#two seconds about changing. then pocket the money and make another AU out of spite. bite me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

folkloreguk · 3 years

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Gold Rush (optional bias)

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

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

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

words: 8.9 k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You little-“ he snarled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t go like this,” he said.

“You’re not go-“ you started.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed out loud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go to hell,” the guard said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He only nodded. “Towards the setting sun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~2 months later~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

203 notes · View notes

96dys · 3 years

Text

hydrangea ; johnny seo

money makes the world turn. there was so much of it, and yet so few people ever saw it. maybe if it weren’t for the money, johnny might have acted differently. maybe his family’s badgering wouldn’t have weighed on him as much as it did. maybe he wouldn’t have taken you, because finding a wife this way wouldn’t have mattered. he didn’t like the circumstance, but he couldn’t keep himself from liking you—the dirt-poor girl who worried more about helping others than feeding herself.

ceo au

taglist: @tyongpoetry @xianxian95 @aaaaalex05

masterlist

02 | little prince

eating breakfast alone wasn't something that was very new to you, though it wasn't often that you were able to eat breakfast, let alone something this size. your stomach had begun to ache just looking at the size of the plate in front of you, but your eyes lit up in awe of the colorful array of fruits. of course, they were accompanied by an alarming amount of vitamins and supplements, just as you'd been asked to take the previous day. a glass of water was provided to help you wash it all down, which you gladly sipped on between bites.

for the sake of getting out of your bedroom, you'd asked to have your meal in the common area, though you did your best to keep yourself just as isolated. you sat with your legs crossed in front of the coffee table, mindful of the way the skirt of your pale pink dress fell upon your lap. despite being alone, you couldn't help but feel as though you were being watched at all times. the door was open but a crack, just enough for you to see staff members pass through the narrow hallway. the curtains had been pulled open, allowing the bright sunshine to wash over your figure. a peaceful silence filled the air, something you were especially fond of. jisung was very kind, but you weren't sure you'd be able to handle any more of his mindless chatter after this morning.

of course, he had offered to keep you company while you dined, but you were very quick to decline. as hard as you tried, you were unable to hide your haste, for he had just spent almost an hour talking your ear off about the most random details of the wedding to come in just two days. it had gotten to the point where you stopped trying to decide which information was important and what was not in favor of blocking it all out entirely. even as you stood under the warm stream of water flowing from the showerhead above, you could hear him muttering things to himself as he tidied up your bedroom. you most imagined this behavior was due to growing up without the presence of others his age--if anyone at all. while you did feel sympathetic toward the boy, you weren't used to the constant noise.

your previous life was fairly quiet, even at the tiny, makeshift school where you had spent all of your free time. there was always the odd occasion where a child or two would be exceptionally talkative, though most of the time the children were too malnourished to have the energy. it was a struggle to get the group to participate much at all, let alone speak amongst themselves. you tried your best to encourage your pupils to make friends with one another, but this wasn't something that was accepted with open arms. you couldn't even find it in yourself to be upset at them for this, given that your brother had been your only friend growing up; it was this way for most people you knew.

after a long day at the school, you would go home to an empty home. it was tiny and everything seemed to be falling apart, but it gave you a private space to unwind as much as you possibly could. you never cared to invite anyone over, nor did you have anyone to visit. it was lonely at first, but after a while the silence became very calming. perhaps this was because it was the only constant in your life; the only thing that would be waiting for you at home without fail. a meal was not always promised, nor was a new book to read, but there would always be a heavy silence ready to envelope you as you drifted off each night.

looking down at your plate, you noticed that it was nearly empty. oh how you wished your brother was there to fight you over what remained, like he used to when he was too young to understand how little your family truly had to go around. unless you finished your food with incredible speed, he would begin whining about how hungry he was, about how you needed to share with him. you would always shoot him a glare and questioned why he deserved to eat more than you did, which would only result in the little boy pinching the tender skin around your ankles. as you cried out in pain, he would quickly grab at the food resting atop your lap., smiling to himself as he bit into your food. this wasn't something you ever imagined yourself missing, although the change in circumstance caused the memory to become very fond.

after having your entire life uprooted against your will, you've found that many of the things you used to find so unpleasant have been on your mind. this was especially conflicting, as none of these were things you had to deal with within recent years. it almost made you sad to realize that there was nothing to your life that was worth missing; everything you cared for had been ripped from your fingers the moment all of your family members were gone. you longed not for the days you spent as an adult, but the miserable nights you spent as a child begging your father to stop yelling at you over whichever minor inconvenience had stressed him out that time.

perhaps the anger you felt toward your current situation was purely out of spite, though this only caused your heart to sink a little further down into your chest. was your life of so little meaning that you couldn't find a good reason to continue to be hateful? did you have so little back home that this new setting seemed only a little less than pleasant? the change was beyond unfair, yet you could only sigh knowing that you were likely better off here anyway. you wanted to do more--to lash out in anger, fear, or something--but you just couldn't.

a light knock floated through the air, causing you to dart your head toward the door. it had been pushed open, allowing johnny to lean against the frame. he was smiling down at you, like he was genuinely happy to see you a second time. your eyes widened ever so slightly, just enough to make him chuckle. you had been doubting his promise to make time for you everyday, so his presence came as a bit of a surprise. in all honesty, you figured that work would come first, making you an afterthought for him to tend to at the end of the day, but he was as early as he possibly could be without having interrupted your meal. it was as though he couldn't wait.

"i'm really glad to see that you've eaten," he spoke happily, glancing at your plate for a moment before returning his gaze toward your face. he could tell that you'd taken all of your vitamins as well, which made his smile widen just a bit. a wave of joy washed over him momentarily, knowing that you felt comfortable enough to do so without any resistance. he made a mental note to send someone to clean up the remains of your meal, though it wasn't like you had left much of a mess at all. "we don't have to leave now, but i'm ready whenever you are. i don't mind waiting in here for a little while if that's what you want to do."

you set your fork down on the edge of your plate and shook your head. there was nothing left for you to do here and therefore no reason to stay. standing up was a very slow process, as you had to be very cautious in your dress, but it felt nice to stretch your legs once you were able to do so. it was no surprise that you were fatigued already, but you hoped it wasn't very obvious to the man in front of you. he seemed unfazed, so you assumed he was unable to tell.

"please tell me there's less walking this time," you muttered, mostly to yourself.

johnny laughed in response as he took a step to the side, allowing you to pass through the doorway. it wasn't hard to fall in time with your lazy footsteps, yet continuing to keep your pace posed a bit of a challenge for someone with such long legs. he did his best, though he wound up a few steps ahead within a minute flat.

he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a white plastic card. he waved it around for a moment before returning it to its spot, smirking down at you.

"it's your lucky day; being with me means you get to use the elevator and not the stairs."

an elevator. you were unable to form a proper response. of course, you'd read about such a thing in a few of your old books, though you had yet to use one yourself. it wasn't very often you ever entered a building with two stories, let alone enough to warrant the installation of an elevator. you wondered why the little card was relevant, only to conclude a few moments later that it must be some sort of a key. then, you wondered why it would be restricted. if you were able to use the stairs without issue, what was the purpose of deeming the elevator off limits? if they accomplished the same thing, you would get to your intended destination regardless. maybe he felt that blocking off the stairs wasn't needed, given the likeliness of you getting lost before making it anywhere important.

for a brief minute or so, you found yourself feeling less than adequate. it wasn't that you felt an overwhelming need to impress anyone here, but it was quickly becoming evident that you truly knew so much less than he did. the rational part of your brain knew that there was no one to blame for this, and yet you couldn't help but think that you should've taken it upon yourself to learn more. just knowing how to read as fluently as you did was a feat in and of itself, but the accomplishment seemed meaningless in comparison to all the things you did not know. you didn't even want to think about how poor your math skills had to be next to his.

much to your surprise, it didn't take very long to reach the elevator either. you both stopped in front of two metal doors, causing you to stare curiously as he swiped the little card. you bit back a gasp as they pulled apart. when you were rushed down to the garden yesterday, you had assumed that these doors were different solely for decoration. remembering that johnny works in technology, you didn't feel that it would be very off to assume that he would have more of a futuristic sense of style. stepping into the little room though, you realized that this made much more sense.

each wall was mirrored, causing you to become lost in your reflection as the doors came to a close. you could see johnny press a button on the large panel to his right, though you failed to focus your attention on the action itself. you didn't bother to wrack your brain trying to figure out how the elevator began to move on its own just a few seconds later, as you were so entranced by the couple that stood before you. you were already well aware of the height difference, since it was so hard to ignore during a conversation with the man, but it was so much more interesting to see the both of you side by side. he looked like a giant standing next to your small frame.

his eyes met yours through the mirror, causing you to quickly look away. he only smiled at your response, waiting but a second more for the elevator to come to a stop at the correct floor. as the large doors slid open, he gestured for you to step out first. he wasn't worried about there being any trouble finding the library, as it was located directly across the hall. this in mind, he allowed you to lead the way, which you seemed more than happy to do.

he thought it was cute how your steps became so much lighter once the open doorway was in sight, how your eyes seemed to light up upon entering the large room. he watched as you stopped a few steps into the library, examining your features as you looked around. while he had been expecting a positive response, you surely didn't disappoint. your jaw was nearly on the floor as eyes the size of saucers scanned the maze of bookshelves.

just past the entrance was an area that resembled the common area; a large sofa sat opposite the door, which was paralleled by a coffee table of equal length. there was a chair positioned on either side, though the fourth side was left open. the furniture sat atop a beautiful floral rug, which distracted from the dull navy carpeting the rest of the room had been floored with. there were rows upon rows of shelves on the three sides in question, rows that seemed to go on for miles.

"a's start just to the right over there, i think," his voice rung in your ear, snapping you out of the book-induced trance you'd fallen into. he pointed in the general direction you needed to go, which was all the permission you needed to begin walking. you were too excited to respond, so you simply allowed him to follow your fast paced footsteps as you began searching for the book you wished to read.

you'd never seen so many books in your life, let alone all at once. your heart did jumping jacks in your chest at the realization that you could never possibly be bored here. maybe every storm cloud does have a silver lining. no matter how unhappy you might become in the future, you were certain that you would never run out of books to take your mind away from the world. you couldn't wait to get lost in each and every one.

"are you looking for anything specific?"

you could easily make out the curiosity woven into every word. his fancy shoes made a dull click clack noise against the thin carpet, the sound trailing behind you. it didn't sound like he was making an effort to match your swift pace, but then again, he didn't have to. his legs were so long, you knew he could easily match your fastest sprint with a brisk walk if he ever decided to try.

"no."

yes.

once you finally reached the aisle you were looking for, your eyes lit up. the section marked 's' was very large, but you were quick to find what you were looking for. given the letter combination, saint-exupéry happened to be toward the beginning of the section. however, it was out of your reach. even standing on the very tips of your toes, every book on the top shelf was just out of reach. sighing to yourself, you fell back on your heels.

"which one?" johnny asked, causing you to quickly turn your head.

you had been so lost in thought that the sound of his voice startled you, but his close proximity was even more surprising. there was maybe two inches between the both of you. his steady breaths felt warm against your neck even after you turned away. flustered, it took you a moment to respond. regardless of your feelings toward him, no man had ever been so close to you before; you weren't sure how to react.

"uh, it's on the top right there—the little prince," you answered finally. your voice came out a soft mumble.

he reached over your head and easily pulled your book away from the others. you assumed this was why he'd gotten so close, and you were correct. the moment he passed the book on to you was the moment he took two steps back. regardless, this did nothing to stifle the heat burning in your cheeks.

in an attempt to ignore it, you turned on your heels and began to make your way back to the lounge. he walked beside you now, most likely because he had a very good idea of where you were going. there was no reason to follow you around like a lost puppy otherwise.

"why that book?" he wondered aloud.

there was a part of his brain that worried that the question was a bit too personal, but he couldn't help himself. after watching you move through the library at such a fast pace, he had to ask. you were nearly jogging; that book had to be extremely significant to you for one reason or another. glancing down at you, he noticed that you couldn't take you eyes off of the cover.

"um..."

you allowed the sentence to fizzle out, unsure of how to begin, or if you even wanted to at all. having been pulled away from your past life, you hadn't decided whether you wanted to talk about it with anyone. you didn't have much of a story to tell, yet it still felt like something you should lock away entirely. though you didn't truly understand why, you dreaded the thought of letting anyone here get to know you. whether this was because they were undeserving or because acknowledging your past life made this one real, you didn't know.

weaving through the seemingly endless aisles, you allowed you gaze to fall upon the book again.

your brother was a bright young boy, almost too smart for his own good. he never tried to be a troublemaker—not the kind you felt the need to raise your guard around anyway—but he would risk anything to stimulate his mind. if he didn't have a book to stick his head into or a math subject to teach himself he fell into a painful state of boredom. he couldn't stand being bored; you remembered him declaring once before that not doing anything productive made him feel like his brain was rotting from the inside out.

"it's only a matter of time before it starts dripping out of my ears," he used to say.

to this day, you were able to recall in great detail the first time he got himself into trouble with your parents. he managed to drag you down with him without even trying to; your parents found you guilty before you even opened your mouth. all over a stupid book.

"it's not like he can even read it!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air.

while his intellect surpassed even the adults in your life, his age was really showing. just like any thirteen year old boy, he felt that your parents were just overreacting; that what he'd done surely didn't warrant this kind of response. after all, it wasn't like he'd truly hurt anyone. even if he really did want to, you knew he didn't have it in him. much like yours, his attacks were never physical, only verbal.

to an extent, you agreed with him. the law wasn't really enforced unless you had the money to make people care about your problems, so you doubted he would get into any real trouble. the most that could happen outside of the home would be some kind of beating from the people he'd stolen from, but you doubted they would even notice its absence. however, watching this situation unfold had begun to give you a headache and for that reason alone you felt he deserved to be punished. "you still stole it," your father shot back.

he stood his ground, arms crossed over his chest. your father was a short man, but he still managed to make himself look intimidating when he saw fit. his actions helped greatly; he had the tendency to raise his voice when things didn't go his way, or allow his eyes to narrow into a glare that would tear through anyone in his path. sometimes you hated him for being this way, but deep down you knew it wasn't his fault. working such long days with almost nothing in return was enough to drive any man crazy.

your mother though... you looked to your mother and saw nothing but disappointment painted across her face as she held the book in her hands. you frowned. for the first time in a very long time, you witnessed her express something other than exhaustion. she was so kind and caring, but she was empty. everyday was a constant fight to keep her family afloat through high tides and thunderstorms, but over the years the tiny raft she'd woven for those she loved most broke apart piece by piece. everyday you watched a tiny piece of her float far far away right along with it.

"how could you let this happen?"

you quickly averted your attention toward your father, your eyes widening as a wave of shock wracked your body. he glared down at you, but you didn't really understand why; you hadn't done anything wrong. and so you said nothing. instead, you nervously pulled at the hem of your shirt, wishing this would all go away. but this wasn't good enough. when you failed to respond, he only rose his voice even more. he pointed his finger at you accusingly, like you'd gone out and committed the crime yourself.

"you were supposed to be watching him! it's not like you have anything else to do. you don't work, can't go to school—what could you possibly have been doing that was more important than making sure your brother stayed safe at home?"

it was then that you began to cry. tears flowed down your cheeks in rivers as you tried so hard not to start hyperventilating. you never took criticism well—not when it was far from constructive. it felt like he had lunged at your throat and your windpipe was beginning to crack under the pressure. if he kept at it, you were certain you wouldn't be able to handle it at any capacity.

you refused to respond. what was the point in trying if your father wasn't even going to try to understand? how were you going to tell him that your idiot brother had managed to sneak out because you spent the day asleep on the cold, hard floor? how were you going to explain that you were so tired, that your body was so physically exhausted that there were periods of time where you were unable to stay awake during the day?

you couldn't, not when everyone else struggled just as hard as you did. you could already imagine his response, something about how he works himself to the bone and still manages to stay awake.

it was pointless.

you thought you were never going to be able to forgive your brother for that day. that night, when you were certain the rest of your family had fallen asleep, you picked the book up off of the floor where your mother had left it. it shouldn't be there; your brother shouldn't get the pleasure of reading it.

so you hid it. you remembered having to be so careful as you moved the heavy water pot, struggling to keep quiet as the lid began to gently crash into the rim. you then lifted up the broken floorboard beneath it and placed the book inside of the small opening before repositioning everything. that night, you laid next to your brother feeling content with your actions, yet no more happy overall.

for so many years, you avoided that book just as much as you did the negative memory associated with it, but after your family passed, something changed. it didn't feel like something you wanted to distance yourself from anymore, but rather something you wanted to hold close to your heart.

the first thing you did once the body collection team cleared your home was rush to the water pot. you were so hasty in trying to move it that it tipped over in the process, spilling what tiny bit of water was left all over your thighs. but holding that book in your hands, it didn't matter. there was a tiny piece of your brother you had yet to familiarize yourself with and you so desperately needed to. it felt like it was all you had left of him. for almost a month you read the book time and time again until the tears stopped; by then you had memorized the entire story word for word.

the little prince.

"someone that i used to know was really interested in it, that's all," you said finally.

you were too stuck inside your own head to notice how much time had passed, but by that point you'd reached the lounge already. the couch closest to you suddenly seemed very inviting, so much that you quickly sat down in the middle. your mind was still a bit too far away to realize what you'd done, but by that point it was too late.

johnny was left to seat himself on your right. much like before, this left very little space between the two of you. this got your attention immediately. your cheeks burned red hot as he rested his arm atop the edge of the couch behind you.

"would you mind if i read it?"

too stunned to form a proper sentence, you merely nodded and placed the book on his lap. when you took the quickest look up at him, you saw that he was smiling. it was a genuine smile, not one of those smug smirks you'd seen once or twice before. staring toward your lap now, you could see him using his free hand to quickly flip to page one.

oh. he was going to read it to you.

"you don't have to do all that," you quickly spoke up.

you did your best not to come across as rude. in reality though, you weren't sure whether or not you should've said anything at all. you had yet to decide if you were uncomfortable with someone like johnny making himself part of something so sacred, or if you were angry at yourself for letting his close proximity make you so flustered. no matter how much you tried though, you couldn't help it. it would've been this way with any boy, you told yourself, but the fact that it had to be him was so, so irritating.

the brunette scoffed lightly.

"you think i don't care enough to get to know you?" he quirked an eyebrow at you, only resulting in your gaze being averted elsewhere. a moment went by as he awaited a response that never came. "i don't want to be strangers; i want to know things about you. i think it's premature to say that things are most definitely going to be real between the two of us, but i would like to try, if you'd let me. at the very least i want to get to know you as a person. if this book is something you're into, i want to read it."

he watched as your eyes fell upon the open page. as hard as he tried, he couldn't make out the expression contorting your features. somewhere deep in his being he was hopeful you were considering what he said, though he knew not to get his hopes up. while he understood why you would do so, the idea of being wed to someone who refused to keep him any closer than arms length made him sad. while he despised it, it happened to be the normalcy and there was nothing he was able to do about it.

almost pleading with you, he quietly added, "for me? you can sleep for all i care; just entertain me for the rest of the hour, please."

very hesitantly, you nodded and allowed him to wrap his arm around your shoulders. he then pulled you close, causing your breath to catch in your throat for a moment. never before had you been held this way, nor had you witnessed your mother in such a position; this type of intimacy was something you'd only ever encountered in the few fairytales you'd been able to read in your youth.

as he began to read in that oh so soft tone, you found yourself lost in thought. the more you tried to think of an occurrence where this scenario had been normalized during your childhood, the less you were able to come up with. it would be humorous to call what you were required to have with johnny love, and yet it was likely the closest you would ever come to such a thing in your life time. marriage was more out of necessity than anything, you had come to realize--especially for women. each person was allowed to interpret societal norms however they so chose, though you felt that marriage offered women a degree of safety that living alone was unable to, while men were given sex and children in exchange. in all your years, you had yet to come across a couple that seemed to truly love one another beyond this platonic agreement.

having been a woman that had grown used to living alone, you understood the need for a man in the house. it wasn't that you were very strong on ancient gender roles, but that you had been forced to live with such extreme anxiety at all times. what few policemen there were didn't care about any crime that didn't have the potential to pad their pockets, so young women were often assaulted late at night on the lookout for whatever scraps of food they might be able to find and eat. even going out during the day made you nervous at times, depending on who was in sight. you'd even made a mental catalogue of which neighbors seemed especially sketchy and why, as you had learned not to trust anyone. living seemed to become extremely dangerous after your father passed away.

your eyes began to flutter closed as his low voice hung in your ear. being endlessly tired was not something that was new to you, for each and every day you felt as though you could sleep for hours and wake up feeling like your limbs were packed full of sand. the man beside you wasn't helping either; the steady sound of his heartbeat was the perfect backdrop to your thoughts. perhaps he noticed, though you couldn't be bothered to open your eyes in order to check. instead, you allowed him to slowly brush his palm over your head, almost as if he was petting you. it was endearing in a way, though you would never say so out loud.

counting down the days, you realized there weren't too many left until the wedding to come. jisung had brought it up earlier, but the subject matter made you uneasy, so you did your best to tune it out, just as you did the rest of his blather. normally you soak up information like a sponge, but the young boy had begun to babble about who all he thought was attending, which wasn't something you cared to know. the thought of being trapped in a room with at least half of the world's most wealthy made a knot tie itself oh so tight within your stomach. not because you felt the need to impress any of these people, but because you had spent your entire life drowning in poverty while these people had very little to worry about. your main concern was finding a way to keep from choking one of them to death on your way down the aisle.

on top of that, it sounded as if the majority of the relatives that were to be in attendance didn't like the idea of your marriage in general. jisung had recalled chatting with a young servant named yeri over lunch, who apparently dealt with all of the invitations. he relayed that she was tasked with calling each household personally, so she was able to get a feel of how they had received the news. as he ran the brush through your wild locks, he snickered and told you not to worry about johnny's family, as she told him that over half of those she spoke with sounded very irritated.

"i think it's about the money, honestly," he'd laughed. his slender fingers then wove themselves through your hair, parting it in three at the nape of your neck. "that's really weird to think about, isn't it? maybe i've just been poor for so long that money doesn't really seem like something to pine over, but i think it's kind of ridiculous when people that have more money than i'll ever know what to do with are so upset that they're not able to come into more of it.'

in a way, you thought the boy was right. while you felt that greed was almost amusing coming from those who already have a great deal of money, you understood the need to pine over it. you couldn't even count the amount of times you had gone to bed hungry, as well as had to function starving the next day. even just a few dollars would've been able to keep you fed, even if only for the smallest period of time. maybe the issue wasn't that jisung had been poor for so long, but that he had all of his needs met for such a long while. in all honesty, you understood the want to fight tooth and nail for every dollar that came your way, as much as it pained you to admit.

suddenly, you felt johnny's chest move beneath you, quickly rising and falling as a gentle chuckle escaped his lips. even still, you pretended to be asleep.

"what's wrong?" he questioned, nudging you slightly. "you're gonna give yourself wrinkles or something."

you swore under your breathe. your features relaxed then. every crease in your forehead slowly evened out, then the rest of your face fell in line too. it wasn't something that you'd done consciously, though you did understand why he would question such a thing. you weren't entirely sure what it must've looked like, but judging from his reaction, you were likely pouting like a child.

"how long until we have to get married?" you asked, peeling both of your eyes open.

"two days," he responded simply.

looking at the book in his lap, you noticed that he had gotten through a handful of pages. telling time had never been something you were very good at, but you guessed it had been at least ten or fifteen minutes since he had began. that was the beauty of being lost inside your head, you thought. you were free from the confinement of time, as it mattered very little when you had other things popping out of every little nook and cranny your brain had to offer. there was always something new to dissect and pick apart without having to worry about how much time you were wasting. it was nice, especially when wasting your time with him meant he was unable to bother you for very long.

instead of awaiting a response he knew would never come, he simply joked, "why, are you excited?"

"i'm thinking," you said, turning to look up at him.

you weren't sure if you wanted to continue. you weren't sure if you wanted to let him in, to let him know what was on your mind. there was a lot on your mind. the thought of being kept here forever with no one to talk to on a deeper level than the gossip jisung liked to bring to your vanity made you sad, though it wasn't like you were having very deep conversations with the kindergarteners you taught back home. however, the brunette's actions irritated you to no end. you were afraid that letting him in would mean to let go of what he had done, which wasn't something that you were ready to do yet. you weren't sure it would ever be something you were going to do.

the hardest part to grasp was that jisung had been right; as much as you wanted to hate the man for his means of getting you there, you would never be able to hate him for putting clothes on your body and food in your mouth. thinking back to the large breakfast you had woken up to that morning, you frowned. you tried and tried, but you couldn't be upset about that. sighing to yourself, you finally came to terms with the fact that finding comfort in another person wouldn't be so terrible, since you were unable to go anywhere else. it was a given that you would be exceptionally picky with what information you felt he was worthy of having access to, but baby steps wouldn't hurt.

however, you really did like his nervousness, at least in the sense that he knew better than to pry. he waited silently for you to continue, still absentmindedly petting the top of your head. he had been timid about such an action at first, but once he realized you weren't going to bite his hand off, he became more confident about continuing. he had a very soft smile tugging at his plump lips, though you could see the angst hiding in those chocolate brown eyes. it was as if he wasn't sure of what you were going to say, like that scared him.

truthfully, it did. johnny's biggest fear was that you would never get over any kind of resentment toward him you may have. this was a feeling he understood, and he very much understood why you would be feeling this way toward him, but he at least hoped the both of you would be able to find some kind of middle ground. he was just as fond of the arrangement as you were; maybe even more so, since he had grown up watching it play out before his eyes.

his mother never really did overcome her hatred for his father. perhaps this was because times were different when she was younger. she had the pleasure of experiencing life before the war; she knew freedom without having poverty cripple the entirety of her family. even in the midst of the violence and war, she still found a way to be happy without having to rely on money to do so. because of this, being pulled away from her parents crushed her. she wasn't like you; she didn't find comfort in a full belly, nor did she see it as a reason to excuse what had happened to her. she loved her son very much, though she never even made an attempt to hide the fact that she cared for her husband very little. in fact, johnny often suspected that she only agreed to have a child as a form of escapism. he always wondered if that was why she insisted on spending all of her free time with him, even while he was being pestered by countless tutors.

maybe it was selfish to wish for you to get over a traumatic experience in order to be happy with him, but he didn't know any other way of living. what he wanted more than anything was for you to be happy, though he didn't think this was something he would be able to communicate correctly without making a pig of himself. he understood the severity of the culture difference between the both of you and didn't want to come across as arrogant, especially because he knew that he was. he didn't intend to be, but he wasn't naïve.

"i want to hate you so badly," you admitted finally. for once, you locked eyes with him. you wanted him to see you, to know that you weren't exaggerating in order to toy with his nerves. perhaps you didn't know the first thing about talking to boys, but you knew a great deal about communicating your feelings to the emotionally ignorant. you often had conversations of this nature with you brother when he grew old enough, as you found that talking took far less energy than fighting did. the man stopped petting you then, his hand simply resting at the nape of your neck. you rolled your eyes, watching him squirm a little in his seat. "you can keep doing that thing if you want, it doesn't really bother me one way or another. even if it did, i think i could punch you in the face and you probably wouldn't do anything violent to retaliate; i probably would've done that by now."

he wanted to argue, but he knew he couldn't. you were right. even if he hated you with every fiber of his being, he could never bring himself to raise a hand to a woman. just the mere thought of what he had to do to you already made him sick to his stomach. instead, he simply began his hand motions once more.

"i want to hate you so badly," you repeated, huffing a bit. your eyes drifted off, directing your glare at whichever bookshelf you spotted first. "i've been thinking about it a lot and i don't think you have any idea how much it hurts that for the life of me i haven't been able to find a way to make you into more than just a minor annoyance. i'm irritated at the circumstances of our meeting, but the more i think about it, the less i'm able to find you terrible. you should repulse me, but really, what did i have waiting for me back home? loneliness and starvation? i try to remember that i was making something of myself by educating children that weren't able to bathe most days, let alone pick up a book on their own, but it seems a little bittersweet when the skeleton i see in the mirror is all i have to show for it. i want to hate your guts for what you did, but how can i when you've given me everything i never had?"

this time, he pulled away completely. he recognized your hurt, yet he was unsure about what to do in response. he knew that honesty was in order, but these were not the kinds of conversations he was accustomed to. johnny was taught to suppress his feelings as opposed to expressing them, as his father thought that to share one's inner feelings was a very feminine thing to do. even i love you's were assumed and not spoken. an attempt was made in explaining his point of view on your journey to his home, but even then, he had barely scratched the surface of what was buried deep in his heart.

"i'm sorry for that," he began, his features slowly contorting with the first wave of distress that wracked his brain. "i'm not really sure what to say aside from that. i understand that you're upset and i understand why, honestly. i figured you would be, which i guess is why i've been trying to overcompensate with material items. i don't know if that makes me even more of a shitty person, but i figured that the least i can do is make sure you have what you need... i'm not going to sit here and pretend like i'm your savior for doing that, nor am i going to force you to like me. do i want you to? of course i do. i hope we can be friends at the very least, but i'm always going to respect your wants and-"

"don't you have a job to be getting back to?"

you wanted to scream. he was making it so hard by being a decent person, so much that you had half a mind to punch him square in the nose. you knew it was terrible to wish he were a worse person, but it would make your frustration so much more valid. it was very clear that his intention wasn't to confuse you even further, but that was the result regardless. you weren't sure where you stood, only that the ground you wished to be upon was very far out of reach.

he shook his head, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. while he was sure your irritation was very genuine, he was relieved to see that it wasn't likely to grow into something more. the last thing he wanted to do was dig himself a deeper hole to fall into.

"i don't have to do anything; it's more that i choose to get up and go to work everyday. if i really wanted to, i could easily appoint someone to take on my workload without losing any personal profit," he explained, closing the book in his lap and placing it on the coffee table. not only did he want to cut your date short before your annoyance really began to blossom, he could see how tired you'd become. keeping this in mind, he was slow to stand up and extend a hand toward you. there was a fleeting look of hesitance that washed over the irises of your eyes, but you took it nonetheless. while helping you to your feet, he continued. "i like my job--the techy stuff, anyway. having to be the bad guy all the time is honestly really stressful, but i guess that's just part of the package, right?"

though it felt like the question was directed more toward himself than anything, you took it upon yourself to answer anyway. your hand still resting in his, you allowed him to guide you back to the elevator.

"not necessarily," you responded, watching as he swiped his keycard once more. following him into the elevator, you took a few seconds to piece together the rest of your thoughts. it wasn't very easy given how little you knew about what it was he did at work, but you felt that his mindset was very flawed regardless of his job title. "if you're really as in charge as you claim to be, i don't understand why it has to be so terrible for the people that work for you, if that's what you're trying to say."

"you don't get it," he muttered softly.

he used his index finger to press another one of the shiny metal buttons on the panel before him. while doing so, he did his best to avoid your gaze. he didn't even want to think about how he must've sounded complaining about such problems, as they seemed so silly in retrospect. he felt so guilty complaining about the way he happened to make his money knowing you came from the situation you did. in a way, he felt like he had slapped you across the face, though he would never even dream of doing such a thing.

"no, i don't," you quipped. your voice was very level, yet you couldn't help but let go of his hand. it seemed like he wasn't really in the mood to hold yours any more than you were his. "i don't know anything about science, or engineering, or even how to count without using my fingers, but i know what it's like to be poor. my father worked for someone like you. one days worth of your earnings could probably feed a family like mine for at least a week, but instead big companies throw pennies at their workers and demand that we make it stretch far enough. maybe other decisions wouldn't feel so weighted if you knew your employees were going home to more than scraps from the garbage, but you're choosing not to find that out."

johnny remained silent. there was nothing he could say to refute your argument; you were right. this was an issue that was far easier to avoid before your arrival, especially now that you were choosing to voice your concerns. the money his business produced made it very easy to ignore the conditions certain staff members were likely living in. in all honesty, he'd never even given it much thought. his father had always preached that they were not responsible for anything that went on outside of the workplace, though he was neglecting to take into account that the things they provided during work hours directly contributed to everything that took place before and after. he felt ashamed now, having this thrown back in his face.

"you're right. i'm sorry."

the elevator opened up after what felt like forever, much to your relief. after taking two steps forward, it felt like the man had wrapped his hands around both of your ankles and dragged you back ten. you were well aware that the difference in upbringings might make conversation a bit difficult at times, but you weren't expecting him to be so ignorant to the state of the world beyond the little bubble he existed in. all it served to do was dull what little sparkle had managed to find you today.

"i think i remember how to get back to my room from here," you promptly informed him.

"you're sure?" he asked softly, to which you merely nodded.

you didn't know if there was really anything left to say. you were far too exhausted to entertain him any longer; all you wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep until you no longer felt the tiny pinprick of sadness in your chest.

perhaps tomorrow he would manage to redeem himself, you told yourself. after all, he'd already made it very clear that he had more than enough money to do so.

author’s note: i’m so sorry this took so long ): i’ve really been struggling with my mental health lately, but i’m going to do my best to be more consistent with my uploads. please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist (:

#johnny has so much character growth in his future #hydrangea ;#johnny seo #nct johnny #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #johnny scenarios #nct angst #nct series #nct stories #Park Jisung #nct jisung #nct au #ceo au

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ratcarney · 4 years

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come home with me (remix)

introductory installment of my new nytw modern au! eurydice is locking up for the night after a successful open mic event, but the sole patron left in the café throws a wrench in her evening plans.

fic written with help from @joyfulsongbird, @teethnoblezada, and @ivegotaheadlineforyou!

———

“are you fucking kidding me?”

eurydice didn’t look up. she knew the voice from the many nights he spent at the café. orpheus had become a bit of a fan favorite. hermes himself said that the only reason he kept the open mic nights were because of orpheus and his “magic voice.” eurydice nearly got run over by young women craning their necks to see him every friday.

he did have a lovely voice. she would admit that.

the fact that he flirted with her incessantly? not as lovely.

eurydice set the broom against the counter and checked her phone. no notifications. nothing new there.

“you don’t understand—“

eurydice looked up. orpheus seemed to be arguing with someone over the phone.

it was hard to feel sympathy for such an arrogant kid. she couldn’t remember a day since that first open mic night when he hadn’t come into the café, trying some elaborate plan to get her to talk to him. one week, he tried a different pickup line every day. eurydice’s favorite was thursday’s line: “is your name eurydice? ‘cause you’re the only ten i see.” the best part was the sheer incomprehensibility of it.

at least they had developed a substantial rapport, in spite of orpheus’s many failed attempts to court her.

a few feet away, orpheus shoved his phone back in his pocket and ran his hand through his hair. if he wasn’t the only other person in the café, eurydice wouldn’t have pried, but it would have been too awkward if she didn’t say anything.

“what’s wrong, pretty boy?” eurydice asked, the mirth in her eyes betraying the mocking frown on her face. “your girlfriend break up with you?”

orpheus looked at her, then to the side.

“did the drugstore run out of hair gel?” eurydice tried again. “oh! i’ve got it. you broke a guitar string and now the spell that gave you your magical musical powers is broken. what a shame.”

to her dismay, he didn’t have a flirty retort. eurydice narrowed her eyes.

“is...” her voice softened. “is everything...okay?”

“i haven’t paid rent in four months.” he said. his voice was far from the showman’s croon he usually adopted when speaking to eurydice. if she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was embarrassed. “i just got evicted.”

“evicted?” eurydice repeated.

orpheus looked up at her, eyes half-lidded and uncharacteristically hopeless.

“i assumed you were a trust fund kid. old money parents, you know.”

“of course. what gave it away?” orpheus leaned back onto the counter. “was it the ripped jeans? the thrifted jacket?”

“some rich kids are like that.”

“i wouldn’t know.”

“poor you.”

orpheus crossed his arms. “your sympathy means so much in this trying time.”

the words “glad i could be of assistance” died as soon as eurydice registered the tears in his eyes. “hey. i...i’m sorry.”

orpheus shook his head. “whatever.” he sniffed, regaining his composure. “i...i know a guy. i’ll be fine.” outside, the evening drizzle turned quickly into a downpour. eurydice heard him curse under his breath.

she shouldn’t have, but she felt bad. and her evening plans weren’t much—just to curl up with a book back at her apartment.

her semi-warm, dry, apartment.

“come home with me.” the words flew out of eurydice’s mouth before she could stop them.

“what?”

“come home with me.” she said, slower this time.

orpheus blinked. “you don’t even like me.”

“yeah, well.” eurydice started taking her apron off. “i’ve been where you are. sleeping on the streets is never comfortable.”

orpheus raised an eyebrow. “you? the princess of the songbird café, sleeping on the streets?” his tone was teasing, but she could tell he was surprised.

“i can revoke my offer at any time.” eurydice glared at him. she wasn’t fond of thinking about the past, but she could tell orpheus was more upset than he let on. after a month or so of seeing his face every day, she knew when he was off his game.

“if you’re sure.”

“of course i’m sure. i offered, didn’t i?”

orpheus’s façade cracked a little. “thank you, eurydice.”

she came out from behind the counter. “don’t mention it. i’ve just got to lock everything up first. you know hermes. he’ll kill me if i don’t.”

orpheus nodded. “i’ll wait for you.”

he sat on a stool as eurydice went through the motions of closing the café. once she was finished, she shrugged on her jacket and flipped up the hood. “got a heavier jacket?” she eyed the thin red leather thing he wore all the time.

orpheus shook his head. “i wasn’t expecting rain.”

eurydice wrinkled her nose. “it’s april.”

“your point?”

she shrugged. “it’s your funeral.”

orpheus smirked and followed her out of the building and onto the sidewalk. “you know, a pretty girl like you leading me into her apartment...what will the neighbors think?”

“offer revoked in three...two...”

orpheus relented. “okay, okay. i’ll shut up.”

“thank the gods.” he was behind her, but eurydice could hear the smile in his voice as he conceded.

“i don’t have a car,” she told him. “and it’s a bit of a walk. i can duck in the café again and get hermes’s umbrella, if you want. he won’t mind as long as it’s in its place when he comes in tomorrow.”

orpheus shook his head, but the rain was soaking his dark curls, leaving them sad and shapeless. he looked like a drowned puppy.

“i’m getting it. give me a second.” when she returned, umbrella in hand, his gratefulness was palpable.

“thanks.” he said through clenched teeth.

together, they walked from the café to her apartment.

“sorry about the walk. it’s only a few blocks away now, promise.” she could see him shivering out of the corner of her eye.

“i’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if it means i have a roof over my head.” orpheus replied.

eurydice smiled.

they arrived to her apartment at around eight o’clock. she led him up a few flights of stairs before finally opening a door at the end of a hall. she looked at him, but he motioned for her to go inside first.

“and they say chivalry is dead.” eurydice muttered to herself.

orpheus dipped his head in response, shaking out the umbrella before walking inside with a little sigh.

“it’s not much.” eurydice looked around. a tiny kitchen area, a bathroom, a few bookshelves in a living room area, and a small bedroom made up her apartment.

“doesn’t matter to me.” orpheus said gratefully. “right now, it might as well be the parthenon.”

eurydice chuckled. “the parthenon?”

“once a classics major, always a classics major.” he said, taking off his jacket and then decidedly putting it back on.

“no way.”

“oh yes.” orpheus shook his head. “for a whole semester.”

eurydice tilted her head. “did you drop out?”

orpheus nodded. “had to.”

“money?”

“yeah.”

eurydice nodded, slipping off her tennis shoes. “i don’t have another bed, but i do have a little sofa. i can get you a blanket or two, and a pillow.” she changed the subject, something he seemed thankful for.

“that would be amazing.”

“coming right up.”

as she disappeared into a closet to find orpheus some bedclothes, she heard him walk over browse the bookshelves.

“i haven’t seen this many textbooks since i was in high school.” he called. “why do you even have these?”

eurydice returned with a pillow and a few throw blankets. “i go to school.”

“for what? fucking rocket science?” orpheus flipped through a heavy textbook.

“physics.” eurydice replied.

“really?” orpheus raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “physics? i would have never guessed.”

“you don’t exactly look like the spitting image of a classics major, yourself, you know.” eurydice teased. “i’m majoring in physics and minoring in computer science.”

“wow.” orpheus looked at her with a new respect in his eyes—and maybe a little intimidation. “what are you doing working at the songbird, then?”

“it pays moderately well and i get good tips. school’s expensive.”

“don’t i know it.” orpheus replied quietly.

“oh.” eurydice winced. “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have—“

“don’t worry about it. i’m not.”

eurydice didn’t know what to say back, so she didn’t say anything, and instead focused on making up his bed. orpheus pitched in to half heartedly fluff the little pillow and place it against one of the sofa’s armrests.

“this is perfect.” he smiled at her. “thank you so much, again.”

eurydice shook her head. “really, it’s nothing.” she narrowed her eyes. “but if you try anything, you’ll be out of here before you can even apologize.”

orpheus chuckled, but when he looked at her again, his expression was serious. “i’ll be good.”

“promise?”

“promise.”

eurydice knew there was truth in his words. he arranged the blankets just to have something to do.

“goodnight, eurydice.”

eurydice looked at him one last time before retiring for the night.

“goodnight.”

#let’s GOOOOO #im so stoked about this #jo.fic #jo.posts #hadestown #hadestown nytw #hadestown musical #nabiyah be #damon daunno #hadestown au #orpheus and eurydice #orphydice #orpheus #eurydice #songbird café au

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adventuresloane · 3 years

Text

The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) -- Ch. 5

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Updates every Friday. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story–more significant changes to come in later chapters. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

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Hurley had seen it coming for days, but even so, they felt a wave of sickness when they picked up the canteen and heard no more than two or three mouthfuls of water slosh around the metal interior.

It shouldn't have startled them the way it did. After all, they had been rationing their own water for a reason. They had been taking it by the capful like medicine doses, getting just enough to moisten their tongue, as if they could trick their body into feeling quenched. It took maybe an hour to sweat out that amount. Still, they had kept trying to enact a miracle, drinking smaller and smaller portions so that the supply would never quite run out, so that it would be effectively infinite. Ridiculous as that was, it kept them from considering the alternative. Which is why the alternative hit them harder than expected, when it became reality.

The inside of their throat itched. They wondered how parched their mouth would have to get before they became unable to speak, and then they squeezed their eyes shut, as though they could squeeze the idea out of their mind. Instead, they focused on the fact--and it was a fact, if they decided so--that they would not die of thirst. They called to mind the math that they had been churning through their head for days. There was one other full canteen of this size left. If they kept activity levels low and drank as little as possible, it could last two and a half days. A full three, maybe, if they were really careful. Then they would have the rest of the alcohol, which might dehydrate more than it helped, and then nothing at all.

Or they could leave behind everything here in search of more. And that would mean everything.

They left the supplies in the wagon and stuck their hand in their pocket so they could feel the teeth of the cuff key against the pad of their thumb. Outside, Sloane plucked out the notes to what sounded like some hymn they'd once known. When they walked up and sat silently a little ways from her, she only nodded once before going back to the music. Over the past few days, they had never told her to ration her own water. It had seemed unfair, when they were supposed to be the one looking out for her, and anyway, it had turned out to be unnecessary. They hadn't seen her take more than a sip at a time lately. That shouldn't have surprised them, given how often she stayed out here. What did catch their notice was the way that, when she drank, she would often glance over at them from under a furrowed brow, over and over.

But right now, she kept quietly twanging out the melody. The guitar hummed and whined. They looked at the sky above and found it as bone-dry and flat at the ground below. It was so, so very blue. They shut their eyes to it and simply focused on the sounds. She was making beautiful things happen over there. They hadn't noticed how quickly their heart had been beating until it began to slow, then. They listened until they started to feel the vibrations of the strings buzz inside their mind.

That's that little gut talking. Their mother poked their belly again, pressed her ear to it.

"I don't think you killed anyone," they said, and as they did, they realized, for the first time, that they really did believe it.

"Uh," Sloane said. "Thank you?"

They pressed on. "Am I right?"

"What?"

"Tell me whether I'm right. Did you kill anybody?"

They heard her make a derisive sound. "Why are you asking all of a sudden? It's just my word against everyone else's anyway. It won't make a--"

"I want to hear you say it." For the first time, they looked her in the eye.

There had been a small, lackadaisical grin on her face, but it was erased when they stared at her. She seemed abashed, then confused, but crucially, she held eye contact when she finally spoke. "No, Hurley," she said quietly. "I didn't kill anyone."

"Yeah," they breathed. "That's what I thought." Things went quiet again. Hurley thought of Bane, of one-person juries. They thought of the way he looked when he said that a bounty hunter was not a judge. Then, regardless, they stood up and said, "Sloane, come here."

"Well, alright, then, Your Highness."

They rolled their eyes. They should have expected that nothing would be easy right up until the end. "Please?"

She waited a moment longer, one brow cocked. Then she set down her instrument and took a few slow steps over. As soon as she was close enough, Hurley bent down and unlocked the shackles around her ankles with hands that, they were proud to say, stayed steady the whole time.

She took off before they could blink. Turned on her heel quickly enough to kick sand in their face. Like she had been waiting for it, which she had. In the seconds afterward, the air around them felt strange and unusually still, the way it did just after a deafening sound. They hadn't exactly expected a long goodbye, but they had thought that she wouldn't leave without a word--that she would at least take the time to get supplies. But that was it, the. Well, it wasn't as if she owed them anything.

They thought that the flapping wing of her black hair behind her was the last they would see of her. Then, almost as quickly as she had started running, she stopped. She looked behind her, and the positively gleeful smile on her face faltered. After a few seconds, she slowed and then halted all together, simply standing and staring Hurley's way.

They looked right back at her. It seemed like she was waiting for something from them, though what, they couldn't say. After awhile, they simply gave a small shrug. "You're free to go.” They picked up the chains from the ground, hung them on their forearm, and started to walk away.

"Hey, wait!"

They did. She was poised to dart off again at any moment, but she didn't. Instead, she kept on blinking and blinking at Hurley, mouth open. "Why aren't...you're not going to come after me?"

"Nope."

Over and over again, she looked down at her feet, as if to ensure that the manacles were really gone. "Did you..." she started shakily. "Did you do that on purpose?"

They chuckled in spite of the strange sinking feeling inside their chest. "You don't really still think I'm that dense, do you? I wouldn't have let that happen by accident."

By now, she had transitioned from confusion to outright shock. Her head whipped back and forth rapidly, from the horizon and the open space to Hurley again. Then, suddenly, she shook her head. "Nononononono." She wagged her finger and, for some bizarre reason, laughed without humor. "Come on, what are you trying to do?"

"Um." Briefly, they looked around at the hobbled wagon with its missing wheels, the dust-covered pile of second-hand cooking supplies, and the stretch of flat nothing for miles around. "Listen, I don't know what kind of nasty plan you think I have in mind, but I'm probably not equipped for it."

"Ha!"

"I don't think you're getting it. I'm letting you go, alright? Isn't that all you've been trying to do for this entire time, is get away from me?"

"I could've done it myself," she blurted.

"Okay--"

"I could've."

"Well, for the gods' sake, do you want to come over here so I can try to let you go again? I'll try to make it look like an accident this time if that makes you feel bett--"

"No! No, I'm just..." She let out a long breath and ran a hand down her tired face. "I'm just trying to...this doesn't make any fucking sense! Why now?"

They sighed. Their saliva was thick and tasted bitter. "I failed. I said I was going to bring us both back to Goldcliff in one piece, but I can't do that. Not with how we're running low on supplies. And I'm not going to risk your life trying to do it. You didn't sign up for that. So there. What? What do you want? This?" They held up the key to the cuffs. As they tossed it on the ground in front of her feet, out of their own reach, they said, "Take it! I don't need it anymore." She kept on standing there. Finally, they huffed and extended their arm in the direction of the Western sun behind her. "Go. I'm serious."

Sloane still didn't move. Her arms had fallen down to her sides, and she was no longer in a position to flee. She just continued looking on. When, finally, she spoke, it was in a far smaller voice than before. "Posters say 'Dead or Alive.'"

It took a moment for them to process the meaning of that, but when they did, it hit them right between the eyes. First they felt the surprise and then the sting of it. "You really think I'd kill you for the money?"

There was a moment of quiet--consideration, maybe?--before she answered, "Guess not."

"What, then? That I'd keep you here when there wasn't enough water for the both of us? That I would...that I'd stop letting you have what was left? Seriously, you believe I'd do that?"

By now her eyes were cast downward. She took a deep breath and turned her head away. "Dunno. I've only known you for a few weeks," she mumbled.

They shouldn't have felt insulted. It was true, after all--their job had been to get the Raven, or rather her body, back to town one way or another. And even if they had never intended to harm her, there was no reason they should have expected a prisoner to think any better of her captor. But maybe they had expected it anyway. After sleeping side-by-side for many nights and talking through the days, they thought that they had opened enough of themself to her, that she would have been able to just look and see for herself who they were. "Well, I wouldn't," they said quietly. Their back was to her now.

They had gone back to sorting through supplies, to see what they would need to go on living, when they heard the slow approach of footsteps from behind. She picked up the key from the ground before she kept stepping, almost gingerly, toward them. She stopped well before she was within their reach, but still, she was close enough now that they could get a good look at her eyes, which were wide and wondering. "You're serious, aren't you? I'm free?" A smile had begun to form on her lips as she spoke.

They weren't sure whether to laugh or moan in frustration. They did a little of both. "Yes, you seriously are."

She laughed in a way that they hadn't heard her laugh yet, soft and high, almost a twitter. Already, the way she carried herself was different, her back straighter and her movements looser. It looked as if a weight, heavier than the weight of the irons alone, had been taken off her. They felt a little lighter too.

A moment later, though, she snapped back to look at them, her smile sloughing. "What about you? I mean, what are you going to do if not stay out here?"

Hurley swallowed. It was an excellent question, and one that they hadn’t really allowed themself to think too hard about before now. They sucked in a breath and tried to grin. "Well, start walking just like you, I suppose, right? I’ll just sort of retrace the steps I took to get here with the posse before.”

Sloane snorted. “Okay,” she chuckled.

“Okay what?”

“No, I’m sure you’ll do just great out there.”

Hurley scoffed as they started putting together a sack of what remaining supplies they could carry. “I can take care of myself.”

“Which way’s the river?”

They paused to think for an amount of time that was unlikely to inspire confidence, then abruptly pointed behind them.

“Was that a guess?”

“No.” It only took a few more seconds of her staring at them until they conceded, “...Yeah.”

“The biggest bend in it is quite a few days’ walk off to the northwest,” she sighed. Hurley went back to shoving cans into their sack, until she kept walking up to them and closed the gap. She plucked the strap of the bag from their hands. “And you shouldn’t be traveling this time of day either. You know it’s too hot.”

They looked at her. “Well, you shouldn’t be either.”

“Guess not.”

They stood there for a little while.

Sloane scuffed her foot in the sand and muttered, “I didn’t think, um...this is really weird. I guess I should thank you?”

“You could.” Hurley bit their lip. “Do you want to get stuff to take with you, since you’re not leaving yet? You can take back all the stuff the posse took off you.”

“Sure,” she said slowly as she shuffled toward the wagon. Hurley listened to the shifting of supplies as she sorted through them and tried to ignore what felt like a metal weight hanging down inside their gut.

As Sloane gathered things up, there was a question plain on her almost dazed face. But it wasn’t until she had turned away from Hurley and crouched down to look through bags of food that she asked, “You know where to get water?”

Hurley paused, then glanced her way. She still had her back to them. “Do you?”

“I mean, I know how to find it.” She was working more quickly now and seemed to grab things almost without looking. “I figure the least I can do is get you some water too, if you want to come with me.”

“How far will we have to go?”

“Don’t know. Could take a few hours, could take a day.”

“Well, I don’t want to leave camp for a whole day if I’m just going to come back to it after we get water.”

She stopped, finally, and quietly replied, “Then I guess you should just pack up and leave along with me.”

“What?”

She said, "We could," and then, under her breath, "shit." When she at last turned around and met their gaze, her eyes were hard. "Look, I can help you get back to Goldcliff, but we're doing it my way, alright? I'm not gonna take the main routes and risk getting caught all over again. Take it or leave it."

They were stuck on the "I can help" bit of that. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm..." She huffed. "I don't feel good about leaving you on your own out here right after you just up and let me go. It doesn't seem right. I can help you out."

"You don't have to do that, though."

"No, I don't. But I know this part of the desert a lot better than you, so..."

"Are you saying we have a truce?"

Before that moment, she had appeared disinterested, almost flippant. Her arms were crossed, and her half-lidded eyes had shifted to look off into the distance. Now, she seemed to snap to attention, brows raised. "Yes," she said slowly, as if it were occurring to her while she spoke. "I guess you'd call it that."

They felt a smile come across their face before they could stop it. “Alright,” they said. “Of course. Thank you.”

“Early tomorrow, then.”

----------

They did indeed leave the following morning with what they could carry on their backs. Shortly after rising, the sun looked honey-golden and honey-sweet. The closer they got to high noon, it would turn cruel as always, but that seemed a ways off.

Hurley followed her. They watched the sheen of the sun bounce off her hair. They also watched as, now and then, she glanced back toward them, then turned away again. Like she wanted to see whether they were still behind her, or like she was watching her back.

When she had told them that she wasn’t Abernathy’s murderer, they had believed her, genuinely. That didn’t make this less strange, to be guided blindly to some unknown place by someone who was, at the very least, a career criminal.

By now, they knew that the desert’s inhabitants came alive near dawn. Mice and scorpions and lizards would start scurrying around at first light to gather food before the day got too hot. Still, Hurley hadn’t had to contend with so many flying insects since they had first arrived here. They tried to fan away the gnats that kept flying in their face. More than once, a tiny biting fly landed on their skin, and they tried to slap it down.

Suddenly, there were fingers gripping their arm. Sloane was in front of them, suddenly, and they were instinctively about to wrench themself away until they saw that she wasn’t doing anything else. She was just staring at the crook of their elbow, where, they now saw, another fly had settled.

Both of them watched the little black creature sit there for awhile before lifting off and into the sky. Sloane tracked it with her eyes as it flew until it became less than a speck in the blue sky. Then, definitively, she walked off in the direction in which the fly had gone.

Hurley considered that it wasn’t too late for them to go their own way. Then, after several moments’ hesitation, they walked after her.

The bugs didn’t let up as they went and went. They only seemed to get more plentiful. It seemed like the two of them would never quit just walking, and Hurley thought about saying as much until they looked up once more and saw. Instead of the scrub that they had gotten used to over the past weeks, greener, smoother plants with broad, tapered leaves began to dominate. It was some of the first green they had seen so far.

Soon enough, Sloane stopped close to one of the larger plants and dropped to her knees. The ground was softer here, and she began to turn it over with her hands. When Hurley realized what she was doing, they went over to help her dig, feeling the dirt beneath so much cooler than that at the surface.

When the water came up, it sparkled. For a moment, Hurley could only stare at it, until Sloane dipped a cloth into it and wrung it out over her head, so that the drops fell down her dusty face. More liquid came bubbling up out of the hole to take its place, sprung from the ground fresh and clean as a sprout.

A moment ago, they had kept themself from considering the possibility that they wouldn't get through, but a possibility is what it had been. Now even the air inside their lungs felt like less of a burden, like air indeed instead of something dense and heavy. Now the idea of not surviving seemed like no more than a bad dream. The very ground did not feel so hard beneath them.

“Yes!” they shouted as they jumped to their feet. “Holy shit, you did it!”

Sloane seemed a little taken aback, then said, “Good gods, relax, I do this all the time,” but said it with a slowly growing grin.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not amazing,” they said as they scrambled to take advantage of the plenty. They barely knew what to do with themself, whether to drink or wash their face or fill up their canteens. They cupped their hand and dipped it into the little pool and let the coolness watch down their throat.

When they finally looked away from the water, they saw Sloane watching them, her head tilted a little to the side. Without thinking, they got up, feeling like they wanted to hug her, and then stopped short. Instead, they just took both of her hands in theirs, beaming. She let them. "Thank you," they said in a hush. "Thank you, Sloane. This is incredible."

She only stared and stared at them, then quickly shook her head as if to snap out of a trance. “It’s fine,” she muttered. “Um, so do you want to keep going soon?”

“Yeah, let’s.” And they realized, suddenly, that they would not be alone. They would still have a voice to anchor them in the darkness, music around the fire. They would not go crazy at night, thinking that they were floating apart from the rest of the world in directionless darkness. Her presence would be proof positive that they had not been left alone completely. It was peculiar, their realizing that they had learned to like the nights.

#hurloane #taz #taz fanfic #the adventure zone #the zone cast #hurley #sloane #the wanted #taz balance

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badlydrawndrawnings · 3 years

Text

P5 Palace Owner Swap AU

(Aka: The AU Where All the Palace Owners Sins are Swap Around)

Under normal circumstances, I don’t put fan fiction on this blog. However, as the Palace Owner Swap AU is something I talked about before on this blog, I decided to post what is apparently something I wrote for the AU I faintly recall writing way early on this year. I copy-pasted everything from the word doc, so I please beg you to try brushing off grammatical errors and others. I am not in the mood to edit anything right now.

Kunikazu was at the counter, watching his father wipe away a few of the dirty cups. The man was leaning his head onto his head, and sigh. He had just learned about father’s kind act of the day. As much as kindness was dad’s greatest strength, it was also his greatest weakness. Business was in the red as it is. Oh, how Kunikazu longed to take over Okumura Foods.

That way, he can find something salvageable. If he’s lucky, if he can pay off the loans, Kunikazu can rebuild it from the ground up. He can change it to where it’s almost unrecognizable, a chain that Japan and the world would see. Maybe, just maybe-

“Son, you’ve been awfully quiet. Is something on your mind?”

Kunikazu was quickly brought back to Earth. He straightened up in his seat. “It is that obvious?”

“Quite.” His father chuckled. “Are you thinking about Nagisa and her oversea trip to France?”

“What?” Kunikazu blinked fast behind his glasses, wondering what his dad was talking about. After a few seconds, Kunikazu remembered. “Oh yes. I’m quite proud of her decision. She dreamed of going to Paris since we started university.”

“Still, you two didn’t need to break things off. Long distance relationships can work.”

“But not always.” Kunikazu got out of his seat, and pushed his chair in. “Father, believe me when I say the breakup was necessary. It was mutual on both sides, and no feelings were hurt.”

“If you say so. I honestly thought you two would tie the knot! You two were so happy together.”

“I know Father,” said Kunikazu nonchalantly, “I know.”

~~~

Kunikazu hated these meetings. Not only does he have to do them in secret, they were a waste of his time, and almost a waste of his money. The meetings began after Nagisa’s one year in Paris was cut short to just four months. She claimed she was sick for Japan, how she utterly missed her friends and family.

Well, she wasn’t wrong about the sickness. Morning sickness was never a pretty sight. Kunikazu was unfortunate to be there a few times, pulling back her hair from the toilet and vomit. It was probably few things he did to help Nagisa during the entire pregnancy.

It was those early days when the meetings began. They changed quite a lot from their original concept. Originally one month, it then became two. A few years back, they changed three months after father screwed up a loan big time. Nagisa didn’t mind the change; she understood his family’s situation. She was there with Kunikazu during those painful months.

But she didn’t understand enough to put an end to these meetings. Knocking onto the apartment’s door, Kunikazu didn’t care if he woke the child up. It was midnight for goodness sake! He should be getting a good night’s rest, preparing himself for the real meetings with investors.

Okumura Foods went under this year, forcing father to close the café. While the few local patrons gave their support, in the end, it wasn’t enough. There was too much lost profit, and to make things worse, father died not long afterwards. Father’s death forced Kunikazu’s time to shine as president. Observing the mistakes of his father help Kunikazu avoid the do and don’ts.

There were no more smiles, no more generous moments. You either pay or you don’t. You work hard for hours to earn your wages, or not take the job at all.

The man barely got to the third knock when Nagisa opened the door. Brushing back her bangs, wrapping herself in the blanket she was wearing, the woman gave him a frown. “Kunikazu-kun, what did I say about knocking? You could have woken up the neighbors.”

Oh. He had forgotten about that part. That’s part of the reason they were secret meetings. Kunikazu pushed up his glasses. “Even though I don’t sound like it, I apologize for the noise. But if I didn’t wake up your kid, we should be fine.”

“She’s our child.”

“She may have Okumura blood, but that doesn’t mean she’s my child. We were never married, and for all intent and purpose, I can’t claim her as an Okumura.”

“Continue on being that way. One day I know it will change. Anyway, do you have the check?”

Kunikazu pulled out an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. “As promise.”

“Thank you.”

Nagisa snatched the check from Kunikazu’s hand, and ripped it open it to check if it’s the proper amount. The woman nodded her head in gratitude. Kunikazu gave back a nod himself, before turning his back away from the door. Just like that, another meeting ended. He took a few steps, before remembering something else of great importance.

“I should let you know, starting this month, you and the girl will be receiving a check every six months instead of three. I don’t want you to rely so heavily on me. I have a life, you know.”

“Thank you for telling me. I have a life as well. I doubt you care, but I got a promotion at the flower shop. It doesn’t pay much, but with what I make now and what you give as support, me and Haru-chan will manage. Hopefully, it will be enough for school as well.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Nagisa.”

Kunikazu made sure to continue walking before Nagisa closed the door completely.

---

Haru had just come home from school. Mother was at work at the flower shop, but she left Haru a note on the fridge. Mother prepared something in the fridge. Opening it up, Haru saw four plastic wrapped sandwiches, with the bread crust all cut off. Haru smiled as she pulled them out, and grabbed a plate from the cabinet.

Haru had just sat down at the table when someone knocked at the door. She decided to do nothing. Mother said not to open the door while she’s away. But the person kept on knocking. Loudly, in fact. It’s rather annoying.

Haru got out of her seat and grabbed the chair. She wasn’t tall enough to see through the peephole yet. From what she saw, there was a very well dress man in a suit and ascot. He was playing with his glasses, and looked a bit angry. Maybe he was supposed to meet Mother?

Well, thought Haru, if Mother doesn’t know, it won’t hurt her.

Haru placed the chair back to the kitchen, and unlocked door. The man looked surprised to see her, almost falling over. He must have thought Haru didn’t see him panic, as he quickly buttoned up his jacket, trying to keep calm.

“Hello,” greeted Haru. “Who are you?”

“I’m…,” and here the man paused, trying to figure out what to say. “I’m a friend of your mother. I was supposed to speak to her yesterday.”

“What’s your name?” asked Haru, suspicious of the man. “I know all of my mothers’ friends. And I don’t know you, sir. Mother also said I shouldn’t talk to stranger. But here I am.”

“How bold of you to assume you know everyone in your mother’s life, young child,” answered the man. “And your mother is very smart to give you such advice. You may call me Okumura.”

“Hello then, Okumura-san. I’m Haru.” Knowing his name made Haru felt a bit more comfortable around him. “Mother is out working. If you want, you can wait for her with me while I eat my lunch. Do you want one. Mother made four sandwiches. I can be fine with three.”

The man didn’t say anything to her at first. He stared at her as if she did something wrong. Haru was certain she didn’t do anything wrong. The man then gave out a scoff, and a smiled.

“I’m sorry, Haru-chan. I unfortunately I don’t have too much time on my hand,” answered the man, pulling out an envelope from the inside of his jacket. “Thank you for the offer though. Please tell your mother that Okumura-san visited, and that he gave her this.”

Haru took the paper with her hands, and gave the man a nod. “Okay then. I promise to give it to her. Have a good day, Okumura-san.”

“Have a good day too, Haru-chan. You’ll certainly need it.”

As Haru closed the door, she saw Okumura-san walk quickly as he can, without looking back.

~~~

Haru felt like an idiot for not realizing sooner. Then again, she was only seven. What did seven years old know? Besides, Mother didn’t tell her anything about her father. The only thing Mother would admit on her deathbed was that he was busy working to support the family. Such importance work to where he can’t spend time with them.

And it was true, up until that fateful day. Mother told her a day after Haru met Okumura-san; Father had decided to cut off his finical support for them. Father feared Haru would have blurted out to the world of her mother’s friendship to Kunikazu Okumura, president of Okumura Foods.

At the time, Haru could never understand why Father would fear this. But now she knows. Father people would connect the dots. Father feared that the world would learn of Okumura’s bastard daughter with his university girlfriend. It would have been a disaster, given he was happily married. To make matter worse, after Mother died, and after Haru moved in with Takakura-san, Okumura and his wife, Reiko, announced to the world of their baby boy.

A baby boy who is also named Haru.

The fourteen-year-old girl wondered if Father deliberately waited until Mother’s death to start his own family. Haru wondered if Father picked that name to spite her and mother, wanting to show her that he can and did moved on his with life, not giving a damn about them.

Haru lay down on her soft bed, and sigh. As much as she’s grateful for her life, glad that Takakura- san decided to take her in, Haru only wished Father could just accept and recognize the fact she was his blood, that she was an Okumura. Sadly, that will never happen.

~~~

Haru is now fifteen years old, turning sixteen in December. It may be August, but it seems her birthday had just come early. Smiling at her phone, after clicking on a suspicious phone she never seen in her life, something…unreal happened.

One minute she was standing with her schoolbag over her shoulder, waiting for her train to arrive. The next second, Haru is standing in what is a twisted version of the subway, all black and red.

As she stared in awe of the gigantic, grandiose dress ‘woman’, Haru felt grateful for whatever god or demon that blessed her with the app, it will allow her the greatest wish to come true.

#persona 5 #persona 5 au #idk what to actually name this au #kunikazu okumura #haru okumura #this is a text post #badlydrawndrawning fanfiction #badlydrawndrawing aesthetics edits #fun fact i made the aesthetic for fun #and then found the word doc #and i went 'yeah put these two together!'

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ziggory · 5 years

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Riverdale Liveblogs 3x07 - 3x13

Instead of making you all suffer through six separate liveblogs as I was catching up, have them all in on post!

3x07, “The Man in Black”

Remember when Jughead was the biggest woobie ever with a bunch of sad shit happening to him. Fun times. Honestly, Jughead’s just really taking advantage of finally being on the roadtrip he was denied

Justice for Jingle Jangle. Why did we need a new drug? Or I’d be fine with it complementing the other but NOooOooOOOO. It’s trying to shove JJ out of the spotlight!

Elvis’ granddaughter could’ve just drugged the eggs but instead she chose to nearly give Archie a concussion. Hiram might chop her head off if his Archiekins gets permanent brain damage

Let Archie kill a man!! Jughead got to skin someone who was fucking up his life. Why can’t he let Archie take his shot!? I can’t hear you about consequences

Your business is failing because trading away the final piece of the Soutshide to open a vanity project in the form of a dry speakeasy was not a great idea. Also, gamers can give you business. I’ve seen it!

The show can make Veronica say all these supposedly empowering lines, but I’m never going to forget that she supported a for-profit prison

MAYBE MY DAD’S NOT SO BAD!!?!?

This voiceover was completely unnecessary. Honestly, it’s sort of a slap in the face to Lili’s acting as if they didn’t think she could convey certain things without some hand holding

I’ve seen movies. They make you swallow that shit on the spot

So many negative thoughts being awkwardly confirmed

Honestly, this is what happens when you keep exploiting the place for abuses to help your investigations but never fucking shut it down

3x08, “Outbreak”

Does Moose need drugs to get it up? He said Midge liked to get wild, but methinks he liked it of his own volition as well. And just what I wanted. Shadowy makeouts while high on drug laced childhood candy

Kevin needs to find out who put a curse on his dick. ANOTHER hookup interrupted by bodies in danger

I don’t know why a group of high school boys acting like typical jackass high school boys with loud laughing is cause for thinking they’re all high.

“good people like Archie”

Gladys being a Jarchie shipper is pure. I will not stand for this no homoing

Wait, Cheryl did actually get to be Student Body President? I thought they were just going to let that circle the drain and disappear

MY FAVORITE INCOMPETENT EDUCATIONAL ADMINISTRATOR

THE PRISON WAS A FUCKING COVER?!?!? So all of S2 was just…oh my fucking god, I’m going to do drown myself

“good looking shortsatck” Love it. Goddamn, I love Gladys

Do they know that the way they write Hiram and Veronica feels like it’s been dipped in ten layers of incest? He talks to her like she’s the mistress he wants to bed

The affection the Jones women have for Archie is cute

The Gargoyle King being a hallucination is the most disappointing thing

TABLETOP RPGS ARE NOT FUCKING BORN OF MADNESS. Ugh, my inner geek is angry with rage

Oh, now you care about the kids in conversion therapy

So I guess they didn’t go to Toledo for Christmas??

Lili should get a raise for this Griffin Queen shit

I’m more emotional than I would usually be over these Fred scenes given Luke Perry’s recent condition

PROTECT THAT FUCKING DOG WITH YOUR FUCKING LIFE!! THROW YOURSELF IN FRONT OF A BEAR

I missed alcoholic Hermione. And lmao this Watchmen realness

I love Silent!Kevin getting nothing to say in that office! Just fucking great

we need to know more about this fucking Governor. Racist piece of shit who gets upset about vandalized statues of genocidal war criminals, AND he’s under Hiram’s thumb.

3x09, “No Exit”

Will someone get bit by a monkey? I can only hope

Oh fuck off with the Star Wars reference. IT DOESN’T FIT

Stealing from the rich to give to the rich. How very one percenter. And Toni, all your friends are living in tents by the river

KEVIN. WHY THE FUCK DO YOU ALWAYS JOIN THE WORST GROUPS

While the implication of Jughead sleeping over is nice, what the fuck was the point of last episode’s cliffhanger. This timeline makes no sense

I’M GETTING FIREWATCH VIBES

They’re so fucking low budget that they couldn’t even show the bear, LMAO

I forgot what Fangs sounded like. Didn’t FP retire? ARE THERE EVEN ANY ADULTS LEFT IN THIS FUCKING JOKE OF A GANG. But Damn, Fangs is good at crying. So pretty

Aww, I actually missed the hammy ass warden

Every time Joaquin’s name is mentioned, another dagger in my heart

The fact that the sisters have been fake nuns this whole time is just…what the fuck. AND THE FUCKING SOCIAL WORKER KNEW AND JUST LET THEM KEEP OPERATING!?!? LET THIS WHOLE FUCKING TOWN FALL INTO A HELLMOUTH

Remember when Jughead was outraged about the Serpents being paid security at the Pickens festival thing? Time is a flat circle

CHERYL, WHY DON’T YOU JSUT KILL HIRAM THEN

“SAVED”!??! REALLY NANA ROSE!?! IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL THE CHILD GROOMING YOU DID!? And uh, Fred and Sierra should know about that sordid piece of Penelope’s past

Damn, Veggie is hot as fuck

You know who else could’ve gone undercover for the Serpents to infiltrate the Gargoyle gang?!????? I HATE YOU FOREVER, RAS. ANOTHER AU FOR THE DRAWER

3x10, “The Stranger”

LMAO that they tried to make us think Archie died

Being attacked by a bear in Canada means not having to suffer through crippling debt because of the hospital bill for the rest of your life

Sidenote, but I really thought the painting of Veronica would have a bug or something. The fact that she just kept the painting instead of burning it says something

Oh so the core four are THOSE type of friends

Betty’s money >> those kids

Claudius just doesn’t want to do actual work

They let a kid pass the first grade when he couldn’t read? So the educational system has always been rather shit

Hey there, Silent!Kevin! Just sitting silently with your slowly developing biceps

Does Reggie know what PTSD is

I spy with my little eyes Kevin in the corner putting his PE clothes away! Once again robbed of a shirtless scene

FUCKING TALL BOY!?!? Lol, this is really good for my drawer fic actually. Keep sounding like a spiteful man! It’s semi feeding me

Wow, they really crammed in two Varchie sex scenes

Hiram deserved this and every agonizing second of pain he felt

Raw milk, huh? Yeah, that’s all you need to bait Kevin into this cult

Bye Claudius, no one will miss you

I want Hermione/FP to fuck

Jughead throwing a party to make things better is the biggest twist this series has ever done

Archie the alcoholic, eh. If this lasts more than one episode, that’d sure be something

3x11, “The Red Dahlia”

This is the noir episode, isn’t it. I’m…really bad with noir so an episode from THIS team is going to be…very trying

Awww, FP mentioning Joaquin is an extra pang. I wanted to know more about their relationship

I’d love to see the notes on this draft when Jughead tries submitting it to a publisher. Unless he goes the self pub route

Who even runs the newspaper now?

Betty, you’re like the last person to talk about black and white morality

Archie sounds like the protagonist of Office Space at the end when he finds his calling in construction

ELIO HAS SPOKEN MORE THAN MELODY EVER DID. EAT SHIT, RAS

I still need Jughead and Veronica arguing about classic cinema

I wonder where Penelope learned those crocodile tears, Nana. Like I never need a scene of her criticizing her ADOPTED DAUGHTER again

Cheryl is pretty forgiving of the uncle who sort of helped with her institutionalization

Have these boys never watched an episode of Breaking Bad? Put that body in a barrel

So has Veronica had a change of heart about Daddykins? I’m so confused

SMITHERS!?!? YOu’RE STILL ALIVE!? Protect this man

Remember when Betty was a camgirl for ten seconds and watched all of her fake brother’s porn videos

Josie’s voice is pure butter, and the show needs to stop pretending that we want to hear anyone else sing

Why doesn’t Toni have a job at Veronica’s dry speakeasy? She used to be an actual bartender!

“Kevin’s dad boxes at the gym” being a line from Josie is the most beautiful line in this episode

Well at least they explained the seizures.

YYYAAAAAASSSS, KELLY RIPPA!!

What is even the point of Minetta having faked his death just to be Hermione’s kept man

Well, damn, I really didn’t see this FP reveal coming. I wish he was the sheriff Hermione was fucking. And given all the things Jughead used to say and aim at Keller, it’s interesting to see him have to deal with his dad being somewhat in Hermione’s pocket

PULL THE FUCKING TRIGGER, ARCHIE

Lmao at this Bad Boys line. I see you, synergy

Honestly, how dare Archie shoot the person who was going to kill Hiram. I guess that’s one way to bury the Archie/Hiram grudge

Hermione’s trigger finger is life goals

3x12, “Bizarrodale”

So first off, fuck that title and everything it implies.

Second, this is the episode where I’m supposed to finally get fed, eh? FINGERS CROSSED

I forgot what Kevin sounded like after not talking for four episodes

WHEN CAN WE MEET KEVIN’S MOM!?!? I HAVE MANY FANCASTS

Veronica watches Netflix confirmed, and yet I guess she just scrolls past Orange is the New Black every time it’s recommended to her

Why are Kevoose makeouts always in shadow? Is it to disguise the fact that when they makeout it’s with their lips sealed shut

The actor who plays Major Mason followed me back on my burner instagram

Awww, Sweet Pea is a relationship guy with a gooey little heart!

Sierra pegs Tom confirmed. Love these two kinky fuckers

The way Tom says “Gargoyle King” goes straight to my nether regions

So does Britta have a kink for people outing others against their will? I swear this is a plot point in Ship It too

I feel like these issues are something they should’ve talked about way more. Making Moose’s coming out be an ultimatum is pretty gross

How DARE they not let us hear Josie sing?!??! Ohhhh, if we’d heard Josie sing then we would sent death threats to the fake Juilliard board. I never want to hear Josie’s teary little voice again because it hurts my feelings

Lmao, this is the second time a parent has been judgmental of how the Lodges involve Veronica in their business

Remember that time Moose and Cheryl made out? I’m forever traumatized by that

Hiram and Hermione strolling in like a fucked up Gomez and Morticia

I’m sure that Dilton would approve of his friend from another lifetime using his secret bunker to pop his cherry. But only Moose. Yes, I ship comics Dilton/Moose

Oh, HeeEYEEEEEEE, IT’S LIKE A BUNCH OF MY FIC DREAMS COME TO LIFE. Wow, I finally got pandered to. Kevin being in dagner is like…the basis of the majority of my drawer fics

I’M FUCKING PSYCHIC X2!!!! Well huh, this puts that earlier diner scene in a new light

Yesss, please keep calling him Tommy and talking about how Kevin looks like your old friend with that sad, wistful tone. Please feed my fic bunnies

Christ, Ashleigh has such a fucking amazing voice. I can actually bear KJ’s singing

Moose having to leave makes sense. ALSO MAKE SURE YOU WATCH CODY”S SHOW ON NETFLIX TO MAKE THIS WORTH IT

I never want to see Kevin cry again. Fucking Maramaduke

Gladys can step on me, and I’d apologize

3x13, REQUEIM FOR A WELTERWEIGHT

I’M FINALLY ALL FUCKING CAUGHT UP

I don’t think that bacon is fully cooked

So Veronica just decided to not move back out because the path of least resistance?? And she’s back in her Daddy’s clutches because....he got shot???

The Serpent with the awesome dreads is still there! Can he be an actual character with a name? He deserves it

Between last episode and this one, I am being fucking BLESSED with Daddy Keller content.

VERONICA IS a FUCKING REPUBLICAN CONFIRMED. I guess we all know who scrolled right past 13th on Netflix!

They’re really trying to sweep up their awkward plot mistakes from last season, eh

I need a flashback of young Alice in this ugly fucking wedding dress

This is some Rocky and Mickey shit. Hopefully Keller doesn’t have a heart attack while confronting Mr. T

YES, GLADYS!!! CALL OUT THAT LEADERSHIP!

San Junipero water, huh.

Why is Archosie so perfect

Ehhhh, the last time they talked was eight episodes ago. Will this scene be about how Kevin’s recovering post-Moose?? Of course not. My hopes for investigative Kevin are once again yanked away. Though of course remember that time she got him to catfish a murderer without telling him that Chic had killed someone?? Fun times

“cute gay farmies”

Veronica is the opposite intimidating ESPECIALLY in the face of Gladys who we all know has actually fucked up a bitch

The monstrous Freeform ate Malachai, eh. Ghoulie jackets are still the best jackets

I’ve never watched Apocalypse Now so this scene is wasted on me

THUNDERDOME!!?!?

Keller looks like he gives good hugs

How the fuck did Jason learn about The Farm?

This is Polly’s revenge for being sent to the Sisters

It’s awkward how Choni just sort of disappeared from the episode

Damn, Archosie has everything going on

Hermione, you should’ve just killed Hiram when you had the chance

PROTECTIVE BIG BROTHER JUGHEAD!

Gladys doling out gang advice is just everything I wanted from her

#Riverdale #Riverdale liveblog

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jamesbvck · 6 years

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lost & found | b. barnes | part five

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU, Bartender!Bucky) Summary: Being lost was something foreign to you. Beginning a new life was an uphill battle. Being found was a surprise, especially unexpectedly by a man his own questionable past. Word Count: 3k Warnings: fluff, mention of mental abuse, mention of drunk driving. A/N: Welcome to part five! Feedback? :)

MASTERLIST | TAG FORM

Mornings were always rough. You had never truly considered yourself a morning person, but you didn’t necessarily hate them either. You’d much rather stay curled up in bed with the blanket tucked under your chin and head nestled into the pillow. But alas, work called and it was time to get up for the day. Money was to be made and customers were to be served.

There was a bounce in your step as you hopped into the shower. The warm water dripped down your skin, as you hummed an old song. Corinne had taken notice of the change in your demeanour over the last week. She knew it was because of Bucky and whatever bond you had formed with him. While she was cautious, she had to admit it was nice to see you so happy. You deserved to be happy.

You arrived to work just as Wanda did, and the two of you exchanged a few words as you walked inside. You placed your belongings out the back, grabbed your waist apron, and headed out to do your routine tasks until customers trickled in. Idly you swept, humming again. Hayley, one of the new part-time girls that was recently hired, straightened up the stools and tables, giving them a wipe down. You liked her. She was funny and kind, a new friend.

“It’s really unfair.”

You glanced over at her, raising a brow. “What’s unfair?”

Hayley nonchantanty motioned to Bucky across the way. He was guiding an electrician taking a look at a few of the lighting fixtures that hadn’t been working properly. His long hair was tied up into a bun, and his strong arms were folded over his chest as he explained the situation to the older man. His navy blue three-quarter length shirt fit him just slightly too tightly.

“Someone call Calvin Klein and get that man an underwear campaign, stat!” Hayley sighed dreamily.

Your eyes stayed glued to Bucky for another moment. You felt captured under a spell. It wasn’t necessarily bad to think your boss was good looking. After all, he was your friend. You had hung out outside of work as friends, so it was cool. You texted, and maybe one time (two times) it was until three in the morning. Friends did that all the time. Totally cool.

“He’s single, right?”

“Uh,” you shrugged. “I don’t know.”

You fibbed.

Hayley began to ponder aloud. Your mind autoset into your own thoughts, curious to see if she was going to make a move, and worried that she actually would. Something twanged in the pit of your stomach thinking about it, and you knew it was not pleasant. Your grip around the broom grew tighter until you internally rationalized the situation. By the time you refocused, Hayley was with Bucky, the electrician gone to get some tools out of his truck.

Oh.

Again, you rationalized. Taking the broom and dustpan, you returned them to the storage closet. You were unable to keep a frown from forming and felt stupid for it. Truthfully, you didn’t even know what you wanted from Bucky. Friendship? Companionship? Guidance? The sense of hope that not all men were god awful? Maybe all of it wrapped together with a pretty bow? You shook your head, deciding you were being completely ridiculous. Nothing was owed to you, nor did you owe anyone anything. At least he was in your life.

Before leaving, you grabbed new fibre cloths from the shelving and a spray bottle of cleaning solution. You pulled the door shut, turning around to see Bucky looking at you with amused eyes. Your knees nearly buckled.

“Hi…?” you said, blinking at him.

“I was wondering how long you were going to stand in there for,” he spoke. “You okay?”

You nodded, regaining yourself to smile at him. “Little tired, but I’m fine.”

Bucky nodded too. “Good, that’s good. That’s great!”

You tilted your head, trying to not laugh at his apparent eagerness. He seemed chipper and in a bright mood. It was quite adorable to see. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go do some employee stuff.”

“I guess I’ll go do some boss stuff,” he replied. You slipped around him, brushing arms. You looked over your shoulder and caught Bucky’s eyes. Something in your chest swelled and you bit back a grin. These were murky waters and you knew not to swim in them, but damn, they were intriguing.

Clint sat at the bar for the majority of your shift. He was filled with stories, and spoke about his kids and his beautiful wife. You loved listening, but at the same time, your gaze kept travelling over to Bucky whenever he madea brief appearance. You couldn’t help it and it was dead obvious to Clint. He took a lengthy sip of his beer, setting the bottle down on the round coaster.

“You and Barnes, yeah, I could see it,” he commented. You scowled. “You keep making eyes at him.”

“I don’t make eyes, Clint.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Look, I really don’t give a shit. Like him, don’t like him. But life’s too short to hide behind what ifs and maybes. Don’t look now, but Barnes is staring at you, too. Trust me, he can be pretty stupid, so if you’re gonna move, move.”

You hadn’t expected this from Clint. He was encouraging and at the same time giving you life advice. Perhaps he was right, life was too short to be scared of something. You sighed, picking up his bottle to see there was barely any liquid left.

“Do you want another one?”

Clint checked the time. “Probably shouldn’t, gotta go pick up the kids from school.” He dug into his back pocket and retrieved some cash. “You coming to Stark’s party?”

“What party?” You took the money, exchanging it for his change. You didn’t even know Tony Stark. You only heard the guys talk about him every now and then, and your sister worked for his billion dollar company.

“Stark’s Annual Fourth of July Bash…” his voice trailed and his face contoured into something mischievous. “Why don’t you ask Barnes about it.”

“Clint.”

“What ifs and maybes,” he mused, waving as he left the bar.

It was noted that Clint and Sam were definitely the ones that gave people a hard time out of spite. You muttered to yourself, swiping the bottle and putting it in an empty beer case. You occupied yourself for the next hour until your shift ended.

Bucky was in his office, chair leaned back and his thumb scrolling through his phone. Quietly you approached the door way, bag over your shoulder as you leaned against the framing. He didn’t notice you to start, and that was perfectly fine. You liked watching his brows scrunch together and his eyes squint at his phone.

“You’re going to need glasses if you keep squinting.”

He looked over, lowering his phone to the desk. “Steve tells me that, too.”

“Well, he’s right.”

Bucky chuckled. “I’m glad you stopped in before you left, wanted to ask if you would like to get some food.”

Never in your life had you said no to food. It must have been a given, since you nodded rapidly and a wide grin spread across his face. He picked up his phone, tucked it into his pocket, and tidied up his desk before flicking off the light and locking the door. He caught Wanda before leaving and she was more than fine with locking up when it was closing time. Bucky led the way out.

“How do you feel about Chinese food?”

“I’m good with that,” you replied, following him down the street.

There was a place around the corner from Bucky’s studio apartment. It was small, and a little sketchy looking, but Bucky swore it was the best you were going to get in Brooklyn. You let him order whatever, you weren’t picky. You helped him carry the two full brown paper bags back to his place. He kicked off his boots and set the bag onto his coffee table.

“What do you want to drink?” Bucky asked.

“Water’s fine.”

This was the second time you were in his home. You examined it more. There was a long three seater couch and a matching armchair to the right of it. He had a TV console with a flat screen perched on top, and a few art pieces hung on the wall. His large bed sat back against a brick wall off to the west side near the wall of windows that let the light pour in. There were notebooks scattered around, some vinyls and a recorded player off to the side. It was a rather clean home.

You set down the bag and plopped yourself onto the floor, beginning to take things out. Bucky returned with plates and two glasses of water. “Are we going to eat on the floor?”

“Why not?” you smiled.

He got himself to the ground, letting you choose what you wanted first. “What’s this Stark Party?”

Bucky reached for the beef and broccoli, scooping some onto his plate. “Your sister didn’t tell you about it?”

“No, Clint mentioned it this afternoon but didn’t elaborate too much.”

“Tony has this party every year on the fourth. It’s kind of a big deal, I guess. I get dragged to it by Steve. It’s on his yacht.”

A yacht? You weren’t even sure why you were surprised. Of course a billionaire had a yacht and would invite people aboard to get drunk on. The idea seemed fascinating, though. Spending a holiday on a big boat, drinks, a view of the entire city and to end the night with fireworks. It was almost romantic, in a sense.

“Are you gonna go?” he asked.

“I don’t even know him,” you murmured. “That’d be weird if I just showed up.”

Bucky shook his head. “You know people he knows. You can be Corinne’s plus one.”

“I could be your plus one.”

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could process anything. It was really meant to be a joke. Realistically, you could have been Steve’s plus one, or even Sam’s. However, Bucky didn’t seem too fazed by it. He was spooning rice onto his plate and grabbing the mini soy sauce packets.

“You could,” he agreed a moment later. His eyes peeked through a few loose strands of hair that had gotten away from his messy bun. Thankfully, your words weren’t a total disaster.

I would, you thought.

Bucky had put on some music to fill in the gaps of silence while you ate. You weren’t too sure what it was, but it was soothing and had semblance to jazz. It felt like you were far away, lost in a small European town with cobblestones and beautiful buildings. You ate, briefly chatting but mainly listening to the record. Bucky packed away the leftovers, taking the plates to to the sink. You leaned back onto your hands, looking around. Your eyes landed on a framed picture of him, Steve, and Sam. It looked to be an older photo, Bucky had shorter hair and all of their faces were younger. It brought a smile to your lips. Bucky and Sam were laughing and Steve was trying not to crack a smile, but failing miserably.

“What’s this from?” You took the frame and showed it to Bucky.

“First Christmas while we were shipped out,” he replied. “Can’t remember the full context, but it had to have been making fun of old man Steven.”

You laughed quietly, turning the picture back to you. Bucky was slightly leaned over in the picture, smiling widely, and you swore you could hear his laughter. There were dog tags swinging from around his neck and his plain white t-shirt was ruffled.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” Bucky dried his hands on a kitchen cloth, moving back to the living room.

Carefully you placed the frame back from where you got it, settling down on the rug again. “I’ve never seen you wear a t-shirt, or anything with shorter sleeves. Do you have something against them?” You attempted to play it lightly. Maybe he just didn’t like t-shirts. People went through clothing phases and that was fine. Maybe it wasn’t on trend for men’s clothing, you didn’t know.

Bucky shifted, stretching his legs out as he leaned against the couch. He was quiet, you waited.

“Well, I can tell you I do own t-shirts. I don’t discriminate,” the corner of his lip turned up for a half second. “A few years back I wasn’t great, you know, during that bad time I told you about. I made the really stupid decision of drinking and getting on my bike. Steve told me not to do it, I was too stubborn and angry at something, did it anyway. Didn’t even make it down the road before I got out of control, skidded along the pavement.”

Bucky held out his left arm and rolled up the sleeve as far as it could go. Along his biceps was scarring that went to his elbow. You shuffled yourself closer to get a clearer look. You couldn’t imagine how awful that must have been for him. You raised your hand and gently glided the tips of your fingers over some of the scar tissue. To you it didn’t look so bad, but to Bucky it was something that he had to deal with physically every day.

“I was in the hospital for a few days, had my license taken away for a bit. Probably was a blessing in disguise, I started to smarten up.” Bucky looked to you. “Maybe I’m ashamed. I don’t want strangers to look at me funny when I walk down the street.”

“Scars of our past redefine who we are, but we get to choose who we want to become,” you murmured, dropping your hand to your lap. “Trust me, I know all about that.”

You could see in Bucky he was curious about your words. Your fingers coiled into your palms, squeezing, then releasing. “His name was Brock,” you started. “He was my boyfriend, but he was also my worst nightmare. I thought everything that went wrong was my fault, only because he told me it was. I thought the reasons why he would yell at me, taunt me, mentally damage me were my fault. And I believed I deserved it.”

Bucky was at a loss for words. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, avoiding eye contact as you spoke about all the tragedies and the downfall of your three year relationship with a monster. “Getting out was hard. I packed my bag but I was too afraid to leave, I was too afraid of the abandonment. I was too afraid of losing what I called ‘my person’. I thought he was that. But he wasn’t. Luckily Corinne was coming back home for a visit and she ripped me out of there without any barriers. I owe her so much.”

His hand reached out, and using his thumb, he swiped away a stray tear from your cheek that had fallen. You hadn’t even noticed.

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Bucky said.

“I know,” you replied. “Restraining order is in full effect. But his words are still in my head. Some days are hard, some days are great. Today’s a good day.”

The jazz music had drifted off, the vinyl ending. Bucky subconsciously rubbed his blemished arm before slowly moving to his feet. He turned on the TV, handing you the remote to find something to watch on Netflix. He left to go change and you crawled your way up onto the couch, flicking through the title cards of the tv shows and movies. You put on a baking competition show, hoping Bucky wouldn’t mind too much.

He re-entered wearing grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt. It was true, he didn’t discriminate. It made you feel good, like maybe he trusted you enough to be himself, he didn’t need to hide his insecurity. He also didn’t seemed bothered by your tv selection; in fact, he was rather into it, making comments. The more episodes that rolled over into one another, the closer your body grew to Bucky’s. He was warm, a little squishy under all that toned muscle. Your eyes drooped, unwilling to stay awake to see who was making it to round three.

Upon awakening, the TV was turned off and there was a single light on. It was dark as your eyes adjusted. A blanket was draped over your body, a pillow under your head. You glanced around before reaching out to search for your phone. Time: 12:54AM. A silent yawn slipped from your mouth, and you sat up on the couch. Admittedly, you were slightly sad Bucky hadn’t been there with you. It didn’t take you long to see he was in his bed, turned onto his side with one arm hanging off the edge.

You had three options: the first, going home to your own bed (probably the best one not to worry Corinne), the second was laying back down on the comfy couch and drifting back off, and the third (and most appealing) was scooting in next to Bucky. Quickly, you opted for the third. Your feet padded against the floor to the open side of the bed, and you pulled back the blankets. For a split second, you hesitated, but your sleepy body ached for the comfort of a mattress instead. You settled yourself, leaving a gap between you and the sleeping man.

Bucky’s body shifted, rolling over to his other side. Clearly you weren’t as stealthy as you believed you were. One of his eyes popped open, looking at you in the dark.

“I can go,” you whispered.

Without warning, Bucky pulled you to himself, wrapping his arm securely around you. Immediately, you felt safe. Your entire body melted into his, and you tucked your head under his chin. His fingers rubbed a small section of your back, which lulled you right back into a deep slumber.

A perfect night’s rest.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x your #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #marvel fic #bucky imagine #fic: lost and found #with you until the end of the queue

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wilderwestqueen · 6 years

Text

A Pinch of Sugar and a Dash of Spite - Chapter One

“Astrid Hofferson has better things to do than ruin your life.”

“Yeah? You could’ve fooled me.”

Hiccup Haddock’s just trying to sell coffee and stumble through presentations about Shakespeare, but one persistent rude customer keeps ruining his day. Astrid Hofferson would be the top of her class if it weren’t for one golden boy barista that needs to be taken down a notch.

[Coffee Shop AU] [Enemies-To-Lovers]

IN THIS CHAPTER: A new customer at the Bean & Gone seems to have it out for Hiccup.

[AO3] [FF.NET]

High Maintenance Sickly Sweet Mess

The late shift at Bean & Gone was the worst.

The little coffee shop was tucked into one of the streets just off campus, and although it was tiny - barely enough room for the counter and few sets of tables and chairs - it was beloved by all. As part of the university, Bean & Gone always stayed open late for the students that wanted to stay on campus after lecture hours were over, but in Hiccup’s experience, no sane person wanted coffee late at night, unless they were pulling an all-nighter. All the serious deadlines were a good few weeks off yet, so the shift was rarely busy.

Tonight though, business was slower than sludge, and it took all of Hiccup’s effort to keep his head from slumping across the counter as he watched their one elderly patron - an old History professor, who may well have been alive in the dark ages he droned on about in lectures- as he sipped at the cup of coffee he’d been nursing for the past hour and a half.

“It’s got to be cold by now,” Hiccup muttered, his cheek slumped onto his fist. “There’s no way it’s still pleasant to drink.”

His co-worker, Scott Jorgenson, whose laddish tendencies and rotten manners had earned him the nickname Snotlout, was similarly slumped next to him. “Dude’s like eighty. His taste buds are all shrivelled up and dead.”

“Maybe he likes it cold.” This came from the third employee, Philip, who looked up from one of the coffee machines to give them both a blank stare.

Philip was the larger of the three, with a gentle smile but skittish limbs. His hands and legs always seemed to have a bit of a quiver to them, no matter what he did. He’d been christened Fishlegs by bullies in high school, but he’d taken it graciously in his stride, just as Hiccup and Snotlout had with theirs.

“Maybe he likes it cold because it reminds him of his own impending death,” Hiccup said, groaning and finally giving in to the urge to drop his face across the desk, his arms dangling off the counter.

“You’re more morose than usual,” Fishlegs observed.

“He’s pissing his pants thinking about tomorrow,” said Snotlout.

“Eff off,” Hiccup grumbled, his voice muffled in the counter.

Hiccup had another mock presentation in the morning, in preparation for his final, graded show. He liked presentations about as much as a splinter in the eyeball.

The evening crawled onwards, Hiccup spending most of his time slumped across the countertop, while Snotlout headed back to mess with their stock. Fishlegs hovered behind Hiccup, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Hiccup…” he began.

Hiccup shifted his head to the side and cast one eye up at him. “I know that voice,” he said. “What do you want?”

“I couldn’t find anyone to check in on Meatlug, and I was wondering if—”

“—You were wondering if you could go home early to check on her,” Hiccup sighed.

Meatlug was Fishlegs’ old, lethargic dog with a lazy eye, a sweet little thing, if a bit ugly by most people’s standards. Fishlegs adored her and doted on her like nothing else.

“For the last time—” There was a clatter in the back room as Snotlout dropped a bowl and kicked it out of his way, letting it skitter across the tiled floor before he bounded back up to the counter— “Meatlug can look after herself. It’s not fair that you keep leaving us to deal with—” There was loud ping from Snotlout’s phone, and he stopped in his tracks to pull it from his pocket, taking one look at the screen and letting out a long whistle as his eyes bugged out. “Wow, never mind, I need to leave too. You don’t mind, do you, Hiccup?”

Fishlegs gave Snotlout an incredulous stare, before letting out a long sigh and turning back to Hiccup.

“Sorry, Hiccup, it’s just that after her operation, she hasn’t been the same, I just want to make sure that she’s—”

Hiccup tipped his head back and raised his eyes to the heavens. “Just go. Both of you. I’ll lock up tonight.”

Fishlegs had the grace to look apologetic as he gathered his coat and bag from the staff room, but Snotlout barely spared Hiccup a glance, leaping over the counter and heading out the door. Fishlegs hovered between the two.

“Sorry,” he said again, “I’ll—”

“—I’ll see you tomorrow, Fishlegs,” Hiccup said.

Fishlegs gave him one last grateful smile, before he too headed out the door, leaving Hiccup alone, with only the gentle hum of the fluorescent lighting, and the steady slurps of the History professor in the corner, still making steady work on his coffee. After a few minutes of doing nothing but drumming his fingertips on the countertop, he headed back into the staff room and grabbed an old battered copy of Romeo and Juliet from his bag. If nothing interesting was going to happen this evening, he might as well use his time wisely. He perched himself on an upturned crate behind the counter and lost himself in the play, scrawling notes in the margin, and sticking post-it notes on important scenes.

He poked his head up over the top of the counter when the history professor rose from his seat, to give him a nod and a polite thank you, before ducking his head back down and getting right back to Shakespeare. When the last minutes of his shift rolled around, he stood, stretched, and left the star-crossed lovers on the counter, to start closing the shop up.

Just as he was flicking off the last appliance, there was a jingle behind him, and there was a gust of wind as the door opened. Hiccup’s jaw clicked.

“We’re closed,” he said, without turning around.

“The sign says you close at ten.”

Hiccup scowled. “It’s nine fifty-five.”

“Exactly. Not closed.”

“Sorry, it’s policy that we stop serving ten minutes before closing.”

“It takes two minutes.”

Hiccup gave a long sigh and turned around. He was rather surprised to find someone he recognised on the other side of the counter; Astrid Hofferson, a fellow English student, looked rather frazzled. Her jacket was half-slung off her shoulder, her hair was a mess, and she was rocking back and forward on her toes, like she was desperate to leave the building.

“I’ve already switched everything off.”

She gave him a look, like she thought he was the stupidest man on Earth. “So, switch it back on.”

“Astrid—”

“—How do you know my name?”

She froze, her eyes narrowed to slits.

“We’re on the same course,” Hiccup said. Her face was blank. “We share all of the same classes. I introduced myself to you on the first day, do you not remember?”

She eyed his name tag and raised an eyebrow. “I’d remember a guy named Hiccup.”

“It’s a nickname,” he said, hotly.

Indignation was burning in the back of his throat, first that she was being the textbook rude customer, and second, that in two years of sharing the same classes, this girl didn’t seem to have any idea who he was.

She hadn’t made any sign of movement, and Hiccup realised, with a sinking heart, that she wasn’t going to budge.

“What do you want then?” he said, the last shreds of his customer service manners vanishing along with his goodwill.

Astrid didn’t seem to care about his manners, she just listed her order, counting her money out on the counter, while Hiccup began to flick appliances back on to start them up again. As her coffee brewed, Astrid hopped from foot to foot, her fingers drumming on her arms. Hiccup glowered at her from over the counter, and once the drink was ready, he screwed on a lid and slammed it onto the countertop so hard that liquid began to slosh out. Astrid gave him a filthy look, but took the drink anyway, turning on her heel without so much of a thank you.

“Keep the change!” she yelled, before disappearing into the night.

The door slammed behind her, letting in a big gust of wind before nothing but the sound of the coffee machine behind him and the lights above him filled the air.

“You’re welcome,” Hiccup said to the empty room.

Professor Vaughn-Stretton was actually clicking at her.

“Miss Hofferson? Over here, please!”

Astrid clenched her jaw and sucked in a breath. The professor wasn’t even looking at her. His nose was in his books, one hand flourishing in the air as he snapped his fingers, like she was a dog and he was calling her to his heel. If he’d whistled, she’d have dumped his coffee right over his head.

She put on her best saccharine smile and headed to his desk. “How can I help you?”

“I left my briefcase in the lecture theatre, be a dear and go pick it up for me, would you?”

In her mind’s eye, Astrid punched him. She curled her hand into a fist, and socked him right in his stupid mouth, knocking that self-assured, patronising expression right off his face and into next week.

“No problem!” she said instead, in that fake falsetto polite voice she’d been using all day. Then she turned on her heel and high-tailed it out of there, doing her best not to slam the door on the way out.

Assault, while satisfying, would look terrible on her transcript.

She marched down the hall, not paying attention to where she was going - and slammed right into another student, knocking them both to the ground. The stack of paper the other person was holding went flying, scattering across the floor.

“Sorry!” Astrid gasped, crawling across the floor and scrambling to help pick them up.

“You look like you want to hurt somebody.” Astrid looked up to see Heather Whitman gathering pages onto her lap, looking at Astrid with an amused smile. “Bad day?”

“Don’t ask,” Astrid groaned, gathering up the last of Heather’s things and pulling herself to her feet. “If I told you I was going to murder someone you’d stop me, right? Like, you wouldn’t let me go through with it, would you?”

Heather tilted her head to the side. “Vaughn-Stretton.”

“Vaughn-Stretton,” Astrid sighed, handing Heather the rest of her things. “I’m this close to jumping out of one of the top floor windows and taking him with me. Hey, did I tell you about last night?”

The previous night, after finishing her studies for the day, she’d headed to Professor Vaughn-Stretton’s office, and found him mid-workflow. He’d apparently hit a breakthrough on his research project and had to simply drop everything in order to work on it. All evening, Astrid had been running around at his beck and call, filling every demand.

At nine forty-five, he threw his arms up in the air and groaned. “I need coffee.”

Astrid blinked. “Coffee, sir?”

“Coffee. Go get me some,” he said, opening his wallet and throwing a fiver at her. “Coffee shop closest to campus does the best.”

“It’s nearly ten, sir, it’ll be closing,” Astrid protested.

“Go quickly then.”

“They stop serving after—”

“Miss Hofferson,” he interrupted her, stopping her in her tracks. He finally looked up at her with a beady stare. “You know how lucky you are to be my assistant?”

“Yes, but—”

“Few people are given the opportunity to work with me directly. It’s a coveted position.”

“I know, but—”

“So, when I ask for coffee,” he said, his voice darkening, “you get me coffee. I don’t care what you have to do to get it, just go get it.”

Astrid relayed the whole conversation from the previous night to Heather, who by the end, had her hand clasped over her open mouth.

“He must be getting worse with age,” she said. “Not even Eret’s stories are that bad.”

“He’s matured like sour milk,” Astrid said, flicking through Heather’s papers before handing them back to her. “I had it in my head last night that I was going to ask him about my final essay. I was going to show him, and make him read it for me, and instead, I was running around, abusing the poor guy behind the counter just so that his royal highness could get some fucking coffee at ten o’clock at night.”

“He hasn’t even looked at your term paper?” Heather said, arching an eyebrow. “Come on, girl, you’ve been working for him for what, three weeks, now?”

“Close to a month and a half, actually,” Astrid said, dryly.

“A month and a half, and he hasn’t even looked at any of your work? Wasn’t that part of the deal of working for him?”

Astrid clenched her teeth. “It was supposed to be,” she said. “But I don’t want to bug him, or sound demanding, or petulant, or anything.”

“Astrid, no. You can’t let him walk all over you like this,” Heather said sharply, hastily stuffing her things into her bag so that her hands were free to press firmly on Astrid’s shoulders. “If you don’t hold him to his promises he’s going to keep getting away with treating you like a servant.”

“He has seniority!” Astrid said. “If I rock the boat, I might lose all hope of getting his approval and his reference.”

“No. You’re not letting him do this to you,” Heather said, turning Astrid on her heel and marching her back towards Vaughn-Stretton’s offices. “You’re going to go in there, and you’re going to ask him to look at your work, and you’re going to make him give you feedback.”

“But I was supposed to get his—”

“No. No excuses. Get in there and make him listen to you.”

Astrid had no choice. Once they’d reached the offices, Heather pressed a hand firmly behind Astrid’s back and pushed her through Vaughn-Stretton’s door. She stumbled over the threshold, blinking owlishly up at the professor, who was staring at her with an unimpressed look.

“Well?” he said, pushing his glasses up on the ridge of his nose. “Do you have it?”

Astrid frowned, silently cursing Heather in her head. “Actually, sir,” she began, brushing herself down. “I was wondering if I could ask something of you.”

Vaughn-Stretton gave a long sigh, like she was the biggest nuisance he had ever come across. “And what is that?”

“Well, uh,” Astrid said, rummaging around in her bag and pulling out the most recent draft of her final essay. “I’ve been working with you for a while now, and I was wondering if you could possibly take some time to give me some feedback on my term paper?”

She held out her paper and cringed at how crumpled and folded it was from having been shoved in her bag.

So much for looking professional.

The professor eyed her paper with disdain, and they stood in silence for a few long seconds before he let out another sigh. “Fine, give it here,” he said. “It’s not like I can do anything without my briefcase, anyway.”

Astrid stood in awkward silence, her right hand clutching on to her left arm, while she waited for him to read over her paper. It was an agonising few minutes, and aside from a few stray sighs and one or two tuts, she couldn’t decipher what the professor was thinking.

She was put out of her misery when, finally, he wrinkled his nose and looked back up at her.

“You’ve got a lot of work to do on this, Miss Hofferson,” he said, sternly. “Your writing is sloppy. Your main argument is weak. Are you sure that gender is really the avenue that you want to go down?”

“My whole thesis is about the author’s treatment of women and how that reflects on both the time period his works are set in and the period he was writing from,” Astrid stammered. “I thought there was plenty of stuff I could talk about, like—”

“—Yes, well, I’m not convinced that this a strong enough argument,” Vaughn-Stretton said, “I mean, can you really call Hemingway sexist?”

“…Are we talking about the same guy?”

Vaughn-Stretton ignored her. “Listen, if you really want a good example of how to talk about gender,” he said, opening up his desk drawer and pulling out a piece of paper, “you should really read Henry Haddock’s work.”

Astrid’s jaw clicked.

Henry Haddock.

“He really has a wonderful grasp on feminist theory, he has a true understanding of gender politics, his work is wonderful, really…”

Oh, what Astrid would give to go a day without hearing about Henry Haddock.

Professor Vaughn-Stretton’s personal favourite, Henry had been the bane of Astrid’s existence since their first year, and she didn’t even know what he looked like.

Always the top of every test, always the highest mark on every paper, Vaughn-Stretton brought him up almost every seminar, showering him in glowing praise in almost every class, and no matter how much Astrid had tried - and oh, had she tried - she couldn’t get a look-in. Not her polished papers, nor her perfect presentations served to impress the professor, and though she spent all of her free time doing nothing but running around at his beck and call, serving every demand, even the ridiculous ones - like buying him coffee at ten o’clock at night - and yet somehow, Henry Haddock didn’t have to say a word in class and he was still Vaughn-Stretton’s favourite.

Astrid took the paper from Vaughn-Stretton rather more forcefully than she meant to and scanned the page with her eyes. “Okay,” she said, a few minutes later, “but he’s basically making the same points as I am.”

The professor gave a derisive snort. “Mr. Haddock is remarkably skilled at presenting a nuanced point of view…”

He kept talking, but at this point Astrid was tuning him out, focusing on her breathing so that she didn’t strike Vaughn-Shithead right between the eyes and knock his stupid glasses right off his face.

When Astrid looked up a few moments later, he was still talking. “I can set up a meeting between the two of you, if you like,” he said. “I’m sure he’d be happy to tutor you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Astrid said, curtly. She slipped Henry’s essay back onto the desk.

“Suit yourself,” Vaughn-Stretton said. “Now, I believe I asked you to get me my briefcase?”

Astrid didn’t dignify that with a response, she just turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

On her way out, she stormed straight into Heather, who looked up at her with hopeful eyes. “So, how did it go?” she asked, her voice two notches brighter than usual.

Astrid didn’t answer. She kept walking.

“That bad, huh?” Heather said as she stumbled forward to match Astrid’s stride.

Astrid stopped short. “Heather, when they find him dead, his stupid old man glasses stuffed down his throat and a knife sticking out of his back, you’ll testify on my behalf, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Heather said. “Providing alibis for your friends’ homicidal tendencies is basically rule one of girl code.”

The corner of Astrid’s mouth twitched.

“C’mon,” Heather said, her hand brushing against Astrid’s shoulder. “It can’t have been that bad, right?”

Astrid let out a long sigh and let herself drop onto a bench nearby. “I can take criticism. I can take negative feedback. I can’t take him babbling on about another student who’s apparently better than me in every single way.”

Heather sucked in a breath. “He didn’t.”

“Oh, he did,” Astrid said. “My writing stinks, apparently. Henry Haddock’s writing is a gift from the gods, though. Henry Haddock, by the way, who I only know because Vaughn-Shithead brings him up in every other breath. I’ve never even met him.”

“Henry?” Heather said, her eyebrows raised. “He’s not that bad of a guy, actually.”

“Wait, you know him?”

“Yeah,” Heather said, “except he doesn’t like being called Henry. He goes by Hiccup—”

“—he WHAT?”

The morning shifts at Bean & Gone were just as bad as the late ones.

There were a steady stream of students coming in and out of the shop, all of them stocking up on caffeine for the day ahead. They all looked about as awake as Hiccup felt, and he found that, for the first half hour of his shift, he worked on autopilot, letting his muscle memory take orders and make drinks, while his brain took the time to catch up to his body.

He was quickly brought back to reality though, when one customer marched up to the counter and slammed her hands down onto the countertop.

“Henry Haddock,” she said, her voice spitting venom.

Hiccup almost took a step back from the counter when he was met with the furious face of Astrid Hofferson, who was leaning so far across the counter that they were almost nose-to-nose.

“What can I do for you, Astrid?”

“You’re Henry Haddock.”

Hiccup blinked, his eyes shifting away for a second and then back at her. “I know I am.”

“You’re the Henry Haddock that’s been beating me to the top spot in every single class,” she said.

Hiccup couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from the back of his throat and came sputtering out. It was definitely a mistake. She looked affronted, her hands twisting into fists on the table top.

“So…” Hiccup said, his laughter falling to an awkward chuckle when Astrid didn’t budge from her spot. “You gonna order, or…?”

There was a long pause, and Hiccup watched as Astrid’s expression changed. Her shoulders and hands relaxed, and though her face was still red, she offered him a smile. Not a nice smile, Hiccup noted to himself. A dangerous smile.

Then, without taking a breath, Astrid said, “A venti salted caramel mocha frappucino with five pumps of frap roast, four pumps of caramel sauce, four pumps of caramel syrup, three pumps of mocha, three pumps of toffee nut syrup, double blended with extra whipped cream.”

Another pause. Astrid did nothing but glare.

“You’re serious?” Hiccup said, his mouth gaping open.

Astrid kept staring at him.

“Who would even drink that—”

“—are you going to make me it or not?”

Hiccup waited another breath, and wondered for a moment if this was some kind of elaborate prank, before stammering, “Can you repeat that?”

Astrid rolled her eyes and repeated the order again, without taking a breath, again.

His fingers couldn’t get to the screen quick enough to punch in her order. It took him another three tries to get it right, and by the time he’d finally managed to do it, there was a queue forming behind Astrid, a long line of people growing steadily more impatient.

Making the drink took even longer, not helped by the fact that he had to check and recheck the order to make sure he’d made it exactly right. Hiccup had a feeling that Astrid wouldn’t except any mistakes. Once it was made, Hiccup handed it over and fought the urge not to make a face. Who in their right minds could drink this high maintenance sickly-sweet mess?

But Astrid took it, gave him a similarly sickly-sweet smile and headed to one of the tables, drinking the whole thing in about two minutes. He couldn’t appreciate the train-wreck in action, as he turned back to face a huge line of people clicking their teeth in impatience.

Astrid watched him from her corner, a satisfied smirk on her face, and Hiccup was sure that she’d done it on purpose.

Astrid showed up at Bean & Gone every day that week.

It was like clockwork; she’d figured out the exact times that the shop was at its busiest - and Hiccup was pretty sure that she’d memorised his entire shift schedule too - and she would stride up to the counter and order the most complicated and disgusting sounding drink that she could. She’d watch him struggle with it, make him repeat the order over and over again, and then she’d sit and drink the whole thing, keeping her eyes on him the whole time.

He didn’t know what he’d done to piss her off, but he did know, with all certainty, that Astrid Hofferson was going to be a problem.

Next Chapter

#hiccstrid #httyd #how to train your dragon #httyd2 #hiccup x astrid #look i did it #i have never drank a cup of coffee in my life #i hope you like it!#fanfiction

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mariequitecontrarie · 6 years

Text

People Will Talk: Part 2

Summary: Atticus Gold and newcomer Belle French have developed a relationship no one in Storybrooke approves of, and people make their opinion known in small-minded, small-town fashion: he’s too old for her, and the pretty young librarian needs to find friends her own age. When Gold ends the relationship to protect Belle’s reputation, the town turns on him again. To make matters worse, his friends and family are mad at him, too. But as we all know, love wins in the end. Chapter Summary: Gold hasn't seen Belle in two weeks and Alice is not happy with him. Belle gets an unpleasant surprise. Rating / Word Count: T / 3000 A/N: Continuing Marie’s Three-Year Writing Anniversary Rumor/Assumed Fake Dating/Family AU that no one asked for. @maplesyrupao3 -- bless you!

On AO3

Part 1 on AO3 | Part 1 on Tumblr

Two Weeks Later

“Alice, why are you looking at me like that?”

Gold held his breath and waited, cursing himself for asking. He was guaranteed not to like the answer, but anything was better than the silent treatment.

Alice stopped dusting the cabinet of china dolls to fix him with another poisonous glare. “Because you’re a horse’s ass who has more money than brains.”

“Noted. Can you at least keep up with your duties while you insult me? Time is still money, dearie, even here in the barnyard.” Squabbling, at least, was familiar territory.

Gold waved a hand around the tidy pawnshop, wondering who worked for whom. He owned the store, but Alice called the shots. Sometimes it seemed like his only job was bankrolling Alice’s Amazon Prime spending sprees while she worked her way through Storybrooke College.

The only person he knew who shopped more than Alice was...no, he wasn’t going there.

Still glowering at him like he was something she scraped from the bottom of her shoe, Alice worked her way around the perimeter of the shop with her feather duster. He had to admit she did keep the cobwebs at bay and his stockroom organized, even if she annoyed the hell out of him in the process.

He glanced at the restored cuckoo clock on the wall. It was almost lunchtime, and Alice had been scowling at him since she’d shown up for work this morning. Trying to ignore her, he eased behind the counter and opened the books.

She fell silent for a short, precious moment, then slapped her hands on the countertop.“Ha! I know what your problem is. You’re in a foul temper because you haven’t seen your sweetheart. Belle hasn’t popped in for two weeks. What’s wrong? Lovers’ quarrel?”

“Beg pardon?” he asked, pretending to study his ledgers.

Feigning ignorance never worked on Alice. So like a Jones. Stubborn and mouthy, just like her father. She continued to bore holes into the top of his head, muttering to herself about how he was apologizing to the wrong person until he looked up with a long-suffering sigh.

Talking, talking. Why was the girl always talking? An ocular migraine threatened to form, sharp and urgent above his nose. Tiny sparks exploded in his peripheral vision, and he pressed his fingers against his forehead.

He supposed he could send his little conscience home from work to get her out of his way, but she was more than an employee—she was his goddaughter—and he’d promised Hook he would keep tabs on Alice while he was at sea. Killian “Hook” Jones’ career as a Naval officer meant lengthy tours of duty up to six months, and he knew Alice and her papa missed each other dreadfully while he was away. Guilt poked his conscience; he hadn’t emailed Hook with an update in at least two weeks. But he knew his oldest (and only) friend would question him about Belle, and he was neither willing to lie nor ready to confide. Besides, he reasoned, Alice could text her papa anytime she wanted with her smartphone thingy.

“If you’re not going to work, why don’t you study?” he murmured, trying to concentrate on his July sales numbers. “Isn’t there a women’s lit paper due tomorrow or something?”

“Books!” she shouted, making him jump. “That’s it! Why don’t you take these books back to the library for me?”

Alice plopped a pile of novels on top of the financials, jarring him from his thoughts. He pinched the bridge of his nose hard. Now he would have to rework the column of numbers all over again.

“I was hoping to get advice from Belle on a dress for my date with Robin on Friday, but this’ll give you an excuse to see her instead.” Alice grinned, delighted with her solution.

He shoved the books aside with a huff. “I’m not looking for an excuse.”

“Why the hell not?” Abandoning the pretense of working entirely, she dropped the feather duster on the floor and hoisted herself up on top of the counter.

He set his teeth on edge. “Belle and I aren’t friends anymore.”

“Friends?” She smirked. “If you’re friends, then I’m straight. Hate to break it to you, Uncle Atty, but you two have never been friends. She’s in love with you! And you love her, too.”

“What makes you say so?” he asked carefully, looking at his nails.

“Oh, I don’t know. The dark circles under your eyes. The constipated look on your face. You look like a saggy, twitchy, miserable old man.” She held up a brown paper bag. “Want a sandwich?”

He turned around, assessing his appearance in the antique mirror that hung on the wall behind the cash register. “I am a saggy, twitchy, miserable old man,” he snapped. “And no, I’m not hungry.”

“When Belle’s around, you look all soft and floppy and happy, like Rabbit does whenever I come home.” Alice smiled another cheeky grin.

He smiled back at her in spite of himself. “Well, I’ve been called worse, dearie, but If you’re expecting to bring me to heel like that stupid old dog of yours, it’ll be a cold day in hell.” He slammed the ledger closed and headed for the workroom. The girl trailed after him, still clutching her paper sack.

“I have egg salad,” she teased, shaking the bag. “Your favorite.”

It used to be. He shuddered, his stomach lurching. Eggs were a definite no. Now whenever he saw any sort of egg concoction, he thought of Belle’s pinched, white face on that hot July afternoon thirteen days ago when he ended their friendship. Not that he was counting the days since they’d been apart.

“I don’t eat eggs anymore,” he said. “Too much cholesterol.” No one knew his house had been egged besides Belle, and he wasn’t going to whine about it to Alice. He still had some pride. “You don’t like eggs, you don’t like Belle.” Alice spread her hands wide and twirled in a circle. “What do you like, Sam-I-Am?”

He pulled a face. “Peace and quiet. Both seem to be in short supply.”

Laughing at his sour expression, she plopped down on one of the stools at the work table and dangled her sandwich in front of his nose. “How about marmalade? I’ll trade ya.”

Alice was volunteering to eat the egg salad and offering her favorite lunch. Things really were as bad as they seemed, then. “Fine.”

Resigned, he sat down beside her, accepting half of the sandwich. He took a small bite to stop her prattling, but he had no appetite. Food had no flavor, the whole world drained of color and light without Belle. He missed her; her laughter, her touches, her insatiable appetite for stuffed crust pizza.

“Eat,” Alice insisted, clucking over him like a little mama.

He swallowed the bite of sandwich and forced himself to take another. “So, did you choose a dress for your date?” he asked, attempting both to change the subject and rejoin the land of the living. “Where are you and Robin going?”

“It’s just Tony’s.” Alice shrugged like the occasion was no big deal, and took a massive bite of her sandwich.

A six month anniversary is an important milestone.” He took out his pocket square and folded it into a perfect crown, trying not to be hurt that she hadn’t asked his advice. “Your father wouldn’t know style if it bit him on the arse, but I know my way around a clothing boutique.”

“I know,” she said around a mouthful of egg salad. “But I was kinda wanting the opinion of another woman. No offense.”

‘Another woman’ meant Belle. He cleared his throat. “None taken.” Not for the first time he was reminded that walking away from Belle didn’t only affect him. Alice looked up to Belle like an older sister, and he hoped his relationship failings weren’t driving a wedge between Alice and Belle, too.

Poking at the crust on his sandwich, he wondered what Belle was doing right now. She was probably balancing a book on her lap while she ate, dropping sandwich crumbs between the pages and... no. Gold mentally slapped himself. Cutting a person out of your life meant giving up the right to wonder.

Alice polished off the first half of her sandwich and started on the second. “Belle was at Granny’s the other night,” she offered slyly, employing her uncanny knack for reading his mind.

He choked on the sticky bit of bread in his mouth. “Oh? With anyone?” Ugh . When it came to the people he cared about, he was terrible at nonchalance.

“Yeah. Tall bloke with sparkling blue eyes and a strong, lean jaw.” She batted her eyelashes. “Didn’t recognize him, but it looked like a date.”

Date? Belle had gone on a date? He would find out who the bastard was and he would crush his windpipe with his cane. Gold looked down at his hands. They were coated in marmalade, the mangled sandwich crushed between his palms.

“Way to play it cool, Uncle Atty.” Alice smirked and he rose to wash his sticky hands. “I’m kidding. But I wouldn’t have made a joke if I knew you were this upset. Belle was at a booth with some other people. Ruby, Mulan, and Mary Margaret. Waved at me once, but she was picking at her food and staring at the wall whenever I tried to catch her eye. It’s obvious she’s missing you. Can’t you fix this?”

“I couldn’t possibly be intelligent enough to do that,” he said, grateful sarcasm was there to cover his relief at Belle not being on a date after all.

“Mmm, I see.” Alice rolled her eyes. “She’s the first woman who saw through your little act, isn’t she? Now you’re grouchy because you’ve gone and screwed up the best thing in your life because some Granny, Marco, and some other ignorant busybodies have their noses out of joint. Since when are you afraid of them, anyway?”

“Afraid? Ha!” He flashed his gold tooth in a warning snarl. This conversation was ridiculous.

“Cripes, this place can be so backward. Even the clock doesn’t move here.” Alice gestured down the street toward the clock tower, which had been stuck at 8:15 for twenty years. “I’d say we’re living in a land time forgot, but it’s been a common practice in most societies for younger women and older men to marry for generations.”

“Marry?” He sputtered. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Obviously not you!”

He crossed his arms and grunted. “Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me, child. I used to change your nappies.”

“That’s right, you did. So why are you pretending I don’t know you?” She swallowed the rest of her sandwich in a gulp and chased it with half a can of Dr. Pepper soda. “People whisper all sorts of wicked things about me. Some of them are true and some of them are outright lies. We’re alike in that way, you and I. So what? If I paid attention to what everyone said, I’d never leave the house.”

“I know, honey.” He smoothed his hands over the smooth grain of the worktable, ashamed of himself. Alice had more than her share of bad days, days when she couldn’t come into work. Times when she came to the shop and wandered around as though in a dream, trailing her fingers through cabinets coated in dust, a faraway look in her eyes. What he suffered was nothing in comparison, and yet he couldn’t seem to ignore the thick fog of prejudice and judgment that suffocated him whenever he was with Belle.

“People talk no matter what we do; doesn’t mean we have to listen.” She patted his shoulder. “You sure as hell don’t listen to me, and I talk your head off every damn day.”

He gave her a fond smile and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t remind me.”

Day after day of pretending she was fine was exhausting, but Belle had been doing a fair job of holding herself together since Gold had unceremoniously dumped her on his front porch. She wasn’t sure it counted as a dump if you only fantasized you were a couple, but according to the ache in her chest, it was real.

The busier the day, the better. If she kept moving from task to task, she could ignore her shattered heart. She showed up for her library shifts without fail, she checked books in and out, and chattered with people about their lives. Today she had even helped several eleventh graders with their Marie Antoinette biographies. Staying busy was working until the last hour of the day when the flow of patrons slowed to a trickle and she sat down at her desk to open the mail.

She quickly sorted through the typical bills, catalogs, and overdue fine payments, arranging them into piles. A plain, clean white envelope addressed directly to her stood out from the rest of the mail, and she saved it for last. There was no return address, but the faint scent of antiseptic clung to the crisp envelope.

Belle ripped the envelope open and a drawing sketched on a piece of ruled notebook paper floated to the floor. What she saw made her bite down on her lip hard, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth. It was a crude illustration, but she could make out the Beast from the movie Beauty and the Beast , drawn wrinkled and old, wearing a suit and tie and clenching a cane in his gnarled claw. He was ogling a young woman who was reading a book. The woman wore a version of movie Belle’s famous golden dress, but the skirt barely grazed her thigh and the bodice dipped all the way to her navel. Clearly, the image was meant to be of her and Gold.

She stared down at the crude representation, then crumpled it in her fist. It was a cheap attempt at an insult, drawing her to look like some sort of slutty temptress and Gold as a dirty old man. Rage ripped through her in a white-hot streak, and her mind narrowed to a singular purpose: finding out who had done this. Tonight.

Belle shot to her feet, knocking over her chair.

Granny’s Diner was the social hub of Storybrooke, and the best place to get to the bottom of nonsense, but she was far too impatient to wait until the library closed. She chased the last few stragglers out of the library and slammed the door behind her, jamming the key in the lock with shaking hands until it clicked. With frayed nerves, she stomped all the way to Granny’s, the drawing clutched in her closed fist. The early August evening air was warm and humid, and sweat trickled down her back as she marched down Main Street. While she hurried down the sidewalk, she tried to puzzle out who had drawn and sent the picture and why. Rumors and innuendo aside, there was something perplexing about caring so much for Gold and yet holding physical evidence that other people couldn’t see the tender, handsome man she knew.

Small towns produced small minds.

The tables at Granny’s were packed. It was Thursday during dinner rush—the most popular night—and people clustered inside the front door and on the patio outside, waiting for the chance to sit down. All the barstools were occupied, platters and baskets of food sitting in front of every person. Good. Belle wanted a large audience for what she was about to do.

She toed off her heels and climbed up on the counter. Mr. Clark from the pharmacy stared at her in horror, then sneezed and wrapped an arm around an enormous, sauce-covered square of lasagna, drawing it closer for protection. Ruby stood frozen at the cash register, and Ashley Boyd narrowly missed dropping the tray of dirty dishes she was carrying, almost colliding with town psychiatrist Archie Hopper as she narrowly saved the plates from slipping to the floor.

Behind the counter, Granny made an outraged, sputtering noise, the heat of her glare rivaling the sizzling grill. At the moment, it didn’t matter if Granny never sold her another hamburger or slice of chocolate cake for the rest of her life, Belle was getting some answers tonight . She turned around and faced the crowd.

“Who did this?” Belle called out, looking down over the sea of faces. She held up the drawing, still clenched in her shaking fist. The noise continued to drone on around her, the clatter of forks against plates, the townspeople oblivious to anything but their meals and their conversations. “I said who did this?”

“Look, Mommy!” yelled a blonde girl with curly pigtails. “That lady is fifty feet tall!” A hush came over the diner in a languid wave and all eyes turned to stare at Belle standing on the counter. Forks were laid down on plates with a quiet clatter. Time seemed to stand still and no one appeared to so much as breathe.

“Does anyone want to confess?” she asked, shaking the drawing in her fist and glaring around the restaurant with narrowed eyes.

When no one stepped forward or admitted guilt, she dropped the drawing on the counter and ground it into the tile with her bare heel. “You’re all a bunch of cowards, you know that? Mr. Gold and I are friends, and it’s no one’s business but ours what we do. Your problem isn’t that he’s befriended a woman a few years younger than he is. Your problem is you’re a classless bunch of small-minded prigs.”

Jaws dropped and they gaped at her like fish in an aquarium, then fell back to their eating and chattering as though people stood on top of Granny’s counter raving like lunatics every day of the week.

Her limbs shook with anger, and she caught the sympathetic eyes of Mary Margaret and David Nolan. One minute they were sitting at the counter holding hands and sharing a basket of chicken fingers and the next thing she knew, they were flanking her, standing one on each side, like a pair of orderlies preparing to strap her into a straight jacket and wheel her away.

“Okay, Belle, that’s enough now, honey.” Mary Margaret’s voice was quiet and soothing, and Belle felt her knees begin to give out.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #golden wonder #woven rook #alice jones #mr. gold #belle french #people will talk #mqc writes #maries 3-year fic-a-versary

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chaoticneutralwriter · 6 years

Text

Monster

Animal…she had called you.

Ironic, but better than a monster you suppose.

Last Of Us AU

Immune!BTS member x ex-Firefly reader

A/N: Still haven’t really decided on a member but that might change later...again lolll But anyways, still written at the last hospital scene of the game.

You can’t believe you just did that.

As if to counteract the shaking in your hands, you grip the steering wheel a little more tightly. You told yourself you were going to do anything to get him back and that meant cutting down whatever…. or whoever stood in your way. In that moment, your greatest fear was to be too late but now that it was over, you realized there something you were even more afraid of.

“What the heck am I wearing…?” His voice rasps from where he laid in the back seat. Your eyes shift briefly to the rear view mirror, watching him groggily rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Take it easy, the drugs are still wearing off.” You answer back gently. Warm brown eyes turn to you and already your heart clenches at the doe-like look he gives. And then, he asks you the very thing you dreaded the most right now.

“What happened?”

Your gaze shifts back to the road ahead of you and nervously, you begin to chew on your bottom lip. You have to answer him, keeping it from him would only make him suspect something and possibly take it even worse than you would want him to. Hesitating any longer now would also draw suspicions; you have no choice. So after a moment of silence in which the very air weighed down on you with guilt, you speak.

“We found the Fireflies….”

You’re panting, having just narrowly escaped being cornered by more soldiers, barring the doors leading to the hospital's stairwell as you went. Preferably, you would’ve stealthily killed your way to the operating room but where you were gifted in combat and survival skills, you were not in terms of finesse.

Well, it could’ve been avoided had the guy you were trying to kill not turned his head. He would’ve had a quiet and swift death via shiv, not death by fifty bullets via his own assault rifle.

Whatever.

You had no time to waste and immediately started climbing the stairs two at a time, the banging to the double doors ceasing, which could only mean they were going to try to beat you to the top. Well not if you have anything to say about that.

You’re drenched in sweat by the time you reach the top floor. Cautiously, you open the doors but find that the floor has yet to be swarming with the drones. It’s good news for you because at least for the moment, you can search for the operating room in peace. You make your way swiftly through corridors and makeshift quarantined labs set up in the open spaces until you come across another section leading off into another wing with a big sign overhead that reads, “SURGERY”.

Your heart leaps to your throat, you’re coming for him. Just hold on….

A shout echoes along the walls and you duck in time to see that the goonies that were on your tail have arrived. You curse; looks like you can’t avoid another mess, not when you’re so close.

“Turns out, there was a lot more like you - people who are immune. Dozens actually.” You try your hardest to keep your voice steady. Even though what you told him wasn’t a complete lie, it still doesn’t change the fact that you’ve single-handedly taken away probably the only hope humanity has left against this virus – all because you were selfish. “Not like it would’ve helped anyways.” You find yourself muttering that part out loud. Call it what you want, whether it was to convince yourself or if it were actually true, you would’ve done it again if you were given a choice.

The last of the men drop dead and you rush off towards a pair of double doors. You barricade them with a hefty looking cart full of debris and garbage and after making sure no one would be able to get through, you turn to the hallway you’re in. There were doors leading into empty rooms, none of which you were looking for. You quickly make your way further down, turning a corner before finally spotting a not-so inconspicuous red door with a large firefly crest spray painted on the wall next to it. You bet all the money you had that that was it. The closer you came to the door, the more convinced you were, going by all the AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL and other warning signs plastered on it.

You don’t hesitate to burst through, coming into what looked like a prepping room, sinks lining the walls and cabinets filled with probably antiseptics and sterilization equipment. The curtains drawn over the windows and all you see are the shadows of the surgeons dancing behind it, but you know that beyond the door was the actual surgery room, where he was. The steady beeping of the heart monitor makes your own heart rate excel as you draw closer…

“Doctor?!”

One of the assistant surgeon gasps out startled by your sudden entrance but your attention was elsewhere as you take in the sight in front of you.

“Oh God…” You whispered in horror. He’s on the table dressed in only a hospital gown, hooked up to the heart monitor and an IV, the harsh overhead lights above illuminating him like a frog ready to be dissected. In contrast however, his face was in such an angelic slumber that had it not been for the heart monitor, you would’ve thought he was already dead. To that you can’t help but let out a sigh of relief – overall, he was in one piece and you made it just in time.

“What are you doing here?”

The head surgeon’s voice cuts through your moment of respite. His voice, though valiant in effort to seem stern, wavers slightly. You catch on instantly; he’s afraid of you.

Good.

You don’t bother answering him as he flounders with his hands up, seemingly in a gesture to stop you. You take a step towards him and he quickly scurries back, grabbing a scalpel and pointing it back at you as he hovers by the end of the table.

“I won’t let you take him.” You pause in your tracks, mildly surprised at the bold stance. “This is our future. Think of all the lives we’ll save!”

He’s imploring with you, clearly desperate. Once upon a time ago, you would’ve agreed, would’ve thrown away anything and everything for the greater good; just so this could all end. Perhaps throughout those times of having to pay the heaviest price but get nothing in return, you’ve had enough. This time, you can’t afford it. Not ever again.

“Don’t come any closer. I mean it!” The doctor’s voice halts your resolute steps once again and you find yourself getting irritated. Your grip on your pistol is itching to just shoot him to get it over with so that you can make your escape. It’s an awful thought but these people are no better than those bandits you and him encounter on your journey here. They mean nothing to you, and they certainly don’t deserve any effort of trying to convince them to let you leave peacefully with him.

You wordlessly pocket your pistol, the gesture catching the man in front of you off guard; his expression is that of surprise even if the surgical mask covered half of it. It was a mistake on his part. With cold and calculative steps, you’re upon him and before he could register it, the scalpel he was holding is lodged into his throat. He goes down choking and gurgling his own blood.

“No!” You hear the first assistant cry out. Your gaze whips to her and you meet her harsh glare head one. “You fucking animal!” She spits out the words with venom.

Animal…she had called you.

Ironic, but better than a monster you suppose.

You don’t even register the motion of pulling out your pistol and pulling the trigger at her until the shot rings out and her body slumps down to the ground, lifeless.

And really, from there it was all a blur, like you had blacked out from the adrenaline rushing through you because the next thing you knew, you’re heaving to catch your breath, leaning in an elevator as it made its way down to the garage park, barely keeping him upright on your back. It was a struggle, but you made it…. You wheeze a laugh in spite of it all. Holy shit…. You did it. He’s gonna be okay.

“You can’t save him.”

Your path is stopped yet again by the barrel of a gun being held by none other than the person you once called friend. She’s got that hard gaze on again, a mask that makes it hard to get a read on her even as she approaches into the light from the shadows of the underground parking lot. But you stand your ground; your grip on him only tightens.

“Even if you get him out of here, then what? How long before he’s torn to pieces from a pack of clickers?” She’s testing you, trying to guilt trip you into giving in to your fears and weaknesses at the last second. It makes your own gaze hardened, lips drawn into a thin line as the both of you being to circle each other in slow, calculative steps.

“That’s not for you to decide.” You clipped back through gritted teeth.

“What can you do for him, Y/N? Do you honestly think you can protect him forever? If not death by clickers, then what about being murdered by violent gangs?”

“Y/N?”

His voice jolts you back with a gasp and it nearly had you slamming the breaks to the car. You catch yourself in time to only cause a slight jerk in the ride before continuing to make your way out of the city.

“Sorry.” You mumble, glancing back him and giving him a wry smile. He looks more awake now, sitting up on the passenger seat at the centre to be able to reach you between the space. He offers a small, comforting smile though his eyes still shine with worry.

“You sort of spaced out so I kinda got worried….” He trails off, meaning to sound casual but from all the time you’ve spent with each other, you know he’s trying to tread carefully with you. It makes the corners of your mouth twitch upwards a little. It’s so like him to be considerate of your feelings when really it should be about him right now.

“No, no I’m fine.” You reply back. “I just— remembered something….”

She almost had you there. The statement bringing back awful memories that you wanted to keep buried in the deepest parts of you possible. It made you hate her…. but it made you hate yourself more because for a split second, you had the thought that maybe you weren’t fit to protect him after all.

“It’s what he would want… And you know it.”

Her voice cuts in through dark thoughts. You don’t know whether to be thankful because you were very close to breaking out into cold sweat at the mere memory of what happened. No… You shouldn’t be thankful because she’s clearly trying to use it against you now; to give him up when you’re so close to just leaving this all behind.

“Look….” She tries again with a softened voice, taking your silence as hesitation when really, your resolve has already been made. In her ignorance, she slowly draws the gun away, making a show to raise her hands in a non-threatening manner. “You can still do the right thing, Y/N….” She gives you a look of empathy. “He won’t feel anything."

Huh…

“What did you remember?”

A gun shot.

“They told me— that they’ve stopped looking for a cure.” You’re disgusted at yourself at how easily that lie left your lips. How easily you lied to, of all people, him. There’s nothing but silence and it makes you even more afraid to look back to see his reaction. So all you do is stare at the road straight ahead as you continue to weave in and out of rusted, broken down cars. You feel his presence linger before hearing him shift back to sit in the seat. When the nagging was too much, you chance a glance in the rear view mirror to catch his profile, watching the scenery pass by through the window with a melancholy stare. It only makes your heart clench, seeing him so unlike his usual carefree self.

Whether he believed in your lie, all you know is that he didn’t deserve any of this. He was dragged through this mess all because he was immune. And there’s no denying you were a part of it too….

“I’m sorry….” You whispered.

A sharp exhale leaves your mouth as you watch her drop to the ground, groaning in pain and the barrel of your gun still smoking. The angle in which you held his body gave you enough cover to sneak your hand behind to grip your pistol in your back holster, allowing you to be able to draw out the gun and shoot in her own moment of weakness. The tension leaves your body slowly as you haul yourself to the nearest car, popping open the door of the SUV to gently lay him along the backseat. After making sure he’s all right, you shut the door and make your way back to the writhing woman.

“Wait please…!” She pants, holding out a hand to halt your movements in front of her. You only stare down at her, emotionless to her wildly pleading eyes and the alarming pool of blood that’s growing. “Let me go!”

You stare at this person you used to call friend, who you used to fight alongside with, who tried to kill you…. and now who’s begging for their life. How things have changed….

How you’ve changed.

“You’re just gonna keep coming after him.”

Were your last words before you raised your gun and pulled the trigger.

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britaisy · 7 years

Text

Lost Boys (Solangelo college au fanfic)

Synopsis: Nico Di’Angelo and Will Solace enter college with the lingering hope that they are entering a new, better chapter of their lives.They see college as the golden opportunity to escape their grim pasts, a chance for a fresh, happy start. They soon discover that reality is not so peachy. Their flaws, torments and past are leeched on them and along with a new chapter, they welcome new problems, new pains, new struggles. They learn that ‘happy’ is something you build on everyday’ and that life never submits to plans.

—-

CHAPTER 1: FIRST IMPRESSIONS

When the taxi halted Nico was harshly snapped out of his brooding. The abrupt stop jerking his torso forward, against the, thankfully, secure, seat-belt, perhaps the only functional piece in the malfunctioning, tatty taxi that had picked him up in his haste.

“Here ye’ are, kid” the driver croaked in his hoarse voice, probably the inevitable result of decades of blackening his lungs with cigars, Nico mused.

“Yeah, thanks” the boy deadpanned, unfastening the belt before fishing out his wallet from his jacket’s pocket, discreetly pulling out a handful of dollars.

“That’s some nice wallet you got there, kid. Your ol’ man rich or somethin’?”

Nico’s eyes lifted to the driver, narrowing at the glimmering greediness in his blanched by age eyes that were pinned on the handsome, black leather wallet, like a raccoon catching glimpse of a gold nugget. The boy shoved the wallet back into his pocket.

“Here’s the money. Keep the change” he coldly responded, placing the dollars in the driver’s callous, wrinkled palm.

Indifferent to hear the driver’s reply, Nico bolted out of the taxi, eager to move his legs after a two-hour drive in the small, restricting back seat. He rapidly removed his suitcase from the car’s trunk and stepped away as the taxi roared back to life, the driver avid for stripping another customer from a couple of dollar bills.

His chest heaved as his lungs breathed fresh air in avarice. The odor of cigars from the old taxi-driver’s full ash-tray was still lingering beneath Nico’s nostrils, making the boy scowl, exacerbating his already foul mood. He took another hungry breath, this time to steady his anxiety-ridden heart-beat.

He was here. He made it.

Lanky fingers subconsciously stroked the cold surface of the silver ring on the forefinger on his right hand, a gesture seeking for reassurance, comfort, and strength. Gripping the suitcase in determination he turned around to face the entrance of his college’s campus.

The campus was spurting with life. A mop of students hurried along a wide slanted road that was placed in the middle of two large patches of vividly-colored, fake grass. Students with identical T-shirts handed out leaflets, inviting wondering newbies to freshers’ week events. Behind stands, stood grinning people, trying to fish as many freshers for their societies as possible.

Nico’s heartbeat picked up on the busy rhythm of the campus. His limbs were trembling with anxiousness and anticipation. ‘This is it’, he kept repeating to himself. ‘You are not running away from this. You are doing this’. This was the only chance he could get for a fresh start. This was the opportunity he had been waiting to escape his past, to walk down a new path.

Without any second thoughts, he pulled on his suitcase, entering the front gate to be immediately swallowed by the buzzing crowd.

—

Life was a huge bitch. Obviously, this was something Nico had come to acknowledge from quite a young age. Nevertheless, it was a fact that never ceased to miss the opportunity to be cruelly rubbed on his face. The boy stood in the narrow corridor of his college accommodation, arms crossed in front of his chest. An exasperated expression was contorting his pale face as he glared at the sturdy, blond boy before him

Jason Grace fidgeted with the edges of his blue shirt awkwardly, trying his best to avoid his friend’s fierce glare. Nico may was small in size, but damn, Jason could name a couple of quarterbacks who would flinch away from the boy’s glare.

“I am sorry Neeks” he mumbled for the tenth time, hand jumping to his short blond hair. “You know I didn’t do it on purpose. I wanted us to be roommates, but I got distracted and by the time I applied, your floor was already booked. But, I will be living on the floor below, so we’ll still hang all the time!”

“Living in the floor below with your best mate, Bryan” Nico bitterly added. “Football bros living together, talking about muscles and chicks’ asses, how very American.”

Jason’s chiselled face hardened at the sharpness in Nico’s tone. He liked the boy. No matter how many times the boy snorted and denied it, Nico was his best friend, he knew things about Jason that he had never said to any of his ‘football bros’. Jason was patient with him, but there were times when Nico just didn’t know how to restrain his spite and there were some times when Jason just wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

“Can you not do this please?” he pleaded, tone tired. “There’s no reason to be so spiteful towards Bryan. He’s never done anything to you.”

“Well, he sure doesn’t smile up to his ears when he sees me, does he? Wasn’t he the one who called me a ‘spoilt punk brat’? Or was that Matt? Either way, they are all the same. All the lot carry the same rotten brains, must be all the tackling”

“I am part of that lot” Jason retorted, eyebrows knitting, the faintest wrinkle of annoyance folding the skin between his brows. “You know what, whatever” Jason decided shaking his head. “I can’t talk with you when you are like this. Settle in, I’ll come pick you up tonight for the freshers’ party.”

The blond shoved his hands in his jacket, gave the smaller boy a nod and walked away. Turning his head, Nico snorted as his eyes pinned upon his best friend. “Send dear Bryan my love” he called out after him, sarcasm lacing his tone.

Nico continued watching his friend walking away until he pushed open the door to the stair case and disappeared behind it. He cursed under his breath, anger still simmering inside him. They had talked about living together in college. They had made plans, a list of movies to watch and trashy things to eat. But, Jason of course had to take his sweet time applying for housing. The ‘distraction’ he had mentioned was most certainly one of those stupid parties the football team threw after term end. The kind of parties Nico was never invited to.

The mere thought of Jason partying it up with the sort of jerks who grimaced whenever Nico was in their general direction supplied his anger like fuel poured into fire. He gripped the handle of his case excessively tight, until his knuckles turned white and he could feel his nails digging into his palm. Then, he felt guilty for being pissed at the idea of Jason having fun without him, even with people he didn’t like. He didn’t own Jason, unlike him; Jason had a life with several other friends in it other than his own miserable ass. Why was he so gooddamn petty?

“Fuck this” He hissed to himself, hand reaching for the door key in his pocket which he had received from the sour-looking, middle aged receptionist on the first floor. With his shitty luck, his roommate would be a weirdo, probably a pervert with questionable objects hidden under his bed. Sighing, he put the key in the lock and paused before turning it. There was a fair chance his roommate was in there and him walking into a bad moment.

He pulled out the key and knocked on the door. Better safe than sorry. He’d much rather avoid any unnecessary awkwardness. A considerable amount of time seemed to pass without anything happening. Whoever he was, his roommate was not inside, which was great news. Nico wouldn’t have to be forced into an awkward get-to-know each other. He was about to reach for his keys when the door knob clicked. The door was opened with a creaking sound to reveal a wet boy with a towel firmly wrapped around his waist.

“Ah, sorry about this, I was in the shower” he started. “May I help you?”

There was a slight southern accent lingering in his tone, Nico noticed. Briefly, his dark eyes run over him. He was tanned and had fair hair damped darker with water.

“I am Nico. I will be living here. I assume you are my roommate?”

“Oh, It’s nice to meet you” the blond extended a hand. “Name’s Will, Will Solace”

Nico gave Will’s hand a curt shake before looking over his shoulder to the room. “So, shall I come in?”

“Of course, need any help with your baggage?” he politely offered, a smile forming on his face.

He was nice enough for now, Nico mused. Then again, first impressions, scientifically proven, are almost always false.

“Nah, I got it” He lifted his bag and walked into the room once Will had stepped aside to let him pass. The room was rather small to what Nico was usually accustomed, too. Yet again, the bedroom in his home was extravagantly big, so perhaps, this is what was considered to be average size. There were two single beds on each far side of the room, each of them paired up with a nightstand with a sad-looking olive coloured lamp sitting on top. One of the walls consisted of two identical wardrobes and right beside the wall stood a double desk with two chairs, stripped with sunbeams that peeked through the curtained window on top of it.

It was okay, Nico guessed. He hadn’t had high hopes, anyway. He didn’t particularly care of the size. On a positive note, the beige walls were vacant, which made him feel glad for bringing some of his posters with him.

“So…eh, I’ll let you settle in” Will pondered, smiling yet again, before, in Nico’s delight, retreating into a small door which must be the shower.

He threw himself on the bed, feeling the springs bouncing under his weight and settled himself in the middle of the pillow, forearms wrapped behind his head, his dark eyes staring at the beige roof above him. This wasn’t half-bad, he could fill up his part of the wall with his posters, make the place feel more like him. All he really needed was somewhere to sleep and somewhere to put his laptop and books on, and he seemed to have all that, so he was satisfied. The great matter at hand was the roommate.

Still embittered by Jason’s betrayal, Nico frowned. If this blond dude turned out to be some perverted psycho serial killer, he was totally going to put the blame on Jason for being murdered. Will smiled a lot and really brightly, which was something Nico did not trust. Yet, again, Jason always pointed out that he never trusted anyone despite the way they acted or behaved.

‘I trust you’ Nico would begrudgingly say. “Only me” Jason would respond back. “And that is because we are neighbours and I have the patience of a saint”

Nico knew Jason was right. But he had come to the conclusion that it was easier not to trust people, not to expect anything from them. Humans had the remarkable ability of turning everything into shit. You held them up to some certain standards and then right away they would do something to crush that down and Nico had grown exhausted of picking up pieces of shattered trust.

Hearing a door shutting close, Nico turned to watch Will, now dressed in cargo pants and shirt, sitting awkwardly on his bed. He beamed a flashy smile his way that did not quiver even when it was met with Nico’s deadpan expression.

“So, Nico, are you a fresher?”

Small talk. Nico hated small talk.

“Yeah” he replied, waiting a long minute before dully adding. “You?”

“Same.”

Awkward silence, Will was still smiling. Nico wondered if his facial muscles were problematic or something.

“There’s the freshers’ party tonight . Are you going?”

“I guess” Nico was painfully aware he had no say in this. Jason would be banging on his door , kick it down if he had to, and carry him on his very own shoulder to make sure he went to the party. Jason just couldn’t accept the fact that Nico simply did not socialise. He hadn’t attended many parties, but the ones he had always concluded in two ways. He would either end up in a fight with a guy considerably bigger than him for failing to keep his mouth shut, or he would end up pinned against the wall having his face sucked by a drunk.

“Look, there’s no need to make small talk” Nico started, sitting up on his bed. Will made a funny face, his eyebrows travelling up in the middle of his forehead.

“Okay” he retorted in an uncanny manner.

“I don’t mean to come off as rude” Nico drily added. “I am just saying that there’s no need for the awkward talk. We don’t have to be friends just because we ended up in the same room. I will mind my own business and you will mind yours and we are going to be just fine”

Will rolled his eyes at him and regarded him with a long, blank look. “Sure, if that’s what you like” he finally replied, tone betraying nothing. Nico watched as the blond stood up, picked up a book from his desk and settled back on his bed, no longer paying attention to him.

Alright, perhaps he had been a bit cold. Jason had pissed him off and he wasn’t used to meeting new people without Jason being around to guide him. This was new and the day had been stressful enough already.

“Look, Will, I am sorry for coming off as an arse. I am just…a bit tired.”

Will looked up from his book, eyes fixing on Nico. He had blue eyes, Nico listlessly noted, same as Jason’s, only Will’s were slightly darker.

“Nah, it’s really fine. You are fine. To be honest, I am looking for some quite time, as well. So, each of us minding his own business sounds just fine to me. I have some hard studies ahead of me, so I think we will mesh well. Though, yeah, you did come off as an arse.”

Nico lifted an eyebrow, propping his right leg on his left knee. “Well, glad we settled that out then. I will now take a nap and spare us both of more awkwardness. So, catch you later!”

Nico lay down on his bed again, resting his head against the flat, hard pillow before shutting his eyes. Hopefully sleep would improve his mood.

#solangelo #solangelo fanfiction #solangelo au #college au #mywriting #nico di angelo #will solace #so i started this a while back #and i really want to finish it #lost boys

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chefgeofframsay · 7 years

Text

Revelations

Title: Revelations Pairing: Trevor Collins/Reader Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 6,514 Summary: GTA V AU: “Reader and Trevor are in rival crews but they keep that from each other as they start a relationship and find out about the others criminal life while doing a heist and the crews meet?” Commission for @karlitaburrito Warnings: Guns, canon-typical mentions of violence, fights, angst

Rooftops were a quiet place for you to sit and consider things more often than not. Admittedly, you were mostly there to shoot people, which wasn’t the greatest thing that you could be doing but one, if you weren’t up there with a sniper rifle, someone else would be and the whole chain of events would happen regardless and two, at least it gave you time to clear your head. Los Santos looked the way most things did: better from a distance and up on the fifty-story skyscraper, it looked magnificent. It was far quieter than down on the sidewalks where there was constant screaming, car horns, and people who played their (shitty) music too loud. Paired with the smell of garbage and exhausted fumes, it made living in the city far less appealing.

But the view?

The view more than made up for it in the end. You dealt with everything else just to have the ability to jump in a helicopter and sit on a rooftop and stop for a minute, and enjoy. You just wish it’d stay quiet longer than it seemed to.

“Earth to [Y/N] up there!” A woman’s voice coming from the earpiece in your left ear shook you back to reality. “We need you to focus up on the target. We’ve got a minute, maybe a minute and a half tops before that door closes.”

“Have I ever let you down before?” you asked, taking the moment left of calm to screw the silencer onto your sniper.

“There’s a first time for everything,” another voice, male this time, chimed in.

“Adam?” you sighed, squinting to look into your scope properly. You aimed your shot at the fuse box just beyond the cargo bay door that had opened a few minutes ago, waiting until the truck pulled out to pull the trigger. There was a loud bang as the bullet made contact with the target and a shower of electrical sparks before total darkness. “Go fuck yourself.”

Adam’s chuckles buzzed through your earpiece and you smirked as you watched him and Elyse rush through the cargo bay, under the door that was permanently open now that the power was cut. You’d remain up there until they exited the same way they came, or until they told you otherwise. Then there’d be a jump, a parachute to the top of a parking garage, where there’d be a car waiting for you to drive away. Everything was planned perfectly.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Adam whispered quickly.

“What’s wrong?”

Adam’s reply was harder to hear over the sound of gunshots. “You’ll never guess who came in the front door.”

About ten seconds later, you saw three men rush out the cargo bay door and you didn’t have to think about it to figure out who they were. Two were more than familiar to you, and the third you could guess who it was.

“How the fuck did they get here before us?” you grumbled, tracking them as they ran for the alleyway next to the building. “Do you want me to take them out?”

“As much as I want to say yes, it’ll end up damaging the score and it’ll be useless,” Elyse sighed. “We’re bailing before the cops show up and you should do the same.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, watching as three members of the Fake AH Crew, your immediate rival in Los Santos (all gangs were rivals but the shit they pulled? Another level of personal) speed out of the alleyway on bikes. In spite of what Elyse told you, out of anger, you aimed for the back tire of the bike holding two people and pulled the trigger. The bike skittered and slid out from under them once the tire popped. You chuckled as you watched them scramble, and as the other bike returned, you lined up a shot and pulled the trigger again, popping the front tire of the other bike. You could have shot those sitting ducks then and there, but deciding to let the LSPD deal with them (you noticed the lights coming) you decided to bail. The parachuting to the garage and getting to the car that’d drive you away worked flawlessly and as you drove down the street, away from the scene of the crime, you could see the cars surrounding them. If nothing else, that certainly made you feel better.

Unfortunately, not everyone was as pleased as you were with yourself about the fact you had shot out the usurpers’ tires.

“You did what?” asked Bruce, giving you a look as if you were absolutely insane.

“Tires. Shot them,” you repeated. “Makes the bikes useless. They got the score but they didn’t get away.”

“And you guys are sure it was Geoff’s lot?” he asked, glancing from you to Adam and then to Elyse.

“Yeah,” sighed Elyse, nodding.

“It was the angry one with glasses, the short one, and the one with the nose,” Adam explained. “Came in the front door and by the time we got to the vault, they were already in there cackling. Thanked us for turning off the lights and rushed out the way we came in.”

“Fuck!” Bruce exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table. “First, they beat us there and then we piss them off. You know we don’t have the numbers if they come for us, [Y/N]. And you got three of their guys arrested.”

“But I didn’t kill them, did I?” you asked. “I could have just as easily put those bullets in their head.”

“[Y/N] has a point,” came another voice from another of the men in the room. The source of the voice, Lawrence, was standing near the door, his glasses in one hand while the other rubbed his face. “Maybe not the smartest way to go about it, but they’ve been laughing in our faces and we’re just taking it.”

“Not your decision,” Bruce said slowly. “Though since you two are so bent on bringing a crew twice our size to their knees, you two can figure out how to get us out of this mess before the come knocking on our door.”

You and Lawrence looked at each other, and just shrugged. It wasn’t something that was a suggestion so much as a demand, and you’d already upset Bruce enough for one night. The group more or less dispersed after that, and you made your way over to where Lawrence was standing.

“Do you actually want to help?” he asked you, shoving his glasses back onto his face.

“Do you actually need my help?” you questioned, raising your eyebrows and when he shook his head, you snorted. “Then I guess we’ve got this figured out. I’m going to go home before Trevor gets off from work.”

“Do you want a ride?” Elyse asked as she approached, James close behind.

“Yeah, I’d appreciate it,” you told her, smiling. “I let him borrow my bike because his car got messed up at work.”

“How?” asked James, “doesn’t he work as overnight security?”

“I think his car got hit in the parking lot,” you explained, looking over at him, but it suddenly hit you that Trevor hadn’t actually explained what’d happened to his car. He’d just told you it wasn’t usable for a few days while it got fixed, and asked if he could borrow your Akuma. In the back of the car, while James and Elyse prattled away about a heist the two of them were planning, you pulled your phone out of your jacket pocket to text him.

[To: Trevor]

Sorry you might beat me home! I ended up staying at my friend’s later than I meant to. How was work tonight?

You always felt a little guilty about lying to Trevor. It was more of a preservation thing than anything else, and not even preserving yourself. He was safer not knowing the kind of things you got into, or how good you were with a gun. The Fake AH Crew were a predictable bunch, but they always seemed to change the game when you got comfortable. It also didn’t help that you felt as if Trevor was the one normal thing in your life. Your relationship with him was the one thing you never felt dirty about; there wasn’t anything shady about it. You were just two people who loved each other. It was nice (hell, it was necessary) to have one not criminal part of your life.

He didn’t take long to reply, and the buzzing of your phone in your hand shook you from your inner guilt trip.

[From: Trevor]

Don’t worry, I haven’t left work yet. It’s been a bad night. Boss is unhappy.

[To: Trevor]

I’m sorry, babe :( I’ll be up with whiskey and kisses when you get home.

“How is he, anyway?” Elyse asked, causing you to look up from your phone. She was looking expectantly at you from the rearview mirror.

“What?” you asked confusedly.

“Trevor,” she explained. “I’m assuming that’s who you’re texting.”

“It is,” you chuckled. “He’s had a rough night at work, apparently.”

“He’s not the only one,” she sighed. The two of you seemed to deflate a bit as you remembered the night’s events. How had they gotten there before you? You still couldn’t figure that out.

After a few more minutes of silence, James spoke, turning in the passenger’s seat to look at you.

“Have you told him yet?”

You grimaced. “No.”

“How much longer do you think you’ll get away with not telling him?” he pressed. You shrugged, really not wanting to have this conversation yet again. As much as you loved James and Elyse, they weren’t exactly proponents of how you chose to conduct your life. At least, not when it came to keeping Trevor in the dark.

“Hopefully forever,” you said shortly. “I don’t see the need to involve him in any of it. He’s got enough stress with work, and…”

“And he deserves to know there’s a real possibility that one day, his girlfriend might not come home,” James pointed out, giving you a look. The thought made your stomach churn. You knew how dangerous your chosen lifestyle was, and when you were alone, it didn’t matter much that you continuously put yourself in harm’s way to make money. Trevor hadn’t exactly been in the plans, but he’d appeared and you couldn’t let him get away and now you had to keep both facets of your life separate. It was what kept you sane.

“Just don’t,” you grumbled. “It’s not your business.” Thankfully, he couldn’t get another word in edgewise because Elyse was pulling into an empty spot near the front door of your building. You thanked her for the ride and quickly jumped out, slamming the car door behind you. After punching in the right code to get in the door, and pushing the button on the elevator to get you to the nineteenth floor. While the elevator rambled its way upward, you dug around your pockets for your keys, finally finding them in an inside pocket of your jacket, and as the doors slid open, you headed for the third door on the left. Shoving the key into the lock, you opened your front door and sighed with relief to see you’d still beaten Trevor home.

It didn’t help the guilt thing when he was sitting on the couch waiting for you.

You meandered into your kitchen, pulling two of the nice glasses from the drying rack next to the sink (they never seemed to make it back to their proper home with the rest of your nice drinkware because they were in constant use) and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the cabinet that the two of you left for alcohol. You found your way back into the living room, putting the glasses and bottle onto the coffee table before flopping down onto the couch.

You told yourself you were only going to lay there for a second, and just close your eyes because you were looking right up at the light…

The next thing you knew, an exhausted looking Trevor was sitting on the floor next to where your head was with his back against the couch.

“Hey,” you greeted groggily (you’d definitely fallen asleep), rolling over to face him and reaching a hand out to run it through his hair. “How long have you been home?”

“About five minutes,” he told you, raising his glass to his mouth. “You looked much too cute to wake up.” He smirked, looking over at you before taking a sip of his whiskey. You pulled your hand away from his head and went to sit up to give him space to sit on the couch, but reached back, putting his hand on your hip to stop you.

“Don’t bother,” he said, “I’m comfortable down here. Besides, I don’t think I could get up right now if I tried.”

“If you say so, Trev,” you sighed, settling back in and beginning to play with his hair again; he let his eyes shut and a small smile appeared on his face. “Do you want to talk about work?”

“Not much to talk about,” he explained after a moment. Trevor sighed heavily and leaned back into your hand, giving you a better angle. “Three people didn’t exactly do their jobs right and now the boss isn’t thrilled with any of us.”

Well, that was something you could relate to.

“Sorry you had a bad night,” you said quietly.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, turning to look at you, causing your hand to fall from his head again. He smiled at you, and you could tell how tired he was. You’d been with Trevor long enough to notice the way that his tired smile pulled at the corners of his lips and how his eyes just didn’t have that sparkle they usually did.

“One bad night’s not the end of the world,” Trevor pointed out. “It’ll be fine.” He leaned over towards you, giving you a quick kiss. “What about you? How was Elyse’s?”

“It was good,” you lied, groaning internally. You hated these conversations and having to make stuff up, but it beat the alternatives of scaring him away and having two areas of your life you needed to keep secret colliding. “The three of us had dinner out at that place in Vinewood and then we came back and watched some movie and I might have fallen asleep.”

“It’s probably a good thing I had your bike then,” Trevor chuckled. “Or else you might not have made it home.”

“Maybe not,” you agreed. You let out a loud yawn as Trevor emptied his glass of whiskey.

“We should probably both get some sleep,” he suggested and with a bit of effort, he managed to push himself off the floor, stretching out and making various joints crack as he did. “Come on,” he said, holding his hand out for you to take. You grabbed it and went to sit up, but the nap seemed to turn your body to lead and instead of moving, you just groaned. Trevor laughed lazily, tightening his grip on your hand and pulling you up off the couch. He held your hand as he led you on the familiar path through the apartment and into your bedroom. The two of you fell into your usual routine of him changing while you brushed your teeth and washed your face and then switching out (and him kissing your head as you passed each other in the bathroom door way) and then you changed into your pajamas while he brushed his teeth and washed his face. You were waiting in bed, trying to hold off from falling asleep again until Trevor climbed into bed with you.

“Hey,” Trevor said suddenly, popping out of the bathroom as he dried his face. “You know where we haven’t been in a while?”

“Anywhere that doesn’t smell like exhaust fumes and garbage?” you replied, smirking. He rolled his eyes at you, shaking his head.

“I was thinking the Del Perro Pier,” he told you. “Which smells like fish and garbage, so I guess you’re right.” You both laughed at that, and Trevor tossed his towel back into the bathroom and headed for the light-switch. Not long after the room went dark, the bed dipped and an arm snaked its way around your middle. He buried his face in your neck, sighing happily.

“Do you want to go ride the ferris wheel and get stuck at the top for an hour again?” you asked him, chuckling. “Relive our first date?” You felt him smile against your neck.

“Why not?” His voice was muffled but so close to your ear that you had no problem making out the words. “It worked so well for me the first time.” He pressed a kiss to your neck. You couldn’t help but smile at that.

“I don’t see why we can’t,” you told him. “Saturday?”

“Yeah, I think Saturday will work,” he stated. “I think I’m off.”

“We can figure it out tomorrow,” you yawned. “Right now I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Night,” he muttered into your neck, squeezing you a little bit as he shuffled closer.

You were asleep before you could say anything.

___

You were awoken rudely at noon by your phone ringing loudly on the night stand next to you. You were at a total loss of what was going on for a second, and then you were sure your phone was right there (but you hadn’t plugged it in last night?) and then you recognized the ringtone: Bruce was calling. You reached out and managed to accept the call right before it went to voicemail.

“Hello?” you answered, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We figured out how you’re going to fix this.” Bruce sounded to be in a better mood than he had been last night.

“How?”

“Be ready in an hour, we’re coming to get you. We’ll explain then,” Bruce told you, and then the line went dead. You rolled your eyes, but accepted the fact you had to get up and go take a shower before he got to your apartment. Stopping to check your notifications, you noticed the most recent one was a text from Trevor.

[From: Trevor]

Sorry I’m not home :( Boss called and I had to go in early. I plugged your phone in before I left though!

You shot him a quick sad face in response, and then thanked him for plugging your phone in. You then threw yourself out of bed and within fifteen minutes, you were standing in front of your mirror, dripping wet, trying to decide what to do with your hair. In the end, you blow-dried it the best you could, pulled a beanie (definitely Trevor’s) on as you got dressed, and called it a day. Grabbing your phone, you headed out of your bedroom, grabbed a quick snack, and headed down to the front door of your building. You had barely finished your snack when you saw James pulling up in Bruce’s car with Bruce in the passenger’s seat. Wordlessly, you slid into the back seat, waiting for Bruce to explain.

After a few minutes of driving in silence, Bruce finally spoke. “We’re going to meet with Geoff and one of his boys,” Bruce said simply. “You’re coming with me. We’ll see if we can’t hash things out. You’re going to apologize for your outburst and the unfortunate consequences, and that’ll be that.”

You desperately wanted to roll your eyes at the mention of an “outburst” because your actions were perfectly reasonable; if nothing else, they weren’t severe enough. Still, you held your tongue and waited to see if Bruce would go on. When he did, you just continued to listen.

“They might demand we surrender you to them,” he sighed, “and don’t worry, we won’t. Just keep your mouth shut besides the apology. Okay?”

“Fine,” you said quietly. You decided to just go along with it, at least for the time being. You had a terrible habit of not being able to bite your tongue and a burning desire to be snarky at any possible opportunity. But you’d agreed to (maybe) keep your mouth shut (for once) and that was what you’d do. As James pulled the car to the curb and brought it to a stop, you saw that you were meeting at an abandoned warehouse, which seemed cliché (read: lame) but you kept your mouth shut.

“I’ll be here waiting for you guys,” James informed as Bruce opened the door to get out. James turned back to face you and gave you a reassuring thumbs up, making you roll your eyes but nevertheless smile and return it. You slid out of the car, shutting the car door behind you and following after Bruce. The warehouse itself smelled like dust and rust and a bit of gunpowder, and it certainly made your nose crinkle, but you were just glad it didn’t smell like decomp. You hated the fucking smell of decomp. You weren’t surprised to see two other people lurking in the shadows by the staircase and you could just feel the words, the comment about what an obvious (read: lame) power move it was but you bit your tongue once more. You stopped right behind Bruce, crossing your arms while you waited for the others to join you in the middle of the room. After a minute of them talking to each other, they came to meet you, and the first into view was a man you were all too familiar with. Geoff Ramsey, while you’d never actually seen him out on a heist, you recognized his face from the posters. Someone in the crew had rounded up wanted posters of Ramsey a year back and tacked them to the wall for knife target practice. Your attention turned to the other man as he fully came into view. He was…

Trevor.

There was absolutely no doubt in your mind that that was your boyfriend. You squinted because it couldn’t be but the harder you looked the more you realized that yes, it was. The air seemed to leave your lungs and everything suddenly seemed so far away as you stared at him, unable to comprehend anything else that was going on. He was staring back at you like a deer caught in the headlights of a bus. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to do anything that wasn’t see your boyfriend standing next to Geoff fucking Ramsey, representing your crew’s main rival.

Bruce nudging you in the arm was what brought you back to your senses. “Don’t you have something to say, kid?” he led, giving you a ‘don’t fucking embarrass me’ look.

“Right,” you said breathlessly, looking from Bruce back over to Geoff and Trevor and not really seeing anything. You couldn’t focus; all you saw was two people shaped blurs. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” snapped Geoff. “Sorry for ruining our score or getting my guys arrested?”

You could hear your normal self in the back of your mind, saying something along the lines of ‘sorry I didn’t kill them when I had the chance’ but the rest of you was just freaking out about the face Trevor was there, and now Trevor knew what you did.

In the end, it was Bruce that answered.

“You know it wasn’t a big deal,” Bruce sighed. “Your guys are already out and she could have easily aimed those bullets somewhere else but she didn’t. I think we can let it go.”

“I think we’ll let it go when our boy over here has had a chance to show her his knife collection,” Geoff stated, looking over at Trevor with a smug face. Trevor looked panicked as he looked back at Geoff. He shook his head slightly, causing Geoff to roll his eyes.

“What? Are you not going to consider it because she’s a girl?” he groaned. Trevor looked from Geoff to you and back, mouth opening and closing it repeatedly. Geoff glared at him for a moment, and then turned back to you and Bruce.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “You guys will bring us the money you lost us when the cops confiscated everything we took, and we’ll call it even.” Bruce looked at you, and then back at Geoff.

“We can do that,” he told him. There was a silence, which Bruce took to mean everything was done. Without another word, he turned and headed back towards the door you came in. You looked at Trevor once more, shaking your head before running after Bruce, who was already at the door. You both got into the car and you couldn’t even hear what Bruce was saying in response to James asking how it went.

You had barely made it back into the crew’s planning room before Bruce was asking what the fuck had just happened and you had burst into tears.

“Trevor,” you sobbed, barely registering James pulling you into a hug.

“Do they have him or something?” Lawrence asked. “[Y/N] I can plan a rescue mission and we can get him back before anything happens.” You shook your head as best you could as James had smushed you to him, still crying.

That’s when it seemed to hit Bruce, judging by the noise of comprehension he made from somewhere near you.

“You know that lanky fuck who likes using knives for fucking everything?” Bruce asked. “I take it that’s Trevor.” You nodded wordlessly.

“Oh fuck,” James groaned. “And you didn’t know, did you?” You shook your head.

“The same way he didn’t know about her,” Elyse pointed out as she entered the mix, shoving a tissue into your hand. You detached yourself from James and wiped your eyes the best you could.

“What do we do now?” asked Lawrence, looking at you with the closest thing to pity you’d ever seen from him.

“First thing’s first,” Bruce sighed, “someone takes [Y/N] home.” When you opened your mouth to protest, he held his hand up to stop you. “You’re feisty and unpredictable at the best of times. You’d be absolutely volatile if we let you out now, and we really can’t afford that. Plus, possibly attacking your long-term boyfriend shouldn’t be high on your list.”

You definitely had no response to that.

“I’ll take her home,” Elyse declared, looping her arm with yours and beginning to tug you towards the door. “I’ll be back soon.” For once in your life, you had no fight in you, you let yourself be led out to Elyse’s car and get shoved into the passenger’s seat. You sat there in silence, still trying to dry your eyes before you realized you weren’t heading toward your home.

“Why are you bringing me to your place?” you asked Elyse, looking over at her. Her eyebrows knitted together and she glanced over at you with a confused look on her face.

“Because you can’t go home,” she told you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. When you still seemed confused, she pressed on. “They know where you live and that you’re one of us. There’s nothing to stop them from killing you then and there.”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” you told her, glaring as your stomach churned at the reality of the situation. You knew she was right; the Fake AH Crew was definitely mad at you specifically, and they’d have easy access to the apartment, but Trevor wouldn’t let him in. You were sure of that. “Either take me home or I’ll walk there.”

“Are you ever not stubborn?” Elyse asked as she turned down the road that would take you home.

“It’s my best quality,” you told her, chuckling slightly. “It’s endearing most of the time.”

Elyse, once she had pulled up to your building, insisted on coming up to your apartment with you, but you talked her down. You wanted to crawl into bed and not deal with the world, and her tearing through your rooms with a gun would impede that. Besides, you seriously doubted they’d think you’d come back to your apartment. Once you were upstairs, you were sure it was okay. The apartment was fairly dark, which made sense considering you hadn’t left any lights on, and you closed the door behind you, sighing with relief.

You went to turn the light on, and once you’d flipped the switch, you found yourself being pushed up against the wall and face to face with Trevor. You gasped in surprise, but didn’t immediately go to throw him off. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it; it was, however, the first time he did it while looking so angry. In fact, you were almost positive you’d never seen him mad before but the way his face was contorted, you were sure he was now.

“How long?” Trevor growled, staring you down. You did your best to keep yourself looking perfectly at ease.

“How long what?”

“How long have you been running with Fakehaus?” he added quickly. “What did they tell you to get you to join? Have they been spying on me using you?”

Your heart fell right into your stomach and for the second time today, you felt your eyes sting with tears, but you’d be damned if you were going to let yourself cry then. “Like two years? Maybe three?” you offered, voice wavering slightly. “I’ve been with them before I even met you, Trevor. And before you ask, I wasn’t ever spying on you. I didn’t know, Trev.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” you said before you could stop yourself. “When were you going to tell me?”

Immediately, you knew that was the wrong thing to say. If it was even possible, his face contorted into an even angrier look. His hand met wall, nowhere near you, but the sudden noise was enough to make you jump. Trevor twitched and quickly stepped back from you, as if he’d gotten burned. He rubbed at his face, breathing heavily. You stood there, watching him.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I was never in this for any other reason than that I love you,” you told him, voice almost too quiet to hear. He stared at you for a long moment, an indescribable look in his eyes and then he shook his head.

“I need to go,” he told you and without another word, he opened the front door and slammed it on his way out. You felt like you had just gotten the wind knocked out of you again and without much thought, you slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Pulling your knees to your chest and resting your head on it, you finally let yourself cry. Things felt far too permanent. Considering all the talks of the future the two of you had had, for things to end like that broke your heart in two. You legitimately couldn’t imagine a life without him anymore.

You had no idea how long you were sitting there before the explosions started. At first, they seemed close by sound and the way the lamps in your apartment rattled. They seemed to go on for hours before slowly fading away, but not disappearing. They were just getting further away. It was entirely dark out before you couldn’t hear them anymore, and then James was opening your door with Elyse quick on his heels.

“There you are!” James exclaimed loudly. “Fuck, [Y/N], learn to use a phone.” You looked up at him, tilting your head like a confused puppy.

“What?”

“The bombs have been going off for hours,” sighed Elyse, bending down to be at face level with you. “We were afraid they’d started here…with you.” You shook your head.

“Nope,” you said weakly. “Trevor was here when I got home and he thought I was only with him to spy for the crew and…” you trailed off, sniffling. “He stormed out. The explosions started not long after.”

“One guess who it is, then,” James said. “There are reports that the Fake AH Crew are out in force tonight, but I don’t think it’s all of them doing this.”

“You think it’s Trevor,” you guessed. “I honestly…don’t know anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Elyse told you, “what matters is that you’re alright.”

“Physically? Yeah, I’m fine,” you explained. “Mentally and emotionally? Not so sure about that.”

“No one blames you for that,” James responded. “But we’re worried about you.”

“Come on,” Elyse said, standing up and grabbing your arm to bring you with her. “We’ll grab you some clothes and your phone charger, and you can hole up with us for a while.” Seeing as you didn’t have it in you to argue anymore, you led her to the bedroom, pulled a bag from the closet (being incredibly careful not to touch anything of Trevor’s) and dropping it on the bed. Elyse busied herself with grabbing you changes of clothes, and climbing around your nightstand to unplug your charger while you sat on the bed, shaking your head. You let her lead you out, bag in your hands, and followed James out of the apartment, locking the door behind you guys.

___

The blasts around Los Santos went on for a couple days before they stopped entirely. All the time, you laid on the couch in an apartment that wasn’t yours, watching the news reports. By all accounts, it was the Fake AH Crew setting them off, but Lawrence told you one night (he had come to check up on you considering the crew didn’t seem to trust you alone anymore) that they were trying to track Trevor down to stop him. Hell, even your crew were out trying to find him before he blew up the entire city.

You’d gotten to go back to the operations base when the bombs finally stopped. You sat in your usual spot at the table, looking at each of your fellow crew members in turn and seeing just how tired they looked. What confused you was when Bruce entered the room, shoving his phone back into his pocket and declaring he’d just been talking to Geoff Ramsey.

“[Y/N],” he addressed you as he sat down. “Do you think you’d be up to doing something for me?”

“I don’t see why not,” you sighed. “Sitting around is kind of bumming me out more than I should be.”

“Good,” he said, nodding. “We have some restitution shit to deal with, but there’s something else that needs to be taken care of. I need you to go down to the ferris wheel on Del Perro Pier and wait for a guy.”

You waited for him to continue explaining; when he didn’t, you spoke: “You want me to wait for a guy? What guy? And then what am I supposed to be doing?”

“He’ll be looking for you,” Bruce explained, waving it off. “And you’ll know what to do when it happens. Just…get down there as fast as you can.”

“Without my bike?”

At that, a pair of keys were thrown on the table in front of you. Bruce motioned at them and told you he’d made arrangements to get you a new bike until you got your old one back. Finding no other reason to argue, you grabbed the keys and stood up from the table. You waved at everyone as you headed out the door, and out to the outside world. A click on the lock sounded a horn and brought your attention to a black Akuma not far from the front door. Shrugging, you got on it and kicked the bike to life and zoomed off for Del Perro Pier. You weaved through traffic, hopping onto the curb once or twice to avoid a truck and narrowly avoiding a pedestrian, but before long, you were parking the bike on the pier. You were planning on parking yourself on a bench but as you approached, you saw someone was already sitting there.

“Trevor,” you said breathlessly, causing him to look up at you. At first, there was a look of incredible relief on his face but then he looked ashamed of himself. As you got closer, he stood up and as soon as you were close enough, you threw your arms around him. He hugged you back tightly, burying his face in your hair.

“Fuck, [Y/N],” he breathed, “I’m so fucking sorry.” He pulled away, arms still around you but he was looking at you square in the face. “I shouldn’t have ever yelled at you but I was freaked and I didn’t know what else to do…” he trailed off, “that’s not an excuse but you need to know how fucking sorry I am.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I’m…sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Don’t be,” he told you. “I didn’t tell you either. We’re both in the wrong there…cancels it out.” You chuckled at the suggestion.

“Yeah?” you asked, “does that mean we can just forget this ever happened and go make out on the ferris wheel like we planned to today?” That made him laugh too.

“I don’t think we can forget this,” he sighed, “but we can figure it out. But right now, I want nothing more in the world than to go make out on the ferris wheel.” The two of you looked over to it, still holding onto each other. You remembered the ferris wheel fondly as it was there the two of you had gotten stuck on your first date and with the nerves of not getting down from the top until they fixed it, you forgot about being nervous about the date itself. It had worked out in your favor in the end, and after you finally got down, Trevor convinced the guy to let you guys go up again to have more alone time.

“I can’t imagine my life without you, [Y/N]” Trevor said seriously. “I spent three days trying to, and I lost my fucking mind,” he added, shaking his head. “I don’t care what it takes, what the crew wants…I’m not letting us go.”

Your heart soared and you couldn’t help but beam. “We’ll figure it out, Trevor,” you told him, “but that doesn’t have to be tonight. I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while, even before all of this. Let’s just enjoy some alone time.” You let your arms fall from his torso to instead grab his face and pull him into a kiss, which he reciprocated excitedly. “The world can wait for a bit,” you told him, panting slightly once you’d pulled away. “Right now, let’s go ride the ferris wheel.”

“I wonder if I can pay the guy to get us stuck on top like I did last time,” Trevor mentioned, smirking as he pulled you towards the ride.

#trevor x reader #AU: GTA #wc: 6k #rt imagine #rt reader insert #ragehappy #fic

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bangtanbombimagines · 7 years

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I Got You On My Mind [Part 4]

Jungkook Soulmate AU (Angst)

[Part One] | Previous Part | Part Four | Next Part

Summary: After your memory loss, adjusting back to normal life has been difficult. Luckily, Jungkook is always there for you. Still, something seems off about him, and you just can’t understand why.

Word count: 2k words

“Oh yeah, I’m being discharged tomorrow,” you told Jungkook, who was pushing your wheelchair through the hospital. He insisted that you needed a change of scenery. “My parents are going to pick me up and drive me back to my apartment.”

“I-I guess it’s too early for the ‘meet the parents’ thing, right?” Jungkook stammered, uncharacteristically nervous. “Unless you want me to. Like, I don’t mind if–”

“Chill, Jungkook,” you laughed, cutting his off his rambling. “I think they’re more worried about my brain damage than any soulmate business.”

“The doctors said you’ll recover your memories though, right?” Jungkook asked, worry lining his words. “Your memory loss won’t be permanent or recurring?”

“They said my memories will come back slowly,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. “But most of the time, the memories will have to be triggered by something. They also told me I might have short-term memory issues for the next little while.”

“That seriously sucks,” Jungkook said. “If you need any help with anything, just let me know. I don’t really know how I’d be useful, but don’t hesitate.”

“We’re not in the same department,” you snorted, turning to peer up at your soulmate who was both familiar and foreign in this instant. “This is gonna make school so difficult. I’ve forgotten nearly three months worth of content!”

“Maybe take the semester off?” Jungkook suggested. “Amnesia is a pretty valid reason. Have you talked at all to the university?”

“No,” you groaned, sinking into the wheelchair. “I don’t want to think about responsibilities right now. Just marvelling in the fact I’m still alive and kicking.”

A silence fell between you and Jungkook as he pushed you through a more crowded area of the hospital. You noticed a few younger visitors visibly gape at Jungkook, then glare at you jealously as you rolled by.

You agreed with them–how was Jungkook so damn good-looking? You hit the soulmate jackpot, for sure. Still, even if he looked different, you didn’t doubt that you would like him just the same.

“You know, it’s pretty crazy,” you blurted out unthinkingly. “I’ve been talking to you my entire life, and I always thought meeting you would feel like meeting an old friend. But honestly, you’re a total mystery to me right now. Maybe it’s because of the memory loss, or maybe other people feel this way, too.”

“No, I know what you mean,” Jungkook responded quietly, trying to figure out how to express his thoughts properly. “It’s just…we have an idea of who our soulmate is in our heads. When they’re not exactly that person, it’s kind of confusing.”

“And I’m sure there’s a lot of stuff we still don’t know about each other,” you agreed. “Honestly, I tried to make myself seem a lot better than I am.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jungkook laughed, though it sounded a bit off. You brushed it off as embarrassment. “Didn’t want to disappoint you.”

You turned your head and looked up into Jungkook’s eyes. “You couldn’t have disappointed me Jungkook, really. I’m just happy to finally meet you,” you replied, giving him a small smile. “And it’s kinda paradoxical, isn’t it? Disliking your own soulmate. Weren’t we, like, made to like each other?”

“I guess,” Jungkook said, staring ahead unwaveringly. He pushed you down another hallway, which led to the cafeteria. You only knew because of the wafting smell of hearty food was growing stronger by the second. “But nothing’s ever that simple.”

“Don’t I know it,” you sighed, laughing a little in spite of yourself. You turned the corner into the bustling cafeteria, the noise of the crowds deafening compared to the near-silent, depressing halls of the hospital.

“Want to grab something to eat?” Jungkook asked, the heaviness of your conversation vanishing before you could even blink. “I was going to grab something for myself, too.”

“Sure, I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you agreed. Out of habit, you reached down to pat your pockets for your wallet. “Oh shit, I don’t have any money on me. Don’t worry about it, then.”

“It’s cool, it’ll be my treat,” Jungkook said. When you turned to look at him, he was giving you a lopsided smile.

“Then, is this our first date?” you asked cheekily, delighting in the way Jungkook’s cheek burned. You never expected that a guy like Jungkook, with this terrible fuckboy persona, would be so easily flustered.

“If you want it to be, sure,” Jungkook answered, coughing into his hand awkwardly. You just laughed, and Jungkook pushed you forward wordlessly.

Life at home after getting discharged made staying in the hospital seem like an amusement park. After being sentenced to bedrest by your parents–and having Jieun enforce it with an iron fist–you spent your days bored out of your mind.

In only one week, you had binge-watched three shows, reread all of your course notes (and they didn’t help you remember anything), and read more manga that you had ever read before in your entire life.

You were positively itching to get outside and do something, but what bothered you the most was that you hadn’t talked to Jungkook since your “first date.” When you had gotten home, you jumped to charge your dead phone, which miraculously hadn’t been destroyed in the accident. But when the device finally charged, you soon realized that you had no way of contacting Jungkook.

For some reason, his phone number wasn’t saved in your contacts. Even though Jungkook had said you had met before, apparently you hadn’t exchanged numbers. That seemed very strange to you.

When you asked Jieun about it, she just shrugged the question off. She said your situation was a bit complicated, but that she’d have to leave it up to you and Jungkook. But Jieun did say that she would mention it to him when she saw him at school next.

Sighing, you reached for your phone beside you. It was still early in the morning. Time had lost all meaning to you, since you spent every moment of the day trapped in your apartment. A bit bitterly, you watched your friends’ Snapchat stories and longed to return to normal daily life.

Suddenly, your phone began buzzing. You dropped it in surprise, and it landed on your nose. The impact stung, and you cursed, reaching clumsily for the phone. You saw an unflattering picture of Jieun illuminate the screen. Eventually, you were able to answer.

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked, rubbing your hand against your sore nose.

“Y/N, I’m so fucking stupid!” Jieun practically screamed. Wincing, you held your phone away from your ear. “I know you shouldn’t be moving around, but I need you to come to the university right now. I’m working on a group project that’s due in two hours and a bunch of our files got corrupted. I have some stuff backed up on my laptop, which I left at home like an idiot!”

“Don’t worry, I can bring it to you,” you reassured quickly. “I won’t fall into traffic on the way there. It’s like a ten minute walk, so don’t worry.”

“Just don’t strain yourself, okay?” Jieun ordered, the panic still evident in her voice. “Don’t go to quickly and look both ways!”

“Hey, only I can make fun of myself,” you quipped, pulling yourself out from underneath the covers. “I’ll be over soon, I just need to get dressed.”

“Okay, see you soon. Thank you so much, Y/N,” Jieun said, and the both of you said your goodbyes before you disconnected the call.

You glanced down at your pyjama bottoms and at the thick cast over your right leg. Changing pants would be a battle for another day. Unsteadily, you stood up and balanced your weight on your unbroken leg. You reached for the crutches leaning against the wall beside you and tucked them underneath your arms.

As quickly as you could (which was not very quick), you had thrown on a clean shirt and a jacket. Your hair was a mess, so you shoved on a beanie to disguise the tangled frizz. With Jieun’s securely laptop in your backpack, you began the trek to school. Suddenly, the journey seemed incredibly long.

When you finally arrived on campus, you were panting lightly and sweating. You made your way into the music building, relatively unfamiliar with its layout. You detached yourself from one of your crutches and reached into your pocket for your phone. Quickly you sent Jieun a text letting you know you were here.

There were a few benches in the foyer, so once you hobbled over to them, you set your bag down lightly and placed your crutches against the benches. Flopping down, you discreetly tried to massage your sore armpits.

But you were glad to finally be out of the apartment. The fresh air made you feel infinitely better.

“Y/N?” a familiar voice called. Your head whipped around in the direction of the voice. Jungkook a few meters away from you, looking as dark and intimidating as ever. His wide-eyed expression kind of ruined the image though. “What are you doing here?”

“Jieun forgot her laptop at home,” you replied, pointing to the backpack at your feet, as Jungkook made his way toward you.

“Shouldn’t you be at home?” he questioned, stopping when he was standing in front of you. You craned your neck to at him properly. “Is it okay for you to be walking around so soon?”

“Please, don’t get started on that,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “My parents and Jieun are unbearable. I’ve been lying in bed doing nothing all week.”

“You know, that honestly sounds like heaven,” Jungkook joked. “I’m so swamped right now. I haven’t slept in days.”

You inspected Jungkook more closely. His eyes were ringed by purplish dark circles, but they were hardly noticeable. How unfair–he always looked good.

“Hey, why haven’t you talked to me all week?” you asked suddenly, narrowing your eyes at Jungkook suspiciously.

“I was meaning to call or text or something, but I don’t have your number,” Jungkook answered sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck awkwardly. “Didn’t know how to ask for it, since you haven’t been around campus lately.”

“Why’s that, though?” you continued, glancing down at your feet. “I mean–you said we met before. Why didn’t we keep in contact?”

“W-well, we did meet, but it wasn’t a proper conversation,” Jungkook explained stutteringly. “It wasn’t under the most normal circumstances, but–”

“Y/N!” Jieun’s loud voice suddenly interrupted. She burst into the foyer, looking absolutely frazzled. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were bloodshot, and you were pretty sure there were coffee stains on her shirt. “Thank god!”

Your friend ran over to you and practically dove for your backpack. She grabbed her laptop and hugged it tightly against her chest.

“Thank you so much. I’m so sorry I made you come all the way here,” Jieun cried, sounding frantic still. “Are you okay? Sore anywhere? Go home right away, okay? You need to rest. And please don’t tell your parents!”

“Oh my god, I’m fine Jieun,” you whined. “I think I can handle walking for, like, two minutes.”

“I just don’t want anything to happen!” Jieun insisted, stomping her foot childishly. “We’re speeding up the recovery process by being extra careful!”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Go work on your project and try not to fail.”

“I will,” Jieun replied. “I’ll bring dinner on my way home.” She turned, only spotting Jungkook for the first time. Her eyes narrowed and she frowned slightly. “Jungkook.”

“Jieun,” he replied, just as shortly.

You looked between the two of them, wondering why there was so much tension. It looked like they were having a silent conversation, and you hated not knowing what was going on. You had the suspicion they were hiding something from you–but for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out what, exactly.

Eventually, Jieun just nodded and strode away, leaving Jungkook with a tight expression. Visibly, you could see Jungkook try to shake away the tension, his jaw unclenching. When he turned back to you, his features were schooled.

“Give me your phone,” Jungkook said, reaching out his hand and smiling softly. “I’ll add my number.”

- Girl in Luv

Okay, so this one was a bit filler-y. Originally I had planned to make this one angsty too, but I figured you guys could use the respite. Also, it would have been like 4k words and it’s like 2:30AM and this girl needs to sleep. Anyway, stay tuned!! Thanks as always for reading, and I hope you all enjoyed. Your replies and reblogs/tags are so cute I read them all 💛💛💛💛

#jungkookxreader #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook fic #jungkook drabble #bts imagines #bts fic #bts drabble #jungkook scenario #>5k #sfw #soulmates #girlinluv #college au #angst #fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagines

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freudensteins-monster · 7 years

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The Wager

@captain-biryani asked for Logyn x 10 Things I Hate About You. Sorry it’s late, and I hope it’s okay. xoxox

Character descriptions inspired by @nanihoosartblog Logyn High School AU posts.

Loki sat in the living room, a sharp contrast to the cheerful décor in his signature black, trying not to sigh with boredom whilst Odin ripped into a hungover Thor yet again.

“I’ve had had it up to here with your immaturity and your recklessness!” the old man shouted whilst his wife lingered in the background, ready to step in if things went too far. “Do you have any idea how many favours I had to call in just so that the police wouldn’t press charges?! Do you honestly think you will get into any decent college with that sort of drunken buffoonery on your record?!”

“I’m sorry, father. I wasn’t thinking-”

“Exactly!” Odin roared. “You weren’t thinking! You never think things through. You only care about having ‘fun’ in the moment, consequences be damned. Well, I have had enough! You are grounded until you graduate!!”

“Odin…” Frigga chided quietly before Thor had a chance to object.

“Fine,” Odin grumbled. “A month, then. And after that you will have a strict curfew. Home by eight every evening. No excuses.”

“Father! You can’t be serious!” Thor whined, failing to know when to keep his mouth shut.

“Deadly serious,” Odin shot back. “You will be home by eight. You will eat dinner, you will do your homework, and you will go to bed at a reasonable hour.”

“And have no social life! If you wanted me to become like Loki so badly why didn’t you just say so?” Thor grumbled petulantly, sparing a glare at his brother sitting quietly at the other end of the couch.

Frigga whispered in Odin’s ear and Odin smirked.

“Very well,” Odin murmured before turning back to address his son. “Your mother has thought of reasonable compromise.” Thor perked up, shifting to the edge of his seat. “You can go to parties on the weekend… when your brother does.”

“What?!” Thor bellowed, jumping to his feet. “But he’s a freak – he never leaves his room!”

“Then you’ll never leave your room. Oh, I do like the sound of that,” Odin smiled, acknowledging his wife’s cleverness.

“This is so unfair!” Thor shouted before storming off to his room to fume and eventually sleep off the rest of his hangover.

Odin awkwardly acknowledged Loki’s patience and made a hasty retreat for his office. Loki bit back a sigh and rose off the couch, smiling indulgently as his mother pulled him in for a hug.

“I’m sorry, Loki. I don’t know what your father insisted you be here for Thor’s punishment.”

“It’s because Odin wants to ensure I feel involved in family affairs, and he wants to prove to me that doesn’t favour Thor.” Frigga winced at Loki’s use of his adopted father’s first name. He hadn’t given up the habit, not in the year since they’d told him the truth. “What I don’t understand is why you had to drag me into this literally. You know Thor’s going to redirect all his anger about this at me, make it my fault that his enviable social life is flagging.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, my love,” Frigga assured him. “Your father will probably change his mind before the month is out, or Thor will just take to having parties here. You know he always finds a way out of these things,” she sighed.

“Don’t I ever,” Loki muttered, climbing the stairs to his room, fighting back against the heavy bassline of Thor’s deliberately loud music with his favourite metal album.

A month later…

“I can’t believe my father won’t change his stupid mind,” Thor whined to his friends as they loitered on the bleachers during a spare period.

“We’ll just have to party at your house,” Fandral suggested.

“My father seems to have thought of that and has cleared his schedule of any trips away for the foreseeable future. Bastard,” Thor muttered, pacing up and down the row.

“Well,” Sif mused. “What about his rule regarding Loki?”

“What about it?”

“You can go out when Loki goes out. So… perhaps invite him to the parties you want to go to,” Sif suggested meekly, knowing it was a long shot.

“Loki would say no simply to spite me,” Thor replied. “And it’s not like he’s shown any interest in parties before. He seems content to waste away in his room until he can run away to college.”

“We simply need to find a way to make Loki want to go,” Hogun suggested, using half his allotted words for the day.

“And how do you suggest we do that? Wait for Halloween so Loki will feel like he fits in?” Fandral snorted.

“Why does anyone go to parties?” Sif thought aloud.

“To hang out with friends, to drink, and to get…” Volstagg trailed off, and each of the boys in her company promptly averted their gaze. Sif went to roll her eyes at them but was struck with an idea.

“We need to get Loki a girlfriend,” she announced. “Get him interested in a girl, encourage the girl to go to the parties we want to go to, and Loki will want to go to them to see her!”

“That’s excellent, Sif,” Fandral commended sarcastically. “Just one problem. What kind of girl would want to date Loki?”

“She doesn’t have to want to date him, she just has to want to do us a favour,” Sif shrugged, unable to figure another way out of their conundrum.

“Amora would probably do it,” Volstagg suggested absently as he fished a packet of crisps out of his jacket.

“No,” Thor replied sharply. Amora had ‘crazy ex-girlfriend’ written over all her. Even when inebriated Thor knew better than to cosy up to her.

“I could probably talk one of the junior girls into helping us out,” Fandral smirked, running a hand over the facial hair he was growing in.

Sif sneered at the patchy stubble in disgust. “As usual, you over estimate your charms. I highly doubt you could seduce a girl into dating someone else. What we need to do is find a girl that Loki might be genuinely interested in, and just ensure their paths cross.”

“Let’s go find some goths, then,” Thor declared, heading back to the main building.

Two days of talking to every girl in their grade with a penchant for black clothes and excessive eyeliner and they were still no closer to finding a girl to date Loki. Whilst some of them admitted, under duress, that they found him attractive, they also said that his personality left a lot to be desired. ‘Moody’ and ‘just plain rude’ were common descriptors.

“This is hopeless,” Thor whined, smacking his head against his locker.

“What about her?” Volstagg asked as a girl with copper hair and tanned skin pushed her way through the throngs of students.

“Watch where you’re going!” she snarled, pushing back against a few senior boys who were deliberately trying to get in her way.

“Moody… rude…” Sif ticked off. “Not goth though,” she added, noting the girls grungy wardrobe.

“Not a deal breaker,” Thor murmured as the group watched the girl make her way to down the row of lockers, stopping in front of a notoriously difficult-to-open one. With a little patience and properly applied force she opened it on her first try earning her several impressed glances.

“Clever,” Thor mused, hope brewing in his chest as she started switching out text books and shoving a few additional novels into her bag. “Who is she?” he asked, and all eyes turned to Fandral who was already busy getting the details from one or more of his girlfriends via text.

“Sigyn,” he read aloud. “Scholarship student. Transferred here at the start of term. Hoping to get a fine arts scholarship to a college on the East Coast.”

Thor was already making his way over to her before Fandral had finished talking.

“Hi,” he greeted, giving her his best, most charming smile.

“What do you want?” she asked sharply without looking up, slamming her locker shut.

“Uh, well,” Thor stammered, not used to women who weren’t Sif failing to swoon in his presence. “Um, long story short: I want you to date my brother.”

Sigyn blinked. “Long story long?”

“I’m grounded indefinitely. But my father put in a clause that says I can go out if my brother does. So I want you to date my brother and take him to parties so that I can go to them.”

“Oh… In that case, no,” she replied tersely, trying to end the conversation by storming off. Thor caught up to her, noting her ratty backpack, second-hand books, and clothes that were definitely goodwill grunge not newer mass-produced pseudo-grunge, and blurted out the first thing that popped into his head.

“I can pay you.”

Sigyn hesitated and hated herself for it. Thor dug out a fifty from his wallet and held it out to her, pushing down the guilt he felt at the girl’s hungry look.

“Fifty just to go and talk to him,” Thor said quietly, pressing the money into her hand. “And if he doesn’t make you want to run screaming into the hills,” he jested. “I’ll give you another hundred if you can get him to go to Stark’s party this Saturday.”

Thor waited more patiently for Sigyn’s answer than he had waited for anything else in his entire life.

“Who’s your brother?” she asked, shoving the fifty into the pocket of her jeans.

Thor practically skipped back to his friends.

“She’ll do it. She’ll go talk to him today, and with any luck I’ll get to go to Stark’s party.”

“How’d you get her to agree to it?” Sif asked.

“Paid her,” he replied smugly as the bell rang.

“This will not end well,” Hogun sighed as they made their way to their next class, but his warning fell on deaf ears.

Loki was sitting at his usual table in the library when he sensed someone hovering nearby. He glanced up from his book to see the new girl from his English class looking at the empty seat in front of him nervously.

“Do you mind if I sit?” she asked.

Loki shook his head and turned back to his book as she got settled. He expected her to get out her phone like most of students did when there wasn’t a teacher’s presence nearby to scare them into studying, but no, she got out her textbooks and her notebook and got to work. They worked in silence but Loki couldn’t help looking up from his books from time to time to see what she was doing. Eventually she shoved her text books aside and pulled out a sketchbook, a finger toying with a stray strand of copper hair as she became engrossed in the lines on her page. She filled one page and turned to the next empty one, flicking away a red flyer that had been shoved between the pages with a grimace.

“Sorry,” she murmured when she caught Loki looking at her curiously. She picked up the flyer from where it had encroached on his side of the table and shoved it into her bag. “Some girls in my art class told me about this party on weekend. All the cool kids will be there,” she repeated disdainfully.

“And you wish to be one of the cool kids?” he asked, reeling back a little when her eyes met his, realising that they were the first words he’d spoken to her.

“I’d settle for making friends,” she replied bashfully, putting her books away as the bell rang.

He followed her out of the library, walking in step with her when he realised that they had English next.

“I’m Sigyn, by the way,” she said as they neared their classroom.

“Loki,” he replied, gracing her with a rare smile, before taking his usual seat at the back of the room.

“Loki!” Thor called for the hundredth time that day, banging an oversized fist against his bedroom door. “Come on! It’ll be fun, I promise. Stark’s girlfriend is inviting a bunch of her friends. Private school girls, Loki! Come on!” he begged.

Loki sighed, pressing his hands against the side of his head to push back the headache Thor was giving him. Like he wanted to go meet a bunch of stuck up private school girls. They were probably no more interested in talking to him than the girls at his own school were. Girls who turned their nose up at the way he dressed or the books and music he liked. Or, worst of all, girls who changed their tune when they found out who his brother was. But there was Sigyn, he thought glancing at his door. Sigyn hadn’t even blinked at his wardrobe choices, and carried a couple of his favourite books in her bag. And she didn’t mind being seen with him, choosing to sit beside him the next time they had English together. He’d seen her struggling with the Shakespeare text they were studying and had almost worked up the nerve to offer to help her with it. But now it was the weekend and he wasn’t going to see her again until Wednesday, unless…

She’s probably not even going to be there, he reminded himself as he dug through his wardrobe, trying to distinguish one black item from the next. But she had said she wanted to make some friends, and she’d look so lonely when she said it…

Loki huffed as he shoved his feet into his favourite boots and adorned his wrists and fingers with the requisite amount of jewellery. He had just finished applying some eyeliner and was slicking back his hair when Thor started banging on his door again. Loki threw it open and pushed passed his startled brother.

“I’m driving. And I’m not staying long.”

“YES!!” Thor roared, practically picking Loki up and carrying him down the stairs.

“Let go of me, you oaf! Before I change my mind,” Loki growled, straightening his shirt while Thor raced for the door.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Odin called from the living room, moving from the couch to glare at his sons with suspicion.

“Well, you said that I could go out when Loki did, and look! Loki’s going out,” Thor beamed, bouncing on his toes.

Odin sighed. “Be back by 1am,” he said to Loki before turning his stern gaze upon his older son. “And you will return home when Loki does. If you are even five minutes behind him I will revert to my original decision and ground you until graduation. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, father,” Thor said, attempting to sound serious but unable to wipe the smile from his face. “We should get going. Goodnight!” he called, waving at his mother and running for the car before Odin changed his mind.

“I’m already regretting this,” Loki muttered, closing the door behind him.

“This is not good,” Odin groaned as he settled back on the couch beside his wife.

“Wait and see, dear,” Frigga smiled, passing him his book. “Wait and see.”

The moment Loki stepped inside Stark’s house Thor was pushing a red solo cup into his hands.

“Loosen up and have some fun,” Thor ordered before abandoning Loki to go find his friends.

Loki tipped the drink into the nearest antique vase of expensive flowers and scoured the room for a head of copper hair. He moved from room to room, trying not to look as foolish as he felt. He found Thor again, doing a keg stand in the living room, as the rest of his teammates cheering him on, and walked in the opposite direction. Thor’s friends had never thought very highly of him, and after Loki played a harmless prank on them in their junior year (involving their brand new uniforms and food dye in the sprinkler systems) they’d had it out for him. Loki foresaw himself being thrown into Stark’s Olympic-sized swimming pool if he didn’t keep out of their way.

He pushed his way into the kitchen and decided ‘to hell with it’ and reached for a drink.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” a familiar voice warned.

Loki turned and felt his heart skip a beat as Sigyn smiled at him.

“…hi,” he murmured, his voice lost beneath the chaos of the party.

“It’s really cheap beer,” Sigyn advised, reaching past him for a shot of something red. “But Stark didn’t skimp on the spirits.”

Loki picked up a blue shot, clinking the glass against Sigyn’s before knocking it back. They both coughed as the alcohol burned their throats, then laughed at each other, then coughed some more.

“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” Loki asked, revelling in how close he had to get to her to be heard, smiling at the way Sigyn’s freckles darkened as she blushed.

She nodded her assent and Loki took her by the hand, leading her away from the swarms of teenagers and up the stairs. Tony had barred the way, with velvet rope of all things, as he always did, in a poor attempt to keep people for having sex in any of six bedrooms upstairs. As a secondary measure he always made sure his parents’ bedroom door was locked, as was his own. Loki, not wanting to seem remotely presumptuous, didn’t make for any of the bedrooms, instead he walked down the hall and stopped in front of a large bay window. He pushed it open and stepped out onto the roof, holding out a hand to help Sigyn through.

“Wow…” Sigyn remarked once she got settled, her eyes roaming over the lush, manicured Stark estate. “Tony’s parents are really loaded, huh?”

“Mhmm,” Loki replied dumbly, unsure what to say now that he’d gotten Sigyn alone.

“I didn’t think you came to these sort of things,” she commented, fidgeting with a loose button on her plaid shirt.

“Not really my scene, no, but I wanted to see you,” Loki admitted, too nervous to gauge her reaction.

“Loki…” Sigyn sighed, her body tensing.

Loki felt himself deflate; hope was for fools.

“Sorry for bothering you,” he muttered, moving to escape back through the window.

“Wait. Please,” Sigyn begged, digging into the pocket of her jeans. “Here,” she said, handing him a crumpled fifty dollar bill.

“What’s that for?” Loki asked warily.

“Thor paid me to talk to you. He wanted me to get you to come to the party so he could,” she confessed, shaking as she fought back tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“He paid you to get me here?” Loki repeated through gritted teeth, sitting back down next to Sigyn in a huff. “But you didn’t even ask me to come,” he said after a moment’s contemplation.

“That’s what makes it worse,” Sigyn sniffled. “I like you, and you like me, and I ruined it,” she cried, trying to get Loki to take the tainted bill from her. Loki curled his hand around hers, fighting against every instinct he had to cut his losses, cut Sigyn out of his life, and run.

“Why did you agree to it?” Loki had to know.

“I needed the money,” Sigyn replied, hanging her head in shame. “I hated myself for taking it, but I really needed it… and then I met you… I’m an awful person, I’m so sorry.”

“Keep it,” Loki whispered, pushing the bill, clenched in Sigyn’s hand, away. When Sigyn looked up in surprise he kissed her, briefly, sweetly, and wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Keep the money,” he repeated. “I want to believe that you wouldn’t have made such an agreement unless you were desperate. And I know that you wouldn’t have confessed unless you were a good person, Sigyn. A good person, but a foolish one,” he smirked, trying to lighten the mood.

“How so,” Sigyn demanded, her lip curling in amusement.

“You should have held out for double.”

“Oh, well, the fifty was just to talk to you. I get an extra hundred for getting you here,” Sigyn teased.

“Oh really?” Loki laughed, his eyes dancing with mischief as an idea started for form.

Thor was rummaging through his locker before heading for practice, his friends milling about nearby, when Sigyn appeared beside him, clearly her throat loudly.

“Sigyn!” Thor bellowed, pulling her into a bone crushing hug. “I don’t know how you got Loki to go to one of Stark’s parties but you have my thanks,” he beamed.

“I’d prefer your cash,” Sigyn replied tersely.

“Right, right,” Thor muttered, digging out his wallet. “There’s a hundred for Stark’s party, and there’s another hundred in it for you if you can get him to go to Bucky’s party after the game on Friday night.”

“Make it two. Half now,” Sigyn countered, holding a hand out expectantly.

“No way! You don’t get to dictate terms,” Thor scoffed.

“Then you’ll have to find someone else to drag Loki to your friends parties,” Sigyn replied, folding her arms across her chest defiantly.

Thor deliberated for a split second before conceding defeat; he needed Sigyn.

“One twenty-five,” he bargained.

“Two.”

“One fifty,” he begged.

“Two.”

“One seventy-five,” he pleaded.

“Two,” Sigyn smirked, reaching out once more.

“Fine. Half now,” Thor grumbled, slapping the bills into her palm petulantly. “And he has to stay out until curfew. No ducking out early.”

“Whatever you say,” Sigyn replied cheerfully, turning on the spot and walking away with a spring in her step. She was joined shortly by Loki who took the money off her hands. He turned back to Thor, making a show of counting them.

“Thanks for this, Thor,” Loki grinned wickedly. “It’ll pay for a nice steak dinner,” he gloated, shoving the bills into his pocket and leading Sigyn away. “Oh,” he called back over his shoulder. “And you can forget about Bucky’s party. Sigyn and I are going to stay in and watch a movie this weekend. And the weekend after that, and the weekend after that…”

Thor watched on numbly as the pair stumbled out of the school building, leaning on each other as they laughed themselves sick.

“What the hell just happened?” Thor demanded.

Hogun just smiled grimly and shook his head, patting his friend on the back in mock sympathy.

“I told you so.”

#freudensteins-fics #logyn #loki #sigyn #10 things i hate about you #captain-biryani #movie prompt meme #fanfiction #mcu #thor #sif #fandral #hogun #high school au

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