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hyunverse · 8 months

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lucky number five ☆ hwang hyunjin.

pairing: hyunjin x fem! reader. tags: fluff, drabble. words: 3k words. warnings: reader is referred to with she/her, called as wife. about: the five most memorable memories you share with hyunjin. note: i haven't written in a while, so my writing's definitely a little rusty. i hope you'll like it! please reblog, and feedback is very much appreciated <3 disclaimer — © 2023 hyunverse on tumblr. all rights reserved. authors works are protected under the copyright law. do not plagiarize or translate my works. tumblr is my only platform.

𝐨𝐧𝐞.

Five is Hyunjin's lucky number.

Hyunjin first met you when he was five. He had pointed out that you were wearing the same shirt as he was — and you've been attached to the hips ever since.

His first tooth fell out on the fifth day of Summer. He could recall holding the baby tooth on a tissue in one hand, looking up at his mother with puppy eyes. His mother patted him on the head and told him he had grown up. The tooth fairy gave him a single gold coin chocolate, too. Tucked it under his pillow where he placed his baby tooth. He remembers having a lisp until the tooth grew back — remembers how jealous you were that he had "grown up."

The first feeling of victory Hyunjin had ever experienced was when he won fifth place in a colouring contest. Truth be told, he could've easily won first place — but he wanted you to win over him just to see you smile, so he coloured messily. Though the trophy for first place looked glorious, he thought that the smile plastered on your face as you held a medal beat the shine on the trophy.

It was the fifth of May when you two started dating. Hyunjin remembers everything about the fated day, bit by bit. He could play each scene, each dialogue in his head like an overplayed radio song. He was merely sixteen, studying in an all boys school with little to no knowledge about dating. Boys his age didn't care about dating. They only cared about soccer and video games. While he cared about all of that too, a lot of the space in his heart was overtaken by you. Figuring out how to ask you out was tough, he had spent a lot of time pondering. He even gathered up the courage to seek advice from his friends, yet to no avail. They were barely any help. In the end, he observed television dramas and prayed for the best.

Under a cherry blossom tree, you sat on a bench. Your eyes were fixated on the sky as your legs dangled over the wooden bench. The clouds on the sky were huge, luminous — enveloping the sky the way lovers do.

"Jinnie!" Hyunjin heard you cheer as he approached you. The nonchalant look on his face immediately turned into a bright smile, his footsteps becoming more hurried.

Standing in front of you, Hyunjin was the perfect depiction of nervous. Both his hands dug deep into the pockets of his jeans, front teeth nibbling onto the inside of his cheeks and the little rocks underneath his foot tumbled as he kicks on them.

Hyunjin gulped, "Hi."

You tilted your head with concern, "are you okay, Jinnie?"

The concern laced in your tone reminded him of all the reasons why he liked you so much. You cared like no other — loved as though nothing could hurt you in this world.

"I am," he replied, rubbing on the back of his neck, "I just —"

"You don't have to rush it," you tapped on the seat beside you, "sit with me. You can take your time to tell me whatever that's on your mind."

So, Hyunjin sat. His legs reached the ground unlike yours, and his eyes fixated on the stain on his sneakers. He was painfully aware of the rapid beating of his heart. The urge to tell you his feelings were bottling up quickly.

Then, it spilled.

"I like you a lot," the words were muttered before Hyunjin could stop them.

"Hm?"

"I like you," he repeated. This time, he sounded more sure, looked more sure. The raven was looking at you, blinking sanguinely.

It took a while for you to process the words, for your jaw to relax and finally respond.

The first response came in a way where you slowly turned your head towards him, blinking profusely.

You stuttered, "like me? Like like, or just friends like?"

He sighed, "like like. I like like you."

"Oh."

There it goes, the rejection. Hyunjin had expected it, but it hurt nonetheless. You were the only person Hyunjin had ever liked, his best friend since kindergarten. His feelings for you ran deep. He was merely sixteen, yes, but he was well aware of how strongly he felt for you.

You didn't expect it, but he tapped on your shoulder comfortingly, as if to say, "I know you don't like me, it's okay."

You were right.

"I know you don't like me, it's okay," he comforted, "I just wanted you to know."

"No, I do like you," you confessed.

"What?"

"Yeah," you replied, breathlessly, "was just shocked, that's all."

"Oh."

Silence blanketed the two of you as the conversation exchanged slowly seeped into your brains. Hyunjin looked like he was simply admiring the view in front of him but really, his brain was going haywire.

"No, I do like you," the words repeated in his brain over, and over. They filled his brain with dopamine, the kind of rush that even his favourite football team winning could not replicate.

The five words which will be engrained in Hyunjin's mind forever.

"I like you a lot."

The five words which will be engrained in yours.

"So..." you broke the silence, "what now?"

Hyunjin's pointer circled against the wood of the bench, itching to hold your hand, "we... you know. Date."

"Yeah. Okay."

For best friends who have known each other for years, it was abnormally quiet for the two of you.

But it was okay. Hyunjin was content with the small smile lingering on your pretty face, and your hand in his — finally in his.

𝐭𝐰𝐨.

The sound of a pan sizzling and a kettle crackling seeped into the guest bedroom, though the sound of Hyunjin and his mother's voice caught your attention the most.

You were spending the weekend at the Hwangs'. Your parents were on a company trip that weekend and didn't trust you alone so naturally, they dropped you off there. You were about to take your morning shower, a towel slung over your shoulder when their voices stopped you in your tracks.

"You really like her, Hyunjin?" his mother asked, her voice the epitome of motherly.

She truly is the stereotypical loving mother — soft, and nurturing. Lunchbox ready on the table every morning, not a single football match of Hyunjin's missed. Treated you like the daughter she never had, braided your hair by the porch as Hyunjin ran around with his beloved dog.

"Um," Hyunjin muttered, silverware clinking against plate as he cut through a sausage.

You clasped your ear against the door, eager to hear more.

"You don't have to be shy with me, Hyunjin."

"I do like her," you heard him say, "a lot."

Crimson crept up your face, and you could picture his face doing the same. You could imagine the tips of his ears going red, and his mother looking at him with a grin.

"You want to marry her?" she asked jokingly.

"I do," he answered. Confidently. Surely. Absolutely no hesitation. As though it was the one sole thing he was sure of in his life.

"Oh, my Hyunjin," his mother cooed, "you're all grown up now!"

You didn't know what happened next, how their conversation continued because you were too busy stifling yourself from giggling giddily. Your back was pressed up against the door, replaying the eavesdropped dialogues in your head over and over. Overcame by excitement, you failed to notice the footsteps approaching the door.

Before you knew it, your head came in contact with the wall as the door swung open. Hyunjin stood in front of you, confused as you rubbed your forehead.

"So aggressive, and for what?" you grunted, looking up at him with a pout.

"Who told you to stand by the door like an idiot?" Hyunjin huffed. Nevertheless, he reached towards your forehead, checking for any bruises.

"You'll be okay. Next time, don't stand by the door like an idi—" he paused, "wait. Did you hear anything?"

You batted your eyelashes innocently, playing dumb.

"Hear what?"

Hyunjin sighed out of relief, ruffling your hair, "nothing you need to worry your pretty self about. Just go shower. I saved you some pancakes."

"Aw," you pecked his lips, "you're so sweet, and so caring. You must want to marry me."

He smiled, but the face soon contorted into one of annoyance.

"So you heard!"

"Heard what? The fact that you're obsessed with me and want to marry me so bad?"

"You're so annoying, y/n."

"You still want to marry me though."

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, "shut up, or I'll take it back."

He wouldn't.

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞.

Exhaustion lugged on Hyunjin as he exited the entertainment building. He's been a trainee for a couple of months now, and the burn-out was no joke. A day with you was exactly what he needed. A couple of days spent with his home, his solace — and he refused to come empty-handed.

Thus, he roamed around the park, in search of wildflowers. Anything he could get his hands on, just as long as he could form a bouquet from them. Hyunjin ducked and moved around, pulling out any flower he deemed beautiful enough. A black hair tie tied together the ensemble of florals. He wished he had managed to get his hands on some ribbons but alas, he couldn't. For now, the black hair tie on his wrist would suffice.

You arrived right when you promised you would. Clad in a pretty yellow sundress, Hyunjin swore that you came right out of a daydream. He watched you wander around in the park for a while, admiring from afar. Even with a confused expression plastered across your face, he still found you gorgeous. A part of him wished that he was simply your secret admirer, so that he could keep watching you from afar for hours. Not being able to be around you would suck though, so perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“Y/n!” Hyunjin finally called you out, waving his hand to catch your attention, “here!”

You whipped your head towards his direction, lips twitching into the cutest smile once you caught a glimpse of your boyfriend.

An arrangement of colourful flowers was handed to you once you were in front of him. You vividly remember how beautiful it was — petals of yellow, pink, and white which coincidentally matched your dress. Hyunjin on the other hand remember how you looked, the pupils of your eyes practically shining at the ensemble.

“For me?” you asked, looking at him with big, bright, eyes.

Hyunjin nodded, “for you, of course. Flowers for a flower.”

“Oh,” was all that you could utter, overwhelmed by appreciation. You gently pet the petals, “they’re so pretty.”

“Really?” Hyunjin queried, “I don’t have any money. I wish I could buy you pretty roses and tulips, but I really cannot afford them right now. This is the best that I could do, and I’m sorry my love.”

“Don’t you dare say sorry, Hwang Hyunjin. The fact that you spent time to find these flowers means a lot to me, and makes them even more special. I love them, they’re beautiful. Thank you.”

He nodded, smiling sheepishly. All the worries he previously harboured immediately disappeared at your words.

“Okay, love. Let’s go then, find more flowers and I’ll make a wreath out of them for you.”

Years later, and the flowers had long wilted away — pressed and put in a frame for display, resting on a table with vases of flowers accompanying it.

Hyunjin never stopped gifting you flowers.

𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫.

A yellow bus drove away, leaving two figures at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere.

The outskirts of Seoul — only ever acknowledged as a place vehicles pass by. No stores, no houses in sight, just a lonesome bus stop surrounded by greens.

Hyunjin would’ve never stepped foot in this place if it wasn’t for you. If it wasn’t for you climbing into his window and hysterically crying, he wouldn’t have purchased tickets to the middle of nowhere. He would probably be in bed and wake up at noon.

“I want to run away,” you told him, hours before.

“Okay,” he replied, “I’ll go with you.”

Normally, Hyunjin wouldn’t support your attempts at rebelling against your parents. Honestly, the words, “don’t be dumb and just say sorry,” sat at the top of his tongue, but they dissolved at the sight of your mascara running down your cheeks. He knew that even if he was to disagree, you would’ve packed your bags and left anyway. He would rather follow to keep you safe.

Plus, the boy knew that the rebellion would only last a couple of hours.

“Let’s sail off without a map. Just walk and see what we’ll discover.”

“Okay.”

God knows how many of those he already said to you that day.

You walked, hand in hand, him siding with the highway. You looked far too relaxed for someone who was running away. Hyunjin, on the other hand, was terrified. If anything were to happen to the two of you there, nobody would be there to help. His free hand dug into his pocket, tightly clutching onto a butterfly knife.

Minutes soon turned into an hour. Two people walking soon turned into one — Hyunjin ended up carrying you on his back after seeing that you’ve blistered your feet. He nagged about your choice of footwear, but amidst the nags, he still opted to carry you anyway. Your hands rested around his neck, chin on his head as he walked aimlessly, just waiting for you to finally cave in and ask to go home.

“Hyunjin, look!”

“Hm?”

The boy turned around, gasping at the sight which greeted his eyes. A field of flowers stretched as far as his eyes could see, green plains decorated with splotches of colourful flowers.

Before he could say anything, you were already running towards the field, screaming in glee. He followed in pursuit, taking in the breeze and letting blades of grass sway against his legs.

“Hurry!”

Hurry, Hyunjin did, running towards you and lifting you off the ground. Hyunjin took advantage of the seemingly infinite space to twirl you around, and run around until the two of you turned breathless, lying on the grass to look at the sky.

“I love this place,” you mumbled between heavy breaths, “feels like something you only see in your dreams.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, rolling onto his side and propping himself up with his elbow.

Quietly, he admired you. The tranquil expression your face held matched that of the sky. He couldn’t stop the hand reaching towards your face, calloused thumb caressing your face with the same softness of a feather. Each stroke of his thumb whispered, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Thank you,” your words reeled Hyunjin out of his daze, “for coming here with me.”

His eyes on you softened.

“You don’t have to thank me. Just be around forever,” sat at the top of Hyunjin’s tongue and dissolved.

Instead, he pressed a kiss onto your lips.

𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞.

Hyunjin asked you to marry him five years after you started dating.

It was the peak of his career. He was everywhere around the world, collecting awards and breaking records. The little boy who loved football slowly turned into a superstar. He had to bid goodbye to his quiet life, making space for all the glory the world had to offer to him. His name sat at the tip of everyone’s tongues, talk of the town — Achilles reincarnate.

That was when he decided that he would have to marry you. For amidst all that glory, you were the only stagnant thing in his life. You continued to annoy and nag him as you always do. You continued to be the first person he thinks of when he wakes, and the last person he thinks of as he shuts his eyes. You’re always the person he has in mind as he looks for souvenirs, and when he watches old couples sitting on benches in different cities.

You, you, you.

Always you.

Boxes scatter around the living room, some opened and some not. It’s been a few hours since the moving truck unloaded all of the boxes. Honestly, you could’ve gotten so many things done if it weren’t for the two of you constantly procrastinating.

“Just a five-minute break, babe,” Hyunjin whines, landing on a (still wrapped in plastic) sofa.

You roll your eyes, “you’ve taken breaks like three times just this hour, Jinnie.”

He whines again, making grabby hands, “need my wife here right now or I’ll die.”

The sigh which leaves your lips cannot fool him, because the slight grin on your lips gives away that you like his clinginess. You seat yourself in his arms, burying yourself in his neck. The familiar scent of fresh laundry and cologne fills your nostrils, washing away the exhaustion from the day.

“Me, my wife, and a new house,” you hear Hyunjin mumble, “feels like a dream.”

You voice your agreement by humming. It’s when you stare at the boxes surrounding you that the reality finally sinks in. You’re married to the boy you met in kindergarten. His toothbrush will be in a cup next to yours, his mug will be in the dishwasher with yours, and your dirty laundry will be in the same machine. You’ll wake up next to him every day for what you hope will be your entire life.

You smile at the thought, sinking yourself into Hyunjin even more. He’s holding you with one hand, the other rummaging through a box when he takes out a Polaroid, showing you it with glee.

A Polaroid of you and him under a cherry blossom tree, five years ago.

“Isn’t this from the first day we started dating?” Hyunjin asks, blinking his eyes at you.

You tilt your head to observe the polaroid, “oh… Yes, it is, babe!”

He’s laughing, particularly at how red his face looks in the picture.

“Oh my god, we have to recreate this picture soon, love.”

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disenchantedif · 4 months

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Here’s a commission I did for @stephschoices and her MC Lili since we’re all in a Luci mood lol. While I code the rest of Luci’s scenes, here’s this to tide you all over 🤲

Remembering the anniversary of a relationship that’s ended is a unique kind of torture, you think. It was once a day you celebrated and now it caused nothing but pain. Time is ruthless, and nothing stays the same.

Well, some things stay the same.

Like how your heart skips a beat when you see him slumped over the railing in the hallway, looking out at the night sky. That’s never changed, and you don’t think it ever will. Lucien Rivera will, perhaps unfortunately, always take your breath away. Then your heart sinks as you see the ruffled wings, the whiskey bottle dangling between limp fingers, the way his head is bowed as if in prayer.

He’s not praying, you know that much. Despite being part angel, Lucien never had much faith in anything.

You approach quietly, your steps silent against the concrete. He’s too far gone to hear you anyways, you realize, reaching out a gentle hand to nudge his shoulder. He spins around, the shitty overhead light reflected in his wide eyes.

It’s quiet for a moment, then your name tumbles out of his clumsy lips, “Leliana…”

Maybe it’s providence, be it of fate or the divine or something you aren’t even aware of, that you brought you both here. Maybe it’s your shit luck, or maybe it’s a chance you’ve been wishing for in the depths of your heart. Either way, he’s here and so are you.

“Lucien,” You force his name out, and it feels like the air has been knocked out of your lungs, “I think…I think you’ve had enough.”

You glance pointedly down at the bottle. He looks away.

“I’d disagree,” He mutters.

When you hold your hand out, you don’t expect him to actually hand the whiskey over. He does, though, obediently and with shaking hands. There’s no lid in sight, which tells you he fully planned on drinking the whole thing tonight.

“Is Cameron back at your dorm?” You ask, and the knowledge that you don’t know the ins and outs of his life anymore is like acid on your tongue.

Lucien gives a stilted laugh, “No. He’s with his aunt.”

You offer your arm when he tries to stand on wobbling legs. He stares at it for a long moment, like he isn’t quite sure if he’s imagining it or not. Then he moves gingerly to take it, his skin on yours both foreign and familiar.

You know very well where his dorm is. Perhaps you’re over conscious of it, the fact that he lives just down the hall. It was stinging, at first, that he was so close yet so far. That seems to be the common theme between the two of you.

“Why?” Lucien asks, his gaze dismal.

“You need help,” You say, as if it isn’t tearing you apart from the inside out to be so close to him.

The look he gives you calls you out on the lie, but he’s retained enough manners to say nothing.

You reach his dorm, and he’s left the door unlocked. You’d fret about safety if it was anyone else, but it’s Lucien, so you push the urge down. He ambles to the couch when you release him, sitting in a heap of mussed curls and disheveled feathers. You open the fridge, cringing slightly at the lack of food as you get a bottle of water.

“Drink this,” You say, handing it to him before you drift back into the small kitchen.

The crinkling plastic tells you he listened as you pour the rest of the whiskey out. He doesn’t object, despite seeing you do it. When you turn, his eyes are locked on you, a half empty bottle held in his hands.

“Do you need anything?” You can’t help but ask, surprised when the question makes him wince away.

“You,” He mumbles, sullen and slurred.

At first, you think there’s more to what he’s saying. That he has some request for you. You almost ask a question, to clarify, when the realization strikes you.

It’s just…you.

Perhaps you sit next to him because your knees are weak, or because you feel like you can’t quite breathe, but either way you end up on the couch. His hand is so close to yours, and you long to reach out. When you look up at him, you see he’s looking down at your hands as well. You wonder if he has the same impulse, the same desire.

You think he does. You hope he does.

“Do you-“ You swallow the words down, unsure if you should ask.

Does he remember? Does he know what today is? Or is it just another thing lost, another thing time has consumed in its ruthless pursuit of your memory?

You already risk forgetting his touch, his skin, his smile. The way his voice used to sound, so kind and in love.

“I remember.” He says, voice rough.

Is that better or worse? You don’t know. Then his fingers brush yours, bold, and you lose track of any thoughts you’d been scraping together.

“You should rest,” You say, instead of the thousand other words that threaten to spill out.

“I…” He hesitates, his lip trembling before he bites it, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh.

“I can stay,” You offer, unsure if it’s wanted.

“Please,” He whispers.

It’s wanted. You’re wanted. You thought being forgotten was torture, but this is so much worse. Knowing he wants you and you want him but history and pain and things that can’t be taken back are pushing you apart…

You curse fate, the divine, your luck, whatever it is that brought the two of you to this point.

“Okay,” You nod slightly, “I’ll stay for a bit.”

He leans forward, curling into the couch, tucking his wings around him like a blanket. He keeps ahold of your hand, though, clutching it like a lifeline. He rests his head on the stiff upholstery, turned so he can still watch you.

“Would you sing?” He asks, his voice painfully small.

You falter slightly. He squeezes your hand. He wants you to sing, so you sing. It’s a lullaby, one that lingers in your memory from a past long gone. Just another thing time has ripped away. The Latin spills out easily, as if you know it by heart, your voice shaking just like your mother’s used to.

He doesn’t care. Not about the shaking, or the way your hand trembles in his. He looks at you with shining eyes, fighting the fatigue that threatens to close them. He doesn’t want this to end, and neither do you. In the dim light of the living room, he watches you sing like he’s finally found faith.

#luci rivera #tw alcohol #had so much fun writing this #i also got to sprinkle in some MC lore which I love #for the luci fans while I finish coding 🤲

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bungalowbear · 6 months

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six.

nanami kento x reader, pokemon au, wc: 990

reader is a psychic gym leader and nanami is a ranger. the garden is a perfect place for conversation. thank you always to @strawberrystepmom for inspiring this series! 💜

The sun is almost fully set. Its final moments are bathed in a deep purple, bleeding into a shade of blue that will eventually fade into the vast darkness of the starry night sky.

You sit on a bench in the garden while you watch over Solrock and Lunatone. They sit in the grass that surrounds the three tiered stone fountain that sits in the center. Among the flora they radiate beauty and serenity just as equally.

Speaking with them through telepathy, you ask about their day. As the conversation flows you once again find yourself trying to stay neutral on the topic of whether daytime or nighttime is better. You try to visit them at both times of day to show you appreciate them both equally, but you understand this debate is one that even you cannot solve.

Footsteps approaching make you dial out of the mental conversation. Turning your head, you see Nanami out of the corner of your eye. The last few inches of sunlight slowly succumb to the earth and allow the moon to shine its light down onto the garden and on the man walking toward you.

“Hello, Kento,” you greet softly. “Would you like to sit?”

He nods before taking a seat beside you on the stone bench, leaving a considerable amount of space between you. It’s silent for a few minutes while the two of you listen to the chirping of insects, the fountain’s trickling water, and the subtle vibrations of Solrock and Lunatone.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you sooner,” Nanami says, breaking the silence.

“That’s fine.” You smile. “You’re probably still a bit sensitive to sunlight.”

“No, I meant when I moved to Johto.”

Your expression falters. “Oh.”

“I’ve spent so much time thinking about what I’d say to you if we ever met again. I thought I’d be angry or sad. But I just feel confused.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” His eyes stay fixed forward as his expression pinches his brows together. “Because I don’t.”

Silence rules the air around you once again. It’s heavy and stifling and you feel the heat of shame roll through you. And again Nanami is the one to speak out first.

“Why didn’t you listen to me when I warned you about Sabrina?”

“I...”

You lower your head, throat tightening, as Nanami pushes on.

“Why didn’t you come to me? I would have helped you.”

The hurt you hear in his voice makes you look up and you’re taken aback by his intensity. His jaw is clenched and hot tears pool in his eyes. They threaten to fall but he holds them back with fierce determination.

“I often think about the last time we saw each other.” You pause, clasping your hands together in your lap. You steel yourself for what you’re about to admit. “After all these years I still can’t help but despise myself because I’ve realized I was always meant to be this version of myself.”

There’s so much more you want to tell him. You want to tell him that the knowledge and power that was dangled in front of you was too great to resist. That you were too much of a weak and selfish creature to overcome the temptation. At the time you valued your abilities over everyone and everything else. Half of you mourns your lost youth, but the other half relishes in the power you’ve gained. It’s proud of what you’ve endured to get to this point of strengthening your psychic abilities to rival even your old mentor.

But you don’t say any of that. You don’t think he could understand, or even want to. You don’t need your abilities to sense Nanami’s mistrust and reluctance to mend the bridge between you, so you’re thankful for the twist of fate that brought him to your doorstep.

Having Yuji and Nanami in your gym the past two days has been a breath of fresh air. You like the quiet and contemplative aura of your gym but you’re starting to think that a little interruption can be good. Especially when you come across a fascinating specimen like the young Ranger.

“I may not be the person you want me to be, but I’m stronger now than the girl you remember,” you say. “And I’d like to talk to you about your mentee.”

“Yuji? What about?”

“I believe a malevolent spirit dwells inside of him.”

Nanami arches a brow. “A malevolent spirit?”

“Yes. I’d like to make sure if it’s really what I think it is that Itadori will be safe. For now, at least.”

“How do you intend to test your theory?”

“I need to enter his mind,” you explain. “I’ll be able to better sense any traces of the spirit and place the mental barriers needed to keep it from awakening.”

Nanami takes a moment to collect his thoughts. The previous minor show of his emotions has now been replaced by a flat expression.

“Yuji has been entrusted to me. His safety and well being are my responsibility.” Nanami speaks with thoughtfully chosen words, utilizing the right combinations to make himself understood. “I don’t know you anymore. Therefore, I cannot trust that your intentions don’t go beyond what you’re telling me.”

“Do you really believe I would hurt him? I know it was a long time ago, but we made a promise to each other—”

“One that you broke first.”

You flinch at the venom tinging his words. Years of hurt and resentment finally make their way out.

“He’s special, Kento. Not just because of the spirit inside of him but because of the way he sees the world. It isn’t given to many.”

“On that we agree. But my answer is still no.” Nanami rises, you sigh. “I’ll keep a close eye on him. Just in case.”

Nanami bids you goodnight and takes his leave. You watch him go, guilt settling deeper within you.

series masterlist

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#catalog #jess’s pokemon au #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento #pokemon au

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ownedbythescribe · 1 year

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Tighnari | Charmolypi

ıllı Synopsis: Fate loves to play a cruel game. When the name of your fated is engraved on your wrist, it is between the parties whether they end up as a couple or forever becoming strangers. However, there is always a consequence for those who wishes to challenge fate.

ıllı Genre: Angst, Slight Comfort

ıllı Notes: Gender Neutral Reader

ıllı Part 2: Tighnari - Over Panacean Lotuses

Emotions and relationships are often baffling and exhausting. It can range from pure joy to inculpable anger. Oftentimes, an individual can experience more than two emotions depending on the situation. These affect the relationships and boundaries people set with each other. Not understanding what one feels often results in fear, guilt, loneliness, and regret. One student once said that in order to achieve mutual understanding, they should spend time together and let time take its course.

‘But because of how different our professions had become, you and I drifted far from each other.’ You thought, looking down at Tighnari and the Traveler as they enjoy their stroll in the Avidya Forest. Initially, you wanted to see the Forest Watcher and tell him your whereabouts, but he was already occupied. There was nothing left for you, not even the space you once filled in his heart.

Like a glass hit by a bullet, cracks swiftly crept up your heart. No matter how much assurance you gave to yourself to mend the pain, Tighnari proved you otherwise. You could only give a bitter smile. Pining for a man enamored by the Traveler’s charms was truly dangerous.

‘There will only be regrets. But do I regret loving you? I’m not sure. Maybe, I’ve been delusional, hoping that with the time we spent, you and I could have fallen in love with each other.’ Wiping the tears, you took a deep breath and turned around. You took the callused hand of the person waiting behind you. The shake of your head signaled to him that you will not proceed with your original plan.

“I see. I’ll treat you to your favorite food later then.” He comforted. It was surprising, for this man to offer warm words. You laughed and told him that aside from food, you would love to get some books for your next research too.

“I’m spoiling you now?” He teased. You simply grinned, not noticing the faint glow on your wrist. It slipped from your mind that fate loved to play a cruel game with people. When the name of your fated is engraved on your wrist, both parties either end up being together or forever becoming strangers. The consequence of the latter is that the person who bore the strongest affection ends up being consumed by the curse, slowly dangling between rationality and madness.

It was a month later that Tighnari noticed your disappearance. It confused him at first as to why you have not visited Gandharva Ville in a while, but he attributed it to your busy schedule. He missed the times when you both would sneak out in the dark of the night to watch the moon cast its glow upon the lake of lotuses. It gave him comfort just thinking about going back to those times. He thought of inviting you again, a form of relaxation from your exhausting jobs. All of his plans fell into the abyss when Cyno broke the news to him.

“Nobody has seen (Y/N)? What do you mean, Cyno?” Tighnari asked, confused as to how nobody knew where you were.

“It’s just as I said, Tighnari. It has been for a month now. I tried to ask the locals if there had been any sightings, but nothing came up.” Cyno confessed, slightly frustrated that there was also nothing coming up with his search. It had been reported to him by your advisor, and he promised to look out for you. But it was like you vanished in the wind.

Tighnari’s breathing quickened. The last time you two saw each other was after Karkata started residing in Pardis Dhyai. He recalled back your conversations with him, hoping for a clue as to where you could have gone. Knowledge capsules, Akademiya researchers, madness, fates, and desert, he could only recall these.

“Have you tried asking in Aaru Village? Or interrogating Eremites?” Tighnari inquired, desperation evident in his voice. He tried to remain calm, he did, but for some reason, his heart was telling him that something was wrong.

“I haven’t. Let me see what I can get from my side. I’ll send a messenger if I ever get anything.” Cyno promised.

Tighnari thanked the general, opting to go back to his office to finish his papers. While sorting them out, he noticed a faint glow on his wrist. Your name was engraved in there, but what frightened him was the way it was fading.

‘Why… is it fading?’

“Ack…! It hurts!” The pain in your chest was unbearable, the engraving on your wrist flickering in the dim room. Ever since you decided to stay away from Tighnari, the crack that crept up your heart continuously grew to the point that you would shed tears, losing in the delusion of pain.

‘Please, stop. He doesn’t love me that way. He… prefers the Traveler! Enough!’ But deep in your heart, there was still a bud of hope, unrelenting to the barrage of negative emotions that coated your mind.

“(Y/N), you have to take this medicine.” Alhaitham whispered, coaxing you to take the liquid vial in his hands. Your gaze zoomed on his cerulean-orange irises. He could see how much the curse had already affected you, but he will have to force you to take the medicine to ensure your safety during the mission.

The Temple of Silence tasked you two to investigate the mysterious occurrences involving ruin golems found in the mountains near Lower Setekh. However, the curse suddenly acted up upon noticing how you were killing your emotions. Alhaitham noticed the symptoms and formulated the remedy that researchers from before had concocted. The medicine will act as a barrier for your memories to rescind and keep the curse at bay. You will feel pain at times, but continuous ingestion should numb it. The Scribe was not a fan of such a method, but this was currently the only available treatment.

“Alhaitham… why is falling in love so painful? I thought it was supposed to feel like a miracle?” You muttered, clutching his hand.

“Because you found him perfect in this imperfect world.” He simply answered. It dawned on you just how much you love him, how much you yearned for the man you couldn’t have. A pity, really.

“I see… I—“ You took the medicine from his hand and drank it. Like a miracle, the pain subsided, allowing you to take a breather. You turned to Alhaitham, held his hand, and discussed what you will do from here on out. He questioned your actions, but you assured him that you knew the consequences. You were foolish enough already, so why not take it up the notch?

Two days later, the Scribe was surprised by your speedy recovery. You gave him a wry smile and joked that it should do so considering the Great Scribe was willing to take care of you for free. Alhaitham scoffed, flicking your forehead. He told you about his own progress during your recovery, and he had already drawn a route for you to take. You were calculating the things you will need for the trip, while Alhaitham took notice of your blank eyes. He grew uncomfortable with it.

“I chose this on my volition, Alhaitham. You don’t need to worry. We should get to the first one before night falls. There are 4 golems sighted, but we should finish scouting in a week or two. That is if nothing goes awry.” You commented. He pointed out a caravan town near the mountain as well as the black market there that could potentially slow you two down should Eremites block you.

“All right. I presume you already got your things ready. Let me just bring mine out then we can head out. We have to thank Candace and the Village Chief for keeping quiet and letting us here too.” You reminded. He nodded and decided to wait by reading the book you got from Dori for half its original price.

You both wore your cloaks in preparation for the sandstorm. While on the road, your mind drifted off to Tighnari, thinking if he was out, spending time with the Traveler again. He had his responsibilities, you knew, but he never failed to give time to those that mattered to him.

‘Just like how he does with mine. I’m so jealous of you, Traveler.’ You confessed to yourself. What you failed to notice was the faint glow of your mark despite the name fading.

As for Tighnari, his heart felt heavier with each passing day. He was desperate to know where you were, why you were gone without telling him, and simply hold you in his embrace. As distracted as he was, he still tried to be the Forest Watcher everybody expected him to be. Too much to say that even Collei was now worried. Her master had the patience of the sky, but ever since the Mahamatra informed you of your disappearance, the fennec fox seemed more irritable and would snap often. He would apologize once he recognized it, but Collei knew that her master deeply cared for you, more than anything else. She did not even see him go with the Traveler—

“Hold on. Didn’t (Y/N) want to meet up with Master a month ago? They looked like they were going somewhere based on their clothing and bag, but… it was also the time that Master was with the Traveler to check for Withering Zones. Was there some kind of misunderstanding here?” She muttered to herself. If there really was, then this predicament was a mess.

Tighnari, who was sitting in his office, could not concentrate. His mind would drift to you, worry paining his heart. He could hear the crack in his heart deepen, but he reassured himself that you will be all right, that you will be back in his arms.

It was a week later that he finally heard from Cyno. You were spotted with Alhaitham recovering in Aaru Village. He did not know why you were with the Scribe, but he needed to see you right away. Tighnari called for Collei and the other forest rangers, informing him of his sudden departure for the desert. They nodded, not exactly sure why, but they trust him that he will be back. The fennec fox gave Amir and Collei the tasks for the week before turning to Cyno, who was waiting at the door.

“M-Master! Before you go, I have something to say.” Collei called out. She confessed to him about your visit to Gandharva Ville before you disappeared. He could see conflict in her eyes and assured her that he was not mad. He, too, wanted to know why you did not go talk to him about things.

“If there really is a misunderstanding here, Master, please be honest with them.” She advised. Tighnari ruffled her hair and smiled before taking off.

It took almost five hours for them to reach Aaru Village. Tighnari was sweating bullets, already not liking the heat, but he persevered. He was desperate to see you. Although that desperation was washed away when he saw Alhaitham take your hand and rest his right hand on your forehead. You leaned at the touch before closing your eyes and dozing off.

Alhaitham took a deep breath, glancing to the side to recognize the company they had. His piercing gaze zoomed on the Forest Watcher who felt jealousy bubble through his body.

“I would like to respectfully ask you to back off from them, Scribe.” Tighnari voiced with a hint of threat evident in his tone. Alhaitham stood in front of you.

“Oh? What business does the Forest Watcher want with my partner?” Alhaitham asked. The word partner irked the fennec fox, his tail raised in alarm at somebody touching what was his. The thought of you being his crossed his mind, having a short epiphany of his feelings, but he let out a sigh and informed him that he needed to talk to you.

“I can’t let you do that, I’m sorry.” He turned around, about to wake you up and escort you back inside, but Tighnari did not let him. He held his hand tightly and pushed him away. The Scribe was about to protest when he felt the cackle of thunder surround him.

“Explain what is happening, Alhaitham.” Cyno ordered. The Scribe held a hand to his face in irritation. The Temple of Silence told them that this was a secret mission, and if they General Mahamatra questioned them, they only give him a summary about it. No other details should be revealed.

With a huff, he explained the short version of the nature of your mission. He redacted the sensitive information before moving to your case.

“You two are aware of the curse on fated, right? (Y/N) here is of a similar case. It was affecting our mission, so they took the medicine numerous times until the end of it. When we reached Aaru Village four days ago, they already stopped consuming it. This is the result of their decision. When the fated do not end up together, the one with stronger affection spirals into madness. Luckily, theirs was not on the extreme side. Hence, I would like to ask why they ended up taking that decision, Forest Watcher Tighnari. Aren’t you their fated?” He asked, mockery and anger visible in his eyes. Tighnari clenched his fist, looking at you in sadness.

“It was a misunderstanding I think. Collei told me about it, and I want to explain everything to them. Is there anything I can do to help with their recovery?” Tighnari asked. Alhaitham saw his determination and sighed.

“I’m not sure. They’ve been like a blank slate here, often whispering your name and crying. I can only comfort them by holding their hand, but other than that, they could still function normally.” He uttered. Tighnari crouched down and held your left cheek. At the touch of something familiar, your blank eyes opened to stare back at him. The murky irises scared him. It felt like you were descending to the abyss, and he will not be able to get you back.

“I am not ready to entrust them to you, Master Tighnari. Let them stay here for three more days before you take them to Gandharva Ville. Prove to me that you really love them and willing to go to lengths to have them with you. They’ve been through so much already, and I think I have enough right to see through it.” Alhaitham negotiated. Tighnari did not like his tone one bit, but something told him that he was left with no choice but to abide. He glanced back at Cyno who told them that he will inform Candace and the chief.

Once he was gone, Tighnari sat down beside you and let you lean on his shoulder. You dozed off at the familiar heat, not really knowing who it was. His heart cracked once more, feeling himself tear up at your predicament.

“Bring them inside, the cold nights of the desert cause them to shiver more than humans should. Don’t worry, I also won’t touch your mate.” The Scribe teased. Tighnari huffed but followed through. He carried you inside and laid you on your bed. He watched your peaceful sleep, before he turned to Alhaitham.

“What is your relationship with them?” He asked. The Scribe glanced back at him and muttered his answer. Tighnari was surprised but immediately understood what this was all about. He really had a lot to explain and repent once you finally recovered.

“I can only promise that I'll stay by their side until then." He muttered, placing his forehead on yours, hoping for his warmth to reach your heart.

Please do not copy or repost my stories, but notes and reblogs are always appreciated!

#genshin impact #angst #hurt/comfort #tighnari #tighnari x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin

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neonlight2 · 11 months

Text

Twin sized mattresses

Summary: Regulus confides in Nyx one of the many nights they spend in the astronomy tower together. It happens to be after he spoke to Sirius, something she had insisted that they do, and both brothers are now on edge due to the escalated conversation— soon turned argument in the school halls.

Masterlist

In two parts one for regulus the other for sirius.

To say that the night had not been long would have been a lie.

Nyx had not felt so emotional drained in a decade. Now, here she sat— or rather lie, on her back as her legs dangle off the edge of the astronomy tower. A habit it would seem she picked up from Regulus. Perhaps to any other, their pull towards the impending fall promised passed the edge they so carelessly walked and leaned against, would be a cry for help. Something to be fearful of, maybe even terrified. Yet they both understood the appeal.

They knew the feeling to want to be near something that could destroy you, simply to see the depths in which one could fall and wonder how much of it would feel like flying.

Today was a day that made her wish to fly, just to crash. The knowledge she had, of what was to come if she were not to mend what was broken by time, love, and neglect. She had seen it. The boys fate.

The poor, beautifully shattered boy she had grown to love. The boy who just wished to be safe, at peace, loved, and asked if he were okay. To which he would lie, for that was another habit of his shed yet to diminish. Along with the self deprecation, words from his parents— vile people who should have never been given such grand gifts as their sons— which reiterated all he had ever known.

“No one will care of what you feel. You’re hardly that special.”

Regulus, the black haired boy with strikingly tired eyes, who truly just wished to be held— if he were ever to ask for it. He was to die. And he was still only just a boy, who would never know what true affection felt like.

“Tough day?”

Nyx nodded, not batting an eye as Regulus took his place beside her, nor when she heard the familiar flicker and click of his prized lighter, decorated by painted stars. The one she and Pandora made for him.

It was only until she heard him take a deep breath that she dared to look over at him. “This is becoming pattern,” she said, taking the cigarette from his hand before he offered, which coincidentally made him scoff out a laugh.

“The tough days? Or coming here to smoke with me?” He asked, his voice growing raspy as he held the smoke in, before finally letting it free into the cold night.

Shrugging, the girl also laughed. “Both I suppose. But I don’t mind one.”

“Yes, the tough days do become bearable.” Regulus retorted, snatching the cigarette back. If he were faster, Nyx might not of noticed the new scars surrounding his delicate knuckles.

“Your brothers kind of a pain in the ass.”

This time his laugh was loud and genuine.

He placed the stick between his lips before sitting up, resting on his arms and looking off into the night sky with a tilted neck. “Of course he is,” he paused as if to contemplate his next words, “Am I allowed to ask what he’s done this time?”

Stretching out her limbs, Nyx sighed. “You can ask me anything Reg.”

“Yes, I know, but—,” he huffed before rubbing the side of his face, where he could already feel becoming numb due to the antagonizing temperature. “Things aren’t as simple as before. It’s better if I don’t know everything. Especially if it involves…”

“Regulus,” Nyx sat up, making sure to give him enough space while searching for his gaze. “You know that he misses you too. He’s just too thick in the head—,”

“Is that supposed to be his excuse?” He snapped, gulping back the pent up anger scratching at his throat.

“No.” She responded instantly, surprising the youngest black brother. “But this whole thing proves that you two have to talk—,”

“Merlin sake—,”

“You both need to understand each other!” The girl said with building frustration. “I know that you saw the way he looked after you told him what your parents did after he left— and I know that even though you’d rather never speak to him ever again, deep down you know you have to—,”

“Why?” Regulus stared at her, eyes now dull of emotion and jaw clenching every other second as his cigarette fractures with each flick. “Why are you so hell bent on fixing our relationship? Is it out of pity? Or are we so fucked up that you just feel the need to help, out of the kindness of your heart?”

They both stared at one another for a moment.

Him because he was watching for any indication that he had made even a sliver of a crack in the care the witch had come to have for him. He was looking for a sign of resentment, something to insure that she’d snap back at him if he were to say something cruel again. The boy had planned this in his head for some time now. He’d played the monster before, so it would be easy to take upon the role once more, wouldn’t it? After all, if not him, who would? Her?

No. She could never hold the title in his eyes. Even if she confirmed every horrible thing his parents had ever said to or about him.

“Because it’ll kill you if you don’t Reggie.”

Nodding, he kissed his teeth before getting up from his spot. “I guess I should wish that it hurries up then shouldn’t I.”

“Reg—,”

“No! No,” he voice raged, cracking in between as he came closer to his confession. “If he really cared for me, then he would have taken me with him that night!”

His mouth shut quickly after meeting Nyx’s eyes, practically overflowing with sympathy and affection he could not even begin to comprehend. It was all becoming to much.

“I– I begged him to stay, and you want to know what he said to me?” He asked, stepping closer in such a manner most would flinch at his aggressive stride, yet she did not even bat an eye. This only fueled him to continue further.

“‘I love you, but there’s no fucking way.’,” he scoffed with a staggering breath. “I always thought– I thought he would at least wait it out until he turned 18. For me at least. Then he could become my legal guardian. As terrible that may sound, anything would be better than them.”

All Nyx wanted to do was reach out for him. To hold Regulus close and not to let go until he had forgotten every wound inflicted upon him by his parents. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs until she tore her vocal cords, cursing the very nature and evil she had ever known to inflict such pain onto someone so innocent.

Someone who would rather be hated and miserable than put another at risk or harm. She knew what he was doing and she could only love him more with each passing second as he unknowingly poured his heart out.

“I know, Regulus.” She would say as his bloodshot eyes began to water.

“Sometimes I don’t even think he really knows me. He just sees what makes it easier.” He continued, now almost losing control of himself.

“I mean honestly how can he believe that I–,” his breathing hitched at the thought, of the wretched reality where his brother truly thought him a bigot. “I never thought he’d ever thought of me like that. A coward at most but never—,”

The boy shook his head vigorously, covering his eyes with the back of his hands, while throwing the cigarette bud to the abyss. “But then again he’s never seen things like me. When he believes something he shouts it from the rooftops like a bloody idiot.”

Snorting at the thought, Regulus finally glanced at Nyx, after ridding himself of welling tears. “I guess that’s a Gryffindor for you. Not everyone can do that, and of course he doesn’t understand that. He never will.”

Nibbling at her bottom lip, Nyx waited anxiously before tugging on the hem of his pants, inviting him into her arms if he were willing.

Regulus’ own lips quivered much to his dismay at the prospect. Him being able to find safety in her embrace. Something he found rare, for he scarcely ever let himself fall into this vulnerability unless if he were with Pandora. And later on he felt guilt for doing so because it always seemed to put a new weight on the sweet, soft girl’s shoulders. A burden she didn’t need, not deserve. His burden.

Yet as he stared down at the girl below him, he couldn’t help but feel himself crumble. His knees bobbing until he gives in, kneeling down to curl into her.

Regulus could only focus on one thing; he had too. He had to breathe. So he rested his head in the cave of her chest, listening to her in hopes of copying the rhythm. There was no point in keeping his eyes open any longer, he wouldn’t be able to see anyhow. They shut tight, and he felt the faintest familiar sting he had only known long ago when the lashing started. He had since become numb to it all. Something Barty had told him was best because if he didn’t feel, they couldn’t hurt him.

Little— that was how he felt, like a child hiding from the monsters creeping in the darkness of the night, and Regulus was a boy who had not known the warmth of day in years.

If it were any other person, he may have flinched when she placed her hands atop his skin. Merely his head, petting it gently while occasionally running her fingers through his dark curls, and the flesh of his arm, but such things were not normal for him. Whatever touched he received had be uninvited, unappreciated, or too forceful to count as caring or fat he say loving. But she had proven to him time and time again that she had already survived enough weight to drown tens of thousands of men. His would be a feather to everything else.

Merlin and how he adored the feeling. This new sense of lightness, knowing he could not hurt her if he tried. And Regulus could finally feel himself floating free as a tear trickled down his cheek, no doubt onto her shirt, yet he did not worry because there was no need for an apology.

“I was the spare,” he croaked, his voice torn apart from the emotion flooding through his brain to his body, “I was the back up, just in case if Sirius was harmed, got sick, or hadn’t lived up to expectations.”

“He got away because they didn’t need, nor want him anymore.” Sniffling, he crooned into her, feeling warm as he hugged the arm that had only laid loosely on his arm. “I don’t get that option.”

Nyx wanted to say, ‘yes you do. Come with us, with me’, but she knew Regulus. And even if she could be what was keeping him afloat, she couldn’t be the one to save him. No matter how much she wanted to.

She combed the hair from his face as he continued, peering down at him to watch the droplets gather on his eyelashes before traveling along the bridge of his nose. And she couldn’t help but wonder how he could still be so beautiful in such depravity. A broken my beautiful boy, trying desperately to keep himself together.

“What’s worse is that I can’t blame him for leaving,” he said, a sob leaving not too far behind.

Regulus exhales shakily, hiding himself further into the girl kind enough to help him keep the pieces of together. “I’m glad he got away. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Him to get away so they couldn’t hurt him anymore, shame him, curse him… I just wish I could too.”

“He’s all I had,” the boy whispered, voice giving out toward the end.

Shaking her head, Nyx couldn’t bite her tongue any longer, and rested her chin softly against his head as she hugged him close. “Not anymore.”

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lass-that-is-gone · 2 years

Text

Cabin Fever

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x WSO Reader (Callsign: Fang)

Summary: You were more than content to go through life in relative obscurity, but fate says otherwise. After your jet crashes into the middle of nowhere, you and Rooster are forced to depend on each other to survive.

A/N: Trying my hand out on a Rooster x Reader fanfic this time. Just a warning, my knowledge on plane crashes only goes as far as Grey’s Anatomy S8E24, so if you could please turn a blind eye on any inaccuracy, kindly do so.

---

It hurt to breathe.

It probably had to be related to the fact that your jet plummeted from the sky at breakneck speed. Hell, were you even alive? You vaguely thought of the tidbit of info about severed heads—the head could still be conscious even when separated from the body.

But you could still feel your limbs, which was a good sign. The throbbing pain was not, however. You tried moving a pinky, and then your hand—okay, still works, so far, so good. You wiggled your toes inside your boots and then sighed in relief when you realized that everything is working fine.

You’re probably black and blue, but you don’t seem to have any broken bones. Rooster, on the other hand—

You gasped as soon as you remembered your pilot, realizing that his seat was sandwiching you to yours.

“Rooster? Hey, Rooster!” You called out. No answer. Shit.

You tried to extricate yourself from the seat as much as you can, using the remnants of the canopy as leverage, foregoing the eject handle just dangling there—they malfunctioned earlier.

With your upper body freed, you could see Rooster passed out in his seat. Panic and adrenaline set you to action. You were able to pull yourself free, and immediately put a hand on the man’s neck to check his pulse. Relief washed over you when you felt the steady beating.

“Rooster? Wake up, man. We’ve got to get out of here!” You tapped at his cheek intently when you started smelling the jet fuel.

He stirred, face scrunching at the sudden onslaught of pain he’s feeling. Good, he’s conscious. You were unaware of the extent of his injuries, but at least he’s conscious.

“F-Fang? Wud happened?” He slurred.

“Engine blew out. We crashed. Snap out of it, Rooster! We’ve got to move!” You snapped. The smell of jet fuel was getting stronger by the minute. Once it reaches the busted engine, both of you are literally toast.

There was no time for comfort. You grabbed Rooster’s arm and pulled while he tried to push himself out his seat. The two of you would have to jump out of the jet as it was suspended by almost 3 feet, cradled by a multitude of trees. These trees probably cushioned the impact and the only reason why the two of you are alive now.

You jumped down, landing on the rocky ground with a soft thud. Your knees buckled beneath you, but you managed to catch yourself. Rolling to the side, you signaled an all-clear to Rooster, who landed a bit more unceremoniously.

Despite the situation, you had to bite your lip to keep from smiling.

“Are you okay?” You asked, crouching down beside him.

He was lying on his back and staring at you with eyes unfocused. “Define ‘okay’.”

“Not dead.” You deadpanned.

Rooster flashed you a lopsided grin as he slowly lifted himself up. With your help, the two of you were able to put ample distance from jet, which, as if on cue, started blazing. There goes all hope that maybe you can check if the controls and radio was still working.

Your priority now was to get away from the crash site as fast as possible, just in case it explodes. You grabbed Rooster by the arm and dragged him further into the foliage. It was a silent trek, the two of you still trying to process what had happened.

Why did the engine catch fire? The two of you haven’t been on air that long, and you are sure that there was no bird strike or whatever that could’ve busted the engine.

You were shaken out of your thoughts when you felt a drop of water hit your cheek. You lifted your head up as soon as you heard the sky rumbling. Huge, dark clouds were rolling in and blocking out the sun.

“Oh, fuck me.” You muttered. The forest won’t be dense enough to keep the downpour away. You’ll need to seek shelter before it soaks you both.

“This is going to pour soon. We need to find shelter, quickly.” Rooster echoed your thoughts.

You both decided to split up for bit to scout opposite areas for a tree or overhang that will fit you both. Exhaustion made each step heavy, but you soldiered on, your eye sweeping the expanse of greenery for any prospective shelter. You’ll rest once you find one.

You did find an overhang, but did not approach it. There could be animals in there and you didn’t want to engage it while alone and exhausted. Delighted at your find, you rushed back to your meeting place.

Rooster was already there. He looked comical in his ratty uniform weighed down by his gear and his hair resembling a bird’s nest. You realized you probably looked the same. Suddenly conscious, you tried to run a hand through your hair, hoping to look presentable.

“You wouldn’t believe what I found!” You both exclaimed at the same time.

Your cheeks prickled with embarrassment.

“You first.” You both said in unison again.

You could see that Rooster was flustered too. He was rubbing his neck and as he chuckled. It wasn’t the time to act like Sweet Valley High characters, though. The rain drops were starting to multiply by the second. You pointed a finger at him, indicating for him to go first.

“I found a cabin, not far from here.” He says proudly, beaming. “It looks abandoned, and probably haunted, but it’ll do.”

“A haunted cabin. Wow, that totally beat the overhang I found near the river.”

The two of you started the miserable trek on the downtrodden path that Rooster found. The path was wide enough for a car, a 4x4 most likely. It wasn’t completely overgrown, so someone must’ve been here recently.

Rain started falling steadily, and it became a struggle to walk now with your gear weighing you down as it got wet. You feared you’ll fall on your face if you have to walk any longer.

“There it is! There’s a cabin! You see that, Fang?” Rooster yelled through the downpour, pointing at dark outline of a cabin at the distance.

You perked up and increased your pace into a light jog. Rooster kept a hand at the small of your back to help you along and match his pace.

As soon as you reached the cabin, you both dropped on your backs on the porch, panting. Rooster held his hand up for a high-five, which you returned with a grin that was threatening to split your face. Sue you if you found the cabin as a small win. You both cheated Death that day.

“Nice find, Rooster.” You complimented as he helped you up.

“Thanks, it’s a rustic bungalow—you’re gonna love it.” You laughed weakly at his Property Brothers’ impression. He turned the doorknob, and as expected, it was locked. He looked defeated.

“Worry not,” You assured him, reaching into your hair for a couple of bobby pins. He watched you with wide eyes as you picked the lock open.

“I thought that only works in movies.” He breathed out. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Summer camp,” You answered simply, reaching into one of your pockets for a flashlight. Rooster just shook his head and did the same.

The door made a loud, creaking noise when Rooster pushed it open. You couldn’t help but notice how he suddenly stood in front of you protectively on instinct.

You were welcomed by the scent of old books and weathered wood. You can see the dust particles dancing along the beam of light from your flashlight as you scanned the room—the living area was small, but thankfully dry. A lone leather couch faced the fireplace, with a dusty rug stretched out in between. On the other side was a small kitchenette with a four-seater dining table. You spotted a kettle on top of a gas stove that you hoped was working.

Further into room was a tiny bathroom and opposite another door which was the bedroom. At the end of the hall was another door that led down to the basement. Everything was pretty spartan but not neglected. It wasn’t an abandoned cabin; someone occasionally stays here. And by the lack of telephones or any piece of technology, they stayed there to disconnect from life.

Your ears perked up when you heard running water. You ran back to the kitchen area and saw Rooster bent over the kitchen sink. “There’s running water! Look!”

“There is a god!” You held your arms up. “Have you checked if there’s electricity?”

He nodded. “I tried to turn on the lights. It’s either light’s out or the breaker’s switched off.”

“The circuit breaker is probably in the basement” You stated, hands on your hips.

To this, Rooster frowned. “No way I’m going down the basement. I’ve seen Evil Dead.”

You rolled your eyes at his pop culture reference and turned to head down the basement “Fine, I’ll go then. Stay here and check—"

You heard him trailing behind you. “Like hell I’ll let you go alone.”

And that’s how the two of you cautiously descended into the basement. Rooster was so close behind you he’s practically breathing down the back of your neck, making you shiver. His presence was assuring, though, he’s scared but you know he won’t leave you alone to fend for yourself.

Contrary to Rooster’s theory, there weren’t any malevolent spirits in the basement. Just the chunky old heating system, a washing machine and a few dusty boxes. You found the circuit breaker on the wall underneath the stairs. The lever was pulled up, indicating that it was turned off. You pulled it down and prayed for electricity—but when Rooster tried to switch on the lights, there was none.

You sighed in disappointment.

“Hey at least there’s running water.” Rooster chirped, putting a hand on your shoulder.

You scowled at him. “I was looking forward to the heating.” You were both soaked to bone and shivering. After surviving a crash, some centralized heating would be nice.

“I’ll light up the fireplace while you clean up. We can lounge in front of the fire while we wait the storm out.” He suggested.

You nodded, and both of you trudged up the stairs. You both made a bit stop at the bedroom to rummage inside the closet. There were blankets and pillowcases for the bed, and, to your delight, dry clothes. They smelled strongly of mothballs, but clean. Dry clothes were a luxury at the moment.

You disappeared into the bathroom while Rooster went straight to the living room. When you emerged, drowning in the sweater and sweatpants you found and hair wrapped in a towel, Rooster already got the fire started. It lit the entire cabin in a warm, orange glow that made everything look just a bit different. Even Rooster. His features looked even more rugged in the firelight, you thought. He looked you some kind of way, like he’s seeing something he liked making you hold your breath as he passed by on his way to the bathroom.

What the fuck was that?

In an effort to distract yourself, you opened every drawer in the kitchenette. You found pair of chipped mugs, utensils, stale teabags and most important of all—canned food and an unopened package of saltines. Bless whomever owns this cabin! You did a small victory dance when you also discovered that the gas stove worked, too!

“You’re having a dance party without me?” You stopped abruptly, face heating up. Excuses were already on your tongue, but then Rooster began swaying his hips from side to side, whipping the towel above his head to an unknown tune.

He looked absolutely ridiculous, but you laughed and joined him, the two of you making random noises that were supposed to be a club remix.

Eventually, you both got to making tea and reheating canned soup. Rooster wrestled the bed mattress in front of the fireplace, putting fresh sheets and pillows while you divided the soup into two bowls. You both sighed in pleasure as you settled in front of the fire, backs resting against the sofa, elbows touching as you ate dinner. It was quiet for a long time as you both devoured the simple meal.

“Can I be honest?” Rooster broke the silence.

“Mmmh” You mumbled your ascent through a mouthful of crackers.

“This is the best meal I’ve had in a while.” He declared.

You understood what he meant. It was just canned soup and crackers, but after everything that happened that day, you had to agree.

“Can I be honest, too? I agree with you.” You said, smiling at him.

You and Rooster have never been close. Before today, you have never even spoken to him. He was part of the elite; he got into Top Gun and was called back a year ago for a special mission. You were just plain WSO with enough skill to stay employed—the only available WSO that day on base, that’s why you got to fly together.

You’ve seen him perform at Hard Deck, but you’ve never approached him. Because you were practically invisible to him, just part of the crowd.

But right now, there’s only the two of you. You’ll be damned if he still does not see you now.

“I’d still kill for some chicken adobo over piping hot rice, though.” You said, setting your empty bowl aside.

“That sounds heavenly. I… I’d give an arm and leg to taste my mom’s cooking again.” He said somberly, staring into the fire. The look on his face told you everything. It was the look of soul-crushing longing.

Your heart broke for him.

“She must be an excellent cook then. Any favorites?” You asked instead.

He was fidgeting with the loose threads on the blanket as he answered. “Her chocolate chip pancakes are the best. Mom makes it from scratch, you know? And she never skimps on the choc chips. When she’s not looking, I’d lick the batter off the spoon and make myself sick.”

And that was how the night went on. The storm raged outside, the winds rattling the window shutters off its hinges, but you and Rooster were cocooned in your own little haven in front of the fireplace, blankets around your shoulders and steaming mugs of tea in your hands. Rooster told you stories of his childhood, how he lost his dad at a young age and how he dreamt of becoming a pilot since then. He shared how he got the scars on his face and how he almost did not get to be a pilot. He cryptically told you about a mission he almost died in, it made you scoot just a little closer to him.

You on the other hand was more content to listen to him. He had a way with stories, he can make a simple anecdote colorful with just the enthusiasm in his voice. But he’d prod you sometimes for stories of your own. You lamented at the fact that you have 3 older brothers, all of them in the military, how one of their deaths made you get into OCS right after earning your Electrical Engineering degree. That time, he was the one who moved closer to you. On instinct, you put your head on his shoulder.

You told him of your woes as a plain jane—you always get the job done but you are not exemplary enough to be noticed by anyone. In words you tried to show him how it felt to be in a room and not be seen at all and how you eventually just got used to it.

“I don’t think anyone could do what you did earlier.” He stated, placing a warm hand on your knee.

“What do you mean?”

“You could’ve gotten out and saved yourself. I was practically a stranger, but you chose to not leave me behind. You saved my life, sweetheart, thank you.” He squeezed your knee and gave you a warm smile.

You laughed through your tears and shook your head. “Leaving you behind never crossed my mind. I might not know you, but I know someone’s waiting for you to come home alive and well.”

Rooster looks at you tenderly. Your breath hitched at your throat when his calloused hands touched your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your cheekbone. His eyes held yours as his face came closer, every inch making your heart beat faster and faster.

There was a sudden rush of pleasure when his lips met yours in a gentle kiss. It was surreal. Maybe you actually have died and this is just some sort of limbo—but the warm press of his lips and the hand on your waist said otherwise. You are very much alive, and the man in your arms was making you feel things you never thought you’d be capable of feeling: how a simple kiss can make you feel like you are flying, how a touch can set your skin on fire, how a press of bodies can elicit a sound so soft and loud at the same time.

And how easy it was to fall in love. You thought, as you wrapped your arms around his neck and melted into the kiss.

-End-

#rooster x reader fanfic #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader fanfic #rooster x reader #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfic #rooster top gun

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tangleweave · 1 year

Note

"I just.... can't get him out of my head.."

[ Angsty Starters / Accepting ]

Seated beside Sigyn with legs dangling over the edge of the cliff, Bill's gaze could easily have been mistaken for attending the vista of oceanic splendor before them. But in fact he wasn't looking at the water, nor really at anything else in particular. He was still coping with the knowledge that Asgard had suffered a fate similar to that of his own homeworld. Two realms, now, galaxies apart and yet still brought to the same end -- by the very same demon, no less.

What an irony that the creature which had doomed his world had, in an odd and twisted way, been salvation for the refugee gods.

And it was no secret to him which god she spoke of now. He rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. "Loki."

He didn't quite peer at her directly, but he shifted the tilt of his head to put her at his periphery. "With every measure of respect I have for you, milady... I realize Loki was your anchor, but he was also, at times, your shackle. Does he haunt your heart?"

#cffidelity #sigyn #muse: bill #{ this went an interesting direction }

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mc-lukanette · 3 years

Text

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

—————

A few days had passed since Marinette had burned the Adrien photos, and Luka was relieved to note that they hadn't come back since. Marinette seemed equally at ease, their daily calls becoming more and more relaxed with each time she told him about her still-empty wall. He did wish he could do a little more concerning the red string around her neck, but his mind was drawing a blank and she was happier than before regardless.

The main problem however, was the relation to the miraculouses. Everyone knew that Ladybug wasn't interested in Chat Noir, a fact that made the knowledge of the red string even worse. He wasn't sure if the red strings were tied to the miraculouses or not - or how if they were indeed connected - but he speculated that it was about more than just talking to Marinette about Adrien; Chat was a factor as well. He couldn’t imagine the societal pressure of Ladybug and Chat Noir being a couple, and no one had to do much research to realize that Chat Noir was okay with it while Ladybug was very much not.

He'd have to take on the red string from both sides of the masks, and it took one particular day for him to get his chance.

"You want me to go on patrol with you?"

Ladybug nodded, balancing herself on his windowsill as she replied, "If you'd like to. Chat Noir is busy tonight, so the position's opened and you're one of the people used to having a miraculous."

Luka caught himself before he could start smiling too much, knowing that it was Marinette under that mask and she wanted him to go on patrol because they were friends.

"I'd be honored to."

She beamed at him, and after the snake miraculous was on his wrist, he was transformed and the two set off for the rooftops together.

—————

Viperion glanced left and right as he went along with Ladybug. He'd been called enough by then to have gotten used to superheroing, though it was his first time actually on patrol. Given the situation they were in, he was thankful that Adrien was busy that particular night with what Viperion could only guess was Gabriel's orders.

The red string was still dangling around Ladybug's neck, though Viperion'd grown attuned enough with his fate sensing that he could stop focusing on it and simply see her if he chose to. It didn't stop him from thinking about it, but it helped.

Ladybug seemed to know the route to take, so he mostly followed after her, but it was partway through where she'd decided that they should take a break. Paris was always quiet right after akuma attacks, meaning that they could afford to take it easy since there'd been one just that afternoon.

They leaped buildings until they reached the Eiffel Tower, scaling the monument until they reached the top platform. He didn't miss that she'd avoided using her yoyo for the job, possibly to put them on an even playing field.

Letting out a breath, Ladybug leaned against the railing and she gazed over the city. Gesturing to the view, she explained, "We'll have a good vantage point from here in case anything happens."

Viperion chuckled. "You really do think of everything."

She blushed faintly, but took the compliment casually. "I'm just doing my job." She turned her hip to more easily grab her yoyo, then opened it and reached inside. "Anyway, are you hungry?"

He tilted his head in curiosity, then grinned as she pulled out a bag of macarons from the Dupain-Cheng bakery. It wasn't anything suspicious given that it was known as the best bakery around.

"Thanks," he replied gratefully, taking one of the macarons she offered him.

She grabbed one as well and they took a simultaneous bite of their respective treats. He was a little surprised to hear that she brought along snacks, but supposed it made sense if breaks during patrol were a common thing after akuma.

They settled down on the ground, Ladybug placing the open bag in-between them so they could pick them out at equal leisure. Tossing him an apologetic but teasing smile, she added, "Sorry, but cushions wouldn't fit in the yoyo."

He raised his brows at her, then glanced down at the hard ground below them. He snorted at her joke, noting, "It's nice to see you outside of akuma battles, where you can relax and play around more."

She smiled shyly at him, in a way that was so Marinette that he couldn't believe he hadn't figured her out sooner. "Thanks. Chat says I have no sense of humor."

He frowned, replying without hesitation, "Chat's wrong."

She waved him off, though he could tell that she appreciated the comment. Hearing that Chat had told her something like that was news to him, despite all the research he'd done into their relationship. Granted, he imagined that anything could be said off-camera and he couldn't have known.

"Does he say things like that a lot?" he asked, hoping he wasn't prodding too much. There was just something about how casually she'd said it that unnerved him.

"Huh?" She blinked, thrown off by the question, then rubbed the back of her neck. "Well... most of the time, he flirts instead. It's..." She hesitated, like she wasn't sure that she could talk about it. Glancing at him, then back to the open sky, she relented and added, "—it's a lot sometimes, but he does his job well enough, so it’s not like it’s a serious problem. I don’t know, it’s not like I’ve never wondered about the what ifs of having someone else, but whenever I think about it, I just—"

She squinted at nothing, Viperion's gaze flickering down to the string, which had became visible now that he was focusing on it.

It had tightened, pressing into the black of her bodysuit in a way only he could see, and he found himself squinting just like she was.

"—I can't imagine being Ladybug without him," she said.

He pressed his lips together, trying to suppress any reaction to the comment. He'd suspected it for a while, but actually seeing it was something else entirely.

The red string demanded dependency on Ladybug's part. He wasn't sure how much it pulled Chat on the other end, but judging from what he'd gathered from Marinette's luck and fate's blatant favoring of Adrien, he could guess.

Ladybug peeked up from her macaron when he remained silent, confusion passing over her features. "What? You look like you have something to say."

"Ah—" He looked down, brows furrowing as he hoped even more that he wasn't pushing boundaries. "—just... I know that he's been with you since the beginning, but I don’t think you need Chat Noir to be an amazing Ladybug."

She straightened, dropping her treat in surprise and then fumbling to catch it. Perhaps she hadn’t caught onto what her words implied, or had said them without thinking due to the string and was now facing it head-on.

He continued, "You've dealt with akuma plenty of times without him, and you work well with all your heroes. I'm sure you could make the best out of any partner you had." He smiled reassuringly at her. "Maybe Chat Noir only seems as good as he does because he's at your command."

Ladybug's cheeks tinted red, nearly matching her mask, as she ducked her head at the high praise. She raised the macaron back to her lips, chewing on it as if that helped hide her face.

It was only after she'd slowly nibbled the treat all the way down and swallowed that she replied, "T-thank you."

He shrugged, having only been honest.

"Chat Noir..." She cleared her throat. "Well, Paris would disagree with you."

"Paris is wrong too," he replied in the exact same tone as when he was discussing Chat. After careful consideration, he asked cautiously, "Do you mean how—"

"Yeah, the—" She frowned and waved both hands vaguely in a gesture that no one but him would've understood. "Yeah."

So she was all too aware of their status of a "couple" in the eyes of Parisians. It made sense with everything he already knew, but he hadn't wanted to be right.

The phrase she'd used when talking about Adrien resurfaced in his mind: made for each other.

He clenched his fist. She was being pressured on both sides of the mask, towards both sides of Adrien's mask.

"I don't like it," she admitted, "but Chat drinks it up and I guess the public is into the idea of this superhero couple. They see us like celebrities."

"It's not right," Viperion hissed, and Sass would've been proud of it. "You save Paris every week and you deserve to be respected."

"There's nothing I can do about it," she told him, almost in defeat. "Besides, Chat... he needs a pick-me-up every now and my pep talks don't always work on him. He pouted when I brought in a male hero for the first time."

"That's not your fault!" he argued. "Chat needs to be confident on his own. He can't keep relying on you or make you feel like you can't do anything without him doubting himself. You're under enough stress as it is, and—!"

He caught himself, his mouth shutting tight before he could reveal exactly how much he knew. Ladybug blinked at him, seeming puzzled by the outburst but not suspicious at least.

He took a breath, reminding himself to stay calm. Reaching back, he grabbed hold of his lyre and brought it in front of him, strumming a few notes and letting them settle the discordant song that was playing in his stomach.

"My point is... Chat shouldn't be someone adding onto the pressure. That's not a partnership."

Her shoulders relaxed, her eyes darting around as she processed his words. She looked conflicted.

"...I'm sorry," he added, settling his lyre in his lap. "Not for what I said, but—I didn't mean to bring the mood down."

"No, no." She shook her head, pulling her knees to her chest. "It's good that you did. I've actually—" Her voice grew quiet. "—been thinking about it lately."

"About what?"

She made the same vague gesture from before. "All of that. There's been a lot going on and it's given me a lot to think about."

He knew immediately what she meant.

"It's... frustrating," she groaned. "I don't like Chat that way. I mean, maybe sometimes he said or did something that I found charming, but that's just—not enough for me, you know? To only feel something like that for a second or two." She averted her gaze, growing distant. "Everyone seems to think we belong together, and... I hate that they might be right."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Well, I'm a hero; a permanent one. I need to be there all the time. Every akuma, every purification, every Miraculous Ladybug. Only I can do it." She hugged her legs closer, burying her face in her knees. "I want a relationship. I want someone to date and be close to, but I can't have it. I'm always running away; always going somewhere with some excuse so I can go deal with the akuma, and I can't tell anyone! Can you imagine how that'd make my date feel?"

He opened his mouth, but a thought occurred to him at the last second that gave him pause.

"You... so you think..."

Once again, he hoped to be wrong. He wanted so badly to be wrong.

But Ladybug looked up, her expression pained as she confirmed, "There's only one person I could be with where it wouldn't have to happen."

His blood ran cold, he felt sick, and the memory of the red string flashed in his mind, wrapped around Adrien's ring.

Fate didn't just tie her to him; it wanted to make her believe that he was her only choice.

Viperion's grip on his lyre tightened, his teeth grinding together behind closed lips as he tried to maintain an aura of calm. He wasn't just angry anymore, he was livid, and he silently wished that the face on the other side of the butterfly miraculous was the universe so he could give it a piece of his mind.

How could you do that? How could you take a girl who's always worked so hard and tried her best, and treat her like she's nothing? No, not nothing, because then at least she'd be left alone. How could you treat her like a plaything, as if she's some prize for a guy to win no matter what? How could you manipulate her to think that everything's her fault, just so she never thinks to fight back against the ones putting pressure on her?

What's love if it's gotten through such force?

"V-viperion?"

A hand falling upon his jolted him back to reality, his head snapping up to see Ladybug there, her pupils shrunken in and her brows knitted in worry. Whatever his face had looked like, it'd scared her.

His first instinct was to feel guilty. He was supposed to be comforting her, not making things worse by letting all of his emotions show on his face.

His second instinct...

He tossed his lyre off to the side, Ladybug's gaze briefly following it until his hands fell upon her shoulders. Her eyes widened, and she let out a squeak as he pulled her onto his lap and into a hug.

The only thing he was grateful for in terms of her superhero status was that he could hug her as tightly as possible without hurting her.

"A-ah..." She seemed tempted to say something, but fell silent soon after and hugged him back, burying her face into the side of his neck. He felt her strength in the way she squeezed him, like she was starved for his affection despite them being in a similar position not too long ago.

He understood. Before, they were tackling her problems when she was Marinette, but Ladybug had never had someone to personally confide in concerning Chat.

She'd needed this.

"You already do so much," he whispered. "You should be allowed to be with whoever you want, and you shouldn't have to settle when it comes to love."

She sighed against him, like she knew deep down that he was right. "You don't know how bad it could get. Some hypothetical boyfriend wouldn't deserve that kind of treatment."

"I get why you'd feel that way," he said, "but I'd hope that this hypothetical boyfriend would know that you're worth it."

Her fingers twitched against his spine. "...You don't even know me."

"I know that you're creative. I know you're smart. I know you work harder than anyone else to keep Paris safe. I know you have a right to feel however you want, and if you think you need to earn being with someone who's not Chat, then you've more than done that." He slid his hand up to squeeze her shoulder. "I also know that you'll find a way to make it work, if you put in even half the care into it as you put into Paris."

"Vi—" She paused, her voice softening. "Luka..."

They stayed like that for a while, the bag of macarons going untouched an arm's reach away. Viperion just held her, sensing that she was feeling out what he'd said and that they didn't need words for it. That was fine with him; her love life was none of his business. He only wanted to help her have the choice to live it.

A breeze blew by, their bodysuits protecting them from the wind chill factor as their hair was lightly shifted by the gentle air. Ladybug stirred, letting out a noise like she felt personally slighted by the wind, then pushed herself up, her hands on his shoulders as she pulled away from him.

"We...we should get back to patrol," she admitted.

He offered her a small smile, noting that she seemed to be in better spirits at least. "Alright." He let her out of his lap, leaning over to the side to pick up his lyre.

He heard her retreating footsteps, along with a light, "You can keep the macarons."

He glanced up at her, surprised. "Are you sure?" he asked, knowing that he was mostly responsible for them not eating all of them. "Is that what you usually do on your breaks: let Chat have them?"

"Oh." She stood awkwardly in place, looking off at the sky before dropping her gaze to the ground. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she grinned sheepishly and replied, "Actually..."

He tilted his head, curious.

She peeked over at him, eyes half-lidded as she told him, "I've never done this with Chat."

He raised his brows, as if that would make her clarify, but she simply turned away from him and started doing a few stretches, clearly prepping to head back out.

Pursing his lips in thought, Viperion turned his back to her, giving attention to the little plastic bag resting neatly on the ground. Even though it was open, the little ribbon that had held it shut was still around it, suddenly feeling more special now that Ladybug had said something so... cryptic.

He looked out at the view they had, then Ladybug, then back at the bag, feeling extremely slow on the uptake as his brain pieced things together based on what information he had.

Then, suddenly his brain supplied: Wait... was this a date?

He buried the thought just as quickly, shaking his head and scolding himself for jumping to that so fast.

"Are you ready to go back to leaping rooftops?" Ladybug asked behind him, her tone light even if she was still in her own head.

"Yeah," Viperion replied, picking up the little bag like it was something precious. Hoping to lighten things further, he then added, "I'm new to this, so I might lag behind."

She chuckled. "You might. Apparently I'm a really amazing hero according to someone I know."

He grinned to himself. Even if she was just teasing, it felt good to hear her compliment herself in a way.

He had just tightened the ribbon to seal the bag back up, listening to the sound of Ladybug's foosteps, when he felt a sudden niggling sensation at the back of his head, or—behind him? He turned, puzzled, then leaped up as he caught sight of a teal wisp in Ladybug's path.

He rushed over as she yelped and tripped over what would seem like nothing according to her. Catching her just in time, he also realized belatedly that it may've been an overreaction, given that she was in superhero form; he could only blame it on reflex.

Ladybug stood up with a start, covering the lower half of her face in shame. "Ugh, that was so embarrassing, I'm sor—"

"It's not your fault," he hurried to say, not explaining further as he grew lost in thought, staring silently at the place where the wisp had formed itself.

He hadn't just seen the wisps this time; he had sensed them. That was new, and he wouldn't have questioned a new addition to his fate sensing had it not been the fact that he hadn't particularly done anything as Viperion; it usually took an instance or two of him using his power for something to manifest, but here...

He glanced up when he realized that Ladybug was looking at him curiously. Debating with himself for a moment, he ultimately trusted his gut and met her gaze, asking,

"Do you mind if I talk to Sass again after this?"

#au: Dread String of Fate #Dread String of Fate: writing #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette #type: salt #((Just in case.))

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onyxoverride · 3 years

Note

I wonder how Zeke would react to you being pregnant, would he be absolutely delighted or would just go IM FINNA WHIP DIS HOE 🏃🏃🏎🏎💨💨

Baby - Zeke Jaeger x Reader

warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy sickness, I don’t know the ins and outs of pregnancy but google is my friend- just know I’m unreliable. Angsty, fluffy, SMUT Minors DNI. Pubes? Oversenstivity, creampie. Zeke is sweet.

word count: 4k

note: OMGG HAHAH I can see this going a few ways tbh. also accidentally wrote a fic again :) hehe. It’s Zeke, I cant help it. this started informally so its like a drabble fic hybrid baby which is fitting hehe

He’ll either be like “Well I did say I’d stuff you with my babies so...” and he’ll accept his fate as a father. Will be unusually good especially if it’s a little girl because if he has a son he’ll afraid he’ll be like his father.

Or he’ll give you a look of horror, if you two were protected and this was completely unexpected he’ll be like “...I don’t know if I can do this...” He might run away, but again he doesn’t want to be like his father, eventually, he’ll come back, probably when you start showing because it’s then that he realizes that you’re pregnant with his kid, for real. Will get on his knees and apologize if needed. Give him a wake-up call, “I told you I was pregnant, and you left me alone. You left me alone for almost three months. I had no one and you left.”

You need to accept him a bit, for your sake and for your baby's sake, but that doesn’t mean you won't be mean to him a bit as revenge. Plus, he needs to earn your trust back.

You let him live in the guest bedroom, whatever routine and life you had before, it’s completely different now. It’s awkward. He’s missed so much, he’s missed the worse of your morning sickness and dizziness (which you still have occasionally just not as bad), and he’s missed getting you weird food combos, he’s missed you, he misses your warmth, he misses talking to you in slow cold mornings, he misses rubbing his beard on your neck and you complaining that it tickles, he should have never set a foot out the door, he knows that now.

“This is my baby. Not yours, not ours, not unless you prove yourself.” And boy does he. It doesn’t matter if it’s the dead of night and you want food, he’ll get it with sleepy eyes and pajama pants if he needs to. One day he’s venturing out of his bedroom to see your bathroom light on, and he’s going to check, of course he is, because he is worried. You’re leaning over the toilet with your eyes closed, head propped against the wall, a cold rag resting on your thigh to get your temperature down and try to keep you grounded as you throw up.

You can see how this looks like a bad situation to someone who hasn’t been there for months. Why do they even call it morning sickness when it doesn’t just stick to mornings. So when he slides next to you on the floor with a panicked look in his eyes asking ‘are you okay? is the baby okay? should we go to the hospital?’ it’s a bit irritating but it warms your heart nonetheless. Your head is pounding, you desperately want to sleep but every time you move it makes you a little more nauseous so you can’t even make it to the bed. His hand is on your thigh, it's warm but not uncomfortably warm like your body, and his calloused hands bring you back to reality. “It’s normal,” is the best explanation you can utter out right now.

He wants to ask what he can do to help, but your eyebrows are scrunched in pain and he doesn’t want to deepen that so he’ll at least try to help. He brings you a pillow to rest your hips on, even though you groan when you move you appreciate it because the tiles began digging into your skin, your pajama shorts do nothing to help you with that but the cold tiles feel nice to an extent. All of Zeke’s knowledge from college and how he took care of his hungover or sick friends is jumbled up because can any of those tips apply here? Whenever your stomach didn’t feel good you’d ask him to fix you peppermint tea and that seemed to help but will the smell bother you? This is the first time he’s felt true panic since- well since you told him you were pregnant, and when he came back to beg for forgiveness.

You’re still sitting beside the toilet, it’s much more comfortable now with the pillow, and Zeke brought you a fresh wet rag because the old one was starting to warm up to you. There’s shuffling from the kitchen that’s muffled by the walls and he comes back with an armful of things -- it’s almost comical. Your favorite water bottle refilled with bits of ice clinking around, a blue Gatorade bottle, a handful of plain crackers from the back of your cabinet that he must’ve scrambled to find. He runs back one more time to bring a warm mug- which he now realizes probably is the opposite of what you want because it’s warm and it seems like you want to be cold. He looks awkward as he sits on the other side of the toilet, leaning against the tub, like he’s being graded for his performance. He’s just close enough to reach you, just in case, hand caressing your ankle which is more to comfort him than you.

Now you look a little more relaxed. “Uhm...” he clears his throat as he speaks softly, “... I brought you tea, and crackers, water too. And cookies just in case. And Gatorade.” He looks younger now somehow, like when you and him met in college when he first asked you out on a date, nervous and scratching his ear.

This is the first time you have looked at him so softly since he came back. He does deserve the harshness, he thinks, but seeing the opposite after so long is almost gratifying. “Water sounds nice,” so he hands you the bottle quickly.

Sitting there almost another hour, you still don’t want to try to get up but Zeke stays and hands you everything you need. Pushes back any hair in the way when you lean to retch into the toilet. The times between each retch get longer, and after forcing yourself to eat a few crackers you feel like you have finally come down to earth, the rag and tiles too cold, the warmth of your bed filled with fluffy blankets tempt you.

“I think I’m okay now,” you aren’t, but just okay enough to go to bed and try to sleep. Zeke works you up to your feet, slow and steady, staying firm for you to lean on. You catch a glance at yourself in the mirror and it’s almost like a horror movie jumpscare. Red eyes, half-lidded and tired, eye bags more defined and lips chapped. The thought of toothpaste makes you want to throw up again but you have mouthwash that gentle so that’ll do, and the coconut lip balm you rely on has never bothered you. Zeke keeps at least one hand on your hips the whole time, you figure you do look like you are about to fall apart any moment.

He waddles you to your bed. It looks way different than when he saw it last. More pillows than before, lining the side closest to your bedroom door, his side. Or it was his side. There are more blankets too and a heating pad with a little remote dangling off the bed. He feels like he needs to retch now, guilt chasing up his spine. You’ve dealt with this alone, without him. How many times were you not able to get up off the floor because no one was there to help? The pillows that you lined his side with are taunting him, ‘we had to fill the void you left.’ But it’s just his own voice scolding him.

There are few things in life he is able to regret, but leaving you was one of the worst mistakes he could have ever made.

When you finally get comfortable, one leg thrown over the pillow and at least 3 fluffy blankets that he’s tucked over you, the temptation to ask to stay in your room scratches at the back of his head. He won’t ask, not tonight, not right now. He presses a closed-lip kiss to your shoulder that’s barely felt over the blankets. “Holler if you need me, okay?” He can see your breathing is steady and lets out a short laugh, you must have been exhausted. He’ll pour out the tea you didn’t drink, and make sure to get some more crackers on the grocery list.

/ / :

Slowly, he’s earning your trust. It’s been a month since he’s come back and now the atmosphere is more comfortable. Not romanticly domestic like he so desperately wants it to be again, but he can’t complain about progress.

He hasn’t been allowed to touch your belly, or even see it really because you are wearing the biggest clothes you can find. This is a rare moment where he gets to see you in tighter clothing because you feel too warm, and he gets to see your belly. It’s a cute bump, stretching out the tanktop you are wearing, he can see the dip/pop of your belly button through it, and you’ve refused to wear bras ever since your breasts started to feel too sensitive. Zeke didn’t expect to find this so... to put it in simple terms, hot.

Your nipples are poking through, breasts heavy, and the realization that he pumped you full with his kid and claimed you completely runs straight to his cock. He shouldn’t be this horny right now, especially when you are complaining about being too hot while laying on the couch with your feet propped up, shorts doing nothing to cover you, especially when he can see that you are not wearing underwear and slightly wet. Can you really blame him? You are hot, he loves you, and he’s been pent up ever since he came back and even before because his hand doesn’t cut it.

When he leans to give you a cup of ice water he knows you can see his hard-on through his pajama pants, it’s not like he’s trying to hide it. “Are you seriously horny right now?” You don’t really mean to say it like you are offended, you’re just surprised, and curious, because what the hell is going through his head right now? He’s a little startled because of your straightforwardness but he is nothing if not shameless when it comes to this type of scenario. How do you think you got pregnant in the first place?

“Yes, because a beautiful woman is laying right there with her legs propped up so I can see her cunt -- which is wet by the way -- and her tits, well, she might as well be shirtless and-” He takes his hand to run up your knee, “-she has my cute kid sitting in her belly right now. You are kind of irresistible you know?”

That’s really embarrassing, sure it felt airy but you didn’t know he could see. You can feel your cunt gush -- curse pregnancy horniness -- as you look up to him from where your head is resting against a pillow. You could risk it... You can satisfy yourself sure, the few toys you have resting under the bathroom sink but you know that the best experience, the most satisfying one, would be with Zeke. At least you tell yourself that's the reason, really you miss him, you miss him loving on you like you’re the only person in the universe and his warm touches, you miss him fucking you brainless. You don’t think he’ll leave again at this point, he’s too far in, going to doctor's appointments with you and living with you, and if he tried you might just break one of his legs. So why not? It’s not like he could get you pregnant again-

“If I’m so irresistible, why aren’t you doing anything?” You see him quirk a brow at you, knowing this will change the relationship he’s slowly been earning back. He just meant to embarrass you a bit, see you warm up with his lewd words but actually initiating something is the best outcome. So the hand that’s been lingering on your knee goes down to the juncture of your thigh, brushing up against the bump of your belly. It has you sucking in a breath, you are so sensitive, and he loves how responsive you are.

“As you wish.” He settles himself between your legs on the couch, they spread to accommodate him and he can see more of your cunt peaking out through the shorts. Unless he is mistaken, you have gotten wetter since he last saw it which is sending his blood rushing. Working off your shorts is easy, throwing them somewhere behind him, and he observes for a moment. He hasn’t seen you naked in a long time so he is soaking up every moment like it will be his last. You nudge your ankle to his side, “Don’t stare,” you say in an airy voice he hasn’t heard in a long time. There’s a patch of hair contouring your cunt, being dampened by your slick. You don’t care if he doesn’t like hair or not, you are pregnant and he should be thankful he’s even between your legs right now. Still, a nagging in the back of your head is making you a little self-conscious, but that is slowly being overridden by desire. He takes your offending ankle and rubs circles in it, it’s to keep you in place, a sense of dominance with a soft undertone. His other hand goes to take a few fingers to spread open your cunt, “I’m sorry, I like to stare at things that are beautiful, it’s how I was made.” That doesn’t even sound like an apology, too light-hearted and snaked with lust. Scolding him sounds like a good option but you can’t bring yourself to. You are just too sensitive, his hand isn’t even rubbing at your sweet spots but it still feels so good.

His stare on your nethers finally lets up, bringing both of his hands to trail up your belly, rubbing the bump of your growing baby. His baby, that he put in you. He bends over your belly to kiss it through your top, slowly riding it up so he can kiss the skin. It’s too soft, too comforting. You want to cry because this is what you have wanted this whole time since you found out you were pregnant. You wanted him to be sweet, fawn over you, and kiss your belly, and love your kid as much as he claimed to love you. There are so many things left unspoken, so many things to talk over that you both haven’t gotten to. You card fingers through his blonde hair, it’s just as soft as you last felt it, though you know he’s been using stupid low-quality shampoo because he can’t steal yours anymore. He looks up at you, giving you a much too sweet smile before settling his glasses on the coffee table.

He whips off his shirt to stay at least equal exposed as you, you’ve always complained about how it’s unfair. What’s really unfair, he thinks, is how hot you look laid out for him. The roughness of his hands contrasts the softness of your skin, the pudge of your thighs, the slowly appearing stretch marks on your belly, the softness of the edge of your breast he can feel teasing the edge of his hand as he adventures your body. Even your little moans are soft like silk running across his skin every time you breathe one out from his touches. Pulling your tank top over your breasts, he stares again. He really has missed a lot, your breasts look a little different, just a bit bigger, and your nipples swollen a bit with sensitivity, perked and begging for his attention.

So he caves, pressing his fingertips into the flesh of your breasts making you gasp because of the tenderness. The pads of his thumb circling around your areola before thumbing roughly over your nipple. They’re so cute, so responsive, Zeke loves it. He kisses your belly one more time and adjusts himself closer to you, pajama pants brushing against the swell of your ass, and leans so he can lap at your chest. His tongue feels almost prickly like a cat because of how sensitive you are, it hurts but it doesn’t hurt at the same as he tongues your nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, teeth teasing your nipple just a bit. It causes you to jolt and moan, digging your fingers into his hair as he continues to press kisses into your chest. You can feel his chest vibrate with a salacious giggle, his sadistic tendencies tend to slip out like this, and seeing you jolt and knowing your cunt must be absolutely drenched makes him all too prideful.

“Zeke, that’s enough-” He’s sucking the skin of your breasts hard so it'll leave bruises when he’s done. One of his hands presses gently into your belly, “Soon I won’t be able to do this as much. Let me have my fun.” All the implications send your blood rushing to your head as you throw it back into the pillow. He sucks a few more bruising hickeys to the underside of your breasts before pulling back, leaving a bite at your nipple.

He’s too needy to even work his pants off completely, doesn’t even bother with his socks. He was right, your cunt is drenched and leaking slick so much, sticking to the hair that's there, it’s almost running to your ass. “Fuck, you’re so fucking-” he can’t even find the words to describe you right now. Beautiful, divine, ethereal, are a few words that come close to describing you. So he just presses a kiss into your knee before settling his cock near your clenching hole.

“You’re okay with this?” There’s so much kindness in his voice, seeping into your skin. You know this is your chance to pull back, to continue the steady incline of your relationship with him instead of this jump. You don’t know if it’s your horny brain taking over or your logical side agreeing with it but, you want this.

“Zeke, if you don’t fuck me I’ll probably cry.” Maybe that wasn’t the best response to this situation, you realize, but you’ve long passed the point of being embarrassed for this. He lets out a rough laugh at your response, pressing his thumbs into the juncture of your thigh and hips. Before he does anything he wrestles a pillow from beneath the couch to sit under your hips, making you wiggle until you are comfy.

“We can’t have that, now can we?” It’s mocking but filled with affection. He glides his cock over your slick cunt to wet it a bit before prodding at your hole, sliding ina bit slowly to let you adjust. “Shit-” It feels completely different -- puffy, your insides are swollen and plush, caging his cock in an enticing vice.

His fingers are digging into your thighs as he holds his cock, pushing in until he reaches the base. Your nails are clasped to his bicep and you swear your eyes roll back from the pressure of his cock inside you. Stretches your walls to the max, pushing against all the soft ridges of your cunt.

“‘S too much-” He’s barely even moved since he’s been inside you and you’re already complaining? With your slurred words? Cute.

“You can handle it, can’t you?” He shouldn’t be mean, but this isn’t really mean, is it? Rocking his hips into yours, making sure the pillow propping up your hips stays in place, there are tears rimming your lashes from pleasure and little whines being pushed out of you from the force of his thrusts. You can’t even respond with words, he’s too deep and it feels too good and it’s been too long since experiencing this. You barely even use the dildos you have but he’s bigger, thick around the middle and the tip of his cock hammering into your soft patches that you can never reach, that send you closer to the edge sooner than you think.

The creaking of the couch echoes off the walls but the slaps of his thighs meeting yours feel much louder, it almost makes you dizzy. Zeke is glad your belly hasn’t gotten bigger otherwise he wouldn’t be able to situate himself on top of you anymore, elbows caging you in, his full-bodied warmth comforting you. You whisper curses into his mouth as he kisses you, still rocking into you, your legs wrapped around the back of his thighs to pull him ever deeper into you. Moans trapped by his lips and his own raspy groans by yours. Arms wrapped around his midsection with you nails digging into his back, your nipples brushing against his chest which is pleasurable in it’s own torturous way.

He can feel your plush cunt clench around him sporadically and your thighs tighten around him. The feeling deep in your belly is about to snap, the tears clinging to your lashes roll down the sides of your face and Zeke makes them disappear with wet kisses and a rough thumb, pushing your chin down to capture your lips with his again. “Gonna cum for me?” There he is again with a cock lilt to his voice that has your cunt quivering around his cock, but you have no room to complain right now. You are sure you’re leaving red streaks down his back now because it feels like every muscle in your body is tightening as you cream around his cock, leaving a translucent ring for him to mess up with a few more well placed thrusts that have him reaching closer to his own orgasm. “Cummin’ so pretty for me- fuck.” You hold him close and continue to constrict your cunt walls around him, his head placed near your neck for him to bite at as he fills you up, a deep rock into you and he stills, plugging his cum inside you.

Zeke wishes he could lay here forever, your belly between him and you, and him inside you. It’s a comfort in it’s own right, seeing you filled with him, claimed with his kid inside you, ontop of you in borderline possessiveness. There’s things you both need to speak about but right now he can predict you saying you are either hungry or needing a bath, or both.

After you both catch your breath he leans back, slipping his cock out in the process. It’s picturesque, seeing his seed slip from your cunt and down your ass, sticking in the curls around your cunt in the process, and seeing the previous fruits of his seed growing inside you. He didn’t expect to like it this much but fuck. You look godly, basking in the aftermath of a wonderful orgasm, truly glowing.

/ / :

“After you have this kid I’m fucking marrying you.” He doesn’t mean to say it but it’s too late to turn back now. Post-ciotal bliss must be fogging up his head.

You give him a wild deshevled look as you prop yourself up on an elbow. “Wha- Zeke what the fuck? Is this your way of trying to propose to me?”

It hurts that you sound offended but he does deserve that. “No, not yet, we have a lot to do before proposing.” His hands rub over your naked belly as he looks down at you.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I have a lot of time between now and when you have them and I’m taking advantage of every second.”

You cough out a laugh, “You’re ridiculous. Our baby won’t be able to stand you, I bet.”

You don’t even notice the slip-up but he does -- ours, not my. “Of course, they won’t be able to stand, they’re a baby, they can’t even hold their heads up on their own.”

The pillow that was behind your head hits his face and he is laughing deep within his chest. You’re complaining about he’s going to evolve into worse and worse dad jokes but ah, if you are godly this must be heaven.

𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤 ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ♡

//: 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

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chemicalpink · 3 years

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대취타 (DAECHWITA) | EMPEROR!YOONGI X READER | FINAL

Pairing: Emperor!Yoongi x Assassin!Reader

Words: 3.5k

Genre: Emperor AU, Historical AU (kinda), smut, angsty

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of historical public execution, oral sex (male receiving), lowkey breath play, unprotected sex

A/N: FINALLY IT’S HERE. I hope you enjoy, I had a hard time trying to make this not seem lame so here it is! please let me know what you think!

Summary: You used to be an assassin, got caught and works at the palace as a servant up until you are escorted to the main palace, either to meet your inevitable destiny or for a change of plans.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Forehead resting against your own as you found yourselves panting, him sliding out as your spasming cunt dripped with both of your releases onto the floor, placing one more soft kiss on your lips with his eyes closed “Marry me”

You almost sat up with a start. Suddenly the world was bright and hazy. Yoongi had opened his eyes and they were digging like daggers into yours, an unusual look on him. You looked at the emperor apologetically before turning your gaze to the end of the room where there was a pile of books, silently detangling yourself from him.

The silence was deafening.

Then again, who in their right mind proposed marriage while having their cock buried deep inside some assassin turned royal slave. All the same, Min Yoongi wasn’t exactly known for having a right mind. But it wasn’t just the fact that he had proposed seemingly out of the blue, more than it was everything that came with it. The words seemed to tangle themselves inside your brain as you hear him say them over and over again. That he couldn’t think of himself marrying some woman that was inferior to him in mind and spirit. That he had wanted to marry to someone he loved. To think that Min Yoongi had proposed you marriage not in the heat of the moment but fully conscious of his actions would not only mean that he was in it for the great sexual escaped you two regularly went on, but because due to some fucked up mindset the royal had, he believed he could love you.

Yoongi reached for your hand in an attempt to get your attention, face soft with post orgasmic bliss as he repeated the ill fated words “Marry me, Y/N”

You snapped out of his hold. “Yoongi I don’t think you understand the situation”

“What is it then, please do enlighten me, Y/N cause from what I understand is me asking for your hand in marriage, twice now” he blinks a few times, looking at you expectantly, crossing his arms like a petulant child

“FUCKING READ THE ROOM MIN YOONGI ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND”

“Well I’m not, but you seem to be”

“I’m a fucking assassin, my hands? they will forever be tainted red” you look down at your hands and the blond man comes near to hold both of them inside his

“Y/N I couldn’t care less about that, it’s not like I’m a saint either”

“You just don’t understand”

“Then help me out” somehow his ever consistent and aloof tone gave you more chills thana you could’ve imagined if he were to raise his voice at you “Y/N I’m serious with my proposal, the sex is amazing, but you’ve proven to be an excellent addition not only to my court, but to my life”

You are shaking, voice trembling and just above a mere whisper “I was the one that killed your mother on that freezing December night”

He freezes in place.

He seemed oddly composed for someone who had just been told the responsible of his mother's death was none other than the woman he thought he wanted to marry

You remember how a few years ago, he had gone on a killing rampage, exposing heads outside his palace as if they were homemade decorations, swearing to find the person responsible for his mother’s death and get revenge. It had been months of bloodbath. Some had considered the emperor’s son to have gone completely out of his mind.

You storm off. Not before accepting the responsibility of your actions, perhaps Yoongi had also been a good addition to your life “I’m fine with you deciding to execute me for my crimes, I understand whatever sentence is best fitted for me, your majesty” for the first time since you had arrived at the palace, you don’t dare to look him in the ye, opting to follow court protocol and bow deeply before taking your leave, attempting to detangle yourself from your messed up robes and even more messed up string of thoughts.

The following days to that conversation were a blur and for the most part, uneventful, the emperor had opted not to gravitate your way unless strictly necessary, oddly enough, the air wasn’t awkward at all, it was as if nothing had ever happened between the two of you in the first place. Yoongi had retreated to being an aloof ruler, along with regular trips to meet his once very occupied and spoiled rotten concubines, all the while you were kept apart from. Sometimes, you would receive jobs outside the palace and were expected to fulfill them according to instructions. More times than not, you were left wondering if you would make it back to the palace or if it was one hell of an excuse to execute you.

Hearing approaching footsteps, you couldn’t help but hide the best that you could behind one of the hostel’s walls. Hooded and well muffled with the cape, as you did your best to camouflage yourself into the shadows and become a mere wisp of darkness. A maid from the hostel trudged to the open window and closed it, grumbling. Lightning illuminated the landing. You took a deep breath and reviewed the plans that you had so painstakingly memorized throughout the three days you had been guarding that building on the outskirts of the kingdom. Five doors on each side. The target’s bedroom was behind the third one on the left.

Stealthy as a specter, you walked down the landing. You pushed the target's bedroom door, which opened with an almost imperceptible squeak; waiting for another thunder to rumble to close it carefully. A second flash of lightning illuminated the two figures sleeping on the canopy bed. Young Hee must not have been over thirty-five. His son, small and beautiful, slept soundly in his arms.

“I’m not murdering a poor kid’s mother”

“So you’ve gone soft”

“No I haven’t gone soft” “What could a poor merchant woman have done to you for her to deserve such an end to her life”

He sits down on his throne “You didn’t even hesitate when killing my mother, though”

“Yoongi I-” he turns his head to you, a sharp gaze following your every move, as if he was a predator waiting for the precise moment his prey took a wrong turn to jump on them. You turn your gaze to the floor immediately “Your Majesty”

“Listen Y/N- I’m a very busy man, so I’ll make it easier for you” he stood up from where he was sitting, and although you weren’t looking directly at him, you could hear him move around the room until you were able to see him stop right in front of you, a hand you were so familiar with once caresses your cheek as he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him face to face “It’s either her life, or your life. Easy choice, Y/N”

You can feel your heart wanting to burst out of your ribcage at that exact moment, finally understanding the importance behind such a horrifying task, the mirroring in the situation. And the choice was as simple as it could get. “Kill me instead”

You could see the rage inside his eyes, even as he stood still for a few second, steady as ever, unfaltering as he called over one of the palace’s servants to get him the royal seal, the infamous red ink that decorated the skin of those in line to be executed by the royal himself, an utmost sign of rage, of personally wronging the monarch. A sense of longing crossed his gaze for half a second as he locked eyes with you before he took your wrist in his hand and stamped the cold ink on it; you couldn’t keep your body from reacting to the action, whether it was having him touching you again, the almost imperceptible stuttering of his movements when he did so, or the knowledge that you’d have to face an execution, making you shake lightly as adrenaline filled your veins.

Preparations were something the emperor certainly didn’t scattered in, back when he became known as the cold hearted borderline psychopath he had a vaste fame of, ikt was mostly do to the whole antiques that surrounded his personal executions, the way that they seemed to mimic a kingdom’s festivity was almost breathtaking, were it not for the fact that the main entertainment of the day would be having you publicly executed. You had been waiting for that night for a whole week. Sitting in the wooden corridor nestled to one side of the golden dome of Min Yoongi’s personal library, remembering how the last time you had been there, things were so different from how they were now, where the emperor had asked you to marry you in the worst way possible and you had confessed the greatest murder of the dynasty; you let yourself be carried away by the music that rose through the amphitheater. With your legs dangling under the railing, you leaned forward and rested your cheek on your crossed arms. One could almost swear the palace was preparing for a wedding, if the way you were constantly dressed up and down during the week, the way the palace’s servants were constantly bustling around the building to ensure the greatest quality for the evening, the greatest night for the kingdom. The execution of the Empress’ murderer.

“You seem oddly calm for someone who's about to be executed” Jungkook mentions as he approaches where you were currently hanging out, a few minutes to spare before a small group of designated maids were to call you to get you ready for the night.

You look up at him tiredly, without separating your head from where it was laying, catching him taking a seat by your side in the most infantile way you had ever seen the royal guard do, shrugging to no one in particular, you add “You know, accountability and stuff”

“Oh and she grew a moral compass during her time here” if he was expecting a bickering comeback, the way you used to do back when he was designated to look after you, he was certainly not getting anything other than be met by an extended silence that seemed to rise the tension and seriousness of the whole interaction between the two “Why are you letting this happen to you?”

“What are you talking about” this time, you do turn to face him, confused as to where he was expecting the conversation to go.

“You didn’t kill his mother”

“I did”

He huffed out air, sounding a bit exasperated at your response; you could have even sworn you saw him roll his eyes faintly “No you didn’t, you were a mere 15 year old” there was a bit of laughter behind his sentence before he regained his composure and went back to his former self from a few minutes ago, looking at your face quizzically as if there was something hidden in there that held the answer to his question “So why are you doing this”

You try and miserably fail to convey a nonchalant look on your face as memories of your time with the emperor fill your mind, not just the carnal ones, but those where you would watch him work for his place in the royal hierarchy, the soft sides around the rough edges that were publicly hidden on purpose, turning away from the guard you say softly “Yoongi’s a great man”

“Okay sure, he could do with a more...tame temperament, but what does that have anything to do with you chopping your own head off”

You try your best to ignore the way your heart seems to physically ache at the thought behind the answer; you almost don’t get enough strength from within to mutter “I’m hoping to get him some closure, be an even better ruler”

“That’s- definitely not how it’s supposed to work Y/N” Jungkook says incredulously

“I was technically part of the killing so, it’s all the same”

He huffs before going to stand up, dusting off his uniform and already facing away from you, before you can hear him call for you one last time “Yoongi’s in his room, you know, he was looking for you a few hours ago, in case that information helps in any way”

So perhaps you were naive for thinking that he would answer his door, he would have no reason to do so, especially given the circumstances, if it were you, opening the door to the person that had confessed of murdering your mother, and having them come up at your room, you wouldn’t even need to think it once to decide not to further interact with them, but Jungkook had said Yoongi had been looking for you before, so the chance of him wanting to see you alive one last time were there. Unless you were reading it all wrong. You turned your back on the huge wooden door you had come to know as the emperor’s bedroom a few months back, resigned, when you heard the creaking of a door opening and a calm steady voice.

“So you’re going to just knock on my door and run away the same way you entered my life and are now leaving it forever?” his frozen tone still having an effect on your body as you turned to face him properly for the first time in what seemed like an eternity “Came to discuss a bargain for your life?”

“Not at all” you lock eyes with him when approaching him, until you were practically inside the room, his judgemental gaze still on you “I wanted to say my goodbyes properly, your majesty”

“Then don’t waste my time and come in already, Y/N”

The royal wasted no time in cornering you against the door, face so close to yours you could feel his breath on your skin, the tip of his nose nuzzling the side of your face and you knew him enough to know he had his eyes closed to keep his composure as he talked “I’m going to miss you like a fucking mad man”

It felt like falling back into routine, the way he kissed you, down to your neck up to your collarbone, pushing past the robes that covered your skin, in preparation for the ritual, his hands roaming freely in a familiar way, grabbing all the right places as he draws little sounds from your throat, all while he worked the both of you to where his bed was placed, although he was giving your body and pleasure a decent amount of attention, you couldn’t brush off the fact that he irradiated an angry aura, words left unspoken as he got his anger out by pleasuring both of you. Maybe himself more than you, as he removes himself from caressing your body as he usually did and positioned himself above you, his member laying flat on your already expecting tongue,as soon as you realised what his intentions were when he started undressing himself, his hips thrusting a few times in an experimental manner, soon enough finding a pace at the same time as you bobbed your head up to capture as much of his length as you could inside your mouth, your hands captured under Yoongi’s weight, unable to help you work him further, the way you’d done before.

You feel him start to thrust further into your throat at one particular kitten lick of yours to the tip of his cock, your head starting to hang from the edge of the mattress you two were on as he picked up the pace, his cock filling you up all the way until it hit the back of your throat a few times, you trying to whine around him, only further encouraging him to take a handful of your hair and push you further against him, your gag reflex taking the best of you as he held you there, nose close to his navel, deep grunts ripped from his lips, the air leaving your lungs and becoming slightly light headed after a few seconds of you tapping his thigh in a motion to let him know to let you breathe, at which Yoongi locked eyes with you, a mix of anger and longing in his yes as he thrusts a few more times as saliva started dripping from your mouth, tears decorating your pink stained cheeks before he removed himself from you, giving you a few seconds to gain air before he repositioned both of you. A deafening silence taking over both of you, as you were still catching your breath and he positioned his cock at your entrance, his tip, wet with your saliva, playing with your folds for a few seconds, as you take a sharp intake of air when he enters you and immediately sets a slow deep pace. You can feel his member filling you up perfectly, mind racing with flashbacks to all those other nights before where the emperor and you shared endless nights all over the palace.

The knowledge that this would be the last time creeping up in the back of your mind. You feel an unfamiliar wetness hit your neck where Yoongi was kissing your skin, rolling down as you identified it as tears, as he was still passionately thrusting into you.

“I don’t want to lose you” his voice barely above a whisper, trying to conceal the way his chest was tightened with sadness

“You have to let me go, Yoongi” one of your hands comes up to caress his locks as he pushes up to stare at your face, anger long gone and replaced with utter sadness before one last thrust has him filling you up with his seed, warmth enveloping you, a soft whimper leaving your lips as his cock leaves your cunt, a briskly wind coming from the window causing your body to shiver for a second at the loss of body heat on top of you.

“I guess this was it then” his cold and unnerved facade was on again, making the cold shivers in your body that much worse as you watched him adjust his clothes and walk out of the room, leaving you to dress yourself and ultimately face your fated destiny at the end of the day.

The palace’s front plaza is filled to the brim with spectators as the news got out that the Emperor was finally getting revenge for his mother’s killing, people from the kingdom and even some people from neighbouring ones all lined up in the outer sides of the fire marks that decorated the space to illuminate the middle path where you were placed in the end of it to walk your way up, two unknown guards on each side of you as each grabbed your elbows to push you forward, the rope certainly leaving marks on your skin as it was wrapped tightly around your wrists.

You could only catch a glimpse of Yoongi’s blond hair, wrapped in his infamous black and golden hanbok, drums roaring in unison, people screaming as you watched him take the sword from the swordsman that had prepared the ritual beforehand, as someone wrapped a cloth around your eyes and you were promptly pushed forward, legs buckling every few seconds as you came to realise what you were about to face, it hadn’t been clear before, mere seconds away, finally falling to your knees, head bowed down in resignation as you could barely hear the sharp sword cutting the air around you, gasps from the crowd filling the air along with the constant sound of the drums around you. You could only hope your death would bring much needed peace to the monarch and his kingdom. Your heart seemed to want to burst out of your chest, if anything, Yoongi was known for being an espectacular swordsman, which hopefully made the whole execution that much easier. You could hear cheers and a metal cutting the air before your body fell limp to the ground.

But your consciousness never left, the drums couldn’t be heard anymore, cheers were replaced with confusion as a pair of hands helped you up to your knees, fumbling with the cloth around your eyes to come face to face with Min Yoongi kneeling before you, a subtle smile on his face as one of his hands caressed your cheek before helping you up beside him.

“I’m sure you all must be confused right now” he announced to his subjects “This woman right here, has got more courage in her than anyone that has ever worked for me, any of us, for that matter. Which is why I’m asking once again, publicly, for the first time, for her hand in marriage” he turned to face you, as you were still dazed by the whole ordeal, his hand in yours being the only thing holding you down “Marry me, Y/N”

#kwritersworldnet #thebtswritersclub #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #networkbangtan #bangtanuniversity #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts imagines #min yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi smut #bts fanfics #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi scenario #bts scenarios

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hex-obsession · 3 years

Text

Silver Lining - Two

word count- 2,259

content warning- language, angst, indirect s**cidal thought

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Crows cawing, your eyes open just enough to hazily make out the all too familiar color of your room.

“Early bird gets the worm, you know,” a familiar voice murmurs. Pushing off the wall to your right, your body slides diagonally over your bed, your head dangling off the side. Upside down, Cheryl is slumped against your door frame, arms and legs crossed. Brazen as usual, just the way you loved her. You held your own in most regards but Cheryl was always there when you least expected it and needed her most. You swear there were a halo atop that adorable shaggy blonde head of hers. And not one of those tacky event items either.

“Like I’d get anything any time of day with all the birds around here.” A tickling squeeze builds in your abdomen, branching up your neck to your cheeks which now had a telling pink glow.

“So you gonna talk to old lover boy yet or what?”

You jolt forward and whip around fast enough to make any killer miss a swing. Your response is unnecessary as she’s already smirking devilishly, aware of what she’s doing. She might have been your closest friend but that did not stop her from tormenting you, or anyone else that crossed her path. All in good fun and love, of course. It went without saying that you enjoyed it and she knew when it was, rarely, time to pack it up.

Raising her eyebrows, she leans back and throws her hands up. “I’m just saying, if you don’t, you might lose your chance. That’s all I’m saying,” quieter now.

You sighed. She was right. You weren’t the only one who took a liking to Leon. But, unlike you, Yun-Jin did not hide her feelings, from anyone for any reason, ever. Of course, everyone thought he was charismatic and most, undeniably handsome. That was common knowledge. You ran out of things to talk about in a place like this, and secrets were few and far between. There was no reason to hide here. This was your foreseeable future, together. There was no getting out, no changing things. Being open and sharing everything together made your day to day bearable. The connections you lost in your old lives left gaping holes, but together as one tightly knit, weird, fucked up family, you helped fill the voids. Some took longer than others to accept that fate, and there were some inevitable hiccups, but everyone came around eventually.

Anyone who wasn’t blind could see the attraction Yun-Jin had for the newest addition to your group. Placing her hands on him in conversation whenever she got the chance, laughing a little too hard at the things he said, biting her bottom lip and smiling at him when he talked. You’d even caught her pecking his cheek playfully here and there. He’d always smile and look away, as if it were a game. Leon always had a sultry attitude to him, a ladies' man no doubt. Subtly flirting with everyone was just commonplace for him. That was part of the reason you held back. Fearing you missed your chance and someone else had filled the role you longed to be in. Maybe it was your fear of rejection or abandonment, or not wanting to lose something this important in a world as cruel and bare this. You were subconsciously working hard to convince him you were only a friend. Which you were, definitely friends. Close even, given the circumstances. Trauma bonding does one hell of a number to the timeline of friendship. Still, you sensed zero difference in his behavior toward you versus the others. Which, admittedly, was quite the letdown. Nonetheless, you had nothing to lose by casually admitting your feelings for him. Keep it light and airy and there would be no reason for things to change on the chance he didn’t feel the same. After all, you surely weren’t the only one with a harmless little crush. That’s all it was. Right? So what if you constantly day-dream about him holding you so close he might consume you, kissing you with four times the passion the Notebook tried to capture, never leaving your side regardless of what the future held. His taste, his smell… what his cock would feel like ramming into your cervix. Your brain was one giant knot, constantly distracting you and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it. Except tell him, but keep it simple.

By your calculations, it was November 18th. You’d been keeping track, not sure if it made things better or worse. Your third anniversary in this place was not far off. Despite being a literal nightmare, it had its perks. Your need for food was no more, as well as your other bodily needs. Sickness was a quickly forgotten annoyance of the past. You stayed in this eerily perfect state. Makeup never crusty, hair never oily and always smelling of your favorite fruit. The dirt and blood you’d acquire during trials magically disappeared upon return. You had a handful of outfits to rotate but there was no real need. Another upside, there were no severe temperatures here. Jackets, shorts, sandals, snow boots if you were Nea. You were always mostly comfortable. Even on Ormond where snow blanketed the ground, those gusts of wind should have sent chills right through you, but they didn’t. It felt like living in a dream or a, simulation. Just, where you’re hunted all day and night for the rest of your existence. At least death wasn’t permanent. Sometimes you’d wish it was, just to escape.

Several months have passed since Leon and Jill were introduced to your world. You had inside jokes and more close calls than you could both count. You were a damn good team and got along smoother than melted butter. What were you waiting for? You inhaled sharply and broke your stare out the window.

“I’m gonna do it.”

To no avail, your deep breaths failed to remedy the painful pounding in your chest, or the heat radiating from your face. Nevertheless, you marched out to the campfire to seek out Yun-Jin. As selfish as you wanted to be with Leon, she was your friend, and you held that in high regard. She was easy to spot in a crowd given her loud attire, but wasn’t around the fire. Which lead to your next realization; neither was Leon. Your throat tightened, heart still pounding. You set off a little too quickly to find her, or them. First stop was Ace’s shack. Judging based on appearances, you figured he would be one of the last people she associated with. Quite the opposite, they were dear friends. Not connected at the hip per se, like her and Claudette, but they related to one another's childhoods. Trauma bonding, can't beat it. To your dismay, the shack was empty, a seed of despair planting in your stomach. Maintaining the most convincing composure you could, you continue your search. Heading left down the line of shacks, robust laughter grows closer. You’d know that laugh anywhere. Cutting through the row, David and Felix are reclined under a tree. They were one of the few monogamous couples among you. The others being Nancy and Steve, and Adam and Zarina. You understood the allure of being romantically involved with more than one person, especially given your less-than-ideal situation, but it wasn’t for you.

“Hi y/n!” Felix shouted toward you.

Not wanting to stop and chat given your current objective, you flashed a cheeky smile and waved to them. Before they could get another word out, you dipped back behind the row of houses. Nerves getting the best of you, you parted your lips to breathe through your mouth. Every breath burned your lungs, realizing now all the times you brushed off your feelings have come back to haunt you. You should never have waited this long. At this point you would be more than willing, desperate, to share Leon. Refusing to let your anxiety get the best of you, you ball your fists and dig your nails into your palms to get a grip on yourself. There was one more place they could possibly be. A sliver of premature acceptance wedged itself into your train of thought as you trudged toward your own shack. Leon’s was adjacent to yours. Feeling foolish for not checking earlier, you round the corner to the opening. As much as you wish you could close your eyes, they were pinned open with anticipation. Looking up from your feet you were shocked to see an empty room before you. Relief and confusion replace your foreboding. Too much time had already been wasted, so you return to the campfire.

“Hey, have you seen Leon or Yun-Jin anywhere?” you, as calmly as possible, ask Élodie.

“They got pulled a little bit ago babe.” She was intently focused on Jane, her concentration not broken. “Which do you like more, up or down?” her gaze still fixated on Jane.

You have to either keep the courage you finally mustered until they get back or give yourself emotional whiplash by releasing until they do. You hesitate for a moment, but to hide your disappointment you quickly retort, “Up, definitely up. Gotta distract the killer with that beautiful face you know?”

“Like they're looking at her face and not that dumptruck ass!” Élodie howls. Jane facetiously puts her fingertips to her chin and looks upward, a façade of innocence no one here would ever buy. You can't help but giggle despite your inner turmoil.

“Well hey,” you add through chuckles, “when they're back can you please send her my way?”

“Sure thing babe,” Élodie assures, finally turning to meet your gaze.

A horrible nauseating mix of dismal, relieving, lewd thoughts of Leon swirl in your mind as you wait for Yun-Jin to step into the doorway. You knew you liked him but holy shit, where did this come from? The realization slapped you in the face. Try to blame infatuation all you want, not that you did, but it was so painfully evident now you were dumbfounded.

A soft knock jerked you out of your thoughts. “Hiya y/n, what's going on?”

Her delicate eyes effortlessly comforted you from across the room.

“I...” your eyes now glued to the floor beneath your feet, a reservoir of tears barely being held back, “I need to know how you feel about Leon.” Your nerves went haywire just uttering his name to her. An icy splash of chills surged from your head to your feet as your chest panged with dread.

“Well of course I like him,” her brow furrowed ever so slightly.

All that could escape your mouth was, “Oh.” Emptiness, despair replacing the jealous unease you felt before. Tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably, feelings that danced around menacingly finally coming to a head.

At the sight of your distress, she rushed to sit next to you. “Honey, what’s going on?” her voice barely above a whisper.

You were ashamed for breaking down in front of her, afraid of guilting her for something that was not her fault, and now terrified Leon might follow her here, only to find you undone over him. You jerk your head up to face her and blurt out, “Jinny I think I love him,” face sopping wet with untouched tears.

She raises her eyebrows and smiles at you. “Honey I have fun toying with him all in good nature but there’s no connection there.” Your heart thuds against your ribcage. “Sure, I’ll admit he’s attractive, who wouldn’t, but I have nowhere near the same feelings for him that you evidently do.” She uses both hands to cup your face and pushes as much wetness as she can aside with her thumbs. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Not only to me but to him!” Despite being similar in age, she feels like a mother to you. Caring for a child, your own or not, will do that to you. That’s not a trait you lose over time.

“I’m so afraid,” you softly whimper, “of what he would say, what you would say.” You're picking at your cuticles, a habit you acquired during puberty as an outlet for your overwhelming feelings.

She wraps her arms around you, carefully as to not tarnish her jacket with tears, which would definitely stain the material. “I was just having a little fun, and from what I’ve gathered, he was more so allowing it than participating. You know I love you all to death but I’m not looking for anything like that, definitely not here.” She gives you a squeeze, and suddenly you can breathe again, the air around you no longer dense and difficult to swallow. “Honey, go get him.”

“Oh Jesus, let me fix myself a little first at least,” the sudden relief causing you to laugh involuntarily.

You were grateful disease and ailments didn’t exist outside of the trials, if they had you're sure you would've had an aneurysm from the stress you went through in a matter of an hour. Yun-Jin left you to your thoughts, which were now solely you and Leon together, doing anything and everything you could think of. The rest of the day you contemplated telling him, more so, how to. Thankfully you didn’t have any trials together, you were far too disorganized for that right now. “Tomorrow,” you promise yourself. Nothing like a clear head and a night’s rest to help you be your most collected, confident self.

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Silver Lining masterlist

#leon x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #dbd smut #dbd fanfic #dbd fluff

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justimajin · 3 years

Text

Til Death Do Us Part♜Pt.11

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst & Fluff

↳ (6.8k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and death, character death

➟ A/N: This is the final part! Thank you all for reading this series and for giving it so much love <3

gif credit.

➟ Full Series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10[M] Part 11

“You saw someone outside the house last night?”

Seokjin’s arms are crossed, wide eyes swaying from you to Namjoon.

You nod in response, “The way they were dressed, it really blended them into their surroundings. I thought maybe the lack of sleep was playing with me, but then Namjoon saw it too…”

You peer over at your husband, who hums. “We couldn’t find them afterwards.”

Seokjin shakes his head, appearing to still be caught within bafflement. Jimin suddenly emerges, his eyes drinking in the distress in the room.

“I’m assuming there’s no good news?” He wonders, and Namjoon turns, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” He sighs, roughly running a hand through his locks, “He keeps saying it over and over again, that we’re fools to think he’s pulling the strings…”

Namjoon lets out a deep exhale, back sinking against the wall. That’s when he catches it, a sharp glint residing behind Seokjin’s glasses.

“What?” He immediately asks as the man raises his head, shaking his head.

“He wasn’t too forthcoming with me either, but….” His eyes suddenly sway and Namjoon follows the gesture, “He seems to really hate you.”

You stare at Seokjin wide-eyed.

Before you have a chance to retaliate, he beats you to it. “I’m not saying that it’s because of you per say, but more so because of your lineage….”

“Being a L/N?” Jimin ponders, and Seokjin hums, furrowing his brows.

“It seems he wasn’t quite happy with your marriage to Namjoon and from the looks of it, Taehyung wasn’t either.”

Although you can somewhat grasp what Seokjin is implying, his next question catches you off guard.

“How was Yonghwa killed, Y/N?”

Your mouth opens and closes from the straightforwardness, but you can see Seokjin’s gears turning, so you ultimately decide not to hesitate.

The history of your families is known to many. Trade and manufacturing seeking to forge a union between their two sectors. Yonghwa and Namjung were supposed to go through with the deal, but all hell broke loose on the fateful day when Yonghwa was found on the ground in a pool of his own blood with Namjung being visibly shaken. Revenge was rampant between the two families, your marriage to Namjoon ultimately becoming the peace offering to end years of hatred.

“Yonghwa was murdered.” You state in a monotone voice, as if told the story numerous times, “The day he and Namjung seeked a union, Yonghwa found out that the Kim’s were building weapons they hadn’t agreed upon.”

“Yonghwa therefore decided not to go through with the union, but was murdered by Namjung who wanted to cover up his tracks.”

After you finish explaining, your eyes drift up. Namjoon is staring at you in disbelief, orbs oscillating.

“What is it?” You immediately ask.

Seokjin relaxes his narrowed eyes and clears his throat, “Yonghwa was killed...but not at the hands of Namjung.”

Namjoon continues, “The L/N’s were involved in illegal exchange through their trades, and Namjung found out during the time he was making a deal with Yonghwa. He attempted to reason with Yonghwa, but he was held at gunpoint.”

“Through the scuffle they had, Yonghwa ended up accidentally shooting himself.” Jimin finishes, confusion drawing from your eyes.

“W-What?” Your eyes glance at the two of them frantically, “But there’s no way, Yonghwa was found in a pool of his own blood.”

“And Namjung was left shaken.” Namjoon adds, “He meant to forge a union, not kill the head.”

“That’s‒….” You shake your head, utterly lost from the conclusion. It seems too foreign to you, like someone has erased years of history from your book and shoved something else in instead.

A thought lingers in your mind and your eyes snap up, gazing at Seokjin, “Why are you asking me about Yonghwa?”

Namjoon glances up at him as well, confused from the inquires. Seokjin smiles, crossing his arms.

“I have a hunch that I need to confirm,” He eyes you, “‒and what if I said that the two of you are telling the truth?”

You and Namjoon share a glance, the latter speaking, “How so?”

“Yonghwa was killed. This is the one point in your stories that stays constant,” He begins, “But the part where your stories diverge is the reasoning behind his demise.”

“Y/N said the Kim’s were building weapons that Yonghwa didn’t agree with, and Namjoon said that Namjung found out about the L/N’s illegal activities. This led to both parties disagreeing with each other, and it wouldn't be so surprising for a fight to ensue, with both taking rightful actions to prevent themselves any harm.”

“Yonghwa was prepared to kill Namjung at the cost of saving his business while Namjung needed to get rid of Yonghwa’s knowledge.”

Seokjin pauses for a moment as you and Namjoon nod in response. His smile widens, curling at the corner of his lips.

“Now the reason why I brought this up.” He clears his throat, a playful look in his eyes, “The moral of this story is that there seems to be no victor and no loser. Both families were involved in things they shouldn’t have been and were prepared to take lethal actions to protect that information, even to the extent of making the other family look historically bad in comparison.”

Your eyes widen and Seokjin asks the question that has you stumbling for an answer.

“So why the need for a union?” He wonders, “What was the point for such a union, when both families were already so against each other to the extent of making up false tales?”

“Why look for peace when there’s no room for it to begin with?” Namjoon replies, and Seokjin nods.

“Your company’s visible shareholders seem to despise the fact that you married Y/N, and I’m sure other members of the company weren’t thrilled from hearing about her lineage.” He honestly professes, “So why would they suddenly be okay with you marrying a L/N for the sake of a union?”

“It would have to do something other than their hatred for each other….” Namjoon mumbles, squinting his eyes, “Something important enough that they would purposely need a marriage between me and Y/N.”

Seokjin hums and Jimin abruptly sputters out an answer.

“Something like a liability!”

Namjoon glances at him appalled and he hurriedly rambles before he loses the thought, “Going based off of Seokjin’s theory, Namjoon would be wedded to a L/N, someone who would have created stained connections with her own family because of the marriage and be resented by members of the Kim family.”

Jimin huffs, “Essentially she would be nothing but a liability to Namjoon��s title as the next heir…..”

Three sets of eyes stare at him in bewilderment, and Jimin sheepishly smiles from the attention. Seokjin’s pupils light up again, a spark residing within them.

“But who would benefit from all this?” He mumbles, “Who would benefit most from seeing you fail, Namjoon?”

Namjoon stares at Seokjin as silence reigns heavy in the room, no clear answer forming within his mind.

Your lids slowly flutter open.

The entire room is dark and murky, night long having fallen within a couple of hours. You had long spent hours conversing with the others about Hoseok before ultimately deciding to question him more the next day, with Namjoon coaxing you that all of you weren’t far from understanding his intent.

Yet your eyes squint through the dark, peering around the room in confusion. There’s sounds of feet shuffling against the hardwood of the floors, faint voices growing louder and louder with their shouting, some tinged with urgency while others not being able to fathom disbelief.

It doesn’t take long for you to immediately reach for Namjoon, jostling him awake. Once he’s conscious, the two of you are scrambling out of the sheets in an instant, his hand wrapping around yours as you head towards the commotion.

His backside suddenly halts, freezing in place.

You catch onto the scent right away.

It’s putrid and familiar….too familiar.

Shifting forward, horror sinks into your eyes at the source.

Hoseok’s form is slumped against the front door, eyes lulled back and red soaking the outskirts of his clothes. A trail of scarlet follows him, leading up into the torn apart room he was residing in.

***

Silence lingers uncomfortably long in the room.

It’s stifling, tension feeling heavy on your shoulders and muting your words. Slightly fumbling with your hands, your eyes flicker up for the briefest of moments.

Seokjin is against the wall, arms crossed against the blood stains that litter his torso. He stands opposite from where you and Namjoon are seated, adjacent from where Jimin leans against a table, in a similar condition as his hand balances against his cheek.

Hoseok’s corpse has been removed, but you wrenched your eyes away from the multiple gash wounds that littered his torso, the overwhelming scent of blood bringing a rise of nausea to surface from your lips.

Jimin is the first to clear his throat, peering over at you and Namjoon. “You were right, there was someone roaming outside.”

“He was silenced.” Seokjin sighs, unraveling his arms and placing his hands in his pocket. You catch the slightest hint of remorse in his features, wondering if he was too late in arriving at the incident.

Jimin shakes his head, “But why….?”

“And why make it so brutal?” Namjoon’s deep voice cuts in, making Seokjin hum with a grimace.

“This just proves that he knew something important….” You whisper.

Seokjin hums, planting an exasperated hand against his temples. Although somewhat cruel, you understand his frustration.

Hoseok was the only link in finding out who wanted Namjoon killed and sought out for your marriage, and now that he’s gone, you’ve hit a complete dead end.

There’s a soft knock against the door that results in all of your eyes hiking up. Jimin steps forward, gesturing for you to be at ease as he answers.

As the door closes, Jimin abruptly blinks, before snapping his eyes up.

“Namjoon.”

He stands up right away and Seokjin curiously leans over, “What is it?”

“It’s a picture…” He states, “A picture of the weapon assumed to be used on Hoseok….”

Seokjin suddenly leans even closer, carefully plucking it out of Jimin’s fingers. He holds the same astonished expression, eyes flickering over in Namjoon’s direction.

“I think we know who was after you, Namjoon…”

The picture is passed over to him and you sweep your irises over it too. It’s a simple picture of a knife, but it’s one that has your eyes narrowing.

“I’ve seen this knife before…” You whisper, mind scattering around for an answer. The intricate details and the curved edge seemed far too familiar, but you can’t wrap your finger on it.

Your eyes flicker, recognition suddenly dawning upon you.

“Taehyung!” You snap your fingers, recalling the time he attempted to take your life, “That’s the knife Taehyung had....”

“It’s a custom knife.” Namjoon states, his gaze steadily hardening, “Only a few were manufactured by the Kim’s.”

Your eyes threaten to fall out from their sockets. Your gaze oscillates from Namjoon to Jimin and then Seokjin, realizing they’ve already connected all the dots.

“H-How does this make sense?” You shake your head, “That would mean that someone from your family i-is trying to….”

Namjoon hums, gaze connecting with your own. There’s something unsettling brewing in his orbs, a fine line between anguish and pure rage.

“I now understand why Hoseok decided to keep quiet.” He grits, “And why we haven’t been safe here.”

***

Your footsteps are hectic, nearly sprinting through the walls. Your hands shove against your bedroom’s door, eyes falling upon your husband’s turned back right away.

The sound of a gun cocking has your eyes widening and you immediately scramble forward, hand wrapping around his shoulder.

“Namjoon.” You softly call out. His brows are still intensely furrowed and jaw tensed, his gaze focused on filling the cartilage to the handgun til it’s stuffed to the brim.

Concern drips from your stare, and you shake his shoulder again, voice firmer, “Namjoon.”

He spins around, rummaging through his bag for another gun. You huff, grasping onto him and knocking the weapon out of his hands.

You force him to look at you. “Namjoon!”

“What?!” He sharply snarls, but you are unfazed. It’s obvious to you ‒ the way his form is seething with anger, the way his hands tremble as he shoves bullets into his gun, the way there’s an inkling of pain residing within his irises, begging to release him from his torment.

You don’t say anything, simply softly shake your head in response. Namjoon lets out a scoff, a strained laugh escaping his throat.

Your arms loop around him, resting your head against his chest.

“I’m a tool, Y/N.” His shoulders crumble down, “Just a tool.”

“I know.” You whisper, noticing how his anger dissolves into anguish, his form no longer tensing underneath your hold. He raises his hands to embrace you back, breaths steadying.

With a deep sigh, he breaks away from you, an appreciative smile looping on his lips.

You return it, but a new voice draws your attention.

“You won’t accomplish anything going there like this, Namjoon.” Seokjin leans against the doorframe as Jimin draws closer behind him. You assume they must have followed after you when Namjoon suddenly left the room in a fit of anger, declaring that he was leaving to settle things once and for all with his father.

His father, who eventually decided that Namjoon wasn’t good enough to be the next heir, who wanted him to be wed to you, placing a heavy liability on his ties and waiting for him to crumble underneath the title so he could have a new heir.

But he wasn’t able to anticipate that you would turn out to be a spy, and that Namjoon would refuse to leave you, fed up with being used solely for the family business.

You sigh, keeping a gentle hand on his back.

“We need to think this through.” Seokjin reminds.

“But how?” Namjoon shakes his head, “I’ll constantly be in danger‒ all of you will be in danger.”

He glances between you and Seokjin, with the latter humming, “You’re not wrong about that, but we have to play our cards right.”

“So what‒” Namjoon jokes, “I should just wait to be killed first?”

There’s a twinkle in Seokjin’s eyes, a smile widening all the way to his cheeks.

The moon rises, casting a shadow against the isolated building’s walls.

You carefully thread through the empty hallway, pacing back and forth. A gun remains strapped to your waist, hidden underneath your clothing as your alert eyes sweep through the vicinity.

It’s a small building, one that is barely guarded and nearly hidden compared to the others. It carries two floors, one of which contains the norm of offices, only a mere handful of workers that rigorously work throughout the day, but the numbers dwell during the peak of the night, barely a hushed murmur coming across from the doors or walls.

Namjoon has informed his father that you and him will be temporarily staying in the building for safety reasons after Hoseok’s incident, and that tonight is the night that you’ll be staying in the reclusive area.

Prior to figuring out pieces of the puzzle, Seokjin had come up with the plan of making you and Namjoon come off as vulnerable, essentially luring his father into the building. Upon Namjoon’s slight persistence, he had suggested that the former confront him about the entire matter.

You had thought it was risky, too risky in fact ‒ but when Seokjin and Namjoon had abruptly shared a glance through your discussion, you knew there was more to the story than they were letting on.

Trusting them with the matter, you agreed with the notion and were assigned to guard the area under the pretense of Jimin’s suspicions. You couldn’t figure out who the woman was that Hoseok interacted with, so alongside with ensuring no one gets in, you have the task of keeping an eye out for any unwelcomed surprises.

It’s dead silent and pitch dark, the majority of the light sources cut off. Your footsteps make no sound against the soft wood, long having trained yourself to go unheard in case you were caught as a spy.

Your eyes continue to sweep around the area, looking around for movement.

You suddenly freeze.

Creak.

Head snapping up, you carefully press your ear against one of the doors in the hallway, listening in again.

Creak.

Your eyes widen.

Feet quietly gliding against the ground, you carefully peer into the room through the glass opening, noticing an open window and someone fumbling around with the walls. They seem to stumble as they do, almost seeming lost until you realize that the lack of light source makes it incredibly hard to see.

Biting your lower lip, you shuffle closer to the door, carefully waiting.

Light pours through the room.

Your pupils enlarge, mouth falling agape. A smile curve on her lips as she reaches for the door, but you’re close enough to reach out for her by the time it yanks open.

Your hand meets her shoulder.

She jolts, a gasp escaping her lips as she swivels, the light illuminating her fear-stricken features.

You innocently quirk your head to the side, brows knitting together.

“Geongmin?”

“Y-Y/N!” She stammers, swallowing hard as if she had seen a ghost.

“What are you doing here?”

Although naively surprised, there’s a cutting edge to your tone, taking advantage of her terror.

“I‒uh, my father!” She hastily says, as if nearly forgotten the answer, “H-He needed me to bring his forgotten briefcase back home.”

For the briefest of moments, you narrow your eyes.

You hum understandably, “I see….”

Granting her a small smile that she hesitantly returns, you take a clueless step back, whirling around.

You glance around, “I can offer you some help in finding it, if it’s somewhere nearby then‒”

The sound of a trigger cocking halts your steps.

Although your voice is laced with tender surprise, your expression says otherwise. “Geongmin?”

“W-Where is he?” She sputters. You casually swivel around to face her, barely flinching at the gun that is inches away from your eyes.

“Who is he?” You press forward.

“My brother!” She nearly yells, your blank expression drawing more unease from her, “Where is he?!”

A long exhale leaves your lips, “About that….”

It happens within a flash. Your fist slams into her arm, a cry slipping from her lips and the gun dropping from her hands. You swoop it up in an instant, pinning her against the wall as she’s distracted from the pain.

You tightly hold her hands within one of your hands, the other pointing the gun at the back of her head.

Your fingers curve around the trigger, “What has he promised you?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

You angle the gun so that it presses lightly against her scalp, her entire form jolting from the action.

Your voice is firm as you ask again, “What has your father promised you, Geongmin?”

Her breaths are ragged, “H-Heir! The title of h-heir!”

Tilting your head to the side, you listen to her intently, “M-My father said Namjoon was weak! That he couldn’t handle being the next heir, especially after being married to someone like you!”

Your shoulders slump down, a deep sigh leaving you. Although her declaration is vile, her words sound confusing, as if fear was taking over her mind completely.

There’s suddenly a flicker in your eyes, recognition filling you.

It’s a mere gamble, but you loosen your grip on her, taking a step back. She watches you in astonishment and you drop the gun to the ground, kicking it to the side and away from you.

The fear doesn’t leave her form in the slightest.

“Do you desire being the heir?” Your voice has become soft.

“W-What?” Your question seems to confuse her even more, her mind spinning, “What kind of question is that?!”

You pursue your lips, noticing how for someone that should desire to kill you, she doesn’t rush towards the fallen gun.

“Do you want to inherit the business?”

It’s almost like she wants to break into a fit, tell you that you’re wrong and that you’re merely some spy that’s in the way.

But the words don’t manage to leave her.

“What is it that you want to do, Geongmin?” You gently ponder.

“Why are you asking me all these questions?!” She repeats, sounding frustrated beyond belief. Streaks of tears are streaming down her eyes, her hands trembling.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“Because I know obligation when I see it.”

The confusion doesn’t leave her as you step over to pick up the gun again, handing it to her.

“Here.” You merely say, looking at her puzzled gaze she sends at the weapon, “Finish the mission you were sent on.”

You stand back, right in her aim of fire. Although your expression is confident, you hope she doesn’t notice the faint tremble lodged within your hands, inches away from the gun submerged within your clothing.

Her eyes are completely blown out, still swimming with confusion. It’s not long before she points it right at you, rage consuming her features in an instant.

You stare right back at her.

The gun never fires.

It slips from her hands, crashing onto the ground as more tears pool from her eyes.

“I-I c-can’t….” She weakly mumbles, shaking her head. A low sigh of relief leaves you before you bend down, picking up the fallen gun.

Your eyes flicker, “You regret killing him….don’t you?”

She nods weakly, and a smile curls on your lips.

“I’m glad you made this choice on your own, Geongmin.”

You extend your hand towards her, granting her the chance to choose again. She stares at it for a moment, a million thoughts racing through her head.

She reaches out, clasping onto it.

Heavy footsteps pound into the room.

The door is securely locked, before he treads closer, eyes narrowing.

Namjoon sits in a large chair, his eyes focused onto the table before him. At the sound of footsteps he snaps up, a smirk curving on his lips.

“Father.” He remarks, “I’m surprised to see you here.”

His father doesn’t return his smile, simply humming in response.

“Hoseok was killed recently. You need to be more careful from now on.” He snides, standing across from him, “Especially with that pesky spy living in your quarters.”

“That is my wife you are speaking about.” Namjoon sharply interjects, voice no longer holding warmth. His father sends him a seething glare, reminding him of the time he declared he wasn’t going to get rid of you.

“How long do you expect to keep her around? She’s a L/N, for all you know she could have dug around all of our secrets and exploited the information.” He hisses, planting his hands against Namjoon’s table, “She’ll be nothing but a burden to you in the future, you’ll be mocked by her lineage and she’ll destroy your business.”

Namjoon furrows his brows, an amused smile wanting to etch onto his lips. He’s aching to spew his knowledge about how his sister was likely pressured into taking over his space as heir, her mind filled with twisted information about the two of you by the person standing directly in front of him.

But he keeps it together, intrigue swirling in his orbs instead, “Who would you think was attempting to take my life then? Y/N?”

“Of course it’s her!” His father roars, “She’s been feeding her family information about us, and now she wants to take over the business by having you killed!”

“Really?”

His father stares at him like the simple question in itself was ridiculous. “You should have listened to me before and gotten rid of her.”

“But my answer wouldn’t change.” He smiles, pressing his buttons further, “She was my wife then, and she is now. What will you do if I wish to stay married to her?”

His smile doesn’t waver. It seems to do the trick, his father’s face colouring into a shade of red at his son’s stubbornness and only serving to heighten his fear. The notion should fuel his need to get rid of Namjoon, to realize that the son sitting before him isn’t made out to be the tool that he’s always wanted.

Namjoon’s smile barely moves, even when a gun is pointed in his direction.

“Then this will be farewell.”

Two guns aim for him on either side.

In an instant, his father’s eyes widen. Namjoon continues to smile, watching Seokjin and Jimin step closer.

Rising from his seat, he clears his throat.

“I’m not a pawn, father.” He states, “I have my own wishes, and they won’t always line up with my role as heir.”

He shakes his head, “The hatred between us and the L/N’s is just two families blaming each other to cover up their own tracks, and should have ended ages ago, even before I married Y/N.”

He walks over to where his father glares at him, “Now it’s time you make a decision too.”

Namjoon raises his arm as Jimin hands him a computer and Seokjin brings a chair, planting his father down onto it. Opening the screen right in front of the man, his eyes are met with a list of endless codes, but what’s most prominent are the ones that would surely infiltrate into an extensive database.

His father’s eyes hold terror in them, “This is….”

“The company.” Namjoon finishes, pointing to the screen, “These codes are functional on many bases and can hack into anything, even something as highly secured as the company’s database.”

“You’re going to destroy everything.”

Namjoon’s eyes twinkle, “I’m going to destroy what’s left of it.”

“You’re insane.” His father snarls, “You’re going to ruin the Kim empire and throw away this goldmine for what?!”

“My freedom.” Namjoon simply replies, his dark eyes pushing the computer closer to him.

His father’s face is an angry shade of scarlet, but as metal presses further into his skull, his fingers press against the keys and allow the authorization. At the sight of the last code unlocking, Namjoon’s shoulders visibly relax, an exhale of relief leaving him.

Seokjin quickly takes it away, packing away the computer into a bag before peering at Namjoon.

They share the same thought, “We need to find Y/N.”

Namjoon hums, preparing to leave the area as fast as possible.

However, he doesn’t notice how his father’s face twitches at the mere mention of you, eyes boring daggers into his son’s skull.

Namjoon turns and it happens within a flash.

Jimin is on the ground, scarlet hands clutching onto his leg as a gun is pointed in Namjoon’s direction. Seokjin’s eyes widen in an instant, but he’s too late when multiple bullets are fired, all lodging into Namjoon’s chest.

There’s no way to describe the terror that strikes you.

Tears unconsciously roll down your features, a hard knot constricting around your throat. You can only watch in horror as a staggering Jimin and Seokjin huff, dragging Namjoon’s limp form onto a bed.

Streams of red are dripping down his black suit, three pieces of metal embedded within his chest. Your trembling hands come closer, noticing that he was luckily still breathing.

“His lungs haven’t been damaged.” Jimin doesn’t hesitate to speak as you peer up at him, “We’re going to need to take the bullets out.”

Seokjin quickly filters around the room, searching for supplies as Jimin leans against the bed. You notice the trail of blood beneath his legs, eyes widening.

“Jimin, you’re‒”

He simply shakes his head, gesturing towards Namjoon first. You hesitantly nod, taking a couple of steps back as Seokjin returns.

A shaky exhale leaves your lips when Seokjin opens up Namjoon’s shirt, your quivering hands coming up to cover your mouth as you spin away from the sight.

“Y/N…” Jimin’s gentle voice beckons, but you can’t seem to look behind you. “Y/N, why don’t you wait outside?”

Although concern is flooding through every fiber of your form, you solemnly nod without hesitation.

Exiting the room at once, you attempt to calm yourself down, eyes flickering up to see Geongmin staring at you with a troubled gaze.

She sits with you throughout the silence, your mind completely numbing from the recent events.

***

Over the course of the next few days, you are dangling between concern and worry.

You’ve been residing within the Kim household in the duration and haven’t spoken to yet even seen Namjoon during that time. Although relieved that his wounds weren’t fatal, you were told that he was still unconscious and that healing from them would take considerable time.

In the meanwhile, Seokjin and Jimin had informed you that the person responsible for his state was his father. After getting rid of the remains from the company, something Namjoon had always planned to do, his father had shot Jimin and intended to kill Namjoon.

In response, Seokjin was forced to take immediate action.

You took in the news with a bitter taste in your mouth, but were glad to see Jimin slowly recover from the incident.

Upon returning and being in the household that you and Namjoon had eventually abandoned, you were confronted with the presence of his mother. At first, you were unsure of what to say, not comprehending if she knew about the prior incidents, or if like Namjoon’s father, she held a deep scorn for the two of you.

However to your surprise, she hadn’t seemed taken aback, instead appearing fatigued, dark circles beginning to round her eyes and creases maring her forehead. It made you think back to the first time you had met the women, her elegance and straightforwardness towards you always catching you off guard.

She had asked you about how Namjoon was doing and you had given a simple direct response, but there was a sad smile on her lips, one that had made your chest tighten.

“I don’t hate you, Y/N. If that’s what you’re thinking.” At your perplexment, she continued, “I think it was for the best to let go of the company...at least now we can move on from holding up this Empire with our lives.”

She faintly chuckled as you remained next to her, silently listening.

A sigh leaves her, “I’m in pain not because of my husband’s death, but because I let it get to this point. To the point where I would have lost my entire family for a mere business.”

She softly shook her head, “I’m tired, Y/N. I’m very tired of all this.”

Her words had echoed in your mind. She hadn’t spoken to you after that, but Geongmin had soon informed you that she had never seen her mother express so much remorse before.

With the entire Kim Empire now gone, they were simply just a broken family left behind.

The breeze blows against your hair, the flowers underneath your toes brushing against your skin.

Night has fallen and for a considerable amount of tossing and turning, sleep hasn't welcomed you throughout the evening. You ultimately decided it would be best to get some fresh air, desperately needing to relieve some of the restlessness you were facing.

The pale moonlight shines down on the bed of flowers, the wind whisking past you more crisp during the night. A warm smile tugs on the corner of your lips as you kneel down, gently touching the array of white, lilac purple and petal pink flowers beneath your feet.

Running your fingers through the stems your hand halts, circling around a certain white flower. You pursue your lips, reaching out and cautiously wrapping your fingers around the base, squeezing it tightly for a moment.

“I don’t think my mother will be fond of the idea that you stole one of her flowers.”

You nearly jolt, breath hitching at the sudden voice behind you. That’s when your eyes enlarge, grip loosening immediately.

Swiveling around, the astonishment doesn’t leave your form as you rise up onto your feet.

Namjoon stands before you, leaning against a wall with a hand pressed against his chest. He sheepishly smiles when your eyes connect, briefly glancing at the ground for a moment before looking up.

“You know, these flowers have a history of blooming in the seasons of‒oof!”

He doesn’t get a chance to enlighten you about his knowledge of the plants, your form crashing right against his as you wrap your arms around him. Namjoon lightly chuckles, pushing your strands back and slowly circling his arm around you. Your grip on him only tightens, a fact that he’s quick to remind you of.

“Y/N.” He strains.

You suddenly realize your husband had recently suffered having multiple bullets penetrate through his chest cavity. Immediately stepping back, a string of apologies tumble from your lips.

“I-I’m so sorry!” He grimaces while holding onto the wounds, but still continues to smile at you. Your eyes are drawn to the thick strips of cloth wrapped around the area, tucked underneath the button-down shirt he had clumsily through on around his shoulders.

Your eyes suddenly narrow, “If I didn’t know any better, it would seem that you’re still healing‒…”

Namjoon sheepishly smiles and your eyes widen. Before you can say anything, Namjoon steps forward and places a finger against his lips.

“You need to go back.” You hurriedly coax, voice dropping down into a whisper. Namjoon continues to smile, not moving the slightest.

You press your hands against him, slowly pushing him, “Namjoon, you need rest and‒”

“I know.” He whispers, grasping onto your hands right away. “I came here to see you.”

“You were worried...weren’t you?” You flush underneath his gaze, averting your eyes. His smile widens for a brief second, before it drops down and he leans closer to you.

“Y/N.”

You look up, eyes connecting with his. You’re taken aback with the stern appearance they take on, narrowing with intent.

When he speaks, they’re of mere facts, “I’m conscious again, and I’m able to walk…..”

You hum, not quite understanding what he was intending to say to you. “The company...I’m sure Seokjin and Jimin told you what I did.”

“You destroyed it.” You state and he nods, “It’s gone now and the Kim’s don’t have any means of continuing on with their busine‒”

Life flickers into your eyes and at the sight of recognition in your eyes, Namjoon solemnly smiles.

“You want to leave….” You whisper and he hums.

“It’s been on my mind ever since, I wanted to ask you in a better manner but given the circumstance…” He glances down at his injury.

“The moment I woke up, I needed to talk to you about it.”

“I see….” You mutter, staring down at the ground. Namjoon continues to gaze at you, concern in his eyes.

At your silence, he ponders, “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know, truthfully.” You whisper, “It sounds….wonderful, incredible actually‒ but….” You stare at him, “Can we do that...? Have a fresh new start?”

For some reason, you almost want to laugh, “Are people like us even allowed to have something like that?”

“Maybe not.” Namjoon truthfully says, and you peer up, taken aback from the grim in his voice, “But I don’t see any harm in trying.”

You silently stare at him.

You’re not a spy anymore ‒ and Namjoon is no longer the heir.

You’re finally free, no longer someone else's tools to use. You can be whoever and decide to do whatever you want, no family history dictating it for you anymore.

The carefree thought brings a smile to your lips, and when you look up to see Namjoon softly smiling, you wonder if he’s pieced it together too.

Without hesitation, you take Namjoon’s hand.

Epilogue

The sun brightly shines in between the clouds, spreading across the expansive field.

It reaches your skin as you bend down, a small basket in your hand as you rummage around for the potatoes you recall planting somewhere.

There’s a faint rustle from behind you and you blink for a moment, turning around with narrowed eyes. You hear it again, but this time you can see two small legs running towards you.

A tender smile spread across your features.

The rustling abruptly cuts off, the sound of loud thud replacing it and low cries begin to echo out instead.

You rush forward, the basket in your hands long abandoned.

“Seokmin!”

The young boy continues to cry, large tears leaving his wide eyes until you bend down, scooping him up into your arms. His cries subside a little by the action and you muse at his clumsiness, acknowledging that it was a particular trait he surely hadn’t gotten from you.

Namjoon emerges seconds later, planting his hands against his knees as deeply heaves.

“I’m sorry, he was excited to see you and‒” He pants, drawing closer to see Seokmin tucked away in your embrace with dried streaks down his cheeks. “Is he alright?”

You nod, attempting to brush away the hair from the boy’s eyes. Namjoon reaches out and you hand him over, bending down to retrieve your basket.

You look up to see Namjoon playfully poking one of his cheeks, your son squirming around his arms as small giggles leaves him.

The display has a smile curving on your lips.

There was a time when you dreamed about being happy, to live a life on your terms without being at someone’s beck and call, every decision being fueled by your own conscious thought rather than programmed and ingrained obligation.

However, that’s all it ever was ‒ a dream, a mere fantasy tucked away in the corners of your mind that you had long forgotten about. Yet somehow in some way, you and Namjoon managed to fulfill it.

It didn’t come to you all at once, a normal life being far from the reality you were uncomfortably close to. That type of life was something that never quite suited the two of you and as a result, you had your fair share of struggles.

You can still remember the nights you had spent with vicious nightmares, old memories plaguing you and not letting you forget that you still had marks littering your body, your own two hands long having been tainted. It would make you question if you even deserved any of this, deserved to actually be content with what you have.

You would like to say that the adjusting process was easier for Namjoon, but there were a handful of times where he would wake up in a cold sweat, his whole form quivering next to you. It was those days you truly learned about Namjoon’s past for the first time, of the things he did or more so, was forced to do.

You started to wholeheartedly believe it, that this ‘life’ you wanted to build together could never be possible and that a part of you will always unconsciously remember times you wanted to forget.

That was until your son was born.

At first, it was a whirlwind. You hadn’t expected to get pregnant so soon and you weren’t sure of how Namjoon would react to the sudden news. Fortunately he was ecstatic once you told him and it granted you some sense of reassurance, but you could clearly see it within his warm eyes and you know he could see it reflected in yours.

Was it even possible for people like the two of you to bring another life into the world?

You had attempted to push that thought away as far as you could during the process and luckily when Seokmin was born, something had changed within you.

“Y/N?”

You blink, noticing Namjoon was staring at you with concern. Seokmin is looking over as well, appearing much better compared to when you found him.

You shake your head with a soft smile. Leaning down, you redirect your gaze towards your son.

It still astonishes you that aside from the eyes and the hair, he appears to be an exact replica of his father, “Are you feeling okay?”

Your son nods, a spark lighting in his eyes.

“Mom!” He excitedly says, “Dad said‒ Dad said you were a spy!”

You stare at Namjoon wide-eyed, who looks at his son with the same expression.

A low chuckle leaves you, “Um, he did…?”

Namjoon puts Seokmin on the ground and gestures for him to continue playing, turning around to you.

“Namjoon, we said we would wait.” You whisper.

“I know‒” He squeezes his eyes shut, “It was just a slip of the tongue.”

You stare at him for a moment, before letting out a sigh, “It’s alright...he’ll have to find out someday.”

“Are you referring to the time we’ll give him the chance to choose his own last name?”

Namjoon gazes at you amused and you share a smile with him.

“You know, Seokjin and Jimin have been wanting to see him.” He reminds you, “They still can’t believe we named our son after them.”

“Seokmin is a nice name.” Namjoon raises a brow like he doesn’t believe you and you laugh at his expression, “We should visit sometime soon, especially because….”

You lean closer to him and Namjoon can only stare in confusion when you whisper in his ear. Immediately, he jolts back from you, staring at you in astonishment.

“R-Really? Are you being serious?” You nod with a smile and Namjoon is brimming with ecstasy, “Y/N, that’s amazing!”

You point a finger towards him, “But I want to name this one.”

Namjoon chuckles, pulling you into his embrace, “Of course.”

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oonajaeadira · 3 years

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The Mandalorian Tarot: Major Arcana

If you’re following me, you know this is a Mandalorian obsessive account. I love the man, I love the show, I write a Mando-fando that is all about pining and touch. I tend to go all in when I have an interest.

Another one of my interests? Tarot. A friend challenged me to Mandalorify the major arcana. And because Jon and Dave know their stuff and are good with archetypes (which is all tarot really is), it was an easy fit.

YOU GOT MANDO IN MY TAROT. YOU GOT TAROT IN MY MANDO. TWO GREAT TASTES THAT TASTE GREAT TOGETHER.

But. I can’t draw, so I’ve dreamed them in words and included the Rider-Waite-Smith deck illustrations that I would riff on if I could.

READY? LET’S PLAY.

(All tarot illustrations by Pamela Colman Smith. All Mandalorian images property of Star Wars/Disney.)

UPDATE! @heathenashtattoos has taken up where I cannot and is making these cards a reality! I will post them individually and come back to link them to this post as we go.

0 THE FOOL = THE MANDALORIAN / IT IS MADE! --->

The story of the tarot is the Fool’s journey, the arc of becoming. So it makes sense to me that Din would be the fool. Fits even better, since he has tremendous Fool energy in his himbo tendencies, just rushing forward into situations without a lot of planning--he’ll deal with it when he’s in it--ready to rely on others to show him the way or guide/help him to the next step.

If I could draw: Din on the cliff, with his jetpack on, meaning he has no fear of falling. Instead of the bindle-stick the Fool carries, he’d have his pulse rifle slung over his shoulder. Instead of the dog nipping at his heels, Grogu. And, of course, the landscape would be Tatooine/Navaro-esque.

~~~

1 THE MAGICIAN = LUKE SKYWALKER , IT IS MADE! --->

The Magician is someone who is still learning to bend the laws of magic/the Universe, but very adept with their tools. Since Luke is only a few years into his Jedi training at this time, he makes a pretty good Magician.

If I could draw: Luke in his blacks, holding up his lightsaber. The Jedi symbol would replace the infinity sign.

***

2 THE HIGH PRIESTESS = AHSOKA TANO / IT IS MADE! -->

High Priestess is further along the path of her magic than Magician, and her knowledge is more intuitive, her skills more effortless. Where the Magician is still learning the balance of light and dark, the High Priestess knows the value and pitfalls of both. It was always going to be Ahsoka.

If I could draw: Ahsoka sitting cross-legged in meditation mode, but with eyes open and a knowing smile. Instead of two pillars, she holds her lightsabers up and parallel to each other.

***

3 THE EMPRESS = PELI MOTTO / IT IS MADE! -->

The Empress is the mother figure, the energy in the universe that provides all that is needed and embodies the energy of creation. I can see the argument for Omera being the Empress--mostly because she is a mom and she’s soft and a lot of people see the Empress as a soft female figure, I get it. (And if I were to do a minor arcana, girl would show up as one of the Queens for sure.) But in the end, I gave it to Peli because she’s a recurring character, more relevant in his story, and if Din is the Fool, Peli is more an Empress to him. She’s able to be the provider of his particular needs; services to his ship to get him up flying, contact and location information, and she’s always willing to care for Grogu whenever she gets the chance.

If I could draw: Peli sitting in the dock, against the R4 unit, holding aloft a spanner and surrounded by her pit droids.

***

4 THE EMPEROR = BOBA FETT / IT IS MADE! -->

The Emperor is all about authority. And all I gotta say about Boba is BIG DICK ENERGY.

If I could draw: Just put him on the Jabba throne and let him lounge like a badass.

~~~

5 THE HIEROPHANT = THE ARMORER / IT IS MADE! -->

The Hierophant is the keeper of traditions and a spiritual guide. As the leader of the covert and keeper of the Way, The Armorer fits.

If I could draw: The Armorer, framed by her forge, holding aloft her tools, with Mandalorian acolytes. Instead of the crossed keys at the bottom, let’s just have a mythosaur skull.

***

6 THE LOVERS = FROG LADY AND FROG HUSBAND

This should be obvious and I will fight anyone who says it isn’t the right thing to do. I will die for this.

If I could draw: I would actually depart from the Smith depiction and just draw them embracing or holding each other by the arms and staring into each others’ eyes. Some kind of glowing background? Maybe the egg tank?

***

7 THE CHARIOT = THE MUDHORN

Oh. You thought I was going to say the Razor Crest, didn’t you. Don’t worry, I have plans for our beloved craft, but it ain’t here. The Chariot can be a ride, yes, but it’s about victory. Sometimes it’s about the victory over your inner “beastly” natures. To travel to the next phase in the journey, the Fool must take on the beasts that drive the Chariot and claim dominance over them, and when he does, they will carry him to the next level. Since it’s the victory of the beastly mudhorn that brings Din to his bond with Grogu and becomes his signet, Mudhorn for the win.

If I could draw: Again, I’d probably play on Smith’s imagery, put the charging mudhorn in the middle, and replace the rams with Din on his knees brandishing the vibroblade and Grogu in his pram with his Force hand up.

***

8 STRENGTH = CARA DUNE

Don’t come at me about including Cara. I am glad Gina got shown the door and I lose no love on that bigot. But. Cara is not Gina and to cut her out is to cut out Jon and Dave’s creation and I won’t do it. I actually love her a lot--she’s got her flaws, but she’s sassy and strong and solid, and I would happily accept a piggyback ride from her any day. She’s also a major player in Din’s story and deserves a spot in it. Strength comes after the Chariot--once you’ve conquered the beast within, you have confident dominion over it and it becomes a companion or a tool for your use. Cara is one with her toughness, she’s used it to do some good and bad shit in her past, and she continues to wield it effortlessly and fearlessly. She is absolutely this card.

If I could draw: I would put her maybe sitting on top of the downed ATST. I’d replace the infinity symbol over her head with the one on her cheek (Rebel Alliance).

~~~

9 THE HERMIT = KUIIL

The Hermit is a loner, yes, but in his solitude he looks within, learns from all he’s been through, and becomes wise. He holds aloft a light of wisdom and truth. This was always going to be Kuiil.

If I could drawn: Just our buddy, looking out over the Arvala-7 landscape, holding aloft an in-universe working lamp. No need to get fancy. He would want it to stay simple.

***

10 THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE = IMPERIAL SYMBOL AND STORM TROOPERS

The Wheel is fate. You win some, you lose some. Sometimes you’re on top, and sometimes the Wheel crushes you beneath it. You are helpless to its roll and where you’ll land. Storm Troopers are such a sad bunch. They are keepers of Imperial Law on the ground. On a good day, they capture a Rebel or hold off an attack. On a bad day, their Moff just blasts them to make an example.

If I could draw: The wheel would just be the Imperial symbol and there’d be Troopers on and under it. Maybe the one on top is just standing there, looking authoritative. The one underneath has been blasted. Some Wheels have two more figures--one on each side--and I’d add those too. The one on the down-going side would be falling, arms flailing, blaster shooting (if only sound were available, there’d be a Whilhelm scream), and the one on the up-going side would just be dangling by one arm, along for the ride.

***

11 JUSTICE = COBB VANTH

Well, it just feels right to make the Marshal into Justice. But it’s not just a literal translation of making sure the right thing gets done and the bad guys are punished. Justice is about wiping away emotion and making decisions with bare truth, looking at every side of the situation and understanding what is really there. And I think Cobb fits this well. He doesn’t want to give up his armor because of what it means for the protection of his people. But he’s willing to consider it, if there’s another way he can protect them. Emotionally, he doesn’t want to deal with the Tusken Raiders, but he does it because he can see it’s the best course of action. He flies into battle with the Krayt Dragon. He gives up his armor without a fight. He makes a fair trade and sees the balance in it because he walks away from the emotion and chooses the best course of action. Cobb Vanth for Justice, errybody.

If I could draw: Cobb in the Fett armor, but with the helmet at his feet. In one hand, a bottle of spotchka. In the other, the Tusken mushroom drinky thing; he’s holding them with equal balance.

***

12 THE HANGED MAN = MIGS MAYFELD

The Hanged Man is not just about a dude who’s hanging upside down. (If that was the case, I would have just gone with Gor Koresh and called it a day.) Hanged Man is about changing your perspective to see things in a new way so you can grow. Many times, this growth also requires sacrifice. Over the two episodes we see Mayfeld, we know he goes from Imperial sharp shooter, to traumatized deserter, to merc, prisoner, and exonerated friend. He’s seen some shit, given up a lot, and he’s willing to see how he can be a help to others and find redemption for himself.

If I could draw: Hear me out. Take the image of Mayfeld hanging upside down from the Crest hatch into the prison ship. Mirror that above with an image of him in his Imperial Ground Transport gear. Flip it all upside down so bad Mayfeld up top, good Mayfeld on bottom, images mirrored but inverted, hence “looking at things a new way and getting everything a little topsy-turvey.”

~~~

13 DEATH = MOFF GIDEON

Death is about transformation, so it’s not always the most sinister card. But Death does not discriminate. It comes for us all, constantly stalking, and it will strike you down to serve its needs. You need to face Death to get to your redemption. But really, Gideon is our big baddie here, so why the hell not.

If I could draw: I would forgo the Smith illustration and go for the Marseilles tradition on this one. Gideon and the Darksaber replaces Death and the scythe.

***

14 TEMPERANCE = IG-11

Temperance is the transformation that comes after Death. Once Death has chopped your physical being into pieces with his scythe, Temperance is there to take all your pieces and put them back together into something new and better. It’s also a card that asks you to re-evaluate your priorities and see if you can find better motivations than you previously had. IG’s death and reprogramming speak loudly to me on this.

If I could draw: IG pouring the tea.

***

15 THE DEVIL = THE CLIENT

Here’s another baddie card that’s all about your worst faults, about excess and giving into the stuff that will eventually kill your soul. The Client holds on hard to the Empire, doing whatever he’s ordered to do to be one of the top dogs. And in the end, it doesn’t matter. Gideon takes him down like he’s nothing.

If I could draw: The client, wearing his Empire bling, with chains around Doctor Pershing and a rough-looking Storm Trooper.

***

16 THE TOWER = THE RAZOR CREST

I don’t know about you, but Chapter 14 killed me. And not because the Dark Troopers flew away with Grogu. We all knew Din would never stop at getting him back. But when the Crest was destroyed, it was like someone punched me in the soft parts, and I made a lot of severely anguished noises. The Tower is the most tragic card in the tarot. It’s when forces beyond your control make a very big (and usually negative) impact in your life and everything changes. You are left to pick up the pieces and survive any way you can with the skills and resources you’ve been blessed with.

If I could draw: Just that moment of the ray hitting our beautiful Crest, just as it begins to break apart, maybe with Din, Boba, and Fennec watching in horror in the foreground.

~~~

17 THE STAR = GROGU

The Star is hope. It comes after the biggest tragedy in the deck to tell you that not all is lost. There is always something there to live for. C’mon, kids. In this series, there was only one choice.

If I could draw: Just Grogu. Maybe drinking his soup. Or maybe he’s levitating his metal ball overhead, reaching up to it with a smile on his face. *coos*

***

18 THE MOON = BO KATAN KRYZE

We all like Bo Katan, sure. But remember my Clone Wars/Rebels fiends, she was Death Watch, and they were terrorists. She sided with Maul to take over Mandalore. Sure, she’s come a long way and her path is a bit more honorable now, but she’s got an agenda, which makes her hard to trust. Since the Moon is about more feminine energies and has themes of illusion and deception--things look great in the moonlight, but maybe not as they really are--Bo Katan’s our girl.

If I could draw: Head and shoulders profile, double-imaged so you see her face, but her Nite Owl helmet superimposed in profile over it. Nite Owl signet on the bottom. Possibly flanked by her two Nite Owl cronies.

***

19 THE SUN = GREEF KARGA

Everything's sunny when Greef’s around! He’s the feel-good gramps that’s going to make any situation A-Ok! If you’ve got a problem, Greef can sort it out...or he knows someone who can! The sun is always gonna shine on you and take you back.

If I could draw: Just Greef smiling and being cheesy with the halo of the sun around him.

***

20 JUDGEMENT = FENNEC SHAND

This card traditionally shows the resurrected rising from the grave, ready to be judged. Fennec’s got a lot to answer for in her life, but she is being given a second chance, and my number one girl crush is going to do new and wonderful badass things with it.

If I could draw: I’d either just show her opening her gut pocket to show her new works, all full of aura, with her looking down at it reverently. OR I might do a scene of her being rescued by Boba.

~~~

21 THE WORLD = THE HELMET

Din’s helmet is the world he lives in. But it’s also a symbol of The Way. The World represents completion, a wholeness of self and being, the end of the journey. And since Din is our Fool, his journey is an exploration of his morals and honor, what it means to walk the way of the Mandalore, and what the meaning of the helmet is for him. He may choose ultimately to keep it on and go all-in on Mandalorian-4-lyfe (Child of the Watch style), or he may understand that the helmet is just a symbol and the honor was in him all along; he can wear it or not wear it and it’s all the same.

If I could draw: The World usually depicts a circle or sphere of some kind, the symbol of perfect completion. The helmet is close enough, so it takes up the center. Traditionally, there are four symbols in the corners that give more meaning to The World, and I would replace them with The Razor Crest, Grogu, the Mudhorn Signet, and the pulse rifle or blaster. These represent his home, his foundling, his clan, and his religion, all of which make up more of the whole; what it means to him to be Mandalorian.

~~~~~~~~~~

Challenge accepted and faced.

Adira dops her witchy mic….

#the mandalorian #mandalorian #tarot #mandalorian tarot #star wars #din djarin #luke skywalker #ahsoka tano #grogu #bo katan hate gang

171 notes · View notes

beccascribbles · 4 years

Text

where atsumu is a notorious playboy and now he wants you

a/n - you won't believe how long i've been working on this and it's finally finished... anyway, just wanted to say a quick thank you for 700 followers! it means a lot! hope you enjoy this little atsumu fic

warnings - nsfw (sex, swearing), possibly a little angsty?, toxic relationship

word count - 4.1k

sequel ‘returning the favour’, where atsumu gets a taste of his own medicine

When your friends warned you away from him, you should have known he was bad news, should have known to avoid him, to shut down any conversation and walk away.

When a random girl approached you in the university library and warned you away from him, told you what he had done to her, how he ignored her feelings and hooked up with another girl in front of her, the alarm bells should have started to ring.

When the very thought of introducing him to your parents filled you with dread, you should have known any kind of relationship with him was impossible. Introducing a boyfriend to your parents was nerve-wracking, yes, but you had done it before and the most severe emotion you had felt then was nerves. It was nothing compared to the dread that curled in your belly at the mere thought of ever introducing him.

But Miya Atsumu pulled you in.

Despite all the warnings, you were blinded by his easy charm, the smirk that would pull at the corners of his lips as he teased you, how comfortable he looked in every situation, as if he knew the power he held over those around him. He attracted girls and boys like a moth to a flame. In fact, he burned so brightly it was inevitable that you would get hurt at some point, feel his scathing dismal like a punch to the chest.

Truthfully, you were not planning on falling for him, not even planning to interact with the new face in your lectures. He had attracted enough attention, and you, the ever focused and diligent student, could not afford the distraction. So, while others flocked to him, you initially kept a wide berth, hurrying from lectures with your books clutched to your chest to grab at seat at the library. It would be a lie to say he had not noticed you through the crowds. You were either the first to leave the lecture hall, or one of the only students to approach the professor after class to ask questions and gather some more information about the subject. He admired the dedication you had, your unwavering focus. At the same time, he wanted to be the reason that focus, that dedication, finally broke.

On the day he finally approached you, the weather had been unpleasant. Rain had attacked you the entire walk to class, the raincoat you had on a flimsy barrier. Coupled with the harsh wind that had been blowing, it was nearly impossible for the hood of your coat to cover your head, leaving you with the look of a drowned rat and a very disgruntled one at that. The rain had soaked through your backpack, leaving you with a dripping notebook. You had to be thankful that you had transferred all the sheets of paper you had written on into a binder that had kept the paper mercifully dry. So, as you had sought out a radiator to dry your things on, he had approached you, looking effortlessly handsome... and dry.

“Want to borrow some paper, sweetheart?” he asked, waving his dry notebook at you, his lips upturned in a grin. His stance was casual, but the way he angled his body blocked the class from your view and also cut off your potential escape route. Though the vocative grated at you, your parents had taught you to be polite. Despite the annoyance in the lines of your body, you managed to smile back at him.

“Actually, yes,” you replied, turning back to the radiator to begin draping your wet items on the heated surface. “That would be great. Thank you.”

With your back to him, you missed the way his mouth twisted into a smirk, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. You heard the rip of paper being pulled from a notebook, then felt his warm fingers circle your wrist. You turned to face him, momentarily stunned by the lack of distance between you. His warmth, coupled with the radiator at your back, heated up your body, dispelling the cold bite the rain had left behind.

“And your payment?”he questioned running the tip of his finger along your inner wrist. The feel of his rough skin tracing the soft surface sent a tingle running through you, a traitorous flare of heat to your cheeks.

“Payment?” you scoffed, reaching for the proffered paper. He released it without a struggle, but remained close to you. It would have been so simple to trace the planes of your face, to feel the heat on your cheeks build because of his touch. Instead, he sent a lazy smirk in your direction. It should have irked you, but you found it oddly attractive, the little quirk to his lips, the intensity in has honey brown gaze. “For some paper?”

“Nothing is free these days,” he stated, reaching behind him to pull his phone from his back pocket. It dangled nonchalantly from his grip as he held it out to you. You glanced at the phone, then up at him, at his lazy expression. The way he looked at you showed he tended to get his way. There was no possibility in his mind where you returned to your seat without typing his number into your phone. “Give me your number and I’ll message you when I want to collect. I'm sure you'll enjoy it just as much as me.”

He pressed the phone into your hand. It was already unlocked and opened on a contact page. Instead of immediately typing your contact information into his phone like he assumed you would, you glanced down at the phone screen and then up at him. "Sorry, but my phone number comes at a cost as well."

He let out a low hum, leaning in closer, close enough that your noses almost touched. His eyes stared into yours, appearing to commit the colour to memory. "And what cost is that?"

“If you let me return to my seat, you might find out,” you stated, peeking over his shoulder to see that the professor was powering up the slide show. You pushed against his shoulder, creating enough space for you to walk past. As you stepped around him, you slipped his phone into his trouser pocket. He turned to watch you walk away, the smirk still present on his face.

The next time he approached you, he had orchestrated it with an obsessive perfection. With the knowledge that you always rushed to the library after class finished, he had instructed a member of the class, one of his fangirls, to deliberately bump into you as you tried to make your exit. It was amusing in a sick way how easily the girl had bent to his will. One kiss and she was weak at the knees, begging him for more. The more he had promised would be done once she completed this small task for him.

So, it was with an almost sadistic smirk on his face that he watched as the girl shouldered into you roughly, causing you to stumble and scatter your belongings across the floor. If you had only got into the habit of packing your stuff away into your backpack before leaving, you could have avoided the smirking blonde, able to quickly right yourself and continue on your way. As fate would have it, it was the muscular arms of the blonde that steadied you, his fingers gripping greedily at your waist. Offering him a quick thank you, you pulled yourself from his grip, bending down to gather the items you had dropped. Just as he had planned, you were distracted and desperate to leave, so distracted you did not notice as he took your notebook from the floor and slipped it into the open bag hanging from his shoulder. And, like he presumed, you hurried from the room without sparing him a glance.

When he decided to ambush you, you were digging through your bag, mumbling quietly under your breath as you attempted to find your notebook. It had all your class notes in it that you needed to begin your essay. Letting out a huff, you shoved your bag away from you.

"Looking for this?" asked Atsumu, notebook dangling from his fingertips as he took in your distressed form. Leaning forward, you pulled it from his grip, flicking through the pages to confirm that this was indeed your notebook.

"Where did you find it?" you asked, placing it down on the table and resting your arms on top of it as you looked up at him.

"Is that any way to thank the person who returned your class notes?"

You gave him an exaggerated, friendly smile. "Thank you. Now where did you find it?"

"The floor," he stated, a smirk tugging at his lips with his next words. "After your fall, that's where all your belongings ended up."

"I know," you snapped before turning back to the work you had been in the process of beginning. Atsumu's tall figure still loomed over the desk, his hands gripping at the edge of the table as he leaned forward to force himself into your line of sight. Your eyes narrowed into a glare. "What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I want to take you out." The words were simple, but said in such a pleasing honeyed tone that you felt the heat rush to your cheeks. He held your gaze, awaited your reply eagerly. He knew the effect he had on you, could see it working on you right before his eyes. There was no doubt in his mind that you would say yes.

"Take me out where?" you questioned, voice coming out whisper. Your warm breath fanned against his face, made him crave a sudden closing of space between you and the parting of your lips as he pressed his against them. Truth be told, he wanted to see you come undone.

His usual method would not work on you, that much he was certain of. If he proposed a club or a bar, you would likely scoff, pull away from him, refuse his offer to take you out on a date. A restaurant however, one with a fine wine menu coupled with good food would work quite well.

"A restaurant," he said. You raised an eyebrow at his lacklustre response, expecting a more surprising proposal from the young man. "One where I can fine dine and wine the shit out of you."

“Okay,” you shrugged, feigning some level of disinterest as you pushed him lightly by the shoulder to move him out of your personal bubble. You bent to reach for a pen as you spoke. “Tell me a time and place, and I’ll meet you there.”

Atsumu blinked, unsure if he had heard you correctly. Had you just said you wanted to meet at the restaurant? That would be difficult considering he had yet to decide on one, having made a mental note to ask Osamu for recommendations later on. Trying to hide his sudden unease, he gave you a smooth grin. “Why don’t you let me pick you up, sweetheart?”

That caused you to pause, your breath to catch in your throat, your heart to stutter. The way he spoke, that soft drawl, the smooth dulcet tone of voice, made you weak at the knees. If he addressed you with the same tone each time he spoke, you would have been putty in his hands by now. You swallowed, avoiding eye contact as you tapped your pen on the table, the motion more to soothe you, though it aggravated the others in the library to no end. “Fine.”

You ripped a page from your notebook, hurriedly scribbling down your address. You held out the paper to him, finally meeting his eyes again. “When were you thinking?”

“Friday at 8?”

“Sure,” you nodded. “See you then.”

And, that Friday, you found yourself holding up various outfits to yourself in the mirror only to discard them a moment later. They were never perfect, either too sultry or too innocent, too girly or too geared towards comfort. It was so dire you had reached the point of wishing that you had ordered those dresses you had browsed after agreeing to meet with him. Next day delivery would have meant they would have arrived on time, and you would have felt confident in them. However, you had talked yourself out of it, convincing yourself you had dresses worthy of a dinner with Atsumu. With a sigh, you picked up a dress you had discarded earlier. It was the best out of a bad bunch, and unfortunately the only one you thought you could get away with. Distantly, you wondered why you were trying so hard. That was just you trying to convince yourself you didn’t care. It would be foolish to lie to yourself. You cared because you were attracted to him, to his easy charm, his good looks.

Glancing in the mirror one more time, you smoothed down the material of the dress. It complimented you well, was a trusted favourite. It hugged your body in all the right ways, emphasising your shape in a way that was pleasing to the eye. You allowed yourself a small smile. You felt confident. It was a bonus that you figured Atsumu would enjoy the view.

Hearing the knock on your door, you grabbed your bag from the desk, checking it had everything you needed. Phone, keys and purse were all present inside. Then you went over to open the door. Framed by the dark word, dressed in a dark shirt and black jeans, Atsumu looked hot. His hair had been perfectly styled, a far cry from the messier style he favoured at university. His eyes ran up and down your body, lazily, as if he was stripping you with his eyes. He drawled, “Well, don’t you clean up nice. Makes me want to stay in instead of taking you out."

You gave him a playful glare, pushing against his chest lightly. He stepped backwards, you following him into the hallway. Turning away from him, you faced the door, locking it. Over your shoulder, you quipped, "If you think this date is ending in sex, you are very much mistaken."

Little did you know how wrong your statement was. You could blame it on the buzz of alcohol in your system from the wine but, to be honest, you were weak to Atsumu's charm. The way he purred your name had you weak. The feel of his fingers grazing your bare skin made you shiver. The feel of his lips moving languidly against your own sent jolts of pleasure through you.

"I'm going to ruin you," he breathed, breath hot against your ear as he nipped gently at the lobe, fingers teasing at the hem of your dress, slipping under the material. Those words, along with his actions, were your undoing.

Your hands tangled into his hair, gently tugging as you reconnected your lips, the kiss far more passionate, a bit more messy. It was easy for him to push you onto the bed, for you to instinctively hook your legs around his waist, holding him close to you. A low moan escaped your lips as he rolled his hips into you, feeling the hardness of his cock through the layers. Your dress was hiked up past your hips, the lace of your panties on full display. He pulled away to admire you, unhooking your legs from around his waist, spreading them open for him to admire the view. He let out an appreciative whistle. "Look at you. So desperate for me, sweetheart. Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want to feel my cock filling you up?"

You let out a soft moan. Your cheeks were flushed, breathing slightly laboured as you looked up at him. You were desperate for him. He could see all this, watched with smug satisfaction as your hand slipped into your wet panties and you began to play with yourself. "Why don't you take those off for me?"

Too lost in your need, you began to slip the fabric down your legs, slowly, teasingly. Atsumu watched with a playful glint in his eyes, hand moving to palm at his cock through his trousers. Not needing him to direct you, with the lace no longer blocking his view, you resumed your previous action, fingers circling your clit. As he watched, you pushed a finger into your wet entrance, watching as his eyes darkened. While you continued to pleasure yourself, he slipped his trousers off, then began to teasingly lower his boxes, watching your reaction. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of his hardened cock, slit wet with pre-cum. With you watching, he wrapped his fists around it, beginning to stroke it. His head tilted back and a low groan escaped his throat. You moaned in response, inserting another finger inside, stretching yourself out for him.

"Fuck, y/n," he moaned. "Are you ready? Do you want my cock inside of you? Do you want to feel me thrusting into you? Because I want to feel you clench around me, for you to cum as I fuck you."

"Yes," you breathed, thumb rubbing harshly against your clit as you continued to push your fingers inside you harder, faster. "Please fuck me."

"Get on your hands and knees then, sweetheart," he commanded, watching as you removed your fingers from inside of you. And what a sight you were, back curved to provide him with the best view. He ran his hands appreciatively along the slope of your ass cheeks, giving them a playful slap. He leant over you, fingers finding the zip of your dress, his cock brushing against you. Now wasn't the time to tease you. He yanked the zipper down, the dress falling off your body, leaving you naked apart from your bra.

"Please just fuck me," you begged, pushing back against him as his fingers brushed the tops of your erect nipples hidden by your bra.

"So impatient," he said, voice low, a gruff edge to it that made you suck in a breath. The tip of his cock brushed against your clit, hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh. Teasingly, he waited, his cock head resting against your wet entrance. Each time you pushed back, he would pull slightly away, leaving you a whining mess. Just as you were about to beg, he pushed into you, his cock brushing against your inner walls as he slowly entered you. With a low groan, he sheathed himself fully inside you, his pelvis pressed against you.

Slowly at first, he began to rock into you, pulling out slightly before thrusting back in, working your pussy, getting you used to taking his cock. Each slow thrust caused you to moan, fingers clutching at the duvet.

"More," you whined, hips pushing back into him. He stilled, holding you close to him. You moved along his cock, grinding back against him as his hands tightened on you, stilling your movements.

"What was that?" he questioned, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your neck. "You want me to fuck you into the mattress, is that it?"

"Yes," you declared, voice breathy as you let yourself droop forward, head resting against the soft material of the duvet. He pulled fully out of you, hand curling in the hair at the nape of your neck and pulling you upwards. Your back was flush against his chest, his other arm wrapped around you, fingers teasing at your clit as he thrust upwards into you again.

The sudden harsh thrust caused you to choke, head lolling against his shoulder. You were weak to him as he continued to thrust into you, losing yourself in the feeling of pleasure. The stimulation of your clit, coupled with the harsh thrusting, had you chasing your orgasm far sooner than you had expected, the pleasure slowly building up, a dam waiting to explode.

"Shit," you gasped as he pushed you forward onto the mattress, the position allowing him to push into you with more ease, the slap of his hips against your ass and your laboured breathing the only sound in the room. "Atsumu... I-I think I'm going to cum."

"Don't hold back," he grunted, feeling himself drawing closer. "Cum for me, sweetheart. Want to feel your walls fluttering around my cock."

"A-Atsumu."

His name was the only word able to escape your lips as a wave of pleasure hit you, finally sending you over the edge. He let out a pleased hum at the feel of your walls clenching around him, continuing to thrust into you as he chased his own release. He came with a low groan, releasing his hot seed into you, coating your walls. Slowly, he rocked gently into you before pulling out his slowly softening cock. You let out a low whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness, turning to face him with a small pout. He let out a soft chuckle, grabbing you by the chin and pulling you in for a long kiss, tongue tracing the inside of your mouth. Against your lips, he said, "I'm always up for round two."

You should have know one night wouldn't be enough to satiate your hunger for each other. Despite only having a sexual relationship, the two of you formed a friendship, if constant sexual teasing could be considered friendship. In the library, in class. Atsumu was insistent, his hands rarely kept to himself when he could so easily slip them into your warm panties. Occasionally, you would return the favour, palming him through his jeans. On a day when you had been feeling particularly adventurous, you had sucked him off in the library, relishing in the soft moans he would release, the way his hips would buck upwards as he attempted to push you down onto his cock further.

One day, he had turned to you, a completely innocent look on his face and stated, "You're the only girl I ever fuck now."

You had looked at him blankly as he had pulled you towards him, placing you on his lap, urging you to straddle him. His hands rested against the bare skin of your sides. "And?"

"I'd say we're pretty much exclusive."

Those words gave you some indication of where his train of thought was heading. Though you couldn't deny wanting to be in a relationship with him, you could hardly define what you did now as dating. You felt he was just using you and that had been the truth for as long as he had begun pursuing you.

"We're not even dating, Atsumu," you sighed. Just last week, he had gone on a date with another girl only to arrive at your dorm at the end of the night to fuck you instead of her.

"Why don't we change that?" he hummed, placing kisses along your jaw before connecting your lips in a searing kiss. His thumbs brushed against your rib cage as he kissed you harder. He was close enough to feel the way your heart picked up the pace, hammering against your chest. You pulled away slightly to look at him, to see the sincerity in his brown eyes.

"Okay," you agreed. "Let's change that."

Years later, you would look back on certain moments in your relationship with nothing but anger, mainly at yourself. The signs were clear from the moment you became official. Atsumu was a person who refused to be tied down. As soon as your relationship was defined, he lost interest, pulling away from you, treating you as nothing more than a means for pleasure. But, through it all, you still felt love for him, needing to be the thing that brought him that pleasure. That illusion shattered the moment you saw him with another girl, her legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed her with the passion he used to kiss you.

Though the illusion shattered, the desire for him did not. You would still open your door for him, still let him use you as you told yourself you were using him. You accepted the empty 'I love you' he would whisper as you fell asleep only to wake up to an empty bed.

You were a fool. But he must have known that. After all, only a fool could ever love him like you did.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader #hq imagines #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #haikyuu atsumu #hq smut #hq angst #haikyuu smut #atsumu smut

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murderdaddymayhem · 3 years

Text

A Simple Divinity - Pinhead x Reader [NSFW]

You summon the cenobites for a different kind of pleasure, and you get what you ask for from their curious leader.

Very graphic body horror, death and oral sex. Please visit the ao3 link for full tags and warnings.

They say you retain consciousness for up to 15 seconds after decapitation.

The blow to your neck causes your nervous system to reach a climax of sensation. Many argue that the impact of the first strike will knock you unconscious, only for the narrowed, desperate passageways of severed veins to force their last few pumps of blood out from the fatal site of separation, like fresh seed from a well-pleasured cunt.

This remarkable finale of gore can be avoided however, with a clean cut. That's what everyone condemned to death by beheading wishes for during their last rites; a severance of the nerves that would echo what unimaginable suffering the blade has brought upon your body. Pain can tantalize, but to those uninitiated there is ecstasy to be found in swift endings. A quick and painless death if done right; confusion of the last ticking seconds of the mind allows you to mourn yourself before the dark swallows all that you were. Is there anyone out there in the dark?

Yes. Yes, there is.

The moment his eyes locked on yours, you knew you were damned. Nothing had escaped him--were they a him?-- before, and no one would. You hadn't expected any less when configuring a puzzle like this one; the creaking that teased your ears and the bell that tolled its death knell confirmed what you had known going into this ritual: you wouldn't be returning.

Out of clouds of putrid fog, three figures emerge behind him and surround you. Each is more grotesque than the last, but you still find yourself drawn back into the soulless gaze of the tall being above you, he who seemed superior to the others. Through the pattern of pins, those black eyes sweep down your body. You're naked kneeling before him, but his eyes seem to undress you even further, relieving you of your skin to reveal the intricacies of the flesh beneath. His eyes sweep back up over what skin you've bared, noticing your nakedness.

"Ours is not a summoning of tangible vanity," he speaks calmly. His voice seems to penetrate your bones, threatening to shatter your fragile core. "Excretions are more than sufficient."

You glance over at the altar where you'd left everything for them, as per the ritual. "Do you object?" you're brave enough to ask him. Though he has no hair there, the skin seems to stretch tighter over his brow bones as he expresses his intrigue.

"I do not. We have seen such sights. It is all we see as we tear each fibre of your being apart." Though his words are repulsive, his pale lips do not part to reveal anything of a sneer; he seems utterly unchanged by both the display of offered lust and the question of his own interest in such a trivial thing. He tilts his head slightly. "You do not fear your fate."

You shake your head. He doesn't ask why; simply looks down at the box in your hands. "What was your reason for summoning us?"

"Pain," you answer. The cenobite is quiet for a moment. Not a peep from those behind you.

"Most answer with the opposite," he tells you. "However. The configuration you hold is not a game of fevered antonym to be outsmarted so wittily. The same fate awaits all those who call to us."

"You think I'm bluffing?" you clarify with a small smile. "I like pain."

"Little one," the cenobite sighs, cradling your chin in his cold, pale hand. "You do not know pain." Something in his voice makes you shiver; likely the conviction in it that reveals he's telling the truth.

"I enjoy it. It feels good. It feels different... I want to see what Hell can give me." His lips part slowly.

"You speak of the horrors of Hell as if you know them," he says. His scrutiny humbles you.

"No. I don't presume to."

"That is a pity. I thought perhaps, we had met before."

You bite your lip, and the pin-faced demon casts his gaze downward again. "You quiver for me. Why?" His question is plain, though you don't know how to answer. “I thirst for this knowledge. Tell me.” He takes a deep breath in, and exhales a curious hum. "It is a rare scent we never smell," he tells you. "Not one our victims secrete when being flayed alive or tortured beyond recognition. You surprise me, though not unpleasantly." A few beats go by. You hear the cenobites behind you moving in closer, and figure it's finally time... however, Pinhead puts up a hand. "Where we come from, pleasure and pain are one. As you seem to understand this, I see no reason to rush the process."

Your voice comes out weak, almost nervous for the first time tonight. "The process of what?" Finally betraying his careful stoicism, the tortured face splits into a grin.

"The defiling of your soul." The noise you let out next can only be comparable to a moan, and the sound is like music to the cenobite's ears. He gestures with two fingers to his subordinates, and you feel a cool wire touch your throat.

"In order to defile your soul," he continues. "We must start with the flesh." The wire digs in, and he grips your chin again, raising you up to your feet with his strength. The wire follows you up. "Such eager eyes," he whispers. "What do you wish for, child?" You blink up at him.

"To pleasure you."

"Impossible."

"Let me try?"

He seems amused, as if regarding a pet who has bitten its own tail. "One last desire granted. Because I enjoy you, curious child, you may try what you wish. Our puzzle is one of venturing minds and endless possibilities... it would only be right to grant you this in the pursuit of the vulgar knowledge which you seek." Those same two fingers slip inside you the next thing you know, and you think you've seen heaven. This repugnant being is touching you as you always touch yourself, each stroke a deliberate vault toward the ecstasy of the pleasure that awaits the act. He fucks you perfectly with his fingers as you grab onto the harsh leather of his garments. In horror, you realize you've grabbed flesh torn from his chest, but he only seems encouraged by this. Your thighs quiver. His teeth bare.

"Come closer," he hisses. You tilt your chin up to do as he says. "Such power in devotion." He begins to shove his fingers in rough and you sob into him. It starts to hurt, but you only cry harder for him. "Give in to the pleasure, slut."

The finish is indescribable. You feel as though you've crossed the very threshold of life and death, and you only realize you're clutching onto him

Your knees give out, and you drop to them once more. The wire only tightens.

"Your thirst for what awaits is deliciously obscene," Pinhead drawls.

The demon bears himself to you, and though you're not quite sure what you're looking at, you feel your mouth water at the sight as your clit pulses. It has retained the shape of a human phallus, an impressive one at that. But the scarification of it almost makes you choke. Trails of skin are ripped away, pins driven through the shaft, under and up and down to the hairless base. You reach your finger out to feel one pin tentatively, and he exhales.

"Touch. I like it." You do as he says, moving one of the pins through the head of his cock; the moan he lets out rumbles the room. Spurred on by this, you take some of him into your mouth, deterred only slightly by the strange sensation of each modification. You hum around him, but suddenly the wire tightens again around your neck, reminding you it's there.

"I will make you a deal, talented one," Pinhead says, slipping his fingers into your hair. "If you can pleasure me to my finish before your head separates from your shoulders, you may keep your life... and your soul."

An angry chattering of teeth comes from behind you, but Pinhead's cold glare is quickly upon the source of the noise for challenging his judgement. The protest dies.

You swallow. They're going to cut off your head with a wire. You nod quickly to the agreement, and Pinhead starts to slowly fuck in and out of your mouth.

"Good little one," he says. The praise of this hellish priest only makes you want him more, strangely aroused by the fear and by the being himself. As you suck him down however, your skin begins to burn where they are playing your neck like a fiddle. You feel the wire slice just barely in, and let out a muffled scream around Pinhead's cock.

"Hurry, child," he hisses. "It won't be long now." You feel him throb, and take him down, feeling the needles scrape the back of your throat as you do your best to swallow around him. The action pushes the needles further in through the head, and Pinhead's fingers tighten more, starting to slide you gently back and forth.

"I had forgotten what earthly pleasure could offer," he sighs. "Inconsequential, yet so simply divine." He groans, looking down at you then back up. "See how they want me," Pinhead growls to the ceiling. The wire cuts deeper, and a tear rolls down your cheek.

"Hurts," you groan around him. The pins scrape the roof of your mouth, drawing blood. He only slides again to the back of your throat as you keep bobbing in a fevered attempt to save your life. Carried by some strange obsession, you find you don't want to stop. The pain is too good, the fear of the gruesome fate they tease and the pleasure of making this thing moan for you culminate in an unholy desire to feel his hot seed dripping from your lips. Motivated by this sinful image in your mind's eye, you hurry in your depravity, holding onto his boots as you suck harder around the engorged cock.

"Yes..." he grunts. "Serve me. Serve me, and scream for all of Hell to hear."

The wire slices again, and you start to feel the blood pour in warm rivulets. You continue sucking. It cuts again. Another cut, and another, sawing back and forth in a slow taunt, daring you to hang on. Your life dangles by this very wire, and you feel no indication Pinhead is about to finish. Desperately, you lick under the marred head and even bite down. He lets out a grunt of appreciation, and pushes his hips harder until he's practically fucking your face. Each thrust saws the sharp wire again, until you feel a snap and your head begin to tilt back. Your eyes widen. How can you still feel your body? How are you still sucking?

"I near the end, little one," he murmurs. You deepthroat the demon, and give it your all among the sound of squelching lips and rustles of excited cenobites behind you both... but when Pinhead pulls his cock out of your mouth abruptly, you hear a thump below that can only mean one thing.

15, 14, 13, 12, 11...

He takes his time lifting your head up to his face, holding eye contact with your rapidly blinking eyes. The top of your spinal cord dangles unceremoniously behind your skull, gore hanging from the cracked vertebrae and rejoining your body with every loosening drip. You can still feel your phantom arousal.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6...

"My state of being is the equivalent of one of your orgasms," he smiles, in revelation of his cheat. "My pleasure neither starts nor finishes." The walls start to turn black around you and your headless corpse below. The cenobites turn into black birds and Pinhead holds your gaze as your consciousness disintegrates with the tangible world around you to join him finally.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

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