the realization that flirting was all it might ever be started to sink in.

And maybe that was the way it was supposed to be.

After all, he was her bodyguard. She was technically his boss.

She was a strong, independent woman with a thriving music career. She didn’t need some floppy haired boy to complete her life.

Didn’t stop her from wanting him though.

She didn’t bother to go to Alex for advice since he was firmly on what he had taken to calling “Team Juke”. Reggie wasn’t much better, asking her if Luke was there every time she called and never believing her when she told him she was alone. So she did what she always did when she needed someone to tell her the harsh truth.

She called Flynn.

“Look, girl, I haven’t met him but I’ve seen him on tv hovering behind you so I get it. He’s so your type. But he’s not real. He’s a fantasy you can get invested in because you know nothing will ever come of it.”

“It could,” She grumbled into the phone.

“Are you planning on confessing that you’re madly in love with him any time soon?” Flynn countered pointedly.

“I can’t,” Julie answered quickly. “Not when it’s so obvious he doesn’t feel the same.”

“Then he’ll always be a fantasy. He’s like air.”

Julie sighed.

“Cute air.”

“You wouldn’t have called me if you weren’t tired of feeling like this,” Flynn insisted. “I’m not going to let you get your heartbroken. And right now you’re on tour with Luke. So the key is avoiding those big, beautiful, dangerous eyes.”

And as much as the idea of avoiding Luke, eyes and all, seemed ridiculous when he was literally paid to follow her around, she knew she had to give it a try.

Because Flynn was right.

If she couldn’t have him then she couldn’t let him consume her life.

She was sure she would get a great song out of the situation one day but for now she just needed to pull back a little until she could see him as just a coworker she was friendly with. She could do that. Right? Of course she could. She was Julie Molina.

Only it was easier said than done.

Because Luke did not seem to take the hint.

She came stumbling off the stage after a particularly epic encore, vision blurry from the blinding lights, every muscle weak from hours of exertion, yet feeling incredible. At least she was feeling incredible until she tripped over her own unstable feet and Luke was right there, like he always was, to catch her. His hands latched onto her forearms gently, steadying her even as he grinned directly and dangerously into her eyes.

“You ok there, Boss?”

Julie managed a nod, the pounding of her heart combined with the still echoing roar of the crowd leaving his voice sounding far away and yet annoyingly clear.

“They were loving you out there,” He told her in that specific, Luke way. “You were amazing, Jules. Insane, spectacular, rad!”

This guy and his insistence on using slang from two decades ago. She definitely didn’t find that endearing.

She had to stick to the plan.

Julie ducked her head and pushed back from his grip gently at the same time.

“Thanks.”

She glanced up just long enough to see a confused and slightly hurt look on his face before she pushed past him and headed towards the green room, Alex falling into step next to her.

“Are we going to talk about why you just kicked that helpless puppy over there?” Alex asked.

Julie punched him in the arm.

“Keep your voice down, he’s right behind us! And that helpless puppy is literally the very capable bodyguard tasked with keeping me alive, so.”

“So you admit you kicked him,” Alex responded in a completely unhelpful manner.

“Ugh, shut up,” Julie groaned, glancing back and catching Luke’s eager eyes for a split second before quickly facing forward again. “I have a plan.”

“Flynn has a plan,” Alex corrected. “A stupid plan that she never would have suggested if she had seen for herself how crazy he is about you.”

“Has he said that?” She turned her head towards her best friend sharply.

Alex tilted his head.

“Not in so many words but Julie…”

“Then we stick to the plan.” She interrupted determinedly.

Alex sighed.

“Idiots, I’m surrounded by idiots.”

A couple of weeks later, Julie was starting to think he was right.

She had been doing her best to keep her relationship with Luke strictly business and it was somehow more exhausting than the two shows a week and all the time spent trying to sleep in a tour bus cot. She pretended to be busy when he offered to work on a song. She said she was tired when he tried to get her to join him for a beer with the roadies. She pretended she didn’t see him trying to catch her eye during the thousand little moments during the day when she had grown used to making eye contact with him to laugh at something Alex had said or roll their eyes when her manager tried to talk her into something completely dumb.

It was exhausting.

And the thing was it wasn’t even working.

Because every sad, kicked puppy look (as Alex called it) he gave her only left her more distracted and in more emotional turmoil. Part of her was a little mad at him. How dare he look so hurt that she wasn’t playing their usual game when he clearly didn’t want anything more? She wasn’t just a convenient outlet for his excessive flirting energy. But mostly she was just mad at herself for thinking that this ludicrous plan could ever work.

She had thought he was trouble since the moment she met him.

And she was definitely in trouble now.

It was the night of the last show of the tour and they were back in LA to finish things off. Flynn was too sick to come (ironically she thought she had the flu) but Julie’s family were out there in the VIP section. Even Reggie had come down from San Francisco to catch the show.

Julie was feeling oddly nervous for some reason. She had grown up dreaming of playing the Orpheum. It was the smallest venue she was playing on the whole tour, her manager had tried to talk her out of it, but she had insisted it was the Orpheum or nothing. Reggie and Alex had taken her to so many shows there when she was a teenager, it’s where she had discovered rock. Somehow even after everything she knew it wouldn’t fully feel like she’d achieved her dreams until she played there. It was time. Only she had finally made it there and she felt like she was going to throw up.

She wanted desperately to seek Luke out so he could tell some dumb joke to distract her or give her one of his borderline too intense pep talks. But she wasn’t doing that anymore. In fact she had insisted he go take his break now before the show, promising not to leave her green room just to keep herself from giving in to the urge.

“You doing alright there, Jules? You look kind of green.”

Julie spun on her heels and barreled directly into her big brother’s arms.

“Oof!” He huffed as she knocked the air from his lungs, his arms still coming up to wrap around her despite his shock. “You ok?”

“I’m fine,” She told him, her voice muffled as she buried her face against his chest. “It’s just that it’s the Orpheum and you know what that means to me, and the whole family is here to see me play and I’m so nervous and I’m missing Mom and I’m totally in love with my dumb bodyguard.”

Reggie pushed her back by the shoulders until he could see her blotchy face.

He reached up to ruffle her hair affectionately.

“First of all, Flynn and I totally called it,” He said with a smirk. “And Alex swears the two of you have taken ten years off of his life with your stupidity.”

“Alex talks too much,” Julie grumbled. “And Flynn is the one who told me to stay away from his annoyingly pretty eyes to begin with.”

“That’s only because she wants you to be happy. So do I by the way. And this?” He waved his hand to indicate her current state. “I hate to break it to you, Jules, but this isn’t happy.”

Julie sighed as her shoulders sagged and all of the fight went out of her at once.

“I know,” She said defeatedly. “But what am I supposed to do? I can’t force my feelings on the guy especially when I’m his boss. That’s creepy on top of being pathetic.”

“Funny,” Alex broke in from the doorway. “That’s exactly what he just said to me.”

Julie just gaped at him for a few long seconds while Reggie and Alex exchanged amused yet exasperated looks.

“Wait...what did he say exactly?” Julie finally managed to get out.

Alex rolled his eyes.

“Oh you know, ‘What did I do? Why is Julie mad at me? I’m so in love with her do you think she figured it out? Did I come off as a creep? Do you think she’ll have my babies?’”

Julie felt her mouth drop open.

“Dude!” Reggie protested.

“Ok, so the last part was more implied than said directly,” Alex admitted.

“But he said he loves me?” Julie asked hurriedly.

“Yeah,” Alex confirmed. “I’ve been telling you he does for months by the way, but nobody listens to me.”

Julie ignored her best friend’s statement and sprinted for the door.

“Where are you going?” Reggie called after her.

“You go on in ten!” Alex added frantically.

“I’ll make it!” She shouted back without slowing down.

She ran down the hallway, dodging makeup artists and promoters and so many people she’d wanted to impress just a few minutes before. There was only one person she wanted to see at that moment.

Julie kept going until she found the exit that led to the alley outside and burst through it. Luke felt caged in if he was inside for too long, something about living in a garage for a year as a teen. He stuck by her side and did his job perfectly but any chance he got she knew he could be found breathing in the fresh air and feeling like his lungs could fully expand. Sure enough, there he was, leaning against the probably filthy wall humming some song that she knew would be amazing if he ever really gave it life.

He stood straight and took two steps towards her as soon as she emerged from the door, a look of concern immediately taking over his features.

“Julie? What are you doing out here? You’re about to go on…”

She closed the distance between them and stopped just a half step closer than she normally would, her sudden proximity shutting him up for a moment.

She just looked up at him for a few seconds, just to enjoy it after weeks of denying herself. He broke the eye contact first, chuckling awkwardly as he looked down briefly.

“What?”

“Can you do me a favor?” She asked seriously.

He answered instantly.

“Anything, Julie, you know that.”

“Tell me what you just told Alex.”

His face drained of color, almost ghost like in appearance.

“He promised he wouldn’t say anything,” He mumbled.

Julie shrugged.

“He probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t walked in on me telling my brother pretty much the same thing.”

Luke’s eyes widened comically as he took in her words.

“You told your brother that I did something to make you hate me and that I don't know what it is and it’s eating me up inside?” He asked in confusion.

“I told him I love you,” She said bluntly, all the bravery she had inherited from her mom giving her the nerve. “And that I’ve been trying to distance myself from you because I didn’t think you felt the same.”

“That’s...that’s...Jules, that’s crazy!” He exclaimed, bouncing a little to emphasize his words. “I’m head over heels, crazy in love with you. Always have been.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked softly, managing to step even closer to him.

His eyes softened as he reached down to tuck one of her curls behind her ear.

“Because you’re my boss, and you’re totally out of my league. You’re this super talented, total force of nature. I mean you’re Julie Molina and I’m…”

“A big fan?” Julie interrupted, raising one eyebrow teasingly.

Luke froze.

“How did you…”

“I’ve been in your apartment, remember? When you had the flu I snooped a little. Sorry. The fact that you have my first album on vinyl is one thing but to have a cd of my first EP is really impressive. I didn’t know hard copies of that still existed…”

Like groaned.

“Ok, ok. You got me. I didn’t want you to think I was a pathetic fanboy, alright?”

Julie grinned.

“Isn’t that what you are?”

Luke smiled softly down at her, brushing the back of two fingers over her cheek.”

“Only for you, Boss.”

Julie instinctively stretched onto her toes, raising her face towards his, her eyes starting to flutter shut…

BANG

They sprang apart and spun to face Alex who had just emerged breathing heavily into the doorway behind them.

“You know no one is more Team Juke than I am but Julie you are going on in 2 minutes!”

“Oh crap,” Julie said. “I’m coming.”

Alex shot her a skeptical look.

Julie glared at him until he sighed and disappeared back inside.

“Team Juke?” Luke asked.

Julie giggled, already backing towards the door.

“Don’t ask. I’ve got to go but later we should talk about your future with the company.”

Luke’s eyebrows shot up.

“You’re firing me?”

Julie grinned.

“Well, I think we both might find your current duties a little too distracting. I think I need a stoic, middle aged man built like a linebacker. But we’ve been looking to hire a new songwriter to help me with the next album if you know anyone who might be interested.”

Luke grinned back.

“I might.”

He bit his lip and stared after her with those big, beautiful, dangerous eyes.

He was such trouble.

Julie ran back to him wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning up to a plant a quick kiss on his lips, pulling back before he could fully register what she was doing.

“Hold that thought,” She whispered with a smile before turning and running back through the door and towards the second dream come true of the night.

She was Julie Molina. She was about to play the Orpheum. She was in love with her bodyguard.

She was in trouble and she couldn’t be happier about it.

#trope prompt game #my fics #juke #jatp #fanfiction #writing

[nashibirne]

Painkiller - 5

Need a painkiller? Here we go! The fifth part of my story about Henry and Ella. Months have passed by since their date, let's see how the "friends" are doing...

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC (Ella)

Summary: Ella keeps on pretending and Henry tries to move on

Warnings: Angst, a little smut, 18+, NSFW, sex, mentioning of oral sex (f receiving)

Unbeta'ed! As you know...English is not my mother tongue so be warned...

Credits: Pics for the moodboard are from Pinterest (face claim Pamela Reif, unfortunately I don't know the name of the model I use as face claim for Ella), I know nothing about the real Henry Cavill, this is all fictional.

You can find part 1 - 4 on my Masterlist.

taglist: @hell1129-blog @lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @mis-lil-red @willkatfanfromasia @agniavateira @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo

(let me know if you want to be added or removed)

~~~~~~~

The little bell above the door rang like crazy when Jackson entered the book-cafe with vim.

"Jax!" Ella beamed with joy when she saw him.

"Hey auntie." He embraced her with a grin, hugging her tightly and lifting her off the ground a bit. "Congratulations on your third nephew. He's really cute. I paid Katie a visit before I came here. Paul was there too, almost bursting with pride, changing diapers like a pro. He's going to be a great dad."

"Yeah, absolutely. They're going to be great parents. Hopefully Katie can leave the hospital soon. Henry can't wait to meet little Leonard."

"So you've already told him?"

"Of course. I had to promise him to call as soon as Katie goes into labour. And I kept him updated throughout the day yesterday. He's so happy for them."

"Uncle Henry and Aunt Ella, huh?" Jackson said with a teasing grin.

"Funny." Ella rolled her eyes.

"Not really. I mean come on, Elsie, you know that you and him are in a relationship without sex? Sharing everything but the bed?"

"Yes, I know that. It's called friendship, Jax."

"No, it's not. What you have established over the last 4 months is much more than friendship."

"Nonsense. Henry is a close friend just like you." Ella crossed her arms ready for defense.

"Fuck no. He's not..." Jackson let out an amused snort.  "You talk on the phone every day, no matter how busy you are. You text each other constantly. He comes here whenever he finds a minute. You spend all your spare time together when he's in town, he practically lives at your place on his free weekends, sleeping on the couch. All your neighbours know the attractive guy, who looks so vaguely familiar under his caps and beanies and the beard, and who's always so friendly when he walks his dog with you. You do everything together, like a couple, you just don't fuck and nobody understands why."

"Because it's for the better." Ella turned away from Jackson and began to unpack a parcel that was standing on the counter. She got out some books and put them into a shelf with a stern expression.

"Really? You still claim that?" Jackson started to help Ella, pacing between the counter and the shelf, following her close.

"Yes I do. Because it's still true. We're better off as friends."

"Jesus, Elsie. How can you be so stubborn? The last months have proven that your worlds are not different at all, on the contrary...you love the same things, you laugh about the same silly jokes, you share the same view on life. You perfectly fit in with his life and vice versa."

"Yes. As friends. And I'm not stubborn, I'm realistic."

"And what would be so different if you were lovers and not just friends."

"Everything would be different, Jackson." Ella stopped in her tracks and turned around to him. He could tell by the look on her face and her crimson cheeks that she was not only annoyed but really upset. She cocked her head and poked his chest with her index finger. "What do you think would happen if we were spotted together? Appeared in public as a couple? Holding hands or kissing? If I left Henry's house in the morning? The whole world would know about it. It would be in the press, on the internet. The tabloids would be full of it. Who's Henry Cavill's mysterious girlfriend? Oh, only an ordinary book trader from Uxbridge...there must be more to it. They would start to dig and stalk me and my family, show up here at the store. His fans would go crazy, and I would be their target. They would bitch about me. How the hell did this mousy bag of bones get a man like him. I would be called gold digger, attention whore, slut and worse. I'd have to go to official events with him, meet his VIP friends, we would be chased by paparazzi..."

Ella stopped her rant and took a deep breath. 

"Right. And I know this scares the shit out of you, but don't you think it might be worth it?" Jackson placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a soothing smile. 

"No, I don't. And I don't even know if Henry feels about me that way. If he would still want to date me..." 

Jackson stared at Ella, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.  "Are you kidding me? He's crazy in love with you. And you love him too. Stop lying to yourself, honey."

Ella just shrugged, avoiding Jackson's gaze.

"He won't wait forever, Elsie. One day, he'll get over you and he'll move on and then it might be too late. Mark my words."

That was the moment a customer entered the shop and gave Ella a good reason to end their conversation at this point. 

***

Later that day, when Ella was cuddled up on her couch, eating ice cream and trying to read a book, Jackson's words still nagged on her. You love him. That much was true. He won't wait forever. Another truth. He'll move on. That was the hardest part because of course he would and it was Henry's goddamn right to do so. And she couldn't help but wonder if he'd already started to. There were those slight changes in his behaviour. It had been harder to get him on the phone in the evenings lately. He said he had an ass full of work but it sounded like an excuse. He got a lot more texts than usual and he never read or answered them when Ella was around. He'd even shaved his full beard. She knew it was wrong and pathetic and completely unjustified but Ella was jealous without any actual reason. The thought that Henry was seeing someone was killing her. 

Then it might be too late. Yes. Jackson was right. If Henry was dating someone, if he was in love with someone, it would be too late indeed.

She couldn't help but think about all the chances she'd wasted to become more than friends with him. There had been quite a few moments in the last four months they had been close to crossing the line, but Ella had been too scared to make a move, for all the reasons she'd mentioned to Jax.

And Henry had respected her boundaries and taken her no for a no and had never tried to leave the friend zone, which was great because it showed her how much he respected her and what a decent man he was, but it also sucked. She had maneuvered herself into a corner and she didn't have the guts to get out of it on her own. She was a coward.

She thought of a day only a few weeks ago, when Henry had tried to teach her some Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu techniques. Ella was pretty sporty, she did yoga as part of her daily morning routine, she liked running and played volleyball once a week with some of her friends but she'd never tried martial arts before and it turned out soon it was for the better. She had zero talent.

After an hour of training that included lots of touching, rolling around on the floor together, sweating, panting and laughing, there had been no improvement in her non-existent skills. The only things that had increased had been the tension in the room, the physical attraction and Ella's arousal. Being so close to Henry, his hands all over her body, her hands touching his muscles all the time...it had been pleasure and pain at the same time.

After her umpteenth ineffective try to pin Henry down on the floor, he finally had mercy and let her win. He dropped to the floor laughing, dragging her down with a smirk so that she topped him. They had been so close in this moment, her body on his, their noses almost touching. Henry had wrapped his arms around her waist and he had looked her deep in the eyes.

The moment had been so intense, so intimate, the atmosphere so vibrant with an erotic kind of anticipation, it had sent shivers down her spine and goosebumps all over her body. Her pussy had been throbbing and she'd felt Henry's dick harden in his sweatpants. It wouldn't have taken much. She could have kissed him easily. She'd wanted it and she was pretty sure he'd wanted it just as much. But she hadn't been able to move, to stop her thoughts from running, to turn off reason, to let emotions lead the way and so the moment had passed with the result that they still were nothing more than good friends.

And she just couldn't shake off the feeling that she was going to regret her hesitation soon.

****

Henry grabbed her by her hips and increased speed. His balls slapped against her butt as he fucked her hard from behind. She moaned loudly and it sounded fake in his ears. He was quite sure the orgasm she had when he'd eaten her pussy a few minutes ago was a real one, but the sounds and noises she was making now were artificial, somehow forced and deliberate, just slipping from her lips to turn him on. But he didn't really care, it worked well and he came with a muffled grunt. He thrust his dick inside her pussy another few times till his orgasm was over and pulled out right after. He stripped off the filled condom and got up to throw it in the bin. 

"Come back to bed, Babe." Kelly stretched out  between the rumpled sheets. He looked at her and smiled. "Gimme just a second." He went to the bathroom and took a deep breath while washing his hands and his cock. 

What am I doing here? He asked himself not for the first time and the answer was always the same. He was having a stupid fling with a beautiful 25 year old bimbo. He had met Kelly four weeks ago and after two weeks of flirting on the phone and a lot of hot texts and pictures he had taken her on a date first and on his kitchen counter afterwards. 

Since then they'd met often to have sex. Casual sex, no strings attached. He had told Kelly this several times and she didn't seem to care. "No problem" had always been her answer. Nothing seemed to be a problem for her. 

"You have to sneak out, so nobody sees you!" - "Sure."

"You can't stay overnight." - "That's alright."

"We have to be very discreet. Don't tell anyone about us." - "Of course not."

"I'm not looking for a relationship." - "That's fine."

"I'm in love with another woman." - "Okay."

Ella. Yes, he had told Kelly about her. That he loved her though she just wanted him as a friend. And again...no problem for Kelly. But it was a problem for him. He thought way too often about Ella when he was with Kelly. He didn't only compare them constantly - always with the same result, Kelly was nothing like Ella, not a tiny bit and that was equally good and bad - but he had to think of Ella whatever they were doing, even when things got steamy. He didn't really imagine being with Ella when he fucked Kelly, but he often thought about her before and afterwards. Fantasizing about how it could be...if this deep friendship they had turned into a relationship. If they turned from friends to lovers. The problem was he was quite sure this was never going to happen.

There had been some moments they had been close to kissing but Ella had never made the one missing step to close the gap between friendship and love.  And he couldn't because he was trapped in the friend zone. Just lately there had been this situation. Both of them lying on the floor after a Jiu-Jiutsu session, Ella on top of him, shaking and obviously turned on, her eyes full of desire. And she must have seen the same sensation in his eyes and even if not, she must have felt his hard-on. But even in this moment she hadn't crossed the line. No kiss, no touch, no words. That had been the moment he'd finally accepted that all he would get from her was friendship.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Henry? Is everything okay? The bed's too big and too cold without you."

Their friendship...that was another problem. He had a terrible guilty conscience. Not because of the fact that he had an affair, he was single, Kelly was single, there was no reason to feel bad. But he hadn't told Ella anything about it. Not a single word. He had texted Kelly behind her back, had made up excuses why they couldn't meet or talk on the phone in the evenings. He knew if he told her Ella would start to ask questions about Kelly, about his feelings for her. And what was he supposed to answer? I don't have feelings for Kelly, I just shag her to get you out of my system, because I love you more every minute, every hour, every day we spend together. And it kills me that I know we will never be more than friends.

That was completely out of the question.

"Yeah, sure." He opened the door and gave her his best fake smile. "Just freshened up a little."

"Why don't we get dressed and you take me out for dinner?" Kelly wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close for a kiss. "I'm starving."

"I don't know, Kell. I don't want us to be seen...you know that."

"Oh come on, babe." She pouted and kissed him again. "You can wear a cap or a beanie and glasses or something and we go to a simple chippy. No one will recognize you."

Henry thought about it. He was hungry too and she was right, it was unlikely that some paparazzo caught them in a fish and chip shop.

"Fine, let's get ready and go."

****

Two weeks later Henry still hadn't told Ella about Kelly and when he opened the Daily Mail in the morning he knew he wouldn't have to anymore. She could read and see it herself.

He almost spit out his coffee when he saw the pictures of Kelly and him in front of the little Asian supermarket, they had visited yesterday. They were kissing and hugging each other tightly in one picture and walking away from the shop hand in hand on the other.

Fuck...Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.

Henry Cavill in love again. Has Superman finally found his Supergirl?

The headline made him want to puke.

That was bad. Henry had to talk to Ella before she saw this rubbish. He had to explain it to her. He got dressed in a hurry while he called his agent to cancel their 9 o'clock appointment. When he left the house he had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling.

****

tbc

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #cavillry #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x ofc #smut #henry cavill smut

[miracleonice87]

juliaswinterwriting challenge, pt. 2

1. “Take another step and I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” with Mathew Barzal

a/n: finally! my second of two submissions for @wondershawns winter writing challenge. 6.6K. also features Mat’s boyfriend Beau lol. 

summary: Mat has been falling for Beau’s cousin Genevieve since the day he met her. the main thing standing in his way? her. 

warnings: swearing. alcohol. a smattering of angst. mentions of sex (not explicit). a healthy dose of fluff.

_____

Mat couldn’t have heard his best friend correctly. Convinced of that, he shook his head and tried to snap himself out of his stupor.

“Wait, Beau… what?”

“Yeah, Genevieve’s moving in with me,” Beau repeated casually, slapping a puck into the back of the net. “Finally convinced her. She just broke up with that idiot and she’s gonna go to NYU.”

The guys were on the ice at the practice facility for the first time since arriving back in New York after a long summer. They were conducting an informal skate to get their feet under them again, but most of the time had been spent simply catching up with one another — shooting pucks, yes, but also shooting the breeze. Mat had enjoyed the laidback nature of the on-ice session thus far, but he felt an undeniable jolt of electricity in his every nerve when Beau said that name — the one that elicited a thousand different feelings all at once.

Genevieve.

The girl who shared her cousin Beau’s big blue eyes and endless charm, but had a sassy wit and tender heart all of her own. The girl who was more like his teammate’s sister than a more distant relative. The girl who Mat had fallen for the very first day he met her, when Beau invited him to his family home in Quebec for a visit, now three summers ago. The girl who he’d been hopelessly, helplessly entranced by ever since.

Suddenly, a rubber disc was flying at Mat’s feet, the product of Marty dishing him a pass from the opposite side of the zone, expecting Mat to tap it into the goal as they’d already done a dozen times that afternoon. Instead, Mat let it whiz past him, only giving the puck so much as a glance when it bounced off the half-wall.

“Barzy!” Marty yelled from the far boards with a surprised chuckle, smacking his blade on the ice repeatedly. “Fuckin’ pay attention, kid!”

“You hockey much?” Beau teased, furrowing his brows at his teammate’s blank expression. Beau thought to himself that it looked as though Mat had just seen a ghost. “What’s’a matter with you?”

Mat turned to see Marty, Beau, Ebs, and Anders all looking at him as if he were a creature from a different planet. He cleared his throat and hunched once more overtop his skates, gliding in a tight circle before he faced them again.

“Nothin’,” he said nonchalantly, with a sniff. He put his stick to the ice and readied himself, trying to push Beau’s revelation to the back of his mind and focus on the task at hand. “Let’s go again.”

“Wait,” Marty said, putting a gloved hand up to halt the skating men around him. “I forgot. Isn’t Barzy, like, in love with that girl?”

Beau slowly turned his head toward Mat, who swallowed hard, trying to will his cheeks not to redden. Anders and Ebs chuckled, hands resting atop the knobs of their sticks.

“Shut up, Marty,” Mat nearly pleaded, anxiously tapping his stick on the ice. “Just... let’s go again. Come on.”

_____

In the three years since they’d first met, the math broke down pretty simply: Genevieve had had a boyfriend for all of those three years, until a month ago; Mat had kissed her exactly once on the forehead after putting her drunk ass to bed during a weekend visit to Beau’s; and they had made exactly zero progress toward becoming what Mat had always wanted them to be. Together.

One more number was soon added to the equation, not long after she moved to the city — the number one. Sponsored by the number of times they’d now had sex.

Genevieve’s twenty-first birthday fell right after she started at NYU as a junior transfer, when the Isles boys had just started camp. After a night at the club celebrating her, in a vodka-induced haze, with Tito’s attention wrapped up in a pretty blonde, Mat and Genevieve snuck away from the group, into an Uber, and off to his apartment in Brooklyn.

Mat realized immediately that he’d never felt a high like the one he did when she was kissing him, and he chased it all night long. He lost himself in her in every way as they melded together between his sheets.

He truly thought that her birthday was going to be the start of something between them. Something real. More than just a childish crush, stolen glances, and timid, blushing stares.

Which is why his heart broke when he awoke the next morning, after their passionate night gave way to dawn and the effects of the alcohol had faded, to hear Genevieve speaking quietly on the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, I went home with someone... No, you don’t know him. Just a guy from class.”

Mat felt a tightness in his throat and tried to swallow it.

“Shut up, Anth,” Genevieve said with a lighthearted groan.

Shit. Of course it was Beau.

“Brunch? Uh... yeah. Yeah, I can do brunch. I just have to come back to your place and change first... No, no, I’ll just grab an Uber. Yes, I’m sure.”

She was leaving. She was trying to sneak out of his place, while he was presumably still asleep. Despite that, pathetic as he felt for it, he didn’t want her to go. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Okay. Yeah, that’s fine. Okay, see you then. Bye.” Genevieve ran a hand through her dark locks and blew out a long breath.

“Who was that?” Mat muttered in a sleepy voice, making Genevieve jump. Despite trying to ignore it, he couldn’t help but notice the way she pulled his sheets tighter around her naked body at the realization that he was, indeed, awake. His chest clenched at the sight. Genevieve cleared her throat, stalling, before answering.

“That was Anth,” she said, tossing her phone on the bed in front of her. Mat watched the way her bare spine hunched as she sighed and then looked at him over her freckled shoulder. It took everything in Mat not to lean over and pepper her soft skin with warm kisses.

“He wants to go to brunch. The three of us. He’s gonna text you and invite you. He doesn’t know I’m here...” she spoke, wringing her fingers.

“Okay,” Mat said quietly, sitting up on an elbow. “Well, I’ll drive you back to his place—“

“No, no. I’m just gonna order an Uber,” she said hastily, followed by another long sigh. He wrinkled his brow, confused.

“We can’t tell him, Mat,” Genevieve said sadly, tossing him a forlorn glance, her fingers pressing into her temple. “We just... I can’t. I’m sorry.”

His heart broke a bit right then. In his mind, they would admit the truth about last night to Beau this morning, he would chirp them about it endlessly but be happy that they were happy, and they would all live happily ever after.

Evidently, Genevieve had different plans.

“So I’m gonna go, and then you can meet us at the cafe. Okay?” she asked, turning to face him straight on, seemingly so that he saw as little of her nude form as possible, despite having seen all of it last night.

Mat nodded, swallowing again. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

They both knew he wasn’t talking about the Uber. He was referencing something much more consequential than her ride home.

Genevieve pressed her lips together, looking down at her lap before meeting his eyes again. She nodded slowly.

“I just... I don’t think this is a good idea, Maty. I just got out of a relationship, and I don’t know how Anth would feel about...” She gestured between the two of them. Mat tried not to flinch, though he nearly did just that.

He nodded. Genevieve noted the pain in his eyes and averted her own to avoid being crushed by the knowledge that she had singlehandedly inflicted it upon him. Eventually, he found his voice again.

“Okay. Fine. I understand, I guess. I think you know how I feel about you, especially now, but it’s... it’s whatever you wanna do, G,” Mat said.

Genevieve blinked at him a few times, and for a fleeting moment as she opened her mouth, he thought she might change her mind.

His hopes crashed down in front of him as she shifted uncomfortably under the covers and requested, “Can you maybe just... look away while I get dressed?”

That time, Mat flinched.

_____

Mat couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw who was calling as he made his way home from the rink after practice on a snowy Monday nearly three months later, in early December. He pressed the green button on his dash display, said hello, and her fluttering voice filled his car.

“Mat… hi! Are you busy?”

Even if he were, Mat would’ve lied.

“No, no, not at all. What’s going on, G? How are you?” he asked as he switched lanes, fingers suddenly drumming on the steering wheel as nervous energy coursed through him.

Since the morning after they’d hooked up, the most they had communicated directly was texting half a dozen or so times, with Genevieve congratulating Mat on a good game or Mat asking if she knew where Beau was. Occasionally they’d bump into each other after a game, the ones she could actually make it to given her insane class schedule, or at the bar, and they’d both hug awkwardly and inevitably blush like schoolchildren. Mat missed her like hell, and he gently reminded her of that each time they touched base, but he respected her decision, even if he wasn’t fully convinced it was the right one.

Little did he know, Genevieve wasn’t fully convinced, either, but she willed herself to stand her ground, despite the sway he still held over her, without him even realizing it.

“I’m good. I’m good. Listen, um, I know this probably seems out of the blue, but… would you wanna meet up for coffee?” he heard her ask.

Mat’s brows shot up at her inquiry. He had long ago written off any chance at spending alone time with her and was caught off guard by her invitation.

“Sure,” Mat answered, though somewhat hesitantly. “I’d love to, you know that.”

She must have heard the surprise in his voice because she followed up with, “It’s just, I really miss you… and besides, there’s something else I need to talk to you about.”

Mat couldn’t keep the smug expression from his face. “Oh yeah? Other than just how much you miss me?” he asked arrogantly. He could practically hear Genevieve roll her eyes as she huffed into the phone.

“Just shut up and come here, you egomaniac,” she giggled. “I’m at my usual spot.”

“Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen. See you then. And, G?”

“Uh huh?”

A smile twitched at Mat’s lips as he replied.

“I’m glad you called,” he said, sincerity dripping from his words.

He heard the smile in her voice when she remarked, “I’m glad you answered. See you soon.”

_____

When Mat walked into the coffee shop minutes later, Genevieve was holed up at a corner table, notebooks and loose papers alike strung before her in a mass of organized chaos. She touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip and squinted at her laptop screen through her thick, tortoise-shell framed glasses.

Mat had never seen her wearing glasses before. Though he didn’t even think such a feat was possible, he fell a little more in love with her and became a little more tortured by her right then and there.

He approached her slowly so as not to startle her. As he came nearer, she didn’t even look up, deep in concentration as she typed. When she finally glanced away from her screen and toward a notebook across the table from her, Mat playfully crouched into her line of vision, tilting his chin upward as he waited for her to spot him.

Eventually, her eyes met his and immediately glimmered. She flushed slightly, putting her hand to her forehead with a groan.

“Oh, god, Maty, how long have you been standing there?” Genevieve asked, an apology in her tone.

Mat smiled and tried not to dwell on the way his pulse quickened when his nickname fell from her lips. “Long enough to observe that you might need your glasses prescription changed. You’re not supposed to squint at your screen like that, G,” he warned, approaching her and scanning the multitude of documents before her. “What is all this?” he asked, letting his gaze drift back to hers.

“It’s for my event this weekend. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” Genevieve responded tentatively. “But first, coffee,” she said, reaching for her wallet tucked inside her bookbag.

Mat reached for her hand, pushing it away and shaking his head.

“No, c’mon,” he insisted. “Let me. What can I get you?”

Genevieve looked at their touching fingers as he slowly pulled his away, then she gave him that killer half-grin of hers and breathed a sigh, giving into him since she knew trying to protest was useless.

“How ‘bout a peppermint tea? I think I’m overcaffeinated at this point anyway so I should probably take it easy on the coffee,” she admitted with a chuckle as she tucked some hair behind her ear. Mat nodded.

“Smart girl. Tea coming right up,” he promised with a squeeze of her shoulder. Genevieve thanked him and watched as he sauntered to the counter to stand in line.

His hair was longer, and she thought it made him look even more handsome, if that was even imaginable. He caught her ogling at him as he turned the corner to wait for his order, and she simply pursed her lips into a tight smirk and tried to refocus on her notes. He tried to refocus on anything but her. They both were clumsy in their attempts.

When he returned, he placed a large paper cup before her and she wrapped her hands around it with an appreciative hum.

“You’re the best,” Genevieve praised. He waved her off as he took a sip of his cappuccino.

“So why have I been summoned here, G?” Mat then asked, teasing in his question.

Genevieve bit at her full bottom lip and Mat tried to force his eyes not to linger there as she snapped her notebook shut and readjusted herself in her chair, clearing her throat.

“Okay, so you know I’m taking this event planning class this semester? It’s part of my major. And our final project is to plan a large-scale event,” she began, and he nodded as he sipped at his coffee, amused by her bubbly mannerisms as she spoke. “Well, so… a friend of mine in class kind of accidentally let slip that I’m Anthony’s cousin, and it turns out that the prof is friends with some Isles execs. She suggested that I plan a gala to benefit the team children’s foundation, and obviously since the professor fed me that idea, I couldn’t really say no. Especially since it’s 50 percent of my final grade, and obviously because it’s for such a great cause.” Mat nodded again, already seeing where this was going, but not exactly minding it.

“So since you guys don’t play this Saturday night, Anth had originally told me that he would go and kinda be the face of the team for me, but he backed out this morning,” Genevieve said, playing absentmindedly with her fingers in her lap. Mat was getting ready to take another swig when she added that last little tidbit, and he narrowed his eyes at her as he lowered his cup.

“What do you mean he backed out? What the hell else does he have to do?” Mat didn’t try to hide his annoyance — Beau had practically begged this poor girl to come and live with him and go to school in New York, and now he was jeopardizing her academic future?

“I don’t know,” Genevieve shrugged. “He said some girl he’s been talking to bought him tickets to the Nets game on Saturday night and he—“

“Oh, you gotta be fuckin’ kidding me...” Mat spat, then noticed the disappointment in her features, and immediately softened. “So, what can I do to help?” he asked, deciding that he would deal with the Beau issue later.

She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, and drew a deep breath as she summoned the courage to make her request.

“I was wondering if... if you’d go with me?” she eventually mumbled.

Mat was certain he had misheard, just like that day months ago on the ice. He licked his bottom lip quickly and sat back in his chair.

“Say again?” he deadpanned.

“I was wondering if you’d come with me,” Genevieve spoke, clearer and faster this time. “I know I don’t even deserve to ask you a favor like that, and you probably already have plans anyway, and I—“

“G, stop,” Mat interrupted dryly.

“It’s not like you’re my second choice or anything,” Genevieve continued, talking with her hands just like Beau did when he got flustered. “I wanted to ask you — really, I did. Trust me. It’s just… I was afraid Anth would be weird so—“

“G, stop,” Mat laughed, his voice firmer this time as his hand moved to rest on her knee. “I don’t need an explanation. Of course I’ll come with you. I’d be honored.”

Genevieve finally exhaled, throwing her hands over her face in sheer excitement and shaking her head back and forth.

“Ugh, Mathew Barzal, I could kiss you right now!” she exclaimed before she could pay a second thought to her words. She covered her mouth then, eyes bugging behind her glasses. Mat couldn’t help but giggle at her reaction.

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he quipped softly as he raised his coffee to his lips once more, smirking pompously at Genevieve as she breathed a laugh.

As she launched into the details of the event — what he should wear, what she would need from him, when he could pick her up — he found himself spacing. No detail she shared much mattered to him — not really. It didn’t affect his decision. No matter what this would cost him, literally or figuratively, he was all in.

All in on the gala, all in on Genevieve. All in.

She was letting him in, however little, and he planned to take full advantage of the opportunity. 

Mat insisted on giving Genevieve a ride to Beau’s apartment after they’d finished their drinks, convincing her that she needed to take a break from working and get a change of scenery. Surprisingly, she complied. He realized as she sat in his passenger seat just how much he had missed the way he felt in her presence. The world seemed to be in full color only when Genevieve was by his side.

Sadly, the drive was a short one, and soon Genevieve was hurriedly pulling her bookbag into her lap as Mat pulled over to the curb near the building’s entrance. Preparing for her to jump out of the car without giving him a second look, Mat was surprised when he felt her fingertips grasp his jaw. She placed a lingering kiss to his cheek, closer to his mouth than could be called chaste, and smoothed her thumb across the stubble on his chin.

“I really have to go, even though I don’t want to, but thanks a million, Maty,” Genevieve said, beaming at him as she pulled the straps of her bag onto her shoulders. “I can’t wait for this weekend. Bye.”

With that, she was scampering off, throwing him one last smile before disappearing through the doorway.

With a pursed exhale, Mat rested his forehead against the steering wheel and tried to talk himself down from the clusterfuck his brain had just launched into at her actions.

_____

The week dragged on for Mat. When Saturday finally arrived, he took far longer than usual to get ready, even FaceTiming his sister for her recommendations on the best tie and shoe combination to match his navy suit.

When Liana furrowed her eyebrows, curious why he cared so much about what he wore to what seemed to her to be a fairly routine team event, Mat knew what was coming and braced for it as she opened her mouth.

“Is this like a date or something—“

“Goodbye, Liana. Thank you,” Mat said curtly, cutting her off and quickly ending the call. Of course, it rang again immediately, but Mat chose to ignore it and tucked the device in his pocket as he gave himself one last glance in the mirror.

When the phone rang yet again, he huffed, prepared to answer and then immediately hang up on his dear, annoying baby sister, when he noticed it wasn’t Liana this time.

Stepping into his closet to choose an overcoat, he smiled and tapped the green button.

“Don’t tell me you’re cancelling on me now, G,” Mat said, half in jest, half in masked terror. “I just got dressed.”

To his dismay, Genevieve sounded panicked on the other end of the line.

“Uh, no, quite the opposite, actually,” she said nervously. “I’m kind of — okay, well, completely — freaking out over here, and I was wondering if you could maybe come over early and convince me not to call my professor and tell her I’m sick so I don’t have to see what a complete disaster this night turns out to be?”

Mat had pulled on a coat and flicked off the lights in his closet while she was talking, and he shifted the phone to his other ear to respond once she stopped rambling.

“Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “I’m leaving now. Sit tight. I’ll be right there, okay?”

Mat heard her breathe a sigh of relief. “You’re the best, Maty,” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

His smile widened — he was always happy to play the role of knight in shining armor, but it meant more to him to be able to play it for Genevieve. His chest puffed with each word of her gratitude.

“You’re welcome, love,” he said before he realized the pet name that fell from his lips. But he couldn’t regret it, refused to even try, so he bid her goodbye for now and headed for the parking garage to ride away on his white stallion — er, Cadillac.

Ten minutes later — after navigating a route that should have taken at least fifteen — he was on her doorstep, the dozen red roses he had bought that morning in hand. Mat tried to act as though he wasn’t surprised to find her still in a set of Beau’s Isles sweats, donning her glasses, with her makeup half-finished and her hair not yet fixed. He glanced at the clock above her head that indicated only about forty minutes until they needed to leave the apartment, but decided to ignore that minor detail.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Mat said charmingly, extending the flowers to her. “These are for you. For good luck.”

Genevieve’s lips turned up momentarily into a grin, then folded into a frown, and she looked as though she may burst into tears at any moment. Forcing his way in the door, Mat set the bouquet on the entry table and gathered her into his chest, resting a hand on the back of her head and rubbing small circles on her back with the other.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed. “What’s goin’ on, G? Talk to me, baby.” Oh, shit. Another pet name. He really had to stop doing that.

Genevieve seemed unaffected by the term, though, and drew a shaking breath before squeezing his waist tightly and stepping away.

“Everything! This event is gonna crash and burn and it’s all my fault,” she cried, flinging her hands skyward for dramatic effect.

“What do you mean?” Mat inquired. “And while we talk, why don’t we go to your room so you can keep getting ready?” he added, placing a gentle hand to her hip. Thankfully, she nodded, despite heaving a sigh. As he turned them down the hall, she let her swirling thoughts erupt.

“The caterer called an hour ago and said they didn’t put in an order big enough for tonight so they’re gonna have to supplement the food with basically whatever they can find,” Genevieve began as they entered her room, motioning for Mat to take a seat on her meticulously made bed, which felt far more intimate than he was prepared for, not that he was complaining. She sat on the vanity bench nearby and hurriedly applied eyeshadow to her lids, prattling all the while. As she spoke, Mat glanced down at the dress laid out on the foot of the bed on a hanger, and he swore he forgot his own name for a moment as he gaped at it blankly.

“And I specifically ordered peonies, not poppies. Like how the fuck does a florist mess that up! I just—“

“Wait, sorry to interrupt, but this is what you’re wearing?” Mat choked out, sliding the shiny fabric between his first two fingers and thumb. Genevieve nodded, hurriedly fastening on a pearl cluster earring smack dab in the midst of her blush and bronzer routine.

“Yeah, Anthony insisted on taking me shopping and made me buy the most expensive goddamn dress in the store for some reason,” she grumbled. Mat made a mental note to thank Beau profusely. “I told him I couldn’t accept it but — wait, why? You hate it, don’t you?”

Mat’s eyes bugged at her question before he swallowed hard, shaking his head furiously. “No, no, it’s just... you’re gonna look so unfair,” he chuckled. Genevieve gave him a disbelieving look.

“Hardly,” she disagreed, apparently not noticing how gone he was at the moment. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter what I wear because it’s going to be an absolute shit show.”

She threw a fluffy brush into her makeup caddy with a clatter, and Mat approached where she sat fussing over herself anxiously in the mirror. She couldn’t help but notice the way her breath caught in her throat when his long fingers came to rest on her shoulders, stretching to her collarbone as he gazed at her intensely in their reflection. She felt herself relax under his touch.

“I know you’ve convinced yourself of that,” Mat began, his voice low, slow, sincere. “And that probably nothing I say will change your mind. But even if the food is wrong and the flowers are wrong and it doesn’t look exactly how you pictured it, it’s still gonna be a success. Because you made it happen. And you’re the most organized, most dedicated, hardest-working person I know,” he said as she finished applying her lipstick and sat up straight with a long, calming breath.

“And you’re the sweetest person I know,” she admitted airily. Mat beamed, squeezing her trap muscles. “Thank you,” she added, her hand finding his and bringing it to her lips, their eyes never straying from one another’s in the mirror until she stood up to face him.

He threw her hair over her shoulders and gawked at the perfect placement of her makeup, however much she had rushed its application.

“Makeup,” Mat spoke, drawing a pretend v-shape in thin air. “Check. One thing at a time.”

She snickered a bit, her hands ghosting across his suit coat for a moment, enchanted, before she snapped back to the task at hand.

“Okay, I have to go curl my hair, and then get dressed. And then, I’m ready,” she promised as Mat nodded and slowly returned to his seat on her bed. As she pulled a pair of strappy heels from underneath the bedskirt, he smiled down at her so fondly, and she realized she wouldn’t mind having him sitting right here more often.

Certainly wouldn’t mind.

She tossed Mat a wink as she picked up the dress, too, and hustled into the bathroom, suddenly feeling much more confident than she had without his presence — his reassurance.

Fifteen minutes later, after chattering with Mat through the door while taming her hair, she pulled on the dress and smoothed her hands over the skirt of it, tugged on her heels, and pulled open the door.

Mat stopped abruptly in the middle of a story about razzing her cousin at practice and stood to his feet, neither moving an inch.

Finally, Genevieve sighed and motioned toward her attire.

“So?” she spoke simply. “Acceptable?”

Mat scoffed, literally scoffed, and repeated, “Acceptable?” He rubbed a hand over his mouth and couldn’t help the boyish giggle he let out. “More than acceptable, G. You look... wow. Incredible. So incredible.”

Genevieve could admit to herself that she was pleased with his reaction — in fact, she couldn’t quite seem to detach her eyes from his face as his stare roamed her figure. She leaned against the doorpost and smirked.

“Remember what I said earlier this week? About how I could just kiss you right now?” she asked mischievously. He nodded slowly, eyes still studying the way her dress pulled tight in exactly the right places, then finding their way back to hers. “Kinda feeling that way again right now,” she added.

He exhaled sharply, standing up straighter, as she took a couple of paces toward him.

“Is that so?” he teased. She nodded, chewing at the inside of her cheek. Mat hummed in anticipation as she came ever closer. “You sure about that?” he asked firmly, extending his arms with his palms out toward her, trying his damnedest to keep her at a distance.

She only nodded again, a gleam in her eye, and paused just a couple of feet from him, waiting for his approval.

“Take another step looking like that and I can’t be held responsible for my actions,” Mat warned, giving her one final out.

A small laugh passed through Genevieve’s nose, and she looked down at their feet as she daringly moved forward.

“I’m okay with that,” she whispered as she looked back to his face. Mat only quirked his brow in response.

“I think it’s time I focus less on pushing you away, and more on just…” Genevieve tenderly wrapped her arms around Mat’s neck. “Just finally letting things happen the way they’re supposed to,” she spoke.

Mat froze for a moment, then broke into an enormous grin. “Yeah?” he asked in awe.

She bit down on her bottom lip and nodded, driving him insane. He pressed her lower back into his body as she assured, “Yeah. This is what I want.”

Mat barely let her speak that last word before capturing her lips in a searing kiss — all the nerves and anxiety about avoiding this melting away in a heartbeat as she moaned softly into his mouth, eliciting a smile from him against her skin.

“You’re beautiful, G,” Mat whispered when he finally came up for air. “You know that?” Genevieve blushed and tried to hide her face in Mat’s chest, but with a roll of his eyes, he caught her chin between his thumb and index finger and angled her face toward his own.

“No, none of that,” he said. “I’ve waited this long to be with you, G. Just let me look at you and tell you how gorgeous you are.”

Mat felt the warmth of her cheeks as he caressed them with the backs of his hands, losing himself in her criminally blue eyes.

“You are something else, Maty,” she said, letting her hands rest on his taut stomach as she leaned into him. “Now we really have to go, or we’re gonna be late.” With one last kiss pressed against his lips, Genevieve spun away from him, grabbed the pearl clutch from her bed, and tossed him a particularly wicked glance over her shoulder, laughing at his dumbfounded expression as she drifted out of the room.

And as he watched her walk away from him, hips swaying beneath the satin of her dress...

Mat knew he had no choice but to follow wherever she led.

_____

Whether she was aware of it or not, the girl knew how to command a room.

As Mat watched Genevieve engage the many high-profile sponsors and potential donors in the ballroom, he found himself thinking that he really didn’t even need to be here. She had this in the bag, and he was just arm candy for the night. And he realized he didn’t mind a bit.

Even so, he couldn’t help but swell with pride when she regularly turned away from conversations throughout the evening, searching the many faces in the crowd until she found his, her shoulders relaxing and her eyes flashing with affection when she finally did.

Finally, Mat sensed that the peace he had long ago found in her, she now felt in him. Nothing could ever make him happier than that.

Despite having different food and flowers than what Genevieve had planned, the event was a smashing success. She learned from her professor near the end of the gala that they had raised a quarter of a million dollars for the Islanders Children’s Foundation in this single night — a figure which made her nearly choke on her champagne and subsequently back Mat into a coat closet to reveal privately. Only he was more excited about the triumph than she, clutching excitedly at her sides as he pulled her to himself for a fiery kiss and gleefully congratulated her, both of them trying to stay as quiet as possible to remain undetected. When they regained their composure, they walked regally arm in arm back into the ballroom to say their thank you’s and goodbyes.

As they waited outside for the valet, Mat held Genevieve from behind, his arms encircling her waist under the grand stone archways of the old building. In her ear, he whispered her praises, pressing a kiss to her temple or jaw between each adjective as they awaited their ride.

“Smart. Beautiful. Capable. Stunning. Perfect. Worthy. Mine.”

That last one prompted her to spin in his arms, unashamed of who might see, and grasp his face for a firm kiss.

“Yours,” she whispered back dreamily.

_____

Soon they were back at her apartment building, rushing down the hall hand in hand, fully prepared to take advantage of Beau’s night on the town. Mat was mouthing hungrily at the back of Genevieve’s neck, from one side to the other, as she squealed and clumsily unlocked the door — a feat which took approximately five times as long as it normally did, considering the distraction hanging off of her, snaking its long arms around her torso as she finally tumbled through the doorway. Mat held onto her hips with a laugh to prevent her from falling on her face onto the tile beneath them, pulling her upward to resume their makeout until…

“Don’t you two look cute.”

Beau’s voice rang from the couch, startling both Mat and Genevieve as she pushed him away to create some distance between them. Mat cleared his throat as he unceremoniously gathered his footing beneath him. They both stood motionless in the entryway for several moments before Genevieve blinked at the basketball game playing on the television.

“Wait. What the hell, Anth… you’re watching the Nets game on TV? What happened to your date?” Genevieve asked as she took a few steps into the living room, tossing her clutch onto the couch so that she could put both hands on her hips and aim as much attitude as possible at her cousin.

“Yeah, I lied about that. The Nets are in Boston tonight, you geniuses,” Anthony informed them casually, taking the last swig from his beer bottle and placing it on the coffee table as he leaned forward.

“What do you mean, you lied? What the fuck, man?” Mat asked, incredulous.

“I did it on purpose!” Anthony bellowed, before the two gaped at him. “You two goons haven’t figured it out on your own by now, so I figured if I ditched, forced you into some alone time, bought G a pretty dress, maybe you’d see yourselves for what you really are. Hopelessly, disgustingly in love with each other. And apparently, it worked.”

Mat ran a hand slowly through his hair, tugging on his locks with a quiet laugh. Genevieve stood still, a hand suspended in mid-air, and whispered, “You planned this?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Of course I planned this,” he confirmed. “You really think I would just bail on you at the last minute for some girl? No! I knew you’d ask Mat, and I knew he would come to your rescue, and I knew you guys would have a great night together. Win, win, win.” Anthony rested his back against the couch once more, propping his feet up on the coffee table and folding his hands behind his head as he waggled his eyebrows. “I’m good, huh?” he remarked.

Mat took four quick strides toward his best friend and made a show of grabbing Anthony’s face and pressing a lip-smacking kiss to his forehead, which Anthony giggled over and wiped away, shaking his head.

“You’re my hero, man,” Mat spoke as he returned to Genevieve’s side and tucked her beneath his arm. Timidly, Genevieve asked Anthony, “You mean you’re not mad?”

Anthony’s big eyes grew even wider. “Mad?! My best friend and practically my sister are finally making each other happy. I’d be crazy to be mad! Or I’d be the Grinch. And I’m not the Grinch!” he assured as he pointed towards them.

Genevieve beamed, walking his way and placing a kiss to his cheek, squeezing his arm.

“Merci beaucoup,” she whispered when she pulled back from his face, only to see that he was smiling from ear to ear. He gave her a solemn nod. 

Genevieve extended a hand toward Mat which he accepted gladly, then she turned back to her cousin.

“Well, on that note, since your plan was such a success, and so was my event, Mat and I are gonna go celebrate,” she informed him with a grin. Anthony chuckled and lifted his beer bottle in their direction.

“Cheers to that,” he said. “I’ll just turn up the volume.”

Mat and Genevieve laughed and said goodnight before making their way down the hall. Mat couldn’t close the door fast enough before spinning her and pinning her against it as she smirked, her form melting into his as he kissed her fiercely. For several minutes they stayed there as one, with their parting lips and their breathing the only sounds in the room. Soon, Mat pulled back, both his hands holding Genevieve’s face as he searched her eyes.

“Promise me this is really what you want, G. Promise me you won’t push me away again,” he implored, his voice sounding needier than it ever had. Genevieve felt the stab at her gut upon remembering once more that she’d really almost fucked this up.

She sifted her fingers through his long, coal black hair of his and looked into his green-flecked eyes, which begged her for reassurance. Mat swallowed thickly as she cupped his strong jaw.

“I promise I won’t, Mathew,” she whispered. “I won’t. I can’t. I need you.”

With that, she squeezed his cheeks between her fingers and smothered his lips with her own. Mat tasted the sweet champagne on her skin and moaned.

“Mine,” he said again, gruffly this time, into her ear as he trailed hot kisses down her jaw.

“Yours,” she repeated breathlessly.

#juliaswinterwriting #my writing #mathew barzal #mat barzal #barzal #nhl #hockey #mathew barzal fic #mathew barzal fanfic #mathew barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal fanfic #mat barzal fanfiction #mathew barzal writing #mat barzal writing #hockey writing #nhl writing #anthony beauvillier

[noctis-noctua]

I, Kaeya Alberich, Take Thee

Pairing: Kaeya x Fem. Reader

Count: 1976

Description: Kaeya knows that be does not deserve anything he desires. There is nothing he can do to make you his, but so badly does he wish there was.

Content: Unrequited love, angst, bittersweet ending, marriage.

Warnings: Slight spoiler for Kaeya's backstory but an addition of (non-canon!) Prince Kaeya.

In another universe, maybe I am not cursed so by the Gods. Kaeya resists the urge to nibble on the tail-end of his quill. It was unbecoming for a man of his stature to succumb to unsanitary habits. Plus, this particular pen hailed from a crow’s feather, hunted by the hands of a childhood friend. The intricate quill had not been put to use for a substantial amount of time, but it fits into Kaeya’s hand as if it came to shape its spine based on the curvature of his own grasp. He could get used to signing off documents and organizing civil affairs if it meant succumbing to such mundane sensations. The morning sun dripping onto his mahogany desks and floors, a faint scratch of keratin against ivory paper filling the empty space… It has been a long time since he’s made the decision to take over petty bureau duties. Today is a special day. Kaeya needs to focus on the satisfying echoes of paper and pen, on the sunlight heating his back, or he might just go insane.

    The clamor of bells tugs Kaeya from his mechanical performance. Each ring is a song of desperation, a performance begging for his attention. Come out and celebrate! Indulge in the pain. He is not a man that falls prey to anger, but he cannot help that frustrated itch in his stomach as he hears the iron reverberating. Please just be quiet, Kaeya thinks. Let me forget. The hesitant croak of his door alerts Kaeya to the presence of the Acting Grand Master. She dons an outfit unique from her usual uniform - a cream-colored dress, embroidered by floral lace, a single azure ribbon tying at the waist. So even the straight-edged Jean has taken time off today? 

    “Kaeya, you can’t make these excuses forever.” He knows from how Jean closes the door with unperturbed silence that this is not a conversation regarding hilichurl nests or Fatui diplomats. He can tell from the way Jean drops the mature title of ‘Sir’ in favor of his childhood nickname, that it is a conversation Jean feels must be approached with gentleness as if Kaeya is a stray cat that claws at feeding hands. The Grand Master releases a heaved exhale because both of them dread this discussion as much as the other. There is an inherent wrong in seeing Kaeya distressed. He may not be shedding tears in solitude or resigning himself to the dormitories, but he is hiding, and that is enough for Jean to observe that he is not functioning as normal.

    “Please, come for a little while. I know it’s not… something you want to see, but he’s your brother. Offer a small congratulations at the least.” Her heels tap on the polished hardwood.

    “I was planning on coming by later this evening.  Tell them I’m sorry for not being able to attend the main event. How could I? Just look at all this paperwork.” Kaeya’s signature chuckle follows, putting up a front of careless flirtation. It is not uncommon for Jean to rope the Cavalry Captain into his desk chair. Lord knows he’d never do it otherwise… yet now he claims servitude to the dulling labor. How ironic. 

    “I’ll tell them of your apologies… but both of us know that paperwork isn’t the reason you can’t make it.” Jean turns around, blonde hair trailing in the breeze left behind before Kaeya can quip up a rebuttal. She’s right. Jean is always right. The papers piling on his desk are from the drawers of his subordinates, filed away to be completed in another five months' time. There is no reason they had to be done today. He is hiding. He is a coward and a pathetic one at that. The thought alone provokes Kaeya to tug on his studded gloves and push out his chair. His sights are set on leaving because to be seen as a frail child is to fail at the sole thing he succeeds at. Being the chivalrous Cavalry Captain renowned for his beauty and failsafe charm is the one thing he cannot lose because he cannot let Mondstadt see how fragile he is behind the visage. 

    Mondstadt’s avenues are bustling. Oak tables identical to the ones across local taverns have been dressed in linen tablecloths and topped with miniature feasts. Children run between tables, tugging at each other’s shirts in a feisty game of tag as festive music tempts the adults to a dance. The tell-tale strums of Mondstadt’s No. 1 Bard’s lyre lead the crowds to the statue of Barbatos. Behind it, trails of petals line the paths leading to the limestone Cathedral. Couples, singles, and families alike make haste to enter through the carved doors. No one wants to miss this. Kaeya tugs on the collar of his fur coat, gazing at the entry before him. He can hear the music of an organ, romantic and rich, ricocheting from inside. 

    He steps into the Cathedral. The ceremony has yet to start and the pews continue to fill. Citizens scoot as close as possible to allow for more onlookers to take a seat. He finds a spot next to Huffman and a few other Knights, squished on the outer edge. It is three benches from the front. Too close for Kaeya to be comfortable. The croaking benches have long since met their capacity by now. Not a soul is missing, Kaeya reckons. Diluc Ragnvindr, the wine Tycoon, Mondstadt’s famous magnate, is marrying after all. It is no small occasion. Diluc’s brazen hair is a torch amidst fog, its perk hue garnering the eyes of all in the Cathedral. He is dressed in a suave black suit. It boasts minuscule gold embellishments followed by a hefty crimson cape draped on his shoulders. Even dressed in the furs and fabrics of royalty, one could sense a distinct awkwardness from him. If you’re going to marry her, at least look confident, brother. 

    It hurts. He cannot lie to himself - not that Kaeya was trying to in the first place. There is a pain associated with seeing the woman he loves marrying the brother that no longer desires to even speak to him. Now, Kaeya regrets standing up from his busy work. These thoughts won’t stop their festering, and it punches a hole through his stomach. Kaeya is all-too-aware that tonight, you will climb into Diluc’s sheets. He’d treat you kindly, of course. He grew up with Diluc and has seen his rigorous nobility tutors shape him into the gentleman he is today. There is no doubt that you will live a lavish life of luxury. A life Kaeya could never afford to give you. 

    In Khaenri’ah, Kaeya’s title of ‘Prince’ holds as much merit as it does in Teyvat. His people are dead or suffering. His city has crumbled into dust and shards of a forgotten legacy. Kaeya himself serves one purpose, and that is to bring glory back to the Eclipse Dynasty. It is in these times that Kaeya regrets being born royalty to a lost nation. In the solace of his chambers, Kaeya would stare at the painted ceiling and ponder. If I were born someone else entirely, would you give me a chance? But who is he kidding? Kaeya knows he’s handsome. It’s stupid and unreasonable to be so self-deprecating. He isn’t the one marrying you because he wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr. He wasn’t from a line of Mondstadtian heroes; he was from the ashes of sinners and embers of civilization. He was Kaeya Alberich, Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, caught between familial loyalty and a stinging betrayal. Of course he wasn’t marrying you. 

    The Cathedral doors groan as the nuns heave them open. Light floods in and frames the feminine body of the lady of Mondstadt. In your hands, a bouquet of calla lilies. On your body, a silken robe of pearls and diamonds. It flows at your back, fluttering in the blessed gales of Barbatos’. Kaeya swore that as a Khaenri’ahn, he would never see the Gates of Celestia. But this… this, he thinks, might be the closest glimpse he gets. No one dares to speak. She is beautiful. She has always been beautiful. Time slows as Kaeya lets himself take in the sight of you pledging your livelihood to his brother, and his brother’s livelihood to you. 

     Then, as if he is an innocent child once again, Kaeya closes his eyes as you two kiss. Clapping and cheers fill the atmosphere. 

    “To the Ragnvindr’s! Oley!”

    “Say, Kaeya, do you ever wanna get married?” The girl questions from Kaeya’s backside. 

    “Maybe. Then I can show off in front of my lovely wife! That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Diluc?” Kaeya jests, elbowing his step-brother’s chest. Diluc rolls his eyes, ever the prodigy. 

    “We’re still young. There’s no use thinking about such things. Shouldn’t you focus on training?” He grumbles. Kaeya knows that he will never have a lucky wife. He will never have a healthy family, or a thriving home, or a genuine relationship. Those are nothing more than dreams to Kaeya.

    The girl grabs Kaeya’s arm and begins running into the fields of grapes and firs. There is a childlike giggle dispersing for all in the neighborhood to hear, fading out as they lose sight of the manor. Reaching the edge of the cliffside, they halt. It overlooks a sapphire river below, fit for one of Master Crepus’ paintings. Diluc had been abandoned long ago. 

    “Hey, Kaeya, the water kind of looks like your hair.” The girl remarks, nuzzling closer to him. He feels his heart thrashing in its cage, begging him not to react, begging him not to ruin the fate of his country. To the girl, he smells of linen, lampgrass, and sweat, much as a kid his age should. Silence settles onto their shoulders, both of them catching breaths that had been stolen in the wind. “I didn’t ask before because I thought Diluc would get mad, but… Kaeya, how about we get married when we grow up?” How silly, Kaeya thinks. I couldn’t marry you if I wanted to. 

    “Hmm, okay. So you’ll be my lucky wife then?” Kaeya plummets down onto the grass and grins. It tickles the back of his neck and stains his blouse a verdant green. He dreams of dreaming, because that is all Khaenri’ahns like him can do. He dreams of coming home to your embrace or trudging back from battle hand-in-hand. Either one is okay. Anything with you is okay. 

    “Of course, stupid. That’s what marriage is. So you’ll be my lucky husband!” Lucky husband. It fills his heart with an immature pride too chaste for a traitor of his caliber. 

    “Deal!” 

    “Deal.” 

    They are naive children making impossible promises, but a part of Kaeya has never unlatched from those delicate whispers. Khaenri’ahns dream of dreaming, but just this once, Kaeya wished he could dream of you.

    “So, Sir Kaeya, are you going to marry soon? Youth is fleeting! Get a wife while you’re young.” One of the Knights suggests, sliding him a suggestive beam. Kaeya let’s himself open his eyes. He processes the blinding light from colored panes of glass spilling over him, the jovial expressions of the citizens he has sworn to protect, and you grasping onto Diluc’s arm, a longing of adoration phasing across your features. Happy. You are happy. He turns towards the knight, cracking a smile.

    “Don’t be silly - I’m already married, Huffman.” He lets the novice soldier ogle at him for a few seconds. “I’m joking. Lighten up.” Huffman releases a hearty chortle, commenting on his Captain’s sense of humor and putting a hand to his chest. He laughs along, but Kaeya knows there is no joke. 

Don’t be silly. I’m already married. It was a deal, after all.

#kaeya x you #kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya #kaeya alberich #genshin impact x reader #genshin #noctis-noctua

[alia-turin-fanfiction]

Silent Whispers

Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Relationship: Maedhros | Maitimo/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Maedhros | MaitimoMaglor | MakalaurëCelegorm | TurcafinwëFëanor | CurufinwëCurufin | CurufinwëCaranthir | MorifinwëAmrod (Tolkien)Amras (Tolkien) Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD Depression Insomnia More tags to come with chapters

Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Please read tags as this fic plays heavy into Maedhros’ PTSD issues.

Summary:

Years after Maedhros had ben freed from Angband, he still cannot get a grip of his own mind. Suffering from depression and serious insomnia, reality is starting to slip his mind until he finds someone to help him go through it. Unfortunately, his state of mind is too much in the way for him to realize it.

Maedhros walked like a ghost in his own castle. He knew exactly where he was, the hallway leading to the kitchens, but not really. The walls, the floors, the stone...they were just copies of the same. He wasn't walking with purpose, he was just brooding while haunting his own fortress. Three days since he had not slept more than two hours combined. Probably a couple more and he would just collapse. That had happened before, more than once. Maglor would find him asleep in his study or over breakfast and take him to a bed. As pathetic as it all sounded, that was the only way he could ensure dreamless sleep. It wasn't always that bad. Sometimes he could go for months without an ‘accident’. That's how his brother called his little insomniac episodes. But there was no accident; he had been damaged beyond repair and no matter how much Maglor liked to pretend the truth was Maedhros was broken. The wounds on his body might have healed and turned into scars, his right hand was still missing and he knew it would not grow but he had learned to use his left as well. His mind...that was beyond fixing.

“My lord?” a soft voice spoke behind him. Maedhros turned slowly, he never encountered anyone on his walks. Granted most of the time we wouldn't have noticed them even if he did, but no one spoke to him. In front of him was standing a woman dressed in hunting attire - dark brown clothes, black kneehigh boots. Her chestnut hair was tied in a bun but unruly locks were falling all around her head. Dark blue eyes looked at him confused as if he was not where he was supposed to be. That was silly, this was his fortress, he built the damn thing. “My lord are you…” she suddenly stopped as if rethinking what she was about to say. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you here?” he asked her, his voice coming out more annoyed than anything else. “And who are you?”

“Bringing that to the kitchen, my lord.” She raised her hand and waved at him two dead rabbits on a string. “And my name is Neniel, I'm the daughter of your hunting master.”

He felt silly. He was tired and his fatigue was making him irritable and irrational. There were days he forgot there were others in the fortress even if he met them almost every hour of the day or trained with his soldiers in the yard. His brain was a scramble and he needed to pull himself out of that.

Maedhros stepped away to allow her to pass him, he could continue his brooding across the hallways until the sun came.

“Did my lord have breakfast yet?” he asked as she reached him, an innocent question, but somehow caught him off guard.

“Breakfast? It’s the middle of the night.”

“There is an hour left until sunrise.” she responded slowly as if doubting her own answer or maybe concerned she might offend him by correcting him. That much time had passed? He had no idea. He wasn’t really hungry, food had not been something he was interested in recently. He would eat because Maglor would tell him to eat, but no matter what was put in front of him had no taste and he had no desire for it. Maybe that was his chance to avoid Maglor’s nagging and his younger brother literally counting his bites.

Neniel started pulling things from the different cupboards as Maedhros sat on the long table in the kitchen. She put ham and cheese on a plate, put a kettle to boil for tea and another one to cook eggs in. She would look at her lord occasionally, not staring, just making sure he was still there as he was awfully silent. His gaze was turned in her direction, but it felt as if he was not really seeing her, he was somewhere far away.

She didn’t say anything about it. Everyone talked about the eldest son of Feanor and what imprisonment had done to him. Everyone talked about how his younger brother was trying to help him and protect him in the worst moments, but master Maglor could not be everywhere all the time. Almost everyone in the fortress knew about the spans of sleepless nights their lord spent walking through the cold hallways of Himring, the detachment and the absolutely insane amount of hours he spent training with his soldiers almost until collapse.

“Why is the daughter of my hunting master so familiar with the kitchen?” He finally asked as she pulled the boiling water from the fire to make tea.

“I usually help around. Plus being the daughter of the hunting master is not really an occupation.” She tried to make light of it and smiled, but his face remained unchanged. She could see the dark circles under his eyes, how long did he go without sleep? His grey eyes looked empty which was so unusual for the elves coming from Valinor, and his skin so pale, almost like he wasn’t alive. The only thing that was giving color to his face was the long scar running over his left cheekbone and another one decorating his jawline.

Neniel placed the plate with meat, cheese and vegetables in front of him, another one for her and brought two cups with tea. He looked at the food with the same blank expression he had been looking at her while she was trying to fix that.

“I promise you, my lord, it is not poison.” She took a piece of smoked meat and put it in her mouth smiling at him.

“It is not that.” he laughed nervously and ran the fingers of his left hand through his messy red hair. “Food and I have a bit of a troublesome relationship these days.”

She knew that. She spent enough time in the kitchens to hear everyone talk about the plates that have been taken away from their lord’s chambers. Still filled with food, untouched unless master Maglor was there. That wasn’t happening always, but their lord had his moments and he was in one of them right now.

“I actually would be a bit offended if you don’t even try. I helped make the bread before I went to check on the traps and I also helped hunting the meat.'' The thing about the bread was true, she was not really sure about the meat. She had been hunting, sure but there was no way for her to know if that particular piece was from her or someone else. Could have been something he hunt for all she knew.

“In this case…” he forced a smile on his lips and rook a piece of the bread, and then meat and cheese and placed it on top. He took a bite and nodded. “It is good.” he took a second bite but then left all of that on his plate. “Do you always wake up that early?”

“I do, my lord.” Since her father had passed years ago she was doing his work most days - feeding the hounds, checking the traps, making sure everything was running smoothly and then helping in the kitchen. Nobody had appointed a new hunting master so she just did the job as best as she could. “There is a lot to be done around, and there are never enough hands.”

He took a few more bites in silence and got up.

“Thank you for the food. I appreciate it.” he had finished about half of his plate and she decided that was a small victory. Better than nothing and beats the full plates that others have been carrying out of his rooms. Without saying anything else he walked out of the kitchen.

“Was that master Maedhros?” Irel, the cook, walked in, her eyes shifting between the man walking away and the plates on the table. Neniel nodded, still not sure how she ended up having breakfast with him, even if she was the one who had suggested it. “Did he even know he was here?”

Neniel did not answer. She hoped he did.

“Are you even listening to me?” Maglor asked him, probably for the sixth time.

“No, Maglor, I am not, whatever it is, just take care of it.” His brain was not working, he had not slept properly in a week. Days and nights were turning into the same thing, hours passed as fast as minutes and seconds sometimes lasted for days. He had memories of things that had happened in that sleepless week, Maglor talking to him, training with his soldiers, having breakfast with his hunting master’s daughter. Neniel, that was her name, he had remembered that. He spent time with her a few days now and he had discovered he likes the company, especially as it gave him an excuse not to be stared at by Maglor as he ate.

“Sure, I will.” Maglor got up from the chair, but Maedhros felt some guilt. He was the eldest, he was the leader, he was responsible for all of them. His father would have tossed him from the window if he had heard the words that had just come out of his mouth. Maedhros had responsibilities and no matter how bad he felt, he had to do them.

“Kano, wait.” Even in death Feanor could inflict fear and Maedhros was going to be damned if he was to disappoint his father. “Tell me again.”

“It’s fine Maitimo, you have a lot on your mind.” His brother smiled with kindness. Their mother’s smile. Same smile she would give him every time Feanor had been hard on him,

“Tell me.” he repeated and his brother sat back on the chair.

“We need to make sure there are enough guards in the valleys with the New Years celebration. With the rest coming it would be foolish for the enemy to try something, but also I can see how appealing it might be to have all of Feanor’s sons in one place.”

“New Years celebration?” There were so many words that Maedhsros did not connect in that sentence. “The rest are coming?”

“Maitimo, it’s new years day tomorrow.” Maglor’s face was one of concern.

“Tomorrow?” Maedhros knew he probably should hide his surprise, but he could not. “No, there is a week until…” But he had not slept in a week properly, so days blended and a week had passed. What else had he missed or forgotten? “Fine double the patrols, I’m sure Caranthir will not come alone, he has been good at utilizing humans, maybe we can add some of them to the guard stations.” Maglor nodded. Maedhros’ brain had its struggles these days, but war was something he had been skillful at and no matter how bad he felt, he would not let his guard down. Before he could say something else a knock came on the door.

“My lords, Masters Curufin and Celegorm are here.” one of the guards at the door announced.

“Let them in.” Maedhros said with a wave of his hand realizing the guard cannot actually see him.

Curufin walking in the room was almost as if watching their father coming in. It wasn’t that much of a physical resemblance, although Kurvo was as close as physical copy to Feanor as possible. His posture however, the way he looked, even the way he stepped was like watching Feanor himself. Celegorm on the other end was a very different matter.

“Look at you two!” Tyelko shouted in excitement. No, not shouting, Celegorm was just loud. “Please tell me you have planned a hunt. I have not killed anything in months.”

Curufin rolled his eyes, they probably have been having that discussion for days now and judging by the frustration of the younger brother, Celegorm had been stopped from getting to kill something.

“I have not.” Maedhros responded patiently and turned his attention to the more mature of the two. “How is Finrod doing?”

“Dull.” It was again Celegorm who answered. “Maedhros, seriously, we can talk about all the gossip you have missed because you have chosen this wretched and cold place for your home.”

“I’m sure if you find my hunting master he can help you.” Maedhros finally gave in knowing that the only way to make Celegorm calm is to give him what he wanted. Sometimes he wondered how it was possible for him not to be the youngest given the attention he required all the time.

“You don’t have a hunting master.” Maglor spoke which made Celegorm look even more disappointed. “He died three years ago in an orc ambush. You never appointed anyone to replace him, his daughter had been filling in for him.”

Everyone looked at Maedhros as if he had just broken one of their mother’s sculptures. Fine, he did not remember that, but in all reality, he had more important matters on his hands. Three years had been such a long time however. Then he thought of Neniel, he had been spending almost every day of the week with her, she had not mentioned any of that. Did she realize her lord had no idea who her father was or what had happened to him…

“Fine, find the girl I’m sure she can direct you to a good hunting spot.” Maedhros waved him off, he needed to talk to Curufin, but not with the constant interruptions.

“I will take you.” Maglor volunteered himself and Maedhros smiled in gratitude. Last thing he needed was Celegorm just walking around the fortress.

“Don’t kill anyone we are related to.” Maedhros shouted after Celegorm which earned him a laugh from Maglor and a very judgmental look from Tyelko.

He spent his day talking with Curufin over wine. There was a lot happening south that he needed to know and the occasional messenger or bird did not cut it. Humans were starting to play a bigger role in the world and he knew some of that from Caranthir, but their kin was not willing to settle as far north as Himring unless they had to. Their cousins however seemed to have developed friendship with them, something that judging by the way how Curufin spoke, he did not approve.

“You don’t look well.” His young brother said eventually after they had exhausted all the family gossip. Maedhros got up. These words would be meaningless if they did not sound as if coming from their father’s mouths. It reminded him of a time, he fell from a horse, Curufun had not even been born then. Feanor had looked at his eldest son and just told him ‘stop crying boy’. Maedhros had been in pain then, but he did as he was told, every time he had done as he was told. There was so much of that same tone in Kurvo’s voice.

“I’m fine.” he looked through the window, not wanting to face his brother and imagining he was talking to his father’s ghost. “Celebrimbor is not coming?”

“We are not talking these days.” Curufin admitted, not an ounce of regret in his voice.

“Should I ask why?” Maedhros smiled. His brother and his nephew had a volatile relationship. It was surprising the boy had come with them from Valinor, but he had always been a curious one.

“He is not like me.” his brother announced after a short pause. “I cannot understand him.”

Maedhros was not surprised by what he was hearing. Celebrimbor had been a good kid. As talented as his father and grandfather, probably one of the best smiths alive. That was what he had taken from Curufin. But there was also kindness and idealism in his heart, something Kurvo had been immune to at a very young age. Must be hard for someone like Curufin who was a perfect copy of their father to accept the fact that his son was not an identical copy of him.

Maedhros was about to say something big brotherly, to make his younger sibling feel better when he saw Celegorm riding back to the fortress with Neniel after him. She was laughing even from up here he could see and Celegorm was smiling as well. She had never laughed when he spoke to her, but then again he almost did not talk when they were alone. She got off her horse and helped Celegorm pull down a stag from the back of his horse. He could feel his fingers digging at the cold stone as he was watching, not even sure why that was making him angry. It was just a hunt and she was doing what she was asked to do and Celegorm was just talking an animal off his horse.

“Maitimo?” his young brother spoke, making Maedhros realize he was still staring through the window even if the yard was now empty.

“I’m sorry it has been a long day.” he turned his attention back to his brother. “You should allow Celebrimbor to be his own man, you know? He is your son, but he is not you.” He was about to add more, he was something of an expert on the topic of sons who were not always like their fathers even if all his life he had been going out of his way to prove he was like his father. Just as he was about to speak more, Celegrom barged in the room.

“Everything I have ever said about this place, I take back.” Celegorm walked to the table and poured himself wine, drinking quickly. “You have some amazing hunting spots, brother. Also your hunting girl, she is a goddess. She can track better than I can, which bothers me a bit, but I am also impressed.”

“I’m glad you are feeling at home.” Maedhros forced a smile, his chest was feeling tight for unknown reasons.

“She is amazing really.” Celegrom poured himself another glass, this time taking just a sip. “I hope you don’t mind. I invited her to come with me to the New Years celebration.”

“Not at all.” The words came too quickly out of Maedhros’ mouth. It was wrong, but for a second he hoped Celegrom choked on that wine.

#maedhros #maglor #silmarillion #curufin #maitimo #russandol #my writing

[joontella]

achromatic.

Yandere!Kim Namjoon x Female Reader

Word Count: 11.1k

Genre(s):  Angst, Slight Fluff, (HORRIBLY WRITTEN) Smut

Trigger Warning(s): Mentions of religion or lack thereof, blood, murder, idk how the human body works, (unknown) consumption of blood, manipulation, stalking, male masturbation (again, horribly written), Namjoon is an asshole, and musical terms because i play music rip, minor character death, slight gore. it gets really shitty towards the end. i’m sorry

Merry Merry! It’s Peppermint! Your gift is finally here, @exhausted-joy​! I’m sorry for the wait. I had to make sure that it was perfect. This is my first time doing this, and I really wanted to give it my all. Please forgive me, and thank you for putting up with my antics in the server. I hope you enjoy it!

I also want to thank Saniya (@smeraldos-blog), Mari (@joheun-saram), Hannah (@spicykoreantatertots), Ley (@pars-ley​), Avery (@ksmuttherapy​), and everyone else who tolerated and/or helped me out! I love you all and thank you so much for the help and support! I’m so happy to have met you all!

ach·ro·mat·ic /akrəˈmadik/

adjective

without color.

“Damn. There goes my chance of starting my winter break with a passing grade.” One woman groaned.

“What the hell are you talking about? You have a solid ‘C’! I’m literally failing everything!” Her friend responded, as her arms waved in a cartoonish rendition of exasperation. “And whose fault is that?” “Not mine! This semester was nothing but a months-long depressive episode. How could I focus with everything that’s going on?”

He so desperately wishes that they would shut up, or at the very least, take their obnoxiously loud conversation elsewhere. Namjoon twirled the ink pen in his hand with a practiced precision only years of being hunched over paperwork could provide. However, those were nothing but pipe dreams as the two students turned their attention over to him. “There’s Kim Namjoon! He’s had the top spot for years now, way before he was enrolled here.” One began babbling quite loudly whilst pointing to the man in question. “I bet he came out of the womb with high marks. I heard that he scored in the 99th percentile for his newborn screening tests.” The other swooned in response to her own musings.

Obviously, these two were much more idiotic than he had originally thought. It didn’t take an expert to read his body language: the way that he twirled his pen faster, as if that could speed up the agonizing conversation he was being forced to bear witness to; the way his jaw clenched so tightly that it could easily break a metal wire; and the position his shoulders held, resembling an animal coiling in preparation to strike or flee. He pleaded to gods he didn’t even believe in for the duo to be quickly eradicated with a swift strike of lightning. According to the calculations he made swiftly in his head, the chances of something like that happening were infinitesimally small. How unfortunate.

Deciding that the best course of action to take would be to leave the two neanderthals to their devices, Namjoon did just that. He quickly snapped his book shut with one hand and a loud, meaningful clap as the pages suddenly collided with each other. If that didn’t make the nuisances jump in surprise, his words would.

“Although I’m a source of inspiration and wonder to many, it’s degrading to hear someone so openly refer to me in a way that one would to an exotic zoo animal,” He began. Namjoon’s tone was cool and even, carrying an air of regality all the while retaining a bitter edge of contempt and disdain for both the conversation and the mere existence of the two original party members. 

Finally, the two felt the brunt of the consequences their crimes on Namjoon’s ears had to offer. They both visibly wilted, reminding the tall man of his mother’s daisies being roasted and withering under the dry summer heat. Normally, this would have been more than enough to diffuse the situation and lift him of his auditory burden. However, his heart ached for more. His brain so desperately yearned for more stimulation and a rush of dopamine.

He decided to twist the knife, so to speak.

“Also, you too could rise to the top.” Namjoon said as he began to turn away.

Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the two wilted flowers gain new life and their faces brighten with newfound hope. The loudest of the two even had the audacity to whimper a pathetically optimistic, “Really?”

Twist. Twist. Twist!

“Of course~.” Namjoon purred, deciding to turn to face his victims’ satisfying demise. His heart threatened to beat in double time in anticipation.

Although their anxiously awaiting smiles made his stomach turn, he couldn’t deny the mirth swirling alongside the disgust in his belly.

“First off, instead of blaming your inadequacies solely on the tumultuous events of this year, take responsibility for your shortcomings. Only children avoid blaming themselves.”

He could hear the glass shattering as their faces fell in a tandem that most would find heartbreaking. He found it utterly amusing. Now, he would take his leave. After receiving the reaction he desired and more, Namjoon wanted nothing more than to leave the duo to stew in their humiliation. Yet, one last thing lingered. He had yet to land the finishing blow that would ensure that he wouldn’t be bothered by these two pieces of scum ever again.

Twist. Twist! TWIST!

“Before I forget, avoid talking so loudly. As you may or may not have noticed, I was trying to study. You know, one of the things that facilitates good grades? I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but your incessant bantering made it increasingly difficult to do so. Might I suggest that you follow my example and do the same? Maybe then, one day, you could take my place at the top.”

Namjoon wasn’t even facing them anymore. His back was to the two women, further solidifying his dismissal of them. With a simple and curt wave of his hand, he simply uttered,

“Ladies.”

And he was on his way.

“Exam results will be posted this afternoon. I trust that you all scored high enough marks to keep our university in high regard.” Your professor droned from the front of the lecture hall. “I know that many of you despise the fact that a standardized test is still administered in college, but so far, it is the only way to ensure that Mugunghwa National Academy is churning out bright students worthy enough to contribute to society!”

The students in question couldn’t care less about their scores or the school’s prestige. All they were worried about was getting the hell out of there after two hours of examination and stifling silence. They all stood from their seats and slung their bags across their bodies. A disgruntled murmur rang throughout. Quite frankly, you were no different.

As you hugged your notebook close to your body, your professor stopped you as you reached the lecture hall door.

“Ah, Miss (L/N). A word, please.”

Surprised, you let out a soft, “Sure.” and walked over to the podium where your professor started to neatly stack and organize his papers.

“As you know, Miss (L/N), you are one of the two best students we’ve had at this academy recently.”

You shifted your weight awkwardly at the sudden praise. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you began to speak. “I mean, I guess? I wouldn’t go that far, but I suppose that records and the numbers do suggest that I’m performing quite well.” Your professor scowled at your response. You were a bright young woman. You deserved to flaunt it and soak up the praise every once in a while, right? He folded his arms and sighed deeply causing your brain to go into overdrive on how you could rectify the situation. “While pride does come short of a fall, you should learn to take compliments when they’re given, (Y/N). I promise you that you won’t become an egomaniac anytime soon as a result.” He said gently, causing your nerves to subside. Right. Maybe you should just accept compliments. A little self esteem boost never hurt anybody, right? “Thank you, professor, but may I ask why you’re telling me this?” You asked, trying to move the conversation along as politely as you could. You had an hour before you were due to go to the college’s radio station and prepare for this evening’s broadcast. Hopefully, your professor would get to the point so you could quickly grab a bite to eat before you started airing.

“Oh yes, of course! I’m sorry! I said all this to tell you that I have your exam results already. Seeing as how you are the brightest in your class, you finished early, giving me enough time to grade yours while your peers were working. I think that you’ll find the results to your liking, Miss (L/N).” He grinned, handing you a white manila envelope with the school’s insignia printed on the front.

You quirked a brow and opened it. You were then greeted by the name of the school, its motto, and yet another print of the school emblem on the header. Your (E/C) eyes scanned the page until you found what you were looking for:

𝑴𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝑨𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎 

𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: (𝑳/𝑵), (𝒀/𝑵) 

𝑴𝒂𝒋𝒐𝒓: 𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒎 

𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎: 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 21 

𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆: 98/100 

𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒌:

1 𝒐𝒇 300

You stood there, dumbfounded. The paper you once held gingerly and timidly was wrinkling and threatening to tear under your now iron grip. You were now number one. Somehow, some way, you managed to best Kim Namjoon. Mugunghwa’s already carefully balanced and fragile ecosystem was crumbling around you. What have you done?

“I take it that you’re in shock. I’ll leave you alone to celebrate.” Your professor said smoothly as he slung his coat over his shoulder. “Congratulations, (Y/N). Please enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Uh huh… Will do…” You uttered dumbly.

Mugunghwa National Academy ran on strict rules, but most of them were unspoken. For the sake of your sanity and that of the rest of the student body (and let’s face it, staff, too), you intended to follow those sacred and silent rules to the letter.

Rule Number One: Don’t look in the janitor’s closet near the athletics facilities. You may not come out the same way as you came in.

Rule Number Two: If the cafeteria serves meatloaf, avoid it at all costs. Only eat it if you want to get sick and purposely miss class.

Rule Number Three: Kim Namjoon is the best at everything. He is to be number one until Hell freezes over.

Rule Number Four: In order to keep peace and balance between the nations, (Y/N) (L/N) must always come in second. This is the natural order of things.

You were content with being in second place. To be frank, you preferred to leave the pomp and circumstance of being the top dog to Namjoon. He was more equipped to bear the burden, after all. Besides, it wasn’t like your future career was depending on you being the best. You could skate by with a silver medal and leave Namjoon with the gold. You preferred the look of silver, anyway.

Now look at what you've done. There’s no doubt that the records have been updated by now. Your professor did grade yours early, and it’s reasonable to assume that Namjoon’s was as well. You’d inadvertently torn a hole in the gossamer fabric that was Mugunghwa National Academy. With one exam, you signed the collective death certificate of every other person besides Kim Namjoon himself. 

May God have mercy on your wretched soul.

“Young Master, your father would like to have a word with you in his study.” The head butler of the Kim mansion stated simply.

For the second time that day, Namjoon clenched his jaw tightly. He shrugged off his coat and handed it to the older gentleman who was automatically waiting at his side to collect the article of clothing. He hadn’t even gotten through the door and already his father wanted to speak with him. This didn’t bode well.

“Seokjin, did he mention why he’d want to see me?” Namjoon asked dryly. Seokjin simply shook his head and hung his coat on the nearby rack. 

“He only mentioned that it was urgent, so I suggest that it would be in your best interest to make it there expeditiously.”

This certainly did not bode well. Kim Joonho was a man of few words. Most would say that he’s the very definition of “actions speak louder than words”. Whenever the CEO of Kim Industries did something, people watched in equal parts starstruck awe and fear. However, when the CEO of Kim Industries deemed something important enough to speak on, there was no choice in the matter. You either listened intently or you perished in more ways than one. This was no different for Joonho’s family. In fact, he was worse to them. Working under the guise of caring for his family, Joonho was more stoic to his wife and children.

Regardless of his debatably righteous intentions, it sent the Kim family into delicately managed dysfunction. Simply put, Kim Joonho never spoke to Namjoon out of wishing to connect with his son on a more personal level. Namjoon was the next heir to Kim Industries. Being his son was an unfortunate side effect.

“Sir, I know that I did implore you to hurry, but-”

“What?” Namjoon growled. His nerves were shot to shit today. Anything that impeded his meeting with his father and his goal to quickly get it over with was met with hostility.

Seeming to understand this, Seokjin cleared his throat and motioned a gloved hand towards the mansion’s threshold.

“You know better than to walk in the house with your shoes still on,” The Kim butler began smoothly as he made his way over to Namjoon to collect his shoes. “I do understand that you are upset, but you shouldn’t let your emotions cloud your judgement so drastically that you forget such basic cultural conventions.”

Namjoon sighed sharply and bit back a retort that was bubbling in his throat. Arguing with Seokjin was pointless. As per usual, he was correct. Engaging in such petty conflicts would only worsen things.

“Right. I suppose I was quite hasty. Thank you.” Namjoon sighed whilst peeling off his shoes.

“I do believe that an apology is in order, Young Master.”

Namjoon was already halfway across the foyer, about to ascend the grand staircase leading to the upper floors when Seokjin’s cheeky remark reached his ears. He felt his blood begin to simmer in his veins and his muscles stiffen.

“The fact that I haven’t fired you by now and ruined any chances of you gaining any further employment should be enough of an apology. You’re treading on thin ice, Seokjin. Remember your place in this world.”

With that, he continued his journey to the final boss room within the Kim family mansion: his father’s study. The last he heard of Seokjin was a sly chuckle and the clicking of his polished leather shoes against the floor. Staff were not guests. Therefore, they were not allowed the privilege of removing their shoes. They were expendable. They needn’t get too comfortable.

Despite how much he detested it, Namjoon couldn’t deny that cold chill of anxiety that frosted his entire body. His father never wanted to talk to him. Ever. He could count on his hands the times that Joonho requested his presence. He could count on only one hand how many times Joonho requested his presence to celebrate his son’s successes. Their relationship was solely professional. There was no love to be found, no matter how hard you read between the lines. Even in as high of a position as Namjoon is in, he is still subservient to his father.

That’s the natural order of things.

“Come in, Namjoon.” Joonho’s voice rang from behind the large mahogany doors.

Almost cartoonishly, the hinges squeaked like Namjoon was uncovering the entrance to a haunted crypt. Namjoon decided long ago that was an eerily apt way of describing his father’s study.

Naturally, Namjoon obeyed his father and entered the room. Dead center, there sat Kim Joonho on his throne. Sitting with perfect posture behind the large oak desk, Joonho stared his son down with cold eyes filled with disdain. How Namjoon desperately wished he could gouge them out with his father’s prized letter opener.

“Don’t waste my time. Have a seat. I don’t have all day.” Joonho snapped.

“Of course. How are you today, father?”

The CEO’s eyes narrowed at his son’s inquiry. “Spare me the niceties, boy. Sit down. We have business to discuss.”

Before Namjoon could interject, Joonho was already reaching into a drawer and produced a white manila envelope. Upon closer inspection, one could see Mugunghwa National Academy’s insignia emblazoned on the front. Once Namjoon was properly seated, he reached out and grabbed the parcel.

“May I ask what this is?” “You may not. You have eyes, boy. Read it for yourself.”

The frigid chill of anxiety was soon being replaced with the molten heat of fury. Some tiny part of Namjoon’s mind was concerned that he would develop a fever at the sudden and constant shifts in his body temperature. That wouldn’t do. He couldn’t afford for his health to decline. That would be another thing for his father to berate him for.

“Of course. My apologies, father.” Namjoon whispered as he undid the envelope’s fastening. Once he did so, he pulled the paper out with an air of nonchalance. Surely, it must have been another letter from the school to congratulate him on some academic achievement he didn’t even realize existed. However, in his eyes and in the eyes of his father, it was the exact opposite.

 𝑴𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝑨𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎 

 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: 𝑲𝒊𝒎, 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏 

 𝑴𝒂𝒋𝒐𝒓: 𝑩𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓(𝒔): 𝑩𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚, 𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 

 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎: 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 21 

 𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆: 96/100 

 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒌: 2 𝒐𝒇 300

For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon’s world fell apart before his very eyes. Suddenly the sturdy and imposing columns holding up the large study appeared to crumble around him. The fire that crackled in the fireplace was reduced to nothing but pathetic cinders. He felt the ground split beneath his feet and his father… His father grew to a monstrous size in comparison to his surroundings, suddenly hunched over his son in preparation to strike.

“This must be some mistake! The results must have gotten mixed up! I-”

“Enough!” Joonho boomed. He swiftly slammed his hand down on his desk, successfully frightening his son into silence. “Only children avoid blaming themselves. I thought I taught you to accept responsibility! How dare you blame your inadequacies on the people who made them apparent?!”

Namjoon clenched his fists tightly in his lap and pushed down the urge to go through on his original plan of plucking his father’s eyeballs out.

“Can’t you see? Whoever graded my exam was clearly incompetent. If they had a brain stem, they would know that I am only capable of producing top-class work! Just like you should not be blamed for one measly employee’s mistake, I should not be blamed for the mistake of someone beneath me!” Namjoon exclaimed. Once he finished his spiel, he found himself standing up, but he didn’t remember willing his muscles to do so.

“This entire conversation is pointless. It’s inefficient at best and mind-numbing at its worst! For someone who values time and money more than his own family, I find it quite curious that you’re willing to waste both so frivolously.”

Now, it was Joonho’s turn to clench his jaw and his fists. Despite the utter disdain he felt for the situation, the patriarch had to admit the merit in his son’s retort. His pride would never let him express the sliver of admiration that stirred within him at Namjoon’s courageous display.

Nobody dared talk back to Kim Joonho. That was the natural order of things.

“Regardless of who’s truly at fault, find this (Y/N) (L/N). She usurped your throne, Namjoon. She deserves to be punished for her transgression.”

“Of course. She’s public enemy number one, but she won’t be number one ever again.”

With that, the young master of the Kim household turned his back on the old master and shut the door to the crypt behind him.

“Aaaaaand now, we’re back after our break!” Your co-host chirped from beside you.

The red on-air sign glowed warmly overhead, creating a sense of coziness and heat in the otherwise cold station. You wrapped your cardigan closer around you before adjusting your mic.

“And we’re about to go into our winter break soon. How fitting!” You posited, trying to match your co-host’s energy.

“That’s right! Mugunghwa exams are finally over, and the scores and ranks have already been updated for some! Care to talk about that, (Y/N)?” Taehyung, your co-host, wiggled his sharp eyebrows in his quest to prod for information.

Normally, his rectangular grin and bright eyes would warm your heart. Today, however, you wanted to punch that devilish smirk right off of him. You should have known that Tae would have suddenly caught wind of your latest academic achievement. He’s the university’s most involved (read: nosiest) student. 

“Not really… But you won’t shut up until I do, so…” You sighed as you spun around in your swivel chair. Once you stopped your cycle, you scooted closer to the microphone and cleared your throat. “I got a 98 on the exam. My professor stopped me after class and told me the news.”

Not that anyone but you and the sound director, Yoongi, would see it, but Taehyung’s impish smile turned into a disappointed pout. “Ah, listen to our (Y/N). Always dodging the important questions. Such a tease!”

You shoved him gently and laughed at his comment before shaking your head. “This guy… To everyone who dreams of dating him, work with him first. You’ll see how much of a horrible person he is.”

“Yah! That’s slander! Aren’t journalists supposed to avoid that?”

“I’ll kick your ass.” You licked your lips and began to answer the original question in further detail. “Yeah, so… Anyway, I got a 98 and I guess that warranted me becoming number one…?”

Both Taehyung and Yoongi’s faces dropped. From his booth, you could see Yoongi grimace and in your peripheral, you saw Tae stiffen.

“Up next is Still With You by our resident golden boy Jeon Jungkook. We’ll be back soon. Stay tuned.” 

Suddenly, the on-air sign was turned off. The song began to play and Taehyung immediately gripped your shoulders.

“You what?!” Taehyung nearly screeched. “(Y/N), do you have any idea what this means?!” “That I took Kim Namjoon’s place and sent the fragile society of Mugunghwa into ruin? Yeah, I do.” Tae blinked for a moment. “No… Although, that does make sense. That seems way more important than what I was gonna say. Huh.”

You were actually going to punch the shit out of him. “Dude, what?”

“Listen, this is your chance! You can finally get recognized as the top-tier person that you are! As long as you were under Kim’s big, goofy shadow, you were going to be pushed aside! Now you can show everyone here how cool you are!”

You felt your throat tighten. That all-too-familiar sensation of a goose egg being lodged in your esophagus rose. You were going to cry. How you desperately wished that you could view the world like Taehyung did. How you longed to see the silver lining of every situation just like he did. All you saw was destruction and despair. All you felt was guilt for damning the entire student body to some cruel fate that only Kim Namjoon could dish out.

“Tae, I love you, but you don’t fucking get it! I’m screwed! We’re all screwed! I broke two of the sacred rules of this school! Kim Namjoon must always be first! I must always be second! I just sentenced everyone to death!”

Taehyung raised a brow, as if what you were saying were the incoherent ramblings of a mad woman. “You describe my cousin like he’s some heinous demon.” Even the usually passive Yoongi had to straighten his spine and widen his eyes at this revelation.

“He’s your cousin?!”

Tae leaned back in his seat with yet another smirk. This time, you couldn’t put a finger on the emotion this specific lift of his lips held. “Isn’t the resemblance obvious? The Kim line has some strong genes. It’s been that way since the Joseon era, I’ve been told.”

Ignoring the historical implications for why such strong genes would still be present thousands of years later (assuming that Taehyung was actually serious), you hurried the conversation along. Jungkook’s silky voice had faded away a while ago, leaving the two of you with little to no time left before it was time to open the floor to callers. This was your last chance to get some useful information about Namjoon before you were dragged into what you knew was going to be a relentless storm of phone calls and incredulous screeches at the news.

Like you had said before, you’d damned everyone. Who wouldn’t want to yell at the person that had the audacity to send an entire population into ruin?

“Get to the point, Taehyung. You’re telling me that you’re related to Satan himself? And I’ve been your co-host for how long?!” You near screeched.

Tae’s ambiguous smirk was now replaced with a blank expression. “I didn’t think it mattered, (Y/N). Why does it even matter now? If there’s a bigger issue here, I think you’re dodging it.”

You froze. He was right. For as long as you knew him, Taehyung had this uncanny ability to pick people apart and leave them vulnerable in an instant. This was especially effective on you, you’ve come to realize. The funny thing was that you hadn’t realized that you were employing tactics to postpone the inevitable inundation of accusatory and furious phone calls being thrown your way. Deep down, you always hated confrontation. Until Taehyung uttered those words, you hadn’t realized how deep that hatred and aversion was ingrained.

“Damn. You’re...good… I guess I am avoiding things. Let’s just get this over with. If we hold it off any longer, things will get worse.” You muttered as you looked towards Yoongi’s booth, motioning for him to put you both back on air.

Taehyung placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and flashed his signature boxy smile. “You don’t even know what they’re going to say. Who knows? News of your latest accomplishment may have brought the (Y/N) (L/N) Official Fanclub out of hiding. I bet that there are going to be several callers professing their undying love for you!”

“Their what now?” You asked dumbly.

Taehyung placed a hand on his heart and slipped into a persona reminiscent of the male protagonist of one the many romance dramas that were plastered on television nowadays. His deep voice rumbled the soundproof padding on the walls and wrapped you in its velvety embrace.

“(Y/N), I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I’ve struggled with these emotions for so long, but news of your success has given me the courage to confess them. I can’t quite make heads or tails of them, but I want to explore them all with you…” Not that anyone but you and Yoongi could see the exchange, but Taehyung gently cupped your chin with his large hand and looked longingly into your eyes. “That is, if you’d let me.”

Silence. Then raucous laughter from you and Taehyung. (Yoongi was visibly cringing in his booth.) You expected nothing less from the theater major, but you couldn’t help the delicate fluttering that began in your stomach. Was this the fabled Taehyung Effect at work? The two of you turned to your microphones and opened the floor to callers, as per usual for this segment of your show. What was highly unusual, however, was the heartfelt “confession” that was unwittingly broadcasted to everyone tuned in. Unbeknownst to everyone, the red on-air sign shone above your heads, serving as a beacon or perhaps an unfortunately ignored warning. A warning that your lighthearted joke wasn’t going to be a joke to some.

A warning that the harbinger of doom himself was listening in… A warning that he had now collected leverage over his new enemy… A warning that he was going to destroy you, even if he had to use his own relative to do it. He would surely add this to his rapidly growing arsenal of schemes.

The next day, the very air at Mugunghwa was different. Somehow, despite being the enigmatic second-place student, everyone instinctively knew to distance themselves from you. Biologically speaking, humans were still animals, despite the staunch separation that was created over time. There was still a basal instinct to survive. In this case, that instinct screamed, “Get away from the brainlet that dared to tip the scales and anger Kim Namjoon.” You didn’t blame anyone for their decision. You couldn’t. You’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if you did, and you didn’t want “hypocrite” to be engraved on your tombstone next to “cold-blooded killer”.

Everywhere you walked, people watched you intently with eyes filled with either fear, confusion, or disgust. You could hear thinly-veiled whispers as you passed your fellow students. 

“There she is.”

“She’s surprisingly pretty. I expected some ugly broad to be under Namjoon’s shadow.”

Ah, yes. You had forgotten your previously fairly secretive life before the shoe dropped. You were content with living under the radar. After all, it kept the vicious rumors of the poor girl who by hook or crook got her way into an elite university on a full-ride scholarship at bay. As long as you held the number two spot, nobody cared about you. News of your arrival and subsequent theories surrounding it were just a fad that most people shortly moved on from. The drastic and sudden change from peaceful irrelevance to hostile notoriety made you nauseous.

The cold air nipped at your flesh while you made your way to the library. Fresh snow made its satisfying crunching sound as you sped towards your destination. Wait. Sped? Only when you looked down at your feet did you realize that your steps were quicker than usual. Needless to say, you were confused at this revelation. Were things really this bad? Why was your body subconsciously hurrying you along when no danger was immediately present? Then, it hit you: If the Kim Taehyung Effect caused your insides to flutter and your heart melt with glee, the Kim Namjoon Effect caused everyone to cower and hide in pure horror. Maybe it ran in the family. After all, the two were related. How that crucial detail managed to slip past you was beyond human understanding.

Soon enough, you made your way into the campus library. Warmth enveloped you and thawed your chilled skin with each step into the large building. The tall bookshelves that towered over you and the other patrons made you feel safe. The walls of knowledge served as barriers from the predatory glares that were shot your way anywhere else. Here, while not entirely forbidden, hushed insults and remarks were more so. The library was your sanctuary when the dormitories weren’t, and with all the girls and even your RA avoiding you like the plague, it was safe to say that your dorm wasn’t very inviting right now.

Whatever it took, you needed to get your mind off of the Namjoon business. Sitting down in the warm silence served to do just that. You absentmindedly wandered through the various sections of the building. The nutty scent of someone’s morning brew filled your nostrils on your journey, easily putting you at ease in an instant. The rhythmic click-clack of someone's fingers against a computer keyboard kept your body grounded to the Earth. It served as a nice tether and protection from your thoughts that threatened to whisk you away into the stratosphere with every step you took.

Your feet took you past the reference section, the nonfiction section, and even the genealogy section before making its final stop at the fiction section. When you first started college, you found it odd that a library carried such books, but you soon came to realize that an escape into another world was appreciated by everyone. A love for fiction did not have an age limit.

You found yourself engrossed in a high fantasy novel by one Bang Sihyuk. (A very talented author, you decided. You made a note to look into some of his other works when you weren’t staring death in the face.) The sweet sound of yet another page turning and revealing more of the lore slowed your racing heart. The subtle smell of ink and glue softened your muscles, willing them to relax into the plush chair. The floor lamp next to you glowed softly and turned the usually stark clash of pitch black lettering against white pages into a mellow brown against cream parchment.

Even if you knew you had to face the wolves outside your sanctuary eventually, you still savored the solace you had in that moment. What you never considered was that those halcyon days were going to soon fall into utter ruin and despair with a singular human-shaped silhouette.

Everywhere Namjoon went, eyes followed. The air around him crackled with apprehension, but he couldn’t care less if he tried. This was natural. The pitiful prey animals around scrambled away for dear life, functioning solely on the fleeting notion that sticking around would spell their demise. Most of the people here were college students beginning their prime. They couldn’t afford to wither away… Not yet, at least… And certainly not here.

Stifled gasps laced with fear and admiration threatened to strangle the poor Kim heir. How he so desperately wished that they would all shut up! The constant buzzing murmur felt like mosquitoes tiptoeing across his skin during the hot and balmy summer months. It was highly annoying, to say the least.

His piercing mocha eyes landed on a target. A mousy figure was dwarfed by Namjoon’s taller and muscular frame. Pair the size difference with his steely and—arguably murderous—gaze fixed on the piteous male before him, both parties were surprised that the smaller student didn’t go into cardiac arrest.

“I would stay to chat, but I have important business to attend to,” Namjoon began. The timbre of his voice seeped into the small man’s bones and rattled them with each syllable. “You obviously know something, or else you wouldn’t be so pathetically fearful.”

The other male gulped audibly. His dull brown eyes stared into Namjoon’s vibrant cocoa ones. His pupils contracted as a cold sweat formed on his forehead and neck. Deep down, he knew that one wrong move would send him spiraling into horrors unimaginable. This was Kim Namjoon he was dealing with. He only had one chance. 

“I don’t know w-what you’re talking about…” He squeaked.

Namjoon narrowed his eyes with clear annoyance and disgust for the situation and the animal shivering before him. This caused the mousy man to gasp sharply.

“Tell me where (Y/N) (L/N) is. It’s a simple request. Even someone of your calibre should be capable of such a mundane task.” Namjoon stated simply. Disdain bled through his words into his tone and seeped into his prey’s already paper-thin psyche.

With a trembling arm, the rodent (as Namjoon decided to call him) pointed in the direction of the campus library. Of course you would be there. It made his blood boil to think that you’d already be in the library after receiving news of your latest feat. Anyone else would be a fool to risk losing such an honor. Studying was the only way to cement your new station as Mugunghwa’s new number one.

Without so much as a half-assed utter of thanks, Namjoon strode off in the direction of the large building. He was so hyper-focused on cutting you down and ensuring that you wouldn’t be a problem again that the signature thud of a body against snow missed his attention completely. The concerned and shocked gasps of onlookers didn’t affect him either.

Soon enough, he was at his destination. The same book-filled shelves and walls that greeted you greeted him at the entrance. Upon seeing his figure, the librarian at the circulation desk straightened in order to greet Namjoon properly. ‘At least one person here knew their place.’ He thought to himself.

“I’m looking for (Y/N) (L/N). It’d be in your best interest to point me in her direction as quickly as possible, Jimin.” Namjoon stated coolly with a tinge of nonchalance. Although he was painfully aware of the importance his little scouting mission served, his seemingly apathetic tone was the result of having said the same thing over and over like a broken record. The sooner he found you and got you to bend the knee, the sooner he could return home to his own studies.

The librarian, Jimin, nodded and swiftly pointed towards the fiction section. His mug of hazelnut coffee threatened to spill at the sudden and crisp motion. “She went that way, towards the fiction books.” He stated plainly. Namjoon couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his features. Jimin was always such an attentive servant. 

Ever since that little incident before Mugunghwa’s annual recital, the dance major felt a deep sense of allegiance towards the older male. He had to. Namjoon was the only reason Park Jimin was able to continue his dream of becoming a world-class dancer, and it was made abundantly clear that what Kim Namjoon giveth, he can just as easily taketh away. Poor Jimin had no idea why you were being sought out by the most powerful student at the university, but he couldn’t help but suppress the gnawing sensation that he was leading you to a painful end.

Once again, forgoing a thank you, Namjoon began the final stretch of his arduous journey to find you and finally set things right in the world. The only issue was that he had no idea who he was looking for, exactly.

Oddly enough, despite your status, you had managed to keep a low profile. Very few people actually knew what you looked like. Hell, your student profile didn’t even have an image of you posted. In fact, the only way people outside of your direct circle of cohorts started to gather what you looked like was because the web connecting (Y/N) (L/N), radio show host and journalism major and (Y/N) (L/N), former number two was finally starting to weave itself. As far as most of the student body was concerned, you were nothing but a faceless placeholder image against a drab gray background. It wouldn’t have surprised Namjoon if you actually walked around with the words, “NO IMAGE AVAILABLE” permanently marked on your body. What he saw, however, was beyond his own comprehension.

There you were, his enemy, his prey. You sat idly in the large cushioned chair with your book nestled delicately in your hands. For the moment, you were blissfully unaware of the danger that loomed nearby. This was almost too easy. Almost as if your presence unlocked a vault to all his plans to destroy you, you looked at him.

And then his world changed. He almost felt sick at the sudden rush of sensory input his brain was forced to parse through. The previously unsaturated hall roared to life with colors he hadn’t even seen before. Warm browns, reds, and hues of every other name shot into Namjoon’s retinas upon gazing at your graceful form. This was (Y/N) (L/N)? This hidden gem? He was meant to demolish this?

He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He wouldn’t. For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon was rendered speechless. His heart began to beat in double-time. If his biological functions were a musical piece, this specific section’s tempo marking would be prestissimo. Beyond vivace, beyond presto.

He couldn’t take it, so for the first time ever, Kim Namjoon ran away.

You didn’t dare move. Fear wrapped its spindly fingers around your heart and clutched it in its icy grasp. You didn’t have to move your eyes off of the page to see who the shadow cast onto it belonged to. Deep down, you knew. 

Goddamn it.

You just knew.

Just when you gathered the courage to face your doom head on, he was gone.

“What the fuck…?” You whispered. Your fantasy novel fell to the ground on its spine with a soft thud. Was this it? Were you officially losing it? Was stress causing you to hallucinate and see literal shadow people?! That was it.

Not wanting to have a literal breakdown in the middle of the library, you honed your senses in on the now cold-smelling coffee nearby. The faint hazelnut blend managed to at least tether you down to reality once more. You took a deep breath. Everything was now in focus. You had to leave, you decided. So that’s what you did.

If the library’s other patrons noticed the shocked, glazed over look in your eyes, nobody said anything. You had just come in contact with the menace. You were lucky to be alive. There’s no need to add insult to injury by inquiring about your current situation. Wordlessly, you ambled out of the library door. Jimin’s small eyes followed your every movement until you were finally out of his line of sight.

Soon enough, you made it to your dorm room. Oddly enough, it felt like you’d walked through a wormhole and warped to the private space. It appears that moving effortlessly through time and space was an eerily common theme that day. Not wishing to dwell on it any further, you plummeted onto your bed and let a dreamless sleep whisk you away from all your troubles.

A month had passed since your clandestine encounter with Namjoon. Surprisingly enough, after the first week or so of living in terror, the foreboding feeling of doom had all but disappeared. Like a colony of ants rebuilding their anthill after a sudden rainstorm, so too did Mugunghwa National Academy rebuild anew. As Thanksgiving rolled into Christmas, the student body had learned to accept that you were now at the top of the food chain. The status quo had shifted in your favor. Students that would previously mutter curses after you passed by would suddenly wave amicably once they noticed your presence.

While the sudden lack of hostility was appreciated, you couldn’t help but notice how shallow the whole situation was. A faint sense of disgust settled at the pit of your stomach. Or was it foreboding, after all? After your encounter with Namjoon’s shadow at the library, the Kim Industries heir had disappeared suddenly. He had disappeared without a trace. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. His scores were still updated regularly; his name was still in the mouths of every man, woman, and child that walked across campus; and you swore that you saw his tall figure slither like a snake behind buildings and shrubbery one time after class. While there was solid proof that he still (at the very least) resided within this plane of existence, Kim Namjoon had achieved cryptid status. Just a month ago, he was the dark overlord that ruled Mugunghwa with an iron fist. Now, he was merely a relic of the past, a name synonymous with the Boogeyman. Kim Namjoon was now used to scare freshmen like tales of a monster under one’s bed were used to frighten young children.

The truth, like all things are, was much more complicated than that. After he met you, his goddess, at the library, Namjoon spiraled out of control. Nothing was the same for him. At first, it was a fleeting rush of endorphins, he had decided. Perhaps the sense of victory he felt after finding his long lost rival caused his brain to go into overdrive with glee. With that in mind, he returned home to lick his wounds and rewrite his battle plans.

The next day, everything seemed normal enough. His world was in grayscale once more. Individuals who weren’t of direct importance to him retained their distorted, blob-like features. His senses were mostly dulled once again… Until you appeared. You walked across campus with grace that put the supermodels that his father regularly “worked with” to shame. To be honest, they looked like pitiful crows with snapped legs when put up against your stork-like elegance.

His previously unsaturated world regained its color. His heart rate increased, warmth filled his veins as a result. Everything was crisply in focus when it came to you. For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon was terrified… But that’s what intrigued him all the more. Once you left his sight, however, the blooming colors vanished. Everything was blurred again. The warmth had died and left him empty, hollow, and cold. After a few days of this occurrence, Namjoon made his biggest realization yet: he was in love with you.

He was quick to write it off as pure lust. After all, remaining at the top didn’t leave much time for him to indulge in more carnal pleasures. Hell, the only thing he could remember slamming on a table on doing all night long was homework, as old and pathetic as the joke was. Namjoon was a dashing, intelligent young man beginning to reach his prime. Abstaining from such a primal and basic need wasn’t good for him. With that in mind, he immediately began his conquest.

First, it started with the models his father would fuck behind his mother’s back. Despite how carefully manufactured their appearances were, they didn’t quench his thirst. In fact, they enraged Namjoon to the point where it wasn’t uncommon for the women to leave his bedroom bruised the next morning. This charade went on for much too long until he’d had enough.

No other woman could set his heart aflame without even trying. No other woman could bring life to his distorted and achromatic world like you could. So he tried a man. Several men, in fact. He got so desperate that not even his little Park Jimin was safe from his ravenous clutches.

Nothing. Nothing had worked.

Now, as the clock struck midnight in his grand bedroom, Namjoon sat in his bed with his hand wrapped around his cock. He’d been so on edge for the longest time, yet nothing he did could stir him. So, he did the only thing he knew how… Thoughts of you filled his mind as he ghosted a finger across his limp member. The warmth he felt was returning once more…

“Namjoon! There you are! I’ve been so lonely… Don’t you know that I’ve missed you?” 

There you were in the Kim manor’s living room. A black silk robe hugged your form perfectly as you bounded over to him. Golden sunlight filtered through the curtains and cast you in its heavenly warm glow. Your (E/C) eyes peered up at him with such admiration, lust, and most importantly, love. Before he could even properly process the scene, you had him enveloped in the warmest hug imaginable.

Namjoon felt a rush of lust and blood shoot straight to his dick.

“I know, darling… But I’m here now. We can be together. I’m all yours from now on.” He replied smoothly.

Namjoon didn’t even think it possible for your eyes to shine any brighter, but they did. And they were all for him. Your eyes, your beautiful eyes, for his eyes only… He gently caressed your cheek, careful not to mark it. The time for leaving marks and bruises would come later on… 

“Really?” You asked. Your entire face lit with hope and wonder. “You mean it? Please don’t tease me, baby~. I don’t know what I’d do if you had to go so soon…” 

You buried yourself into him, as if you knew that your home was within his embrace. He relished in it. He really did…

Namjoon felt feverish. His hands got to work immediately. Visions of you nestled against him, starlit eyes gazing into his, your form undulating beneath him as he pounded into you with everything he had. Your ecstatic moans and gasps filled his ears and mind, creating a carnal symphony only you could compose.

Sweat beaded on his temples, his arms beginning to burn with exhaustion as they continued to bring him to completion. Musical, “I love you, Namjoon”s and “Please! I’m so close, baby! Fuck me!”s began to crescendo rapidly. The world around him went from a gentle warmth to a blazing inferno. Colors reached their maximum saturation. Namjoon’s heart began to beat erratically. This was it. This was it! This is what he needed!

“Yes, (Y/N). You’re so good to me! Take it! Take it!!”

With an animalistic roar, Namjoon shot his seed. It coated his body and even his blanket that he pushed aside in his lustful fever. The fireworks came to a close. His jagged breaths began to even themselves out. The angels stopped singing. He was alone once more… But he wouldn’t be for long.

Tears filled Namjoon’s vision as he looked at his clock. Time wasn’t important anymore… But you were. He was going to have you, and he was going to become number one again. Kim Namjoon was going to be your number one.

Just like that, the year of terror had come and gone. Now, a new year was upon you and another December along with it. You stared up at your dorm room’s ceiling with a dumb smile etched on your face. After all, that was the only expression you could possibly muster, given the circumstances. 

“Damn… What the hell happened to me?” Was all you managed to say as you turned onto your side. Your phone in hand, you scrolled through your photo gallery almost absentmindedly until you reached one particular photo. There you were at a carnival with the Devil incarnate, Kim Namjoon. Your eyes bright with glee at the large plush you held in one arm as you posed with Namjoon for a selfie.

You chuckled and zoomed in on the image with a wistful smirk. While you stared ahead at the camera, Namjoon stared at you with an expression that you didn’t even know that he possessed: pure, unadulterated admiration. You were almost inclined to call it love.

The past year and some change was a whirlwind. Your earliest memory of it consisted of finally coming to terms with the ecosystem at Mugunghwa, only to be faced with Namjoon and your whole world coming down. Students and staff alike scurried away from the dining area, not wanting to be a witness to a crime. You had gained new friends over the course of these months. They simply couldn’t stand to see your last moments on this earth in complete agony.

However, your death never came. Namjoon stood proudly in the now empty cafeteria, as if he relished in the fact that he could clear a room without uttering a single word.

“(Y/N) (L/N). It’s so good to finally put a name to a face… And what a lovely face it is…”

If Namjoon wasn’t going to kill you, the water lodged in your windpipe at his words would. You sputtered, hands waving as you choked on your water. Suddenly, Namjoon came behind you and swiftly patted your back. Once you could breathe again, you wiped at your tear-filled eyes and peered up at him. “I’m sorry… What?”

Namjoon returned to his original position in front of you with a smirk. Pulling out a chair, he sat down with the practiced air of a businessman about to make a deal. “I called you beautiful. I do hope that wasn’t too forward.”

Now, you were suspicious. Satan himself had saved you from choking and was now calling you attractive? Were you dead? Did you imagine Namjoon helping you as a last-ditch effort to survive somehow? Was that the image your brain created as you slipped away into the world of the dead? But this was reality. Something deep down told you that you weren’t dying or dreaming.

“Forgive my skepticism, but I highly doubt that you came to exchange compliments. What do you want, Kim Namjoon?” You asked icily. The male in front of you visibly recoiled at your tone, as if he didn’t factor in the possibility that you could speak with such a tone. He quickly recovered, however, and he began his pitch.

“You’re half right, (Y/N). I didn’t come here to only compliment you, but I came here to have a discussion that is long overdue. At my core, I am a businessman. I make deals, I negotiate. That’s what I’m here to do.” Namjoon stated simply. Looking deeply into his eyes, he didn’t show any signs of insincerity, but that’s to be expected. He’s been trained his entire life to hiding his true intentions behind an amicable facade, regardless of how nefarious his plans may or may not be.

“I see… What is it that you wish to discuss? I’m afraid that I’m not as well-versed in business etiquette as you, so please forgive me for any mistakes or slip-ups that I may make. That being said, this is not an invitation to walk all over me. I may be inexperienced, but I am by no means an idiot.”

Could you be any more perfect for him? A beautiful face and body, poise and grace, and the courage to hold her own in a negotiation? Not to mention, the colors were swirling around you and blooming delicately in such a comforting fashion. He was absolutely smitten.

“I wouldn’t dare make the mistake of calling someone who replaced me as top dog an idiot. Give me some credit. I’m not as vile as the university’s tall tales make me out to be. I’m sure that my cousin, Taehyung, could vouch for me.”

You bristled at the mention of Taehyung. What had he done to him? Did something happen? No, that couldn’t be. You had just finished your show with Tae only a half hour ago. Surely, that isn’t enough time for him to get into any trouble, right?

“Calm down, (Y/N). Nothing’s happened to him. I can see the wheels turning in your head. My cousin is safe and sound. I can even call him up for you, if you don’t believe me.” Namjoon said smoothly, already fishing his phone out of his designer coat’s pocket.

“No, that’s fine…” You swallowed and regained your composure. Once you were calmed down, you returned Namjoon’s gaze. “I’m sure he’s alright. If anything, I’ll call him later. Right now, this is more important.”

Namjoon put his phone away and leaned back in his chair whilst giving a dismissive wave of his hand. Hopefully, the display of nonchalance would mask the sheer excitement and feverish nervousness he felt from being so close to you. Hearing your voice was like hearing the soothing melodies of birdsong in the morning. His heart soared at the mere act of being in your presence.

“Very well. I came here to apologize. You see, I’m well aware of the distress to you and everyone here at Mugunghwa that I’ve caused, and for that, I’m sorry.”

You could have died right there. Kim Namjoon? Apologizing? And apologizing to you, no less?! The infamous heir to Kim Industries, known for the downfall of any and everyone who dared impede his goals was apologizing to you?!

“Please, (Y/N). Forgive me. It’s just that losing to you has put my life into perspective. Yes, I was the head of our class, but what did that mean? Why was I fighting so hard to keep a title that in the long run, means so little? What was the point if I had no one to share it with?”

“What the hell are you getting at, Kim? I fail to see what this has to do with conducting business.”

As precious as you were to him, Namjoon despised your tone. If you were to be his, that sharp tongue would have to be dealt with. Besides, in that instant, you reminded him of his lowlife father. That certainly wouldn’t do. His queen should never adopt the mannerisms of Kim Joonho. Never. Ever. You were to whisper sweet nothings into his ear while he reciprocated. You were to never take such a tone with him ever again.

“I was rambling, so I’ll forgive that insolent remark of yours just this once. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Namjoon stated darkly.

Not wanting to push your luck, you relented. You were actually talking to Kim Namjoon. You couldn’t afford to ruin an opportunity like this.

“Right.” He resumed “The truth is that I’ve been watching you for quite some time. Honestly, that’s all I can ever do anymore. You’ve occupied every inch of my mind, and I just wanted to ask if you’d be mine, (Y/N).”

You sat there, slack-jawed. Was he serious?! What was happening?

“You’re joking… There’s no way that you could be serious. There’s no fucking way!”

“I am. I’ve done some soul-searching recently, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you are what I’ve been fighting for all this time. Not a damn class rank. I’ve been fighting for love, affection, understanding… And I believe that I can find all of that in you.”

“You… What…? I- How?”

“February 14, a dozen red roses were waiting for you on your desk in your dorm. With them, was a card addressed to you from a secret admirer. March 14, a diamond necklace was gifted to you for White Day by a secret admirer. And now, these.”

Namjoon produced a stack of envelopes bound by a black silk ribbon from his jacket pocket.

“These are from me. You’re a smart girl, (Y/N). Can you tell me who your secret admirer is?”

That was April. After a few talks with your co-host and having to sit through embarrassing stories of their childhoods, you finally took the leap and went out on a date with Namjoon… And you were the happiest you’ve ever been. The large stuffed animal that Namjoon had won you sat on a bookshelf, next to several other trinkets he had given you over the months you had dated.

You chuckled to yourself at the memory and closed your photos app. After which, you opened up your messaging app to shoot a quick text to Namjoon. That was until, you got a notification reading,

KIM INDUSTRIES CEO, KIM JOONHO FOUND DEAD IN HIS WINTER ESTATE.

Without thinking, you dialed Namjoon’s number and was greeted by a somber moan answering the phone.

“Namjoon, baby, I’m so sorry… I just saw the news.”

A sniff. “Hey. So the news outlets already published the story, huh? I should have known that it wouldn’t take long… They could at least have the common decency of letting his corpse grow cold first before they publicize it.” Namjoon chuckled humorlessly.

You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t imagine going through the sudden shock of losing your parent, only to deal with the press soon afterward. You sensed that Namjoon needed some time to himself to grieve, and you were more than willing to give it to him.

“Yeah, it’s shitty what they’re doing. And to think that I’m going into that profession. It’s crazy.”

“It is what it is, (Y/N). Besides, I have faith that you’ll be one of the good journalists that don’t try to weave everything that they hear into lies and defamation.” He said earnestly.

Something about the way Namjoon spoke was unnerving. He didn’t sound like someone who was mourning their late father, but then again, he might have been in shock. His apathetic demeanor on the matter must have been a coping mechanism. After all, losing your father so suddenly is a lot to process.

All you could do is hum in response. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I know so, dear.”

A pregnant pause.

“Hey, (Y/N). I know this sounds horribly insensitive, but, can we still have our dinner date at my mansion? It’s just that I can’t bear to be alone right now, and you’re the only person I’ve been able to trust lately. It doesn’t have to be a date. I guess I just want you to come over.”

Your heart shattered into smithereens. He was alone and scared. Namjoon had no one to trust or turn to in his time of need, yet he found it within his heart to ask you. Who were you to refuse?

“Alright. I’ll go. Same time?”

He didn’t have to say a word, but you could hear his dimpled smile some out to play.

“Y-yes, yes, of course! Same time! Thank you so much, (Y/N). You don’t know how much this means to me. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Alright, see you soon. Bye.”

You hung up the phone with a sigh and faced your closet. You had exactly two hours to get ready for dinner. You had two hours to prepare…

And so did Namjoon.

Once again, Namjoon was summoned to his father’s study. He was expecting it sooner or later. His class rank hadn’t improved since his father sent him to take his top spot back by any means necessary, but you were number one now. Namjoon wouldn’t dare dethrone his goddess from her rightful pedestal.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was upon opening the large doors a swift slap coming across his face.

“You useless, useless brat! You can’t even eliminate a simple girl?! You can’t even reclaim your title?! How am I supposed to leave my estate and company in such incapable hands?!”

Joonho was fuming. His once pride and joy had betrayed him and disappointed him. How dare he? Namjoon sat on the floor, gingerly rubbing his cheek. He was sure his father’s handprint was burned into his flesh.

“I swear, you’re incompetent just like your brother! He disappointed me, and look at where he is now! I should have known that it was too good to be true.”

At the mention of his brother, Namjoon’s body stiffened.

“All of this. You’re ruining your life and your career all for some girl?! You’re willing to throw away what I’ve essentially bred you for, all for some lowlife pussy?!”

At the mention of you, Namjoon began to see red.

“I suppose I’ve been too lenient on you. I should have known that you would flounder. Maybe I’ll get rid of (Y/N) myself. It’s clear that she means a lot to you. Maybe you’ll get back in line once she perishes.”

That was the final straw. With pure rage fueling his every cell, Namjoon sprinted over to his father’s desk and grabbed his letter opener.

“Say it again, bastard! Say it again!”

Now, Joonho’s figure was dissolving into a crimson blob. All of his human like features were gone in a furious red haze. Kim Joonho wasn’t his father anymore. He wasn’t even human. 

He was the enemy.

Without giving his father a chance to speak, Namjoon plunged the letter opener into the older man’s eye sockets. After that, it was a blur. Hours had seemingly passed and Kim Joonho was nothing but a human pincushion. Stab wounds littered his body, and blood was oozing out of every one. With a satisfied grin, Namjoon stood and cupped a crimson hand to his face.

“Seokjin! Seokjin! Come down here!”

The head butler rushed in the study and into the carnage. The older male was mortified at the bloodbath before him, but he couldn’t help the relieved smile and tears of joy forming in his tear ducts.

“Brother, come help me clean up father. Unless, of course, you have some words for him?”

Seokjin carefully approached his father’s corpse and smiled wickedly. He placed a gloved hand on his eyeless face.

“You’ve disappointed me, Joonho. And now look where that’s brought you. My transgressions against you warranted that I were to be stripped of my place in the world as your son, only to become your servant. Your transgressions warranted your death at the hands of your prodigy. Isn’t that poetic justice? Sleep well, father.”

“Master Namjoon will be down in a moment.” A maid stated as she had you seated.

A white cloth napkin was folded and placed on your lap while you got comfortable in the antique dining chair. Staff hurried to and fro to finish preparing for your meal, and it was almost amusing seeing them rush around like busy worker bees instead of the esteemed staff of the Kim Manor.

A few moments ticked away before Namjoon made his appearance. He was elegantly clad in a designer Armani suit, giving a regal and princely appearance as he made his way over to you from the grand foyer.

“Please forgive me, dear. I had some business to attend to.”

Namjoon outstretched his arms, motioning for you to give him a hug. You happily obliged.

“Namjoon! There you are! I’ve been so lonely… Don’t you know that I’ve missed you?” You cheekily giggled. If you ignored the whole dead dad situation, the whole scene would appear wholesomely domestic. You decided to indulge in that notion.

Namjoon’s breath hitched.

“I’m sorry that I’ve kept you waiting. I hope that we can make up for lost time during dinner, yeah?”

You nodded and sat down in your chair. Namjoon was seated right beside you. As if on cue, the staff brought in your dishes. A classic Christmas dinner, consisting of turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, ham, and vegetables was placed in front of you. On a small dish nearby, some cranberry jelly sat. You tried to hide the grimace at the red jelly. You were by no means a fan of the garnish, but you didn’t want to appear picky or ungrateful, especially considering the reason why you were having dinner with Namjoon in the first place.

Ever the attentive partner, Namjoon was keen on noticing your inner turmoil. “Is something not to your liking?”

“Uh, it’s just… I don’t really like cranberry jelly… That’s all.”

Namjoon looked utterly dumbfounded before letting out a joyful, booming laugh. “That’s all? Oh, (Y/N). You had me worried! I thought that I’d ruined the whole meal for you!”

His fork stabbed into a piece of turkey and he dipped the meat into the red gelatin.

“But, please do try the jelly. My brother and I, we made it for this occasion. I promise it’s nothing like the canned slop they sell in grocery stores.”

Namjoon made this? Now, this you had to try.

“Alright. Since you went through the effort of making it, I’ll give it a shot.”

You copied Namjoon’s actions of taking a slice of turkey and dipping it in the cranberry jelly. With the expression of a chef on Chopped, Namjoon eagerly watched as you placed the food in your mouth.

“Mmm! This is delicious! Namjoon, you should sell this! This is amazing!”

Another laugh came from Namjoon, although, this one had an arguably maniacal lilt. “Why, thank you, but I’m afraid that this specific batch is one of a kind. Besides, cranberry jelly isn’t the most profitable market out there.”

Little did you know that you had just ingested Kim Joonho’s coagulated blood. Perhaps that was why his cranberry jelly was one of a kind.

Merry Christmas.

#bwcssy2

[tinyboxxtink]

Build Me Up Buttercup *PART 7*

Whooo man, I don’t know if this is a longer chapter or not. I had planned on splitting the situations into two separate chapters, but it seemed short so I combined them. 

If you need to catch up!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 8

Tag List: @wanniiieeee

Rafael slammed the door to the men’s room open, terrifying some poor cowboy just trying to use the john. 

“Sorry…” He nodded apologetically to the guy who grumbled some obscenities as he washed his hands and left, leaving Rafael alone to stew.

Why had he just done that?! Why did he have to glance back at your table as soon as you closed your eyes? In that split second, he had locked eyes with Olivia. They were so close it was like they could telepath whole sentences between each other; and the look she had given him in that moment was definitely saying “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?”. 

Truth be told he really had no idea what he was doing, it all happened so fast. Really, the whole day was a blur. Before today you were just a junior detective to him, albeit a very sexy one. But truthfully you were barely a blip on his radar; you didn’t speak much, and when you did it was usually insulting him or contradicting. How had this one out of town trip completely flipped your relationship through a dryer tumble cycle? First the song in the car, the coffee in the car, the Fahey’s bathroom, and now this. At one point did he start…falling for you? Was he even falling for you? Were you planning this thing all along? Had you been seducing him? No, surely he wasn’t that dumb to just be seduced by a pair of pretty eyes and a tight t-shirt...and a soft soul who’d been through so much at so young…

NO. 

He wasn’t doing this. Not here, not now.

----

“What do you mean, he just left?”  

Once again you had fled to the bathroom, this time to update your BFF on the never ending nightmare that was this day. 

“I mean he LEFT. He mumbled some bullshit about being ‘sorry’ and just….walked away. No I’m sorry, he RAN away.” 

“Well...maybe he got scared?”

“A grown man?” 

“I don’t know from what you’ve said about him, he seems pretty high strung am I right?” 

“That’s putting it lightly…”

“I mean the fact that you even got him on that dance floor sounds like a miracle to me, maybe he just got in his head all of a sudden,” 

“Maybe…”

“Which means….” they paused ominously. 

“Means what?” you asked skeptically. 

“You’ve gotten yourself a def con one situation here, babe,”

“...What?” you were completely lost.

“Everyone knows the rule, Y/N” they kept completely serious.

“Wha-What RULE?” 

“The RULE! Once you have a…’moment’ with someone that gets interrupted, you HAVE to actually kiss them...or bang them but let’s be realistic,” they continued in a very serious tone, despite the fact that they were talking conspiracy theories. 

“Is ANY of that realistic? What happens if you ‘break’ this rule?”

“You have to kiss them in 24 hours or else you’ll just stay friends forever,” They stated like an oracle.

“Do you hear yourself when you talk, or has the crazy just become white noise at this point?” You rolled your eyes.

“Mock all you want, but you remember Duncan and Sarah?” 

“They went on one date and decided to be friends?”

“No no, they went on one date and she got called away before the end of it, thus nixing the good night kiss. And then the next time they ‘went out’, it had been 72 hours and when he went in for the good night kiss, she said they were better AS FRIENDS,” 

“...THAT’S what you're basing this insane rule on? A story about people we barely know?” 

“Well, it was also on Scrubs. Elliot and JD had to go through SO MUCH just because he couldn’t man up in those 24 hours!” They insisted.

“Oh my god, I’m hanging up--”

“WAIT WAIT WAIT, Come on Y/N just hear me out,” They begged. You sighed, putting two fingers across your eyes.

“Alright, let’s hear it,” 

“Look, you can choose to think I’m full of shit, but you gotta ask yourself: Are you willing to chance it?” 

You bit your lip, actually pondering if she could be right. 

“And you better think REAL quick, because your time has already been cut in half,”  they added. 

“NOW what the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re like, on a ‘vacation’ right now. Barba is FINALLY seeing you, like a person. A woman. Someone who’s not up his ass for warrants or bitching about deadlines,”

“I’m not that--” you tried protesting. 

“Shush. No time. You’re in like, another dimension right now. I’ll bet money as SOON as you hit the city line he’s gonna go back to his robot self and remember the fact that you two are completely inappropriate--”

“Oh come on that’s a strong--” you once again tried defending yourself. 

“I’m just saying what he’s gonna reason, babe. You know I’m right,” 

You paced the bathroom now, thinking of all the reasons you and Barba were bad news. 

“....What if he’s already there? What if that’s why he walked off? What if he’s talking himself out of….ANYTHING?”

“THIS IS WHAT I’M SAYING, HELLO You need another ‘moment’, but without everyone staring at you. I’ll bet you anything that’s what got him into his head all of a sudden,” 

Your eyes widened, remembering the front row seats your entire squad had to your little romantic moment. 

“Oh my god you might be right...they were all staring at us,”

“See?? You need to get him alone,” They went on, as you walked out of the bathroom. 

“...Fuck,”

“What? Fuck what? WHAT?!”

“I may have run out of time,”

You saw Barba approaching the booth again, Olivia gesturing wildly. The body language of their conversation did not seem very encouraging. What was worse, Amber walked up and handed them a check. 

“I think we’re leaving, Olivia got the check and she looks like a mad mom bitching out her ten year old for trying to swipe candy,” You groaned, ducking behind a man with a huge cowboy hat and following behind him to a seat at the bar, out of the squad’s eye line. 

“You need more time! You can’t just get in the car and drive back with everybody there, the ‘moment’ will never happen!”

“Okay can you stop with this, I’m already flipping out enough without you stating the obvious,” you twirled your hair and bit your lip.

“....You need to do something to your car.” they suddenly threw that at you like it was a completely reasonable statement. 

“EXCUSE ME?”

“Slash one of your tires!”

“Are you high right now, be honest with me,” You narrowed your eyes.

“Desperate times, babe,”

“Desperate times, not PSYCHOTIC times,”

“Look if you have a flat tire, you’ll have to call AAA and have them come and fix it, that should give you at least an hour. Then you can go back inside, get him ALONE, and get your moment!” They tried reasoning with you. Was that Hurricane THAT strong, or were they actually making some sense?

“...Why am I listening to this?” you kept a straight face, even though it was just a phone call.

“You can act smug all you want baby, but I can hear it in your voice; you’re considering it,” 

“Of course I’m considering it! But it’s...it’s insane. It’s like, ‘Fatal Attraction’ crazy,” 

“Ok I’m not telling you to boil his bunny, just inconvenience yourselves for another hour, drama queen,” you could hear both of you rolling your respective eyes at each other.

“And what’s more insane; puncturing a tire, or giving up something we both know you’ve wanted for MONTHS,” They pointed out. 

“How do you--” You blinked in disbelief. 

“Girl, please. I knew before you did, and I’ve never even met the man,” 

After several more moments of silence, you pulled your keys towards your face. 

“...I’ll call you later,”

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you sprinted outside to the parking lot and back to your car. You pulled the nail file attached to your key ring, and stared at your tires. 

“God forgive me…” You sighed, making a sign of the cross across your chest before kneeling next to your left rear tire.

You dragged the nail file across the tire, it barely made a scratch. Panic began filling your head, thinking of missing any chance to have Rafael’s lips on yours. Your BFF was right, you probably had a thing for him the moment you met him; even though you hadn’t even dared to let yourself think about it, until this morning. This WAS like an alternate dimension, it was like the rules of the ‘normal’ world were moot. 

The emotions of it all bubbled to a head as you stared at the tire; with a sort of pathetic battle cry, you PLUNGED the nail file into your tire and pulled it HARD across the top. Air came gushing out, the tire deflating in mere seconds. You sat back, the nail file in your hand like a machete, your breath going in and out like you had just run a marathon. Okay, you did go a LITTLE psycho there for a second. 

You barely had time to admire the work, you knew you had to go back inside to make it look like you had been in the bathroom this whole time. 

There was no going back now. 

----

Back inside you weaved in and out of the crowd back towards the bathroom, then made a turn for the booth so it looked like you had come from that direction. You walked up slowly, still hidden in the crowded bar as you heard an exchange between Barba and Oliva.

“...What I’m saying is, don’t start leading her on when you know it’s not going anywhere,” 

“How do you know it’s not going anywhere, Liv?” 

“Barba. Be serious,” 

Oh hell no. Who was she to make that decision? Surely he didn’t think that...did he? 

“HEY, hi,” you spoke up loudly, the entire group jumping at your rather loud greeting. 

“Oh hey Y/N we uh, I got the check. I just went ahead and paid for everybody, and when I say I, I mean Dodd’s,” She smiled, like she hadn’t just insulted the fuck out of you. 

“Oh, yeah? Ready to head home then?” You acted completely oblivious, noticing Rafael was avoiding your eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve got my nanny waiting on me and it’s already...8 o clock?!” Olivia gasped, looking at her phone. 

“Good lord, how long have we been here? I better call my sitter,” Amanda grabbed her own phone out of her bag as the group walked out.

“Well, we were driving for a good 45 minutes outside of Hartford before Rafael made us stop here,” 

“Wait, what?” You now for the very first time, took a good long look at the parking lot. The bar was next to a motel on one side, a gas station on the other side next to it. And then field, across from it. And for miles. 

You were literally in the middle of nowhere. 

“Oh god…” you muttered, mentally yelling obscenities at your BFF and yourself for listening to their bat shit logic. Fin glanced at you quizzically, overhearing your ranting-- and then you heard Sonny’s voice.

“Is that….?” 

You saw him gesture towards your back wheel. FUCK.

“Oh my god, are you serious?? A Flat tire?!” Amanda slammed her phone against your car. 

“Barba must have driven across a nail, or glass, or something in the parking lot. Probably a broken beer bottle if we’re being honest,” Sonny scoffed looking at the less than stellar cars in the parking lot. 

“Hey it’s not Barba’s fault!” You snapped defensively, once again mentally face palming. THINK before speaking. 

“I mean it’s...it’s nobody’s fault, right? I mean, maybe the road people? Or, drunk hicks? Certainly no one here in this vicinity though, I mean obviously,” Nope, still couldn’t stop talking. 

Olivia’s eyes narrowed, looking from you to Barba, who was staring at the pavement silently. She started to say something, but realized she had no concrete evidence to start throwing accusations. 

“She’s right Liv, it was just a stupid accident,” Fin chimed in, patting Olivia’s shoulder. 

“Do you at least have AAA?” Olivia asked you, still suspicious of the sudden turn of events.

“Oh yeah, I’ve...I’ve never used it before though,” You dug into your wallet and pulled out a worn out AAA card. Olivia took it and started dialing the number into her phone. 

You took this moment to start your mission, despite the fact that your plan was quickly running off the rails.

“Can we…?” You motioned sideways, Barba nodded and moved to the side with you. 

“Look, Y/N. The whole dance thing it was, cute. Flattering.”

“Flattering?” you scoffed. Seriously?

“But, I mean you know we’re in front of the whole squad, and we’re working,” His words cut you like knives. Was he actually implying that whole was embarrassing?

“ ..And I just don’t think--”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?” Olivia’s booming voice snapped you both out of the conversation. 

“Yeah, well-- thanks a lot,” she scoffed, tossing your card as she hung up the phone.

“Hey I might--” you walked back over to her, her red hot eyes meeting yours. 

“You don’t have AAA out here,” she spoke directly to you, the annoyance of her voice turning to anger.

“W-What do you mean they don’t--”

“I mean, Y/N-- your AAA card is for NEW YORK, and we’re still in CONNECTICUT,” 

“Liv seriously will you knock it off? Leave her alone, she didn’t know,” Barba finally spoke up in defense of you, putting space between you and Olivia. 

“I’m...I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it’s not your fault,” she apologized, not knowing it was indeed your fault. 

“What am I gonna tell Lucy? We’re going to be stuck here until morning,” She sighed. 

“Morning?” Amanda exclaimed angrily. “What about my Jesse?” 

“I’m sure Lucy will watch her at my place with Noah, Amanda. I’ll call her right now,” Olivia assured her, the two of them walking off to the side.

You started running your hands through your hair and pacing like mad, trying not to hyperventilate. This wasn’t supposed to happen!! This was supposed to be a MINOR inconvenience, not a crisis! WHY did you listen to your BFF? 

“Hey, are you ok?” Barba came up behind you and put both hands on your shoulders. 

“Come on Y/N you know that’s not what I--” he protested but you wouldn’t hear it.

“Why do you care all of a sudden? Didn’t I embarrass you in front of your colleagues?” You snapped your head around, glaring at him.

“Can we please just forget it, PLEASE? I am already getting my karmic ass kicked, I don’t need you lecturing me on top of it,” You started walking towards the door of the bar. 

“What? I’m not lecturing you I don’t--” He trailed behind you.

“EXACTLY,” You spun back around, planting your feet as you stared directly into his eyes. He stopped suddenly almost on top of you, surprised by your sudden stop; his puppy dog eyes were begging you to forgive him. 

“Exactly. You don’t want to, I get it counselor. I get it. I should have never--” you feigned tears welling up in your throat.

“Carino--” he went for your hand. 

“Don’t. Just-- I’m sorry. For all of this,” You snapped your hand back and ran back inside the bar, noticing Barba following right behind you. Your fake tear filled face now slid into a sly smirk. 

You were getting this moment come hell or high water now. 

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #svu fanfiction #build me up buttercup

[vizhi0nw]

Ghost

Pairing: Kenny Ackerman/OC

Warnings: Violence, Language. NSFW.

Words:  7k

Summary: Kenny Ackerman had never met someone with a reputation just as bad as his own.

AO3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4 of 4

Home

Snatching up one of Byren’s men was Kenny’s idea, and it was an idea Kenny executed with such proficiency and tact that it had Leyla shocked, disturbed, and a bit envious.

If she was a phantom, then Kenny was, for all intents and purposes, a predator.

Kenny had instructed Leyla to wait at her shop before he’d dragged the man in, beaten and bloodied to a near pulp, by the scruff of his neck. Leyla had hastily shut the blinds and arranged a chair for Kenny to sit the man in, before tying the man’s hands behind him with some spare rope. He’d fallen silent, by this point, opting to just glare at Kenny, teeth bared. Blood caked his face and the front of his shirt, dried and crusty and flaking away. One eye was swollen, and his lip was busted - the wound was fresh and still leaking. When he spoke, flecks of crimson flew.

“You have some fucking nerve, Kenny.”

Leyla recognized him, suddenly. It was the same guard Kenny had spoken to when he’d helped sneak Leyla inside the Byren estate. His eyes went from Kenny, to Leyla.

“Whore,” he spat. Kenny’s backhand was immediate - the man’s head snapped to the side and he spit out a flesh mouthful of blood, red saliva hanging in strings from his lips.

“You’d do best to speak to her respectfully. Ya’ know what I can do, and I know you’re scared shitless,” Kenny unsheathed his knife. He went to stand in front of the man, waving the knife like a kid waving a lollipop. “You’re gonna’ get real intimate with this if you don’t answer our questions.”

“I’m assuming you want to know about Vibro?”

“This little lady has a bone to pick with him,” Kenny jerked his knife in Leyla’s direction. “She’ll be asking the questions. I’m just here as...encouragement.”

Kenny’s lips curled back over his teeth when he spoke the last word, mouth shifting upwards into a grotesque smile. There was an audible shuffling of feet as the man tried to push himself away, but he couldn’t. He was trapped.

“O-okay.”

“Good,” Leyla said gruffly. She steeled herself for whatever resistance she knew she might face - she was intimidating, she knew, but Kenny was on another level that she’d never comprehend or be able to emulate. “The first thing I need - did Byren snatch a group of girls from the Underground’s orphanage? Five of them? Around twelve to sixteen years old?”

No response. Leyla could tell that he was pondering over how to give his answer, but Kenny grew impatience and promptly slapped him across the face once more.

“Answer her.”

“Yes! Yes. I..we..me and another were told to track them through the market...Byren has had an eye on the orphanage for a while. Getting willing sluts above ground is harder than just taking them from down here.”

Leyla’s stomach lurched. She and Kenny exchanged glances, before Leyla reached over and dragged a chair across the floor, letting it rest in front of the man and straddling it. She stared at him with hooded eyes, lips pulled into a taut line.

“Are they at the estate, still?”

“They’re alive, if that’s what you mean. They’re with the others,” the man gave a ragged cough, spitting out more blood. After he’d cleared his throat, he looked up at Leyla. “That’s all I can tell you. My job was just to grab them.”

The chair creaked as Leyla put more of her weight on its back. The man wasn’t pleading verbally, but she could see in his eyes the fact that internally, he was begging, screaming, for Leyla to show him mercy.

Leyla felt nothing but disdain for him. She also knew that it was pointless - Kenny wouldn’t let him walk out alive, even if Leyla tried to convince him to.

“Those girls are either going to be sold and trafficked, or die when Byren is finished with them,” Leyla snarled. “They’re children.”

“I told you, I just did my job,” the man replied. “You think I don’t know that they’re kids? You think I would ever fuck one of them? No. What Vibro does...is what Vibro does. There’s no stopping him. People who speak out don’t last long.”

Leyla tensed.

She’d been seven years old when her parents had been killed. She remembered their faces, remembered her mothers soft voice and her fathers comforting touch. But, each year, her memories of them were beginning to fade as time went on and on and on. It was a constant battle, trying not to forget. Trying to remember.

“You’re a coward,” Leyla breathed.

“I’d rather be a coward than be dead.”

Leyla closed her eyes. She let out a sigh, hearing Kenny snort beside her.

“How pathetic,” Kenny said softly. With shocking speed, he slammed the knife into the man’s shoulder, burying it to the hilt. The man let out a blood curdling scream, and Leyla’s eyes snapped open. Kenny continued, “There’s nothing I hate more than a fucking coward.”

“I’ll answer whatever questions you have,” the man sobbed. “Please. Please.”

Kenny flicked the knife with his pointer finger, easing back and letting it stay embedded in the man’s flesh.

With Kenny watching closely in the background, Leyla proceeded to drag as much information from her captee as she could. Locations, names, stockpile information - Byren had several caches of supplies around Mitras, and owned several storehouses out in other districts. She managed to get a rather simplistic, but helpful, layout of Byren’s estate as well. It was enough information to make her feel confident that she and Kenny could take on Byren as a duo, without possible help from a woman Kenny had mentioned was named Traute.

The man was sporting another swollen eyes by the end of it. One to match the other.

“That’s all I know,” he moaned.

“I believe you,” Leyla whispered. “Kenny…”

“No, please n-”

Blood and brains splattered against the back of his chair and across Leyla’s floor. The gunshot was loud, like a crack of thunder. Leyla had become so used to the sound that she barely flinched, watching the man’s body slump forward.

“I thought you’d never fucking ask. Asshole was gettin’ on my nerves,” Kenny let out a groan and rolled his eyes. He glanced at the carnage - bits of bone, hair, and bodily matter clung to the hardwood. “Shit. Sorry for the mess…”

“It’s fine,” Leyla said hallowly. “I’ll clean it.”

“Meet you at home?”

Home. Leyla looked around the shop - the wine bottles were gathering dust and some of the chairs had cobwebs criss-crossing from one leg to the next. It smelled stale.

This was no longer her home, she realized. The blood and brains were just an unfortunate decoration, at this point. Kenny’s apartment had been her place of residence for several months, and it already felt more congenial than the shop ever had. While she’d always love the place, it had been her grandfather’s legacy, not Leyla’s.

While she’d never have a true home with Kenny, she could pretend for now.

“Yeah,” Leyla said, her voice sounding a little less hollow and a little more hopeful. “I’ll meet you at home.”

                                              ______________

Leyla usually woke first, something Kenny was eternally grateful for. It gave him one of the most stunning views he’d ever have the pleasure of seeing - Leyla, clad in one of his button-up, white shirts and only one of said white shirts, walking around the apartment. He could see her from his room, reaching up to the top shelf of the cabinet to grab something, the shirt riding up past her thighs and giving him the shortest glimpse of panties and the curve of her supple ass. He’d be staring, and when Leyla caught him, she’d simply smile and slip out of his sight.

Fuck.

Kenny rolled over onto his back, bare chest rising and falling as he let out a long breath. There was an indent next to him where Leyla had been sleeping, and the area was still warm - she hadn’t been up very long. He heard shuffling in the kitchen, and footsteps. A moment later, Leyla entered the room with her arms crossed over her chest.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

Kenny raised an eyebrow. His eyes followed Leyla as she waltzed over to the bed, swinging her legs on either side of Kenny’s waist. She straddled him, leaning down to rest her head against his chest. Kenny basked in her closeness, groaning as his cock twitched beneath his thin sleep pants.

“Don’t care,” Kenny murmured. “Just want you right now.”

Leyla gave a rumbling chuckle. She pressed a kiss against Kenny’s chest, making her way up to his shoulder, neck, and then mouth. He buried a hand in her thick curls, hips bucking when her soft hands slid beneath his pants to grip the base of his dick. She jerked a few times before working on wriggling his sleep pants down past his hips, before doing the same to her panties. He could feel her slick against his thigh and he relished in her soft groans as she curled over him, deftly sliding the head of his cock past her soft walls.

“Sweetheart,” Kenny groaned. “So good...”

Leyla’s whimpers were consumed by Kenny’s questing mouth. He thrust upward, wanting nothing more than to tear as many sounds as he could from her throat. His hands gripped her hips, bouncing her on his dick with furious abandon until he felt his balls tighten and his stomach clench and he was shooting ropes of his cum deep inside of her.

“Kenny,” Leyla sighed, the prime indicator that her own orgasm was approaching - Kenny fucked up into her a few more, final times, before she was clenching around him and riding out her own release. She placed a damp kiss against Kenny’s shoulder, one hand lazily tugging at the grey-laced strands of hair on his head.

They lay together for a few moments, before Leyla rested her palms against Kenny’s chest and pushed herself up a bit. She stared down at him, full lips stretching into a smile.

“We need to eat. Have you decided what you want?”

“I was supposed to decide?” Kenny gave a breathy chuckle. “Show me what we have and I’ll make up my mind.”

Leyla rolled off Kenny, pulling her panties back in place. She yelped when Kenny placed a playful slap against her ass, bouncing away on the balls of her feet and disappearing back into the kitchen.

He did everything he could to remember this moment. Remember how it felt to hold her close and murmur sweet nothings into her ear - the previous night, he’d done his best to sear her touch into the very fabric of his mind. He’d taken his time with her, unwrapping her like a sweet, sweet gift and savoring each little sound he drew from her. It was addicting, but it was an addiction Kenny knew would never last a lifetime, no matter how much he wanted it to.

Kenny rolled out of bed, opting not to don his shirt for the time being. When he padded into the kitchen, Leyla was preparing fruit and slices of ham. She had her back turned and seemed to be caught looking out the window before her at the vast expanse of Mitras as she worked to cut up apples.

Was he making the right choice?

Kenny was beginning to doubt himself, doubt his decisions. It was the first time in a while he felt nervous - not for the blood and carnage he knew would ensue in a few days, but because he was genuinely wondering if the divine beings above, if they even existed, were sending him a sign. Leyla was here, in all her beauty, strength, and wit. Willing to settle with him once the deed of killing Byren was done.

He was going to choose a life of servitude to the King and to the MP’s over her.

There was a house out near Shiganshina for them, waiting.

“You’re staring again, Kenny,” Leyla said softly. Kenny shook his head, snapping out of his trance. He shoved the thought as far into the back of his mind as he could push it, walking over to settle at the table while Leyla brought over two plates arranged with berries, apples, and ham.

“I was just caught up in my own thoughts. Ya’ know how it gets,'' Kenny toyed with an apple slice. “I’m going to run recon on the estate later this evenin’.”

“Thank you,” Leyla said through a mouthful of food. She swallowed, plucking a berry from where it lay and analyzing it. “I want to get this over with. Make it smooth and clean...get those girls out of there.”

“This is a rescue mission now, huh.”

“Something like that,” Leyla murmured. She popped the berry into her mouth, chewing very slowly as she thought for a moment. When she swallowed, she took a second before speaking in a low voice. “I remember what it was like, crawling around the brothel, having to deal with clients...I did it on my own accord and still got treated like shit. I can’t imagine...what Byren is doing to those girls.”

“My sister was like you,” Kenny said tightly. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Same profession. I’m glad you got out.”

“What was your sister’s name?”

“You wouldn’t have known her,” Kenny replied. After a pause, he said, “Her name was Kuchel. I’d visit her sometimes, and I’d come in and see her bruised and battered because she’d refused to fulfill the fantasy of some sick deadbeat.”

“I hope she hit back,” Leyla said.

“Oh, I’m sure she did,” Kenny chuckled. He could tell that Leyla wanted to know more from the way she leaned in, head tilted to the side a bit. It was the first time, he realized, that he’d spoken about Kuchel out loud to anyone. There was a weird weight floating off his chest, and he found himself wanting to speak, wanting to talk more about her. It was weird, it was foreign, but Kenny had never shied away from something new, so he embraced the feeling. “Her kid though...her kid was - is - a damn spitfire. Craziest damn brat I’ve ever known - he hits hard.”

“You have a nephew?”

“Levi,” Kenny chuckled. “You and him would get along.”

“Hm,” Leyla hummed. “Tell me more.”

Kenny did.

The weight was gone by the time he’d finished. He felt free - as free as he felt when he was flying high over Mitras with his gear, soaring above the little ants below, able to go wherever he wanted, however he wanted. He spoke to Leyla of his grandfather, of Traute and the MP’s - of Uri, and the Reiss family. He took it slowly, revealing information bit by bit until he was confident that Leyla understood.

“It’s amazing,” Leyla breathed, when he was finished. “There’s a whole world outside of the Underground that I would have never known, had I not met you.”

“Big picture, sweetheart,” Kenny ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. The world is much too big, and you’re much too good for it.”

“Kenny…”

“When this is all over, I’m packin’ up my shit with the MP’s and we’re going to find a house near Shiganshina,” Kenny said, chest clenching when Leyla reared back, startled. “Just you and me. We’ll buy some chickens or goats or some shit…”

Leyla covered her mouth as she laughed. She reached out and clasped Kenny’s hand, suddenly. “We said we’d talk about it after, Kenny. You have your dreams as well.”

He had dreams, but he hadn’t disclosed the specifics of them to Leyla during his explanation of Uri’s abilities. She’d taken it rather well, only inquiring once or twice about the nature of the Titan powers. Kenny had told her as much as he could, and he wondered if her apathy towards the situation was due to the fact that, for all intents and purposes, Titans were something Leyla had never had to deal with. If there was one positive thing about living in the Underground beneath the Mitras, it was that death via Titan was last on the list of ways to go.

“I just...fuck, I love you,” Kenny let out a breathy chuckle. He felt Leyla squeeze his hand, and his heart did somersaults in his chest. “If only we had more time…”

“We will have time, Kenny. I promise,” Leyla said sincerely. “We’ll try. I swear, we’ll try. But right now I’m...I’m not ready. I have to do this.”

Kenny said nothing. He’d heard it before - the excuse.

This time, however, it was different.

“I’m scared of being truly alone. That’s why. I stay in the Underground...I push myself to do things like this because even though I’ve always been a loner, I’ve always had the people down there...watching me, giving me a reason to keep going. I’m scared that if I leave, I won’t have that anymore.”

“You’ll have me.”

“I know. That’s why part of me thinks I might be ready, after this.”

Leyla leaned forward and pressed her lips against Kenny’s. He returned the kiss, savoring it - in the back of his mind he found himself beginning to think of where exactly in the city of Mitras he’d find a ring.

                                                   _____________

“Make sure your gear is secure,” Kenny tugged on the straps looped around Leyla’s arms and chest. “Wouldn’t want ya’ takin’ a tumble, now would we?”

“No. It would be embarrassing, and I know you’d get yourself shot laughing at me,” Leyla huffed. She grazed her fingers across her chestplate, glancing up at Kenny as he bared his teeth in a smile. “Oh, stop it.”

“Can’t help it. Ya’ make me laugh.”

“Your cruelty knows no bounds, Kenny Ackerman.”

A thumb tilted Leyla’s chin upward. Kenny’s mouth met hers, and she immediately melted into his arms. He nipped at her lower lip when he pulled away, his breath hot against her cheek.

“Ya’ love me anyway.”

“Always.”

The sun had dipped below the walls long ago, and Mitras was now a sprawling city alight with lanterns. The Byren estate was just a pump of air away, and Leyla could see the top of the house from the roof she and Kenny were currently crouched upon. It seemed so close, yet so far at the same time.

The plan was rather simplistic in nature, but one slip up could bring the entire operation crumbling to the ground. It was Kenny’s task to take out any watchguards stationed around the estate while Leyla would soar over and squeeze through to Byren’s room on the top level. Any shootout that ensued after wouldn’t serve to alert any outdoor guards, who, from what their captee had told them, were instructed to signal for backup using flares. They’d come from all over Mitras along with the MP’s, something they - especially Kenny - couldn’t risk.

Byren was still in the dark about Kenny. Their captee had also informed them that, while Byren had his suspicions, he hadn’t seen nor heard Kenny during the initial attack.

Bold. That was the only word for the plan.

“See ya’ on the other side,” Kenny said playfully. He shot his hooks into the adjacent building, gas projecting him forward and out of sight, leaving Leyla utterly alone with only the cool night air to soothe her.

“Showtime,” she murmured. Mimicking Kenny’s actions from earlier, she shot a projectile into the building opposite of her, letting the gas launch her into the sky. Her mind was hyper focused on remembering her training - how to duck, move her body so the gas sent her careening one way, and then the other, then the other...Leyla had the rhythm down. She approached the Byren estate with careful ease, pulling herself onto the rooftop, right where she and Kenny had planned.

The area was dead silent. The lanterns were lit, but then was an eerie stillness to the mansion that sent chills down Leyla’s spine. She peered over the edge of the roof, locating the window where she knew, beyond, Byren resided. She prepared herself, making sure her guns were loaded, before swinging down from above and bursting through the glass. The entire thing was messy, loud, and sudden - if Kenny had finished with his task, there would be no guards alerted.

Byren was right where Leyla had anticipated he’d be, curled up in bed with some woman Leyla didn’t recognize. At the sound of breaking glass, he rolled from bed - Leyla could see him begin to fumble for something in the drawer of his bedside table, and as quickly as she could, she aimed a shot directly above the headboard. The resounding crack, and the impact, caused Byren to pause the search for his weapon and for the woman in his bed to scream and cover her ears.

Byren sunk to his knees at the foot of his bed. He looked up at Leyla, expression blank.

“I knew you were more than just a whore. Look at you - so brave-”

“Don’t fucking move,” Leyla hissed. She pointed the gun directly at Byren, waiting - as if on cue, Kenny burst through the bedroom door. He was panting, breastplate speckled with blood.

“Hope I didn’t miss anything,” he tipped his hat in Byren’s direction. “Bedroom is secure?”

“As secure as it can be,” Leyla replied. She looked Byren up and down - she could see that his right hand was wrapped in tight gauze, his fingers having been reduced down to nubs from where Kenny had all but vaporized the limb. His face was pallid, and he had dark circles beneath his eyes. There was still that crazed look Leyla had seen when he’d killed Marissa. It hadn’t been stomped out.

Leyla wondered what look he’d given her parents when he’d had them killed.

“I should have known,” Byren gave a breathless, struggling laugh. “You and I never saw eye to eye, Kenny. A shame it had to come to this.”

“This little lady here was far kinder to me than you ever were. Her cause was far more noble than anything you ever employed me for,” Kenny waved his gun dismissively. “It’s a damn shame, but as we all know, this world is cruel. Damn cruel.”

“You could have been anything, Kenny. I always admired you,” Byren bared his teeth. “Your unforgiving ferocity. You could have been like me - we were built for this, Kenny. Inside these walls, where there’s no Titans - people like us are the inheritors of everything.”

“I have my own damn dreams, and they certainly don’t involve whatever fucked up operation you’ve got goin’ on here,” Kenny growled. “Leyla?”

Rolling her shoulders, Leyla’s first matter of business was getting rid of the cowering, shivering prostitute in Byren’s bed. The woman had uncovered her ears and had been listening to their discussion with interest, finally having realized that they weren’t here for her. Her eyes fell across Leyla, and she seemed as if she desperately wanted to speak, but fear was choking her into silence.

So, Leyla spoke to her directly, making sure to soften her tone. “There are more girls here. Where are they?”

“Don’t-” Byren began, but Kenny had his gun aimed before he could make a move towards the woman.

“Downstairs, in the main room.”

“Thank you. Get out of here - take what you need on the way out.”

The woman nodded. She pulled a coat on over her flimsy nightdress, donned a pair of slippers, and ran out the door. There was a moment of silence before Leyla decided to speak again, but her words were interrupted by the sound of hooves against cobblestone, rough voices, and shadows passing through the door and across the wall from outside.

Kenny’s eyes snapped to the source of the sound, and Byren began laughing.

“You’re both idiots. You, especially,” Vibro Byren sent Leyla a death-glare. “Trying to take me on because you're bitter that I blew your parent’s brains out.”

Several things happened at one time. The door to the bedroom burst open, and Byren made a break for it. Leyla fired off a shot that missed and tore through the goose father pillows on his bed, sending tendrils of white flying. Kenny popped off a series of double-shots that embedded themselves in the two guards who were just raising their guns to fire -

As they fell, Byren barrelled past them and disappeared down the hallway.

“Ah, SHIT,” Kenny’s curse was booming. He looked at Leyla for direction, gesturing wildly. “New plan?”

“Go after Byren. Kill him,” Leyla began backtracking towards the busted window. “I’m hitting the lower level and grabbing the girls. We’ll regroup in the courtyard.”

Kenny nodded. He took off after Byren, and Leyla catapulted herself from the window. As she fell, wind tearing at her hair, she shot a hook into the ledge and used her gas to allow herself to float smoothly down to the first floor. The front doors to the estate were abandoned, and two corpses littered the stone stairs. Leyla stepped past them, pushing her way into the building. The great room was just ahead, and she could hear voices - she pressed herself against the wall, peering around the corner.

Leyla recognized Presley immediately. The older teenager had always greeted Leyla with a hug when she’d come to the orphanage - she had a fiery personality and had, on more than one occasion, begged for Leyla to take her on raids.

She was here, now, clad in flimsy lingerie and arguing furiously with one of the guards. Her face was red and Leyla could see a bruise on the side of her face - behind her, four other, younger girls were huddled.

“Sit the fuck down! Byren should be down here in a minute,” one of the men brandished his handgun threateningly. “Don’t make me hit you again!”

Presley reared back and spat a globule of saliva onto the man’s face. His response was immediate, and he swung his gun like a club, catching Presley in the cheek and knocking her flat on the floor.

Leyla broke from cover. She counted three other guards meandering around the room - two by the kitchen, one by the fireplace, and the other, standing over a downed Presley with a sneer on his face. Killing the single guard by Presley was easy, and as her shot hit home, she sent one hook into the throat of the guard closest to the kitchen, using her gas to launch her forward and towards his companion.

Blood gushed onto the hardwood as the hook tore past flesh and cartilage. The man gave a wet, gurgling cry and toppled, accidentally discharging his gun and shattering the lights of the chandelier above. Another buckshot whizzed past Leyla’s face, but her focus was on man still standing and fumbling with his weapon. A single shot was all it took to kill him.

“LEYLA!” Presley’s shriek was urgent, guttural - it screamed danger.

Leyla turned. The remaining guard, the one by the fireplace, had his gun raised towards the girls. A switch went off inside Leyla, and Kenny’s training hit her like a wave - push, click, reload. Kenny would have been proud of her speed, she mused, letting the steaming barrel of her gun hit the floor, the remaining piece slipping into a new barrel with rhythmic precision. She moved before she fired, tossing herself with the aid of the gas in between the guard and the huddled, terrified girls. She wasn’t sure who fired their gun first, her, or the guard, but Leyla’s shot hit home.

As did his.

As the guards head erupted in a spray of crimson, Leyla felt the projectile tear through her. Instead of landing on her feet, like she’d intended, she fell on her side and slid a few yards before coming to a stop against the side of the couch. The impact jostled her, and she felt blood begin to pour from her mouth and nose. She could barely breathe. It felt as if a heavy hand were pressing against her lungs from the inside, twisting and squeezing.

“Fuck.”

                                                    ____________

Byren was fast, but Kenny was faster.

He’d opted to take a left instead of heading towards the lower floor, bounding down yet another long hallway where more of his men were waiting - the bloodbath had been glorious. The walls were painted with streaks of red, now, and Byren was struggling to stem the flow of blood from the bullet wound Kenny had blasted through his thigh.

Half a dozen corpses littered the floor. Kenny stepped over each, sighing deeply as Byren continued to try and crawl away.

“All your men are dead, Vibro, including the pathetic backup you brought. Give it up,” Kenny couldn’t hold the exasperation from his tone. Byren was all talk and no bite. He’d made one pathetic swipe at Kenny with a knife before a bullet had put him on the floor - utterly hopeless, propped up only by his sadistic demeanor towards those less fortunate. It was why he probably aimed for young prostitutes, Kenny mused.

“She must have gotten into your brain,” Byren threw back his head and laughed, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes from the pain of the hole in his leg. “Is she that good in bed, Kenny? I know she used to be a whore. I could tell the moment she shoved her tongue down my throat.”

Kenny felt something stir in his chest, and he rolled his eyes. He stomped forward and slammed his heel into Byren’s wounded leg, dragging a scream past the man’s lips. It was satisfying, and now, it was Kenny’s turn to laugh.

“You really are good for nothin’,” Kenny raised his gun. “She gave me permission to kill ya’. For her parents.”

“I hope all of this was worth it.”

“For her? Yeah,” Kenny let out a sigh. He locked eyes with Byren, not wanting to drag this out any further.

A single gunshot was all it took.

Byren lay dead with his men. Kenny surveyed the wrecked hallway, and the estate had finally fallen silent. Whatever backup Byren had managed to pull together had been nothing more than a few mooks. No MP’s, though Kenny was beginning to wonder if their absence had been deliberate, somehow. It was rare that they wouldn’t come to the aid of some sniveling noble, especially one as relevant as Byren.

Kenny went and picked his hat up from where it had fallen during the scuffle. Sheathing his guns, he made his way down the stairs and towards the great room.

“...lift her up. No, not like that - keep her head elevated so she can breathe…”

Kenny’s heart began to drop a million miles a second.

Five girls were huddled around Leyla’s motionless body. Their state of sparse dress barely phased Kenny. All he could focus on was Leyla, and how her body was so still, save for the occasional twitch of her fingers and her eyes, which were open and staring and locking onto his own as he sank to his knees next to her.

Her shirt was sticky with blood, so much of it that it caused the fabric to cling to her flesh. The girls had removed her breastplate, and one, the oldest looking of the group, was pressing what looked to be a hand towel against the wound.

Kenny had gauged many, many wounds in his life as a squad leader and serial killer. No amount of medical attention in the world could save her.

Hopeless.

“...Kenny?”

The girls stepped away as Kenny moved closer. They were silent, watching with their heads ducked as Kenny took Leyla’s trembling hand in his own. Glassy eyes searched his face.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize. Ya’ don’t have to,” Kenny let out a ragged breath. He couldn’t cry in front of these girls. It was some code, some unbroken vow he’d made to himself. With a furious wave, he shooed the girls away - the oldest teenager seemed reluctant to go.

“Is...is she going to be okay?”

“No. You girls don’t need to be here to see the aftermath. Go home, back to the orphanage,” Kenny said briskly. When they didn’t move, he barked, “Go!”

They obeyed. When the sounds of their feet had finally faded away, Kenny broke - he leaned down to rest his forehead against Leyla’s, feeling her feebly lift another hand to rest against the side of his face. His tears were wet and hot and his cries were muffled. When he pulled away, there was a smile on her lips.

“This is bullshit,” Leyla gave a wet chuckle. “I wish...I wish we had more time, but I m-made my choice. I...”

“You didn’t waste your life,” Kenny said quickly. “You didn’t.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yes,” Kenny looked towards the staircase leading to the upper floor. “It’s done.”

Leyla gave a soft hum of contentment, and the noise damn near broke Kenny’s heart for good. It was the same hum she’d give in the morning, when she’d be trying to wrestle Kenny from bed. The fact that he’d never hear that noise again wasn’t something ready to accept.

She had to live. She couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t -

“Don’t sulk,” Leyla said. “Don’t you d-dare fucking sulk. You have...dreams to pursue, Kenny.”

“I understand,” Kenny raised the bloody hand in his palm and kissed it fervently. “Shit, I just…”

There’s so much I want to say to you.

“I know,” Leyla breathed.

                                                     ____________

He buried her in the cemetery next to her parents.

Kenny dug the hole himself. It took several hours, and by the end of it, he felt no different. He’d thought doing the act would bring him some closure, a feeling of relief.

Putting her in that hole only brought him more grief, though he’d done a good, good job of shutting it in a box and tossing away the key.

Having Leyla violently ripped away from him had only worked to make the self-hate he had for himself resurface tenfold. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling like shit, even though he knew he was shit - he’d always been shit. Kuchel had always been the good one, not him. He’d always believed that Kuchel should have been the one to survive, not him.

He’d walked away from Levi on his own accord. Uri had been taken due to circumstances out of his control. Leyla’s death had been on her own volition, she’d made it very clear that Kenny wasn’t to blame, but if only Kenny had been better. Stronger, smarter, faster.

He had to be better. He would be better in the future.

But now, right now, all he could think about was the fact that Leyla was a cold corpse wrapped in sheets and he was alone.

He slammed the shovel into the ground. The rectangle was big and deep enough, and for a moment, he could only stand awkwardly and shift back and forth on his feet. It was a funeral of one, he realized.

After a while, he placed Leyla in the dirt and began covering her. That task took half as long but was no more painful, no more agonizing. The tombstone he made was wooden, created using floorboards from the shop. He’d simply sketched her name - no birthdate, no last name. Leyla had never told him the first, and he wondered if she even had the latter.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Kenny turned. It was Mika - the older woman had a small bouquet of flowers in one hand. She was bundled up in a jacket, and despite the circumstance, she had a small smile on her face.

“Come to pay your respects?”

“I wasn’t sure who was going to bury her. News from the orphanage spreads fast,” Mika stepped forward, placing the flowers in front of Kenny’s pathetic little headstone. “She’d told me, many, many times, that this was how she’d die. I just...wasn’t exactly prepared for it to happen.”

“I tried to get her to stop. She wouldn’t. Stubborn bitch,” Kenny snorted. Mika just stared down at the grave, lips pressed into an unassuming line. “She would go on and on about how much this town meant to her. I never got it.”

“She saved so many of us. I wanted her to stop, too,” Mika said somberly. “Even though I don’t think a lot of us would have made it…”

“It’s shit, what they do to you down here.”

“Us,” Mika glanced up at him. “I know you lived down here. I’ve heard the stories - Leyla told me who you are.”

“I’m nobody.”

“Everyone is somebody,” Mika reached out and patted Kenny’s dirty arm. “If you ever need a place to stay, my home is open to you. It’s what she would have wanted.”

Mika turned and left. It was the last time Kenny would probably ever see her again.

He stood by Leyla’s grave for a while, before visiting the spot where Kuchel was buried for the first time in almost a decade. Her grave was just as pathetic as Leyla’s, though hers sported a much more impressive headstone.

When he resurfaced and found himself in Mitras. He threw himself into his squad work, ignoring soft inquiries from Traute. The heaviness in his heart did not dissipate, but he wouldn’t let it affect his work - he couldn’t. He had to honor Leyla’s instructions. Honor her by inching closer and closer to his goals.

Two months passed without incident. It was mid-spring when he was called in to speak with Laurens about a potential squad mission. The short, middle-aged man was utterly reprehensible to Kenny, but he was the buffer between the nobility and the interior MP’s - he held an enormous amount of power, but had always respected Kenny’s autonomy, most likely out of fear. Kenny did what he asked, but only when he wanted to.

“I’m very happy that you took care of Vibro,” Laurens snickered and lifted his whiskey to his lips. “I don’t care how you did it, I’m just glad you did something about that menace.”

“I felt like taking the initiative, considering how he’s been a thorn in your side,” Kenny lied. He kept his face neutral, but he’d realized that the absence of MP’s and Traute’s...insistence that she help had, most likely, all been organized. Byren had far less allies than he’d bragged about.

“His sadism was getting out of hand and making us look bad. What’s done is done. I have a new job for you,” Laurens emptied his glass and ran a hand through his thin, balding hair. “There’s been reports of more thieves - five of them, specifically. Doing the same thing as that man or woman from before.”

“Thieves?” Kenny’s eyebrows shifted ever so slightly.

“Dressed in all black, nabbing rations from the MP’s. Even stole a horse - probably sold it off in the market,” Laurens waved a hand. “I want your whole squad on it. Catch them and kill them-”

“No,” Kenny said.

“Pardon?”

“I haven’t heard any reports of thieves. Things go missing all the time - hell, half the time, it’s the damn MP’s themselves stealing or misplacing rations,” Kenny leaned forward, baring his teeth in a sickeningly sweet smile. Laurens response was just as he’d anticipated; a shuddering gulp, and a raising of both hands. “Come back to me with something less boring. You’re seeing ghosts, Laurens, and nothin’ more.”

“You never say no to a job, Kenny-”

“I’m saying no today,” Kenny slammed a wad of cash onto the table, excusing himself. He began to light a cigarette, letting it hang between his teeth as he spoke. “Drinks are on me. You’re welcome.”

He left Laurens, who remained sitting in disbelief, to go take a stroll through the streets of Mitras.

End

#kenny ackerman x reader #kenny ackerman/reader #kenny ackerman #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin

[snacc-noir]

Unseal and Reveal pt2

Ao3

Part 1

Adapted from this post

Summary:

Adrien asks Marinette to fake date him after his father finds a pink ‘love note’ containing just her name on it

— but it was really the emergency note Ladybug gave him in case he needed to know her identity

Adrien has screwed up. 

But before anything begins, he’d like to make it very clear that he’s only ever had good intentions, believable smiles, and incredible lying ability – no matter what his friends say (“You once told Alya you had a great dentist so Marinette wouldn’t be suspicious”), because he’s kept the fact he’s Chat Noir under wraps and no one has been the wiser. 

Then again, Chat Noir is stylish, handsome, incredibly dressed, insanely hilarious, im(pecc)ably ripped, totally— 

Yeah, so Adrien just can’t live up to that (If it came down to it, he’d totally fall in love with himself if circumstances allowed.), and thus his identity is pretty secure , unlike his self-esteem on a good day. 

Specifically, today. 

Because he has screwed up.  

So yes, he’s somehow the best and worst liar ever, which probably likens to how it isn’t his secret identity that he Accidentally (three underlines for ‘accidentally’) reveals, but, uh, someone else’s. 

Ladybug’s. 

He knows Ladybug’s identity.  

But hey! Hey— remember, her idea. It was never him who suggested the ‘let’s write our names on letters in case we need to know in an emergency’, as that was definitely her. 

He’s screwed everything up, but it was definitely her. 

“Did you know? ” 

“Duh,” his kwami’s gravel voice says, “I know everything.” 

Adrien’s hands are rousing his hair so much at this point he might expose himself as Chat Noir if anyone went by his lean windows. “You knew this whole time!? That Ladybug is– That she’s– That—”  

All air escapes him in a corrupt elongated syllable. He flops on his Extra King size bed with silk sheets and fluffed pillows, almost knocking his model agency’s branded hydro-flask onto the desk adjacent with three exorbitant monitor screens. Oh, how difficult his life is.  

“You’re so pathetic.” 

He is.  

“This is hilarious.” 

It is not.  

‘“What am I supposed to do, Plagg?! Call her? ‘Hey love of my life, it’s me Adrien, but you also know me as Chat Noir. I accidentally found out your identity and long story short, my household thinks we’re dating and wants you over for dinner. Are you up for fake-dating and not killing me, please?” 

His kwami skulls a camembert roll. “I’m down for that idea.” 

Adrien pegs a sock. 

“How are you so calm?” 

“I shrugged in the face of dinosaur extinction. Your damsel in distress crisis – you’re the damsel, by the way – and ‘oohhh no, I’m so in love’ hullabaloo is nothing.” 

Adrien’s frown deepens. “I don’t sound like that.” 

“You do. Your voice goes like eee .” 

“What? No it doesn’t” 

“You’re right, it’s more like ahhh . ” 

The heat in Adrien’s acid eyes smarten. He crosses his arms, huffing in a way he hasn’t since early childhood, and glares at his ceiling. “I’m done talking to you.” 

He isn’t, of course, as there’s only one person in his life he can complain to about his array of #RelatableTeenBoy issues, like ditching your favourite topic of Physics one class to cater to a Giant Baby akuma (again) and being late due to lack of places to change into your skin-tight cat suit (you know; just those little things). And by Hawk Moth’s insufferable menacing he isn’t letting that outlet fall from under him. He needs to clear his thoughts, because believe him, there is a lot to sift, and it doesn’t help when part of this whole catastrophe has left him with the knowledge that— 

“Marinette is Ladybug!” 

Plagg has moved to Adrien’s three-panelled computer desk and is clicking through something. “I’m so glad you’ve caught up.” 

“And if she’s Ladybug, that means,” he goes on, white overshirt sleeves now uneven as he animates his words with a pillow, “she was just saying to me – to Chat – she was in love with him to save her identity! And there’s another boy she’s in love with! And–! And I might know who it is!” 

“Who?” Plagg asks, the volume juxtaposing his welder’s. 

“I said 'might’.” 

The keys click louder. “You mean because you know Ladybug in real life you could have met him before? Or you actually know him?” 

“I don’t know! I just know that Marinette’s… She’s in love with another guy.” The earlier exhilaration drains and his chest feels hollow and soul-sucking. “Wait– I can’t ask her to be my fake-girlfriend!” 

The destructive god scrolls through the itemised shopping cart to double-check his fromage orders without any fear of his owner noticing. Well you obviously don’t have a choice. Your dad wants her over for dinner. Besides, it’s Ladybug, remember? She’ll do anything to help a friend out.” 

Ladybug. 

Marinette. 

Of course.  

There are still many things that don’t add up (Multimouse: just how?) but of course. 

He can’t risk his own identity and hers to his father. He must keep the façade up. And if that mean s falling on his knees in front of who unarguably should be the most glorified woman in the world, crying to her to please just be his fake – very much, but unfortunately fake – girlfriend.  

He will. 

He’ll do it right now. 

- 

“I can’t believe you chickened out.” 

Walks to school, even with the cost of waking up earlier, are always more refreshing than drives in cold silence. The freedom here is less pale, and he can hiss at Plagg all he wants with only the dignity loss of onlookers noticing him crankily talking to himself. 

“Oh wait, yes I can. Because you’re a coward~. ” 

“I did not ‘chicken out’,” Adrien snaps. “And I’m no coward. I just— I need to speak to her in person instead. This way, she didn’t have to receive an unwanted call so late.” 

 “You mean six?” 

He huffs. “Marinette needs all the sleep she can get.” He pokes the creature back into his overshirt. “She’s always so busy. Even you’ve seen her collapse in class. Wait—!” 

The only one that waits is himself, columned with the line of trees ahead, locked in the interval of his soap opera as his audience darts for a shiny rock near a fire hydrant. 

“Because she’s Ladybug too! Of course! Of course! This makes so much sense! She’s so tired and overworked! It’s no wonder she’s all over the place – in the best of ways, I mean, she’s literally adorable when she’s frantic. Wait, have I always thought that? Have I always seen Marinette as the cutest thing ever? Her spluttering is so endearing. And if she’s already so tired, I can’t make her fake date me, too! She’s already so stressed! I’d literally be the scum of the earth if I even dare—” 

Plagg is staring at him with flat interest. Humbly aware of his judgement, Adrien swallows, letting the air untense and clams his hands – eager to narrate his animated allegory – in his pockets in strife to get a grip.  

He sighs. 

“What if I mess it up, Plagg?” 

He inventories his new rock in Adrien’s satchel. A hymn of silence roots in the place of what should be a snide remark. But there is no fed-up comment, just a kwami wriggling under his overshirt out of sight and a solemn voice that issues from it,  

“Kid, you’re partners. You work together. You forgive each other. You trust each other. And if Ladybug trusts you,” he sticks his head out a little more, “find it in you to trust yourself. You won’t mess this up if you put her and her identity’s safety first, which I know you will, because you love her and you’re a great hero.” 

Adrenaline dampening, Adrien smiles.  

“Thanks, Plagg.” 

- 

Marinette has never believed in bad luck until she met Chat Noir (fifty Mr Pigeon akumatisations this year with a feather allergy? The next lucky charm is going to be an Epi-pen) and for a while, she didn’t believe in good luck, even with being Ladybug. 

But that was then. Back then, meaning like, ten minutes ago before she was invited to stay back after PE by Adrien. 

Right now, though? Right now, she’s decided she’s going to hand-sew a bedazzled shirt embossed with, “Goddess of Luck” to wear while Ladybug on patrol (and on the back, a quote she woke up to on Instagram this morning: ‘“can also kick ass” – Adrien Agreste’ (she took ten screenshots when he posted that)), because Marinette has good luck.   

“You’ll be doing me a huge favour,” the ass-kicking quoter says on an afternoon she has not planned to receive the most exciting request of her life. 

And you know what she says? 

You know what the stuttering girl who may as well trademark the word ‘GAH’ she falls that much, says? 

You’ll never guess. 

No really, you won’t. 

Because turns out, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is more than just accomplished. 

So what if she thrones the winning title of a Gabriel fashion comp? What even matters of being class president and an all-around likable person? Who takes notice of another fashion mogul inviting you to live in New York because of your talent? ––An invitation you had to decline because, you know, being Paris’ zero-pay superheroine has a sprinkle more of importance. And oh, did she mention she’s Ladybug? Because she’s Ladybug. A superhero.  

But none of that matters right now. 

“I’d be happy to help.” 

Because she’s said yes.  

She—Marinette McStutter Dupain-Cheng—has said yes with her mouth (not vague hand animations over blubbering nonsense) to Adrien, and although her muscles are locked with their key over the Eiffel tower (and the tiny detail that her thoughts are screaming so much she can’t hear a thing of his relief and numerous ‘thank you’s), she’s still said yes!  

Screw every other accomplishment. She’s said yes to being Adrien’s fake girlfriend. 

Ladybug? Nah, that’s Mrs. Fake Agreste to you.  

Good luck is real.  

Okay but sure, ‘Fake girlfriend’ doesn’t exactly live up to ‘Very real girlfriend’, but being a fake isn’t that bad! She’s seen Lila do it every day for months – oh, hang on, no actually the term ‘fake’ has very negative and huge implications, then. However, in Marinette’s heavenly-blessed case, ‘fake’ means she’s doing a very big favour for a friend and is going to get more time with Adrien – just to name a few positives.  

“Seriously Marinette, you have no idea how much this means to me. I can’t believe I’m so lucky to have a friend like you.” 

‘Oh honey, I’m the lucky one. ’ 

“It’s– It’s no problem! Yeah! Really, I’ll come to dinner, no problem! It can’t be too hard. I can be your girlfriend! Eugh– Pretend girlfriend. It’s not hard being in love with you! I mean– Ugh!” 

The monstrosity that is the never-shutting-up hole in her face is blocked off by frantic hands, stifling the last of her eloquent groan. But peering up, she realises she really has underestimated how much this means to Adrien, because he looks like he’s poised on a cliff of ecstasy ready to fall – eyes verdant, big, and lushed over with a hue of moisture that twinkles, and a smile so bright and toothy the sunlight hollowing out the remaining shade of the PE stadium glints off it.  

In fact, her mess of a speech is such a compliment to Adrien that her locked-limbed body is suddenly engulfed by his. Startled in delightful senses of the word, she squeaks, and he quickly pulls away, face a few rose tones darker than before as his hands twitch at his side unsurely. 

“Uhh, I guess we have to get planning.” 

She watches in transfixed attraction as Adrien picks both their schoolbags up, finally blurting (without any squeak, she may add), 

“Y–Yes. We do.” 

(she didn’t say any stutter, so shut up.) 

“Would your father let you come over right now since school’s almost finished?” 

He casts a look to the exit thoughtfully. His flawless side-profile in high resolution before her, she sees the corner of his mouth quirk up in an unsettling familiar way, as if his whole charisma shifts to someone else’s.  

They do need to plan; to run away together, where only they share this odd secret - a place alone together where they'll look each other eye-to-eye and practice their sonnets of love to construct a believable facade for his father-

“It’s more fun sneaking to my girlfriend’s house, isn’t it?” 

That time, she squeaks.

And comes to the daunting realisation:

Marinette is screwed. 

#I’ll add the @s in the replies cos I know people wanted a part 2 #it took me YONKS to effectively post this #also thanks again to the person who created the idea to let me do this #it’s kinda steered from the envelop theme and a full-fledged fake dating au I guess #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #adrienette #adrinette #identity reveal #original content #em writes

[myluciferiscody]

i loved you first. p.3

pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

word count: 2,843

warnings: au! in present time, language, angst, light fluff

*title inspired by joan’s song*

part 1 part 2

3.

The rest of your friends had followed you home. You were somewhat grateful, unsure if you could handle being alone right now. The look on Xavier’s face when he slammed the door on you refused to leave your mind.

Chet was very pissed off. Montana was equally as angry, but she had more time to ruminate on the situation, which would make sense as to why she was quiet.

“He’s such a fucking dick!” Chet spat, pacing the length of your living room. “And that’s coming from me.”

“I’m sure he’s chewing the bitch out now,” Montana said, drinking from the beer she stole from your fridge. “If not, I’m going to kill them both.”

Ray and Brooke were both quiet, sitting next to each other, holding hands. You felt a pang of envy watching them. 

Chet glanced at you, but you looked down at the pillow on your lap, seeing a feather sticking out. You pulled it, rolling it between your fingers. “I might have to join you guys,” you said lamely.

“y/n, you’ve already suffered enough, she’ll get her comeuppance,” Montana said, smiling at you. 

Chet chewed on his lip, standing next to your television, which was still off. The room was too quiet for you. You reached over, turning it on and seeing it was left on the news. You kept the volume low, trying to focus on the weather for the next week.

“Could we report her to the police?” Ray asked, looking between Chet and Montana. “For theft?”

You shook your head, “I highly doubt that. She stole my journal, they’d probably laugh at me the moment I told them.”

“What about making a key?” Chet offered, looking pleased with himself. “Assuming that’s what she did.”

“It could be considered breaking and entering, but it probably won’t hold up in court. She’s dating Xavier. That’s already a problem.” Montana said, and you nodded in agreement. 

“This is all bullshit!” Chet said, before plopping on the floor. 

“Calm down, man,” Ray said, his arm around Brooke now. “I’m sure Xavier already dumped her ass.”

“That’s not enough,” Chet said, reaching underneath him to pull out the notepad from earlier. The energy in the room shifted; you didn’t realize he kept it. “This has to be.”

“What else is in there?” you asked, alarmed as Brooke brushed off Ray and crawled on the floor towards Chet, who was reluctant to give it to her. Brooke read a few pages, her mouth falling open with quiet gasps as she shut it, her eyes wide in disbelief. 

“What!?” you asked again, standing up and approaching them. Montana and Ray were simultaneously trying to grab it from Brooke, who remained speechless.

“You can’t read it, y/n,” replied Chet, his eyebrows furrowing as you tried to take it as well. “She’s a horrible person who belongs in jail.”

“If it’s about me, I deserve to know!” you hissed, finally able to grab it from Brooke, who yelped when Montana accidentally stepped on her bare leg. You quickly flipped it open, skipping the first page, which you already saw earlier. The notepad was small but completely full of writings.

I tried to get it out of Xavier today if he has any history with y/n. I don’t know if he is dense, but he really didn’t say much other than they’re “good friends.” I think it’s a bunch of bullshit. y/n is clearly in love with him. Every time she looks at him, she gets this god awful dreamy look in her eyes. 

You flipped the page, once again finding another passage about you and Xavier.

I was forced to spend time with y/n today. God, I don’t know what else I could do to get him away from her. She’s so desperate, so fucking pathetic. I can’t really blame her though, if I had to see Xavier dating another woman, I’d have to kill the bitch and make it look like an accident.

 Another page:

We’ve been dating over a year already! I finally got him convinced to move in with me. He deserves it, he’s been working so hard lately. :(

I’d tell y/n myself to see if she’d cry or beg him to stay. Seems like the kind of thing she would do. But he didn’t seem as excited as me. :( 

You skipped through a few pages just bearing your name crossed out, and the others just watched in silence as you sunk onto the couch, feeling your heart beating wildly out of your chest when they got more aggressive.

Xavier was really sad today. He barely touched me. I tried to initiate sex, but he said he wasn’t in the mood. This isn’t him. He must be boning y/n. This is the second time this week!! We move in together in a month. When we do, y/n isn’t going to step foot in our fucking place. I’ll see to it myself.

I saw my ex-boyfriend Christopher at the store today-

“Who in the?...”

You let out a scream when the front door swung open, hitting the wall. Montana and Ray both yelled in fright, seeing an angry Xavier slam the door shut, kicking off his shoes. Chet stood up, glaring at his friend as you shut the notepad, feeling your adrenaline running on high.

“Well?” Chet asked, crossing his muscular arms.

Xavier looked at all of you but refused to meet your eyes. You stared at him, willing him to look at you, your hands trembling. 

“I need a minute.” was all Xavier said before breezing past the group and into the bathroom. After a few minutes, you could hear the shower turning on.

“What a fucking imbecile-” Chet began.

“He does that when he’s upset,” you countered, ignoring the pleased look Montana and Brooke gave you. “Give him a break, Chet. He didn’t know.”

Chet nodded begrudgingly, sinking back down in his original spot. 

Xavier was in the shower forever, and the others were growing tired as the time slowly ticked towards one in the morning. The news turned into reruns of a sitcom you couldn’t get into, and you ended up turning off the television. 

“You guys should go,” you said, looking at them from your spot on the couch. Brooke was passed out against Ray, who was barely keeping his eyes open. Chet was lying on his back, staring at nothing. Montana was on her phone, but you could tell she was exhausted. You were too.

“We don’t want to leave you,” Montana said, frowning at you.

You smiled a bit, hearing the shower turning off. “I think it will be easier on Xavier if it’s just the two of us.”

After some convincing, your friends each hugged you goodbye, before shuffling out the door. Something told you Montana wouldn’t be going too far, as she winked at you before she left. You knew she’d be waiting in her car for you to give her word everything was fine. Or that it wasn’t.

You cleaned up the pillows, your heart beating faster, hearing Xavier move around in the bathroom. You stared at the notepad sitting on the coffee table, before grabbing your journal and taking it into your room. You lay on your bed, flipping through the pages to your last entry, which was earlier in the year.

“I wish I could get over him. I’m tired of feeling this way. It’s exhausting, being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. It’s not fair. All of that time, I could have told him how I felt. I didn’t do it, and this is what I get. Chloe is beautiful, and he is head over heels for her. She got what I was too scared to go after. I some times think of what could be if I just spilled everything out to him. Even if Xavier didn’t or never reciprocates my feelings, him knowing is better than me keeping it all bottled up inside. But what if he also felt the same way? What if he was also scared of telling me? I could have started the conversation! I feel like it’s all my fucking fault. I love Xavier, but I don’t know how much longer I can take of this. If they get married, I don’t think I’d be able to watch it and survive.” 

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you heard soft footsteps approaching you. You slammed the cover shut, looking up to see Xavier frowning at you. His eyes were red, and you had the urge to joke about getting soap in his eyes. 

“Why are you crying?” Xavier asked, sitting beside you. 

“Uh, nothing,” you shook your head, putting your journal back. You wiped at your eyes, faking a laugh. “I just read something stupid, is all.”

There was no way in hell Xavier believed you, but you didn’t bother to continue with the lie. You felt like you needed to apologize to him. The others weren’t supposed to witness anything. You understood why Chet was so angry, but Xavier was just as clueless as you had been. If it weren’t for Montana, who knows what the next few months would look like. 

“I uh, I wanted to apologize for what happened,” you said, looking back at your lap. “I didn’t mean for that to happen in front of everyone...” you whispered.

“I don’t want you apologizing for anything, y/n,” Xavier scolded you, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes met his, and you almost melted. “I would have preferred it to be a little more private, but... That’s how life works.”

You nodded, gently pushing his hand off your chin. He dropped it, still maintaining eye contact with you. “I just want you to know that if I had known who she was, I would have never brought her around you. I never would have dated her.” 

You frowned, wondering what he knew. “What happened after we left?”

Xavier looked uncomfortable now, clearing his throat and rubbing his hands on his sweatpants. You noticed he was shirtless, and you looked away, wondering if you should turn the air conditioning down.

“Well, I knew it was your diary, and I knew you wouldn’t make anything like this up, so...” he sighed deeply. “I knew if I wanted to get the truth out of her, I needed to play down to her level. I convinced her if she just told me the truth, I wouldn’t break up with her. It took a while, but she finally cracked.”

“Chloe told me she had been arrested for stalking and harassment a few years before we met. She didn’t say much about her boyfriend, but I don’t think I really want to know,” he winced. “I grilled her about what she was up to, and she said that she felt threatened by you. I always thought there was jealousy, you know?” Xavier frowned at you, “You’re my best friend. I told her about you before we even started dating. I tried to convince her that there was nothing between us, but...”

You nodded, feeling like your heart was just crushed. You held back your tears, wanting him to continue on and get it all out. This was your worst fear, right after thinking about him spending the rest of his life with someone else. He only saw you as a friend. 

“I would have been a liar too,” he said slowly, his cheeks slowly turning red. 

You perked your head up, wondering if he meant what you thought he was saying. “What are you saying?”

Xavier felt like he was going to throw up. He watched you, gauging your reaction. Your eyes were brighter, but he could see the hurt and hesitation in them. This was the moment that could change his life for the better or, the worse.

“y/n, I just want you to promise that what I’m about to say, it won’t ruin what we have?” he said carefully, his stomach now full of butterflies. You nodded.

“I started dating Chloe because I thought it was the right thing for me. I liked you for a long time. I started having feelings for you in high school. But I was too scared to ruin what we had. I tried to flirt with you a bit, to see if maybe you felt the same way. But I thought you weren’t interested because you would never really acknowledge it, so I gave up. I’m such a fucking idiot, but I thought my time ran out, and I thought that this would help me get over you. But it didn’t.”

Your mouth was hanging open as Xavier finished, gawking at you while his words processed in your head. The nerves you had felt this entire evening were easing away, and you felt your head become lighter at his admittance to how he felt about you. 

Xavier Plympton, liking me? Like that?

This had to be a sick joke. This wasn’t a movie, this was real fucking life. 

“This makes me sound like a fucking asshole, but I hoped that if you had feelings for me after I got with her, you’d... I don’t know, admit that you liked me too? I’m such a dick!” he spat, his blue eyes alight with frustration. “I started dating another girl, a fucking psychopath, just to get over you. I used her. I...”

You placed a hand on his arm, and Xavier immediately stopped, giving you a puzzled look. “Xavier, stop talking.” He nodded, watching you.

“I wanted you to come sweep me off my feet like those 80s rom-coms you force me to watch once a month,” you said, cracking a smile. Xavier grinned at you. “I’ve loved you for a long time...” you nodded. “I wanted to tell you the first night I met her, but it was selfish. So I didn’t. I wanted you to be happy.”

“It is selfish,” he laughed a little. “But I would stop the world if it met I could call you mine, y/n,” 

Hearing his voice say your name sent chills down your spine. You almost forgot about the real problem Chloe was when he ran a hand along your cheek, his fingertips tracing the length of your cheekbone. 

“Do you love her?” you asked softly.

Xavier shook his head, “No. I know this because what I feel for you is so much stronger.”

You always imagined yourself jumping up and down in excitement when the truth finally came out, possibly even passing out in your dramatics. But this was more heartfelt than you ever imagined. Plus, Xavier wasn’t fresh out of a relationship in your imagination. 

“I loved you first,” you responded.

Xavier nodded, and you had the urge to kiss him. You wanted too. But this was all too fresh, and you didn’t want to push Xavier into anything he wasn’t comfortable with. Now that the truth came out, that was all the reassurance you needed at the moment.

“Do you think she’ll be a problem?” you asked, nudging him when he stared at his feet. “Like a threat?”

“She was crying when I left, but... I don’t really know, y/n,” he said, before looking you in the eyes. “She won’t lay a finger on you. I’ll see to that myself.”

-

You had fallen asleep on the couch with your head snuggled into Xavier’s back. You had slept through the night. The sun was shining brightly through the windows, and you pulled the blanket up to cover your face as Xavier snored quietly next to you. 

There was something off when you woke up, wiggling your way off the couch. Xavier slowly moved into your spot, his head rolling to the side as his snores slowly subsided. You rubbed your head as you glanced around the apartment, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. 

You decided to shower, planning on cleaning up the house before you returned to work the next day. Xavier would probably be asleep for a while longer, and he’d be well-rested enough to help you. Despite feeling unsure, there was a new warmth in your chest, which bubbled up until you were smiling. 

Xavier Plympton liked you.

You admitted that you loved him. You understood that his life changed in a second. Xavier was leaving a relationship that you had so selfishly wanted to end. You didn’t feel too bad about it now, given the circumstances of who Chloe Smith was. This was a different kind of waiting; it was less painful because you knew it was only a matter of time until Xavier would finally be able to say he was in love with you. You could live with that.

After your shower, you changed into comfy clothes. You weren’t surprised to see Xavier sitting up on the couch, awake. But the look on his face stopped you. It was panicked.

You took a final step closer, seeing an angry and rumpled Chloe, standing in front of him with a gun.

taglist: some tags aren’t working, hope I didn’t miss anyone!

@the-walking-daryl @trichy-knitts @shydragonrider​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous @lemonwhiskers @jetblackpayne @langdonsvcrd @okoktrinity22 @uwonman @stefanmikaleson1864 @sevenwonderwitch @rubbrninja @iamnotjesha @leatherduncan @imshakingandcryingrn @bratzblitz @goblackcat69 @brookethompsonownsme @bookoffracturedescapes @zodiyack@bitchchatter@guiltyfiend @psychobitchtess  @aangrana  @thexmancometh @wtfcas @pleasforhelp @capshoney @agentnightshade44​ @frenchlangdon​ @morganelizabeth-99​ @fathoe69333​ @infagnito​ @felicityofbakerstreet​ @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @arthurismybby​ @fandoms-allovertheplace​

#xavier plympton x reader #duncan shepherd x reader #michael langdon x reader #xavier plympton imagine #ahs 1984 #ahs imagine #montana duke #chet clancy #brooke thompson #ray powell #Cody Fern

[airesgay]

singing in the dead of night

1. to build a home

relationship: jennifer jareau/emily prentiss

words: 4,609

summary: A collection of song fics for Emily and JJ, although heavily focused on Emily. 

chapter summary: Based on the song To Build A Home by The Cinematic Orchestra. Set during season 3, episode 4: Children of the dark.

read on ao3

This is a place where I don’t feel alone; this is a place where I feel at home

Emily had never really felt like she’d had a home. And yes she knew how, not only pathetic, but cliché that sounded. Poor little ambassador’s daughter, getting everything she wanted, except the love of a family.

Growing up was a tumultuous event. From D.C to Europe to the Middle East, she’d never had a chance to fix herself to solid ground. She’d thought for a brief moment that Rome might become a home for her, but that wish was quickly snatched away; there were memories there now she wasn’t sure she’d ever get away from.

By the time she got to university, finally escaping her mother for a life of her own, in one solid place, she thought surely this had to be it. But alas she found her days of higher education passing by in almost an instant, with nothing much to show for them except the fancy diplomas and a Yale sweatshirt.

Taking the job at Interpol was her way of giving up any chance of having a home. May as well travel the world and take the most dangerous missions when there are agents who actually have people who’d miss them - was her thinking. Which had led her to the life she’d had in France. Ironically, on the outside it seemed the most domestic and grounded. Of course it was the one that plagued her nightmares the most. That in particular felt like a sick cosmic joke.

She’d been with this new team now for around a year. There’d been moments over that time where she’d found herself thinking overly sentimental thoughts; ones like, maybe I’ve found my place, maybe I’ve found my people. She’d shot those thoughts down quicker than she could pull a trigger.

These moments always caught her off guard, despite their increasingly frequent nature: a few weeks in when they went out for drinks to that bar and it was all abnormally social and fun, or a few months later when the oldest of the team set up an old movie projector in his office, and they all tumbled in, throwing popcorn and giggling like school children. Or when she was asked to her first girls’ night at Penelope Garcia’s humble abode to get blackout drunk on margaritas (that was the intention anyway, but it was still too early for Emily to let down her guard like that, lest she let slip all her deep, dark secrets).

Even the seemingly small moment when none other than Derek Morgan had revealed himself a lover of one of her favourite novels. Of course that had occurred just seconds after she declared herself not wanting to get too personal with these people she didn’t yet know: another cosmic joke. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was really trying to tell her something?

She tried not to let herself get carried away. In fact, it was against her nature and her defence mechanism automatically kicked in, reminding her of how nothing lasts, everybody leaves, you’re not worth this kind of love.

But then this case landed on her desk. And she lost herself for a moment.

She’d never seen herself as a mother. That had been clear even before Rome. She wasn’t quite sure the reason. In her preteen years it had just been something she never thought about – which was normal to her, she was twelve, as she’d communicate to any group of girls she ended up getting into this conversation with.

Why was how big a house you’d have, and how many kids you wanted and what kind of man you’d marry things twelve-year-old girls were so concerned about? Of course she knew those last two points went hand in hand. That was what she’d thought at the time anyway. And she already knew deep down that because of her lack of interest in the former, the latter would never be an option for her.

Rome had been a whirlwind of a mistake, tangled up in loneliness and self hate. She already knew who she was. She thought she’d always known really. But she’d found herself in a place where she thought she could finally make real friends. And one of them just happened to be someone who wanted her. Was she really in the position to ruin that, to lose her place in this group she’d become a part of? They were already friends. Maybe she could be different. It would certainly make things easier if it worked out.

And so she’d made a terrible mistake, she knew that immediately. Then again, could she call it a mistake when it truly clarified her identity? This was something she told herself to try to ease the pain of it all. Whether she wanted kids, in any capacity, she wasn’t sure. But she knew that she didn’t want them in that way, and certainty not at that time.

She was always career driven, desperate to prove herself. Career women didn’t want kids, right? She sometimes wondered why her own mother had had any -which she knew a therapist would dive right into. Was that the reason? Did she just not want that for her life? Whenever asked she gave the same response, even to this day: It was just something she didn’t think about – something people (her mother) couldn’t accept. How can it be something you just don’t think about? Especially at her age – was heavily implied.

But then here she was, offering to adopt a child she’d just met. She’d always been a protector, sometimes to a fault. Was this a newfound motherly instinct, a desperate need for a family and to have someone that wouldn’t leave her? Or simply her protector role gone rogue? Once again, she didn’t like to think about it.

* * *

It had started out like any other case really: gruesome photos, a slew of murdered families, a mid to late twenties, white male unsub just asking to be psychoanalysed. When they profiled the victims to be middle class, happy suburban families – PTA mums and flannel-wearing dads – Emily couldn’t help but think how her own family would be the last on the hit list.

The first moment anything out of the ordinary occurred was when JJ came into the precinct to report that there’d been another attack, and that an ambulance was on its way.

“Ambulance?” she asked, surprise evident.

“There’s a survivor?” came Hotch’s follow up question.

A weak nod from JJ was their confirmation.

Emily immediately offered to join JJ at the hospital. It was like an instinct.

As they followed the doctor down the corridor, he explained how she was lucky to be alive. Emily responded with the same line of thought she’d had on the way there, that “this guy doesn’t miss.” Which begged the question of just how this girl had survived. When he informed them of how she was still drowsy and confused from the drugs, Emily admitted that, given what had happened, it was probably best.

Emily started by going through the motions, following protocol of questioning the witness on the events and asking for any descriptions of the unsubs. By this point it was such a natural routine for her. She’d learned how to distance herself from the emotion of it all. She was able to do this by reminding herself of the job she had to do, and how them catching the suspect and preventing more suffering relied on her detaching herself, keeping a clear head.

JJ was sat next to the girl’s bed, closer and blatantly more maternal. This was usually the role she adopted. She was there to offer support, Emily to get information. It was only when the girl mentioned her dad that she felt her face fall, and the weight of what had happened to this girl, how her whole world had ended, fell on her shoulders. She couldn’t help the near look of horror that crossed her face when she croaked out “they made us watch.”

JJ cut in to tell her they could take a break, but the girl refused, tears in her eyes but insisting that they needed this information. As she continued to force her way through the events, Emily followed suit and switched her brain back into focus. She needed to catch whoever had done this.

* * *

A somehow off colour of coffee dripped into a polystyrene cup, agonisingly slowly. Emily watched each drip, trying to slow her heart to the same pace. She was trying to clear her mind at the same time, to slow the racing thoughts that were getting her nowhere in this case. She needed to be objective or she was never going to catch them.

“Damn, I was gonna ask for one too but looks like we’ll be here ‘till Friday.”

Emily jumped, uncharacteristically caught off guard. JJ noticed and eyed her carefully.

“Uh, yeah,” Emily cleared her throat as she tried to gain what little composure she had left.

JJ gave her a comforting smile and Emily felt herself relax just a little.

“Suppose it’s kind of nice to have a break. This one’s…”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Emily was just glad she wasn’t alone. Hell, JJ seemed to be coping better than her. In that case, she was thankful the blonde was empathising.

“You think you’ve found a new lead?” JJ asked tentatively, not sure if keeping her mind occupied was how Emily wanted to cope.

Emily sighed long and low. “Maybe, I’m just trying to look at it from all angles.”

JJ nodded in understanding. Then she took a step forward to join Emily beside the beat up coffee machine. She watched the viscous liquid drip into the cup, which seemed to be getting even slower.

“Well looks like you’ve got some time.”

Emily looked to her and was met with another smile, one full of compassion. They didn’t say anything else, just stayed there until both their cups were full. Emily wondered if this was what people meant by a comfortable silence.

* * *

Spencer suggested they release news of her survival to draw the unsub out, but Emily flinched at the mere thought. Hotch noticed and asked her if she wasn’t comfortable with that.

She hesitantly agreed. “Okay, but I would be more comfortable if we doubled her security.”

She was back at the hospital when JJ came to meet her in the corridor. She informed her that the girl had been cleared to go.

“Well I wish she had somewhere to go,” JJ admitted despondently.

Emily sighed in frustration. “No luck with the LA thing? Can’t this girl catch a break?”

They started down the corridor together, Emily not knowing what to tell this girl. It was in that moment that a deafening scream sounded, and her and JJ shared one quick look before breaking out into a run.

JJ reached her first, holding her shoulders and telling her that it was okay. Emily hovered, watching in fear as the girl explained the nightmare she’d had, and JJ pulled her into her chest. She was so glad JJ was there.

“We brought you a change of clothes,” Emily offered meekly, as if that would help.

The girl gave a distracted nod. JJ caught her attention again.

“I didn’t know what to grab you, so I just got three of everything,” she said with a smile. Emily was in awe of this woman, and again thanked god she was here.

The girl seemed to smile for a moment before saying “from the house?” - a snap back to reality. Even JJ struggled to maintain her smile then. Emily looked behind her towards the collection of flowers decorating the back wall.

“Looks like a flower shop in here,” she observed, trying to grasp a somewhat upbeat tone. It was silly really. But then something clicked, and she was back into detective mode. Thank Christ.

* * *

Then came the moment they needed the girl’s assistance to help solve the case. And she hated it. God did she hate it.

“Is she going to be up for it?” Hotch asked. Even he was having his doubts.

“I don’t know,” was Emily’s reply as she rushed to meet the girl in question, who’d just walked into the precinct.

She stood with her while she picked out mug shots, so close; almost as if she was worried she’d fall down and was getting ready to catch her. She couldn’t remember her voice sounding smaller than when she asked, “Are you sure?”

The girl really did look like she was going to faint then. When she didn’t say anything else, Emily tried to think of something comforting.

“Your parents would be really proud of you,” she offered with a smile, placing an arm on her back. It was such an unexpected move for her, but it felt right.

“It’s too late to be a good daughter now,” was the flat response she got.

“Oh that’s not true,” she insisted.

But she wouldn’t hear it. “I was horrible to them and now they’re gone.”

Emily was sure this might have been a sign from the universe: call your emotionally distant mother! Tell her you love her! But all she felt was pain for this girl in front of her. And that she deserved better. Then again, maybe this was just projecting onto her own wishes for herself.

But then the girl spoke again, and she was saved from that particular line of thought.

“Why did they do it? I mean there has to be a reason right?”

Emily’s face grew soft yet again. “Oh you’ll drive yourself crazy trying to figure out the reason.”

“I go crazy every time I close my eyes.”

Emily knew she shouldn’t elaborate, but she found herself doing so anyway; like she’d try to help this girl process in any way she knew how.

“It may have something to do with what happened to them when they were younger.”

She felt JJ watching them across the room.

“Like what, they were abused or something?” the girl asked.

“There’s a good chance,” Emily admitted.

“Are there any happy families?”

She finally looked up at Emily, who felt her mouth fall open, searching for the right response. This girl really wasn’t asking the right person. All she could do was offer a sympathetic look. She almost felt like calling JJ to take over.

* * *

Emily and Hotch went to the animal shelter where the unsub worked, then his foster mother’s house. She felt an immediate sense of unease as they stepped inside. It spiked when a boy came in wanting milk but was swiftly banished. She forced a thank you as they left. Their priority right now was to catch the unsub. Which they soon did - one of them anyway. However, they were getting nowhere with the interrogation.

Emily watched from the other side of the glass and sighed, almost in defeat.

“Kids who grew up like he did, they’re incapable of forming attachments, it’s not like we’re going to earn his trust.”

She felt a knot in her stomach as she said the words. It tightened when she had her next thought.

“Maybe he’ll talk to family.”

She had hated asking Carrie to identify the unsub’s picture; this was on a whole other level. As they led the girl into the interrogation room, Emily emphasised how safe she would be, that she would be right there with her. And then there was JJ, saying how she didn’t have to do it if she didn’t want to. But as Emily expected, she insisted.

Hotch ran off a list of information they were looking for, which Emily could tell was overwhelming her.

“I’ll keep him on point about that. Just do your best to keep him engaged,” Emily encouraged.

Hotch led her away and JJ reached out for Emily’s arm.

“Okay, I’m sorry, can we just stop and think about this for a minute?”

Almost instinctively, Emily felt her own hand reach out towards the other woman’s elbow - like magnets.

“She’ll be okay,” she promised, voice soft.

“She’s a kid,” was JJ’s reply, a disbelieving smile on her face. “What is she trying to prove here?”

Emily’s face fell. “That she can be a good daughter.” She said the last word almost bitterly.

JJ’s expression of frustration shifted to one of intrigue, maybe even concern. She could tell the statement held more of a story than Emily was willing to let on in that moment. She could only hope that one day she’d feel comfortable enough to open up to her - to any of them.

As Emily led Carrie into the room, and the unsub greeted her joyously, the girl looked to her for guidance. Emily gave her a small nod of encouragement and they both sat down. God she hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. It was hard enough for her, with years of training and experience, to treat these people like they were just that – people. Asking an innocent girl who’s family had just been wiped out by the very one sitting in front of them? God she hoped this worked.

She felt her heart stop when Carrie reached across the table for his hand. This girl was so strong. She knew that was a cliché and so much more than anyone should ask of someone else. But she was. And they managed to find out the location of the second unsub because of it.

Once she snatched her hand back and he was escorted out of the room, she fell into Emily’s shoulder, finally breaking down. Emily brought her arms around her and whispered soothing words: “you did so good.” Had she done the same though? Even though it had the desired outcome, she still found herself hoping that it was the right thing to do.

* * *

They narrowly avoided a shootout at the doughnut shop – not something Emily expected to find herself thankful for today – and she was smiling down at the two kids in the back of the car who they’d saved. She overheard Derek on the phone, asking if there was some type of alternative for them.

“What is it?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Derek was stone faced. “Social services won’t intervene until they do a full investigation.”

“We have to take them home?” she felt sick even saying the words.

“Yeah.”

When they arrived back at the house, Emily helping the girl with her backpack, she saw Derek offering his card to the boy, telling him he could call him anytime. Derek, like JJ, was made for this - helping kids. She merely offered her own nod of support as she joined them. Seeing the kid upstairs staring out the window despondently, she sighed, “this sucks,” which was a massive overstatement.

The call from Hotch came too late.

Gunfire sounded from the house and Emily and Derek shot out of the car in a flash. Derek smashed the door in to reveal the foster mother lying on the floor, Tyler standing a few feet away, gun grasped in his hands.

“Are you hurt?” Emily demanded from the mother. She shook her head no, and Derek cautiously approached the boy.

Emily surveyed the scene and bullet-ridden pictures revealed the only damage caused.

“They’re lies,” Tyler bit out.

Emily knew all about that. Granted, not to the degree that the boy in front of them did. But she knew about big houses adorned with pictures of smiling families. All for show. Emily forced to sit for every family portrait, and wear a dress she all but ripped off afterwards. Pictures like these made a house even colder than they would be without: a house, but not a home.

“I know,” Derek responded to the boy, “But you could have come in here and you could have made her pay.”

He glanced to the woman currently lying on the floor. “And you didn’t, because you’re good. You’re not Gary. You’re nothing like him.”

Derek then spread his arms in a gesture of surrender. “Look at me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Emily held stiff as he holstered his gun and continued to talk the boy down.

“Okay? Let’s make a deal. Give me that gun. I promise I will walk you out of here and you will never have to come back.”

It was those words that seemed to break through the fog behind the boy’s eyes, a new life igniting in them.

“Sound pretty good?”

He gave the slightest nod, and Emily could see the tears in his eyes. Still she daren’t move until the gun was safely retrieved by Derek. When he passed it to her and brought the boy into his arms in a tight hug, she finally exhaled.

“I got you,” he promised and Emily could feel the relief from the boy too.

* * *

It was after, when they were tidying up at the precinct, that Emily made the offer. Which felt more like a confession.

“I could take her,” she said to Hotch, impossibly casual as she sorted through files.

He looked up, trademark frown appearing. “Take her?”

“Carrie,” Emily supplied, and then, as if it were obvious, “to DC.”

“You mean to live with you?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed, still busying herself with collecting files.

Hotch on the other hand didn’t let his eyes leave her, like he was profiling her. “Why would you want to do that?”

Again, Emily made it seem like it was the most obvious course of action.

“I have room, money,” she said with almost a shrug of her shoulders. “And you know, she’s smart; two, three years she goes to college.” So maybe that last bit was overkill.

“Prentiss.” The tone and use of her name made her look up.

“This is the job, and I need to know that you can be objective.”

It was terribly patronising, and Emily found it not only offensive, but also a slap to the face - like it was a personal assault on her character. But of course she would never admit that hurt out loud. Instead she took that fire and turned her response into an attack.

“And I need to know that I can be human.”

There was a long moment before Hotch continued. “JJ heard from the family and they’re on their way from LA.”

Another slap to the face. This time she felt incredibly stupid. And all the more so for Hotch letting her explain herself before telling her this information.

“Oh.” She didn’t think her voice had sounded so weak in one mere syllable.

The pity, verging on concern, on Hotch’s face didn’t help.

She forced a smile. “That’s great.”

For a fleeting few moments it seemed like her life was about to change, that she was going to be someone different. More importantly, that shebelievedshe could be someone different: someone capable of looking after someone else, someone that they would need. She wasn’t quite sure what had come over her, an insane adrenaline rush? Nonetheless, it was just that – a fleeting moment. And all too soon she was back to being the person she always knew herself to be. It felt like a sign from the universe: you’re not someone anyone needs.

Except then came another moment, one that felt the opposite of fleeting. No, this settled deep inside of her with a warmth that was entirely foreign.

They were flying back on the jet, everyone exhausted from the emotional toll of the case. Emily had been quick to take her seat and busied herself with staring out the window, not in the mood for conversation. She couldn’t sleep, as was common. As much as she wanted to she couldn’t turn her thoughts of, as she’d become such an expert at. The sound of Hotch calling his son didn’t help matters. Like it was a taunt. What had been so special about this case? What had made her make such an embarrassment of herself, to think she was worthy of such a life? What had changed?

JJ slipping into the seat opposite her was welcome company. She couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face before turning back to the window. Comfortable silence, she recalled. Or, better yet, comforting.

“You okay?”

Or maybe not so silent.

Feeling caught, Emily blinked and lifted her head. Even now, a year of case after case, she still felt her breath catch every time their eyes met. JJ could see the silent question in those big brown eyes, reminding them both that JJ could not in fact read the other woman’s mind (although the years to come would test that theory greatly).

The weak “yeah” Emily offered didn’t sound convincing in the least.

JJ nodded, even though concern was still very evident. Emily appreciated her going along with the lie.

“They’re good people,” JJ said.

Emily frowned before JJ continued with “Carrie’s family,” and she sighed.

“Good. I’m glad.”

And despite her own feelings, she was. Except now it was harder for her to keep up the façade.

“I think it’s a good idea though.”

“What’s that?” the words sounded tired, because she was. But also curious.

“You,” JJ explained, and Emily frowned. “Kids.”

Emily gave a soft laugh, so close to a scoff, entirely disbelieving. Had she been so obvious? She hoped this wasn’t the new gossip among the entire team. Hey, the new girl’s trying to fill the aching hole in her life with any child without a home, better keep an eye on her!

But she knew JJ had a certain way of reading her that the others didn’t. Despite being the non-profiler on the team, she could see into Emily’s mind in a way that almost scared her.

“I can see it,” JJ continued, words earnest. Emily turned back to face her.

There was no doubt that the next “yeah?” she let out was the weakest she’d sounded all day, voice close to breaking. She couldn’t help it; she felt completely cut open in that moment, all vulnerabilities on display for the woman in front of her. It was an alien feeling, but not entirely unwelcome.

She held her gaze, eyebrows upturned with the silent question of you think I’m worth that kind of love? She hoped not bleeding through.

The way JJ was watching her - finger pressed to her bottom lip, eyes sparkling with something she couldn’t quite pinpoint - Emily felt her heart flutter. It certainly wasn’t the first time the blonde had had that effect. But this had a different weight behind it.

There was something so deliberate about that moment. And just for those few seconds, everyone else on the plane dissipated. There was only this woman in front of her, telling her she was worthy of everything she never dared hoped for: a family, a home. A voice in the back of her head told her to slow down, to push these thoughts away like she had so many times. But in that moment, with this woman looking at her the way she was, she found herself unable to. For once, she found herself daring to hope.

Emily Prentiss had never been one to set up roots. Because she knew any kind of home she’d try to build would inevitably come crashing down. It was just what happened for her. But in that moment, staring out a tiny plane window into the night sky, she let herself dream of a life she’d never before thought she could have. That one day she could build a home.

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #jemily #mine #fanfiction #fanfic #I just spent about half an hour trying to get the italics to work on ao3 #this might be a sign of insanity

[awkwardpenguinproductions]

Anchor Point

Part 1 of the Dragon of the Yuyan

Read on AO3 | Series Masterpost

Someone asked me to post my Dragon of the Yuyan series on Tumblr as they were unable to access AO3. So here we are. I’m going to try and put a Read More cut after the first paragraph or so, let me know if this works or doesn’t work and I’ll adjust accordingly.

–––

Zuko has never been this hungry before. The scary thing is, he can’t really feel it anymore––his stomach has ceased sending shooting pains through his gut, has stopped gurgling and roaring in demand for sustanence. He can feel weakness nipping at his limbs like eel-hounds on the hunt, and his firebending grows weaker by the day.

He’d thought he'd been hungry when he’d missed three meals in a row after Azula had locked him in a closet when he was eleven. No one had realized that he was missing until dinnertime, and then Father had commanded him confined to his chambers without dinner in punishment for not taking the initiative to free himself--never mind that the door couldn't be opened at all except from the outside, and Zuko's fireblasts weren't yet strong enough to blow it open.

He hadn't slept that night, tossing and turning in his bed as his stomach growled fiercely, cursing Azula and promising himself that he'd never get caught like that again. The next morning, Uncle had met him at the training yards with a bowl of okayu, and Zuko had been so hungry that he hadn't even cared that he was eating food meant for babies and sick people.

He'd thought he'd been hungry then.

He knew now that that had been a simple inconvenience.

When he'd been dumped in the northwestern mountains of the Earth Kingdom, it had been early spring, his burn had been fresh and agonizing, and Zuko had known absolutely nothing about surviving in the wilderness. But desperation makes for quick learning, and by the height of summer, he was hunting and foraging enough to at least maintain his firebending, if nothing else.

Now, though…

It's miserably cold, and it feels like it's been raining for years. Zuko is soaked, and shivering, and hasn't had a successful hunt in two weeks. Anything he might forage is rotten with the wet. Sometimes the rain comes down as hard little pellets that sting his skin, and in the morning the forest shines with the coating of ice. Winter is a looming terror, but at this point, if something doesn't change, Zuko won't live long enough to see snow for the first time.

There is nothing for him here. He should move on while he can still move.

Walking is agony. If he tries to think in terms of distance, in terms of miles, he feels like curling up on the frozen ground and waiting for death, so instead he thinks in terms of getting from one tree to the next, in terms of putting one foot in front of the other. Exhaustion weighs on him, and his limbs shake.

Somehow, he makes it out of the forest, and face to face with the sea. He toys with the idea of simply walking into the water until it covers his head and letting La do with him what he will, until he spots a ship.

It's too far out to see him, and his inner fire is so smothered by the cold that it's barely embers in the yawning pit of his stomach, so he wouldn't be able to signal it. But he can follow it, and see where it makes port. Maybe he can beg or steal some rations to keep starvation at bay.

The ship (a Fire Nation Ironclad, which fills him with equal parts terror and hope) steams only a few miles north and docks at the foot of an enormous fort. Pohuai Stronghold, whispers the Crown Prince part of his mind. Supply and troop depot for forces stationed in the Earth Kingdom. If anywhere was going to have food, it would be this place. Now to get inside…

A road, a komodo-rhino-driven cart, and Zuko is hunkering down behind a crate in silence as it carries him past the three massive walls that he never would have managed to scale in the state he's currently in. Once the cart lurches to a stop, he manages to slip out and into the shadows without anyone seeing him, and creeps around until he finds a storeroom. It's full of uniforms and other clothes, and Zuko promises himself that once he finds some food, he'll return for some clothes that might actually keep him warm, instead of the ragged silk tunic and trousers he'd been dropped off in. He does snag a sack to carry whatever rations he manages to find.

The next storeroom contains weapons, and Zuko helps himself to a brand new utility knife and a blade-maintenance kit, since his dagger from Uncle has grown dull from months of being used to dress his kills. He eyes a pair of dao broadswords, but food is more important right now, and he moves on.

Finally, he finds the dry rations. It takes everything he has not to grab the nearest box and stuff his face, but he's already spent too long here and he needs to leave before he's caught. He fills his sack with three days worth, knowing that in his state, that amount will last him at least a week, and retraces his steps back to where he found the clothes.

But someone else finds him first.

The arrows thunk into the wall behind him through the sleeves of his tunic, pinning his arms without even scratching his skin. Zuko drops his sack in surprise and tries to pull free, but the risk of losing his only clothing with winter barreling down on him like a stampeding komodo-rhino is not one he wants to take. More arrows sink into the wall along his sides and legs, until Zuko can't move at all.

His heart races, and he can feel his scar pull as his eyes go wide, watching the five archers closing in on him. Zuko wonders if they'll return him to his father, to be dumped in the Capital Prison to rot or be killed outright for disgracing the Fire Lord and the Royal Family with his weakness, or if he'll be dumped back in the wilderness to starve or freeze to death. He has no doubt that the Fire Lord wants him dead, he's just so useless and pathetic that it's not even worth the effort of killing him himself or ordering his death. He looks at the five broad-headed arrows pointing at him, and a tiny part of himself thinks finally.

But they don't loose. The arrows slowly drift down to point at the floor, as the archers seem to actually look at him for the first time. One archer, a woman, actually loops her bow over her head and shoulder to free her hands. Her expression is hard as she makes signs and symbols that mean nothing to Zuko, but apparently have meaning for her comrades. One of the other archers, a young man, nearly drops his own bow in his haste to reply, his expression incredulous. The woman flings her hand at Zuko in a clear expression of "well look at him!", gritting her teeth at the young man who glares right back. The archer in the center of the formation, literally in the middle of the conversation, holds up both hands to stop it. This man is obviously the leader, as both the woman and the younger man subside immediately. The leader directs a hard look at the younger man, his hands moving furiously as he signs, then he turns to the rest of the archers and moves his hands some more. The woman looks satisfied, and the other two archers nod. Rope is produced, and Zuko is efficiently freed from the wall and trussed up like a Summer Solstice komodo-chicken before he can really register what is happening.

The archers take him to a room in the tall center tower of the Stronghold, empty except for a table. Zuko is forced to sit on one side of the table, flanked by a pair of archers, while the leader sits across from him, the woman standing at his right. The younger man is sent out of the room, and returns within a few minutes carrying paper and a writing set, which he sets in front of the leader before taking his place sullenly at his leader's side.

The leader writes something on a piece of paper and slides it across the table for Zuko to read. From his expression, Zuko thinks that the leader doesn't expect him to know how to read. Granted, Zuko hasn't seen a mirror in about six months, so he thinks it might be a reasonable assumption.

My name is Toshiaki, Troop Commander of the Yuyan Archers. Who are you, and how did you get into the Stronghold?

Zuko should've known. The Yuyan Archers are legendary throughout the Fire Nation for their skills, not only in archery but in all manner of stealth arts. He opens his mouth to reply, but the words stick in his throat as his scar burns and Commander Toshiaki is replaced with a vision of Father reaching out to him. He cringes back, only to jerk away when one of the Archers flanking him puts a hand on his shoulder. The dark iron walls, lit by red lamps, turn into the brig of the ship that had taken him out of the Fire Nation, and the hand on his shoulder turns into that of one of the sailors that had pushed him out of the tiny cell he'd spent the month-long journey in. The ropes binding his wrists turn into the metal handcuffs he wore when he was taken off the ship and dumped in the wilderness. His vision darkens as his breathing speeds up.

He comes to laid out on the floor of the room, the woman Archer and one of the other men, younger than either Commander Toshiaki or the grumpy one, peering at him worriedly. His head pounds, and his mouth is drier than the Si Wong Desert. The Archers seem to understand this, as the woman holds out a canteen. Zuko grabs it and hugs it to his chest, taking small sips and keeping his eyes fixed on the Archers in case they try to grab it from him. They back off, joining the two other Archers against the wall behind where Commander Toshiaki is still sitting across the table from him. Nothing else has changed, except that now there's a small bowl of okayu and another of applesauce placed beside the single sheet of paper that the Commander had written on, as well as a second writing set.

The bribe is obvious, but Zuko doesn't care. All of the water he's sipped in the last couple of minutes comes back to his mouth as he looks at the two bowls, and his hands shake as he reaches for the okayu. The first taste is pure enlightenment, and Zuko has to police himself brutally to avoid simply shoving his face in the bowl like an animal. He barely makes a dent in it before he has to stop, but he already feels steadier.

He picks up the brush and writes, My name is Zuko. I snuck in on a supply cart.

The hairless eyebrow Commander Toshiaki raises is eloquent in its skepticism, but the youngest Archer creeps up behind his commanding officer, reads over his shoulder, and when Commander Toshiaki turns to him with his mouth a flat line of annoyance, nods and signs rapidly. Commander Toshiaki blinks in surprise, then turns to Zuko with renewed interest. Zuko immediately shrinks back––experience has taught him that interest in him is not always a good thing.

Commander Toshiaki writes again. How old are you? Where's your family?

Thirteen, Zuko writes, then shakes his head and crosses it out, remembering that his birthday is in early autumn, and it's now the cusp of winter. Fourteen. And gone.

That he knows for certain. The entire reason he's even in this situation at all is because Father wanted to get rid of him, and his outburst in the war room and his weakness in the dueling arena gave him the perfect opportunity. Zuko doesn't know if he's been declared dead, or is simply being allowed to fade into obscurity, but either way he can't imagine anyone in the Royal Family looking for him. Uncle might, but then again, Zuko disobeyed him as well when he spoke out in the war room. Maybe Uncle's just as angry at him as Father is. The thought tears him even worse than the knowledge that Father hated him enough to leave him for dead like this. Azula is undoubtably exalting in the knowledge that she is now the Crown Princess.

Commander Toshiaki doesn't look surprised, merely resigned. The youngest Archer grins broadly, while the woman shoots him a sympathetic expression. The commander writes again.

You look like you could use a place to crash for a while, and it appears that we have some holes to plug in our security. How about an equal exchange? Food, a safe place to sleep, medical care, clothes appropriate for the weather, and education in our ways, for help finding and repairing security leaks, and eventually enlistment?

Zuko remembers Uncle trying to teach him pai sho, and informing him once with a tinge of repressed frustration that he "never thinks things through". But he's thinking now, and he can't really see any other options but to take the Commander's offer. It's either this, or prison for theft, or simply being booted out to freeze to death. And if he's perfectly honest with himself, he's always admired the Yuyan Archers, who are historically non-benders but still manage to be absolutely amazing to the point that any sane firebender would think twice about taking one on. If he can manage to learn even a little bit from them before they get tired of him and kick him out, he'll be so much better off.

He doesn't even bother picking up the brush again, but simply looks Commander Toshiaki in the eye and nods solemnly. The Commander nods back, and the youngest Archer grins broadly before gesturing to himself and making a sign. Zuko's pretty sure that he's trying to introduce himself, but as much as he admired the Yuyan Archers back when he was younger, he was never able to study their hand-language (only soldiers stationed here at Pohuai Stronghold get to learn it, and they're sworn to never teach it to anyone else). All he's able to do in return is shrug.

This doesn't seem to deter the youngest Archer, but the Commander holds up a hand to stop him. He then writes, It's getting late, and I want the base doctor to examine you before she goes off duty. We'll begin your instruction in our language tomorrow morning, after you've had a good night's sleep. Finish the okayu, and then we'll go.

Zuko needs no more urging, and slowly empties the bowl, barely stopping himself from licking it clean. It takes forever, and the grumpy Archer is scowling fiercely at him the entire time, but Zuko has endured over twelve years of Azula smirking at him, and is not at all phased.

After an awful examination by the Chief Medical Officer of the Stronghold, made so simply because it's been over six whole months since anyone touched him (and the last significant touch Zuko can remember is Father setting his face on fire), Zuko finds himself handed a stack of clothing and directed to a cot in the back corner of the dormitory where the Yuyan Archers are quartered.  The young Archer, whom the CMO had called Kai, has his bunk right next to Zuko's, and accompanies him to the men's bathing room. They scrub down together in silence, and Zuko would feel incredibly awkward about it if he wasn't so damn tired. His stomach is full for the first time in weeks, and all he wants to do now is scrub himself down, have a good hot soak, and put on clothes that aren't filthy and ragged and so wet that they suck the heat right out of him. He and Kai share the ofuro, with the older boy keeping a respectful distance, until Zuko nearly falls asleep and Kai chivvies him out.

They get dressed, and Zuko can't stop stroking the simple hemp cloth, thick and warm but so soft. The silks he'd been dropped off in had obviously been grabbed from his wardrobe before he'd been removed from the palace, probably by a well-meaning servant, but they'd done very little to keep him warm, and had torn at the slightest touch of a tree branch. Hemp cloth is usually worn by commoners and soldiers, and for good reason––it's incredibly durable, if you take care of it right, warm in cold weather and breathable in hot. Zuko is never ever wearing silk again.

Kai practically has to drag Zuko back down the hall to the dorm, where he collapses on his cot with a sigh. Someone drapes a blanket over him, and he rolls in place like a catgator until he's wrapped up in it like an eggroll. He can feel Kai and the other Archers laughing at him, even if he can't hear it, but he gives exactly zero fucks, and is asleep between one breath and the next.

★ | Next

#atla #atla fanfic #awkpenproductions presents #dragon of the yuyan #part 1 anchor point #full text post

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary: The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor's betrothed, Teki's only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn't find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn't the only prince in Asgard...

Chapter 1: The Dagger

Next Chapter

Word Count: 6648

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

A/N: This is an idea that's been in my head for a really long time (like, for several years). I meant it to be a quick little oneshot to get my creative juices flowing, but I completely lost control of it and here I am a month later sitting on thirteen pages worth of writing. Sigh...I never specify the ages of Teki and Loki in the story, but if you're curious I pictured them as early teenagers, between 12 and 14 years old (or the Asgard equivalent).

TW: mentions of child abuse

Read it on Ao3

Teki held her breath as her mother laced her into the crimson ball gown.

“Oh, why did you have to upset him tonight?” she lamented as she pulled at the ribbons, ignoring Teki’s pained gasps. “Tonight, of all nights! You know how important it is for you to look your best tonight, and you’ve gone and made a mess of everything!”

Teki didn’t say anything. The subtlest of movements sent her chest on fire—it was not worth a bruising breath to attempt to defend herself. She was certain that at least one of her ribs were broken, but nothing could be done about that until her mother took her in to see the healer tomorrow with a story about how her clumsy little girl had fallen down the stairs again.

At least it won’t be a complete lie this time. Teki hated lying. Usually, the healers bought her mother’s story without issue and just set about silently fixing whatever she had broken, but last time they had questions. How did a fall down the stairs result in a black eye? Where did these bruises around your arms come from? And those gave way to a scarier question. Do your parents treat you well?

Teki had nodded her head enthusiastically, just as her mother had trained her. Of course they did! Her mother was loving and caring, the best in the world. She loved her stepfather more than anything. She smiled widely, hopefully masking the panic in her eyes. When the healers seemed to drop the subject, she wasn’t sure if it was relief or guilt gurgling in her stomach.

But she’d have to worry about them tomorrow. Tonight, she had bigger problems—like how she was supposed to dance the night away when it hurt to breathe.

If it were any other night, Teki might have been able to get away with playing sick. Norns know she had attempted that excuse time and time again. But tonight was the first night of the Summer Festival. Tonight was when the young men of the court would each choose a lady to hold their blade, and as Prince Thor’s betrothed, she had to be there.

Her mother often reminded her of how blessed she was to hold such an honored position, how lucky she was that her grandfather had negotiated such an agreement with Odin Allfather. No one was quite sure how he had managed it. But somehow, in the weeks before he died, he had convinced the king to agree to a marriage deal between Teki and Thor, thus turning his daughter’s greatest mistake into her most powerful commodity. Teki hated it. It was because of this “blessing” that Osvald had married her mother. After all, the promising of being the father to the future queen was quite the tempting offer.

But he wasn’t her father. He’d never be her father.

“There!” Her mother smoothed the silky skirt and stood up. “You look lovely! No one will ever know!”

Teki studied her reflection in the mirror. Did she look lovely? The gown clinging to her form did little to hide the tightness of her neck, the beads of perspiration collecting along her hairline. She shifted the wrong way and cried out as pain exploded across her ribcage.

“It hurts,” she whimpered, hands hovering over the throbbing area, afraid that touching it might make it worse. “Mama, it hurts so much.”

“I know darling,” her mother sighed. “Oh, why did you have to upset him tonight? Everything was going so well.”

Tears burned in her eyes. Sometimes, this was even worse than Osvald’s fists. She’d drag herself shaking and sobbing to her mother’s room, only to be fixed with her disappointed glare. She never seemed to understand that Teki didn’t mean to make him mad, she just… did. Everything made him mad. She couldn’t keep him happy, no matter how hard she tried.

“Hopefully, we won’t have to stay the whole time,” her mother saying, studying her in the mirror, “Once Thor gives you his dagger, we can probably find an excuse to leave. Maybe we can say that Brant isn’t feeling well.”

Brant was Teki’s six-year-old half-brother, so shy that many in the court thought him mute. Her mother had taken to using him as an excuse when Teki was hurt. It was better than Teki feigning ill herself—it wouldn’t do for the future queen of Asgard to be seen as too weak to stay for an entire dance.

Teki broke into a coughing fit. Her ribcage was on fire. The girl in the mirror didn’t look lovely, she realized. She looked like a corpse in a pretty dress.

“I can’t do it,” she whispered as the tears threatened to pour out, “It hurts too much. Please don’t make me do it, Mama, please.”

Her mother kneeled to brush a loose strand of hair out of her face. “There, there, none of that,” she cooed. “Of course you can do it! I’m sure Prince Thor can’t wait to dance with you!”

Prince Thor was three years older than Teki. He spent his days training in the courtyard with the Einherjar recruits and shadowing his father in the throne room while court was in session. He and Teki interacted only at festivals and balls, where they danced together silently until both sets of parents were satisfied, then went their separate ways. Teki doubted he’d miss her very much if she didn’t show tonight.

Her mother continued brushing through her hair. “I suppose I can give you something,” she said absentmindedly. “Not as much as last time, of course, but just a little something to help with the pain.”

The last time Teki had tried one of her mother’s painkiller drinks, she had passed out on the way back to their quarters, her evident laziness enraging her stepfather. She had sworn she’d never have any of it again, no matter how much she was hurting, but…

“Can you?” she asked, her voice pathetically small. “Please?”

Teki sipped on the concoction as her mother braided her hair into an elegant bun. The mug was only half full, but she was determined to limit her intake to even less. Just enough to make the burning go away for a few hours.

Her mother smiled and squeezed her shoulders. “Oh Tekla,” she breathed, “You’re going to be the prettiest one there!”

Brant and Osvald met them in the hall. Teki wanted to laugh—Brant was dressed up like a little warrior doll in his tiny leather armor—but she kept her face neutral. Osvald didn’t like it when children spoke out of line.

Brant, being his son, could get away with such disgraceful behavior. “Teki!” he squealed. “You look like a princess!”

“Not a princess, Brant,” her mother corrected. “A queen. And you know that’s not her name, darling—you can say her name, can’t you?”

Brant looked up at her with his big blue eyes, suddenly silent.

“Come on,” she continued prompting. “Tek-la. You can say Tekla, right?”

He gulped. “Tek-wa.”

“No, Brant. La. Tek-la,” her mother smiled down at him, but there was something strained at the corners of her mouth. “You can say it. Lalalalala!”

When Brant said nothing, she sighed. “You don’t want to look silly, do you?” she asked. “Do you want people to laugh at you because you can’t say your sister’s name?”

Brant’s bottom lip was trembling, the tell-tale sign that he was seconds away from bursting into tears. Teki forced a cough.

“It-it’s getting late, isn’t it?” she asked. Her voice was too loud and she cringed. “I mean—” Everyone was looking at her now, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I mean, I know mother wanted to get to the Festival right as it started,” she whispered. Her chest twinged, the last remnant that the painkiller had yet to take care of, and she bit her tongue to stifle the groan.

“Yes, yes, of course!” Her mother perked up, Brant forgotten in a second. “I’m sure Prince Thor will want to present his dagger early on. We mustn’t be late!”

“Of course,” said Osvald. “We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves. Would we, Tekla?”

Teki’s shoulder’s shook with the weight of his gaze. “No sir,” she whispered.

Her hands were trembling as they made their way through the palace. She clasped them in front of her skirt to mask the shaking. This was the first Summer Festival in which she was old enough to accept the honor of holding someone’s blade. It was an old tradition, but quite simple. When a man found a woman who pleased him, he could ask her to carry his dagger. It was a sign of respect, and of faith—he trusted her enough to give her control over his weapon for the remainder of the night. Who got to hold whose blade would be a topic of gossip for months to come.

For the past few years, Teki’s mother looked on with gritted teeth as Prince Thor handed his dagger off to a different girl every festival. Being older than Teki meant that he had come of age before she did, and that for a time he was unable to give her his dagger because she was too young. Tonight was the night her mother had been waiting for ever since she could walk.

Teki was terrified she’d forget what to say when Thor offered her the dagger.

The chatter of the ballroom enveloped her the moment they entered, and she allowed herself to melt into its anonymity. There was a strange kind of safety in knowing that she could be so easily swallowed up by the crowd.

Thor stood on the platform in the middle of the room, alongside his parents and younger brother. He was grinning at someone in the crowd, someone who wasn’t Teki. That was okay. She never quite knew what to say to the crown prince. Hopefully, they could just get their dancing and daggering out of the way quickly, and then he could go back to winking at whoever it was that he was currently winking at. Teki didn’t mind. She just wanted to lay down.

Odin welcomed the people to the first night of the Summer Festival in his booming voice, and with a bang of his spear on the ground, the festivities began. She got asked to dance soon after, by a stocky boy she knew from her Vanir class. At first, Teki wasn’t sure if she should accept—usually, she danced with Thor first—but she saw that her fiancé was already twirling a dark-haired girl on the dance floor, so she thought it would be okay.

Several dances later, Thor was still with the dark-haired girl. Teki didn’t know her name, but she thought she recognized her: she looked like the girl who trained with the Einherjar. With Thor. She swallowed the ball of anxiety climbing her throat and smoothed her crimson skirt. It made sense for Thor to want to spend time with someone he knew well, someone closer to his age. It was just… he had been with her a long time. And Teki knew that somewhere in the room, Osvald and her mother were peering at her intently, waiting on pins and needles for the prince to approach her with an extended hand.

A waiter came by with a tray of some kind of pastries, but Teki declined. The throbbing in her chest was beginning to return, along with a queasy feeling in her stomach. She hoped Thor would come over soon so she could go home and lie down.

A thin smattering of applause broke out over the music. Teki frowned. What happened? Should she be clapping too? She hadn’t been paying attention.

There was a stiffness in the air that hadn’t been there before. People were glancing back at her—why were so many people looking at her? And then she saw it.

Thor was tying his scabbard around the dark-haired girl’s waist in the middle of the dance floor. It took her a moment to understand, but once she did, she felt the color drain from her face.

Thor gave her his dagger.

Thor gave someone else his dagger.

Teki felt as though she had been doused in ice water.

Through the crowd, she felt Osvald’s heavy glare on her. She found him standing on the opposite side of the room, clapping with the rest of those around him. His features were emotionless, but his eyes glinted as they captured her gaze, hard and full of horrible promises.

We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves. Would we, Tekla?

Her breathing was coming fast now, so fast that it hurt, so fast that it felt like she wasn’t breathing at all.

Air. I need air!

Teki wasn’t sure how she made it to the balcony, only that suddenly she was outside, gripping the golden railing as if her life depended on it and gulping the cool, evening air.

Osvald was going to kill her.

A despondent wail slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. She slapped both hands over her mouth in an attempt to silence herself.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Why did Thor have to do that? Why couldn’t he have danced with her first? Didn’t he understand?!

Breathe.

The balcony overlooked the royal gardens, lush greenery that stretched far into the darkness of the night. Teki stared out at it all without really seeing it. Had she done something to upset Thor? Was he angry with her? Osvald would certainly see it that way…

Oh Norns, Osvald…

“Are you well?”

Teki jumped, whipping around with a shriek. Emerald eyes peered at her through the darkness.

Prince Loki.

She had had even less experience with the younger prince than with her betrothed, even though Thor’s little brother was closer to her age. He had been in a few of her classes when she was much younger, back when they were both still learning to read, but they never talked to each other. He didn’t speak much then. As far as she knew, he still didn’t.

Had he just been standing there this whole time, watching her panic about Thor’s blade? Teki had never been so mortified in her life.

“I’m well, my prince, thank you,” she tried to sink into a curtsey, but with her ribs screaming in protest all she could manage was a little bow of her head. “I-I just needed some fresh air.”

For a moment, Loki only stood there, studying her with those jewel-like eyes. “I can understand that,” he finally said, cautiously joining her at the railing, “It’s quite stuffy in there, don’t you think?”

Teki gaped at him, belatedly finding the wherewithal to nod in agreement. He turned his gaze to the gardens, allowing the quiet to lapse over the two of them once more. Teki stood rigidly at his side, wondering if walking away would be considered rude or if it was expected of her.

After several minutes of the uncomfortable silence, he cleared his throat. “You look lovely tonight, Lady Tekla.”

The compliment only reminded her of the gown her mother had laced her into earlier, the same shade of red as the cape Thor wore as he danced with the wrong girl. Her eyes swam with tears.

“Thank you,” she only barely managed to whisper.

Teki could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up. It wasn’t enough that she had failed to capture the favor of the boy she was promised too; now she had gone and humiliated herself in front of his younger brother.

Somehow, she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

Loki shifted awkwardly. “My lady, I—” There was something in his tone that sounded almost apologetic. He cleared his throat again.

“Would you carry my blade for me tonight?” he asked quickly.

It took a moment for Teki to process his words, but once she did, she whipped her head to face him so quickly her braids almost slipped loose from their bun.  

“What?” she breathed. He had to be joking. Laughing at her failure. But the prince only smiled at her with a sort of hesitant eagerness. “You—” she stuttered, completely forgetting to use his proper titles. “You want me?”

He laughed nervously. “Well, you’re the only one out here, aren’t you?” When Teki just stared at him, he coughed, twitching uncomfortably. “Of course, if you don’t wish to, I understand completely. I know I’m not—”

“No! It’s not—I mean—” Teki’s head was swimming. Was she even allowed to carry someone else’s dagger? He was still a prince, even if he wasn’t the right prince… it might please her parents to know that the entire royal family didn’t find her repulsive…

She smiled. “I’d be honored, your highness.”

Loki exhaled. “Wonderful.”

He picked at the knot holding his scabbard to his hip, the black leather sheath that housed his dagger. She could just barely make out the intricate design of its handle in the moonlight: snakes of gold intertwined and twisting their way up the grip, their metallic scales shimmering like the stars in the sky. Teki could practically hear her mother wailing about how it would clash with the silver trim of her dress. Still, she stepped forward when Loki reached out to tie the scabbard around her waist.

He was exceedingly cautious as he pulled the leather around her, almost as if he was afraid she’d shatter like glass if he moved the wrong way. Osvald would’ve laughed if he had saw it (“Our prince, ladies and gentlemen, frightened off by a pair of hips”), but Teki was grateful for his hesitancy. She too felt as if she was prone to shattering.

He pulled the strap tight as he knotted it, unknowingly pressing the leather against her aching rib. Teki couldn’t stop the hiss of pain that whistled through her teeth. Loki froze, glancing up in alarm.

“Did I hurt you? Are you alright?” His voice was slightly panicked.

Teki’s face flushed. Couldn’t she do one thing right today? “It’s fine, my prince,” she said quickly, ignoring the renewed throbbing in her chest.

“Are you certain? Forgive me—”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my prince,” she smiled widely, hoping she looked calm and well put together and not as spastic as she felt.

He studied her, gaze laced with concern, but finished tying the scabbard. Her fingers traced over the scaly hilt that now dangled at her hip. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, so loud she wondered if Loki could hear it.

I’m holding someone’s dagger.

Somehow, in all the times she practiced this interaction in her head, she never imagined the giddy rush that came with carrying the weapon. Of course she hadn’t! —in her head, it was always Thor tying the scabbard around her waist for appearances sake, because he had to. This was different. This was Loki, and Loki didn’t have to.

Loki held out his hand. “Would you join me for a dance?”

Teki nodded.

The dance floor was just as crowded as it had been when she had dashed off, but Osvald and her mother were nowhere to be seen. Teki breathed a sigh of relief as she and Loki slipped unseen into the waltz.

For a while, the two said nothing. Teki’s mother had drilled into her at a young age that to look at one’s feet while dancing was the pinnacle of discourtesy, but her stepfather gave her the back of his hand every time she dared to look a man in the eye. As a sort of compromise, Teki had fallen into the habit of focusing only on her partner’s chest during a dance. It was awkward, especially with someone like Loki who was basically the same height as her, but it kept both her overlords happy.

Apparently, it did not have the same effect on princes.

Loki, having seemingly overcome any anxiety he may have been feeling on the balcony, was quick adopt a teasing tone.

“Is my breastplate so terribly interesting, that you continue to study it so?” he asked with a hint of laughter in his voice, “Or am I just so hideous that you can’t bear to look at me?”

Teki started. “Oh, of course not, my prince. I—”

“It’s alright, my lady. I won’t turn you to stone.” Hesitantly, she raised her gaze to find Loki grinning at her. “There you are. You have such lovely eyes.”

Her eyes were murky brown, the same uninspired shade as her departed father’s. That Loki, with his sparkling gemstone irises, was saying hers were lovely was almost laughable. Cheeks burning, Teki dropped her gaze once more.

“Oh no! Not again!” Loki protested. When she continued to keep her eyes downcast, he sighed dramatically. “You continue to deprive me, Lady Tekla.”

Teki tried to bite back the smile that tickled her lips. This truly was the silliest conversation she had ever had with anyone, dancing or not. “My eyes are hardly anything special, my prince. It can’t be that great a deprivation.”

“Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong, my lady,” he said earnestly. “I’d go as far to say that you have the loveliest eyes in the room. They’re warm and inviting—like freshly roasted chestnuts on a winter’s day. Subtle, but subtle suits you, doesn’t it?” He reached out to tip her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “As I said, lovely.”

If her cheeks had been burning before, they must have been on fire now. “If you say so, my prince,” she murmured. Loki laughed, spinning her about to the music.

While he seemed blessedly content to drop the topic of eye color, Loki was quite clearly intent on carrying out a conversation. It was strange, to say the least—Teki had never known him to speak two sentences together at once, but now that he had started, he talked more than all of her previous dance partners combined. Even stranger was his determination to maintain a dialogue: he’d ask her questions about her family and hobbies and seemed to genuinely listen to her answers, however threadbare they may have been. Teki was shocked to discover that Loki knew her brother’s name and age, something Thor never seemed to remember.

“I suppose I just have a better memory when it comes to such things,” he shrugged when she said as much. Teki wondered if she was imagining the faint pink in his cheeks.

They had taken a break from dancing, standing huddled in the corner near a refreshment table as they sipped tiny goblets of wine. Usually, Teki tried to avoid the sickly sweet glasses, filled so carefully to their golden brims, but the pain in her ribs was getting quite severe and her mother always insisted that alcohol could mask any kind of ache.

Out on the dance floor, Prince Thor was twirling the dark-haired girl to whom he had given his dagger, laughing with an enthusiasm that suggested that he may have been drinking some wine as well. Loki had said that the girl’s name was Sif, and that she and his brother had grown quite close in the past year.

“It’s another one of his passing fancies. Nothing to worry about,” he had told her. “He has a tendency to forget that the universe doesn’t orbit him. His choice had nothing to do with you.” Teki wished Osvald would see it the same way.

She caught glimpse of her stepfather on the other side of the room, laughing gaily with a woman who was not her mother, and quickly averted her eyes. Her free hand caressed the hilt of Loki’s dagger at her hip. The younger prince may have granted her a respite, but it would not last. It was wishful thinking to hope that he would not blame her for Thor’s decision. He blamed her for everything. The outburst from earlier, the one that ended with her in a crumbled heap at the bottom of the stairs, had been over a book missing from his nightstand. Teki hadn’t touched the book, hadn’t even been aware of its existence, but Osvald still dragged her out of her room by her collar, shouting about harboring liars and thieves under his own roof.

Teki swallowed. No, he would be furious when they returned tonight. He’d wait until her mother went up to put Brant to bed, and then he’d turn on her.

“You had one purpose tonight. One singular purpose.”

Maybe he’d pick something up. A heavy book. One of the silver candlestick holders. He liked to hold things in his hands, liked the authority it gave him. Or maybe he’d just knock her to the floor with his fists.

When Teki had been little, she used to run from him. That was foolish. Running made him even angrier when he caught her, and he always caught her. She knew better than to try now. Now, when Osvald was mad, she knew to stay as perfectly still as possible, to muffle her cries and staunch her tears as much as she could, and to let him hit and kick and rant as much as he liked because then it was over faster. When he was finished, she could hobble to her parents’ room, where her mother would be pretending that the walls were too thick for her to hear the thuds.

A hand on her wrist made her jump, spilling her wine on the floor.

“Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Loki smiled, but there was a sense of worry behind his eyes. “Are you well?”

Teki nodded, not trusting her voice. This was the second time tonight the prince had been concerned enough with her wellbeing to ask that question. She needed to pull herself together. But her hands were beginning to shake worse than leaves in the wind, and her breath was coming in fast little hiccups, her chest screaming. Somehow, she knew Osvald was watching.

Loki said something, but his troubled face was quickly fading into a blur of sound and color. She couldn’t have a scene. Not now, here, in front of the whole court! She couldn’t give him another reason to be mad! He was already so mad—

She cried out when someone wrapped their arm around her waist, pressing a little too hard on her injured ribs, but the grip loosened and she realized it was only Loki, guiding her out of the ballroom and down the hall to a bench. The sudden lack of the hum of hundreds of voices left her ears ringing, but somehow, the effect was soothing.

Teki was choking out apologies even as the prince helped her into the seat. He shushed her, kneeling before the bench and stroking her knee through her dress. That was soothing too.

“Breathe,” he murmured. “Just breathe. It’s alright. You’re safe.”

His words lulled her racing heart to a steadier pace. She closed her eyes and did as he said.

Breathe. In and Out. It’s alright. Just breathe.

She didn’t notice when his hand moved from her knee to her waist, but she did notice when his reassuring stream of words cut off abruptly. Teki opened her eyes to see him frowning at her middle.

“You’re injured,” he said.

Her heart jumped to her throat. “W-what?”

“This swelling by your chest. That’s not normal.” He looked up, his features distressed. “You’ve been in pain this whole time, haven’t you?”

Teki turned away. She couldn’t face him, not with him looking up at her like that. “I fell down the stairs,” she whispered when she realized he was waiting for an answer, quietly, quickly, all in one breath.

Loki said nothing. He brought his other hand to join the first at her waist and muttered something. A strange heat enveloped her chest, soft and safe, and suddenly the pain was gone. Just gone, as if nothing had ever happened. Teki inhaled. She had heard that the younger prince had his mother’s talent for magic, but never had she imagined he was capable of such healing.

“Thank you,” she managed to breathe. Then she burst into tears.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been building all night, the panic slowly rising in her throat even as she fought to swallow it whole. It was only a matter of time before it came pouring out. Still, it was humiliating. Teki buried her face in her hands, as if she could hide her obnoxious sobbing from the prince.

He rose. Teki half expected him to return to the party: after all, he had done more than enough. There was no need for him to sit here and watch her bawl like a baby.

But he didn’t leave. Instead, she felt his weight settle next to her on the bench. Gently, he began stroking her knee again, just a feather-light touch that she barely felt through her skirt. He said nothing.

They sat like that for a while, the silence of the hallway pierced only by her wet hiccups. It was a pathetic display and Teki knew it, but she didn’t have the energy to pretend otherwise. Honestly, it started to feel rather nice after a bit. There was no staging right here, no role she had been trained to play. Lady Tekla of Asgard, betrothed of Prince Thor—that girl had washed away with the tears. Now, there was only Teki: battered and broken, but real.

Slowly, she got ahold of herself. Steadied her breathing, fixed her hair, wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand—at least, that’s what she was making to do when Loki held out a handkerchief. Teki took it with mumbled thanks. She tried not to concentrate on what he must have been thinking of all this. A bitter laugh tickled her lips as she dabbed at her nose: at least it was only Loki who bore witness to what a mess she was, and not Thor, or worse, Odin.

He was the first to break the silence, his tone measured and deliberate. “My mother is very protective of the ladies of the court,” he said, holding her in his gaze. “If she thought that one was being mistreated, she would not hesitate to take action.”

Teki swallowed. She knew what he was asking. Here he was, trying to throw her a line and pull her to safety. She just didn’t know if she could take it. For a moment, Teki imagined going to Frigga, spilling her guts to a sympathetic mother, watching as her stepfather was arrested and dragged away on the orders of the Queen. It was a lovely dream, but it soon faded into something quite different. Going to Frigga, telling her everything, only to have the Queen call in Osvald to check his story. Osvald would lie. So would her mother. So would Brant, if they had time to tell him what to say. And Frigga would shake her head and chastise her for lying and send her back with her family, and Osvald would take her by the arm and, and…

We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves, would we Tekla?

“It’s fine, my prince,” Teki said, twisting the wet handkerchief around her fingers. She couldn’t look at him. “It’s fine. It was just an accident.”

Even with her focus on her lap, she could feel the prince studying her. How was it, she wondered, that this boy’s gaze was so tangible that she always knew when his eyes were on her?

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.

Teki nodded. Her eyes were burning again, but she had cried enough today and was determined not to start again.

“Lady Tekla,” he shifted, leaning closer to her. “Please. There must be something I can do.”

It wasn’t right, hearing the prince say her birth name so gently, not when it belonged to Osvald. It had never bothered her before, but suddenly, she couldn’t stand it. “You can call me Teki,” she blurted out without thinking. Gasping, she clapped her hands over her mouth.

But Loki didn’t seem offended at her direct tone. “Teki?” he asked, cocking his head. “Is that a nickname?”

Her cheeks were on fire, but she nodded. “In-in a way, my prince,” she stuttered. “Please, forgive my—”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my lady,” he laughed. “Please, continue.”

Teki inhaled, swallowing her embarrassment. “Well… I don’t really go by Tekla. Or, I do, but… my brother calls me Teki.” She was speaking far too fast and likely making very little sense, but now that she had started, she found she couldn’t stop. “He can’t pronounce his l’s, see, so he just calls me Teki. It drives my mother crazy. She thinks he sounds like a simpleton. But… I kind of like it. More than Tekla, I mean. My—” she stopped abruptly, before she ventured out into more dangerous territory.

Loki nodded. “Go on.”

Teki bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t supposed to talk about him. She especially wasn’t supposed to talk about him to a member of the royal family. But Loki was sitting there, smiling at her with an eagerness she had never seen from anyone else, and she found herself trusting him despite herself.

“My father called me Teki, too,” she whispered. “My real father. Before he… went away.” She sighed. Saying it felt like a betrayal. Her father had been a kind, wonderful man, a musician in the royal court. According to the stories she heard from the servants, he had been absolutely enchanted with her mother, who greatly enjoyed the attention from the court’s most talented bard. Teki had been the accidental result of a few minutes indiscretion between performances.

Once he found out, her grandfather had been in a rush to marry his daughter off to a respectable noble before the pregnancy began to show. But the musician wouldn’t have it. The child was his, he argued. By law he had the right to raise it as such. Teki’s grandfather offered him money, land, prestige, but he held his ground. In the end, Teki’s mother had no choice, and the two were wed.

Even as a child, Teki knew that her parents didn’t like each other. They slept in separate beds in separate rooms and spoke to each other only through servants carrying messages. When her grandfather visited for lunch, her father was not allowed to the table. But he didn’t care, and so neither did Teki. He was content to spend his days carrying her through the gardens on his shoulders, singing songs of dragons and warriors and brave little princesses who saved the day. She learned to play the piano before she learned to read, sitting on his lap and covering his tan hands with hers as they danced across the keys.

“My little Teki,” he’d laugh when they finished a piece together. “You’re going to put me out of work!”

She had just started her lessons when the negotiations between Odin and her grandfather began. At the time, Teki didn’t really understand what was happening, only that her grandfather was coming over more than usual, and that he was angry at her father more than usual. When she asked her father about it, he told her not to worry.

“The adults are just trying to figure some things out,” he said, tucking her into bed. “It’s nothing you should be concerned with.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Teki.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

Then one day he was gone. Just gone. Her mother produced a letter he had left behind, explaining that family life had just become too overwhelming for him and that he had formally dissolved his marriage. Within a week, everything had changed: his room had been cleared out, the piano sold away, her mother’s engagement to Osvald formally announced. A week later, Odin made public his agreement with her grandfather, betrothing his eldest son to Lady Tekla.

Teki was banned from talking about her father.

“He left us, dear,” her mother explained. “He didn’t love you. He’s not your father anymore. We have Lord Osvald now.”

Teki nodded, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. He went away. He left. He doesn’t love you. He’s gone. She chanted the words in her head over and over again, trying to convince herself of their validity. But she couldn’t bring herself to believe them.

When her father first disappeared, a handwriting specialist was produced to determine whether or not the letter was genuine. He concluded that it was in fact written by Teki’s father and that the sentiments expressed within were completely authentic. But he was wrong.

At the bottom of the letter, her father had left a note for her. “My dear Tekla,” it said, “I hope you understand that this is all for your own good. Someday, I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me. Love, Daddy.”

Her father never called her Tekla.

Of course, Teki didn’t tell any of this to Prince Loki. Still, he seemed to be struggling to come up with a response to what little she had said. She wondered how much he knew about her father. Her family had done a good job of disappearing him from existence—most of the court believed her stepfather to be her biological father. Over the years, she had gotten used to being introduced as Tekla Osvalddottir, as deeply as it stung.

“It sounds quite special,” the prince finally said. “Are you sure you want me to use it? I feel as though I might profane it.”

Teki flushed at the reminder of how they reached this subject. “You don’t have to, my prince,” she murmured. “Only if you want to. I mean—I do prefer it to Tekla, but—”

“Well, in that case I shall,” he said softly. “Lady Teki. It’s quite sweet. I like it.” He grinned, his green eyes lighting up. “It’s only a few letters off from Loki, after all.”

She giggled despite herself. “Just… don’t let my mother hear you say that. I think she’d go mad if anyone else started calling me Teki.”

“Well, now I won’t be able to help it, will I? I do so love my mischief.”

Inside the ballroom, she could only just barely hear the notes changing to a slower dance. Perhaps it would be best if they returned now. Who knew how long she had kept the prince away from the festival with her wild, emotional nonsense. Someone was certain to be looking for him.

Loki seemed to read her mind. “If you’re feeling better,” he asked, standing up and offering his hand, “Perhaps you would honor me with another dance?”

Teki beamed. “I’d love to, my prince.”

The ballroom was just as they had left it, couples swaying, laughing, drinking. She noted Thor with Sif on his arm in one corner, her mother with Brant in another. Osvald was nowhere to be found, and Loki seemed to have no intentions of letting her search for him. He swept her into his arms, her gorgeous crimson dress fanning out around her, and pulled her out onto the floor. There wasn’t much to this dance: it was mostly just simply swaying, soft and soothing like her partner. Teki found herself melting into the movements, entranced by Loki’s smile.

“I’m glad Thor didn’t give me his dagger,” she whispered. She was surprised by how much she meant it.

Loki’s breath hitched. “Really?”

She nodded. Maybe Osvald could try to make her regret it, but she could feel the truth deep in her chest.

Her prince smiled. “Me too, Teki,” he whispered. “Me too.”

#dances and daggers #loki oneshot #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #loki marvel #loki laufeyson #cozy writes