Tumgik
#now he's asking for my assignment regarding a subject i already took and he's taking now and basically said that he'd change it up a little
eureka-its-zico · 3 years
Text
Irrevocably Yours
Tumblr media
Request: hey! can i request a scenario of jungkook being a rich kid who has ome of his legs is leg failure , basically can't walk without a cane , And he falls in love with a normal girl , and they end up running away , happy ending plz , also if u can , LIT IT Up with smut ' thank u ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
A/N: So. This request was sent to me a long ass time ago. I mean a LONG time ago, and I spent so much time working on it...it became too long. So I broke it up in half. Just to see if anyone actually becomes interested in how this ends. Just to see if anyone still reads anything I write. So if you end up enjoying this, please let me know and I’ll post the last of this. I have so many things buried inside my google docs that need to be set free from hibernation. 
Also, I’m sorry if this isn’t any good. I’ve rewritten this a thousand times trying to fix it, and I’ve done all I can for now. I hope someone out there enjoyed this craziness. And to the original person who asked for this, if you ever see this, I’m sorry it took so long. P.s. I also took creative liberties and changed it up a little. Much love, Jenn
Jungkook x Reader
Word count: 13,756 (yeah I know, it was longer before I halved it. Sorry!)
Genre: fluffy/Smutty(later)/First Love drama sorts mess
Tumblr media
A part of you would always remember the first day you’d met Jeon Jungkook. His presence standing in the doorway to the classroom held every single one of your classmate's attention along with yours. Jungkook silently demanded to be noticed, even though in a way he wanted no one to notice him at all. The classroom felt louder than usual, or maybe that was just how you recalled it. Maybe it's what caused the ringing in your ears when the room was swallowed up in silence. The sound of his cane hitting the stained linoleum; ticking like a time bomb with every step. 
At first you couldn't see why he necessarily needed it. Jungkook was a master of hiding things. Even pain. It wasn’t until he’d reached the teachers desk, his hip moving to rest against it to ease the extra strain off his good leg, that the stories of his accident became true.  Not one of you were willing to look too long at the challenge in his face. Defiance turning his soft features bitter as he glanced out across the room. Jungkook wanted to appear strong; to dare anyone to mutter even a word that he wasn’t. That he wasn’t the same person he was before the accident. 
He must have been able to fool your home room teacher into forgetting. His eagerness to introduce Jungkook only caused him to accidentally come too close to his legs in passing. The teachers’ waist moved and harmlessly bump against Jungkook’s bad leg. A small movement that was enough to change Jungkook’s entire demeanor for just a second. 
The whole room collectively took a breath; waiting for him to scream out in pain. To turn savage and yell or curse at the stupidity of the teacher. Jungkook did none of it. He continued to look out into the room with his chin held high. 
You could see, however, through the crinkle by his eyes and how heavily he now leaned on his cane that it’s caused him a great deal of pain. A brief moment in showing what he tried to hide and if you weren’t staring so hard at him, you were sure you would’ve missed it.
An infamous legend among other schools as his face showed up on Sports articles that featured proud features of parents beaming excitedly at cameras. Taekwondo and track metal’s around his neck by the dozens. Grades to match the intensity of his athletic drive with a rumor that if he tried something for the first time, Jungkook would still be phenomenal at whatever it was. 
Even without ever actually meeting him - everyone in that classroom knew who he was. Jeon Jungkook was a hard man not to hear about. 
In the beginning of the year there’d been a different headline for him, however. He’d been the passenger in a friend's car that was struck by a drunk driver. The ferocity of the impact leaving the car looking like a bow. Jungkook lost a friend that night, and part of the mobility in his left leg. The driver himself died instantly and you weren't sure if that was justice enough for the two boys who’d lost so much in a matter of three seconds. 
And with so much, yet so little known about him you found yourself unable to join the others in measuring up the boy in front of you. 
Jungkook was taller than you thought he would be, or maybe you’d silently been hoping the universe wouldn’t be so cruel to give someone talent and every single attractive feature known to man. He’d been played up like he was a god among the rest of you feeble mortals. You figure’d girls were overacting, I mean it happens. Imagining after listening to all their swooning, you’d somehow shockingly find out he was nothing more than your average - ordinary - boy. 
Jungkook was anything but ordinary. 
His lean frame still retained years of training that wasn't so easily hidden, even under the layers of the school uniform. You could see the care he still placed on his outward appearance. The rising star who was still handsome, even underneath all his brooding. His school uniform strained against tight muscles in his arms and, worse, was his legs. Your cheeks heating into an embarrassed blush as his eyes landed on what seemed like your desk. It was silly to think he’d caught you gawking. Everyone was gawking at him, but even a millisecond of his gaze made your cheeks light up with embarrassment at the idea of being caught. 
There was gossip of him not wanting to go back to his old school; his old life. You didn't really blame him. Why be stuck in a place where there were millions of memories of a time you had with a close friend? Of having the ability to walk down the halls without everyone looking at you like you were damaged goods. 
“Everyone pay attention!” Mr. Choi shouted. 
It all seemed unnecessary. Your attention was already on him whether he wanted it or not. 
“I’d like to welcome our transfer student, Jeon Jungkook. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”
“I don't need you to defend me,” he snapped. 
He started moving his way down the aisle towards the only empty seat in the room: the one next to you. 
You quickly turned away from him and started cleaning up your space. Jungkook got to the desk faster than you thought and dropped his backpack down on top of the desk. His long body slumped down into the seat, placing his cane next to the window seal. 
“We’re going to continue with our previous lecture from yesterday. You can share with Y/N until you get your own books.”
You flipped to chapter eighteen with your many notes scattered inside. Your eyes giving him a sidelong glance before sliding the book neatly between the desks. Jungkook didn't bother to look at the pages: his gaze was locked elsewhere. Somewhere outside the window with the freedom far beyond the gates of the school. 
The enter class you’d spun a hundred different sentences in your mind. Each one playing out in your head as pure idiotic or unnecessary. You just couldn’t shake the feeling that it felt wrong letting him sit there like no one cares. To be a part of the prying gazes of the class; to know his name and him not knowing yours in return. You weren't sure why you gave a shit so much, anyways, but you did. 
At the sound of the bell he was the first one to hop back onto his feet. His hand instinctively taking hold of the cane to keep him propped up as he moved to situate his backpack over his shoulders. You’d followed close behind him and gathered up your things. 
You didn't see him again until fifth period. His brooding presence in the back of the class hung like a dark cloud you couldn't shake. You knew you weren't necessarily the most cheerful person in the room, but even Jungkook’s sour puss attitude was making you want to throw glitter at him. 
He didn't acknowledge you when you came to your usual seat at the window, and it didn't bother you. No one usually acknowledged you anyways. What did bother you was that he was sitting in your window seat. Statistics was by far your least favorite subject this year, and the one thing that kept you sane was that window seat.
“That's my spot.”
Your voice didn't hold any hint of malice. It was just definitive: you wanted your seat. Jungkook didn't look at you straight away. His eyes still daydreaming through the window and the world beyond. When he did finally look at you, you were sure the annoyance in his face was meant to send you packing. Too bad for him you’d seen worse. 
Tumblr media
“Is that look supposed to scare me? It doesn't change the fact you're in my spot.”
“I don't see your name on it.”
Your laughter turned to a scoff; cut short by your disbelief. 
“What are we in middle school? If you want to get technical, it was assigned by the teacher aka my name is theoretically on that seat. So -” 
You acted like he was a pet you could shoo off your bed. The hand motion earning you his brow to raise in return. 
“You’d really make a cripple get up?”
“Is that what we’re calling you? A cripple? Because it looks to me like you’re still capable of doing things, oh say, a paraplegic can't.”
The anger rolled through him suddenly like storm clouds. All the possibilities of playful mischief disappeared as he regarded you with so much hate, it was as if he’d struck you. 
“Oh, really? I didn't realize that they were giving away M.D titles in high schools now.”
Your mouth opened to - to what? Apologize? The sensitive part of you told you that you should. His accident hadn't been a full year yet, and here you were badgering him. Yet, you knew if you continuously babied him like everyone else it was only going to do more harm than good. Your next choice of words were cut short when your teacher walked in and asked why you were still standing. 
“He’s in my spot.”
God, now who sounded like they were in middle school? Your teacher seemed to draw a blank. His gaze moving from you to Jungkook then back to you. 
“Just sit down, Y/N.”
You did so with a huff. Your arms pulling your backpack you’d sat down on the desk closer to you like a pillow. Just so you could rest your chin on top of it and tried to ignore the smirk that was now on Jungkook’s face. 
After you’d gone to your next class you couldn't stop thinking about your exchange. It  turned your mood sour the rest of the day, and you couldn't understand why. A part of you wondering if it was because of your choice of words or the defeat that shown all too bright in his doe eyes. 
The end of the day couldn't have come fast enough. You just wanted to get home and out of your uniform and maybe get a chance to go take some photos before your parents got home. You were too preoccupied with thoughts of where you wanted to go, and what coffee shop you wanted to stop at, when you collided into the back of someone else. A loud curse followed suit of the sound of a cane dropping on pavement making your eyes shut tight and your throat constrict around a groan. 
“Jesus, can't you watch where you’re goi- oh, it's you. Enjoy attacking cripples, do we?”
You opened your eyes to see a less than amused smile on his face. He acted more like a judge at your hearing and whatever sentencing he was giving out, it wasn’t in your favor. 
“I’m sorry I wasn't paying attention.”
You moved to pick up his cane for him when his hand angrily swatted yours away making you jump back a step. 
“I don't need your charity. I can do it myself!”
“No one said you couldn’t! I was only trying to be nice.”
“Yeah, well, go and be nice somewhere else.”
He situated his weight on his good leg and bent at the knee low enough for his hand to reach out and grab his second form of support. The movement so graceful that it left you stunned, but not as much as his words did. 
“You know, just because something bad happened to you, it doesn't give you the right to be an asshole. You aren't the only person to lose someone or something important. Get over yourself.”
With your hands latched underneath the straps of your backpack you stomped around him. Not caring that you left him standing stone still. His mouth slightly agape as he watched you take your exit. 
During your walk home, somehow, Jungkook plagued your thoughts. Your mind unable to comprehend why you were still thinking about him. It was the first time you’d met, and yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. If you were being honest with yourself you knew from replaying the last thing you said to him.The look on his face saying plainly that you were an asshole.
Everyone’s pain mattered. Grief and loss wasn’t measured by anyone else’s pain but the person who experienced it, and to diminish it in any way was unfair. Regret was building inside your chest and it was all you could do to keep your feet from sprinting back in his direction. 
When you got home you went directly to your room, throwing your bag on the bed, and sulked to your desk. You had more pressing matters to attend to than a boys’ possible hurt feelings. No matter how many times you tried, however, you weren’t able to write out theories on government history or explain anatomical questions.
The only thing your brain appeared to focus on was how to apologize. 
You thought about Jungkook while you showered and brushed your teeth. You thought of him when you laid in bed and struggled to find a way to sleep. Your mind playing out the million different possibilities of how your apology would be taken from him. You didn't necessarily understand what it felt like to have your dreams stolen from you. To be forced to cope with a new life you hadn’t asked for and the emptiness of losing someone you loved all in one go. 
If the tables were turned and it was you, wouldn’t you feel equally as bitter? 
The following morning in between toaster cooked waffles and fixing your uniform in the mirror, you’d resigned to apologizing to him. No matter how much thinking of it made your teeth grind and a growl rise in your chest at the thought. You imagined him sneering and replying with smart remarks and it caused your mind to waver, but you were better than the pettiness swelling in your chest. You were okay with knowing his prickled exterior came from something you couldn't ever understand. 
You made sure all the time you had while you walked to school was used up by mumbling the speech you’d made up the night before. At crosswalks practicing the best stance that didn't appear threatening, was friendly, but wouldn't be misconstrued as flirting. 
That was by far the last thing you wanted to happen in his eyes. Sure, Jungkook was undeniably attractive...as much as you would've loved to laugh sarcastically in his perfectly sculpted face that his obviously very masculine features did nothing to make you weak in the knees. That you hadn’t noticed when his elbows, still clad in his jacket, moved to rest on the desk it’d caused his biceps and shoulders to equally fight for whatever was left of the fabric. Or that small scar on his cheek caught your attention when he became annoyed; his tongue poking out at the side of his jaw. 
No, you hadn't been paying an embarrassing amount of attention to him at all (or at the ridiculous outline of his thigh muscles in his school uniform)  with every step he took. 
So, since you hadn't personally taken notice of any of physically appealing traits, why would you flirt? You were well aware of the vast difference of not only your social scale, but also of your class ranking, and looks overall. You were lightyears away from ever being able to consider being more than a female acquaintance he happened to get stuck next to at school. He wasn't the first boy who was out of your league, and Jungkook wouldn't be the last. Why it bothered you so much was a child's thought you refused to entertain. 
When you finally got to school you hurried up the steps and briskly made your way down the hall. Not stopping even after Jenny cursed after you for nudging her as you went by. As soon as you swung open the door for homeroom, your eyes landed on Jungkook’s position. His cane leaning against the desk, hands tucked inside the pockets of his uniform slacks as he leaned back against the chair. 
His gaze was focused somewhere outside the window, completely blank and motionless, and you wondered if he could've been having a thought at all. He was close to being marked as unreal in your book when he blinked and turned his gaze towards you.
You hadn't realized you’d been staring until that moment. Your gaze dropping to the worn linoleum as you briskly made your way down to your desk. A mumbled, “Good morning,” falling like a bad habit from your lips while you came around the side to slid into the desk chair. Nervous hands clutching tightly to your bag as you stared straight ahead, unwilling to glance in his direction. 
Somewhere between cursing your awkwardness and staring out the window like an escape hatch your teacher started the lecture. None of it to which you were paying attention too, which was probably why you heard him call your name. You jerked in your seat as he yelled it a second time. Your eyes no doubt wide from giggles that sounded around the room. 
“Y/N, since you're listening, you can go ahead and answer number forty-seven in the workbook.”
Panic sent your eyes wide as you stared back at his expectant face: waiting for you to fail. You hadn't even taken your book out since you’d sat down, finally moving to do so, when you felt a light tap against your bag. It was enough to jerk your gaze away from the teacher and down to a completed book of all the problems done by Jungkook. 
He cleared his throat and tucked his hands back inside the pockets of his trousers easily not understanding the severity of how his actions had left you wide-eyed in surprise. You were still taking too long, causing your teacher to prompt you with a grunt and Jungkook to casually reach out and tap the answer again. Your eyes trailing over the written answer before standing up and clearing your throat. The answer rolling off your tongue as easy as breathing; as if you didn't just steal it from a notebook. 
You made a silent prayer the teacher didn't notice the sweat threatening to break at your temple. The nervous ticking of your feet tilting from spot to spot. A rush of relief escaping your lips when his response to your answer was to continue class. 
You took your seat next to Jungkook; unable to acknowledge him just yet for saving you from whatever punishment your teacher would've no doubt thought of. The realization that Jungkook himself was the reason for your lack of concentration making your cheeks flush an embarrassing pink making your arms wrap protectively around your backpack. 
You’d never even brought out your textbook. Never dropped your bag from your desk and no doubt Mr. Choi knew you were given the answer. You buried your mouth against the coarse nylon in a weak attempt to stifle your embarrassment. 
“Thank you.”
Your eyes caught the soft tilt of his brow as it rose at the muffled words. You could make out his left shoulder leaning him down towards your huddled position, making your hands involuntarily tighten into your backpack. 
“What was that?”
The husky whisper of his words weren't anything you’d heard before, and they resonated up your spine to leave you staring starry-eyed.
“Th-thank you. For giving me the answer.”
He didn't respond. His gaze fixed solely on your face until you forcibly struggled to keep from fidgeting under its weight. After what felt like a small eternity, Jungkook nodded his head and faced forward. The sudden ghost of the death of your conversation causing you to blink at his profile. 
The rest of the class was spent with your focus lacking on taking notes. How could you focus with his presence commanding your attention? A small army of ants creeping along your nerves demanding to acknowledge him. It was so strong, when the bell rang you jumped up from your seat to try and escape into the freedom of the school’s hallway, only to end up with your knee connecting straight into the hardwood of the desk. Jungkook’s snort at your misfortune was enough to remind you how much of an arrogant pain in the ass he could be. 
“Wow - good job doofus.”
Your head snapped back in his direction; tongue rolling in your cheek as he hopped up from his seat. A hand snaking out to grab his bag and sling it over his shoulder as the other reached for his cane. You held your head high despite how awful your knee was stinging, and stood up adjusting your bag. 
“Seriously? That's all you've got? Doofus? Next time let’s try harder.”
Jungkook didn't seemed miffed by your retort, actually seeming more amused than anything, and for some reason it only bugged you more. Did you really want to get into another argument like you were in primary school with him? You discarded the thought as you tightened the strings on your backpack and decided to take the mature route and leave him behind. 
The hallways mass of bodies rushing to get to their next period giving you comfort; until you remembered you shared the same economics class. Today was also a field trip to a farm to learn the process of making soy products. It would take up the last few classes of the day. You’d been excited to spend the day out of class and enjoy the rustic scenery out of town. Your only hope was that he hadn't been able to get his parental slip signed; he’d just started the day before. How could he?
When the teacher walked in and asked Jungkook for his permission slip you wanted to howl. Why was the universe so cruel? But why did you care so much? 
It was a question you didn't bother to think about; you just grumbled the whole way to the bus. Your teacher standing at its entrance to put a check by your names every time one of your classmates passed him by like lined up cattle. You were the last checkmark: the last person to find an available seat. You rounded the final step and your stomach sank down into your shoes. The universe seeming to play a sick joke of musical chairs; your only options being Jungkook or Amber, the girl who actively struggled to make sure your life was a living hell. 
You’d rather be eaten by dogs than even attempt to sit with her. Jungkook it was, then.
Your hand clasped tighter around the strap of your bag as you moved it farther up your shoulder. A large sigh accommodating your steps as you side-stepped down the aisle ending with you in front of his seat. His cane taking up what was left of it. 
Jungkook didn't seem to register your presence or he just decided to pretend you weren't there. Either way you felt your annoyance grow as you cleared your throat to grab his attention. His chin barely leaving the perch of his fist as his head turned; gaze intimidating in a way that left your fingers pinching the fabric of yours clothes just to make sure they were still there and he hadn't stared straight through them. 
“Can I help you?”
“I need a seat.”
He looked back and no doubt noticed the open spot next to Amber. Jungkook’s giving the slightest nod as he retorted, “There’s one right back there.”
“Come on, Jungkook. What do you want?”
“You're bribing me now?” 
Tumblr media
His smile was so bright, borderline adorable, and you hated how it threatened to make you retaliate with your own. 
“Stop being a brat and just tell me,” you snapped instead. 
Jungkook shot a quick glance back at Amber’s giggling figure. You were sure most people thought she sounded like wind chimes or something else cute and feminine, but to you it just sounded like a cat dying. When he looked back at you, Jungkook checked you out one last time. His eyes stopping at the lone earbud that sat against your chest. For a moment, you thought he was actually staring at your breasts making your cheeks burn and your gaze to look anywhere else but at his smug face. 
“Let me listen to your iPod there and back on this trip, and I'll let you sit with me.”
“What am I supposed to do?”  
Jungkook did a lavish hand sweep at the window. The motion reminding you of the showgirls on The Price is Right, making you believe maybe he’d somehow watched it, and one too many times. 
“You get to use your imagination while you look out the window.”
“No way. Joint custody.”
“Fine. Joint custody, but I get to pick the music the whole way. If you have shitty taste the deal's off.”
He stuck out his hand for you to shake and there was a moment, a minor second, that it felt like you were making a deal with the devil. However, the sound of Amber’s laughter practically had your hand bolting into Jungkook’s. You shook it harder than was necessary before dropping it and shooing him to move. 
Jungkook removed his bag and cane from the seat. Your legs giving out moments later so you could plop down in it, only to be greeted by his outstretched hand. The smile that spread across his lips shining brighter than the mischief in his eyes. 
“As per our agreement: the iPod.”
He wiggles his fingers and you wanted to smack him. Your own squeezing tighter against the metal until, reluctantly, you chose your fate by placing it into his hand. Jungkook didn’t seem to mind your current look of displeasure while you watched him begin to scroll through your assorted music collection. 
At least the seat was warm. 
The first few seconds were somehow more awkward than you thought possible. Eyes locked in a fifty-yard stare so intense a soldier would’ve been envious. The only movement you caught of him was from your peripherals. Jungkook’s thumbs picking up speed from the leisurely way he scanned through the artists you’d offered. And no you did not, whatsoever, happen to notice the way his bottom lip would dart inside his mouth just to be held gently between his teeth. All the while his eyes focused on the task in front of him.
Nope. You weren’t paying attention to him. Not even a little bit. So how he was able to make you jump twelve inches out of your skin, while you were most definitely not embarrassing yourself by gawking over a beautiful man, was beyond you.
“Ya!” Jungkook clicked his tongue in distaste. His hand wiggling the ipod in your direction, as if it had caused some great offense. “What is this?”
Your neck tiled as you regarded him like he’d grown two heads. You were also positive if your eyebrows knitted together any harder you’d end up with a unibrow. 
“Ugh, a mystical device that plays music.”
The look on Jungkook’s face faltered from frustration to annoyance. It was so sudden it ended up sending a bark of laughter in his direction. And just like that, the annoyed look was back again. 
“I mean, what the hell do you have on this thing. Who is The Dead Weather? City and Colour? Joji?”
“They are artists I enjoy.”
“They’re shit.”
You rushed to try and snatch it back from him. Jungkook’s reflexes proving to be faster than your growing urge to smack him.
“Excuse me, little miss,” he began. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He used his index finger to push gently against your forehead, but with the current level of irritation, he still proved faster than you. Your failed attempt to swat his hand away meeting only empty air. Earning you a smirk of smug satisfaction. 
“I’m trying to get my things back.”
“That wasn’t part of our agreement.”
You tried one last time to take him by surprise. Your right hand shot out too hard to grab at the object clasped in his large hands. The momentum carried you forward to land shoulder first against his chest. Leg nudging against his with enough force that it caused his cane to move an inch. It took everything you had to keep your head down to hide your flaming cheeks. 
“And now you’re assaulting me.”
If your eyes were capable of rolling back any father you might've seen brain cells.
“I was only trying to get my property back. Since the only thing that’s coming out of you is complaining.”
“I’m not complaining,” he snapped. “You’re acting like an Indian giver.”
“Is that all you know how to do: complain?” You continued, completely ignoring him. A slight smirk now etching your lips. Jungkook’s eyes flicking down to notice your amusement at his expense. “I believe they call it, ‘trying something new.’” 
His eyes narrowed on you and for a split second your pulse began to race. Sure, the agitation on his face at your teasing was obvious, but you could’ve sworn...maybe...just maybe he was smirking. Could you have possibly been able to make him smile? 
“I should make you go sit with Amber.”
The smugness in his voice and the cocky smile that joined it instantly made whatever fun you were having come to a complete halt. Jungkook was so pleased with himself he had the audacity to shimmy his shoulders like he’d already won. The rolls had reversed. It was your eyes turn to throw daggers in his direction. 
“Now who's the Indian giver.”
Even though he played up on what he felt like was a win, you could tell he was not as amused. His non-injured leg bounced to an incredible rhythm that he could only hear. Probably a furious count to a hundred to keep himself from saying anything else to continue your usual thrilling conversations. So when he handed over one earbud, and the iPod, but placed the other into his ear, it was fair to say it left you baffled. 
You were waiting so long for him to give an explanation, but all he did was continue to stare at you. It was starting to make your pulse race again. Why did he constantly have to feel so intense? Everything about him. Not even his current state made him seem any less notable. It just didn’t seem fair. 
It wasn’t until he cleared his throat did you realize you’d been staring. For god knows how damn long. 
“You gonna play something or not?” he asked. 
His hand motioned towards the music while his fingers adjusted the earbud he’d kept. 
“I’m so confused.”
“You look it,” he retorted, causing your earlier thoughts to remember, although handsome, he was an incredible pain in the ass. 
“Ten seconds ago you complained about my music. Now you want me to play it for you.”
Jungkook turned his gaze away, his body relaxing back against the hard foam of the seat. His eyes still cast outside the window as if he was trying to find some way to escape. 
“Either I can spend the next couple hours listening to you talk, or “try” out some new music. If I have a choice, I’ll pick the music please and thank you.”
Oh, how you wish you could’ve shoved him out that tiny window. But as much as you hated to admit it, Jungkook was right. Music was the only reasonable escape from possibly having either of you commit murder. 
It was your turn to try and get comfortable. This time your thumb scanning down the list of artists until your eyes caught sight of one he’d mentioned. Without giving him warning you pressed play. The haunting melody of Joji’s “Dancing in the Dark,” flooded the earbuds. His voice melancholic as he began to sing a sad tale of not wanting to be the hidden second option. 
The song choice was enough to finally get Jungkook to look back at you. Somehow already having enough with the song choice before it’d barely even reached the chorus. 
“Just listen.”
It was the only advice you could give him, and hopefully the reassurance you’d tried to ease into your tone was enough. Whether it was or not, by the time the chorus began he seemingly relaxed again into the seat. His arms moving to cross lazily against his chest. He seemed to actually be taking in the song while he watched out the window. The passing of the steel and concrete that was Seoul into the rural areas of green and forest. 
The music itself was calming. It was enough to let yourself fully relax back against it and close your eyes. With your eyes closed you could easily fade out the sounds of the sporadic conversations on the bus. Even though you only had one ear bud, all you needed was to concentrate on the music to drown out the world. 
It took a few seconds for you to be pulled into a Joji’s song about terrible longing and being left behind by a lover. I mean, you didn’t really know too much about the latter, but hey, a girl could daydream. His voice was seconds away from heading into the second verse of the chorus, when you heard the sound of the melody being lightly sung beside you. 
The voice was beautiful. The most startling part, not the fact of its softness, or the way it swelled in perfect harmony with the song, was that it came from Jungkook. Your eyes flung open with your head snapping to gaze at his serene expression. He continued to face the window, daylight playing along the profile of his face, and his gentle voice singing perfectly in tune. 
It wasn’t loud enough that anyone else could’ve heard it over the dozens of bursting conversations being spoken throughout the bus. That the only conclusion you could come up with to why he would be singing at all. He thought no one would be able to pay attention. You probably would’ve stayed gawking at him if his eyes fluttering open didn’t send you crashing back against the seat and clutching your eyes shut. You needed to pretend you hadn’t noticed. Or else he would stop. He would hide this part of himself that showed he was more than what he tried to portray. 
You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was glancing in your direction. To see his eyes gaze over you with suspicion before settling back and listening to the next track. Khalid’s intro of “Talk,” beginning to play into your earbud. 
You spent the rest of the trip staying beside him, close as you could get without looking creepy, just to hear him gently sing. He breathed a gentle version of each one he knew, or came to like, and made it his own. Even being a few times were his nerves got the better of him. His voice rising ever slightly when he drew too deep into the song. He would quiet after each outburst, but to your pleasure Jungkook would start back up moments later. 
After all the bickering, you could definitely say the trade was worth it. You were so taken with listening to him that when the bus came to a stop, you didn’t realize it until your earbud was yanked from your ears. Your eyes heavy from sleep fluttered open and closed a few times before they focused on Jungkook’s face. 
“Ya, didn’t you hear them call us off the bus?”
Your response came in the form of slow blinks and a mouth half-hung open. You wished more for a nap than going out to explore a farm, but your limbs were screaming to be stretched. You went to answer him when, instead, Jungkook grabbed his bag, cane, and started to try and scoot over you.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Trying to get by! So excuse me!”
His backside rubbed against your arms and, to your horror, your chest. Without thinking, your hand lashed out to smack across his bottom causing both of you to go as still as the dead. Your heart was thundering as you looked at your hand like it’d just finished committing murder. Maybe it had. But the only person it’d murdered was you with your eyes roaming up to see a shocked Jungkook gawking down at you over his shoulder. 
“Did you really just smack my ass.”
“It was an accident!”
“An accident?” He questioned.
“Self-defense!”
Jungkook tried to hide the amusement your no doubt panicking was causing him. His mouth struggling to keep the frown that was tilting ever so slightly at the top of his lips. 
“If anything needed to be defended, it was my honor. Over here just smacking people’s ass’s without a warning.”
You knew by now your face looked like a fire hydrant. 
“Self-defense from you dragging your ass all over me! I’m not a seat, ya know.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
This time Jungkook didn’t try to hide his smile. To your surprise, it wasn’t a malicious one that showed he enjoyed your embarrassment. No. This one decorated his face in something softer that made your heart thunder to a different rhythm entirely. 
“Oh, look you guys. Shit Stain and The Cripple are flirting.”
Amber’s grating voice was one you’d grown painstakingly accustomed too. The sinister way she spoke impossibly loud just so everyone was forced to hear her. Whether they wanted to or not. You were used to her coldness and the constant way she harassed you. What you weren’t so used to, was having Jungkook as part of the punchline. 
Immediately, you felt his legs tense where they touched you. The muscles ramrod straight and flexing under the skin. The lighthearted tone you’d heard seconds before in your banter was now replaced with an aloofness that made you stiffen in your seat. Jungkook’s jaw held tight as he regarded Amber as if she were no more than a pest buzzing at his ear.
“Ya, fix your nose before you bother talking to me. I can see half the planet up there.”
Amber’s eyes flashed hellfire as she glowered over her shoulders to stop the giggling that ensued. When all grew quiet enough to where she felt like she would be heard, a harsh smile spread her lips. Her legs began to take a step to move away from the two peasants who’d held enough of her attention. 
“Whatever, Cripple. Try not to get your stick in any holes.”
She was passing the front of your shared seat when, suddenly, Amber’s legs gave way. A tumbling mess of shrieks, bleached hair, and her arms flapping rapidly a solid indication of her mysterious attempt at taking flight. The only thing that moved to catch her was her face. The minute the laughter began to bubble up inside you, you quickly placed a hand over your mouth. Least the she-devil hear it escape. 
You took a second to inspect what could’ve possibly taken down the ice queen. Even when she wore ridiculously high heels, Amber walked with a grace you knew you’d never pull off. Not without looking like a newborn giraffe, that is. Glancing down you noticed Jungkook’s cane strategically placed right where her foot would’ve landed. The culprit in making Amber a freshly minted carpet on the bus’s floor. Somewhere on the bus you knew she was up from her tumble and huffing a few choice words. You were sure she knew, just like you did, that Jungkook was the one who’d done it. You paid no attention to her tantrum and kept a transfixed gaze on him. 
He’d finished scooting the rest of the way to get to the middle of the bus and was situating his cane and shoulder bag. His hand suddenly reaching down into view and patiently waiting for you to take it. 
“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.”
You knew you looked like a fool. Your eyes mirroring the thousands of silent questions that threatened to make you ill. A part of you hoping he understood your dumbfounded look simply begged him to find some way to answer you. You’d stared starry-eyed up at him for so long you half expected the patience of Jungkook’s open hand to fall flat. Instead, he continued to surprise you. His gaze gentle, and hand openly waiting for you to take it when you were ready. 
With eyes wide and mouth agape, your body rejected your stunned silence and placed a small hand in his. His own quickly enveloped yours perfectly and gave you the added support you needed to find stable footing beside him. Jungkook finally looked away from you to stare at the remaining goons. 
The moment you stood beside him you became painfully aware of the noticeable height difference. Your gaze moving up inch-by-inch until your eyes were locked onto his face. The stubbornness of a hard set jaw and eyes that dared anyone to speak enough to make your heartbeat pick up in your chest. When he appeared to be finished making sure his presence was known, Jungkook’s eyes turned back to you. A silent request of reassurance to know you were alright making you answer with a quick nod. 
Your cheeks blushed furiously as you struggled to look away from his gaze. No longer were you so worried about Amber; your mind trapped on a repeat of questions. Did Jungkook always smell like Calvin Klein cologne? Could it be considered weird how you felt undeniable comfort pressed up against him? Or really weird if in your head you suddenly imagined recreating this scene a million times later with you being braver beside him, instead of being the damsel in distress.
He didn’t seem at all perplexed with your case of sudden shyness. His strong legs pulling you both forward and past the horde of Amber and her lackeys without missing a step. His head held high while the other hand helped him keep his balance without using his cane. For the small world that was high school, Jungkook showed them he was still that once popular boy who was known for not taking shit from no one. A demi-god amongst mere mortals that were somehow honored by his presence. 
And here you were. So close to the orbit of his sun and walking away unscathed.
Your train of rushing thoughts kept you from paying attention. It was something you soon were going to regret when he led you off the steps of the bus and onto the dirt road. Jungkook’s exit was obviously graceful while yours in comparison was a train wreck. Instead of your feet stepping off the last step and landing like a normal person, you lost your footing. Your clumsy feet sending you struggling to find a balance with the earth before you crash landed on the floor. Luckily, Jungkook’s back was there to catch you. 
The momentum of your fall sent his feet skittering to correct you both before you fell into the dirt. A few choice cuss words leaving his lips and crimson flaring up on your cheeks to make the dance of falling even more entertaining. You could practically hear the cackling of the witches echoing out of the bus like a cave. 
Jungkook made quick work of righting you both; his good leg furiously hoping to support the weak one. His cane dug into the earth a good inch to add some more stabilization. You let go of his hand and moved away from his side where you’d previously been planted. You weren’t worthy of being there. This boy who saw your distress and helped you. Only for you to ruin it in the process. 
“Well that’s one way to ruin an exit,” he huffed. 
He glanced in your direction and you could’ve sworn he was smiling. Or was that a smirk? Whatever it was, it was quickly washed away as his eyes took you in. “You okay?”
“I’m sorry!”
Your words rushed from your lips with your back snapping to bow a perfect ninety-degrees. Your hair a curtain to try and hide your embarrassment. 
“Ugh...for what?”
“For bumping into you like that. I should’ve been paying attention.”
A soft laugh bounced from between his lips and you were willing to beat his face lit up like pure sunshine. You moved to stand upright just in time to see you were right. Jungkook was either oblivious to the way you were looking at him, or was simply unfazed. His shoulder hiking the backpack where it’d begun to fall as he adjusted himself to get ready to move to join the rest of the class up ahead. 
“You did ruin one hell of a stylish exit.”
“I don’t know how stylish you can be stepping off of a school bus, but...thank you.” 
The both of you locked eyes with one another. A large part of you hoped Jungkook was able to see the sincerity or at least hear it. Maybe he wasn’t that much of a pain in the ass after all. That soft smirk you’d grown accustomed to etched back on his lips as he took the first step towards your waiting classmates.
“No problem. Plus, I figured I owed you for letting me listen to your music.”
You felt your brow shoot up in mock surprise. Your legs falling into step beside him. 
“I thought you said I had terrible taste.”
“I never said terrible,” Jungkook corrected. His eyes danced with a playfulness that lifted a smile to your lips
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“Well, it wasn’t the greatest, but thank you. I actually ended up liking most of it, at least.”
“Oh, what a sweet way of insulting my musical taste.”
“Hey! I said I liked most of it. It’s like a win-win. Kinda.”
You wanted to be snappy. Give him some more hell for always playing up on being a condescending moody jerk. In reality, walking next to Jungkook while the silence swelled around you without the awkward pressure; you knew that wasn’t all of him. He’d proven how sweet he could be at the memory of how easily you’d felt protected by a simple stretch of a hand. The look in his eyes while he waited for you to take his extended hand a plea to know you could trust him. Strangely, a part of you already felt like you could. 
You snuck a look over in Jungkook’s direction, and felt a smile begin to sweep up the corners of your lips. It was a different, but nice, change to have someone come to your defense. Yeah, most of the time you wanted to throttle him for seeming like he could care less. In that moment, however, he cared enough to help. That had to mean something.
“You’re welcome.”
You hoped your words conveyed the gratitude you felt in that moment. Prayed that Jungkook could hear it. When he looked at you, you made sure to give him a quick smile before you looked away. Your eyes struggled not to look back at him; to tell him all the things that were racing through your head. It took every ounce of your will to stay focused on the group of classmates that were growing closer. Somewhere along the way, you’d hoped Jungkook would’ve replied with his usual smart ass remarks. It worried you how sad a small part of you felt at his silence. 
Now, you worried maybe you were going a little nuts.
Instead, you came to the edge of the group in silence. Your ears struggling to grasp on to the middle of what your teacher gave out for instructions for the day. 
So what if that insane part of you didn’t receive a smart ass remark in return for your gratitude. You were more than happy with the fact Jungkook stayed by your side. The close proximity just enough to convey what you were both feeling without unnecessary words.
______________
For the past hour the farmer -Kim Sejung - had shown the class around his vast property. The beginning of this magical tour starting with where he manufactured the tofu once it was fermented then sent down to be processed for packaging. He was a man who took immense pride in his work. The next room where the fermentation took place and, his overeager explanation, spelled out how devoted he was to his craft. 
The whole entire backwards presentation was something your teacher decided became a chance for everyone to write down everything you’d been shown. A punishment you knew was coming when Kim Sejung lost half the class to their own conversations long before you’d hit the second part of his speech. 
Now, anyone could be wondering why all of you were taking the longest stroll of your life out in the middle of the farm. A fair question you’d been asking yourself since you realized your shoes were completely covered in mud. You’d been trying to understand why this hadn’t been the first place Kim Sejung would’ve taken all of you. Your only guess being he just enjoyed showing the process backwards. Or maybe he was secretly a  mastermind at torture. It was the only logical conclusion you could come up with at having the entire class now out in the muddy acres of his farm.
And sure, maybe your attention was being sent over your shoulder every five seconds. A certain boy with exhaustion creased in his brow making it harder for you to ignore. You were looking back so often you felt like you’d end up with whiplash at any minute. Really, it was all Jungkook’ fault for causing you to worry; becoming painfully aware with each glance at Jungkook’s struggling frame. 
How Sejung -, or anyone else for that matter, hadn’t noticed he was falling further behind the group with every step left you completely perplexed. You’d gave up listening to whatever the farmer or teacher talked about or what questions they were throwing around. You could bet it had to do about soil. 
If everyone else could ignore him why couldn’t you? It’s not that you hadn’t tried, cause of course you’d done exactly that. Your bottom lip now held a semi-permanent indent from your teeth. Whenever you felt that tick in your neck to look back to check on him: you bit down. When you felt like drawing attention to him by saying something: you bit down. A part of you willing to bet Jungkook would never forgive you if you did. 
Your solution? It was ingenious, really. 
You fell back behind every classmate. Patiently, you waited for everyone to pass you up. Your feet dragging in the muddy dirt until you were sure no one would notice when you inevitably stopped. 
With a soft count of three under your breath, you came to a halt at the back of the group. Your small count continued for another round before you were comfortable with the distance it’d placed between the group, Jungkook, and yourself.
You let out a huff of satisfaction as you turned around to give Jungkook your complete attention. Your neck thanking you for the small favor. What you found, however, greeting you was far from what you’d hoped to find. 
Jungkook’s current location became a solid five feet behind the group. His feet finally coming to the large puddle of mud that you and the class had easily maneuvered Jungkook had not. His struggle coming to a standstill at the muddy puddles edge. Jungkook’s face etched itself in harsh determination to no doubt allow him from moving forward. You told yourself you would stay back and wait for him. 
Just wait, You kept telling yourself over and over. A broken record having nothing on what you felt capable of standing there. Your pulse bonding in your veins and feet bouncing with anxiety as he assessed his options. All you were supposed to do was hang back to walk with him. That was it. You weren’t his nanny. You knew how he felt about being pitied, and yet, when he took his first tentative step out into the mud and his cane sunk deep and his bad leg followed suit, your feet deceived you. 
It appeared Mother Nature had her own way of pushing you past your reserved good intentions. Your feet sprinted forward fast enough that you were embarrassed at their quickness. The expected movement bringing Jungkook’s frustrated gaze up from his current dilemma to you.
“What are you doing here, Y/N?”
The annoyance held in his question didn’t go unnoticed by you. If it was you in his position, you’d be annoyed seeing you standing there too and not offering to help. 
“I came to help you.”
The words just streamed out with your running thoughts. Your feet willing to move forward back into the mud to help him. Jungkook noticeably began to struggle to remove his foot that submerged quickly underneath. 
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“You didn’t have too, Jungkook. I want to help.”
“Let me rephrase myself.” His irritation was pure fire in his eyes as his words hurled in your direction. “I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it.”
You wish you could say you handled his dismissal with grace. That you understood he was only being a jerk because he was embarrassed and angry at his current predicament. You really wanted to be that bigger person. Well...that most definitely wasn’t what happened. 
Your eyes narrowed in on him. Your previous desire to help evaporated as you watched his leg sink deeper. His other foot soon joined the first in a poorly calculated attempt to release the other. Your arms crossed over your chest as you took in the scene before you. 
“Well, Jungkook, I’m not sure if you noticed but you’re slowly heading towards being buried under that mud.”
“Thank you for that astute observation. Anything else you’d like to add?”
“Why are you being such an asshole?!” you snapped.
Your arms came loose down at your side and turned to clenched fists. You weren’t exactly sure what you expected his reaction to be. You knew Jungkook held a hatred for being pitied. Hell, you would too if it was the other way around. You knew he wasn’t helpless, but you also knew he couldn’t do everything alone. No one could. So what was so wrong with offering to help him?
You weren’t sure how you looked. Maybe crazy? Or did the desperation of not knowing how to handle the situation have you appear sad? Whatever it was Jungkook saw, it was enough to look away. His eyes dropping down to his covered feet. 
The space between the two of you swelled with tension. His hair perfectly covering his face, and kept you from being able to steal any glance. It was enough to make you unsure if you should prepare yourself for a verbal battle with him or if you should simply walk away. What if you’d made a mistake thinking Jungkook would want to be bothered at all with help. Especially from you. 
“God, this is embarrassing.”
His words were so light you weren’t sure at first if he’d spoken. A part of you wondering if you’d made up the sound of his voice as Jungkook’s face continued to be hidden by layers of hair. But, lord help you, you knew you weren’t imagining things. The sound of his voice is something you’d come to recognize with ease. You knew without a doubt it most definitely was him. And the sadness that reverberated from his words made your anger dissipate instantly. 
“What?”
Could you have picked a stupider response? When Jungkook lifted his head up to look at you, you knew he silently agreed.
Tumblr media
“It’s embarrassing!” His hands motioned to take in his current predicament. The hurt shown on his proud features made your heart ache to comfort him. “How pitiful can I get? It’s so damn frustrating! The cripple unable to get himself out of some stupid mud.”
“Jungkook, you are literally the least pitiful person I’ve ever met.”
“And yet, it doesn’t make me any less stuck.”
You took a step forward and began to try and edge around what you could of the puddle. You knew there was no way you weren’t getting more mud on your shoes, but the purpose was worth it. 
“Why didn’t you just go around it?” Your question earned you a dead stare. One that reminded you of your mother when she felt like you’d asked the silliest question. You held your hands up in surrender and said, “Hey. It’s a fair question.”
“If I just go around it, it proves that I can’t do the simplest thing, Y/N. It proves…”
“That you aren’t like everybody else,” you finished for him.
You could’ve kicked yourself. How could you not have noticed it sooner. Jungkook just wanted to prove to himself that he could still do things like he did before his accident. Because even though he showed people bringing up his disability didn’t bother him, it did. He still hadn’t come to terms with what happened, and believed the current state of his leg deemed him less worthy. 
He looked away from whatever he saw in your eyes. His own fighting not to show the sadness that threatened to spill down his cheeks. 
“You aren’t like everyone else, Jungkook.” Your words tore his head back in your direction. His shoulders quickly squared up to take whatever verbal blow you were about to hurl in his direction. You were happy to convince him otherwise.
“You don’t need to prove anything to a single person. Yeah, you aren’t a hundred percent who you used to be, but it doesn’t make you any less you. You aren’t defined by a damn leg and if another human being does treat you differently because of it: fuck’em. Now, get your shit together and hand me the end of your cane.”
The both of you stared at one another for what felt like an eternity. Jungkook’s face unreadable as his eyes took you in making you squirm just the slightest bit. Whether he was looking for a hint that you were deceiving him; that something hurtful laid underneath, he wouldn’t find it. You made sure with your hand this time open and waiting for him, that he could see just how much you meant what you said. 
After what felt like a baby size eternity, Jungkook answered you in a way you’d grown to expect. In one swift motion, he picked his cane out from the mud and placed it, dirty end first into your waiting hand. Your face scrunched up in disgust, as the leftover mud squished between your fingers. The action enough to break the coldness of Jungkook’s blank expression into the smirk that was all too familiar. 
“Oh my god! You would do that.”
The amusement on his face was enough to tell you he’d most definitely done it on purpose. Of course, you’d already known that. You didn’t need his raised eyebrow or that devilish smirk to inform you of that.
“Oh, so you think you know me now.”
“I know enough to know, without a doubt, this is something you’d do. Brat.”
You saved the last word for good measure and it was met with a bark of surprise laughter. His reaction was not something you’d expected, but a welcomed one as his face instantly lit up brighter than you’d ever seen. Jungkook’s laughter and smile was genuine and good god, was it breathtakingly adorable. 
Who knew calling him a brat led to so many heart stopping possibilities? Like no longer having a permanent scowl. 
“Alright smart ass, how about we settle this for when I’m not stuck in the mud.”
“You got yourself a deal. Only if you stop pouting.”
“I was not pouting!”
It was your turn to laugh wholeheartedly while your other hand moved to secure itself to his cane. There was no way you’d be letting it slip free from you. Mud or no mud. 
“Tomato potato: pouting is pouting.”
Jungkook’s head tilted to the side. His brain noticeably trying to comprehend what it was you just said.
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense, Jungkook now grab a hold of yo-“
Honestly, you should’ve seen this coming. He’d already given you a muddy end of a cane. It was the perfect foreshadowing moment that was leading up to this, and yet, somehow you were surprised when he pulled with full force. You figured he was strong - not freakishly. Not enough to send you flying face first toward the large mud puddle with the sound of a squeaking bird of surprise that you could only assume was yourself. 
The only thing that kept you from going face first was a split second decision to ruin just the lower half of your outfit. 
The impact with the mud was squishy and came with the weirdest sound effects that reminded you of pushing your hand into a container of slim. God, was it squishy. An immediate, “Ewww,” dragging out from your lips as your hands lifted up from where they’d been buried. Your eyes taking in the full extent of your lower half now resembles the Swamp Thing. 
Jungkook’s laughter brought you back to reality and flinging what was left of the mud on your hands in his direction. It only earned you another bark of laughter. 
“What in the hell was that for?!”
“Now whose pouting?” He teased.
You wanted to hit him but you knew you couldn’t reach. So you settled for flinging another round of mud. 
“Are you kidding me? You pulled me in here cause I said you were pouting!”
“Yup.”
“Unbelievable. You’re a child.”
“I thought you said brat?”
“That too! Ugh! Jungkook! You’re such a pain in the ass. I’m not helping you anymore.”
You moved to try and pull up one leg and found it way more difficult than you’d imagined. Seriously, was this shit superglue? No matter how many times you struggled to pull up either leg it wouldn’t budge; producing an agitated groan to seep from your body. 
You wanted to murder him. 
When you glanced up at him at least Jungkook had the decency to appear worried.
“Do you need help? I didn’t think it’d be so hard for you to pull yourself up.”
“Oh, so you’re worried about me not being able to pull myself up, but not about me covered in mud.”
The shrug Jungkook gave as an answer made you want to throttle him. You wanted to tell him to shove his help up his ass. Realistically, however, you knew there was no way you were getting unstuck without getting dirtier from crawling around. For a second time, his hand appeared, like magic, in front of you. 
Tumblr media
Your eyes trailed up his hand to that devilish grin of his and found your earlier agitation disintegrate. What you hated the most, was how his eyes lit up to match his smile. This warm version of Jungkook wasn’t someone you were used to. You’d seen the cocky jock who knew he was good at everything. Experienced the real asshole Jungkook that made you want to rip out chunks of hair. But this side of him...was worth a heartache or two. 
Without another thought you reached out and took his hand and allowed him to start lifting you up. It wasn’t until you were half way you came up with your own plan. A devilish grin of your own spreading your lips wide as the idea grew into something worth doing . 
Jungkook had a moment to be confused before your free hand shot out and took fierce hold of his forearm. You made sure it was locked in place before your body went completely limp, and sent his body into an unbalanced mess. 
“The fu-!”
Jungkook’s descent, at first, made you feel like you’d accomplished a victory. One you didn’t get to relish in for long. Jungkook may not have been able to finish his earlier sentence, but you easily made up for it. A softened, “Fuck!” came pressed from your chest as he landed sideways on top of you. The angle reminded you of an awkward pair of scissors: if one part of the scissors was ridiculously muscled for a student. 
You’d had little time to move your hands up to brace yourself against his weight. The air from your lungs whooshing out in laughter with your body struggling to recover from underneath him. And no, no you weren’t painfully aware that your hands could feel every well lined muscle under the fabric of his t-shirt. And no, you were not blushing. Not even a little. 
You were sure when Jungkook lifted his head up to look in your direction, he’d see the sinful glee you took in your awkward positioning. Instead, your lungs erupted into laughter. One side of his face perfectly smeared with mud making one eye remain closed and his right doing most of the work. He looked ridiculous...and cute. 
“You think this is funny?”
“I think-I think it’s the best thing I’m going to see all day.”
It took a few tries to speak through your laughter, but when you finally got the words out you couldn’t have been more proud. Jungkook on the other hand, seemed to struggle to keep the annoyance on his face. The first sign of a smile cracking into the mud that began to dry on his face. 
Jungkook moved to prop himself up - the action giving you the room you needed to wiggle out from underneath him. You were about to call it a success, a retort to an unspoken comment he’d yet to make. All of it came crashing down, however, when Jungkook’s mud covered hand rose from the depths and placed a long streak down your nose with his thumb giving an artistic sweep across your cheek. 
The marks he gave reminded you of those old western movies you’d seen. Warpaint covered faces of men getting ready to square off to defend their home from invaders. The thought seemed to match perfectly with the beat of your heart thundering like a drum inside your chest.
It wasn’t just because Jungkook touched you - on purpose - in a playful way. It had nothing to do with the fact his muddy hand was currently resting against your cheek. Or from the denial that it brought out a spark of mischievous happiness to ignite inside you as your mouth fell open to expose the sound of laughter. No, your heart pounded against your chest purely for the look that passed behind chocolate eyes and the soft smile that followed close behind. 
So, sure. In that instance it could’ve just been a plan old look. You weren’t a hundred percent sure it wasn’t more than just a look though, either. There was that one boy in first grade, however, who did give you an aggressive teeth-clacking peck on the lips during recess, but this was completely different. 
And because you were so uncertain of what it all meant, your only reaction was to lift your hand up from beside you and slam it palm first against his face. 
Jungkook’s face lit up in shock and you couldn’t stop the eruption of laughter that spilled from your lips. It was an immediate rush of joy at seeing his handsome face marked by your small muddy handprint that streaked itself across the plains of his face. Normally, you’d be mortified: waiting patiently to be scolded and made to feel small. Instead, the shock wore off his face in an instant. Jungkook’s eyes lighting up with childlike excitement as a giddy, “Oh yeah?” rushed between his lips. 
You didn’t have a chance to wonder what he meant before he reached into the mud and brought up a snowball version of the earth. 
“Oh, no you don’t!” 
Your eyes went wide and frantic giggles exploded free as your body struggled in vain to get out from under him. The previous joy of being pinned by his weight dissipating when that large mud ball found its new home smeared on top of your head. 
“Jungkook-ah!”
His own laughter rose up around you as your body began to move in earnest to get out from under him. When you finally realized it was pointless, another bright idea overtook you. If Jungkook noticed the renewed mischievous glint in your eye, he didn’t show it. 
He continued to smile obliviously down at you until the two fist fulls of mud you’d taken in both hands came crashing down on top of his head. It didn’t matter that your face caught some of the aftermath: the face he made was priceless. 
You didn’t get a chance to enjoy your tiny victory before the two of you were a mess of arms and limbs rolling feverishly around; the two of you playfully wrestling for dominance. The mixture of your laughter rising up until you weren’t sure where Jungkook’s ended and yours began. By the end of it, you were both resembling the pigs you’d seen earlier on the farm. Bodies fully covered in wet earth and lounging beside each other in exhaustion. Every few moments random fits of giggles overtaking the two of you until you realized you both needed to get back. 
This time, instead of the two of you refusing help from the other, you eagerly took it. The both of you worked together to reach the edge of the mud pit and, without further incident, pulled each other out. 
The walk back to the main barn was done in silence. In other circumstances, you would’ve been consumed with a need to fill it. The impending weight of anxiety would’ve flared across your skin until you would’ve blurted out anything. Small talk was never one of your strong suits, but a comfortable banter had somehow formed between the two of you. You knew if you started talking, Jungkook would respond. It was still a fifty-fifty on whether or not it would be a smart ass response or a real one, but a response nonetheless. 
You didn’t try to start a conversation. You chose to enjoy the reassurance that he was beside you. Your mind running through what exactly just happened and how you both ended up looking like bad impression art. You’d spent so much time stealing glances in his direction that you could’ve sworn you caught him doing the same. But who were you kidding. No one had stolen glances at you since middle school, and that was only to steal the answers off tests. 
There was no way Jeon Jungkook would be the one to break that trend. No matter how flattering the thought. So when you felt that knowable itch of being watched you found yourself surprised that Jungkook was indeed staring at you. 
“Are you cold?”
Jungkook’s question jolted you from your train of thought and sent you reeling into another. He was closer to you now. Close like you’d been while sitting on the bus with your shoulders brushing with every movement. Every bump helplessly sending you lightly banging into the other. 
On the bus you could easily play it off as something out of your control. But now? Now there was no good explanation that you could find to why Jungkook decided to walk so closely beside you. There was no way to explain away the way his gaze drew across your face like he’d save it to memory. 
“Well I am covered in freezing mud water.” 
You’d tried for sarcasm but your voice barely carried over a whisper. It made Jungkook’s head subconsciously dip lower just to hear you. The devilish smirk he was infamous for spread like wildfire across his lips. 
“I would offer you my jacket, since it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, but you see some crazy person pushed me into the mud.”
A scoff escaped you as your hand playfully whipped out to slap his shoulder. 
“Ya, Jungkook! You? A gentleman? That’s funny. What is also funny is the fact you got yourself stuck in the mud first. I just came to rescue you.”
“Rescue me?” He asked with an eyebrow coyly cocked. 
“I’m like your knight in shining armor.”
Tumblr media
A throaty laugh came from between his lips; sending his head back exposing his face to the sun. You were mesmerized watching him as the sun kissed down across his face and weren’t at all ashamed at being caught watching as he brought his attention back to you. A smile of your own growing to match the one he wore along with your mind fluttering in wonder of how he was even real. 
“If you’re my knight, Y/N I’m in a lot of trouble.”
You feigned hurt but couldn’t hide the grin happily splayed on your face and, crazy thing was, you didn’t want to. It felt impossible that the two of you were so giddy with each other. A strange familiarity brewed heavily between you to the point it felt like the two of you joked like this for years. 
Jungkook’s own smile enough to warm the chill that began to creep up your arms to expose goosebumps on your skin. The two of you fell into a shroud of companionable silence and continued to make your way back to the main entrance of the farm. Your heart skipping a helpless beat every time you feel Jungkook’s fingers graze across yours. Your mind hopelessly wanting to believe maybe, just maybe, he was tempted to reach out and hold it. 
You came back to the main farm and found your teacher and classmates impatiently waiting. The immediate shock your teacher showed at your appearance seemed to grow more intense until he came storming over: hysterical at your current condition. 
“What on earth have the two of you been doing?!” 
“They’ve been rolling around with pigs.”
You knew that tart voice anywhere and wasn’t surprised it was Amber that spoke. What did surprise you was how much you didn’t care with Jungkook standing like an equally filthy calm current by your side. 
“We’re sorry, seonsaegnim,” Jungkook began coolly with a bow. When he realized you were still standing a hand shot out to the back of your head to bring it down. You quickly slapped it away but kept yourself in a bow. “We got lost from the group and found ourselves stuck in a giant mud pit.” 
“It seems to me like you were playing in it,” the farmer chuckled. “I could hose them off before they get back on the bus.” 
His offer left heat rising to your cheeks. The sound of a sea of giggles making your stomach ache in embarrassment. You used the curtain of your hair to hide and hoped they’d come up with a different suggestion, but with a small shrug of his shoulder, Jungkook brought your heated attention back to him. A soft smile cracking the now dry handprint you’d left across his cheek. 
It was ridiculous. You both looked ridiculous, and yet, he was still handsome. You probably looked like a troll. 
“Hey Knight in shining armor,” he whispered. “It seems we get to take a bath together.” 
The sun couldn’t be anywhere near as hot as your face felt. The heat spread from red cheeks and down your neck until the butterflies in your stomach were out of control. Jungkook knew what he had done. He could see it plainly on your face and he loved it. 
You, on the other hand, wanted to hit him. 
And just like divine intervention your teacher did it for you. His curled up pamphlet struck down on top of Jungkook’s head, but it only made his smile grow impossibly larger.
“Ya! I don’t think so! We’ll have you go one at a time to clean up. I’ll look for something for you both to change into.”
Jungkook went first to be hosed down. The farmer actually allowed him to have his privacy so he could get into his more...private areas in peace. The clothes that were found for both of you to wear were old gym clothes thrown in a box in the storage bay at the bottom of the bus. You imagined they must have been thrown there for a reason. The colors were sad and faded down to a color that resembled the mud you’d fallen in. An even sadder rim of yellow wrapped around the sleeves the only hope of color in the terrible outfit you were now forced to wear. At least it was warm with the added bonus Jungkook somehow ended up with the shortest shorts in the box. 
After the two of you dried off and changed you were shepherded onto the bus. The place that held Amber and her minions now vacant due to the teacher demanding you sit exactly in the far back in their spot. He must have imagined it would be like putting two naughty kids in time out. The only effect it really had was giving you the chance to breathe and enjoy the solitude. 
Jungkook dug around for your earbuds inside your bag. Finally finding the small container and lifting it open. His fingers pulling out the left and surprising you by placing it gently in your ear. Your face must have shown this but Jungkook paid you no mind. He was busy placing the other bud into his ear; flipping the case shut and throwing it back inside to forever be lost until you practically tipped out your bag to locate it again. Oh well. A problem for another time. 
“Put on something for the ride home, Y/N. I trust you to be dj again.”
You wanted to tease him. To joke about putting on the YMCA or Macarena . The only thing that stopped you was the relaxed features of Jungkook’s face. The lazy way his neck rested back against the seat and his head languidly gazing in your direction. You tried to squish back all the butterflies that look gave you and a hushed, “Alright. Lady Marmalade it is,” embarrassingly came from between your lips. 
Your eyes were too focused on your music list. You didn’t allow them to look as he chuckled beside you. The sound light and rough all at once - demanding you give it attention. 
“Don’t make me regret it,” he joked. 
You kept scrolling until you found Deans’ “D (Half Moon)”. The soft piano and tone of his voice quickly filled the ear buds and by the soft hum of the voice beside you, you knew you’d pick a good one. 
You allowed yourself to relax beside him. Your right hand placing the playlist down between the two of you. Your body was so relaxed you didn’t think about moving your hand anywhere else. Your eyes falling comfortably closed as you continue to listen to the acoustics of the song and the even softer, and equally pleasurable, song of Jungkook singing along. 
When his left hand found its way down beside yours, you didn’t question his reasoning. The music held between the two of you and maybe he wanted to change the playlist. You let your mind continue to think that even after his finger gingerly grazed yours and found a home beside them. Both of your hands stayed this way the entire ride back to campus. Neither of you moved to change positions; lost to the sounds of the melodies of the playlist.
420 notes · View notes
Between Lust and Love 2/?
Summary:  You are standing on a bridge enjoying the view; Someone’s watching you from a balcony. The moon adorns your window; You adorn someone else’s dream. (Fragments, Bian Zhilin)
Rated E for explicit description of Zhongli’s wet dream
A/N: implied semi-public 3some
Chapter 2: I Adorn Your Dreams
-
The gentle and almost reverent touch of your fingertips as it ghosted through the skin of his chest was enough for Zhongli to be drunk on. The usually kept and proper funeral parlor consultant was lounging atop of his soft bed, his outer coat was left lying on the floor, his vest unbuttoned along with his white shirt. You sat between his legs, crawling on top of him with a sultry look in your eyes.
The tent of his pants was noticeable, and Zhongli knew that he would not be able to remove the stain of his precum as your other hand lightly touched his groin, all the while smiling like a vixen as you placed kisses on his stomach slowly making your way up, each touch of your lip sent an electric shot down his spine, making his cock ache for you. And yet he made no move to hasten you, he waited for you to serve yourself to him, an arrogance well-deserved for a man—nay, a god like Zhongli.
The way the soft orange light of his room illuminated you brought out your sensual side, the kind of eroticism that only existed between lovers found in stories, the red color of your hanfu was enough to make Zhongli think that this was the bridal chamber, and you were his eager newly wedded wife. The redness of your plump lips as it hovered before his lips tempted him to grab a hold of you, pressing your groin against his as he captured your lips. And that was what Zhongli did, the sudden friction caused by his hard cock that was pressing itself against your wet groin made you moan.
Opening your mouth wide enough for Zhongli to slip his tongue in and devour you, like a parched dragon finding a sweet oasis after a drought. Your sweet moans as your body surrendered itself to him only drew to make him want you more. Your clothes were removed from your body as Zhongli’s large hands explored the smooth expanse of your skin, he paid a particular attention to your chest, groping it and teasing it in the exact same way he had seen Childe done. His mouth had moved itself from your mouth to your neck biting  and kissing as he listened to the melody of your moans.
The broken call for his name as one hand groped your chest and the other gently caressed your thighs, sliding it open to rub your wet pussy easier against his hard cock. Your slick had drenched his pants and Zhongli let out a soft grunt of pleasure as you began to move your hips on your own.
His tied up hair was left undone, making it fall to the side and frame his face as he laid you on the bed, gently kissing your lips and committing into memory the taste of your sweetness. 
“Zhongli…” Your sweet voice called him and he smiled, you were such a sight to behold.
Your flushed face, coupled with tears that gathered at the edges of your eyes made his heart burn, the rapid rise and fall of your chest from the lust only made his cock harden further.
“Shhhhh” He comforted you as he placed a gentle kiss between your breasts before leaving a mark. He stood up and freed his hard cock from its confines, delighting at the way you drooled at the sight of it.
“Please...put it in already…” You begged, the innocent begging coupled with your lewd action of spreading your legs further apart and using your own fingers to spread your own pussy brought a tantalizing erotic sight that spurred him on.
“Anything for you” Zhongli replied as he grabbed his dick and slowly entered your wet pussy.
You moaned and your body arched as you felt his tip slowly enter, and then all at once you were filled with his thick and long cock, your toes curled in pleasure as you felt him move slowly before finding the perfect rhythm that made your mind melt from the amount of pleasure he was giving you.
The soft moans you let out, with the occasional broken call of his name made Zhongli pleased. He fucked you like the whore that you were, hands leaving bruises on your thighs with each hard and fast thrust he gave to your squelching pussy. 
“Zhongli—I—!” You came from one of his particularly hard thrusts, your pussy squeezing his cock so good that Zhongli came inside you. Spilling his thick white seed inside your pretty and glistening cavern. His eyes were closed from the pleasure of fucking you, the feel of your cunt and the sound of his name as you moaned appeased his inhuman side.
Zhongli let himself rest for a few moments before opening his eyes, to an empty room, devoid of you and any evidence of the lascivious deeds you had done together with him. The soft morning chirps of the birds outside his bedroom window, and the sizable stain in front of his sleeping robe made him pensive.
Zhongli sighed, and closed his eyes before opening it again.
“How am I going to face them today?”
While Zhongli pondered on his own day, neither you nor Childe were doing nothing. You were doing commissions for both the Mondstadt and Liyue Adventurer’s Guild while Childe was collecting information to prove your claim of Zhongli’s inhumanity.
Though you both knew that the Adventurer’s Guild was a strict non-partisan guild that held no ties to any of the nations of Teyvat, Childe also knew that it was an open secret within the Adventurer’s Guild HeadQuarters that you took private commissions.
Commissions that were illegal in nature, ones that were almost no different from the ones the Northland Bank occasionally did. So it hadn’t surprised the new recruits that you were to lead them for the day, Childe made no secret of his ties with you, though both you and him kept your romantic entanglement under strict wraps, that the two of you knew each other from birth was not unknown to those who knew to ask.
Your strength and undeniable mastery of your Cryo vision also led to the awe of the new recruits that was lent to you. It made your job considerably easier, more so since you were collecting information on the events that took place in Mondstadt, the Honorary Knight and the Dragon.
You knew how the Fatui worked, there was no reason why La Signora and Scaramouche would linger in the vicinity of Liyue. The Tsaritsa made sure to never let her Harbingers gather in one place for too long. 
‘Signora should have left after taking the Gnosis, there’s no reason for her to stay here this long and in hiding unlike Scaramouche’ You thought as you coldly watched over the recruits practice in Sal Terrae, ‘Scaramouche has been stationed here to prepare for Inazuma...there’s no reason for the two to linger, not when the entire plan has been ironed out.’
“Good job, Men!” You praised them, facade easily taking over your serious face “Lord Tartaglia would be pleased to know this particular batch of recruits are talented.”
Your smile turned sweeter upon seeing their pleased and puppy-like enthusiasm, “I’ll be sure to tell him that you lot are worthy of a spar for him.”
“““Thank you, Lady Columbina!!!””” 
You hummed as you looked in the direction of the dawn winery, the cogs of your brain turning, ‘Unless there’s another plan...one that my darling Tartaglia was not made aware of…’
As you played with this thought, the more likely it seemed, “Well then, as good as your battle prowess is, the Fatui must also be discreet in its dealings…”
The recruits listened attentively, standing straight as you walked between their ranks, inspecting them with the cat-like glimmer in your eye. You were living up to your fame as an S-class adventurer, you continued as you stopped behind them, smiling in the direction of Mondstadt and its repurposed castle walls, “For your next training, infiltrate Mondstadt without alerting your fellow Fatui and the Lord Harbinger assigned to it.”
You paused at their silence, “Ah, hesitating? How smart” 
Their unease could be felt in the air, and you couldn’t fault them. You weren’t a Fatui, you were just someone who was strong enough to work exclusively with one of their harbingers. 
“Face to the left!Face!” You barked at them, and they did so, “Face to the left! Face!”
You smiled at them once they were facing you, and yet the recruits could tell that despite the smile on your face, you weren’t smiling at all. You invoked a certain fear and awe, one that reminded them of Her Majesty’s Ever Winter.
“Lord Tartaglia would be pleased to know that this bunch of recruits can think for themselves…” You dropped your smile and leveled them a cold look, “Don’t worry, this training was meticulously planned by our beloved Lord Harbinger, Tartaglia.”
It was a lie but no one needed to know that.
“You have three days to prepare for the training mission, once you’ve decided on how to infiltrate Mondstadt, report to Ekatrina of the Northland Bank. You’ll be given your funds and then be dispatched.”
You left them and began your trek back to Liyue, Mondstadt’s wind gently blowing through your hair. You felt your good mood coming back, 
‘Ah~Today would be a good day.’
There were a few things in his life that brought him great unease, for Childe one of them was being subjected to your displeasure, the other was being on the receiving end of Zhongli-xiansheng’s unfathomable stare. And right now he was experiencing both, Childe cursed himself for forgetting his schedule.
He knew of your suspicions towards Zhongli, and he also knew that you understood Zhongli was necessary to achieve the Tsaritsa’s goals. He was lucky in that regard, you knew how to draw a clear line between your professional and personal life. It was one of the reasons why he had pursued a relationship with you. Beyond the love and bond forged from the harsh winter of Snezhnaya, whether he was Tartaglia, Childe or Ajax, the one thing constant among his identities was his love for you.
Which was why he had always done his best to make you happy, ensuring that you would live a comfortable and carefree life. It was the least he could do for being the way he was.
“My dear—”
“Mr. Zhongli, I know how lovely my Childe is but there’s no reason for you to intrude on our date.”
“Actually I’m—”
“Yes, our Childe is certainly a lovely individual, however our lunch appointment had already been scheduled prior to your arrival.”
“Xiansheng, I’ll buy you whatever you—”
“Oh? You’ve booked my Childe for lunch for his entire stay here in Liyue?”
“That-Darling it isn’t set in stone so—”
“Yes, after all is he not the diplomat sent over by the Tsaritsa herself?” Zhongli smirked, it was an uncharacteristic sight for him. One Childe hardly ever saw unless the man had solved a particularly interesting puzzle or problem.
Childe glanced at you and saw the hard look in your eyes, bit by bit the cogs of his brain turning rapidly as he pieced together your revelation and the information he had gathered over the course of the morning. Slowly the fog was lifting and the bigger picture was slowly becoming clearer.
He didn’t really understand what was happening yet but Childe trusted you, even though the churning of his gut was unpleasant... he could and easily stowed the unpleasant feeling away.
“Xiansheng.”
Zhongli turned and found himself the recipient of Childe’s charming smile, one devoid of any honesty. It was his business smile, often directed to the bank’s clients or in one particular case the Liyue Qixing.
“We’ve known each other for a while now,” Childe began as his hand reached for his teacup, “You aren’t the type to push something unless it was important.”
Zhongli could feel the temperature in the air change, and privately thanked Childe’s foresight to book a private room. On the other side of the table, you sat with your back straight and deceptively relaxed as you poured Childe his tea.
“Yes” Zhongli admitted as he stared at the floating tea leaves on his cup of green tea, he lifted his head to stare straight in Childe’s blue eyes, “I would like to offer a contract between you, your lover, and me.”
Childe blinked, his eyes staring at the odd glow in Zhongli’s eyes, one oddly reminiscent of a beast. A warrior.
‘Adepti’ his mind whispered. 
Childe wasn’t aware but the slow lift of his mouth, curving into a smile carried no trace of humanity, it was a smile that reminded Zhongli of the height of the Archon Wars. It was a captivating smile that took Zhongli’s breath away.
‘Ah, I really want both of them right now.’
Once lunchtime was over, the streets of Liyue was ripe with new gossip. In particular, involving the esteemed gentleman of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, the consultant Mr. Zhongli, the Childe of Northland Bank, and the S-Class Adventurer from Snezhnaya. 
The three had left Liuli Pavillion, you and Childe were flanking Zhongli, attached on either side of him in a suggestive way. That you had left both Childe and him with a kiss on the cheek only served to fuel the confusion. No one knew what had occured over the private room of Liuli Pavillion but the barely noticeable mark on Zhongli’s neck and the slightly disheveled look of your clothes and Childe’s knowing grin left much to imagination.
Previous || Next
167 notes · View notes
dreamingofaizawa · 3 years
Text
Powerful Ch. 3
Yakuza! Shouta Aizawa x Fem! Reader
*Mafia AU*
Warnings: Misogyny (not from Shouta), a dagger, kinda fluffy
Word Count: 3k
Author's Note: This took too damn long but here we are. Definitely coming out with another part or two, but the next one is gonna start at a huge timeskip so yeah. That'll be fun.
Anywho, Enjoy~
For Reference, this is the dress I describe in here.
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 4
*
*
*
For your second night with Shouta you find yourself lost in thought, staring out at the stars. The stress from before the meeting never disappeared, only delayed. Now it’s all catching up, and your brain is struggling to sort everything out.
Shouta could be on the receiving end of some very misogynistic and traditional clans’ anger very soon. You’re relieved that your future husband is nothing like them, but the backlash he could be getting just by bringing you to a meeting so soon after the announcement is frightening, not to mention some irrational clans may decide to split off and find a rival Yakuza to adopt them. Even so, that’s probably the worst of the outcomes. It’s unlikely you’ll have to worry about either of your safety, though there is still a small chance.
For the second time Shouta wraps his arms around you, surrounding you with his scent and body heat.
“I hope this won’t become a habit, little one.” He presses his cheek to the side of your head, kissing your temple gently. His presence is calming, helps your overactive brain slow down.
“I just needed space to think.” He hums, the sound reverberating through your body.
“What could you be thinking about so late at night?” You don’t really want to tell him, but you figured it’s better than keeping it all in.
“I just worry about the backlash you’ll be getting after the meeting today. This organization is a traditional one, and women have always been kept away from the violent and criminal side of it for centuries. To suddenly name an onna-oyabun, and a woman that previously held a low rank at that, you’re bound to feel some sort of repercussions.” He squeezes you gently, kisses your temple again.
“That’s what you’re worrying your pretty head about? I’ll be fine, little one. Let’s go to bed.” He’s right, you suppose. There isn’t a lot that can affect him or his position, so there isn’t a lot you need to worry about. You nod, taking your weight off of him to go back to the room. You’re a little surprised when he picks you up again, scoops you off your feet and carries you to bed. He tugs you into him just the same as the night before, and once again you fall asleep to the soft thrum of his heart.
The next morning you’re woken by Shouta again. This time you don’t immediately pull away, instead choosing to bask in his embrace a few moments longer. It feels like you’ve known Shouta for years rather than hours, having seen some of the most intimate and private parts of him, and all you want to do is dig deeper. But of course, there’s time for that later.
“Come on, little one. It’s time to wake up. We’re going to see your parents today, and then we’ve got another meeting to attend.” You hum lightly then push off of him, taking a glance at his handsome face before getting out of bed to prepare for the day. You choose a dress you hadn’t worn in a while, one that felt like it would fit today’s events, a flowing black sundress with a halter neckline. Simple black heels pair nicely with it, as well as a small black clutch purse.
You aren’t anxious about Shouta meeting your parents. They aren’t as traditional as most, ideals and views closer to Shouta’s. All parties involved gave their bows in greeting, even Shouta, and brunch went by without a hitch. It wasn’t the usual cringey romcom scene where the parents ask ‘why do you love our daughter’. In fact, they know that the marriage is strategic. Of course, Shouta had made his thoughts clear, that he intends to ensure the union is enjoyable for the both of you. His honesty made a small smile worm its way onto your face, though you managed to hide it well enough.
Soon you’re on the road again, en route to the second meeting. You aren’t too surprised that Shouta already has two scheduled meetings back-to-back after the gala, he is a busy man after all.
The venue is another restaurant, this one not quite as high-end but just as beautiful, the entire massive building shaped like a circle and a koi pond around the perimeter. A bridge is all that connects the sidewalk with the building. You and Shouta are guided through by a host, and out a back door where another bridge connects to a separate island in the extended pond, the structure enclosed with sheer beige curtains.
Again, conversation abruptly stops when you enter. You’ll have to get used to it, you suppose. You sit, and the meeting begins. The subject is mostly territory disputes, bargaining for territory extensions or swaps with the others, all of them trying to work out strategies that benefit not only themselves but other clans as well. You keep silent throughout, listening carefully and learning, taking information and analyzing it. There must be someone Shouta doesn’t like in the meeting, because when the most important details are worked through, he excuses himself to the restroom once again.
You wonder, briefly, why he’d choose to play the same trick a second time in a row. If he does it too often his plan would become transparent, though one could argue not doing it enough would be just as easy to read. You don’t know how often he excuses himself from these meetings, so you decide to leave it in his hands.
Fortunately for you, it would seem no man here is willing to speak about your presence. It’s been almost ten minutes and none of them has said a word to or about you, choosing instead to discuss territories a bit further. Though you were beginning to question why Shouta hadn’t yet returned. Surely one would get suspicious, and one did, glancing toward the main building. It was then you all shifted your attention to Shouta, who stood at the opposite end of the bridge speaking into his phone. So that’s why he’s taking so long.
And unfortunately, that meant these men were relatively safe.
“So what’s the woman doing here?” It was barely a whisper, but you could hear it even over the sounds of the pond. A glance up shows the blonde to your right had leaned over to the man next to him. He’s much younger than the man from yesterday, maybe in his mid-late twenties, his hair clearly not natural. The one he’d whispered to flicked his gaze up, catching your own, and shouldered the blonde who subsequently looked to you. He cracks a cheeky smile, a poor attempt to cover himself really.
“Ah, Onna-oyabun, it’s good to finally see the Black Dragon’s wife-to-be.” It would seem news travels fast, and the blonde is much less bold than the older man. You crack your own smile, a sickly sweet show of teeth that hid a venomous bite.
“The woman has a name. Please, do not be afraid to use it in discussion. And I will tell you exactly what I told the previous oyabun who questioned my presence. I am here because Shouta wants me to be.” His smile doesn’t falter, but his eye visibly twitches at your response. It’s almost amusing to see his composure slip. It’s less amusing when he glances back to where Shouta is still on the phone.
“With all due respect I’m not afraid, I simply do not feel the need. And my question was not directed at you, but at my associate here.” He loops an arm over the shoulder of the man he’d asked, the dark-haired man wide-eyed and nervous. You aren’t sure how to answer his quip without rising tension, but Shouta made it clear you’re to be commanding a room just as he does, so you choose to strike a nerve and stir the pot. For added effect you let your face drop into a deadpan, tilt your chin up just a hair and glare.
“Most would feel it necessary to use a person’s name or title when discussing anything regarding them, especially in their presence. Therefore I can’t help but feel you may not have any respect for me when you clearly should.” You could see the muscles in his jaw clench as he ground his teeth, his nostrils flaring with his anger. You nearly let a smile crawl onto your face at the satisfaction of knowing you’d angered an asshole like him with only your words.
“Maybe I don’t respect you. What are you going to do about it?” The man still under his arm stiffens, a hand slapping the blonde’s chest, his eyes locked on the entrance to the room. Shouta stands there, but the blonde seems to either not notice or not care. You aren’t given time to answer his rhetorical question.
“Nothing. You can’t do a thing about it, because you hold no power over me.” He’s elbowed this time, the dark-haired man trying harder to get the blonde’s attention off of you and onto the man he should be fearing right about now. To be fair, Shouta stands almost behind the blonde, who sits to your right, so it isn’t hard to believe he doesn’t see him. You just let him dig his own grave.
“And you hold no power over me because you’re a woman. A woman out of her place and on the wrong side of business, let alone holding a rank much lower than mine.” The man beneath the blonde’s arm had given up, choosing to bow his head down and stay silent. It’s Shouta who speaks next.
“I believe it’s you who holds a much lower rank than her.” The blonde’s face goes pale, his shit-eating grin dropping faster than a sinking stone.
“In case you hadn’t heard the news yet I’ve assigned her a title, and I expect you to use it. She may have asked you to use her name, but you should address her as Onna-oyabun any time she is brought up in discussion, regardless of whether or not either of us are present.” He strides up behind you and places a hand on your bare shoulder, just like yesterday. You can’t help but feel his positioning is on purpose, physically placing you in front of him.
“Are you ready to go, little one?” You nod, rising from your seat and taking a small bow signaling your leave. Shouta lets a hand rest on your lower back, guiding you out, but you overhear the same blonde whisper under his breath. You’re definitely not meant to hear it.
“The Dragon can’t always be around to save you, brat.” You both freeze in your tracks, Shouta’s eyes wide and nostrils flaring with anger. Before he can turn to react you lean in and whisper in his ear.
“My turn.” He raises an eyebrow at you, then nods, crossing his amrs and leaning against the beam at the entrance. You pivot, pinning the blonde in place with a glare. If looks could kill, he’d be in a casket. Slowly, you begin a steady pace around the table.
“I do not rely on Shouta to help me in these situations. In fact, I could just as easily take a piece of your tongue myself.” You’re on the opposite side of the table now, still taking long, slow strides and glaring down at the man.
“But it is so glaringly obvious that you lack the same level of intelligence I hold, and therefore I would feel guilty to rob you of a muscle that you clearly haven’t learned to use properly,” you stop, standing stock still behind the blonde, “However.” In one swift movement your dagger is stuck in the wooden table directly in front of the blonde, your manicured fingers curled around the handle delicately.
“Should I hear another demeaning or degrading word out of your mouth, I will not hesitate to stain my fingers with your blood.” He doesn’t seem to be reacting at all, whether he’s afraid or not you can’t tell, but you don’t let that affect your performance. You lean in, your lips nearly grazing the shell of his ear.
“You probably wouldn’t even get to taste my blade, but I don’t mind taking my time if you want to savor the tang of steel.” You yank the blade from the wood and sheath it, straightening your posture.
“Had Shouta chosen another woman for his wife you may have been able to actually hurt her feelings with your childish words.” You turn, striding back to where Shouta holds his hand for you to take.
“Unluckily for you, I’m just as volatile as my other half. Be grateful that either of us are merciful. You get to keep your tongue. For now.” It’s cathartic, letting out your anger like that. It’s unlikely that the threat will get you any sort of respect, but fear works just as well in your favor. Respect is something hard to find and even harder earned as a woman in a man’s world, but fear works better against an enemy that dreads change. You can’t help but smirk as you walk away from the chaos you left behind, and as you glance up you see the faintest smirk worming its way onto Shouta’s face.
____
His chest swells with something akin to pride as he waltzes away from the restaurant. He was wrong to assume you were averse to violence, had taken your level-headedness and cool temperament to mean you are not a violent individual. To assume you were either incapable of violence or unable to handle the intensity was obviously a mistake on his part. Watching the blonde freeze up and pale under your hard gaze was extremely satisfying, and he had to admit seeing such controlled rage and sharp words pour from you was enjoyable and, among other things, wildly attractive.
Shouta thinks he should let you handle these situations more often, let you have your fun, maybe even plot to have you purposely go just a little too far and have him reel you back in. Maybe then people may start to understand that you aren’t to be treated lightly, you aren’t just a means to an end, just a glorified housewife. No, you’re much more than that and if it takes bloodied words and bloodier actions to get it through some thick skulls, well, he’s sure you know he’s willing to go there and farther.
But for now, he’d settle with the occasional threat of taking a body part.
____
Once again you stare out at the stars, thinking about the day’s events. You’re almost bouncing on your feet, adrenaline still flowing through your veins. You feel light now, knowing you can take control of an escalating situation. Whether or not you can do it all on your own isn’t a real question. Of course you could do it without Shouta present. His existence alone is enough to ward off any violence directed at you. But it’s your own actions that determine how people will perceive you.
You let Shouta control the first meeting incident, mostly because you had no clue what was going on and no information to work from. Now that you know Shouta is listening and that there’s a purpose behind his absence, you can use it to your advantage and weed out the worst of the bad apples. With that information, and confidence that Shouta will not reprimand you--but will in fact support you--for getting mouthy with said bad apples, you could let loose some of the rage that made your blood boil. It’s freeing, taking entitled men off their precious pedestals and knocking them down a bit.
Shouta wraps his arms around you for the third time, burying his face in your neck and breathing in your scent. He kisses you lightly, feather light presses of his lips against your skin. It really does feel good, being so close to someone.
“I thought this wasn’t becoming a habit.” You sigh and lean into him.
“I’m not quite tired. Honestly I’m thinking about today. I’m still on an adrenaline high just replaying it in my head, the thrill, being able to finally get a word in.” He chuckles, squeezing you a bit tighter to him.
“I’m going to assume you’d never really been allowed to do that sort of thing before.” You nod, a small smile curling your lips. Up until now you lacked any sort of standing or power, and the rush is amazing, for lack of better words. Shouta hums then nips at the shell of your ear, his voice sultry and deep.
“Well if you’re looking to burn energy I think I could help you with that.” Your breath hitches, not prepared for such a suggestion. For a second you believe it, believe he’s really suggesting what you think he is, but you can feel his hands moving and before you can react he’s digging his fingers into your sides, making you giggle uncontrollably.
He’s laughing with you, enjoying watching you try to squirm from his grasp. He releases you, and you run over to the bedroom and duck under the blanket in an attempt to hide, but he only laughs.
“You silly girl, now you’re trapped!” He finds your waist through the thick blanket and doesn’t relent until you’re gasping for air and crying for mercy. He stops, finally, and pulls the blanket off your head. Your face is flushed, your hair splayed wild over the sheets and your chest heaving for oxygen. For a moment his mind drifts to dirtier thoughts of a similar expression he’d like to see. He pushes those thoughts away as you beam up at him, your smile reminding him of sunshine. Rough fingers brush away the hair that had fallen over your face.
“Are you ready to try sleeping now, little one?” You lean your head into his hand, nuzzling your cheek into his palm. The way he’s gazing down at you now, you know you’d never felt so adored in your life.
“Let’s sleep.” He lies down and you get comfortable on top of him, resting your head in the crook of his neck and wrapping your leg around his waist. His arms lock around you, holding you in place and he kisses the top of your head.
170 notes · View notes
super-predictable98 · 2 years
Text
Killin’ It | Assassination Classroom AU
Chapter 1: Welcome to Class E
Warning: People being ignorant about autism, talk about anxiety, mention of death and violence.
(Killin’ It Masterlist)
I can't believe you're starting your third year in Class E. Her mother's words kept echoing inside her head like the most hurtful mantra. She was also ashamed of herself, she tried her best to stay in class B, but it was no use.
Her grades were rapidly dropping, she had way too many absences due to anxiety attacks that only seemed to get worse after she started attending this stupid prep school, and tests always ended up giving her a stomach ache. Truth is the way the school worked made it nearly impossible for her to learn anything, let alone get passing grades.
The teachers would take away her fidget toys and comfort items that stopped her from going into sensory overload, they took away her earbuds and medication, they refused to excuse her when she was having episodes, and many of them actually voiced their concerns regarding her 'faking it' for attention or to get out of class. Still, the staff expected her to perform like any other student, but Mirai wasn't like any other student.
"My doctor requested additional time for my tests and assignments... But it's only for Math and Physics, I don't need these accommodations for other subjects. Actually, I placed second in Engish and Japanese last year, only behind your son and-"
"No, Miyazaki-san," Asano, the tyrannous headmaster, shook his head. "It would be unfair to the other students."
"Please call me Mirai."
"That's highly inappropriate, Miyazaki-san. I'm really sorry about your situation, but maybe you should consider treating your autism before you start year three."
"So you don't understand how autism works, this is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You don't treat autism, can you treat your complete and utter ignorance? No! Cause you were born with it and now you just have to live like this."
That sentence earned her a suspension, she would start a few weeks after everyone else and according to the principal, she was lucky to still study there at all. That's when she realized Asano didn't give a shit about any of them, they were simply numbers he could move around and play with. As long as the majority of the students were scared to be sent to Class E, he could fearmonger them into getting good grades.
"Miyazaki-san," a hand on her shoulder made her squeal. She didn't usually have an issue with physical touch, but she sure likes to know who's touching her beforehand.
"Could you please call me Mirai?"
"What?" the tall man with sharp features and dark hair grimaced. He was used by now to the girls hitting on him, but she didn't seem to have any ulterior motives of that sort.
"Nevermind..." she averted her gaze.
"I'd like to have a word with you, my name is Tadaomi Karasuma, I work for Japan's Ministry of Defense and I need to give you some information about Class E and your new teacher."
"Am I in trouble? Already?" her stomach twisted with fear. "Is this because of what I said to Principal Asano? I apologized already, I even wrote him a letter!"
"No, it's nothing to do with that, you're part of a very important top-secret mission."
She didn't trust the man, but he was the only one waiting for her at the satellite campus, it's not like she had another choice but to follow him.
Mirai quietly listened to the full explanation about the monster that would be her teacher, the same one who blew up the moon, the one she was supposed to kill with the help of her classmates for an insane amount of money.
"I'm really bad at understanding sarcasm or stuff like that, is this a joke?" she asked as Karasuma handed her a green rubber knife, a gun, and loads of tiny pink bullets.
"No, it's not a joke, Miyazaki-san, the world depends on you and the other Class E students. The weapons are harmless to humans, but they will work on him. You have until March."
"Okay, so no pressure then..."
"And you were saying you are bad at catching irony? You seem pretty good to me."
She didn't understand how she was supposed to do such a horrible thing like killing someone. Who would become their teacher after he was dead? Why did he choose their class? Why did he want to blow up the planet? Would he really follow through with the promise not to harm any of the kids?
There were way too many questions that she didn't have the nerve to ask before accepting the mission (not that she thought she had the option not to accept it). But it was too late to go back now, she was already an assassin.
——————————————————
"Hello everyone, before any assassination attempts, I'd like to introduce your newest classmate, Miyazaki-san!" Koro-sensei placed one of his tentacles on her shoulder.
That creature was gigantic, he would be intimidating if it wasn't for his big smile and gentle voice. Mirai never really understood what made someone look intimidating or scary to others, but she decided she liked his face (even if his mouth didn't move when he spoke, which was a little creepy).
"Koro-sensei, excuse me," she called hesitantly.
"Yes?"
"Would you please call me by the first name? I know it's not exactly appropriate for a teacher to use it, but I hate my last name."
"Why is that?" he whispered, thinking it might embarrass her to say it out loud.
"That's my father's name and he abandoned me and my mom when I was two. He never showed up or called again, I haven't heard from him since and he didn't even bother paying child support, so my mom always struggled to raise me. Hearing that name makes me really anxious and sad... None of my teachers ever-" she whispered back, but he didn't even let her finish.
"Don't worry, no one deserves to be reminded of something like that. It's okay," he said as he scribbled over her last name on his attendance sheet. "I'm so sorry, everyone. I made a mistake, our new student's name is Mirai-san. You can sit down, there's an empty seat right behind Okajima-kun."
"Thank you so much, sensei."
"Oh, and I saw in your file that you have GAD and ASD," his voice dropped one more time. "If you need any accommodations please let me know. During anxiety attacks you can always just leave the room to get some water or fresh air, you don't have to ask first. If you have a hard time understanding any subjects or you need extra time, different assignments... Don't be ashamed to ask for help. I also made some squishy fidget toys if you want, and I have noise-canceling headphones!"
Her eyes filled with tears, she couldn't believe someone finally listened and understood, someone finally cared. Maybe class E wasn't as bad as everyone was made to believe.
"Hey, I'm Taiga Okajima, so nice to meet you," the boy kissed the back of Mirai's hand, just like he had seen in movies and TV shows.
"Hi," she murmured uncomfortably, not really understanding that he was trying to impress her. "Nice to meet you too."
"You were from class B, right? I remember you," a somewhat familiar voice called from behind.
"Karma-kun," Mirai finally noticed his presence.
They had never talked before, they must've exchanged five words at most ever since they started at Kunugigaoka, but she knew who he was: the boy with the pretty eyes and the voice that gave her goosebumps, but a serious attitude problem.
"What? Surprised to see me?" he leaned back in his chair. "Do you have a fever or something? You're so red..."
"No! I'm fine, I just didn't expect. You've always had some of the best grades, I don't get why they would send you here."
"That's what I get for trying to help someone, but I'm happy," he grabbed the knife from under his desk and lazily played with it. "Now I get to kill a teacher and I still get paid for it! Aren't you excited, Mirai-chan?"
What did he just call me?
If her face was red before, now it felt like she was about to catch fire. Only Karma would ever feel he had the right to call her Mirai-chan after a one minute conversation... And she found she liked that about him, it was certainly better than Miyazaki-san.
"I guess I am," she turned around to escape his penetrating gaze, holding up her gun and aiming for Koro-sensei's head. She didn't want to kill him, especially not after learning how sweet he was, but if Karma was so excited about it, she wanted to show him she could. How hard could it be?
"Mirai-san, we have a rule about assassination attempts during class. Don't let your blood thirst interfere with your learning, understood?" Koro-sensei said, waving her gun in the air with his tentacle, that's when she noticed she wasn't holding it anymore.
"Yes, sir," she smiled to herself looking down at her freshly painted nails and perfectly braided hair. She heard that he was fast, but that was still unbelievable. "And thank you, I think this is really my color."
"I can do your makeup next time," he offered smugly, green stripes covering his head.
——————————————————
"So, how was it?" Kyoka asked as soon as her daughter walked through the door.
"It was good, mom," Mirai left her shoes and rushed to the kitchen.
"Good good or just okay?"
"It was great! I have a new teacher, he gave me this," she held up the small yellow octopus-shaped squishy toy Koro-sensei had made for her. "He's the best! Too bad that we have to..."
"You have to what?"
"Nothing, I was thinking of something else. Class E is actually amazing, nobody bothers us at the satellite campus, we have a handsome PE teacher who knows everything about fights, all the students are nice. I mean, I didn't talk to all of them, but all the ones I talked to were nice."
"What's that you have there?" Kyoka looked away from the vegetables she was dicing, her attention was caught by the green knife in her daughter's backpack.
"Oh! It's- It's fake, actually it's for PE, we're learning self-defense stuff, don't worry," Mirai pulled the knife out and bent it in half. "See? It's rubber."
"Ah, okay, you scared me for a second, I thought my daughter became a murderer," she laughed. Of course she wished things were different, but if Class E was that great, maybe the beginning of this new year was a blessing in disguise.
"Mom! If I were to kill someone I wouldn't be a simple murderer, I'd be an assassin and save the world!"
"Yeah okay... Go to your room and wash your hands, assassin, dinner is almost ready."
30 notes · View notes
ckneal · 3 years
Text
There’s a midam AU idea that’s been living in the back of my mind for months now, but it’s been slow going. Mainly because I suspect that doing the idea justice is going to mean doing more research than I’m used to, and maybe even rewatching the series proper to help me fill in some of the weak spots, and I have so many other story ideas that are frankly just easier to work on, two of which are already slated to be multi-chapter works. . . But I’m in the mood to type up something longwinded, so here we go. Keep reading if you’d like to see a rough outline of the first few chapters of this story I really hope to write out properly sometime.
(Warning, this is a long one.)
So, this story is loosely based on the Hundred Years War that took place between England and France from 1337-1453. But it’s only very loosely inspired. Very, very loosely. As in, I was reading a book, I read about one thing that happened, it germinated in my head, and then suddenly I had a plot developing that featured my current favorite ship. Additional sources of inspiration include one of my favorite fantasy series, and a personally beloved trashy romance novel. Because it’s fanfiction, folks. There are no rules here.
Of course, in this AU, the entire world is going to be made up, with neither side of the war distinctly being assigned the role of England or France—or Flanders or Burgundy, for that matter. I barrowed an inciting incident, and few smaller details from history to help things along here and there, but with no regard for keeping all the French things assigned to one group and the English ones to another.
That said, the inciting incident took its inspiration from the Battle of Poiters, a conflict during which England not only won against the French, but also took their king hostage. King Jean II was later ransomed back to his people, but at a sum that was so high, France could not afford to pay it all at once. England still returned France’s king, but new hostages were provided to serve as collateral during the interim, including the King’s son.
So. . .crown Prince Michael Shurley completely decimates King John Winchester on the battlefield, and sends his demands to John’s queen, Mary Winchester. The two kingdoms have been locked in a territory dispute for several decades, and this is one of the more humiliating events to befall the smaller kingdom yet, especially since they are unable to meet all of Michael’s demands. When the Winchesters begrudgingly admit this to the Shurley representatives, they’re caught off guard when they’re offered a trade: John Winchester will be returned, so long Dean Winchester takes his place as collateral.
Things are less than stable in the Winchester kingdom however, with more than a few factions quietly scheming for power. John and Mary were an arranged marriage that was originally held up like a fairytale when the two seemingly fell madly in love during their mandated courtship, but the years afterward had changed them. Civil unrest sparked by the war had brought out a lot of disagreements between the Winchesters and the Campbells and their approaches to governing.
John’s supporters are the ones to step forward with a plan, and convince Mary that it’s vitally important the people are not alarmed by their king’s capture. Mary initially finds it distasteful, but it’s talked around and adjusted and reframed, as John’s people ferret out more and more information about the vital party involved, until she finally agrees.
Because John Winchester just happened to have a bastard son. The resemblance to Dean might not be particularly remarkable, but no one at the Shurley court has ever seen the Winchester heir before. Plus, Adam Milligan has spent the entirety of his teen years studying to become a physician, of all things. He’s perfect for their purposes. 
Ten years prior, the Shurley court had had to deal with its own bout of civil unrest, when King Chuck Shurley’s second eldest son had attempted to overthrow him with the support of several nobles from one the kingdom’s richest providences. Lucifer had allegedly been driven into exile following his defeat, and Chuck had been said to have contracted some sort of mysterious illness. According to rumors, the king had shut himself up in his private chambers and refused to admit anyone apart from his remaining children. Even servants were barred from tending him directly.
They snatch Adam away from his studies and force him into compliance by dusting off an archaic law left over from before the start of the war, when the kingdom relied on a conscription military force rather than a standing army full of career military professionals—this law empowering the crown to call on any of its citizens for a minimum forty days of military service per year. They tell Adam that his mission seems more dangerous than it is—really, all he has to do is pretend to be Dean, and use his medical knowledge to figure out exactly what mysterious illness has bedridden the enemy monarch.
Sam and Dean—the proverbial heir and spare of the kingdom—are not at court to meet their younger brother, when he’s hastily fitted for a royal wardrobe and put through a crash course on court etiquette. Sam is very publicly put on display at a holiday festival in another part of the kingdom, while Dean is sent orders to quietly stay behind at a country estate while his valet, Kevin Tran, is sent on to court. Neither of the princes is told about the plan until after Adam has already been shipped out, with Kevin in toe to help Adam along with the impersonation.
No one involved is in anyway comfortable with the mission. But it was only supposed to be for forty days. Adam was assured that the necessary funds to pay off the ransom would either be raised by the end of the minimum mandated service, or they would make contact to extract him. The Campbells and the Winchesters both allegedly had spies in the Shurley court, and they would make themselves known when the time was right.
Adam is given the impression that the latter had been told to him with the intention of making him feel safer. It did not work.
He’s terrified when he arrives—almost would have preferred being promptly thrown into a dungeon upon arrival, instead of a room full of foreign nobility who one and all give off the impression that if cut they’d bleed straight silver, and look at “Dean,” the hostage prince and purported military genius from the tiny, vicious country across the channel, as a curiosity to be studied. He’s assigned two guards (who I decided will be Anael and Samandriel, based entirely on the tags I threw together at then end of this post, during which I decided that I love these three together), who follow him around relentlessly, but beyond that, he’s. . .pretty much treated like a guest. If a stiflingly monitored one. There are limitations on where he can go and what he can do, but for the most part he’s just sort of. . .there.
Most unnerving of all, however, is the small package that Adam finds in his room when he first settles in. Kevin swears he has no idea who left it. It has the Campbell’s insignia clearly worked into the pattern of the paper it’s wrapped in, and inside he finds a knife small enough to conceal on his person, and a number of different herbs and powders that he recognizes from his studies—though of course, he’s more familiar with remedies to counteract their effects.
In other words, he finds an assassin’s-first-kill-job kit, and instructions on how and when to use it, if opportunity arises. This had not been part of the deal when Adam reluctantly signed on.
Unbeknownst to Adam however—though suspected by some parties in the Winchester court—Adam cannot assassinate Chuck Shurley, because Chuck is not there. Shortly after Lucifer’s insurrection, Chuck had quietly disappeared. Michael had only been a teenager at the time. He invented the story about Chuck being ill on impulse, certain that Chuck would be back sooner than later, and Raphael had gone along with it because, being twelve years old, Raphael was not yet old enough to question Michael’s judgement. It is now an awkward point between them.
Adam soon becomes another.
Michael regularly checks in to see how Adam’s getting on, in a way that Kevin assures Adam is entirely appropriate, since Michael is under the impression that Adam is going to be a fellow monarch someday, and is likely trying to be courteous. Adam inherently feels somewhat flustered around Michael though, which is not helped by the fact that Michael is somehow always present whenever Adam puts his foot in his mouth socially. On more than one occasion, he’s thankful that almost no one has actually been to his homeland, allowing Adam to blame an astonishing number of fuck ups on cultural differences.
Michael and Adam’s early one on one interaction are intensely awkward. Adam will forget to wear gloves, and then Michael will comment that Adam’s hands are oddly devoid of callouses for someone who’d practically been raised with a sword in his hand, leaving Adam to scramble for some flimsy excuse about hand cream. Adam will inquisitively ask questions about what sort of illness would be severe enough to leave someone bedridden for a decade but not kill them in that time (Kevin frantically motioning over Michael’s shoulder to convey that that is NOT the right way to fish for details on such a sensitive subject), and Michael will struggle to find an excuse around the quietly bubbling panic, because he hasn’t had to try to explain anything about his father since that first year, and he is not a particularly gifted liar.  
And then there’s Raphael.
Unlike Michael, Raphael is suspicious of “Dean” right from the start, pulling Michael aside to point out things that don’t seem quite right according to what their informants have told them about Dean Winchester.
“Doesn’t he look a bit young?”
“Some people look younger than they are, Raphael.”
“I was told Dean Winchester had dark hair.”
“Dark blond is dark.”
“Aren’t his eyes supposed to be green?”
“They’re obviously blue.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
The forty days come and go with Adam and Kevin nervously waiting for some sort of sign from home. Roughly two weeks later, a messenger arrives with unexpected news for Michael’s court: the Campbells have officially broken ties with the Winchesters in a violent bid for power that has left the kingdom at war with itself.
According to Kevin, the civil war has probably slowed things down a bit, if it’s as bad as the rumors say. . .
Adam and Kevin are stranded.
“Don’t worry though—I know Dean, and he knows our necks are on the line. He’ll keep out of sight until they manage to get us out of here.”
Adam finds it difficult to put faith in the virtues of a brother he’s never met, but doesn’t have it in him to question Kevin’s faith. He worries about his mother, who might have been safe in the countryside, but also might have made the trek to the capitol when it came out that Adam had been abducted for the sake of persevering the royal family's throne. He can’t be sure.
And to top it off, Michael takes to stopping by Adam’s room every couple of days to privately talk about the movements of the various factions—who has been sighted where and in what condition, where they’re rumored to be headed. Adam interprets it as an attempt to shake out inside information. One day, Adam finally tries to set him straight by saying it doesn’t matter how many ugly details Michael throws at him, Adam can’t help him because he doesn’t know anything—and is promptly put to shame when Michael looks at him in surprise and says, “You misunderstand. I assumed that you would want to know these things, because they are your family.”
Michael leaves, and Adam’s guards exchange a look. When asked, Samandriel awkwardly tells Adam that the royal family used to have a fourth child. Gabriel. He was lost during Lucifer’s insurrection. Pirates overtook his ship. They’d never received a ransom. Michael had purportedly offered a standing reward for any news of Gabriel, and put an unwise amount of resources into searching for him until it threatened the war effort.
Adam and Michael start talking more frequently from there, starting with an apology on Adam’s part. It’s tricky at first, because Michael starts out asking questions about Dean Winchester's military exploits—it is the most likely common ground between them, after all—and Adam has to hastily change the subject every time. By the two month mark, they’re talking affably, and rumors start to circulate through the courts as Michael's routine check ins on Adam start getting less formal and more frequent.
On the four month mark, rumors get even worse. Raphael finally sits Michael down and really gets into all of the things about “Dean” that don’t add up, item by item. If he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t know anything about his country’s military exploits, he’s far too convincing given his reported record, and Raphael has it on good authority that more than half of those “cultural differences” in etiquette that keep cropping up are completely unfounded—and look here, three different informants have sent lists of Dean Winchester’s physical characteristics, and the foreign prince DOES NOT MATCH.
“Michael, something is not right here.”
“Fine, I’ll talk to him about it now.”
And Michael storms off to address “Dean,” while Raphael calls after him that he should wait until morning. Because it is the middle of the night.
Adam just happens to be up reading. Michael’s familiar with the book. Michael gets distracted, and they talk all night. The sun’s coming up when Michael finally leaves, and a servant happens to see him slipping out of Adam’s room. Suggestive conjectures promptly follow, and Raphael exasperatedly admits they only have themself to blame.
And this only gets worse, because now Adam and Michael have transitioned into being friends. No more guarded conversations where one is convinced the other is about to catch them in some sort of lie. When Raphael mentions that some of the lesser nobles are starting to think Michael and Adam are courting, Michael’s fidgeting is not at all lost on them, as Michael assures them that of course that isn't the case. He and Dean are merely establishing friendly relations that will serve them well down the road politically—
“After the war is over?”
“Of course, after the war is over.”
Adam’s been stranded in the Shurley court for almost a year by the time that he finally slips into his room and sees a sealed message set out on his bed. Adam doesn’t recognize the insignia as belonging to either the Winchesters or the Campbells, but it’s signed with the initials “SW” at the bottom. It mostly contains a lot of vague phrases that make Adam wonder if he was supposed to be versed in some sort of code. As far as he’s concerned, the only important information comes at the end: Kate Milligan has been safely relocated for the duration of the civil war.
Relieved, Adam goes down to dinner, where some sort of seasonal holiday is being celebrated, and has a bit more wine than he normally would. The Shurley court is one of those stuffy courts where seating is stiffly dictated by tradition. As a foreign prince, Adam’s assigned seat is at the same table as Michael, although, according to Kevin, his placement's much further down due to his being a hostage. After a few drinks, and after most of the nobles have cleared off from the table to talk and celebrate elsewhere in the hall, Adam sees no reason not to get up and relocate down the line of chairs to sit closer to Michael. It was against the rules, but Adam was aware enough not to sit in Raphael’s empty seat, and he’d been seen with Michael so often that Anael and Samandriel barely even blinked, because Adam obviously wasn’t about to attack their prince or anything.
However, it is worth noting that while talking to Adam, Michael consumes a decent amount more wine than he would normally have as well.
Later that night, Michael’s walking Adam back to his room, and he starts to comment that Adam seems happier than usual. But even when sober, Michael would struggle to say something like that—if he’d even attempt it while sober—and Adam winds up biting his lip as he watches Michael’s mounting embarrassment, as a simple compliment inexplicably morphs—words seemingly forcing their way out as Michael tries and utterly fails to stop them—into a compliment about how Adam is beautiful—that is, he’s always beautiful—that is, Michael can’t help noticing Adam most days—that is. . .
. . .Michael is adorable. And in a moment of pure, thoughtless impulse, Adam leans in and kisses Michael right there in the corridor.
Michael is profoundly shocked, and his reaction delayed. Adam had only gone in intending to briefly press his lips against Michael’s, but as he’s pulling away Michael abruptly leans in and reseals the kiss, and Adam in turn takes that as an invitation to pull Michael closer. And a few minutes later, Raphael happens to walk down the hallway and find the two of them enthusiastically kissing against the wall.
And Raphael promptly turns around and goes back the way they came, only stopping at one point to flag down a servant and order them not to let anyone else walk down that particular corridor for at least an hour, hoping that Michael and Adam’s “friendly relations” wouldn’t result in anything too inappropriate.
As it happens, nothing particularly inappropriate happens. Nonetheless, Michael still wakes up the next morning, fully clothed in his own bed, in panic because the first thought to distinctly make its way through the ungodly pain in his head is that he’d taken liberties with a guest the night before. The heir to a foreign power at that, a peer, a hostage! Michael never thought he was capable of something so dishonorable--he’d had Dean pressed up against the wall as if they were a couple of ill-bred urchins, and how does one even go about apologizing for something like that?
(Of course, if Michael were thinking clearly, he might have remembered that Adam had actually been the one to back himself up against the wall, with Michael obligingly following along, quite malleable to whatever positioning Adam wanted so long as Adam kept kissing him.)
Michael’s behavior was beyond unacceptable. If his father hadn’t already abandoned them, he’d likely disown Michael out of pure shame. There was no telling what kind of damage he’d done to the relationship between their kingdoms. At best, Michael’s uncouth actions would be a dirty secret between them in the years to come, after Dean married, and Michael was left barely able to look Dean’s spouse in the eye. If Michael were a lesser noble, his parents might demand he married Dean outright.
And suddenly Michael sat up in bed, realizing he could marry Dean. His mind begins racing, because of course he could marry Dean! It made perfect sense. They enjoyed each other’s company, and with both of them being heir to their respective kingdoms, their union would effectively end the war. It might be complicated—especially given some of the odd customs Dean had introduced to Michael’s court—but marriages had been used to cemented alliances often enough, and the thought of marrying Dean elicited a curiously hot feeling in Michael’s stomach, remembering the way Adam had pulled him close the night before.
(Fun fact, England and France actually did try to do this with the Treaty of Troyes in 1420; it did not go as planned.)
Michael goes through the rest of his day in an uncharacteristically upbeat mindset, because now it all seems to just be a matter of organizing things, and he is good at organizing. He would have to write to either John or Mary Winchester as soon as the situation in their kingdom settled, and formally ask for Dean’s hand, and he and Dean should have a chaperone present at all times moving forward to avoid scandal--though there would be no way to sidestep scandal altogether, of course. Adam was still technically Michael’s prisoner. 
More than likely, the Winchesters or Campbells would demand Michael relinquish his claim to at least half of the territories that they’d spent the last few decades fighting over, but that would be fine. It’s traditional in Michael’s country to give gifts to one’s in-laws, and Dean is a future monarch. Anything too little would be insulting, and all would be consolidated eventually when Dean and Michael assumed their respective thrones. . .
Michael is still walking around delightfully living in his own head when Raphael pulls him into an empty room to discuss what they witnessed the night before. While not the most shocking scenario they could have imagined, they were not expecting to hear their brother announce that he and Dean Winchester would be getting married.
“And how are we to explain away our father’s absence during the proceedings, Michael?”
Michael’s good mood promptly withers. Because of course Chuck would be expected to play some part in arranging his son’s wedding. Ill or not, at the very least, he would be expected to make an appearance at the wedding. To have no part in it at all would be suspicious, not to mention rude.
While Raphael intended to snap Michael back to his senses, they had not meant to shake Michael into an immediate depression. They try for a gentler tone.
“You know, Michael. Our father has been gone for over a decade. He left no formal plans, he's sent no word. By any standard, he's abdicated. Perhaps this isn’t the right time to introduce a political marriage. Perhaps we should consider your assuming the kingship, and then come back around to formalizing your relationship with Dean—”
Michael, of course, is against this. Because their father is alive, and he will come back, and it will not be to find that another one of his sons had greedily tried to usurp the throne.
Seeing Michael about to fall back onto a familiar tangent, Raphael chooses the lesser of two evils and takes the conversation back to “Dean.” They ask which out of the two of them proposed to the other.
Michael abruptly realizes that he's forgotten something.
Meanwhile, Adam starts his morning on a much happier note. His headache is less punishing than Michael’s, and while feeling the normal amount of embarrassment that comes with drinking a little too much, the feeling does not extend to kissing Michael. His mother’s safe, he’s nailing his Dean impression, and Michael apparently likes him. Things could not be better. Until Adam remembers how the latter two items on that list are linked.
Michael is not like a classmate back home, who he could chat up, get a drink with, and maybe start seeing regularly if all things went well. Michael is, in fact, the acting ruler of one of the most powerful countries in the world, which just so happens to be at war with Adam’s, and under the explicit impression that Adam is similarly situated in the world.
Adam promptly begins freaking out.
And then Michael finds him.
Adam’s in the library at the time. Michael walks in and quietly dismisses Adam’s guards, and Kevin, leaving the two of them completely alone. Adam doesn’t realize what Michael’s doing right away, though he’s spent enough time with Michael to recognize how nervous he is as he starts talking about a proposal to end the war—selling the idea, as if Michael wouldn’t be enough on his own—and then sheepishly tapering into the idea that both he and Adam seem to have feelings for one another. And if Adam were able to go back in time and strangle his tipsy past self, he would, because then he wouldn’t have to see the look on Michael’s face when he says no.
And no, Michael does not understand.
Adam can hear years of living in the public eye at work in Michael voice, as he just manages to keep his voice level in asking, “Even if it would mean peace?”
"I'm sorry, I just—I can't."
". . .I see."
Michael excuses himself, and Adam collapses onto a couch, assuring himself that no was the only right answer, and he shouldn’t feel terrible—which, of course, since Adam’s spent the last couple of months flirting with Michael while posing as someone else, is not an easy idea to buy into.
Michael and Adam avoid eye contact at dinner, even as Raphael—who has zero doubts as to who initiated what the night before—practically burns holes into Adam’s skin with the looks they shoot down the table.
And then a messenger comes in. One of the wealthiest duchies in the kingdom (the same one that had once supported Lucifer, and of course would be populated with demon characters in the narrative) has declared its independence, having formed an alliance with the Campbells, and has launched an attack not far from the castle. Several villages have already been attacked along the way. Michael accompanies the armed forces he sends out to quash the uprising.
Raphael is left behind to fortify the castle and take in the refugees, who the messenger assured them are not far behind. Unlike Michael, Raphael rarely saw combat. Officially, it was because Raphael had adamantly insisted on training as a healer rather than a warrior, which was true enough. Unofficially though, Michael and Raphael are both fully aware that if anything happened to Michael, Raphael is the only one left to inherent the crown.
Samandirel and Anael escort Adam back to his room. Samandriel assures Adam that no one thinks he had anything to do with the duchy double crossing them, but it would probably just be safer for Adam to stay out of sight until things calm down. Anael is more closed-lipped about the situation.
From his window, Adam watches the first of the villagers come trickling in, and even from his vantage point he can make out burn wounds, makeshift bandages and hastily thrown together tourniquets, and he’s in hell, because it seems the only two options in front of him are to worry about Michael, or feel absolutely sick with guilt because he’s a trained physician and he should be down there helping.
Finally he pokes his head out into the corridor and asks if someone can find Kevin for him. Anael raises an eyebrow that “Dean,” who’s usually inordinately self-suffice for a prince, is suddenly insisting that he needs to see his manservant, but Samandriel is already helpfully heading down the hall. A few minutes later, Kevin is in Adam’s room, confused, as Adam asks him to take off his clothes.
“You can have mine, just switch with me, okay?”
“Uuh. . . Don’t you think mine will be a little tight on you—”
“Less talk! Strip!”
Michael had probably errored in assigning the same two guards to watch over Adam. After a year, the three of them had gotten to be on fairly familiar terms. Adam waited until Samandriel started to get chatty, and slipped quietly out of his room when Anael was distracted—neither of them having had any reason to think Adam would try to escape, because he had been nothing but compliant since the day he arrived.
From there, he goes straight to the infirmary.
Raphael had set up tents in the courtyard to accommodate the high number of people in need of care. Adam was a year out of practice, but the atmosphere was still familiar to him, and he slipped into the chaos unnoticed. Raphael doesn’t notice him until they are well into the thick of things, and Adam’s as covered in grime and gore as anyone else present. Adam had just gone for more bandages and the two of them nearly ran into each other, and for a split second Adam thinks Raphael just might not recognize him until hand closes around his arm like a vice.
“What exactly are YOU doing here?”
Then Raphael notices the stitches Adam had just finished putting in for his latest patient—and Adam’s stitchwork is immaculate, not the clumsy, half-hazard work of a solider who picked up the mechanics of it over the course of their career.
"YOU did that?"
Adam starts to fumble out an answer, but they are interrupted because then Michael is being brought in. The fighting is over. Raphael and Adam promptly drop everything.
Michael has a concussion. He’s also been lightly stabbed. You know, just lightly. Needs stitches though. Raphael is adamant that Adam leave immediately, but Michael, who is delirious, sees Adam and absolutely refuses to let Raphael send him away. Raphael winds up patching Michael together while Adam—annoyingly, to Raphael—is sat next to him, holding Michael’s hand. Adam winds up sitting next to Michael all night, because it’s the only way to keep Michael from getting up and tearing his stitches like a feverish moron.
Initially, Raphael refuses to leave too, not trusting their brother’s suspiciously competent love interest, whose family was purportedly allied with the traitors who’d just attacked their people. There are still more wounded to tend to, however, and Raphael begrudgingly has to step away—making sure to leave orders that a guard be present in the room the entire time that Raphael is gone.
Little does Raphael know, Adam would have lowkey given a limb to have Raphael stay. Michael’s demeanor is a lot less closed off when he’s feverish and concussed. Shortly after Raphael leaves, Michael starts apologizing for proposing earlier, and Adam feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut. And as he’s lying there, looking at Adam’s hand in his, Michael starts saying things he would not normally blurt out—like that ending the war was not the main reason he wanted to marry Adam, because the last year has been the best he can remember, and it is entirely due to spending time with Adam—even if Adam was only there by obligation—and he would do anything to make Adam happy, even if they weren’t together—and Adam is just stuck there, highkey dying on the inside.
Then Michael sees his face.
"I apologize, you’ve already said you do not want to marry me, I should not have brought this up—”
Michael starts to get out of bed completely unconcerned about his stab wounds, and as Adam’s pushing him back down, the words “That’s not true!” just sort of. . .fly out.
Then Michael’s suddenly looking at Adam, and his face is suddenly very sober, and Adam can feel his own face turning red.
"That is, I. . ." Adam realizes, suddenly, that he’s fucked. Telling Michael the truth is somehow both the right and wrong thing to do at the same time, and Michael is definitely in no condition to hear it either way. “How about, if you still want to marry me when all this is over, then I’ll say yes?”
The next morning is a string of stressful events for Adam. Raphael shooed him out of Michael room at dawn, and Adam went straight back to his own. Kevin, Samandriel, and Anael had all been reprimanded for Adam’s escape, with the latter two being replaced as Adam’s guard under Raphael’s orders. His first interaction with Ishim and Maribel does not bode well for them becoming friends.
When Adam tells Kevin that he’s thinking about coming clean to Michael, Kevin panics. News from the Winchesters had dried up weeks ago, even for Michael and Raphael’s sources. Kevin argues that they’d be better off attempting to escape on their own if the charade was getting to be too much for Adam, especially after last night—but even then, they should wait awhile longer. Why take any chances right now? And Adam doesn’t know how to go about explaining the why. . .
And it gets taken out of his hands anyway, when they step out of the room and find that it’s somehow leaked that Adam and Michael—who had completely misunderstood what Adam meant by “when all this is over”—are engaged.
Kevin doesn’t get another moment alone with Adam to discuss how stupidly dangerous this whole situation is, and Adam, no matter how hard he tries—can’t seem to get a moment alone with his fiancé to try to explain that the situation is not what he thinks it is. Everyone had vastly underestimated how far the rumors about Michael and Adam secretly courting had gone, and Adam can barely take three steps without a noble or courtier or someone pulling him aside to offer their congratulations, and as Adam gets closer to Michael’s chambers, there’s Raphael, circling like a shark and Adam does not want to make his confession to Raphael before he sees Michael.
Come dinner time, Adam finds that his seat had been reassigned. He now sits directly to Michael’s left. He keeps trying to convince Michael to step out into the hall with him for a second, while Raphael, seated in their normal place to Michael’s right, continuously circumvents him, firmly believing that Adam has done more than enough in private.
Then there’s a scream. A servant comes running out into the dining hall, carrying a bloody knife. They run up to Michael—up until the guards step forward to stop her, but she’s not attacking. Instead she hands over the knife and says that she found in the corridor outside the king’s chambers. She had been worried, so she broke protocol and went in. The king’s bed was drenched in blood.
Adam looks over and feels a chill when he recognizes the same knife that had been included in the murder kit he found in his room on day one.
If Raphael had looked up, Adam had no doubt that Raphael would have read something in his face, but they didn’t get the chance to. Michael and Raphael are busy staring at each, the only ones in the room who know beyond any doubt that the implication could not be true, because there had not been anyone in that bed to assassinate in over ten years. Neither of them is given the chance to try to spin the knife’s implications in any direction, however. While the court is still reeling in shocked silence, a guard walks in—completely oblivious—and announces that a messenger has arrived with urgent news.
Adam looks up, and finds he has room to panic more, when he sees Anna Milton walk in, a serving maid in the Winchester court, and as she drops a curtsey to Michael, she identifies herself as one of Raphael’s spies. She had held her place in the Winchester court for as long as she could, but when her real identity had been uncovered she’d had no choice but to flee, and she’s come with monumental news. The civil war across the channel has ended, the Campbells having been forced to seek asylum with their allies outside the kingdom, John Winchester deposed, and Dean Winchester installed on the throne in his place. She had witnessed his coronation herself the very day they identified her.
And Adam feels very cold, as if his blood had actually managed to turn into ice, which would have explained why he couldn’t seem to move, as every eye in the room immediately turns to him.
 And that would be the end of part one.
87 notes · View notes
beyondspaceandstars · 3 years
Text
While You Sleep
Chapter 19
Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: n/a (we’re at happier days i promise) Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.
Masterlist | Series Masterlist
You didn’t have to wake up the next morning - you were already awake. It was a situation you hadn’t found yourself in in a pretty long time. Usually, you could power through, just take it like a woman, but last night had been too much. It went beyond just seeing Bucky’s actions. It crossed into a territory of feeling his shame, his hatred towards himself. You didn’t think that was going to leave you anytime soon. 
Due to the fact you were back on a regular schedule at work, you couldn’t ponder it. You felt like you had slipped back into the cycle except this time you were actually in contact with your soulmate. The prospects of it getting better fluctuated. 
After a quick shower, you tossed your bag together and began making your way out of the apartment. You were opening this morning at the shop alone and maybe that was for the best. No one needed to see you this exhausted. A couple - or dozen - shots of espresso should have you up and running for the morning rush. 
But when you began descending down the apartment building steps, you noticed a looming figure waiting on the sidewalk, looking towards the street. Your heart sank as you raced to the door. 
“Bucky?” You called out. He perked up, turning his head quickly towards you. He was sporting a bit of a black eye and cut above his lip. It was, without a doubt, him. You broke off into a run, throwing your arms around his neck. He welcomed it, pulling you in by your waist. You could feel yourself suddenly begin to weep.
“It’s me, doll,” he mumbled into your hair. His grip on you got tighter. 
“Are… Are you okay?” You asked as you pulled your head away from his chest to look up, inspecting the damage on his lovely face. His expression was sad and heavy. “I-I saw-”
But he cut you off before you could go any further, “I’m fine.” He knew what you saw. There was no need to dig up the grave.
You were relieved both regarding the fact you didn’t have to explain anything and that your soulmate was okay - or at least going to be. You relaxed slightly.
“I’m so glad,” you said. And you meant it wholeheartedly. “That was it, right? Those days are…” 
Bucky nodded. “Yeah, sweetheart. Hopefully, everything’s going to be a little bit easier now. Steve is passing along the news. From my understanding it’s going to take a little negotiating but... the Winter Soldier is going to be out of commission.” He let out a weak laugh but you didn’t find that last statement humoring.
“I never thought of you as the Winter Soldier. Not really Not - Not genuinely.” You sighed, your hand coming up to the non-injured side of his face. “You’re just Bucky. My Bucky. My soulmate.”
Bucky gave a small nod but from his eyes, you could tell he wasn’t fully convinced. He changed the subject swiftly, “Are you okay?”
You removed your arms from around his neck, almost wanting to put distance between you two, but Bucky wasn’t exactly letting up yet with an iron grip still on your waist. You settled for resting your hands on his chest.
“I’m going to be,” you shrugged. You just wanted to be honest. “Maybe it’ll take a minute or two but it’ll be alright. We’re going to be alright.”
Bucky gave a small smile in agreement before finally letting you out of his hold. He took a step back and then offered her arm towards you. You frowned, confused.
“What?” He scoffed. “Did you expect me to just show up and not walk you to work?”
You couldn’t help the smile that began spreading quickly across your lips. Without a second thought, you wrapped your hands around his bicep, moving in close to his strong body as you two started on the path towards the coffee shop. 
***
Amazingly, Bucky stayed with you for your entire shift. After you two arrived and you began setting up, you poured him a fresh cup of coffee while he grabbed the morning newspaper from the entrance stoop. He made himself comfortable at a table in the back of the shop where he sat reading the paper quite intensely. 
Just after the morning rush had died down, you got a bit concerned. Bucky was still at it, eyes roaming the words as he sipped his lukewarm coffee. You worried there was some article about him or that something from the mission was going to require more attention. But when you walked over to the table and peaked at the page, you found Bucky was reading the classifieds. 
“Looking for anything in particular?” You asked casually, trying to keep your voice light.
Bucky shrugged. “I was hoping there’d be some job openings I could apply for but I don’t know. I don’t think any of these places want a one-hundred-year-old ex-brainwashed assassin working for them.”
You frowned and glanced back at the front counter. When there was no sign of any customers ready to order, you sat down across from him.
“I don’t think anyone would turn down an Avenger,” you said. 
Bucky shook his head. “I wasn’t an Avenger, doll.”
You scoffed. “Fine. You were a freelance superhero.”
“I don’t know if that’s correct either-,”
“Bucky,” you sighed, “if you see something that catches your eye, you gotta go for it. Sure, maybe you’ll get passed on but, honey, that’s just the job-hunting process. Not sure if you had to deal with that back in the day or anything.” You let out a little giggle, mostly at the thought of teenage Bucky trying to man the counter of a store.
“I had a few jobs in my day, thank you very much,” He chuckled before folding up the newspaper. “Now,” he turned towards you, “when do you get off?”
You raised your brows. “You trying to pick me up or something, Barnes?”
His eyes shamelessly wandered over your form. You didn’t know what he was checking out as your apron wasn’t exactly the definition of sexy but with a little smirk, he responded, “All the time, doll.”
You felt your face get warm. “I’m off in a few hours, why?”
“Just wanted to take you on a date,” Bucky shrugged. “Said I was going to make it up to you when I got back, didn’t I?”
“Oh, Bucky, we don’t need to…”
He placed his hand over yours on the table. “Yes, I think we do.”
His look was serious despite the flirty tones. You weren’t inclined to argue. “Alright,” you nodded. “A date sounds lovely.”
After you agreed to a date, you gave Bucky a quick kiss before heading back to the counter. Your coworker had just arrived and was getting ready for her shift. From the expression on her face, you could tell she had witnessed your little love fest at the back table. You avoided her eyes as you started the coffee grinding machine.
“He’s really here,” your coworker whispered to you as she clocked in. You averted your gaze, trying to hide that blush on your cheeks that just wouldn’t go away. 
You nodded, “He is here.”
“How’s it been?” She asked. “Still in that honeymoon period?”
You moved towards cleaning the syrup bottles. “Well, it’s been quite the trip so far but I think we’re mellowing out.”
She hummed, intrigued. “If anyone would’ve told me after that day you broke down crying that you would eventually be falling head over heels for him, I would’ve said they were insane.”
“Yeah,” you sighed, glancing back over at where Bucky still sat, “it’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“That’s certainly one word for it.”
You stifled a laugh as a customer approached the counter. You jumped back into your job, your thoughts constantly wandering to your lovely soulmate sitting just feet away.
***
“Do you, like, enjoy surprising me or something?” You asked as you and Bucky walked hand-in-hand to whatever destination he was leading you towards.
Bucky chuckled, “I do get a kick out of it.”
Your shift had ended early after your coworker offered to take the rest of your hours. You had mentioned Bucky recently came back from an assignment and wanted to take you out. She immediately insisted you didn’t need to be spending your time serving coffee when you had a “gorgeous man” - her words, not yours, but you didn’t disagree - waiting. Bucky had looked so relieved when you told him you were off early, immediately grabbing your hand. 
The scenery became familiar. Confusion rushed over you as he stopped in front of the compound. You frowned, not sure this was the super cute romantic date you thought he had planned. 
Bucky must’ve noticed your disappointed look as he quickly explained, “I just need to grab something.”
You nodded, following him into the lobby. He asked you to wait right there then he was off. You stood around a bit awkwardly as it appeared to just be you and the front desk lady. She gave you a wave in greeting. You waved back. You felt a bit unsure if you should approach her, though. The past times you were living at the compound, you either never saw her or were too distraught to stop and chat. You did notice sometimes Steve would talk to her and even Bucky would say hello. 
“You’re Bucky’s soulmate, right?” The lady asked. You jumped, completely caught off-guard by her question.
“Oh, um, yeah,” you nodded, fumbling with your fingers awkwardly.
“Sorry, I don’t think I ever introduced myself. I’m Ella, the secretary.” 
You gave a small smile and shared your name with her. “Nice to meet you, Ella.”
You two had fallen into a bit of an awkward lull but luckily Bucky reappeared moments later. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, his metal arm gripping its strap tightly. You wanted to ask what it was but before you could, he was grabbing your hand and exited the building. He called goodbye to Ella. 
“She seems nice,” you said as you continued to let Bucky guide you.
Bucky nodded. “I think she and Steve have something going on.”
“Hm, good for him,” you said.
You didn’t press any further, instead turning your attention back to wherever Bucky was taking you. You appeared to be making your way out of the city now, coming up on some park area. There wasn’t much around besides a chain coffee shop - one that could never match your place of employment. You had quite the brand loyalty. But Bucky walked right past it all, heading towards the pond in the center of the park.
Eventually, he stopped in the middle of the park lawn, just coming up to the edge of the water. You glanced around, only finding trees and the occasional chirping bird. You two appeared to be the only ones out today. You never recalled being around here before, usually not one for just hanging out in nature. 
Bucky, though, seemed fairly comfortable. He knelt down, placing the backpack beside him. He began unpacking it revealing a blanket and containers… A picnic, it dawned on you. He was setting up a picnic for you two. 
“Y-You planned a picnic?” You asked shyly as you sat on the blanket, watching Bucky spread out the packages of food. There were sandwiches, fruits, salads… 
Bucky blushed. “Well, I had some help from Steve but… Yeah, I wanted to do something a little different. I-I hope this is okay.”
You wanted to speak. You wanted to say that it was perfect. That he was perfect. That he was way better beyond your wildest dreams. That the nightmares you endured never, ever came close to representing who he truly was. That he was so much more than them. 
But words were failing you greatly so you took a spontaneous chance. A chance you never thought you'd be taking, not after everything you had endured. But you did and it somehow felt right.
You leaned over the blanket, over the lovely food that had been prepared, and snaked your arms around his neck. Bucky began to ask what you were doing but you quickly silenced him by placing your lips on his, all hot and needy. 
He was visibly surprised but reciprocated the action effortlessly. His arms came around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You let out a moan as you climbed into his lap, refusing to break the kiss. 
It was Bucky who eventually had to pull away for a second. He could feel where this kiss was going. And you playing with the ends of his hair wasn’t helping his situation. “W-We- We’re in a park, doll.”
You began littering his neck with kisses. “No one’s around,” you hummed. 
“The food-,”
“James,” you practically growled. 
Bucky chuckled, lowly. Dangerously. “You’re going to be the death of me.” His lips found yours seconds later. 
***
As you two laid in your bed later that night, you couldn’t believe how this, how everything, was panning out for you. Your mind shamelessly replayed your little park adventure which, yes, did eventually end with you two eating the food. But it had also lit something within you. You felt like you had after your first date all over again but stronger. Better. There were miles and miles to go on the recovery front but you could feel yourself getting somewhere. 
You shifted closer to Bucky who had fallen asleep a while ago after another round of glorious lovemaking. You just about lost track of how many times you two had gone at it today. 
You had just about surprised yourself with your boldness. The actions of sex were no longer scaring you as if you needed that push back into it. You don’t know what has caused it but there was a fire lighting in you. You probably could give some credit to therapy and time, healing time. The future was upon you. Everything seemed possible.
Softly, you leaned over and placed a kiss on Bucky’s lips causing him to stir a bit in his sleep. 
Groggy, he mumbled, “Everything okay?”
You placed your head on his chest. His arm came around your shoulder, whisking you in tightly. You sighed. “Yeah, Buck, everything’s okay.”
He hummed. “Good night, doll.” 
“Good night,” you whispered back. 
It took a bit of psyching yourself up but you eventually closed your eyes, trying to let sleep find you instead of you chasing it. 
Darkness filled your vision. And then there was Bucky.
67 notes · View notes
wrctings · 3 years
Text
enjoy some jean hurt/comfort <3 i have such strong feelings about supportive boyfriend jean, i believe he has self-esteem issues so he would always do his best to try and lift his partner’s spirits because he knows how painful it is to feel like you aren’t good enough
Tumblr media
Your fingers gently ran upon the horse’s rough brown coat, lengthily stroking its muscular neck, then flank, petting your trusted companion with all the care you could snatch away from a whirlpool of unresting thoughts. Coming to the stables whenever you had a short break and needed to clear your head had become a habit of yours soon after you first joined the Cadet Corps, finding that caring for the troops’ horses was, of all jobs, the one that better succeeded at putting one’s mind at ease. Though you couldn’t sneak out food—Sasha’s joy being worth the risk!—, unlike when designated for mess duty, nor glimpse through slits in cupboards and doors to your curiosity’s content like whenever you were assigned to cleaning, visiting the horses always came with a sense of peace cast on you by the presence of the loyal stallions that would affectionately nudge your raised hand or acknowledge your presence by a quiver of the ear, watching you walk up to them with a profound and voiceless understanding in the depth of their dark pupil. You had jointed the military for the sake of humanity—but sometimes, the weight of what lay ahead for young Cadets such as yourself hunched over you so heavily that the urge to get out burned every sore muscle in your body. Your experience in the field amounted to a near-death mission with your fellow 104th soldiers; a mission during which you had barely been able to get a hold of your actions, let alone your fear, so how could you trust your abilities knowing that all you'd ever done was memorize information, practice hand-to-hand combat and learn to ride a horse, only to find yourself barely able to twitch a frightened limb when you confronted Titans for the first time? When tumbling down into the flames of hell, what could you do? What would you do when you’d have to go back?
“I guess today’s just not too good,” you murmured to your horse, your hand absentmindedly running over its nape; your gaze dropped, out of focus. “And look at me, taking care of you when I might send you to your death... I wish I could promise you that I’ll always protect you, but the truth is, I don’t have the faintest idea what it’s like out there,” you admitted so quietly, the horse’s audible breathing must’ve drowned out your sorrowful confession. “I guess today’s just not really good.”
You attempted to give the animal a reassuring smile, but it came out crooked, disheartened. Your hand slipped from its side, and your body gave in, sliding down into a sitting position. 
“Y/n.”
Just as your eyes had closed, your breath slow and shaky, out of tempo, you were called back into the picture you so desperately hoped to abscond; if only for a minute’s eternity, if only for an instant’s strike of oblivion...
But there, hope itself came to you.
There was the tranquil earthy path that wind up to the stables, the green crowns of leaves nodding off in the late afternoon breeze, shuddering lazily, and the horses shaking their mighty manes. And there was Jean, at the front of the picture, setting on you hazel eyes bright with concern and taking a seat beside you. 
“Jean? What are you doing here?”
Jean, whose sole name crushed your heart into a billion sharp pieces, leaving you trembling with terror in the middle of the night, when the story would repeat itself all over again in the dark, when you saw yourself coming face to face with Titans again, paralyzed with gut-wrenching fright... Because what if when the time came, you wouldn’t be able to save him?
“Hey, I could ask you the same,” his hand instantly rubbed your forearm, the young man pressing a worried kiss into your temple. “I... I don’t know, I felt a bit weird. I thought I’d come here and hang out with the horses for a bit.”
“Join the club,” a sad chuckle of yours brushed Jean’s jacket, your head falling upon his shoulder, which he made available to you by slouching his tall frame; his fingers still worked their way over your arm, circling comfort into your tired body. 
You wrapped your other arm around Jean’s torso, silently asking him to come closer, and he took you in his arms, pulling you toward him, his lips leaving an imprint on the top of your head. “I’m here.”
“I’m sorry. I... To tell you the truth, I have no idea what’s going on. Does any of this even make sense?”
Jean’s eyes widened, as if you had stricken a blow to his chest; he had never heard you—the luminous, hopeful, and kind you—talk with such blunt defeat breaking the usually inspiring melody of your voice. 
“Of course it makes sense, Y/n. You feel down, so you came here, it’s—”
“That’s not what I meant, Jean. I mean, what we do, does it even make sense? Lately, it seems we’re not going anywhere. We barely survived last time. Look at me, am I in any shape to fight Titans? I can barely hold myself together. Back there, when I saw them this close I... It’s like I forgot everything we were taught. I wanted to run and hide, hell, I didn’t even think about humanity. When I joined, I wanted to make my life meaningful. But what if the truth is, there’s no chance at winning, and everything, including this—our lives, this fight—is nothing but a waste of time?” 
The arms holding you tightened, as if you were threatening to slip away from them any instant, swept away by the wind, blown to pieces if Jean let you go...
“You know, Y/n, I was shitting myself back there. I had no control over the situation, and even less control over myself. For all that big talk... I was a coward,” Jean's smile arched in a sad curve, armor of pride crumbling down. “A coward, through and through. I wanted to save myself, and you guys too, but my fear was stronger than anything else. If Marco hadn’t been there to knock some sense into me, I don’t know what stupid thing I’d have done.”
“Hey, you’re far from being a coward,” your heart squeezed painfully at the thought of your boyfriend’s self-doubt, and you broke away from his grip to run your thumb over his cheek, tracing there the paths that guided your words straight to his tormented soul. “You overcame your fear, without you leading us, we wouldn’t be here today. You’re braver than you think, Jean.”
“But so are you. You may think you didn’t do much when we confronted those Titans, but that’s far from the truth. Remember how you helped Armin come up with a plan beforehand? And when you made sure to check up on everyone after we made it out alive, and how you chose the safest route to get us out? And you’re amazing in training. That time none of us knew what we were really in for, but now we do. Next time, you’re going to show these monsters how we do it in the 104th, yeah?” Jean’s kiss trailed on your forehead before leaving a soft prickle upon your lips, his hands resting on your back like the warm breath of an everlasting fire, thawing the icy swords of despair that pierced through you. “To me, you’re already everything I wish I could be.” 
Leaving a quivering thank you on the back of Jean’s hand, where you kissed it intensely, the whinny of a nearby horse suddenly took you both by surprise, bringing the stables back to life all around you.
“Look, the horses agree with me,” Jean’s fond smile met your gaze, the boy gesturing toward the talkative animal. 
“I love you.”
“Are you talking to me or them?” The boy grinned, playfully pushing your head with his.
“Although I’m very fond of these horses, I have to admit there’s one among them I love most of all. That would be you, horse-face,” you smiled back at your boyfriend, pulling him into another kiss; lighter and youthful, like you were meant to love at fifteen, in a world less cruel.
“I love you too. It’ll be dinnertime soon, do you want to go?” Jean offered kindly, taking your hand in his to help you get up.  
You followed the track leading you away from the stables, Jean’s arm securely put around your shoulders, keeping you by his side, and he took care of talking your affliction away with some funny thing he had noticed in the boy’s barracks, of course covering the subject of Bertholdt’s sleeping position thoroughly. 
Hope, some might say, is what one holds dearest to heart regarding the future—one’s dreams, one’s projected happiness, the ticklish and fizzy feeling one might encounter when trying to glimpse a distant good time in the fleeing fabric of time. Or maybe hope is that one overwhelming pang to the chest—the one pushing you forward when all seems lost, making you hold on for dear life with all broken set of nails because what if something you’d never heard of yet might be worth all the goddamn pain? Maybe hope doesn’t belong in a shape, or a dream, or something one might grasp; perhaps hope is, after all, just that one pang. A pang strong enough to keep you going for another day, and then another one. For you, it came from the boy who sat beside you and gave you something to look forward to; something as simple as the wish to see him the following day.  
52 notes · View notes
mardereads19 · 3 years
Text
Elriel Month 🌸🦇
Day 9:
Tumblr media
“You’re a quick learner,” Azriel said, watching the way Elain stepped forward with her left foot. “However, you still tend to drop your heel, which makes a shuffling sound and gives you away.”
Elain froze and glanced at him with a small frown. Azriel fought to keep his lips from twisting in a smile, her cheeks were tinged red with frustration. “I don’t understand,” she replied.
Az nodded once. “I’ll show you.” Elain turned her body towards him as she tucked a strand of her hair behind an ear. He forced his eyes away and got into position while Elain observed silently.
He bent his knees just enough to alter his center of gravity while still looking as if he were standing perfectly straight. Then he shifted all his weight to his right leg and moved his left foot forward. Elain followed the movement with her eyes. “Observe how my feet lands. Toes, balls and slowly the heel.”
Elain blinked as he repeated the movement with his other foot. Her head tilted contemplatively. “Do what I am doing.” Azriel went to step again, but just before his toes touched the floor, he dropped his heel and slid it against the ground. He finished the rest correctly. Elain blinked again, tapping one of her fingers to her arm and biting her lower lip before nodding. She turned towards the river again. “Let me try one more time.”
All the times you need, Azriel wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Go ahead.”
Elain shifted on her feet, getting used to the different center of gravity, before stepping forward. He couldn’t see beyond the arch of her feet due to the hem of her dress, but he knew she hadn’t scrapped the floor with the heel of her shoe because he didn’t hear anything. She looked at him and he gave her an appreciative nod.
She smiled and stepped forward again. No give away. When he didn’t say anything, she kept going. And kept going. And when she got to the sidewalk that bordered the river, she turned east and kept going. Azriel followed silently, observing how she gradually began to pick up speed until she was in a normal walking pace. Noticing how her hair shined in the early morning light. Getting distracted by the dazzling smile she had on her face. A smile that made his heart speed up and his shadows lighten.
He only came to a stop because she did. But the cauldron knows he could’ve walked for hours next to her.
She exhaled, her eyes closing as she basked in the sun’s first rays and the breeze swayed her hair. Seeing her like that... It took his breath away. Azriel wanted Feyre to paint Elain like this.
“Tell me what are you thinking of, Spymaster,” she whispered.
You. “Did you know that there are more give aways to your emotions than only the way you walk?”
Elain opened her eyes to glare at Azriel, a playful smile on her perfect lips. “Are you always thinking about work?”
Azriel chuckled. “Most times.” He’d always been a good liar.
Elain held his gaze, her big brown eyes reading his. She knew he was lying. Finally, she looked away. “Okay, tell me what other give aways I have.”
“You tap your fingers against your arm when you are frustrated, you bite your lip when you’re nervous, and you fidget with your skirt when you’re afraid.”
“No, I—” She glanced down at her hands where she was tapping her fingers to her arms. She dropped them by her sides and looked back at his face.
Then she laughed, her eyes scrunching shut as she turned her head.
Azriel took a step back. The sound was so divine he wanted to play it again. Her face was so lovely, caught up in an expression of joy. Azriel had no words to describe her at that moment. A piece of art. The embodiment of all that was lovely and good. The light of a thousand suns and moons and stars. Joy. Love. Light. Peace. Soft. Strong. Proud. Mate.
Mate—
She had a mate.
Azriel seldom forgot about that. But sometimes—
He drowned his thoughts those sometimes.
“What give aways do you have?” She asked as she began walking again, keeping up her practice.
Az flanked her at a farther distance. She kept going as if she didn’t notice. “I don’t have any.”
Elain smiled at him over her shoulder. “I don’t believe that.”
Azriel’s lips twisted upward. He let his wings expand to take a little of the sun’s early glow. “You can ask Rhys or Cassian. It’s how I win all the time at cards.”
Elain grinned, stepping closer to him. “You guys really have that found family thing down.”
Azriel considered. “Cassian and Rhys are my brothers. It is not blood that determines that sort of thing, no matter who says otherwise.” His blood related brothers never treated him like his real, chosen brothers did. Blood is not always the guarantee of love.
Elain slowed down, but she nodded. Azriel wondered if she was thinking about her own sisters. He saw her bite her lower lip, and then he averted his eyes.
“Can I tell you something personal?”
Azriel turned to Elain. His gaze dropped back to her lips as she worried away the lower one. She noticed and blushed.
“Sorry, I forget.” She exhaled.
She thought he was thinking about give aways at the moment. Good.
She looked around, noticing how far away they had come from the river house. “Perhaps we should turn back.”
He nodded, but his feet kept glued on the pavement even as she took on her walk back to Feyre and Rhys’s estate.
“Elain,” he called after her. She turned, flushed in the face. “What did you want to tell me?”
Elain ducked her head for a second, but she seemed to think better of it and raised her chin. Though her small gesture was meant to look like she was being courageous, her red cheeks and the way her yes dropped from time to time gave away that she felt silly by speaking her mind about the subject. Azriel wanted to tell her that nothing she could say would make him think of her as silly.
“I think that, if I ever decided to have children, I would like to adopt.”
Azriel did not move. His whole being froze and his head went quiet. She was talking about children, about a future.
A future she would get to live out with her mate.
Only if she wanted him.
Did she want him —Lucien?
Up until a few months ago, Azriel had been ignoring that, hoping it’d be him she’d want. Azriel.
But now... After she gave back the necklace he had gotten her? After he left her in the hall awaiting her kiss?
Who do you see in your future, Elain?
“I think there are so many kids out there who are deserving of a home, deserving of love.” She looked around, out at the city across the river. “Some parents are terrible at their job.”
She looked pensive. Azriel knew she must be talking about her mother, whom had a favorite.
Azriel nodded. He understood. He agreed. His father had never been good at his job —at least with Azriel.
Hell, Feyre and Nesta would both agree, too. Understand.
Lucien would agree. He would understand.
Azriel pushed away the need to punch something —someone— and began walking towards her.
“I think your decision makes a lot of sense.”
Elain’s eyes filled with light. “You think so?” He dropped his chin in another nod. They began walking again, making their way back. She was smiling once more, and it made Azriel’s tension slowly vanish.
“Fix your walk,” he reminded her. Her heel had resumed scrapping the ground.
Elain glanced down and adjusted her walk again. Shyly, she threw a glance his way. “What about you? What are your plans regarding a family?”
Azriel kept his voice neutral as he answered, “I’ve never considered it. It doesn’t really matter.”
Elain just blinked at him, her shoulders dropping a little. “What do you mean?”
Azriel shook his head. “When we get back, your assignment will be to use your silent steps to sneak up on Rhys.”
Elain stared at him knowingly, but he didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he focused on Elain’s garden getting closer. Elain finally looked forward and answered, “I already do sneak up on him.”
Azriel couldn’t hold back his quick laugh. She was right, of course. The fact that she sneaked up on him in his office had been the reason Rhys had assigned Azriel with training her in the first place. “Well, I want you to keep doing it. It’ll be harder each time because he’ll be watching out for you and expecting it.”
Elain’s smirked. He knew what that meant.
Challenge accepted.
57 notes · View notes
clairenatural · 4 years
Text
destiel, 2k. mafia!Cas/Kingergarten teacher!Dean from an anon prompt for mafia!dean or Cas protecting the other at all costs. I’m not entirely sure what this turned into but it was fun to write so I hope it’s also fun to read :) it references stuff that happens in 12x10, Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets.
“Sir, we have a problem.”
Castiel sighs. His five least favorite words. He glances up, frowning at Inias. “What kind of problem?” He doesn’t add that it had better be important to justify the younger man barging into his office like this, but it’s implied.
Inias takes a deep breath before stepping fully into the room, letting Castiel’s glass office door shut behind him. “The DA’s office is refusing to back down on the Ishim case.”
“And you paid them the standard amount?”
“Yes, sir. But one of the DDAs refused it.”
“Refused it.”
“He’s new. He doesn’t understand our arrangement.”
“Hm.” Castiel closes his laptop and leans back in his chair, considering both the situation and the man in front of him. They hadn’t had a problem with the DA in years—at least, not since Castiel had taken over. Their messes were less messy and they paid more generously for silence. “How much does he need to understand?”
“That’s the problem, sir. I don’t think he will.”
Castiel scoffs. “Anyone in power can be bought off,” he replies, because in all his years he’d never met someone who couldn’t be. Power corrupts, after all.
Inias shifts uneasily, and Castiel can tell he isn’t going to like how this ends.
“We’ve received word that he’s begun investigating independently.”
Castiel groans at this, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“But don’t worry!” Inias continues quickly, hurridly. “We can put our best men on the assignment, have him taken care of by tonight—”
“Wait,” Castiel cuts him off with a sigh. He forces his eyes back open. “I’m not mad,” he says before anything else, because Inias looks like a deer in the headlights and even after all this time his employees still need occasional reminding that he is not his brothers.
When he’d taken over for Michael he’d promised himself—he’d promised everyone—less bloodshed. He swore to defend his family, business, and territory from Crowley and his cronies, but he’d been determined to stop ending innocent lives. For some reason, though, innocents just love getting in the way. He sighs again. “What’s his name?”
“Sam Winchester.”
And, well. That certainly complicates things. He’d known when Sam announced he was going into criminal law that this was a possibility—in some ways, he thinks he should have expected this.
“Sir?” Inias asks, and Castiel realizes he doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at him. “Are you…do you know him?”
Castiel blinks back to reality and glares at him. “Call them off,” he orders, and cuts Inias off when he tries to protest. “Call them all off, Inias. Now.”
“But, sir, what about—”
“I’ll deal with Sam Winchester myself. Nobody else is to touch him.” Then, just for emphasis, “Until I say otherwise, consider him under my protection.”
Inias is still staring at him, baffled, but after a moment he nods, and Castiel is thankful that he’s decided not to argue. “Alright, I—yes. Understood.” He nods again before leaving the office and Castiel sinks deep into his chair, pressing the heels of his hands into both eyes.
His phone buzzes and Castiel watches as a text message lights up the screen, revealing the photo from his wedding he has set as his background. It’s a message from Dean, because of course it is, asking him what he wants for dinner and if he wants wine with it.
Castiel looks around his office, awarded to him based on his surname but paid for in blood, and he’s never hated it more.  
————————————————————-
They get half an hour into the low-budget western Dean had insisted in watching before his husband sighs, pauses the movie, and sets his wine glass down on the coffee table.  “What’s going on with you?”
Castiel frowns up at him from where he’s lying on the couch, cheek against Dean’s thigh, his own wine glass barely touched. All things considered, Castiel thinks he’s been doing a great job acting like everything is fine. He forgets, sometimes, how easily Dean can read him.
“Work was…long,” he answers, and it isn’t a lie. Then, because Dean is looking at him like he doesn’t believe him, he follows up with “How’s Sam?”
It’s both a deflection and an answer to Dean’s question, but Dean doesn’t know that. Dean thinks he manages a hedge fund. Which he does. Technically. Legally, at least.
Dean knows he’s changing the subject but he doesn’t press it, and his face lights up the way it always does when someone asks about his brother. Castiel loves him for it. Dean starts on about Sam, how he’s doing with Eileen, how they just moved into a bigger house because they want to start a family. Castiel isn’t paying attention, not really, because Dean’s fingers are playing with his hair and he doesn’t really want to think about anything else.
“—I said I’d help him out, though.”
That catches his attention. “What? Why?” he asks, a bit too quickly, because even though he’s missed most of the context he can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach.
Dean raises an eyebrow. “Come on, babe. I never get to use my degree anymore.” He shrugs. “And it sounds fun, you know? Helping my baby brother take down a corrupt criminal justice system. I feel like Serpico.”
“No.” It comes out more forcefully than he had intended and he sits up, turning fully to face Dean. “No, Dean, you need to stay out of it.”
Dean blinks at his husband, and Castiel immediately backtracks. “I mean, um. You don’t—you don’t have any evidence.”
“That’s the point of me helping,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I know I chose teaching five-year-olds over working in cybersecurity, but I still know my way around.”
“You’re going to hack into the DA’s office?”
“It sounds bad when you put it like that.”
“It is bad.” Castiel knows he’s being too insistent, is pushing too hard, but Dean can’t get involved, too. He can’t. “It’s dangerous. You don’t know who else could be involved.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“You should. You just don’t understand—”
“Understand what, Cas?” Dean snaps, and now it’s the fight Castiel didn’t want to have. “What could I possibly not understand that you do? A kid is dead and the DA is trying to cover it up and just maybe I can help figure out why.”
“There are things you don’t—” Castiel is already halfway through his next argument when the second half of Dean’s sentence catches up with him, and he stops. “Did you say a kid?”
Dean scoffs. “You weren’t even listening, right? Great. Yeah, some asshole killed his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend and her kid and the DA is refusing to press charges. Says there isn’t enough evidence. Sam thinks they were paid off.”
“No,” he says, quietly, because no. The daughter was never supposed to—that’s not what happened. He had been told that’s not what happened.
“What do you mean, no?” There’s less heat in Dean’s words, and Castiel thinks it’s because he himself has completely deflated.
He stares at his husband—the love of his life, the beautiful, generous, selfless man he doesn’t deserve—and realizes he’s never going to be able to talk Dean down from this. If he could, he wouldn’t be Dean.
He thinks about all he’s done to keep this part of his life safely tucked away. He cultivated a reclusive public image to keep Dean safe from being the husband of Castiel Novak, manager of the Novak Group. He expanded their territory to encompass the school Dean works at, something his family still holds against him as a waste of resources, to protect him from being the husband of Castiel Novak, leader of the crime syndacate. He’s hidden his marriage from nearly the entire family, labeling anything to do with Dean as the most privileged of information.
The only reason he’s still doing this at all, really, is Dean. He could have jumped ship when Michael died, when Gabriel left, when Lucifer took the fall and was sentenced to life, but that meant giving everything to Raphael, who promised to hunt both him and Dean down if he left. So he took the reins instead and he’s tried his best to keep his family safe while managing the business—both the above and underground aspects.
And now, despite all that, both Dean and his brother have somehow gotten themselves involved.
Dean is still staring at him, brows furrowed, and he doesn’t move away when Castiel reaches out to take both of his hands into his own. “I’m sorry,” he starts, and Dean looks taken aback but he doesn’t break the eye contact. “I love you. I don’t want you to end up in trouble.”
Something in Dean’s eyes softens. “Hey,” He squeezes Castiel’s hands lightly. “Come on. Have a little faith in me.”
And all Castiel can do, just like any time Dean looks at him like that, is smile back. And nod. And lean forward to kiss him, just once, softly.
“I do, Dean. I always do.”
Dean leans their foreheads together and Castiel can tell he’s still concerned, but he doesn’t want there to be any more yelling tonight, so instead he pulls back to lie down in Dean’s lap again. He hears Dean sigh before picking up the remote with the hand not still intertwined with Castiel’s, and then he restarts the movie, and Castiel tries not to think for the rest of the night.
 ————————————————————-
The next morning, though, he’s storming into his office, ready to lay into anyone involved with lying to him. He doesn’t get far—Naomi is sitting in his chair. At his desk. For a brief moment, he sees red.
“That’s my chair.”
His aunt regards him, cool as ever. “Is it?” she asks, and she stands, but only to walk around the desk and into his space. “And who gave it to you?” In her heels she’s taller than him but he glares anyway, refusing to be intimidated. He doesn’t respond.
“Why are you protecting Sam Winchester?” she asks after a moment of silence, still standing just as close.
“Why did you lie to me about the incident with Ishim?”
Naomi’s expression doesn’t change, but something close to surprise flickers across her eyes and she backs off to lean against his desk. “I suspect the answer to both of those questions is the same.”
“May Sunder was never supposed to die,” he presses, not backing down, and Naomi looks at him as if he’s being an unruly child.
“Yes, but her mother threatened to go to the police. Come now, Castiel, you’re old enough to understand these things.”
“I never authorized that.”
Naomi stands again. “You think you have to?”
This, of all things, catches him off-guard. “I—yes?”
His aunt steps forward, crowding him again, and he hates himself for taking a step back. “You’re a figurehead, Castiel. You’re in power because you’re Michael’s brother, people like you, and we thought you’d at least be loyal.”
“I am loyal,” he retorts, and she sighs.
“I’m not the only one who’s begun to question your sympathies, Castiel. Who are you loyal to?”
“My family.”
“Does that mean us? Or Dean Winchester?”
Castiel freezes, stunned. “How—”
Naomi cuts him off with a smile. “You think we don’t know? We’ve been letting you play house because it kept you distracted. Now, it seems, it’s making you weak. If you don’t fix this, I’ll have no choice but to cure you of that weakness.”
At last she steps away and turns towards the door. “You have an army here, Castiel. Don’t lose it for one man.”
And then she leaves.
And then, Castiel makes a decision.
In the next few hours, he makes several more—and then he’s driving home with all his family’s secrets copied onto a hard drive, the few items from his office that he actually cares about, and a plan forming on how to take the whole system down.
It’s almost funny, he thinks, the decision Naomi expected him to make—that she’d expected him to choose the family over Dean. That she’d expected him to choose anything over Dean.
She has no idea what’s coming. 
435 notes · View notes
yikeslads · 4 years
Text
A Relaxing Evening - Yandere Sero Hanta x Reader
Trigger Warnings! - 18+ only. Non Con (sex and non con drug use). If this bothers you p l e a s e do not read this fic! You are responsible for your own consumption and this is your official warning. Also they smoke a lot of weed in this but I don’t think that really needs a warning but idk
Author’s Note: Hey guys! Long time no see (please don’t kill me, I’ve been hella busy). I’ve started my last year at university so I am super thrilled about that, just turned 21, and I have spent my entire summer working full time. But enough about me, I’m sure everyone is dealing with a ton with the pandemic plus whatever they have. Anyways, I will be doing my best to update more! I have a WIP that should be released soon (i only have like 400 words left) so that should be fun. 
Big big big big thanks to @yanderart ! If you don’t know recognize the name, she is a phenomenal artist (both in visual and literary works, an icon) who shares the yandere/dark love. Thank you SO much for your super helpful edits/comments/encouragement with this <3 
Also thanks to @opheliadawnwalker3 for the advice to start small when getting back into the writing game! I took that to heart and tried to keep it shorter this time and helped me get this out so thank you!
And thanks to @rat-suki @weebsinstash @drxwsyni because I have definitely binged all of y’alls content and used the immaculate yandere vibes you write as inspo so thank you <3 
Now let’s get started!
Tumblr media
It was eerily silent in the hallway as your feet made their way to their destination through the mostly abandoned college dormitory. Your mind was so preoccupied with the many thoughts that demanded your attention that you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. Not that it mattered. You had made this walk so many times, you could find your way even if you were blindfolded and hammered, that you were allowed to fully slip into your thoughts without having to worry. Before long you were standing in front of a very familiar door, the only one in the hallway with light peaking through the crack at the bottom. Music could clearly be heard through it, Jimi Hendrix’s singing the only sound of human life that you had encountered during your entire walk over here.
It took you a moment to snap out of your thoughts and come back to reality and notice that you were already standing at your destination. Clearing your throat awkwardly at the realization, you raised your arm and knocked solidly on the door to be heard above the music and waited as patiently as you could for an answer.
From behind the door you could hear someone swear, causing a small smirk to rise on your face, along with the sound of some rustling. A few moments later the door cracked open a bit as the familiar raven haired male peaked into the hallway, a bright smile pulling at his lips as he  regarded you.
“Well this is a pleasant surprise!” Sero chirped, opening the door all the way, seeing that it was only you standing in the hallway. “What can I do for ya, sunshine?”
His cheery, warm response to your presence unknowingly brought a small smile to your face, a needed break from your tense, concentrated expression you had been wearing when Sero first opened the door.
“Sorry to bother you, Sero,” you began, stuffing your hands into the pockets of the jacket you were wearing to stop you from wringing them anxiously. “I’ve just been really stressed with final exams and choosing which agency I want to officially sign for and… it’s just been a lot.” As you explained, Sero’s face softened slightly as he listened intently to your words, not liking the fact that you were so stressed.
“Anyway,” you continued with a chuckle, bringing yourself back onto the subject, “I was wondering if you had any of your stash left that I could buy from you? I know I bought from you a little while ago, but I’ve been more stressed out than I can handle,” you admitted, hoping that Sero might still have some weed hidden away in his room somewhere that you could use.
It was a little into sophomore year of college that you found out that your classmate, Sero, was a bit of a stoner. And as someone going through the hero course, you are understandably dealing with a lot of stress. So what’s wrong with smoking a little Mary J every once in a while to relax, right? Or at least that’s what you told yourself when you first asked Sero if you could buy weed from him. Ever since then he had been your personal plug, but over time, you two became close friends. “I think you might be in luck, sunshine, I think I have some on reserves. Come on in,” he welcomed, and you crossed the threshold without a second thought. As you stepped inside and took off your shoes, a large but gentle arm carefully looped around your shoulders, gently pulling you into the tall man’s side as you led you to the couch and sat you down on the soft fabric in front of his laptop that was open and had various work assignments in different windows.
“Tell ole Sero what’s troubling you,” Sero propositioned as he moved to his desk, opening a drawer and grabbing his needed paraphernalia as he waited for you to begin speaking. He settled down next to you on the couch, pulling the small table holding the laptop in front of you a little closer as he set down his bong, and pulled out his grinder and began the process of loading you a bowl.
You were about to begin venting, but you paused as you took in the sight of Sero wordlessly working for your benefit, and you pulled your wallet out of your jacket pocket after a few seconds. “Sorry, before I forget, how much do I owe you?” You asked, opening your wallet and beginning to pull out a few bills. You didn’t get far though, as a warm hand covered yours, drawing your eyes to meet his black ones. He gave you a boyish smile and shook his head at you, giving a small laugh. “No way, sunshine. You need a little break, this one is on me,” he offered with a grin. You were hesitant for a few moments, not seemingly convinced that you should let him give you part of his stash for free. The potential feeling of guilt ebbed away as Sero’s warm smile never faltered, kindness seemingly exuding from his every pore. What was the harm, right? Nodding, you gingerly took the loaded bong from his large, calloused hands into your own smaller ones.
“Alright,” you agreed thoughtfully as you mirrored his smile, “but I want you to smoke with me. It’s no fun getting high alone,” you countered to which you could almost see Sero’s eyes sparkle in response at your words.
“I would be happy to,” he assured, never one to miss out on the chance to smoke, especially with you, but you added one more condition.  
“And,” you drawled, his eyes never leaving your face as he waited patiently for you to continue. “Whatever food we order when we are stoned off our asses is on me.”
A soft chuckle resonated from Sero’s chest as he nodded along to your stipulation, finding no qualm with having the promise of food.
“Deal,” he agreed, and with that you went to take your first bong hit of the evening.
~~~~~~~~~~
Your sides ached as you tried to force yourself to stop laughing, but your efforts seemed trivial as Sero laughed just as hard, if not harder, alongside you as you finished Sero’s favorite flick, Scott Pilgrim vs the World. It felt so good to let go and really laugh, it had started to feel like it had been too long. Time seemed a distant concept to you at the moment, as nothing from the outside world weighed on you as you merrily enjoyed your high with Sero.
Your eyes were pink from smoking, little tears forming at the base of your lower eyelashes as you gasped for breath as your laughing fit began to subside. You don’t even remember what you had been laughing about exactly, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Your attention was brought back to Sero as he began to rise from his spot beside you on the couch, your eyes following his lazy movements as the movie credits began to roll.
“I’m getting a bit of cottonmouth,so why don’t I get us some drinks while you choose something else for us to watch?” Sero offered to which you agreed, lazily beginning to scroll through the other titles that were currently available on Netflix as Sero made his way over to the little kitchen he had equipped.
“Thirsty for anything in particular?” You heard his voice call out to you, but you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop screen, still searching for another flick to watch.
“Just water would be fantastic,” was your response as you searched through the comedy section, knowing that Sero preferred comedies.
A few moments later, Sero had returned to your side, a glass of water in one hand for you and a soda can for him in his other hand. Thanking him as you gently took it from his hands, you took the glass and raised it to your lips. Taking large sips, reveling in the cool feeling of the water flowing over your tongue and to the back of your throat, you failed to notice a pair of eyes watch your every movement adoringly.
“Wanna take another hit?” Sero asked as you finished taking a drink, setting down the mostly empty glass back down on the table.
You hummed in thought at his question, before nodding, a small giggle escaping your lips, “What’s one more hit, right?”
Sero, the practiced stoner he is, had another bowl set up for you ready to go in what seemed like seconds, graciously handing you the now loaded bowl. Gently taking it from his hands and placing it in the bong, you fired up the lighter and took a huge hit.
A h u g e hit. It was a little larger than you had meant, but being high had made your judgement a little empaired. You coughed a bit as you expelled the wave of smoke from your lungs, waving your hands as Sero laughed.
Your cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment at Sero laughing as you tried to regain your composure. “S-Stop laughing!” You cried, setting the bong back down, but Sero just shook his head.
“I can’t help it, sunshine. Seeing you not being able to take that hit is hilarious,” he continued to laugh, as your cheeks burned warmer at his words.
“Its not my fault that I don’t have your iron lungs,” you mocked, picking up your glass once more and finishing the contents in an attempt stop your coughing fit. “Not all of us are stoners.”
A small gasp tore from Sero’s throat, as he held a hand to his chest, pretending to be surprised by your words. “Me? A stoner? How could you even say such a thing?” He asked, shooting you a kicked puppy look which just made you giggle in return, your head feeling a little fuzzy from the extra hit.  
“Oh don’t be a baby,” patting the spot next to you, you flashed Sero a loopy smile, “come on, lets watch another movie,” you countered to which Sero agreed to, settling back down in his spot beside you. You reached forward, setting your now empty glass next to the laptop and hit play on the movie, before moving back into the cushions. Your body began to feel heavier as  you gingerly leaned into Sero’s side, who in return wrapped his arm around your shoulders and gently tugged you a little closer to his chest as the intro finished and the movie began.  
You weren’t long into the movie before you were struggling to keep your eyes opened. You shifted slightly, trying to force yourself to wake up, but the more that the time wore on, the harder it became to stay awake.
It wasn’t more than twenty minutes into the film before you were out cold, your deep and even breathing soft in Sero’s ear as your tired figure slept against his shoulder.
“Sunshine,” Sero whispered, tentatively placing a hand on your knee and gently shaking you. He watched your face carefully for any sign of rousing, but your breathing continued at its deep, even, undisturbed pace. An eager smile danced across Sero’s visage at your lack of response, his heart pounding in his chest in excitement. Wrapping his strong arms around your pliable person, Sero gently maneuvered your sleepy shape to be laying on your back, tummy up, the skirt you had worn riding up on your thighs as your leg lay limply, slightly apart.
Sero took a moment just watching you, drinking in all of your beauty. You looked so sweet and vulnerable asleep on Sero’s couch defenseless. He gazed at your unconscious body oh so lovingly as you lay completely helpless to the danger that lurks around you. It makes Sero’s heart squeeze in his chest in realization that you need him. You needed him to protect you and Sero would happily be your knight in shining armour.
“Her knight in shining honor”, Sero thought to himself merrily, infatuated with protecting his little ray of sunshine. His fingers began to skim the skin of your thighs, slowly pushing your skirt up higher and higher. Shouldn’t your knight get a little reward for his services? Sero certainly thought so, afterall it was only fair that he get to enjoy his sunshine in return for all he does for you.
Sero’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of your black laced panties, skirt bunched up past your hips, leaving your panty clad intimate parts exposed for his greedy eyes. There were no such things as imperfection to Sero when it came to you. All of your little bumps, blemishes, and things you didn’t like about yourself were all things that Sero adored about you. It's what made you you, and he simply ached to worship you.
Hungry hands hooked fingers into your panties, swiftly pulling the soft material down your supple skin in earnest. A groan tore from Sero’s throat at the sight of sticky, clear strings sticking from the fabric to your little treasure.
Fuck was he glad he slipped you an aprodiasic alongside the sleeping pills. Seeing your hole already wet and begging for his attention had his pants quickly tenting uncomfortably. He could not wait to get started.
Moving quickly and silently, he settled himself on his stomach between your thighs, carefully placing your thighs over his shoulders. His starved stare meets your slick slit and he couldn’t stop himself from licking a stripe up your lips, moaning at the delicious taste of your essence. His eyes flickered back to your face where he found you still sound asleep, unaware of reality.
“Perfect”, he thought to himself at your unconscious state, “just like last time.”
Confident in his security, Sero began to feast on your unprotected pussy, his tongue swiping through your folds as he drank every ounce of you in. His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head at your taste as if he was tasting the most divine thing ever created. He couldn’t seem to get enough as his hands encased your thighs, hungrily pulling your closer to his famished mouth. Your breath quickened in pace at Sero’s ministrations but the sleeping pills kept you nestled peacefully in between complete unconsciousness and your dreams, deep asleep. It seemed almost as if Sero had been eating you out for hours when he had finally come up for air, sucking in deep gulps of air into his lungs greedily.  He knelt in front of your vulnerable body, lips and chin shiny with your slick as he slipped a finger into your heat, quickly followed by another as he gently began to scissor your walls apart. Your warmth gushed around his fingers as he worked you open for him, using his free hand to slip down to his belt and make quick work of that before tugging his boxers and pants down. His cock now free of confinement slapped against his abs before he gently removed his fingers from your heat. Your juices completely soaked his hand as he brought it to his cock, using your wetness to get him slick for you. He watched your sleepy face as he stroked himself, his bottom lip caught between his lip as he intently drank in your features. With both of your bodies prepped, patience grew thin, so he tilted his hips down, nudging your dripping entrance with his plush tip, your legs lazily spread and looped loosely around his hips.
Slipping himself between your folds, Sero took a deep breath before pressing himself into your warm, wet, tight cavern. He didn’t stop slowly driving his cock into your twitching heat until he became fully sheathed inside your awaiting pussy. He groaned softly at the feeling of his cock being encased by your velvet walls, his eyes never leaving your face as he adjusted to the delicious feeling you were giving him. After a few moments of adjustment, Sero pulled his hips back, feeling his manhood drag against your plush walls, a soft moan escaping your sleeping shape as you stirred slightly in your hazy state. Once you settled and he was positive you were going to stay asleep, he drove his hips forward into your cunt his eyes moving away from your face and down to where his cock was buried deep inside of you. The erotic sight of you being fucked by his cock kicked him into gear as he soon found a steady rhythm as he pounded into you.
With every thrust of his hip, your cream coated his silken rod, making Sero almost feral with the sight. It took every ounce of self control he had to not fuck you the way you deserved, the way you needed him, but he couldn’t risk having you wake up during your little relaxation session. It took every ounce of self control that he possessed to keep himself from fucking you silly, but with plans for the pair of you in the future, he was willing to wait to rock your world for when you were awake and in more of a … receptive position to receive the full force of his love for you.  
It wasn’t long before Sero found himself reaching his end, much to his displeasure, but he knew it wouldn’t be long until he was able to get to do this again. He always made excuses to get the two of you alone, for “purely innocent reasons” according to your knowledge. He couldn’t help it! He loved you too much, and he needed to get his fix.
“F-Fuck,” he moaned as he fucked himself into your pussy, panting softly as he drew close to his completion. “You feel so good, sunshine. You were made for my fucking cock, shit,” he swore, his thrusts becoming increasinly sloppy. He pulled himself out before he came, hips hovering over yours as his hand frantically worked his length trying to finish himself off.
“Fuck yes!” Sero growled as he came, hot white, sticky ropes of cum decorating your glistening pussy as he furiously worked his hand over his cock. “God, love you so much,” he groaned as he finished,  hovering over you as he caught his breath. His eyes watched as his cum dripped down your pussy, becoming entangled with your own juices. Without skipping a beat, Sero reached over and grabbed his phone, taking a quick snapshot of your fucked out pussy covered in his essence and saved it in a secret gallery of pictures he kept of you. He needed to add to the collection, something to help tide him over until the next time. Setting his phone back down, he leaned over you and gently kissed you, like a lover would, savoring your lips while you were still asleep. Breaking the kiss, he gazed lovingly down at you, gently playing with a strand of your hair. He wished this moment would never end, but he knew that he had to get going, sighing softly to himself.
It was time to start up the cleaning process.
~~~~~~~~~~
A phone ringing caused you to stir from your deep slumber, a deep yawn escaping your lips as you stretched your stiff body from sleeping on the couch. You rubbed your eyes slightly as you woke up, before you took in the room before you. You saw Sero back turned to you as he spoke in hushed tones over the phone, hearing Bakugo’s voice grunting something to him over the phone about working out later that day. You glanced around the room as you yawned again, slightly confused as to how you got here before remembering coming over to Sero’s place the previous night after being really stressed and wanting to take a break. It wasn’t long until Sero finished his phone call, turning back to your and finding you awake, looking back at him.
“Sorry,” Sero began, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologized sheepishly with a small smile, taking in your figure.
“It’s no worries,” you hum out sleepily finding yourself naturally returning his smile. “Did I pass out last night?” You asked, not fully remembering what had happened after that last bong hit.
“Yeah! You fell asleep about maybe half way through the first movie? I don’t remember exactly when, I was paying too much attention to the movie,” he lied smoothly, your face showing telltale signs of embarrassment at having fallen asleep during the movie. Especially in Sero’s room after having come to his room for a favor. How could you ask to hang out with someone then fall asleep on them!”
“Oh… Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you like that,” you laughed a little uneasy, but Sero was quick to reassure you. “Don’t worry about it! You said yourself that you were stressed out of your mind, and it seemed that you needed to give yourself some rest. No need to apologize,” Sero soothed you easily, a smile returning to your face as you nodded. He almost felt bad lying to your face, but this was just more proof that you needed him! He had placed all your clothes back on properly, cleaned up the mess last night and you were none the wiser! Your lack of realization of what had happened, though it pleased Sero to know he got away with his little love session, cemented your need for him in Sero’s mind.  
“Well will you let me buy you coffee as a thanks for letting me crash? We can study together at that cafe near the gym if you want? ” You offered, wanting to express your gratitude to your friend, who graciously accepted your idea, pleased to spend more time with you.
“Now that sounds like a good idea,” he chirped, quick to pack up his things in his backpack and get ready to go.
The sun was rising slowly from the horizon, fluffy white clouds moving lazily across the sky, as the two of you walked to the cafe together. The birds sang so sweetly as the pair of you made your way, but their songs meant nothing to Sero, too entranced with your own sweet voice as you chattered happily with him about whatever came to mind.
Opening the door for you once the pair of you arrived, you flashed him a sweet smile in response before stepping inside the warm coffee shop. The smile you gave, to him, was brighter than the sun, warmer than the core of the Earth, and he realized he needed it. Just like you need his protection, he needs you, his sunshine, to bring warmth into his life and make him whole. With your back to him, browsing the menu of its many drink options, you failed to notice the pair of eyes drinking in every inch of your form with intense infatuation. You had no idea the danger that lurked behind those kind eyes, and unfortunately for you, you didn’t notice that Sero’s friendliness was more until too late.  
568 notes · View notes
fw00shy · 3 years
Note
hello!! i see that you're taking prompts 👀❣️ i would love to see your take on hitman draco - whose next target is harry
hello shal!! I loved your prompt and wanted to write something super dangerous and sexy for it, but instead I wrote this. 😅 
Horrible Luck
Harry/Draco | M | 2.8k | Hit-Wizards, Humor, Catsuit, brief mention of dudley working out in front of the telly | ao3 link
When does a relationship stop moving forward and start looping back like a broken time-turner, intent on rewinding the same disagreements in perpetude? When did all the little quirks Draco used to love about Harry turn into a list of things he wouldn't need to deal with if he were alone? Draco's mind is on his kitchen table this morning — specifically, the half-eaten plate of eggs that Harry left behind; Harry knows the kneazle will sick up from it — so Draco doesn't notice the name on his latest assignment until he's already signed off the disclosure forms.
Harry James Potter.
"We don't need him dead for a few days," Pansy's saying. "Just get it done before the Rodney Snyder Bill comes to a vote in Parliament on Monday."
"Get it done..." Draco trails off, swallowing sickly.
"Yes, Draco? Sorry — oh-thirteen. Blast this numbering system. It isn't as though you're on my payroll as 013. I'm tempted to order a hit on you just so I won't need to write all five bloody titles of yours every two weeks. Only joking, of course — Draco? You alright there?" She taps the heel of her stiletto against the desk, where she has it propped up next to her coffee.
Draco blinks. "Right, yes. Before the Rodney Snyder Bill. Which bill is that again?"
"It's the usual hem-haw about how life is so unfair blahblahblah." Pansy waves the peacock-feathered quill in her left hand. "Don't worry yourself over it. Are you all worked up because it's Harry Potter? I know you had a bit of a tiff with him back in school, but hadn't we all? Potter's an absolute waste of breath if you ask me."
"It's not that..."
"What is it? If it's because of his involvement in the last war, you needn't worry about that. All our sources report that he's nothing more than a tax acrobat for Muggles now, on the days that he's not wreaking havoc with his voting powers in Parliament. I don't know what half those words mean, but I want a drink just for saying them out loud."
Draco decides that it is probably not in his best interest to tell Pansy that Harry was actually a tax accountant, and yes — it is indeed as dull as Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom if their dinnertime conversations concerning the subject matter are any indicator.
Draco's mind flits briefly back home. He hopes their kneazle didn't manage to eat any of the eggs before Draco cleaned up Harry's forgone plate. Who knows where she'll puke it up this time. If she ruins his pillow again... Potter is in for a slaying. Only verbally, of course.
"Don't worry about me," Draco says.
"I never do," Pansy says far too flippantly to be a lie. "As I said, you have a few days, so finesse it however you like. Toy with him a bit, for all I care. Get him in bed, then turn a wand on him — go wild. Now doesn't that sound exciting!"
Draco decidedly does not tell her about the last time he "turned a wand" on Harry in bed. Let's just say that it was both slippery and steamy and smelt faintly of strawberries.
"Alright, Pan — sorry, P. I'll get it done. You know I will."
"That's my boy," she smirks. "Now come give me a kiss before you go."
Pansy started demanding that sort of goodbye after she picked it up from a Muggle romcom. "Absolutely disgusting," she'd proclaimed, kissing Draco's cheeks. But the kisses stayed while the mocking subsided. Don't let it fool you, though — she still has plenty of unlearning to do. They get along fine as long as Pansy keeps her mouth shut.
Which is practically never. This is Pansy, after all. Her father liked to joke that she was born wailing for someone to wipe her arse. But Pansy is the only family Draco has left.
The next few days pass in the doldrums of a daily routine. Draco goes off to the local library and does his usual research (a combination of Muggle Internet and blood spells for tracking; Find My Friends is a godsend) despite knowing full well where Harry is at all times. He watches Harry's green dot make its way down the tube to the financial district by way of the Pret a Manger on 3rd Street. The blinking green dot doesn't move for several hours (it never does; Draco knows because he tracks Harry every few weeks out of paranoia). Draco is starving by noon, but he hangs on until three to see if Harry's dot will move the slightest; but alas, Harry is as much the meticulous Gryffindor hero at tax accounting as he was at Horcrux hunting; he doesn't do so much as grab a bite at the cafe in the lobby.
Harry heads home at precisely five-thirty. Draco waits a respectable fifteen minutes before doing the same, so Harry has time to put dinner on the table. The spread tonight smells delicious as it always is: roasted chicken and potatoes, broccolini, those purple carrots that Harry covets from the Muggle farmer's market; homemade treacle tart for dessert. Sometimes Draco wonders how Harry can manage all of this in the fifteen minutes he has before Draco gets home, but he never questions it for long. Who knows how cooking charms work. Not Draco. He's still a Malfoy, after all.
Harry kisses him good-evening before they sit for dinner. They share meaningless conversation about their day. Draco makes up some story about how Hannah in Marketing took the last premade salad he wanted from the deli down the block and is appalled over how, even in his made-up life, he's about as dull as Neville's — well, you know.
"If I hear another word about Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom, I'm going to start thinking you want to fuck it," Harry declares while savagely tearing into his chicken thigh. Draco shudders at the sight; whoever taught Harry how to cook clearly forgot to teach him how to eat.
Still, it's a clear opening for a fight. Draco welcomes it as one does a summer storm, and soon they're throwing plates at each other. The kneazle (Morticia; Granger's idea) scampers out of the kitchen — that Hufflepuff coward — and Draco manages to graze Harry's left cheek before they stall to catch their breath.
The calm is a fallacy, of course; the eerie stillness of a storm's eye, broken up in the next minute with a low growl, and they're clawing at each other again. Except now, Draco is inexplicably hard.
But still, so incredibly bored.
What is the standard deviation of the time from start to Scourgify? Draco wouldn't be surprised if it's less than five minutes.
Monday comes and goes. Draco's thinking about Harry's dirty socks, the ones he tucks between the sofa cushions, while Pansy dresses him down for his latest failure.
"I swear, oh-thirteen. If we weren't like family..." Pansy trails off, her crimson-lacquered nail pointed threateningly at Draco.
"Sorry, Pans," Draco says, trying his level best to look his most innocent. It's not his fault he's an awful hit-wizard, alright? They should've known from his resume. Ronald Weasley, Katie Bell, Rosmerta, Dumbledore... mainly, he kills his marks by accident. He's got horrible luck.
Pansy declares that this is Draco's final chance. And then a week passes, and Harry stays alive. Draco's dead bored staring at his boyfriend's unmoving green dot all day on Apple Maps. He's made friends with Stephanie-the-librarian, though; they go out for a pick-me-up around three pm, and then Draco makes up stories about how she sends him racy pictures of their fake manager and this and that over dinner with Harry. All's okay if not precisely thrilling until the bill passes with Harry still alive, and then Draco reports to Pansy's office with Theo also in the room.
Theo is wearing a full suit, which is par for the course. But Draco knows he's in trouble because Pansy has her heels off her desk.
"Oh-thirteen," Theo booms. "You let the James Buckles Bill pass."
"Which one is that?" Draco asks between nervous swallows.
"Ten-percent increase in taxes on long-term capital gains," Theo explains the same time Pansy snaps, "None of your business."
"Right." Draco has no idea what these words mean. "Umm... sorry?"
"And the week before," Theo says, pacing now, "you let the Rodney Synder Bill pass."
"Ten-percent increase on income tax for those who make more than seven figures a year," Pansy says before Draco can ask.
Figures? Income? None of this means anything to Draco. If he wanted to be a solicitor... well, he's a Malfoy. Malfoys solicit, never solicitator. Or whatever the word for it is.
"It's only two bills, sir," Pansy pipes up in Draco's defence. "Meaningless in the grand scheme of things compared to the Pepper Oakley Bill tomorrow."
"What is —"
"Thirty-percent increase on property tax on all parcels of land within major metropolitan districts, and a twenty-percent increase on all property over two acres, compounding," Pansy hisses to Draco before turning her full attention back to Theo. "Which will not pass. Draco's been building up a relationship with the mark, hasn't he?" She kicks Draco with the pointed tip of her heel.
"Yes!" Draco yelps out in pain. "Yes, absolutely. I've been building... a relationship with Ha — the mark. He's umm. He thinks we're in love."
Theo regards Draco with narrowed eyes. "In love."
"Turns out he's desperately lonely," Draco says with a mocking sneer, though the truth is that they were both rather pathetic in the beginning.
Draco's story passes Theo's muster. He straightens up and gives them one last menacing glower before he leaves. Draco and Pansy stare at the door for a long, vacant second.
Pansy turns to Draco with a sigh when Theo's footsteps retreat down the hall. "Are you really seeing Potter?"
"Oh. Umm... sort of."
"I'm happy for you," she says. "You worry me, you know. Can't be too healthy for the aura with you sulking about all the time."
"Right," Draco says.
"Right," Pansy agrees. She schools her features. "Sorry about the, um — having to kill your boyfriend."
"It's alright," Draco says.
"Right." She coughs. "Well, then. I suppose you ought to go prep. Remember to get it done before tomorrow morning. If I were you, I'd get it done tonight, so you can stop worrying about it and have a decent night's sleep. Now come and give me a kiss before you go."
Draco short-circuits his usual trip to the library and heads straight home. The midday sun comes in too bright from the printed kitchen curtains. He's never noticed how disproportionately large the clumsily illustrated lemons are in comparison to the cherries and ice cubes — but that's what he gets for letting Harry pick the print. When Harry's dead, he'll replace them with a pattern worthy of the Malfoy name. He's always liked snakes and daggers (just the image of them; they're ghastly in reality).
He gets hungry enough around three to rifle through their cabinets for a snack. All he finds are two expired Twinkies and a can of tuna that he realises only after his first bite that it's meant for Morticia. He briefly considers popping by the library to see what Stephanie's up to before deciding against it. He needs to focus on murdering his boyfriend.
Draco is in the middle of purging his wardrobe when he finds his hit-wizard uniform hanging in the back. It's all black and one-piece, like a Muggle wetsuit but much sleeker, like a seal. But not as adorably chubby. More like Catwoman. Lithe, but deadly. Unfortunately, it's not a very practical uniform for murder, so Draco hasn't worn it in years. He slips it on out of morbid curiosity and is pleasantly surprised to find that it still fits him — especially around his arse. Morgana and Mordred both, his arse.
He loses track of time admiring himself in the mirror. And that's when Harry opens the bedroom door.
"Fuck," Draco says. His wand is out and trained on Harry's chest. (Hit-wizard reflexes; Draco's terrible at murder but surprisingly adept at keeping himself alive.) "I — um. I can explain."
"Merlin, you look hot in that," Harry says. He sounds like he's come back from running. "I've always wanted to see you wear it."
"What?"
"Your hit-wizard catsuit." Harry holds both hands up and steps toward Draco. "So fucking hot. I'm going to fuck you into a wall if you let me get any closer. Promise."
Did someone start up the fireplace? "I knew you stared a bit too hard at Halle Berry's arse the last time we watched Catwoman."
"Can you blame me for imagining what you'd look in it?"
"You don't look so bad yourself," Draco purrs. He can't help himself; Harry hasn't looked so fit in years. What is it about him today? Did he do something different with his hair? No...
Harry disarms Draco's wand hand and pushes him up against the wall. He's always been good at following through on his promises.
Draco's washing up in the shower when he realises what's different about Harry today. Harry's wearing an Auror uniform.
Draco bursts out of the shower still wet and dripping. He finds Harry in the living room with the telly on.
"You're going to ruin the carpet with all that water," Harry says, his nose scrunched. He's still got his crimson Auror robes blatantly bunched over the sofa.
"You're a fucking liar," Draco says. "Muggle tax accountant? I can't believe I bought that lie."
Harry remains painfully nonchalant. "We both had our secrets."
"But you knew mine." Merlin, for how long? Was their whole relationship a sham to —
Harry sighs and spells Draco dry. A bathrobe — plushy and cottony, Draco's favourite — flies in from the bedroom to wrap around Draco's shoulders.
Draco begrudgingly shrugs it on.
"Sit down," Harry says, patting the space next to him. Draco almost does as asked, but stops when he spots the smelly old sock peeking between the seat cushions.
"You're an Auror," Draco says. His lips sneer involuntarily at the betrayal.
"And you're the hit-wizard out to kill me. Yet we're both still here," Harry says. "Come on, Draco. Sit down."
Draco eyes the sock.
Harry's face purples. "Is this about the bloody sock? For the thousandth time, it's not me leaving them about. It's Morticia!"
Harry vanishes the sock. Suitably appeased, Draco walks over to their sofa and sits primly at the edge of it.
"I wasn't actually going to kill you," Draco says by way of an apology.
"I know that," Harry says. "You're an idiot. Hit-wizard, really? It's a wonder how I ever thought you were my nemesis."
"That is absolutely rude and uncalled for," Draco says. "I was plenty good at Quidditch."
Harry grins. "I'll give you that. Most distracting arse on the pitch... some things never change."
"You don't look so bad yourself in those robes," Draco says. He coughs. "I mean. We should... talk."
"Yes."
They've never been good at talking.
"So..." Harry says slowly. "What are you going to tell them when I'm still alive tomorrow?"
"Oh, I dunno. Can't you pretend you're dead? Please? For me."
"I'll be helping a lot of people if we pass this bill," Harry says apologetically.
Right. Saviour complex. Draco's painfully familiar with compromising around that character flaw. "Pansy's going to kill me," Draco sighs. "Well, unless we kill her first. But I'd rather not. She's my favourite person in the world — besides, you, of course."
"She's actually. Um." Harry coughs. "I think she's going to be fine."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean... err."
"No," Draco gasps. "No, don't tell me she's been a mole this whole time."
"Err. Well..." Harry scratches the back of his head. "Did you know she's getting married to my cousin Dudley?"
"The awful Muggle bully?"
"He's um. He turned alright in the end? He's been working out in front of the telly. Bought these free weights and all... says it's really changed his outlook on life."
"Sweating in front of the telly changed his life?"
"Something like that," Harry says.
"That sounds disgusting."
"Yeah... I try not to think about it much either. So, err… takeaway? Greek, maybe? You loved the rotisserie chicken we had a few weeks ago. Before um, you started throwing it at me."
Shouldn't they be discussing something serious? Draco already forgets what. "Takeaway? But don't you —"
"Right," Harry laughs. "Now that everything else is out in the open, I suppose there's no harm in you knowing that I order takeaway and vanish away the boxes before you come home."
"I..."
"Draco? You aren't mad, are you?"
Mad, no. Surprised — absolutely. But Draco should've known that dating Harry Potter would never be boring.
Read on AO3
53 notes · View notes
Text
That’s Not a Smoothie
Summary:  After being absent for a week, Gandra Dee shows up to the latest FOWL meeting ten minutes late with Starducks...and an egg.
@promiseddifferent @halfshellkayla​
Read on AO3: “That’s Not a Smoothie”
Order was one of, if not the, most important things to be concerned about, if you asked Bradford. That also included the order of maintaining a schedule. That was the main reason why he insisted on everyone in the inner circle of their organization attending daily meetings, even if they didn’t necessarily have any plans or upcoming missions to discuss relating to their plans for Scrooge McDuck and his family, or the missing mysteries his grandmother had been searching for.
To Bradford’s relief – and he would have to admit, genuine surprise – the various…specialists he had hired to be involved at the highest level of F.O.W.L. were all very capable of sticking to the schedule he had set up for them, with minimal complaints.
That being said, Bradford wasn’t heartless; he knew that there would be times when the people he hired would be too sick or injured to physically be present for meetings, and he understood that. So, he did allow for sick days – even allowing for up to seven days paid sick leave – with the only requirement being that the members of the organization needed to contact him to inform him of their absence. That way, he would know to work around the fact that any potential plans involving that particular agent would have to be scrapped prior to any discussions or planning sessions.
Agent Dee had been absent from the meetings for almost a full week, and only the first day was accounted for.
Bradford had even asked Rockerduck (who the young woman had formed an odd sort of camaraderie with, particular after the duck had returned from the Foreverglades with a baby butler of all things) if the missing agent had contacted him at any point in the past week, only to be told that Rockerduck hadn’t heard from her, either.
By now, Bradford was beginning to get suspicious.
He already had a feeling that there was something up with Gandra Dee – she’d been acting a bit oddly for months, though she often attempted to excuse her strange behavior by claiming she was tired or some other seemingly innocent excuse. The director hadn’t been pleased by this unprofessional behavior, but he had chosen to overlook it, seeing as it hadn’t really affected her work in any significant way, nor had it had any impact of the work of others. These unexplained absences, however, were another issue entirely, and Bradford had already made a mental note to speak with her about it when she did return; and he was certain she would, seeing how the organization was the only place where she knew she’d get what she needed for her various…science projects.
For the time being, however, there were more pressing matters to attend to – most notably, their mission to possess all of the remaining missing mysteries before Scrooge McDuck and his family went on another dangerous adventure to claim them.
They had been discussing – or rather, between the various distractions and interruptions, trying to discuss – a potential plan to go after what sounded like a promising lead in St. Canard, when the door to the meeting room suddenly opened up with no announcement or warning, much less a request for permission.
Expecting one of the Eggheads, Bradford turned away from the projector screen and towards the door, ready to say something about the interruption.
“I sincerely hope you have a very good reason for this interruption, whoever you are,” he said sternly as he turned.
Instead of the Egghead he’d been expecting, however, standing just outside the doorway was none other than Gandra Dee, holding what looked like a paper coffee cup from one of those chain cafes than Bradford couldn’t remember the name of in one hand, and….something in the other; he couldn’t exactly see what it was, probably some new invention of hers, considering how tightly she appeared to be holding it.
Gandra rolled her eyes at the scolding and stepped inside, kicking the door behind her before making her way over to her usual seat.
“Hey, be glad I even came in at all,” she half-said, half-snapped as she somewhat awkwardly tried to sit down with both her hands occupied. “I still feel like someone decided to treat my body like a tube of toothpaste, but you only give us a week of paid sick days, and unfortunately for me, I need the money more than I want to just stay in bed.”
Now that she was at the table, everyone could more easily see what else she was holding….and it was definitely not an invention, not in the traditional sense. While the other agents present stared, seemingly unable to say anything at the moment, Gandra shifted her body slightly to move from her arm to her lap what she’d been holding onto so securely: an egg. She wrapped one arm around the egg, holding it close to her body – presumably the provide additional heat – and appearing to make sure she was satisfied with the position before taking a sip from her coffee cup.
The first one to speak was Black Heron. “So, Agent Dee….what do you have there?”
Gandra finished drinking from her cup before answering, “…An espresso.”
The wry tone of her voice made it clear that she was well aware of what the older woman was actually referring to.
Bradford wanted to get back to the purpose of the meeting, but he could already tell that this latest development meant that nobody else present was likely to pay much attention to anything he said; and so he decided to put the discussion on hold, for the moment.
Besides, he had to admit, he also had a few questions regarding Gandra’s egg. And there was no doubt that the egg was actually hers – Gandra Dee had never expressed any disdain for children, and in fact was among the first to warm up to the Fountain-changed Jeeves (or Jay, as some of the members of the team had taken to calling him), but she was not the type to just….adopt someone else’s egg. Though, that did raise another question.
“So, who knocked you up?” Steelbeak inquired, asking the exact same question that Bradford had been waiting to ask, albeit in a way that was much less tactful than the director would have preferred.
The bluntness of the question received glares from everyone present, save the young woman who had been the recipient, though she had bristled for the briefest of moments upon being asked.
“Beats me,” said Gandra with a shrug, placing her coffee down on the table and wrapping the other arm around the egg as well, now holding it tightly against her torso with both arms. “I had a few too many drinks after going out one night, and I think you can all figure out what happened next.”
Something about her tone seemed to imply that there was more to the story than that, but Bradford supposed it wasn’t the time for pressing the issue. He would be keeping a closer eye on her activities when he could, however, at least when she was at headquarters; he couldn’t do much when she was at home, particularly considering she’d never given him her address, preferring to receive paychecks in person.
Bradford’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of baby babbling. Apparently Jeeves had woken up from the nap he’d been taking in Rockerduck’s arms, and was now showing clear interest in Gandra’s new egg, reaching for it and making grabbing motions with his hands.
The infant’s guardian took hold of his hands with one of his own, gently pushing them down.
“Jeeves, don’t touch that,” he told the young Franken-dog. “You don’t know where it’s been.”
“Sure we do – it’s been up Dee’s c-“
Bradford spoke again, abruptly cutting off whatever it was that Steelbeak was about to say. Whatever it was, he was certain it was not appropriate subject matter to be discussing in a workplace environment, and he said as much.
“Could we not discuss this at the meeting? Or, preferably, at all?” Bradford asked, with a tone that made it clear that this was an order, not a request.
The rooster opened his mouth, appearing ready to continue the conversation despite the order, only to snap it shut with an audible clank; presumably he recalled the fact that Bradford could, and would, force him to stop talking if need be. That at least took care of that problem, for the time being.
However, there was still another issue to attend to – the issue of Gandra Dee and this egg of hers. He didn’t need to ask if she intended to keep the child; the way she was cradling the egg, and particularly her venomous glare at the way the other agents were looking at it, as though expecting them to try and take it from her, was enough of an answer.
“Is this going to impact your work performance?” Bradford questioned, looking directly at Gandra and waiting until he knew she was actually listening before asking. He didn’t want there to be any confusion between them, or even just her trying to claim she hadn’t heard the question.
Without hesitation, Gandra shook her head.
“Definitely not,” she replied. There was a brief pause during which the smallest hint of uncertainty showed on her face, though it was very subtle. “I mean, I guess that I’m not really going to be that good for field missions until after it hatches, but it’s not like I’m usually put on those jobs anyway, right?”
Well, at least she was honest about the impact this was going to have on her ability to take on certain assignments….And she did have a point that she wasn’t usually sent on the more physical field missions – Bradford tended to prefer having his agents work with their strengths, and Gandra Dee’s strengths lied in computers and other technology that Bradford could never be bothered to figure out past the basics. Which, fortunately, meant that her new responsibility wouldn’t have too much of a direct impact on operations at FOWL, much less Bradford’s own plan to put an end to Scrooge McDuck’s adventuring once and for all.
“And I would assume that you’ll want a short maternity leave after the child is hatched?”
It took a few seconds before the young woman responded; the expression on her face made it look like she was thinking about the question, or possibly about how she was supposed to answer. Most likely, she was wondering if he would withhold her pay if she said she would need time away from work following the hatching. And, honestly, Bradford was quite insulted by the thought; he might be admittedly stern, but he knew how to run a proper business, including providing certain benefits if they were needed.
“Kinda, yeah. I mean, even if I’m doing experiments, still going to need to adjust to the whole thing,” Gandra finally replied after seeming to consider the question for a few moments. Her expression made it look like she was expecting some form of argument, and it melted away to shock when Bradford immediately replied with, “Very well, then. As I have always made clear, I am not a villain, so we can discuss the matter more in the future.”
A quirked eyebrow indicated that the young woman expected there was a catch to the director’s generosity; but in Bradford’s eyes, this meeting had been put on hold long enough. He gave her a pointed look that silently told her that they could discuss the issue privately, after the meeting was adjourned, and that seemed enough to satisfy her for now.
“Any other interruptions?” Bradford asked, glancing around the table for answers, direct or implied. Heron, Blot, and Steelbeak all seemed ready to continue – though whether the rooster would actually pay attention was another question; while Gandra’s focus seemed split between the egg on her lap and Bradford, and Rockerduck was busy rocking a now fussy baby Jeeves in an attempt to get him to sleep.
Bradford sighed; all things considered, he supposed this was the best he could ask for, for now.
As he resumed the meeting, he took a brief glance over at Gandra, making a mental note to keep an even closer eye on her activities on the FOWL servers…as well as look into the other network that she was connecting with so often. He had a feeling that would be very useful information to have in store for the future…especially now that it seemed that she had other priorities besides their mission to put an end to adventuring.
54 notes · View notes
hb-writes · 3 years
Text
The Firstborns
Tumblr media
A Sylvie Bridgerton Story - 1815
Sylvie (OC) is the eldest child of Hugo Bridgerton, the older sister to George (OC), and a cousin raised alongside the infamous Bridgerton brood. Born in-between Daphne and Eloise, Sylvie has made it her mission to delay her season again and again. Will 1815 be her year? 
A/N - I’ve read the books and watched the show, so fair warning there are likely spoilers and it’s also likely a mix of both media because my mind honestly didn’t separate them - it just choose what it wants from the books/ tv show. 
---
It was often said that elder brothers could be the worst sort of thing to happen to a young woman of marrying age, but Sylvie Bridgerton had three elder male cousins and could rightfully attest to the fact that they could be similarly problematic. 
Sylvie supposed they were essentially siblings, the Bridgerton brood labeled tidily from A through H, because she had been raised mostly by their side as an alphabetical outcast, the elder of the two children born to Lord Hugo Bridgerton, left in the care of her Uncle Edmund at her father’s passing, the responsibility then left to her cousin, Anthony, only a year after that. At least that was the way society dictated it. 
Sylvie had always been quite certain it was really her Auntie Vi who was in charge of her and her younger brother, George, though. Or more precisely, Sylvie was quite certain that Auntie Vi was in charge of everything, her Viscount of a cousin included. 
But as Sylvie sat twiddling her fingers in Anthony’s office for the third time in less than a week, she was starting to question that certainty. 
Sylvie had assessed that her cousin looked rather disgruntled, though she supposed Anthony had simply had that look about him for about a week or so now.
“So, are we to have a little chat or…?”
Anthony had ignored his cousin from the very moment after instructing her to take a seat a little over a quarter of an hour before. He focused instead on whatever was keeping him chained to his desk at this time of night, some paperwork regarding the estate and the family finances.
“If not, maybe you’ll allow me to borrow a book to pass the time?” Sylvie gestured to his brimming shelves. 
“Sylvia.” 
Anthony set down his pen, eyebrow raised as he interlaced his fingers, settling them on top of the papers before him. He was surprised she’d humored his silence for so long, nearly fourteen minutes when he’d expected no more than three to seven.
“Is my given name truly necessary?” she said, allowing only a moment of silence before continuing. “I suppose from that alone I should gather I’m in some sort of proper trouble?”
Anthony only stared at her and then, despite himself, he sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples and rolling his neck. 
If anyone thought raising girls was an easy business, they’d clearly never done it themselves. They’d never met Daphne or Eloise or Francesca or Hyacinth Bridgerton. And they’d certainly never met Sylvia. 
It still shocked him a bit, the differences between the Bridgerton girls, his younger sisters and his younger cousin. It was impressive, the way they could each vex him in such creative and distinct ways, their ability to bring him to laughter matched equally by their making him wish he had remained an only child, and entirely cousin-less as well. 
On some days, Anthony wondered if every Bridgerton below him in age didn’t actually gather in the drawing-room at an agreed-upon hour to arrange a schedule designed solely for agitating him, deciding who would next take a swing and what technique would be employed. It seemed that Sylvie had been assigned extra vexing duties as of late, though that was not entirely surprising to him. She had always seemed to enjoy it a bit more than the others. And she was bloody good at it too.
“Are you ever not in trouble, Sylvia?” 
Her eyes longed to roll, his continued insistence on using her full name bringing her the slightest bit of frustration, because despite all of the evidence otherwise, she did prefer when Anthony wasn’t lecturing her. She actually quite enjoyed his company when he wasn’t scolding. 
“On those precious few evenings when you actually do go out, or better yet go to your own home, I find myself in a distinct lack of trouble. No one else deems me fit to be scolded, however—” 
“However—” Anthony sat up and straightened his jacket. “—I am seemingly required to do so three...or four,” he said, allowing for the chance they’d find themselves in the same situation the following evening, “nights a week, all because you think a little untoward behavior will allow you to put off your season for another year.”
Sylvie was left with her mouth open, her elder cousin’s words an effective silencer and stunner, finally coming straight to the point after the two of them had danced around it for weeks. 
“I—”
“Hear precisely what you are saying, my dear cousin, and will stop all this nonsense at once?” Anthony suggested. 
“That’s—That’s not what I wanted to say,” she answered.
“No, of course not. I would never dream to expect as much.”
Sylvie took a breath as she considered her options. She wanted to ask for another year of reprieve. That’s what she had planned for, waiting at least another year before subjecting herself to the same torment Daphne had endured only two years prior.
She was still young enough to justify a delay and she’d successfully done so for two years already, citing a need to finish out a few academic endeavors the first year and an ankle injured in a particularly ruthless game of Pall Mall the next, but she hadn’t postured herself correctly for her cousin to be amenable to a conversation on delaying yet again. But then again, Sylvie hadn’t truly postured herself very well for Anthony to be amenable to her requests for nearly a decade by this point. 
“But Georgie—”
“You do not need to concern yourself with matters concerning your brother. The boys will be at Eton come the next fall. They’ll be home for the summers. No matter who you marry, you shall always be welcome to visit him here or at Aubrey Hall, and I’m sure George should like to come to visit you as well.” 
Sylvie’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she cleared her throat and regained the ability to form proper words. “Actually Anthony, I had expected that Georgie would be living with me.” 
Anthony shook his head, sitting up in his chair. “George will be at Eton. He and Gregory will both be at Eton and then—”
“He is my brother,” Sylvie answered. “My responsibility.” 
“I think you’ll find that both you and George are both my responsibility. And that responsibility extends to seeing you settled in a comfortable marriage and your brother receiving a proper education before, when he is ready, he also settles into a comfortable marriage.” 
“When he’s ready?” Sylvie repeated. “Why is it that you boys get to marry when you’re ready and we young ladies are simply commanded to join the parade when you men determine it’s the proper time? Why do you get to decide everything?” 
Anthony could have been honest and told Sylvie that he wanted them all tucked away into the safety of marriage because he didn’t know that he would be around to see to it if there was a delay. 
Or he could have spoken to her from firstborn to firstborn, appealing the fellow eldest child he found in his younger cousin, aligning them through their common thread, and insisting that he only did these things because it was what he thought was best for them, same as she did for the younger ones and George especially. 
Or he could have been quite frank and informed her that he had no desire to have multiple Bridgerton girls in season at the same time, though the prospect of settling Sylvie, Eloise, and Francesca down all in one go was enticing. 
But Anthony didn’t tell her those things. He offered a much simpler explanation, one which he suspected would allot less room for argument on the part of the cousin who was testing his capacity for patience at such a late hour.
“Because I am Viscount, Sylvia.” 
Sylvie released a quick breath and turned her face down to focus on her fumbling fingers as she considered it. Anthony had only uttered four simple words, but there was a whole lot of complicated meaning built up behind them.
Because you are Viscount.
And a man.
And I am nothing.
A woman, and therefore, nothing. 
Property. 
A dowry. 
A machine for use of creating an heir. 
Meant to be seen and not heard. 
Nothing.
She found it all hard to swallow after her upbringing even though she knew Anthony, and the other male Bridgertons, didn’t truly live by those beliefs. But society did. The ton did. And so the second she entered society, it would become reality, in a way. 
Sylvie had never before been discounted on account of being female. As a young Bridgerton girl, she had frequently gone out into the fields tagging along behind her older cousins, playing the very same games as the boys, climbing trees and forging streams. Even once they moved to London year-round, Sylvie had retained a certain amount of autonomy. 
And though they often went toe to toe, Anthony had always respected Sylvie’s position as George’s older sister, and he’d always acknowledged the importance of the common ground that stood between them, that of the firstborn sibling, affording her an extra measure of respect that he’d not afford to even Benedict in certain matters. It often came out in shared glances across the room, or their lending one another support with simple nods in response to “Right, Sylvie?” or “Right, Anthony?”
Although they had never explicitly discussed it, Sylvie assumed when she did one day marry, her brother would come to stay with her, assumed that if he were still of a certain impressionable age, George would officially become the responsibility of her and her future husband. 
And if she didn’t marry until later in life, until her younger brother was fully grown, or if she never married at all, she was alright with those scenarios as well. She loved Bridgerton House and Aubrey Hall and being surrounded by family, her wild cousins and brother running about and shouting at all hours. She didn’t long for the solitude of marriage. And despite loving children, she wasn’t entirely sure whether she wanted to bear her own.
“But—”
“What could you possibly have to say to argue that point?”
“I’m not going to argue whether or not you’re the Viscount, My Lord.” 
Anthony rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment. He rued the day that his cousin learned that she could somehow twist his title into an insult. 
Sylvie smiled, considering his silence permission to continue, not that she was truly waiting for it. 
“I’m going to argue against this season. Daphne didn’t meet Simon until the season in which she turned one and twenty, and your own wife didn’t have her season until one and twenty, and—”
“And you’re telling me that I should allow you to wait until you are one and twenty?” 
“No,” she said. “You, my dearest cousin, are the Right Honorable Viscount Bridgerton, and I am well aware that I cannot tell you what to do. I am merely asking that you consider my humble little request.” 
Anthony snorted. “Sylvie Bridgerton? Humble, eh?”
“My ability to be humble is not the question at hand, Anthony,” she muttered. “And neither truly is the time at which my season should take place because... well, your wife has already agreed with me. Kate thinks one and twenty is the perfect age for a first season.” 
Anthony’s thumb rubbed at his temple, an entirely subconscious gesture on his part. “My wife has already agreed with you?”
“Yes, the Viscountess has agreed that I should be allowed to wait a year. We had tea this afternoon while you, Ben, and Colin were at the club.” 
“Of course you did.”
“She also said that you’ve lost a bet to her and as such, you will have no choice to go along with us.”
Anthony closed his eyes and his nostrils flared before he released a deep exhale. “You’ll be the death of me.”
“Me or Kate?”
Anthony waved a hand in the air. “I’ll let the two of you work that out. Not as if my opinion on the subject matters.”
“So, you’ll tell Auntie—”
Anthony’s booming laugh cut off Sylvie’s words. “No, no, my dearest cousin. I shall leave that particular discussion for you.” 
He stood up from his desk then, taking his hat as he stepped towards the door. “Best of luck. Do let me know how that goes.” 
68 notes · View notes
tare-anime · 3 years
Text
Just a little something for AUpril “College AU” entry (AO3), inspired by this cute video clip "Mantra Cinta" by Rizky Febrian.
-------------------------------
Yor took several books and notes from her locker before closing it. She planned to make today’s assignment at the diners, where she worked part time, located two blocks away from Eden college building.
She got help from the Ostanian government for her college study to become a kindergarten teacher, but of course it only covered the bare minimum. She still needed to earn money to cover other necessities. And thus, as usual things happened each afternoon, she walked towards WISE diners.
Ms. Sylvia was a kind lady, to let her work and study at the same time, but she was also quite strict regarding time management (a.k.a tardiness equal to payroll deduction).  
When passing the courtyard, she noticed that there were preparations for annual spring festivals that will be held at the weekend. She looked around and noticed the preparation of booths, a massive bonfire where the afternoon dance will be held, and spots where the fireworks will be launched.
Yor sighed.
Deep down inside she wanted to attend such festivals, but even in her last year of study, she wouldn’t be able to. Or to be precise, didn’t want to. She has no close friends to accompany her, and well….. roaming around festivals by one lonesome self was not an interesting idea to begin with.
Thus she continued to walk towards her destination.
.
Yor glanced at the far corner table at the diner room from behind the counter. There he was again, sitting by himself, taking notes from those thick books.
She noticed that starting a month ago, the blond man always came to the diner, exactly at 5 pm, and stayed there until their closing time. Always taking notes and…..
The doorbell rang and this time the same short haired blond lady that had been coming for the past week, again sat in front of him.
She watched from her place how the lady tried to talk sweetly to the man, but he ignored her. And after some time, that lady gave up whatever plan she had, and left.
.
The next day, the usual scene happened again as Yor chopped the ribs she was told to prepare.
Only this time, he was pestered by a tall lady with long black hair and bodyguards (?). Yet, the lady was also being ignored. The bodyguards tried to threaten the blond man, but he didn’t bulge.
Yor frowned and didn’t realize that she chopped the ribs harder until the chopping board made loud noises. She cringed when she looked down and just realized that she chopped the board into two. She would have her payroll deducted because of that, but somehow she didn’t mind it as she saw the bodyguards back off, and the black haired lady then turned and all of them left the blond man alone.
.
Day after that, another blond lady came to pester the man. This woman had that pompous aura around her. She talked and gestured at the man, perhaps asking him to do something. But as always, the man just ignored her. Yor glanced at the scene before her, while mopping the kitchen.
Apparently, this lady also was rather short tempered compared with the previous ones (and also ill mannered), that suddenly she took her caffe latte and splashed the man with it, then stomping away.
Yor gasped at the scene, and she hurriedly took wet towels to help the man cleaned himself.
“Are you alright?” she asked the man while she hurriedly dabbed at his clothes, books, notes, and tables.
He scoffed, “That’s Camilla for ya. Could never take ‘no’ as an answer.”
Yor’s eyes widened, “That’s Camilla? The idol of all men on Eden campus??”
The man chuckled and gestured to the brown blotched coloring clothes he was wearing, “Honestly, don’t you think that’s a self proclaimed title??”
The woman just blushed and continued her work.
“Thank you, by the way. Sorry that you have to redo the cleaning here….”
“No problems….”
“I’m Loid Forger, pleased to meet yo-...”
“You’re THE Loid Forger?! The most exceptional medical student Eden ever has for years?!” Yor gawked for the second time that day.
“Okay, now that exaggerated rumours are not-.....”
“OH NO! These notes and books! I’ll dry them right away,” the black haired woman hurriedly took a bunch of paper towels and spread them.
“Ah and your clothes! If I washed them right away…. Wait here, I’ll grab some spare clothes….”
“Ms. Briar….. These are not-....”
But Yor already ran to the staff room, and returned with a plain T-shirt, “Here. Please change your clothes to this. This is not fancy, but it’s clean.”
“Ms. Briar, I don’t want to trouble you any further….”
“It’s no trouble. And just call me Yor,” She smiled back, before she realized something, “How do you know my name?”
The man casually pointed to her name tag neatly pinned on her diner uniform.
“Oh….” She blushed.
Of course.  
Why would she ever have that tiny hope that somebody would notice such an invisible student like her in the first place. Especially the one as famous as the man standing before her, who happened to have such a calming sky blue eyes….
Wait…. What are you thinking, Yor??  
She shook her head hard to clean weird thoughts from her head.
Loid smiled, “Actually, I’ve been trying to talk to you. But you’ve always been busy. I don’t want to bother….”
Yor blinked confusedly at the man’s statement.
He then rumagged his backpack, and retrieved a shawl, “I’ve been meaning to return this.”
The lady took the shawl and immediately recognized it. It was hers that she used as the makeshift bandage for a pink haired elementary school girl, around two months ago.
She had found the girl at the alley behind the diners one day, being bullied by several male high schoolers with dogs. The girl was furiously fighting back, saying things like how the high schoolers shouldn’t bully her friend. It could ended worse than scraped arms, had Yor didn’t intervene. Still the older woman needed some time to calm the kid, tended to her wounds, and walked her home.
“My niece has tendencies to involve herself into trouble, no matter how many times I tell her to stay away from it. So, I would like to thank you, for saving her that night.”
“It’s the right thing to do….”
His smiles just become bigger, “Ah…. so that’s why she called you that.”
Yor raised her eyebrows at the statement.
Loid elaborated, “Anya has been very persistent in her want to meet you again. She pestered me to find her ‘Beautiful angel with red eyes’.”
Yor flustered even more, “That’s not….”
“These days? It really is rare to see someone help others without ulterior motives.”
The lady opened and closed her mouth and tried to say something, but eventually, she opted to change the subject, “Uh… your clothes….?”
“Nah, don’t mind it.”
“Okay….”
“Say, are you free this weekend?”
Yor blinked at the man.
“Do you mind helping me escort a certain very energetic girl to attend her very first Eden spring festival?”
She blinked even more, “Weren’t healthy kids supposed to have loads of energy in the first place?”
“I’ll leave it to the future kindergarten teacher to always see it as a good thing,” He chuckled, “as I am very sure, I won’t have the patience to follow her around.”
Yor giggled and smiled brightly, “I will ask the owner regarding my schedule this weekend.”
And that was their first conversations of many many more later in their life, when somewhere in the middle, Yor Briar became Yor Forger.
----------------------------
Notes: 
PS: the first blond lady was supposed to be Millie, and the black haired ‘princess’ was Sharon. All three of them were trying to make Loid their date at the festival. But of course, the man already set his eyes on one woman only ^^
Of course Loid Forger is still a magnificent liar in this AU.
Anya didn’t ask him to find Yor per se. He was the one intrigued by Yor’s kindness, one of the rare people who could withstand Anya's tendency to run into trouble, and made the girl safe and happy.
And of course, Loid searched all Eden College to find this 'angel with red eyes', a nickname he made himself (based on Anya’s nickname “the kind lady with red eyes”), until he knew the angel’s name was “Yor Briar”, a student of Majoring in Early Childhood Education Program, who happened to work part time at WISE diners.
Still Loid was such a dork, that he didn't know how to start a conversation, until the incident happened.
45 notes · View notes
hualianff · 3 years
Text
Mi Amor(tentia)
A Window To The Past – John Williams
Harry Potter AU. In his final year at Hogwarts, headboy and Hufflepuff quidditch team captain XL is caught up in a scandal where he performed magic in front of muggles to protect them from dangerous, dark sorcerers who had escaped Azkaban.
After the crucial incident ends with minor injuries to the muggles and XL’s miraculous defeat of all five dark wizards–though only one of them was successfully captured–the ministry expels him from Hogwarts due to his hasty and rash decision to duel without calling for backup, exposing hundreds of muggles to magic. The normalization of advanced technology had led to an alarming spread of awareness of the wizarding world. A messy clean-up indeed.
XL’s family’s name was dragged through the mud, the once appraised pure-blooded lineage honored no more. In addition to being estranged from his parents, XL’s so-called friends left him alone. He also lost a lot of who he was in his early adolescence. Since then, he has learned that even when his intentions are good, the end result isn’t always favorable.
After being expelled, disowned, and alienated from the wizarding world at age eighteen, XL traveled the world completing various bizarre jobs in order to get by and keep busy. Over a decade later, XL chooses to take the base exam equivalent to graduating from a magic school. With this requirement completed, and his years’ worth of experience under his belt, XL is qualified to teach as a professor at a magic school.
XL is lucky that JW, as the new headmaster, decided to hire XL onto the staff, as the new herbology professor. Herbology was always XL’s favorite subject. He’s in the middle of writing a massive index of new species he observed during his twenties!
It’s been so long since XL stepped foot in Hogwarts. Funnily enough, it feels a lot like coming home, a feeling XL hasn’t had in many years. He has a week to re-familiarize himself with the school grounds and meet the other professors before the students are scheduled to arrive for the new year.
One of the tasks XL is assigned as the herbology professor is to supply the potions professor with special plants and ingredients he has access to. The potions professor is named Hua Cheng, an intriguing name if XL says so himself. Though the first two times XL searches HC out to figure out which ingredients were needed most, HC isn’t in the room.
XL ponders if he should put together a basket of goods based on his own memory of which ingredients are popular in potions and see if HC has other suggestions afterward. Instead, XL decides to leave a letter arranging a meet-up time in hopes he can converse with the potions professor in person.
The next day XL enters the potions room, a tall youth stands over a cauldron while glancing down at a thick, opened book. He wears the standard black robes, the emerald green collar symbolizing he is part of Slytherin’s house. His hair is tied up in a high ponytail. XL wonders how a student is allowed to brew potions in the classroom a few days before all the other students return to Hogwarts.
He must be a prefect, or even headboy, to gain this privilege, XL decides.
XL shuffles around a bit until the youth notices his presence.
“Hello! So sorry to interrupt. I’m looking for Hua Lao Shi,” XL greets politely with a nod of his head. The youth merely straightens up. He tilts his head without saying anything. XL figures he must be a bit confused. XL quickly introduces himself, “I’m Xie Lao Shi, your new herbology instructor.”
The Slytherin student blinks. “Nice to meet your acquaintance, Xie Lao Shi. May I ask what the subject of your meeting with Hua Lao Shi entails?”
“Ah, I simply need to discuss the supplies Hua Lao Shi needs for the start of the school year.”
“Oh, that’s very considerate of Xie Lao Shi to ask beforehand. None of the previous herbology professors did so,” the youth comments idly. He steps away from the cauldron, waving his hand over it to temporarily seal the potion. XL’s eyebrows raise, impressed at the casual display of finesse. “But it’s nearly the start of the school year. Am I correct in my assumption that Hua Lao Shi hasn’t made himself readily available for a meeting?”
XL hums good-naturedly. “I’m sure he has his reasons. He must be quite busy these days leading up to classes starting.”
The Slytherin student lifts his hands in a playful shrug, a gesture implying, “As if.” He must be really close to the potions professor to act like this behind his back.
“Do you, by chance, know where Hua Lao Shi is at the moment?” XL asks, approaching the youth.
“Probably in Slytherin’s common room. At the beginning of each year, Hua Lao Shi performs numerous charms to prevent it from being ruined by whatever disastrous activities students engage in throughout the year,” the youth answers. He gathers up a bundle of scrolls to the left of the potions book, walking around the table to stand next to XL. “I can lead Xie Lao Shi to our common room, if he wishes.”
“Yes. That would be wonderful,” XL confirms with a smile. They begin exiting the potions room. “Thank you…?”
“Xie Lao Shi can call me San Lang.”
“San Lang seems very knowledgeable and mature for his age. Am I correct in my assumption that you are headboy?” XL questions, eager to know more about this charming youth who has given him the warmest welcome to Hogwarts yet.
SL lets out a throaty chuckle, eyes briefly closing as he laughs. Next, he sets those dark eyes on XL, shining with mirth. They maintain a steady pace of winding down staircases and corridors that eventually lead down to the dungeons.
“I’m afraid Xie Lao Shi is incorrect in his assumption this time. Headboy does not suit me.”
“Hmm, I beg to differ, based on the conversations I have had with you thus far,” XL disagrees lightly. Without thinking about his next words, XL continues teasingly, “San Lang seems like the perfect character to be in charge and order others around.”
This emits another loud laugh from SL. A hint of satisfaction bubbles in XL’s chest.
When they finally arrive at their destination, SL doesn’t even need to utter a password for the passage to open up. Strange, XL thinks. SL truly must be a figure to be reckoned with.
They enter an empty common room, spotless of any disorganization. Yet, no Hua Lao Shi in sight. XL follows SL who places the scrolls on the largest table in the room, which is already packed with inked parchment.
XL’s eyes flit over the pieces of parchments, belatedly making out class instructions, plans, and assignments written out.
Wait a second…
XL snaps his eyes back to SL, who turns around while pulling out the hair tie. Long, thick waves of raven hair spill over his shoulders; a black eyepatch now covers his right eye.
“Welcome, Xie Lao Shi,” Hua Cheng says knowingly, voice notably deeper. “Shall we start our discussion about the supplies?”
***
Potions professor HC is also the head of Slytherin. He is considered a prodigy who has published five potion manuals that are highly regarded among the wizarding world. HC is very intimidating and direct with his words; strict with his instruction but gives credit where credit is due. And he certainly doesn’t hesitate to take away house points!
He is known to wear an eyepatch but no one knows the reason why.
To put it shortly, many of the students and staff fear him.
Because XL hasn’t kept up with the wizarding world’s gossip, he didn’t know about HC’s reputation, even less about his physical appearance! It took HC revealing his true identity with the eyepatch for XL to recognize he had been talking to the potions professor all along!
***
“How very sly of Hua Lao Shi to masquerade as a student this entire time,” XL says with disbelief. He is incredibly close to dissipating right then and there from the sheer embarrassment of not realizing his mistake. Perhaps the Slytherin common room has a mysterious hole that can swallow him out of sight.
“I apologize if I have offended Xie Lao Shi in any way. However, he is the one who sees me as young enough to be a student. How could I do anything but indulge him?” HC replies, not unkindly.
“Hua Cheng is indeed...shameless,” XL breathes out. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, mind and body telling him to find a place to hide!
He settles for taking a seat at the table.
“Please, continue to call me San Lang,” HC requests gently. He takes a seat next to XL, rolling out a blank piece of parchment to write out the ingredients he’ll need from XL. “‘Hua Cheng’ is too formal.”
The explanation is surely a bit faulty? Why have XL call him ‘San Lang’ when his name is actually ‘Hua Cheng?’ Do the other professors call HC ‘San Lang?’
XL clasps his hands together on the table.
“Very well. I will address you as San Lang, but only when we’re alone,” XL says, determined to remain professional in front of the students.
Wait, that was very suggestive, wasn’t it-?
“When we’re alone, may I call you Gege?” HC adds on, interrupting XL’s internal panic. The younger man pins XL with a curious gaze, staring in a way XL is not used to being stared at. XL clears his throat while looking away.
“I will allow it.”
(Brainchild w/ @no-one-says-hi) 
《II》
46 notes · View notes
yandere-daydreams · 4 years
Text
A Yandere!Lucifer/Reader commission for the very lovely, very creative @pyrokittyowo​, with just a couple hints of Yandere!Diavolo. I really do love writing for him, if only because he’s got all the time and resources in the world to make everyone’s life a living *hell*, and nothing better to do than put his heart into it. What else could you ask for in a man?
Word Count: 3.1k
TW: (Minor) Physical Violence, Manipulation, Abusive Relationships, and Dehumanization.
Tumblr media
Diavolo couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy feeling superior.
It was an odd sensation. He was a demon, for all intents and purposes, but it was hard to feel like one, regardless of how often he tried to do so. It was the disorientation that came from being the strongest of your kind but still living so far below the next step, more powerful than those that surrounded you but unable to reach another level, one where he’d certainly be eclipsed by monsters who didn’t carry the same regard demons did for other living, breathing creatures. Diavolo didn’t think of himself as above the average creature, but the idea would arise in his subconscious from time to time, nagging and irritating and refusing to drown until it was acknowledged, even if dismissal always followed his admission. He was strong, and he was powerful and he was capable, but he never let it affect his ego, not when doing so would only push him further away from his subjects, as it had with his father and every ruler before him. Still, he knew the limits of his control, and he was keenly aware of all the many beasts and brutes went about their never-ending lives within those limits.
With this in mind, Diavolo’s annoyance upon seeing one of his most obedient pets start to walk along the edge of that boundary was understandable.
Diavolo had always prided himself on not having to keep Lucifer on a tight leash. The man was loyal to a fault, the reason behind his dedication long-since having become more of an excuse than a binding contract. Lucifer didn’t have to be given orders, anymore, there wasn’t a need for threats of discipline or the poorly veiled warnings that’d dominated the early stages of their relationship, not when he seemed to think of paperwork and politics as a hobby to be enjoyed rather than a responsibility to be dreaded. He was useful, hell, he was one of the few people Diavolo might call an equal, but this wasn’t the time to get sentimental. Not when Lucifer’s attention seemed to wander more and more with each passing day.
Even now, he seemed distracted, his eyes only ever occasionally meeting Diavolo’s. Instead, they darted around the ballroom anxiously, first to the flute of champagne in his hand, then to the tiled floor then a nearby staircase then anything, as long as he didn’t have to linger on it for more than a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be uncomfortable during Diavolo’s parties, his guests and all their many fangs and talons caused more than enough unease for the average visitor, but it was unheard of for Lucifer to fall into a similar discontent. His feathers were beginning to ruffle unconsciously, his secondary wings already curling towards his chest, and his posture was no better, too rigid to mean anything good. If it’d been anyone else, Diavolo might’ve shrugged it off and suffered through a one-sided conversation, but it was Lucifer, his confidante, his willing servant, his friend. If something was bothering him, Diavolo was sure he wanted to know.
So, he glanced in the general direction of Lucifer’s temporary focus, clicked his tongue, and frowned knowingly. “You’d tell me if Mammon got his hands on the key to my vault again, wouldn’t you?” He asked, flatly, aiming to keep his tone as serious as possible. “I’d hate to have to find another of my treasures ‘relocated’ to the House of Lamentation, especially after the fuss it caused.”
Lucifer jumped to alertness, shoulders squaring defensively and his gaze sharpening to a glare as he stuttered out something incomprehensible, stopping to compose himself before giving a coherent response. “We had a talk about that, last time,” Lucifer assured, his fingers flexing around his glass’ neck. “He won’t try anything, this time, I’ve made sure of it. As long as he values having the same number of limbs he had this morning, I mean.”
“And I’m sure your methods were effective, as always.” Diavolo gave Lucifer a minute to flush and fluster, but he pulled his companion out of his stupor with a hearty laugh, Diavolo nudging him gently with his elbow as Lucifer took to sulking. “But something is bothering you,” He confirmed, only pausing for a brief moment to allow Lucifer the courtesy of a nod. “Might as well tell me, Luci’. You know I’m not going to let it go until you do.”
Lucifer let out a long, labored sigh, but didn’t struggle before giving in. Silently, his concentration shifted, turning towards the ballroom’s center, where assorted couples were dancing and talking and doing whatever couples chose to do when music and drinks were in abundance. It took him a second or two to settle, his eyes eventually landing on you, already in the arms of one of Lucifer’s brothers, completely unaware of the agony you were causing him.
Diavolo couldn’t say he saw Lucifer’s reasoning. If he was a pet, you were a bug, something insignificant and defenseless in the grand scheme of things. With all the trouble you got yourself into, you should’ve been caught under someone’s heel and crushed months ago, but Diavolo was never one to refuse entertainment. And yet, if he was to trust the fury suddenly smeared across Lucifer’s expression, he would’ve thought you were the most unignorable pest across the three realms. “The exchange student?” He asked, absentmindedly. “You’re not going to tell me you let a human drive you into such a state, are you?”
“It’s an… unfortunate affliction.” As Lucifer’s eyes followed you, he only seemed to grow more agitated. He twitched when you smiled, flinched when you laughed, and when you pulled away from your partner, curtsying with an unsteady grace, Lucifer’s hold on his glass grew tighter, tighter, tighter, the flute eventually cracking and splintering, shards digging into Lucifer’s gloved hand and the translucent fluid beginning to leak out. If he noticed, though, he didn’t intend to show it, only gritting his teeth and giving an explanation. “It’s… It’s annoying, when she insists on lowering herself to their standards. I love my brothers, I do, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head and scoffing, as if he was still trying to dismiss whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind. “Am I supposed to watch this? It’s disgusting, it’s infuriating, it makes me want to do something unpleasant, My Lord.”
Although Diavolo doubted the sincerity of Lucifer’s declaration, he recognized that tone, that foolish, irrational anger. The awareness of power and the willingness to put it on display, the desire to use it on something smaller and weaker than himself. Diavolo felt his grin broaden, a solution to more than one of his problems arising. He could only chuckle, resting his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder as his open wounds began to drip and bleed.
“I know exactly how you feel, my friend.”
~
“He’s been acting strange, lately. I was just wondering if you’d noticed.”
You were no more impressive in person. When Diavolo approached you, your reactions had been so pitifully predictable, your demeanor vulnerable and unsuspecting, prey in every sense of the word. You’d been assigned to clean your homeroom after hours, a fortunate coincidence on Diavolo’s part, and he’d sent Lucifer off on some trivial, time-consuming task he wouldn’t be done with any time soon. When he finally addressed his concerns, you were all wide-eyes and parted lips, curling around the broom in your hands whenever he mentioned your companion’s name. But, if you considered Diavolo a threat, you were smart enough not to say it. A wise decision, really. He wanted this to go as smoothly as you did.
“No stranger than usual,” You said, tossing the wooden handle from hand to hand. You didn’t try to hide your anxiety. “I’m probably not the best person to ask. He’s never been normal, to me.”
Diavolo knew what you were talking about. He’d bandaged Lucifer’s hand the night before while being thoroughly educated on just how not normal the relationship between you and Lucifer happened to be. He simply pursed his lips, letting his gaze bore into you as he replied. “What do you mean? You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)?”
You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders dropping in some personal show of complacency. “I know how close you two are, but he scares me,” You admitted, your reluctance only momentary. “He loses control of himself, sometimes, I get it, but it’s not just when he’s in a rage. Ever since we made our pact, he’s been touching me more often, and saying these... these things. I can’t really explain it, but whenever he looks at me-” You stopped without warning, cutting yourself off. As if the only words you were capable of using were those you’d already convinced yourself not to speak aloud. “He’s controlling. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like he gets off on backing me into a corner and making me beg to be left alone.”
You looked towards him when you finished, searching for any traces of sympathy you could get, and Diavolo did his best to indulge you. He was still trying to figure out how he felt about your… dynamic, with Lucifer. He understood the temptation. Even now, alone and standing in front of a man you didn’t trust, you made no effort to protect yourself, exposed to any demonic being that wandered in and helpless, despite how adamantly you insisted you weren’t. With someone as stifling as Lucifer, such negligence must’ve been intolerable. But, he wasn’t Lucifer, and for now, you were more of a distraction than a pastime. Something that needed to be dealt with promptly and played with later on.
“I can take care of that. He goes through a rebellious phase, every now and then, but it’s nothing he can’t be snapped out of.” He smiled, delicately, putting on a grin not unlike the one he’d used with your counterpart.
“But, it’ll be much easier for both of us if you lend me a hand.”
~
Diavolo was the only one speaking.
The conversation was tense, at first, but existent. In the cramped walls of his office, both you and Lucifer had done your best to give suitable (albeit bland) responses whenever they were called for, more Lucifer than yourself. Your voice had been smothered by Lucifer’s gaze, intense and burning into you until you were rendered quiet, and his own words becoming less and less as more of his focus was dedicated to drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair and biting at his bottom lip and growing more impatient. You’d lied to him, to get here, promised that you were going back to the House of Lamentation and insisted that you’d never think of trying to run around behind his back, which was, evidently, untrue. You weren’t sure which he found more maddening, the violation of his control or your willingness to break out of it. You weren’t sure which he’d you punish you for more violently.
It didn’t matter, honestly.
You’d have scars for both, tomorrow morning.
So consumed by your own demise, you didn’t notice when Diavolo’s voice went quiet, too, leaving the room in a tense, frigid silence, as purposeful as it was terrible. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but it might as well’ve been years with the anxiety suddenly racking over your nerves. Luckily, Diavolo didn’t let it go on for very long, breaking the stillness with a crisp, defined knock to his desk, a familiar grin stretching across his lips. You rose, right on cue, suddenly more uncomfortable in your own skin than you’d ever been before. It didn’t feel any better to take your place on his side, separated from Lucifer by a mahogany desk and a small mountain of paperwork, but you were glad to be standing. It was part of a plan, and plans meant security. They meant you knew what was going to happen next.
You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised when that security was ripped away, as fast and as carelessly as any time before.
Diavolo was supposed to confront Lucifer about his treatment of a valued exchange student. He was supposed to be professional, and strict, and move you into an empty dorm in Purgatory Hall, just to show that he could distance you from Lucifer, if he deemed it necessary. Lucifer was supposed to pout and argue and agree, and that was supposed to be it, that’s all that was supposed to happen. Still, your shock was muted as a strong arm looped around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into Diavolo’s lap, holding you there when the reflex to push yourself away and struggle took over. You threw your elbow into his chest, taking hold of his bicep and attempting to drag yourself away, but your efforts were made in vain, Diavolo only laughing and bringing his free hand up, letting it come to rest on your shoulder. A nail, a talon, really, sharp and pointed and blood-thirsty, tapped twice against your jugular, and you froze, not wanting to find out how easy it would be for him to drive them through your flesh.
Lucifer’s reaction was instantaneous. His mouth opened, something hushed and vile slipping out, and he clambered out of his chair with a shameless desperation, but haulted as soon as he was on his feet. A mix of instinct and common sense fueled him, his anger, his self-restraint. The overwhelming desire to stop someone else from putting their hands on something he so obviously considered his, but the prevailing knowledge that trying to take you back by force would only lead to hands too broken to do so. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’d been through this, with Diavolo. He certainly seemed experienced, when it came to holding himself back.
“Why?” He spat, the question blunt, but dripping with something venomous. He took a step forward, slowly, moving to edge around the obscuring desk. Diavolo didn’t stop him, his grin only turning towards a smirk as he watched Lucifer make his cautious approach. “I’m not going to let your hurt--”
“I won’t have to hurt her.” Your breath hitched in your lungs as the hand on your shoulder slipped downwards, trailing over the shape of your collarbone before trailing its way to your neck, rubbing an apologetic circle into the edge of your jaw before taking your throat in a vice-grip, not choking but ready to. You were suddenly made aware of just how small you were, compared to both men, Diavolo’s palm pressing against the length of your throat and his fingers struggling to fit without forcing your head back. You didn’t doubt a thoughtless movement or jerk too sudden would be enough to crush anything vital. “I don’t want to hurt her, but you’re not giving me a choice.” He paused, pouting, tilting his head to the side and drawing attention to just how badly you’d started to shake. “It’d be a shame if I had to do something drastic to some poor human because of your actions.”
Lucifer locked his jaw into place, his fists clenching at his sides. “I haven’t taken action, yet. If I’ve done something to offend you, I apologize, but my feelings for (Y/n) aren’t…” He bit his own tongue, running a hand through his hair, searching for a distraction that refused to make itself apparent. “She doesn’t have anything to do with us. You understand that, don’t you? (Y/n)  doesn’t have anything to do with any of this.”
“I’d like to believe you.” He let out a ragged exhale, as if the thought had been weighing on him. He wasn’t the one with claws pressed against his skin, though, a thin, red line slowly forming along the side of your neck as Diavolo dragged his thumb lazily over your skin, leaving a muted, stinging pain in its wake. “I worry about you, sometimes, Lucifer. You’re so helpful, and I’d hate to lose you to some uncontrolled obsession. But, I fear you’d come to resent me if I deprived you of your vices completely.” Another squeeze, this one testing, teasing. As if you and him were in on a joke, some parody of a bastardized friendly scheme. “That’s why (Y/n) is going to fall under my protection, from now on. When I’m confident in your loyalty, you can carry on with your little courting ritual. I’ll even give you two a room in my estate, somewhere more private. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Privacy?”
Lucifer only glowered. “And if I don’t agree?”
At this, Diavolo chuckled. He chuckled, then he laughed, then he took you by the throat, lifting you off his lap and letting you sputter and cough and suffocate as he held you in place, ignoring your attempts to loosen his grip. Lucifer moved to lunge forward, to tear you away and take solace in whatever survived, but Diavolo just shook his head, something in your neck cracking as he clenched down. “I don’t take kindly to defiance. You should know that better than anyone, and you should know how little I care for being challenged. Either you get down on your knees and bow, or-” He dropped you, abruptly, but your freedom was short-lived. As soon as you’d gotten a decent breath in, fingers were entangled in your hair, jerking you upward and forcing a meek, pathetic whimper through your lips. You couldn’t tell whether Lucifer was concerned for your wellbeing, or jealous that he hadn’t been the one to elicit such a pitiful sound. “Or, I break your favorite toy and no one gets to play. It’d be a shame to give something so disobedient an easy way out, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, if it means you step into line.”
He released you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look, to move, to do anything but catch your breath and hide, your face soon buried in his coat. You heard rustling, the thud of something solid hitting the wooden floor, but those noises were distant, drowned out by something dark and dominant, as overpowering as it was oppressing.
You wondered if you’d ever be able to hear something other than Diavolo’s laughter again.
768 notes · View notes