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daechwitatamic · 11 months

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2. Retrograde || KSJ

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: Amalthea (Masterpost) - Part 2: Retrograde

Rating: NSFW - minors go away i mean it Genre: best friend's older brother!au, angst smut fluff trifecta Pairing: Seokjin x female reader Beta team: @yoongiphoria, @here2bbtstrash, @kookstempo

Summary: You can count on two things in life. One: that your lifelong best friend Minji will always be there for you, in your corner, your brightest star. Two: that you'll never be free from her older brother Seokjin's orbit - the gravitational pull is just too strong.

Warnings: language, underage drinking, a broken bone, angst, kissing, implied protected s*x/ kind of the immediate aftermath to it, TIME JUMPS WC: 9.5k

Part 2: Retrograde

Retrograde: (noun) when celestial objects appear to travel backwards

You broke your wrist when you were ten.

You were riding your bike around the dead end. Minji and Jungkook were away at a cousin’s house. Seokjin was down the street, on his skateboard, trying the same kickflip over and over again. Sometimes he made it. Sometimes he didn’t. You weren’t riding together.

You don’t remember hitting the curb. You don’t remember what had distracted you. You don’t even remember flipping forward over the handlebars. Just the sickening burn that began at your wrist and pulsed in sluices up towards your elbow.

Seokjin had run to your house to get your dad, the forgotten skateboard drifting by itself towards the run-off drain, where the wheels snagged and it stilled.

Your dad had picked you up and carried you, sobbing, into the backseat of his sedan, buckling you in. Then he’d turned and looked at Seokjin, who was standing, stone-faced, behind him.

“Your dad’s not home,” he’d said, not a question. “I don’t want to leave you home alone - you can ride to the hospital with us. I’ll call your house when we get there and leave a message to explain.”

No one had cell phones yet, back then.

Every bump of the car jostled you and made you cry harder, holding your injury close to your chest. You weren’t even embarrassed to cry in front of Jin - it hurt so bad it eclipsed any other emotion.

And then Jin had reached out and held your uninjured hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Hey,” he’d said, and then put on a heavy accent. “What be a pirate’s fav’rite letter?”

You’d thought about it. “Arrrr,” you guessed, proud to have figured it out.

Seokjin had grinned at you across the backseat. “You’d think it’d be ‘R’,” he cried, amped to get to deliver the punchline as intended, “but his true love be the ‘C’.”

“Good god,” your dad groaned from the front seat. But despite the unrelenting burning in your arm, you’d smiled.

–

The summer you were twelve, you’d played hide and seek outside at night. The idea came on out of nowhere. Jungkook - eleven, that year - had a few friends sleep over one night, loud boys named Taehyung and Jimin, and someone had suggested it. You remember thinking your parents wouldn’t allow it, but Mr. Kim had said it was okay as long as you stayed out of yards if you didn’t know the family that lived there, didn’t leave the dead end, and came back inside by ten o’clock.

The neighborhood felt different at night; it felt different to be set loose like this - free to run and shout and hide as the day’s sticky humidity faded into something comfortable.

You’d split up, everybody running in separate directions, dark figures darting under streetlights and plunging into the shadows. You stuck close to the houses, trying to stay out of open spaces. You left your own yard, creeping two houses down, curling up in a ball next to someone’s shed.

I am a rock, you thought, hugging your knees as tightly as possible, making yourself as tiny as you could. I am just a rock. The dirt beneath you, gritty, dug into your knees and shins. In the distance, you could hear both trucks on the highway and the chorus of frogs in the streams behind the neighborhood. Sweat trickled between your shoulder blades.

I’m just a rock.

You heard someone’s footsteps approach you, in the dark, and then pause. You held as still as possible, trying to barely even breathe. Don’t see me, you thought. I am just a rock.

The moment stretched, tense, and whoever thought you might be a rock decided to move on, their footsteps carrying on down the sloping yard. You released a breath, unfolding a little, looking around. Seeing no one, you stood, brushing dirt and pebbles from your legs.

Seokjin appeared out of nowhere from the other side of the shed, and you’d stepped backwards instinctively, pressing your back against the grainy wood of the shed, holding your breath for the second time in minutes.

He spotted you, clearly - he froze, feet away from you, looking at you through the darkness. You didn’t move a muscle, hardly dared to breathe. It was so dark that you couldn’t make out the features on his face. He was all shadow. But somehow you knew - knew - that his eyes were on yours.

“You don’t see me,” you’d whispered to him. “I am just a rock.”

You’d heard him laugh, low, the surprised sound leaving his lips without permission.

He should have tagged you out. But after a moment, he’d carried on, leaving you to hide again in peace. “Goodbye, rock,” he’d said, barely louder than a whisper.

—

You were fifteen the first time you got drunk - really drunk - in Minji’s basement. You shouldn’t have - none of you should have been drinking in the first place, being underage. But Mr. Kim had gotten called into work and… it just sort of happened.

Seokjin had a friend over and they’d holed up in the basement with a handle of vodka the friend had hidden in his duffle bag. You and Minji and Jungkook had been on them like buzzards, trying to get in on the fun.

“Absolutely not,” Seokjin had told Jungkook, more serious than you’d ever seen him. “You’re only fourteen. You can hang out with us if you can keep your mouth shut, but you don’t get any.”

“Hyung -”

“No,” Seokjin had stayed firm, and Jungkook had caved.

“You two,” Seokjin had said, turning his gaze to Minji, who looked back at him innocently, like she was ready to follow every rule and would never put a toe out of line, “can have a little.”

Three hours later, you made it up the stairs to the kitchen barely alive, using your hands to help you balance on the steps. You’d gone up for water, but as you stood over the kitchen sink you were distracted by your reflection in the window. And then, the backyard beyond your reflection.

Somehow, you made it outside, tripping down the wooden steps to the grassy yard, spinning and landing heavily on your back. The night sky swirled above you, the stars laughing at what an idiot you were. The grass beneath you tickled, but you gripped it in your hands, desperate to make the spinning stop.

Somehow, Jin appeared next to you in the grass, a few feet to your left. “How’s the yard?” he asked.

“Spinning,” you told him thickly.

He reached out a hand and patted your arm twice. “It’ll stop.”

You stayed there in silence, watching the stars, clutching the earth beneath you, hoping you wouldn’t get flung off the ride.

“Sometimes,” you heard yourself say, your voice seeming to come from the constellations themselves, the moons too far away to see, “I feel like everyone looks right through me.”

You felt Seokjin’s eyes on you, but he didn’t say anything.

You nodded, licked your dry lips. “Yeah,” you said, like he’d asked you something, like you’re agreeing with something he’d added on. “Like maybe I’ll be see-through forever.”

–

You almost got a boyfriend when you were sixteen. There was a guy from school - you’d talk on the phone late at night, sit together at lunch, share answers to homework assignments before the first bell rang.

On a particularly rainy Saturday, he’d taken you on a date to the nearest shopping mall. It had been okay - you’d had pretzels, wandered through a few department stores.

It had been okay - until you ran into a bigger group of kids from school. You’d joined them for a while; they were his friends, and he jumped in their conversations easily, someone who belonged. You, the see-through one, smiled and listened. Always on the outskirts.

And then he’d said, “Hey, we’re going to go back to J’s dad’s house. You’ll be okay?”

It had taken you longer than you were proud of to realize he was leaving with them, leaving you alone. It had taken longer than you were proud of to feel pissed, to realize you should have done anything except smile and nod.

He’d been your ride there.

Your parents had been working. You’d called Jin - your emergency adult.

“Y/N?” he’d sounded confused. You’d never called him before.

“Are you busy?” you’d asked him, the shame crawling over you, burrowing under your skin and making you want to rip it off. “I need a ride. I’m stuck.”

“What?” His voice was sharp. You could hear background noise stop, like he’d hit mute on what he was watching or paused the game he was playing. “Where are you? What happened?”

You lowered your voice, giving him the shortest version of the story possible. You were met with silence, stretching so long that you pulled the phone away from your ear to check your service, to see if you’d dropped the call. “Jin?”

“I’ll be there,” he’d said, something tight in his voice. “Wait for me by the food court.”

“Okay,” you’d whispered, and hung up.

Outside, it rained in sheets. You stood and watched the waves of rain move left to right across the parking lot. People jogged in from their cars, hoods on or umbrellas aloft. When Jin’s car pulled up to the curb, you ran through the rain, trying to shield your hair with your hands. It didn’t work at all. By the time you slid into the passenger seat, you looked half-drowned.

“Thanks for coming,” you’d said, eyes on your shoes as Seokjin put the car back in drive and pulled slowly back into traffic.

“It’s fine,” he’d said, still terse. It was unlike him. He was so rarely serious, so rarely not making bad puns, so rarely not laughing like a windshield wiper. It made these moments feel… heavy, somehow.

He drove in silence for a little. You stewed in the passenger seat, sifting through embarrassment and anger and also - somehow - happiness to be here now, with Jin, even if it was at the cost of every cent of your dignity.

Then, he seemed to notice the shopping bag on the floor of the car, tucked between your sneakers.

“What’d you get?” he asked, voice light again.

“Shirt,” you told him, reaching down to pull the top from the bag and hold it up. “Cute, right?”

“Snazzy,” he agreed. “I think I should get one. You think they have my size?”

You laughed despite yourself. “You’re so lame,” you told him. “Besides, this totally isn’t your color.”

“Please!” he blustered. “I can look handsome in anything. I’d look amazing in that.”

You were really laughing by then. Minji used to get so annoyed that he made you laugh when he got like this - you were encouraging him, she said - but you genuinely found him so funny that you couldn’t help yourself. You always had.

“Sure, okay,” you told him, stuffing the shirt back into the bag. “You keep telling yourself that.”

As you neared your neighborhood, though, your mood sank again.

“Jin?” you asked, looking over at him. He raised an eyebrow at you, his eyes on the road.

“Could you maybe… not tell Minji? About today?”

He didn’t answer for a while, not until he came to a red light and could turn and look at you completely. “Why?” he asked.

You could feel it as your face reddened as you had to put words to your embarrassment again. “She… was right about this guy. I should have listened to her. I just… I’m not ready to hear I told you so.”

Seokjin stopped in front of your parents’ house so you wouldn’t have to run across the street in the rain.

“I never saw you,” he promised you solemnly. “But Y/N? You shouldn’t let people treat you like this. That guy’s an ass.”

You gave him a tiny smile before extracting yourself from your seatbelt. “Thanks,” you’d said, and then darted through the rain like it would melt you.

–

Jin left for college at the end of the following summer, weeks before you turned seventeen. You watched through a gap in your living room curtains, curled up on the couch in your pajamas, as Mr. Kim and Jungkook helped load Jin’s boxes and bags into Mr. Kim’s car.

It felt unfair, that he got to leave, that he got to turn right out of the dead end and have a life - and you were still trapped here.

When Minji came out of the house, giving her older brother a reluctant hug, you rose, feet taking you unbidden on a course in their direction.

Minji had grinned at you. “I’m glad you’re here, you can help me move my shit into his room.”

“Yah!” Seokjin had protested, pushing her shoulder lightly. “No one said you could have my room!”

Minji stuck her tongue out at him. “You won’t be here to stop me!” She started back into the house, then turned over her shoulder and called to you, “Come on, the bed will take forever to move!”

She disappeared into the house, leaving you and Seokjin alone next to Mr. Kim’s sedan, which was packed to the brim.

You didn’t look at each other; Seokjin leaned against the car with his arms crossed, eyes on the ground. You faced the car, and him, the house on the other side. You watched the reflection of his profile in the car’s window.

What could you even say to him? What words could you pull out of your soul that weren’t a total cliche, or completely inappropriate, or both?

Don’t have too much fun.

Don’t forget me.

Please, don’t go away and fall in love without me.

I really don’t want you to go.

In the end, you told him, “See you at Christmas?” and he’d nodded silently, and you’d said, “Okay, then. Good luck with everything.”

Then you’d slinked into his house to help his little sister commandeer his bedroom.

–

That’s only part of the story, though. If you’re flipping through moments you’d shared with Jin… there was one you skipped. You avoid it, give it a wide berth, like if you step too close you might knock it from its pedestal. Like you might get sticky fingerprints all over its protective glass just from looking, somehow.

Mr. Kim had thrown Jin a graduation party in June, two months before he left for college. It had been wholesome while the sun was up - the Kim men had taken turns at the grill, little cousins had run barefoot through the yard, a table had been laden with gifts and cards, blue balloons had been tied to the porch railings.

At night, though, it seemed like both children and adults disappeared, leaving only you in-betweens. Blind eyes had been turned to the cases of beer stashed beneath the sodas in the buckets of ice. Cars full of kids parked up and down the dead end street, unloading loudly and entering the even louder house.

You’d stayed close to Minji, hadn’t even had that much to drink. But the house had been packed with people, too loud, too hot, and you’d found yourself slipping out the kitchen door sometime around one in the morning.

The lights from the house cast squares onto the driveway. Past them, a figure sat on the ground at the end of the driveway, long legs stretched out in front of him.

You’d made your way over slowly, warily. Not sure if you were wanted, not sure if you were intruding.

He’d turned to see who it was when you approached. You think you probably imagined the way he’d softened when he saw it was only you.

“You good?” you’d asked.

“‘Course,” he said - which should have been a clue that he might not be. A one word answer? From Kim Seokjin?

You paused next to him, still a bit unsure. “You sure? You’re… sitting on the ground alone, outside your own party.”

Jin huffed out a laugh at this. “I just needed some air. Some space.”

“Oh,” you said, feeling instantly like you were ruining the space he’d been craving.

“You can stay,” he’d said quickly, reading your response correctly. “I mean… I don’t mind if you’re here.”

Relief flooded you. You’d leaned against the side of the car parked there - not Mr. Kim’s sedan, you didn’t know whose car it was - and eyed him thoughtfully.

“Are you scared?” you asked. Something about the question felt right, felt like you were zeroing in on the problem.

Seokjin laughed again, a little sarcastic. “Me? Never.”

You smiled at his back, seeing right through his bravado. “About what? What’s the biggest thing?”

He’d shaken his head, pushed himself to his feet, brushed gravel from his hands, then his ass. He’d turned slowly, walked back towards the house, paused just a foot from you.

It was always you and Seokjin, in the dark.

You were always more honest with each other in the dark. Inside, he’d be all dad jokes and video games, kitchen skills and skateboard tricks.

You needed some shadows to get any idea what he was thinking. It had always been that way.

“I dunno,” he’d said, hands in his pockets. “Classes. Dorms. Not having my dad around. Not being here to watch out for Jungkook.”

“That’s more than one thing,” you’d pointed out.

He’d nodded seriously, but his lips twisted in irony, like he was thinking a very clever joke and holding it in.

“Okay then,” he said. “Let’s go with: losing my place, here. Coming back and finding out that everyone just… moved on without me.”

He’d brushed past you then, reaching out to touch your elbow lightly on his way by.

It’s been over a decade since that night, and you still don’t know if he meant his family, or you.

You’re mad at yourself the second you’re back in your car. You’d gone there uninvited, you’d cooked for him. Obviously it meant something - neither of you were stupid enough to think it didn’t. So why had you run the second he’d tried to talk to you?

You berate yourself the whole way home. And you’re not the only one who’s pissed. Jin texts you before you’re even out of the neighborhood, though you don’t see it until you park at your complex, grabbing your phone from the cup holder where you’d tossed it.

[11:28 AM] Jin 😎: im confusing YOU? [11:28 AM] Jin 😎: im not the one who came to cook you breakfast and then bolted the second it got serious [11:28 AM] Jin 😎: THAT’S confusing

Defensiveness rises up in you like a wave. Where does he get off lecturing you after the shit he pulled two years ago? Hands shaking, you fire back, “no, you bolted BEFORE breakfast. the second you got your jeans zipped, if i remember correctly.”

You throw your phone onto the passenger seat like it’s burned your hands, closing your eyes and pressing your head back into the headrest, breathing out slowly through your mouth to calm your racing heart. Fuck, those had been fighting words, for sure. But you’re pretty convinced he deserves it.

When you get brave enough to pick it up again, he hasn’t answered. You’re not sure if you’re relieved, or more worried. With a sigh, you collect your things and head inside.

“Roomieeeeee!”

You’d barely unpacked since returning from Christmas break your freshman year of college, your suitcase open on your dorm bed, a small pile of dirty clothes on the floor next to you. You’d been about to move it all to the hamper, it just hadn’t happened yet. Your college roommate, Sheyla, had just burst through the door, crowing happily when she saw you.

You got along well with Sheyla - you’d probably stay friends after college. But no one could take Minji’s place. When you and Minji decided to go to the same college, you’d agreed to live separately, to preserve your friendship. You both knew you needed breaks from each other to maintain the love.

“Hey!” you called back, flapping a hoodie out of the ball you’d scrunched it in and smelling the pits. Into the dirty pile it went. “How was your Christmas?”

Sheyla tossed her bag on the ground and flopped backwards onto her bed, fingers reaching to turn on the fairy lights you’d strung up together.

“Honestly? Boring. No one lives home by me, it was old people central the whole time. How about you?” She looks at you, suddenly sharp-eyed. “Did you see that guy? Your neighbor?”

You glanced at the door in alarm, as if Minji could have possibly materialized there, just in time to overhear.

Sheyla clocked this and laughed. “She can’t hear us! I told you your secret was safe! So, did you?”

It had been your first holiday break going home, your freshman year of college. You’d seen Jin sparingly over the last two years - two winter breaks, two summer breaks, and the odd weekend here or there if he had things going on.

You hadn’t had a conversation in that whole time; you’d been to the house to see Minji, but you hadn’t crossed paths. You texted each other on your birthdays, maybe once or twice if something interesting happened.

It had been weird, feeling things shift, noticing him slowly become someone who used to be in your life.

“Yeah, his family came to my parents’ Christmas Eve party,” you admitted. “But we really didn’t talk. He didn’t even come sit in the same room as me and Minji.”

It was true; you’d stayed in the kitchen for most of the party, wanting to avoid all your parents’ work friends, who were going to ask you about how college was going, and did you like your classes, and had you made new friends, and did you have a boyfriend yet and - you were just too tired for it.

You and Minji had sat on the kitchen counter, crossed ankles dangling, sipping at beers and watching people pass by the doorways - one out to the living room, one out to the dining room.

Seokjin hadn’t come into the kitchen once - but you knew he was out there, because you could hear his wild laugh, his high-pitched complaining as he scolded Jungkook for something he’d probably started in the first place, his voice bouncing over the low tones of the others.

Jungkook had slunk into the kitchen near the end of the party. “Jinnie wants a beer,” he’d told Minji, reaching out a hand, somehow knowing you two had a six-pack behind you.

“Why can’t he come get it?” she demanded as she reached back, fingers closing around a glass neck.

Jungkook shrugged. “He told me to get him one.”

Minji narrowed her eyes at him, the way she does when she’s assessing, deciding something. Then she handed him a second bottle. “That didn’t come from me,” she told him, and he gave her a salute before grabbing the beers and scooting back out.

“Are you and Jin fighting?” you asked, leaning back against the wooden cabinets behind you.

“Not unless he’s fighting without telling me,” she laughed. “If that’s the case, I’ll hear about it later, I’m sure.”

It had bugged you, that he seemed to be avoiding you. Then you’d glanced out into the living room, and there he was, the beer in hand.

He was standing facing Jungkook, but his eyes weren’t on his younger brother. They were on you - and Minji - but they seemed… far away. Wistful, somehow. Then, he’d noticed you looking and he’d pulled his gaze back to Jungkook fast. But the redness took over his ears and crept down his neck almost instantly.

You still weren’t sure what that was about. The most hopeful, foolish, idiotic part of you hoped it had a guess.

“Well,” Sheyla had said with a sigh. “There’s always next time.”

You’d slept over at Minji’s that night, the two of you cramming into her double bed now that you were too old for sleeping bags on the floor. In the morning, you’d rummaged in the kitchen for something to drink - something with bubbles, preferably, but water might have to do - when Seokjin had shuffled in behind you.

You’d turned, surprised, a cold can of seltzer in your hand. “Oh,” you’d said, suddenly very aware that you were still in pajamas, hadn’t bothered with a bra. You crossed your arms, hoping for nonchalance, and tried not to eye the grey sweatpants Jin sported. “I didn’t think anyone else was up. Morning.”

He’d stretched, the movement exposing a strip of belly between the sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. “Morning,” he’d answered, voice gravely from sleep.

You’d watched as he started the kettle. He kept his back to you, turning over his shoulder to see if you were still there after a minute. You wanted to ask him - well, lots of things. How was college, how was he, why was he avoiding you, why was he being so fucking weird?

His back, wide and solid, said don’t. So you’d taken your seltzer and retreated back to Minji’s bedroom, wondering if you imagined the feeling of his gaze burning on you as you fled.

–

You were twenty when Seokjin graduated from college. You were home, too, most of your school stuff yet unpacked the morning they took his graduation pictures in the front yard. Jungkook looked barely awake, rubbing his eyes sleepily as Minji fussed over trying to get his hair to lay flat. Seokjin stood in the center of the yard in his cap and gown, and you could hear him in your head complaining that they were taking too long and could they please just hurry up and take the picture. You smiled over your cup of coffee and then removed yourself from the window before you could get caught watching.

He’d had a graduation party that night. You really considered not going; it had been four years since Seokjin had left for college, two since you and Minji had, and in those four years you’d barely interacted - just the niceties when your paths had to cross, when your orbits swung you too close together again. It seemed pointless to show up when you wouldn’t even talk, when the days of stealing quiet moments away from everyone else were long gone. It seemed pointless to go, just to spend the night cataloging all the ways things had changed in four years, getting your feelings hurt for no reason at all.

Jin had said he was afraid of everyone moving on, but he’d nudged you on your way - so, really, you ought to just go.

Minji hadn’t understood. How could you explain it? “I don’t think he really wants me there,” you’d tried, sticking to the most basic truths. “Jin and I don’t really talk these days.”

“Since when did you and Jin talk in the first place?” she’d demanded, half right. “You’re there as my friend. Now come on, get changed!”

The sun was setting when you finally let yourself out the front door, calling goodbye to your parents, and making your way across the street. It was log-jammed with cars - a rare sight - and people milled through the front and side yards, red cups and plates of food in hand. It felt a bit like deja vu - you’d done this for all three Kim siblings for high school (though you and Minji had a joint celebration) and now you’d go through the cycle again as you four finished college in waves.

Despite Minji’s needling, you’d felt a little off-kilter, a little out of place. The feeling had sent you into the backyard to look for the drinks before you even found Minji.

As always at their summer parties, there was a keg tucked under the deck - you had to know they put it there, or else ask someone. You’d never find it on your own as a first-timer. You threw your shoulders back to cast off the squiggly feeling in your stomach and made your way down, grabbing a plastic cup and feeling around for the spigot.

You heard a familiar sound across the yard - Jungkook’s voice, whining that he was out of beer.

“Hyung will do it,” Seokjin said, and before you knew it he was sidling around a group of moms with their toddlers to reach the keg - and you.

He stopped when he saw you, then ducked his head and came closer, Jungkook’s empty cup in hand. His ears were tinged pink and you weren’t sure if it was from standing in the sun or… something else.

“Hey,” you’d said, taking your thumb off the spigot and watching the foam on your beer slowly fizz away. “Congrats on graduating.”

“Thanks, I guess,” he’d said, sending you a sideways grin as he pulled the spigot from your hand and started filling Jungkook’s cup.

“You guess?” you squinted at him. That grin was disarming, devious.

He shrugged. “I don’t feel like I really did anything that special. Showed up for class, turned in my homework.”

“You’re right,” you deadpanned. “I rescind my congratulations, effective immediately.”

His grin widened as he laughed, pleased that you were playing along. His gaze lingered on you before he checked on his beer again, making you warmer than you’d been walking through the almost-setting summer sun.

Things felt… charged, suddenly. Energized. You were used to Jin feeling comforting, like when you were kids. You were used to Jin feeling like an emotional black hole, everything inside you gravitating towards his center, as you did as a teenager. But this… this was new.

“Are you done at school?” he’d asked, shifting slightly closer. He released the spigot, letting the foam on his beer start to settle and you picked it up again, filling the top of your own where it had settled and left empty space.

“One more final, but it’s online,” you’d said.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Jin watch you. You wondered what would happen if you said it - told him how you felt, or told him you’d felt like he didn’t want to be near you the last few times you’d seen each other, or told him how badly you wanted your hands on him.

“What’s taking so long?” Jungkook shouted from across the yard, starting to make his way over. When he saw you at the keg, his steps slowed, understanding crossing his face.

“I had to share,” Jin explained, waving a hand at you. You handed him back the spigot, finished.

“Minji’s inside?” you asked them both, stepping out of the shadows and back into the sunlit yard.

“I think so,” Jungkook said, and you’d given them both a quick wave and headed in. You didn’t miss the way Jungkook nudged at Seokjin’s ribs, causing him to spill the top-third of his beer.

Long after sunset, after the food had been cleaned up, after the families with little kids had said goodbye and headed home, you found yourself wandering through the backyard again. Minji had gotten a phone call from the guy she was dating and went into her room to talk - you could have sat in there with her, she wouldn’t have minded, but it kind of gave you the ick to listen to her being so sickly sweet and moonstruck.

Instead, you combed the house for a familiar face. Jungkook had a whole group of friends over, and they were playing a drinking game in the basement. Your parents, who had joined the party in time for the food, had told Mr. Kim goodnight and headed across the street, telling you to text them if you decided to stay the night with Minji. Most of Jin’s college friends who had come from out of town had filtered out.

You finally found Jin, nearly at midnight. He was in his room in the dark, lit up by only his phone screen. His door was mostly closed, and you hesitated in the hall, deciding to leave him alone and go back to bugging Minji in her room.

You hadn’t even turned around to retrace your steps when he called your name. Heart thumping, you’d pushed his door open a little further, hovering in the doorway. He was laying on his bed, on top of the covers, his phone screen casting his face in blue.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, turning his head sideways to look at you.

“Minji’s on the phone with the boyfriend,” you explained. “I needed to escape.”

Jin laughed, a little sputtering.

“What are you doing?” you’d asked, taking one tentative step over the threshold. You’d been in Jin’s room very rarely in your years growing up here. It seemed like new turf.

He told you the name of the webtoon he was reading, flashing the screen at you so you could see.

You had nodded, silent, stuck in the middle of his room. You didn’t want to leave, didn’t know how to leave.

“Can I… read with you?” you asked, tentatively. You didn’t think, didn’t plan, didn’t map out how this would work or look; you just wanted to stay with him, just wanted to get closer.

Seokjin surprised you; he immediately shifted over on his bed, closer to the wall, making space for you.

You had to tell yourself to move, had to beg yourself to move before you stood still so long you made it weird. You’d never been in or on Jin’s bed, and you’d never laid that close before - certainly not since you and Minji were little kids, all laying on the floor together to watch a movie. Never in context like this.

You lay next to him gingerly, afraid to break the spell, afraid the moment would burst like a bubble on a child’s sticky, eager fingertip. You felt exactly that way: like you wanted it so much, but you knew if you touched it, it would be gone.

Your head rested next to his, close enough that you could hear his even breathing, but your bodies stayed a good foot apart.

Still, even with the space between you, you could feel his warmth. His bed smelled like him - something deep and smokey. It could have felt thrilling - it could have felt forbidden. Instead, inexplicably, it felt comforting, peaceful. Like home.

And eventually, as you stayed there, you settled in. Your breathing slowed, your pulse calmed, and you actually got caught up in the comic on the screen. Jin held his phone above you both, waiting patiently until you murmured, “Okay,” before scrolling each time.

You don’t remember falling asleep. What you remember is waking up slowly, immediately unsure where you were. The early morning light was unfamiliar, grey. You stretched, feet reaching for the end of the bed, and then went stock still as you felt someone shift beside you.

Oh god. Had you hooked up with someone? Uncommon, but not impossible.

You took a steadying deep breath, bracing yourself to face your potential mistakes, and cracked one eye open.

Seokjin breathed through his mouth, eyelids fluttering in sleep, just next to your face. You had a split second of absolute alarm, your brain making the equivalent of !!!!, before it came back to you.

You’d fallen asleep reading on his phone. Nothing had happened. But his arm was over your side, fingers resting lightly on your stomach.

You stayed as still as you could, trying to make your brain stop making sounds like a broken motor, hoping Jin wouldn’t wake before you were ready to function like a human. You considered, for a moment, leaning into the situation - rolling into the cuddle, closing your eyes and sinking back down into fuzzy darkness, your face buried in his shirt.

You closed your tired eyes, ready to do just that when your brain suddenly began operating again and your eyes flew open, one hand slapping the mattress in panic.

Minji. If you were in Seokjin’s bed, that meant you were in the Kims’ house, which meant Minji was on the other side of the wall - could catch you, had possibly already caught you.

Heart pounding practically in your throat, you slipped slowly out from under Seokjin’s arm. He had stirred, rolling a little, tucking that arm closer to his chest now that it had nothing to hold. He didn’t wake. You breathed a sigh of relief and started hunting around for your phone. You found it on the ground - it must have fallen off the bed in the middle of the night.

When you checked it, your question was answered -

[1:52 AM] Minji: did you go home??? [2:07 AM] Minji: you could have said goodbye!!! 😠

You press your phone to your chest out of sheer relief. She hadn’t found you, hadn’t peeked into his room on her way through the house last night, hadn’t spotted you two spooning of all things.

“Christ,” you’d muttered, frustrated with yourself for the close call, for falling asleep, for being so stupid over Seokjin even now when you were grown and had separate lives.

You had slinked out of his room on tiptoe, had scooted through the house as quickly and silently as you could, scarcely breathing until you were safely behind the walls of your own house across the street.

You and Jin never talked about it. A precedent, really.

–

The path of your orbit swung you out again - back to college, away from home, back into your world of classes and dorm life. The pieces of your adult life started to click into place as your senior year spun by - grad programs, internships, hints at a life in a different universe than the one you’ve known.

You and Minji graduated, returned for the summer.

There was a night you’d laid across from Minji on the swinging bench in their backyard, her feet in your lap. You two swang gently, eyes on the constellations above you, listening to music play from Minji’s bluetooth speaker.

“Next year’s gonna be weird,” you said, because it was all you could think about, then. You’d gone to college together, but you wouldn’t be together for grad school.

“We’ll be fine,” Minji had murmured, eyes closing.

You’d nudged her with your foot. “Don’t go to sleep. I’m trying to talk to you. I’m nervous.”

She had opened one eye, nudged you right back. “We’ll be fine,” she repeated, more firmly. “It’s not like we’re going to live on campuses in different states. I’ll be right here. You won’t be far, either.”

You lapsed into silence again. The swing tilted you back and forth, lulling you half to sleep.

“I broke up with that guy,” you muttered, half hoping she wouldn’t hear you. Instead, she sat straight up, almost overbalancing the swing and dumping you both on the ground.

“You what?” she asked. “Why?”

“I just wasn’t feeling it,” you explained. You were twenty-one that summer, starting to look at apartments you’d be able to afford while working part-time around grad classes. “Honestly, I was just bored.”

“You always say that,” she accused flatly. “I’ve never understood this about you. Everybody bores you. No one… sticks.” Her voice softens and she adds, “I worry about you.”

You laughed, once, and struggled to sit up. “I’m fine, Minji. None of them were… right. Someone will be.”

“But how will you know?” she pressed. “If you don’t give anyone a chance, how will you know when it’s right?”

Your chest clenched. Because I know what it feels like when it is, you thought, but you couldn’t say that.

“I just will,” you’d muttered, not an answer. You’d gotten up from the swing, heading for the house. “I need some water.”

As soon as you open the kitchen door, Jin jumped a mile. He’d been standing at the kitchen sink… next to the open window.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Were you listening?” you demanded.

Jin had flushed pink before you even spoke, telling on himself. “No,” he said hotly. “I was just here, and the window happened to be open, and -”

“And you eavesdropped,” you finished.

He faced you, lips pursed thoughtfully. “How come no one sticks?” he asked.

You honestly thought you heard him wrong. “What?” you’d uttered, sure he’d repeat himself and say something else entirely.

“Why,” he said again, more slowly, “haven’t any of the guys you’ve dated lasted?”

There was a roaring in your ears as you stared back at him.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” you countered, your voice suddenly a whisper. “Jin, what do I say to that?”

He stepped closer, looking down at you, suddenly dangerously close to being in your space. He murmured your name, reached for your hand. His thumb stroked the back of your hand once, his eyes on yours imploringly.

What were you supposed to say - “because none of them were you”?

The kitchen door opened with a slam and you leapt apart, Seokjin dropping your hand and wheeling around to face the kitchen sink again. With shaking hands you reached for a cabinet that held cups and glasses, rummaging like you were trying to find a good one.

“Get me one of those, please,” Minji asked, poking you in the side as she passed you, before plopping into a kitchen chair.

“Sure,” you’d said, praying that your voice wouldn’t give you away. Seokjin slipped away, down the hall, into the shadows.

–

“What do you think of the wine?”

You were in spanx, a black velvet dress Minji had bullied you into buying, heels that made your ankles swell, and a lipstick called Pretty Petunia.

The wine was too sweet for your liking.

But for the sake of your date, who’d made you reservations at a fancy Italian place, you’d smiled and demurred, “Not bad. What do you think?”

You barely heard his answer. It was your third date, and you’d been more bored at each one. He hadn’t made you laugh even once.

As the candle flame between you flickered and danced, you downed two more glasses of the too-sweet wine and did serious damage to the bread basket. When your date asked you if you wanted to go back to his place for a nightcap, you lied and said you had an assignment due by midnight for grad school and needed to get home.

When he dropped you back at your parents’, you showered and got into sweatpants. You climbed on your bed and pushed your curtain aside just a few inches, leaning your arms on the windowsill and laying your head on them. Your phone buzzed by your leg - the date.

You didn’t answer.

You kept your eyes on the window, on the Kims’ house.

Seokjin had moved out earlier that day - really moved out, taking everything with him to an apartment a plane ride away.

You hadn’t told him goodbye, hadn’t snuck out to the moving van for one last moment. He hadn’t texted you, hadn’t looked up towards your window.

He’d just left, and you’d sat here and watched him go.

You rotated in place, wobbling as Seokjin slipped further from your life. You adjusted to the procession. Life hurtled on.

–

The first time you brought a boyfriend home, you were twenty-four. Three years had passed since Seokjin moved away, two since you moved out of your parents and into your “swanky” apartment, one since Minji had moved to her own place not too far from you.

You didn’t have any expectations for your parents’ Christmas Eve party - the three Kim kids were around some Christmases, but not all. You hadn’t seen all three of them on the same day since before Seokjin had moved out. You knew Minji was coming - you’d texted. The boys? Who knew.

You were excited to see Minji for the first time in a while. You were nervous to bring your boyfriend around your extended family. You were trying desperately to keep Seokjin from even crossing your mind. You weren’t excited to see him. You weren’t nervous to see him. You tried to keep the Seokjin part of your brain perfectly blank as you led your boyfriend, Daniel, up the front walk of your parents’ house, careful to point out the ever-present icy patch near the front door.

Your parents greeted Daniel warmly. You’d been dating about two months, and he’d met them not that long ago. He was a nice guy, at the end of the day.

“Come on,” you murmured to him, after you’d hung up your coats and taken off your shoes. “I have to introduce you to my aunts. I’m sorry in advance?”

He’d look at you wide-eyed, nervous. “Why are you sorry?”

“They’re just… loud,” you’d said, already steeling yourself for the squeals and hullabaloo.

Daniel held up surprisingly well, smiling genuinely and repeating everyone’s name back to them to make sure he remembered it. He was a nice guy.

Christmas Eve dinner went smoothly. You sat near Minji, the two of you catching up in quiet voices as the loud conversation flowed around you. Daniel, bless him, kept up with the larger conversation, taking a more active role with your family than you were.

After the meal, people floated around the house in groups. Someone put on a Christmas movie in the living room, you helped your mom put desserts out in the dining room.

You were standing in the living room, leaning against Daniel a little, chatting with Minji and watching the Christmas movie over her shoulder when the front door opened, shooting a blast of winter air through the room. That’s what made you look up - the chill.

Seokjin came through the door with his eyes down, working his feet out of his boots before the door was even shut behind him.

“Jinnie!” Minji cried.

A few things happened in quick succession. Your chest clenched, your stomach dropped.

Seokjin’s gaze followed his sister’s voice, then found you. You watched it on his face as he processed - seeing you, recognition and affection flickering to life, then confusion as he took in the stranger behind you, and then his face went absolutely unreadable.

Daniel wrapped his arm around you, hard, pulling you against him wordlessly. He’d never been so assertive the whole time you’d known him.

Later, he’d asked you, “Is there history with you and Minji’s brother? It seemed, when he showed up…”

Weeks later, when he ended things, bitterness caused him to spit, “Call Minji’s brother and cry about it.”

So much for a “nice guy”.

You’d wished you could call Minji’s brother to cry about it. He would have made you smile again.

–

Jin’s shoulders were under your fingers, his ragged breath in your ear, his lips on your jaw. Nothing existed but him. Everything you’d spent almost your entire life hoping for was right here, within grasp - he’d called you beautiful, he’d pressed his lips to yours like he’d die if he didn’t, he kept you safe in the space between your arms if only for a few moments.

Then, he’d stepped away carefully, holding you up a bit until you were steady on your feet again. You adjusted your skirt as he zipped his jeans and stepped away towards the trash bins - to deal with the condom, you realized. Then he was back, close enough that you could see him in the dark again.

You didn’t know what to say to him. You didn’t know how to ask if this was what you hoped it was - if he wanted you, really wanted you, wanted to be with you. You didn’t want to look stupid - stupider - if this was just sex, nothing else.

“You probably shouldn’t come in right after me,” Seokjin said. Was there something glum in his voice, or were you paranoid? “Minji will sniff that out so fast.”

“Yeah,” you said. Your voice sounded warped to your own ears. “Got it.”

Got it. This didn’t mean a thing.

You stayed there, pressed close to the house, hiding in the shadows long enough for your pulse to calm, long enough to start to shiver. You hadn’t gone back inside at all - instead, you’d crossed the street and entered your parents’ house, falling asleep in your childhood bed.

It was fitting. You’d cried yourself to sleep as a child and teenager plenty of times in that bed. Might as well do it again.

In the morning, New Year’s Day, you’d texted Minji, “what’s up at your house?”

She’d answered, “dad just took jinnie to catch his plane. why? whats up?”

You’d played it off, said something like “just wondered if you were as hungover as i am”. You laid on your childhood bed and stared at the ceiling, tracing the bumps and cracks you knew by heart. You reminded yourself that you hadn’t asked Jin for anything, hadn’t told him anything. You had no right to be upset with him.

The only move was forward. So, that’s what you would do. You’d move on, and so would he.

Which doesn’t explain why now, two years later, you’re furious again.

You avoid the neighborhood, try to slip back into your old habits and old routine.

Your mother, of course, calls you out.

“Haven’t seen you in a bit,” she says to you on the phone, a few days after you’d made Jin hangover soup. She keeps her voice so innocent, but you hear the unsaid - you were here so much and then you stopped.

“Want to go out for dinner?” you suggest. “I’ll treat you and Dad to somewhere good?”

“I already started cooking for later,” she says. She sounds sorry, but you’re beyond sure it’s all a trap. She proves you right by adding, “You could come here for dinner, though. I made your favorite.”

Of course you did, you tricky devil, you think darkly.

“Okay,” you say, long-suffering. “I’ll come for dinner.”

“We’ll see you at seven,” your mom says, and hangs up.

You feel entirely like you’ve been hoodwinked. You’re just not sure how yet.

When you arrive for dinner, you walk in warily, half expecting an unpleasant surprise of some sort. But you find just your parents, delicious food, and a quiet house.

You eye your mother suspiciously through the whole meal, but nothing out of the ordinary happens. You help your dad wash the dishes when you’re all done, spend a little time sitting around chatting. Eventually, you eye the clock and tell them you should get home. You give them quick hugs at the door and step out into the night, pulling the door shut behind you.

Across the street, the Kims’ house is all lit up. Minji’s car is parked in the street, not far from your own, which means she’s there too. You wonder how many more days Seokjin will be in town, before he fucks off back to his own city again. He’d said he’d stay for a few weeks, and you’re already nearing the halfway point.

You were stupid to even talk to him again. You were stupid to go to their house, knowing he was there. You were stupid to let him flirt with you at the bar, to nearly let him kiss you. You were stupid to show up, uninvited, and fucking cook for him like a goddamn girlfriend. You shouldn’t have done any of it. You should have stayed away.

You’re all worked up, thinking this, as you stalk through your parents’ front yard, pushing the button to unlock your car. You open the driver’s side door, still fuming, furious at yourself.

The door is jerked out of your hand as someone slams it shut.

Seokjin faces you darkly, one hand still on your car.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you scold him. “Seokjin, what the fuck.”

“We have a conversation to finish,” he says, ignoring this.

You close your eyes, lean sideways onto your car. You don’t have the energy for this. “I have nothing to say,” you tell him, opening your eyes again to look up at him. “I’m sorry I threw a cheap shot at you. All that… it doesn’t matter now.”

“It doesn’t matter?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

You shake your head. “It was so long ago, and it didn’t mean anything… I shouldn’t have even brought it up again.”

His brows furrow. He murmurs your name, the same way he had in the back hallway at the bar. “I don’t think you mean that,” he says gently, and it makes you even angrier, angry that you have to stand here and feel foolish while he gets to pity you.

“Which part?” you snap. “It was two years ago, we haven’t talked in those two years, and bringing it up has been completely fucking pointless, so where’s the lie?”

He grimaces, shaking his head a little. “I wondered for months if I’d hurt you… if you were upset. I was really hoping you weren’t. But, clearly…”

“Fuck you,” you tell him, a derisive laugh edging its way into your tone. “You don’t get to show up out of nowhere and feel bad about it two years later. I’m over it - I’ve been over it. I just never got to tell you to your face that you were an asshole, and now I can.”

“I was in a bad place that night,” he says, trying to explain. “I only -”

“I don’t want your explanation,” you snap, cutting him off. “Believe it or not, Seokjin, I’m not, like, dying to hear the list of reasons why you were out of your head enough to make a mistake like me, that night.”

He literally steps away, eyes wide, his hand falling from your car and slapping the side of his leg as it lands. “Mistake?” he echoes, horrified. “Is that what you think?”

This trips you, knocks you completely off the furious track you’d been barreling down. “What?” you say, unconsciously trying to buy yourself time to process, to formulate a response.

He steps back toward you, closing the space between you. One of his hands comes up and rests on your cheek. For some reason, you let it, staying still and allowing it. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “It didn’t mean nothing. It wasn’t a mistake, and I should never have let you think differently.”

And then he’s kissing you, slow and gentle, nothing like the fiery kiss you’d shared two years ago. His thumb strokes your cheek so gently it almost tickles. You open for him, letting him take you deeper, tilting your head back to give him more room as he shifts to press you against your car. Your mouth moves against his, his tongue teasing at your bottom lip. Then he’s sucking lightly at it as you sigh against his lips. Your hands are clutching his jacket, your hips pushing against his like they’re asking for trouble.

And then you’re opening both hands and pushing him away, scrambling to get your car door open again. He looks at you, bewildered, your name a question falling from his lips.

“I can’t do this again,” you tell him brokenly, as honest as you can be. “I can’t do it again. I think it’ll kill me if I do.”

You drop heavily into the driver’s seat, tug the door shut, and pull away. You buckle up as you drive away, Seokjin getting smaller and smaller in your side mirror, standing in the middle of the street in the dark, watching you go.

You drive five more blocks and then pull over, pressing your hands to your face as you gasp for air through shuddering, stomach-clenching sobs.

Seokjin was seventeen the first time you got drunk at his house, really drunk.

He felt responsible, since it had been his own fault - it was his friend Yoongi who’d come over with a handle of vodka. He’d been the one to tell you and Minji you could have a little. So when he watched you use hands and feet to climb the stairs and head up towards his kitchen, he’d followed, to make sure you didn’t fall down and get hurt.

He knew you’d gone outside because you’d left the kitchen door wide open. He’d followed, silently, closing the kitchen door behind himself. You were laying on your back in the yard, hands clutching fistfuls of grass, eyes on the sky above.

He’d laid next to you, a few feet away, asked you how the yard was.

“Spinning,” you’d told him, the word so badly slurred he almost couldn’t tell what you’d said.

And then you’d flopped your head towards him, those eyes swimming with something he thought he could understand, and you’d said, “Sometimes I feel like everyone looks right through me. Like maybe I’ll be see-through forever.”

Seokjin had reached across the grass, taking your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. He’d given your hand one squeeze, and you’d closed your eyes, turning your face back up towards the stars.

“I can see you,” he’d assured you. He didn’t know if you’d remember in the morning or not. But it had felt important to make sure you knew.

He could see you.

He had always been able to see you.

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ehehehehe i hope you liked this update!!! a little peek backwards :) thank you for reading and i hope you continue to enjoy!!!!!

i'm taking a week off of posting because I am traveling for a Family Event (send help) so part 3 will post on Friday, June 16th. thank you for understanding!

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north-blue-hearts · 8 months

Text

Family Practice

CisFem Reader x Trafalgar Law

CW: sex, language, violence

Summary: Modern Mafia-coded AU starts in last semester of College

An alternative story of Family Ties. (alternative Tumblr link here)

This is NOT a Prelude to Family Ties, but it's set in the same world with the same background for the reader. Story begins while she's in college.

I recommend reading Family Ties before this, only because there's a lot of spoilers for that in this story right from the beginning. But the titles can also be enjoyed separately, so if you're not a fan of Doflamingo-centric stories, don't feel like you have to pass this one by =)

If you don't want to wait for updates here, check it out on Ao3

Chapter 1: Linguistically

College life was a change in pace from what you were used to. It was calmer, quieter, far more peaceful, and honestly safer than your usual routine. Well, safer in that you weren’t fighting for money, or parkouring through the back alleys of Grandline City. And those activities were safer than life had been around your biological father.

But that was to be expected. When you were six years old your father – Captain Sakazuki Akainu – shot your mother dead at the Moim. The Moim is conference gathering of the top businesses in the land, almost all of which had underworld connections, and your father had attempted to raid it because of his dedication to the ideal of “Absolute Justice”. Someone had taken your mother hostage and he had handled the issue with cold efficiency.

You survived, thanks to a then teenage Marco and his twin brother Thatch. Thatch had rushed after your father as a distraction and Macro had scooped you up and disappeared into the crowd. After that, their father, Edward Newgate, had taken you in and raised you. You weren’t legally related to him, but he’s kept you sheltered, and protected as you’ve grown into your own.

Edward Newgate, and his dozen or so adopted boys, were at the center of the Newgate Family. A mostly local mafia family in Grandline Metro that had its hands in a dozen or so different things. You didn’t know all the details, but you weren’t completely ignorant of it. You might call him Pops like the boys do, but you’re not legitimately a part of the crew – though you likely could be if you wished it.

Coming to college was part of an agreement with the old man. He wanted you to be able to pursue whatever you were interested in, without worrying about it being a gain or loss for the Family. If you decided to join officially after you graduated, then he wouldn’t argue against it. If you decided to move out on your own, he’d make sure you were on your feet and things would go from there, and that didn’t mean you’d have to cut ties with Pops and the boys.

Family was family, no matter what shape it took. Unless you stepped away intentionally, or did something unforgivable, they’d all have your back, one way or another.

Admittedly, the hardest part of adjusting to college was being on your own so completely. You did things by yourself a lot, even as you were growing up, but you had been backed up by the boys in some way ever since Marco and Thatch had saved you. Sure, you could probably swing the Newgate name around at college, even at one outside Grandline City like this was, and find it offered you some protection. The plan was to try and exist without that, to try and sort out who you were as yourself, not as the tangential only “daughter” of Edward Newgate.

Part of that meant that when you noticed there were a dozen Charlotte children on campus with you, you did your best to ignore them. Since you weren’t ever officially introduced during any of the Newgate parties, none of the kids should recognize you, and you were okay with that. More than okay with it, if you were being honest.

Charlotte Lin-Lin, aka Big Mom, was on par with Pops in terms of power, though she was based in another city. She had 85 kids, and counting as far as you knew, despite her age, and that was impressive since it was 85 more kids than you ever expected to have. Granted, a good chunk of those 85 kids were born six or ten at a time, which was another feat of human creation that you never wanted to experience.

Lin-Lin liked to use her kids to forge marriage ties with friends and rivals alike. Considering the Charlotte Family was just as much an underground organization as an actual blood family, the process of forging bonds with business partners could be deadly. People who turned down invitations and “requests” would often find themselves with little worries in the afterlife.

Aside from the whole being in the afterlife part.

You walk into the library, looking for a quiet corner you can study in when you notice some of the girls from your English class, specifically, Charlotte Nutmeg and her friends. They’re pointing and whispering and giggling about someone sitting off in a study desk by themselves. They don’t look or sound like they’re planning on being mean, but there’s something about the way they’re talking that makes you take note. It’s almost like they’re fishing for Nutmeg’s Mrs. Degree.

(A/N - A “Mrs. Degree” or “Mr. Degree” is someone who goes to college with no intent to get their own degree, but rather to find someone who is going for a lucrative degree and starting a relationship with them.)

Pops made sure you were aware of as many of the mafia families as he could before he sent you off to college on your own. The agreement was to keep your head down, but you were who you were, and if you were going to get into trouble, he wanted you to be aware of how deep it could go. You had no intention of facing anyone from Big Mom’s family head on, but you knew that the kids were often betrothed based on their mother’s whims.

The few that married on their own, only got away with it because they managed to find useful partners that Big Mom would approve of. That process of finding someone on their own, however, couldn’t result in any waves, so the Charlotte kids had a strict code. No messing with someone already taken, and no getting involved in unnecessary drama. If things went sideways and Mama caught wind of things too soon, then it would all be for naught – they’d be betrothed before the next sunrise.

That made helping whatever poor sap they had in their sights relatively easy. So long as you could get him to play along fast enough.

You visibly perked up as you moved toward the young dark-haired man that the girls were giggling over and called out to him. He had a vibe similar to a high school friend of yours named Roronoa Zoro, so you pretended that’s who you were greeting.

“Hey, thanks for waiting,” you said as you approached. You were sitting down across from a very grumpy looking dark-haired young man who had some impressively dark circles under his eyes, and before he could say or do anything you continued a little more quietly. “Play along.”

You gave him your best disarming smile, leaving your books on the seat next to you so there wasn’t an accidental barrier between the two of you. The point was to convince Nutmeg and her gaggle of “profilers” that the two of you knew each other well. His eyes narrowed at you, and then he looked around without moving his head and closed his eyes, a flash of irritation crossing his face that even you barely caught despite sitting in front of him.

“You’re welcome.” He answers you evenly. He’s not speaking too loudly, but he’s at least got the sense to not look overtly irritated. You notice his hands are covered in tattoos, and his books are mostly medical subjects. If it wasn’t for the deep exhaustion sinking into him, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t have been fast enough to help him before he would’ve just gotten up and walked away.

Lucky for him he’s tired.

You open your phone and type into an empty text message. “I got those tickets, so we should be good to go for this weekend.” You say happily, holding the phone up for him to read it. “I tried to get some good seats; I know how important a good perspective is.” You’re doing your best to look like a long-time comfortable-around-him girlfriend, and not some wacko stranger. Which is a little challenging since you feel a bit like a wacko stranger.

Thanks to Luffy and Ace being friendly with everyone and anyone, you have a decent amount of practice in being comfortable around random people. Luffy never met someone who wasn’t a friend, and Ace tended to buy appetizers and booze for people when he went out. The two had even made a few friends with their fists. You still weren’t sure how broken noses and split lips could lead to being besties with someone, but you’d seen it happen at least three times between the two of them.

Text: Charlotte Nutmeg has you in her sights, and her family is dangerously pushy about marriage. Unless you *want* to be someone’s Mrs. Degree, in which case I can leave and wish you well with your prize.

“Oh, those are good seats, good job.” He replies, and even manages to flash you a smile.

You suppress the urge to snap a picture of him, even though you’re quite sure that smile is rarer than a blue moon. You’re trying to help the guy, not piss him off.

“Aww, it’s always nice to have one’s efforts appreciated.” You beam, giving your own best smile. You catch them leaving out of the corner of your eye and set your books down on the table and let out a breath, sinking into the chair. “Gods, sorry about that. Er, I mean, not sorry for it, but sorry I had to bug you.”

“I appreciate it.” He says flatly. “What did you mean by dangerously pushy?”

“Ah, the Charlotte family is notorious for arranged marriages. Their matriarch is terrifying, and she’s strong-armed a lot of marriages for her own benefit. Some of her kids will set their sights on successful people of their choosing and try to avoid having mommy dearest set them up.” You explain, opting to omit the whole Mafia Family detail, since you have no idea how this guy would react to it. The underworld was extensive, but the number of people who knew about it outside of the marines was small.

“… I’m hardly successful. I’m still in college.”

“Yuh-huh. Wow me some more with your humility there, Pre-Med.” You teased, nodding your chin toward his stack of books. You extend your hand, “(F/N)(L/N), linguistics major, Grandline City, pleasure to make your acquaintance, Pre-Med.”

He accepts your hand and shakes it once. “Trafalgar Law,” he says. “I’m not pre-med, I’m a graduate student. I was just re-reading my old notes.” He said, tilting the book up to show you all the notes and highlights that were in the book despite there being no such supplies around him.

“With that level of dedication, I feel like I should just start calling you Doc now.” You admit with a smile.

“… I’d rather you wait until I earn it,” he answered shortly, irritation finally showing up on his features. “Not that I expect to see you after today.”

“Aw, c’mon, accidental friends are the best.” You say with a smile. “Besides, we can help each other out.”

“Are you being hounded by a Charlotte family son?” He raises an eyebrow, like he already knows the answer.

You snort a laugh. “Maybe if they knew who my dad was, but no. No, I mean I’m majoring in Linguistics and you’re studying your pre-med notes. I can quiz you on terminology. You get some practice, and I get to geek out over root words and if I’m really lucky some syntax.” You lean against the desk and wiggle your eyebrows in a mix of mock, and honest, excitement. “Besides, I bet you could use a everyone-assumes-I’m-the-girlfriend-friend.”

“What makes you say that?” He doesn’t even look at you as he asks, picking up his drink.

You give him a flat look. “The continued humility’s cute, I’ll give you that, but you’re hot.” He chokes on his coffee, just barely managing to keep the sputtering inside the cup. “I imagine you get asked out at least once a week. More than that at the start of a new semester, until word gets around with the new freshmen that you’re just. Not. Interested.” You punctuate the last few words, feigning an expression of appropriate long-suffering.

Law sets his cup down and pinches the bridge of his nose. You can see his ears going pink, but you think better of teasing him for that, you’ll rib this guy into oblivion if you push much more. “That’s quite the accurate assumption.” He admits with a sigh. “Alright, (L/N)-ya, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” You say with a grin.

He grunts, though there’s a sort of positive sound to it, and mutters mostly to himself.

“She goes around saving people random headaches, peers into their pasts, compliments them, and watches really old movies,” Law looks up from his notes. “I’ll give you credit on being multi-faceted, at least.”

“Says the guy who knows it was from a ‘really old movie’. Full disclosure, I don’t actually like that movie, Pops loves that it, and I’ve probably seen it a dozen times against my will.” You admit.

“Pops?”

“Mm, now there’s a story for another time, Dah-erm-Law.” You say with a smile. “A girl needs a slight air of mystery or things are no fun.” You motion for the book he has open. “I was serious earlier, let me quiz you. Oh! Or you could teach it to me, they say a good way to study is to teach the material to someone. Makes it stick.”

“Let’s start with you quizzing me,” he replies, handing over the book.

#Family Practice #trafalgar law #x reader #reader insert #mafia au

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formalmess · 8 months

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i'm curious now. what is the darkest fic you have written

hmm.... well, only issue there is that i've compiled a list of 22+ fics i've written that could compete for the title, so i can't tell you one for certain. and of course, that answer might change depending on what element of darkness/horror scares you the most.

(INCOMING: long musings and thoughts abt darkness and horror in fics below, plus references and direct dialogue from GRAPHIC, unhappy, angsty stories. if reading about mario characters in distress makes you sad, please don't read. please, oh please, proceed with caution if you keep reading...)

i think something about horror that is so interesting is how differently some people approach it.

does gore squick you out the most? how about manipulation? psychological torment? jumpscares? horrifying implications? betrayal? alien lifeforms? body horror? there are so many facets to horror, and something one person might find fascinating, another might find appalling, and vice versa.

it's also what i think makes horror so compelling to explore in a fictional setting: emphasizing our inherent human fears into something fantastical and horrific, something to make us squirm in our seats.

for example, in everyday life, we might feel betrayed if a friend talks behind our back, but what happens if we amplify those feelings tenfold? as such, i've written a sum of stories that primarily center around manipulation, psychological torment, and the aftermath of betrayal. for me, i've always found those stories the scariest, whether in my writing or in popular media.

"How could you let this happen?" Luigi's words came first upon the realization, screaming as though someone else were in control of his voice. Hot tears streamed down his face, the anguished man wailing and sobbing, feeling nothing but the overwhelming need to hurt someone: to somehow find a way to make someone pay and avenge the mistake that had been made. "ANSWER ME!" --2020

You tried to block it all out. It would be over soon, it would be over soon, so please, please stop screaming, please, please, please, you didn’t want to do this-! --2020

there's also horrifying implications. i love to mess around with universes and worlds where things are uncanny, or plain wrong. perhaps a rift in the universe has left everything out of sorts?

or, more specifically, someone has been trying to create clones of you after murdering you in an act of desperate passion, but they keep falling and all of the clones resent their misguided creator... hahaaa..

He wanted to make another right then and there, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He wanted to tear his hands off and banish his dreaded ability of creation. He wished he couldn’t do this anymore. He sat there, alone, drowning in guilt as he sobbed loudly. Any bastardized copy wouldn’t suffice, no matter what he tried.

He jumped a bit, nearly slipping on the mystery residue at his feet. As soon as his vision got adjusted with the darkness, he fought the urge to scream in terror. If it weren’t for the fact that the other person across from him were upside down, and that their jaw was lopsided from their face, he would have sworn he was looking into a mirror. He was gazing right into a pair of dead, soulless eyes. And they were his own. --2020 [same fic as above]

manipulation? torment? why not.

"Now… you don't want your dearest brother to get hurt, now do you? You wouldn't do anything at all to jeopardize his safety." A smile. "Isn't that right, Mario?" --2021

and, based on people's impressions to FYE, at least, angst always lends itself well to horror, doesn't it? regret? grief? people being scared and sad together? it's a most deadly combination.

He damned the jester as he sat alone in the claustrophobic space with only Peasley’s rotting corpse as his company, wishing for death as the stench of spoiling fibrous flesh filled his nose. He sniffled, beginning to sob, fidgeting ever so slightly as he thought about how if he had only been stronger, only been quicker, this could have been different. They could have escaped the clutch of the void's songbird call. And he could have saved his beloved husband's life. --2021

and of course... gore. gore is pretty self-explanatory.

With a final sickening crunch and tear, the prince's neck was sliced clean off his shoulders, rolling away from the rest of his body with an unceremonious thud. --2018

With his caught in between the descending platform and the ground, there was no stopping what came next. With a sickening crunch, it pressed down, hard. It pulverized his arm beyond dust: gore and blood pooling from the spot as he screamed in anguish. Shock made him go numb. His vision was hazy. --2020

'starland', which is on my ao3, was actually going to be far more gorey than fye. but, alas, i lost the muse for that one. maybe someday, it will be continued...

and there's been many other generally dark stories as well. to provide just an inkling of context, i've written many before and after fye about dimentio being a general awful person to luigi and others, killing and torture abound. i've written a lot about super dimentio too! they're a really fun fusion to analyze. side fun fact: if you've read 'love like you' on my ao3, i have written a 'bad end' version of that... for full angst potential, you know.

i've also written plenty other "horror movie" versions of the mario franchise too. if you see fye as the "saw" of the mario universe, then i have others for various different franchises. i also have one piranha plant gijinka i made in 2018 who is an actual menace to society. whatever page he graces, he creates a mind-bending squickfest full of viscera. i know i have made various people sick with the fics i feature him in.

but to answer your question, my personal pick for my darkest fic is one i have is called 'tender', written in late 2021 — which was a working title as some point, but now it has stuck. while not very gorey, it is very heavy on the psychological torture and torment that scares me (personally) the most. in addition, it is one i will always only keep between me and my innermost circle of trusted comrades. the reason why? well, i actually haven't really written a darkfic since then, because i thought after finishing, "i've done it. i've written the darkest fic known to man" and thought there was no way i could possibly outdo myself. and since then, i have not been able to! makes my tummy twist just thinking about it. true horror there, that one.

context for these dialogue pieces? context for the fics i've alluded to? no....... you will simply have to draw your own conclusions... mwahahahah!!!!!!

or come and chat with me, haha! i'm always happy to talk about horror, but i like to do it outside of posting publicly since i know this is certainly not everyone's cup of tea.

well, i think that's a sufficient answer. here's to even more dark fics in the future!

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theealluringstoryteller · 1 year

Text

Welcome to the what if series! Something I’m trying out! I also believe @themonotonysyndrome is also doing! Where we take scenarios that aren’t in the storyline of the series ‘Arranged Marriage Series’ and write ‘What if!’ If you saw my poll and voted then you know that thee scenario ‘What if the servant didn’t give the baroness a choice and took her back to the Empire’ if you still want to vote on something you can scroll through my page and fine the poll on what type of content you want to see in chapter three of my fanfic ‘Against the world around us’

@neptune-cinths

‘What if the servant took the baroness back to the empire’

Omorose’s POV

It’s almost been a week since the rebels took the palace and trapping us in the throne room ever since. Being trapped in a room no matter how big it is with a bunch snooty Imperial nobles and servants who all turned out to be rebels or quickly converted leaving me to be the only one in the room not apart of their rebellion. It left my mind racing on what they were and weren’t willing to do in order to win in their insurrection. Killing? I know Ellis was more than willing after he impaled a soldier with a dagger. No hesitation, no regret, no sympathy in his eyes and that’s the scariest part. He was once a guy that got so flustered when Castin joked and teased him and now from what I can tell he was either the leader or one of the masterminds behind this COUP. Castin did tell me that the rebel group he had to deal with for those three months wanted them dead and I know that King Rhett and Aurelia was dealing with a very serious matter in the Empire’s capital it only leads me to believe that this war is far from over and in the middle of it I’m going to be forced to pick a side when all I want is peace between the two.

“Baroness! I made you some tea to calm your nerves.” Ellis set the cup down with a smile. Ever since he told me how he really felt about everything including my marriage I couldn’t look at him the same. Though he said that he recently joined the revolt which I find it hard to believe.

Deep down I understand why they want to revolt! They preferred the way things were before Rhett became the Emperor of the Coastal Empire. They were comfortable in that way of life not being surrounded by Intacians who treated them lowly. Refusing to service imperials and having to pay half of their wages just to pay Intacian servants and warriors to get them things from the town because they couldn’t go out of fear! None of the Imperial Servants had nothing to do with the war! They had no part of it! Those that did were either put in prison, placed in the Intacian army, or was like Anri getting set up with someone to marry. Their hate and disdain was aimed at the wrong people but they were to blinded by their hatred.

“Baroness…please you need to settle your nerves! The stress isn’t good for you.”

“Ellis, nothing is going to settle my nerves! I’m in the middle of a rebellion, what could be the start of another war!”

“We are finishing the war! Baroness you’re choosing the wrong side.”

“I’m not picking anyone’s side! I can’t!”

Ellis signed placing the cup of tea down.

The frown on his face and the look in his eyes showed disappointment. “Picking no sides could still make you an enemy of the Empire’s and you know what the Empire does to its enemies.”

Death.

The answer to most of the Empire’s problems. Though they never resulted to killing a noble. We were to valuable to kill off so easily especially if their was no heir to our title.

“They wouldn’t kill me over this.” I told him tapping the table eyeing the steam floating away from the cup.

“Perhaps not but do you really want to be thrown in prison until they found someone who they believe can ‘steer’ you into the right direction? Or would you like to have your free will? You were already married off to a rake Baroness! Don’t make your life worse than it already is.”

“Ellis you think you know how the Empire works but you have no clue.”

“When we win you’ll be seen as a traitor!”

“If you win I will still be seen as a high ranking woman of the Empire! Who would the Empire believe? Their beloved Baroness from one of the most respected families or a servant who crosses boundaries and have no respect for their Baroness?” I spat. I studied his face watching as the frown turn into a smirk, the expression making me glare in anger.

“Spoken like a true Imperial.”

Pushing the cup of tea towards me “Drink it! I’ll bring you a snack soon…dinner will be served in a few hours.”

Picking up the cup I sighed into it allowing the steam to wash over my face before blowing it away and taking a sip.

“Commander! Commander!” A soldier rushed into Castin’s tent where him and Rhett were in a heated discussion.

“What is it, soldier?”

“The scout! They sent word that they moved the Baroness!”

Castin felt his heart stop and his blood run cold. “Wh-what?!” His voice cracked at the news.

“They are moving her. The scout believes they might attempt to move her out of the city.” The soldier reiterated.

Castin turned towards Rhett panic in his eyes. Rhett never saw Castin in such a state since he lost his mother. The tired strung out man looked so fragile like thin glass ready to break.

“Castin! Breath!” Rhett reminded placing his heavy hands on the younger man’s shoulders, shaking him slightly trying to get him to take a breath.

“Breath brother, breath!” Rhett stressed.

Castin’s head snapped to the left as a harsh sting settled on his skin. Gasping Castin looked like a fish out of water.

“They- Rhett I have to go!”

“You need to calm down!”

“They are going to take Omorose! I can’t- I can’t let them-”

Castin erratically moved around putting on his armor and grabbing his weapons.

Rhett watched on hoping Castin would tire himself out enough to actually listen to him.

Castin stumbled over himself trying to keep the tears at bay as he thought of the worst things that could possibly happen.

‘If the rebels succeed then what will they do with her? Throw her in prison? Hurt her? They could they could…’ his mind wondered down a dark path eating at his weaken health.

“CASTIN!” Rhett called out following Castin out of the tent

“Not now Rhett!”

“CASTIN!”

Soldiers moved swiftly dunking and dodging, climbing over the gates and making their way into the palace quietly, as the rebels moved quickly moving an unconscious Omorose towards the secret tunnel to sneak her out.

“They are taking the Baroness out of here tonight so be ready in case we have to be on defense.” Castin over hears a rebel soldier order another.

“I thought the Baroness refused to leave?”

“There’s been a change of plans. She doesn’t have a choice now.”

“Commander what do you want us to do?”

Castin thought for a moment for the best outcome

“We need to figure out where exactly they are sneaking Omorose out and before captain Dolian gives Rhett the all clear to storm in.”

The small group continued to covertly moved through the palace witnessing Imperial rebels freely walk the palace as if it were a regular day for them.

“Those imperial jackasses!” One of Castin’s soldiers hissed.

“Quite!” Castin hissed.

Two ascendants rounded the corner passing by the small group who took cover.

“Such beauty, tainted by Intacian filth!”

“It’s a good thing they are taking the Baroness out of here now.”

Castin wanted to demand where his wife was but he knew it was stupid blindly going into a fight with ascendants. So he bit his tongue watching them walk away before turning to his group.

“All the exits are being watched! There’s no way they are taking the Baroness out of here without getting caught by troops.”

“I know soldier…but don’t underestimate your enemy, you’ll fail everytime you do.”

Up on a highest tower of the palace Captain Dolian lit a torched alerting Rhett as soon as he could…

Just like Rhett ordered him too.

An order that quickly crumbled Castin’s plan to safely get to his wife. The palace erupted in chaos.

“Intacians are in the palace!” A hysterical cry sounded just as the loud bells did.

“Damn it!” Castin cursed moving from his spot without a second thought to the small group of his soldiers.

Ellis pushed his fellow rebel men towards the entrance. “Go! Now before they catch you-”

“What about you-”

“Don’t worry about me! You guys go now! Make sure she’s delivered to our fort in the Empire.”

The rebel group quickly made their way through the secret tunnels that was long forgotten under the palace. One they worked hard to clear before they started their rebellion in the Intacian capital.

Ellis watched them go before insuring that the entrance was covered.

“You two go to the bell tower and be the look outs! If anyone is rushing out of here ring the bell! You! Go inform Rhett they are taking Omorose out now! Hurry!” Castin ordered leaving the group before the last words left his mouth.

Castin moved through the palace searching for any signs of where they could possibly sneak Omorose out.

Slithering around Ellis sought out Castin knowing that as the commander and Omorose’s husband he had to be in the palace.

Ellis could hear the commander babbling to himself like a scared child who lost their mommy in the market. “How pathetic” he mumbled rolling his eyes.

A sharp blade cut through Ellis’s flesh as he bit his bottom lip to hush himself as he self inflicted a wound. Tossing the weapons aside he began to stumble around pretending to be more injured than he is.

“LORD CAS- I MEAN COMMANDER! Castin! I tried to protect her-”

“Where is she!” Castin demanded catching a dramatic Ellis in his arms

“I over heard them say that they are taking the southwest road…”

“Southwest?”

“Yes! They know that by now Intacian soldiers will be on the east roads since that is the road that heads towards the coastal Empire!”

“There’s troops in all roads!”

“Thank the goddess! They won’t make it far with here then-”

“Where did they leave out? Which door?”

“I believe there was a secret entrance they were going on about in the kings study!”

Believing him Castin left him rushing off in that direction.

Ellis smirked wickedly watching as Castin went into the wrong direction his wife was in.

“Commander of the army but yet doesn’t know when his enemy is looking him in the eye!” He snickered to himself making his way to the secret tunnel.

The rebel group managed to get miles away from the palace thanks to the miles long tunnel that ran under the palace grounds and opened into the thick forest.

By the time Castin realized he was lied to Ellis was gone and the rebels they caught refused to talk. Even after Castin beat the most confident one.

“How did they manage to get out?!” He demanded going in for another punch. The rebels face was gnarly. Bloody, bruised and starting to swell.

“Castin! Stop!” Rhett ordered harshly holding Castin back.

“Commander, king Rhett, we found a tunnel under the palace! We think the rebels left through there!”

“They took her through the tunnels. Didn’t they?” Castin asked but, the servant refused to answer smirking up at Castin instead. Blood tricking down his slightly parted lips.

“The commander is speaking to you. It’s best if you answered him.” Captain Dolian chimed in loving the facts that an imperial kneeled in front of him bloody and ugly.

“Where are they taking her? Where are they taking my wife?”

“You think I would tell you, Dross?” The rebel spat groaning in pain.

“What did you just call hi-”

“I’m far from wanting to continue playing this game of interrogation where you try to continue to play the tough guy until I finally kill you! Tell me where…where are they taking my wife?”

The rebel stayed quiet glaring up at Castin.

Castin felt the last ounce of patience leave his body.

“Alright…fine.”

Castin lunges out of Rhett’s grasps towards the rebel knocking the beaten man on to his back, Castin’s hands wrapping his large hands around the man’s throat.

“Stop! They couldn’t have gotten away! We can go after them!”Rhett pried Castin off before he could finish the man off.

“I ca-I can’t lose her, Rhett!”

Everyone watched as the famous Intacian warrior swayed weakly the lack of sleep and hunger finally getting to him. He fell defeated by his lack of self care into the ground.

“Someone get a medic! NOW!”

The forest was dark and cold by the time Omorose awoken in the make shift camp. Her head still dizzy from the drugged tea she drunk. Her blurred eyes looked around panicked.

“You’re finally wake. I made the tea stronger than I was supposed too.”

“What did you do?” Cried Omorose rubbing her eyes trying to regain her sight.

“I respectfully made the choice for you.”

“Respectfully? You drugged me!” Omorose hissed pissed off that she was forcefully taken out of the palace.

“For your own good! What would it look like to the rest of the Empire if you stayed willingly with the enemy Baroness! You already was forced to to marry one.”

“I wasn’t forced.”

“The Empire doesn’t see it that way!”

Castin woke up, head pounding from dehydration and hunger in his room in the palace. He sat up despite feeling so shitty. He groaned holding his head and cursing.

“Good you’re awake! Eat up before you kill yourself.” Rhett said motioning to the tray of food and water on the bedside table.

“Rhett I have to go-”

“You need to eat!” Rhett stressed pushing Castin back on the bed when Castin tried getting up to quickly.

“Did you at least send a troop after the rebels?”

Rhett sighed knowing that he had to break the news and potentially send Castin into another panic attack.

“I ordered them not to go after them. Securing our borders is way more important right now! We have to stop any other potential rebellion”

The room was silent as Castin sat there processing Rhett’s words.

“Are you seri- Rhett she is the most important person in my life. The most important thing to me…if you’re refusing to help I’ll go alone… brother.” Castin spat out the last word as if it was a vile substance in his mouth. Rhett pressured him to make an effort to get to know Omorose, he did and he fell in love, told him to drop the ‘manly Intacian act’ he did and omorose grew to love him back and now… now it felt like Rhett was telling him to do the impossible.

Omorose stared at the large fortress walls bitterly watching it grow larger as she was forcefully lead towards it. The old imperial flag greeted her as the gates opened.

“You will remain here until it’s safe to have you back in your regular imperial scene.”

“Do you honestly think that Castin won’t come after me?”

Ellis nodded before saying “Do you think We won’t kill him without Hesitation?”

Part 2 coming soon😈

It’s currently 1:56 am where I’m posting this. My mind won’t allow me to type more and if you’re reading this before I post part two I like leaving people in suspense sometimes🙃

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dragonmuse · 2 years

Note

”He doesn’t live in the city, but has a house in a quiet neighborhood (I would say ironically probably in a similar neighborhood to Izzy and Eddy in You’re Awful, I Love You) with his husband Thomas.” So... neighbors AU? :)

(why start a new AU when it's all there already! You’re Awful, I Love You tickles me so. I've got two asks in it, but this one grabbed me by the neck for some reason. As a refresher YA,ILU is the one where Eddy and Izzy get married and live in the burbs. Also because I got this as a comment, yes! The au title is a lyric from the amazing Ludo song ‘Love Me Dead’ which I highly recommend and is a very Eddy/Izzy song.)

Izzy has no idea why Eddy hates the neighbors. They barely share the property line, an easement between their two parcels owned by the town so they could reach the powerlines meant that they technically had no border. And the neighbors had lined their side with tall trees anyway.

“He’s out there again,” Eddy would say ominous.

“It’s his fucking yard,” Izzy would roll his eyes.

It was a nice change, he supposed, to have Eddy being the one carrying a bitter pointless grudge. Usually that was Izzy’s job. Eddy tended to forgive and forget, especially if she’d already taken her pound of flesh.

“How many times can someone trim the same three rose bushes?”

“I don’t know, but I’m starting to think I should be worried that you’re keeping count.”

He set down breakfast in front of her. Her feet were bare, traces of early morning dew soaked dirt around her toes. She had on tiny shorts, almost entirely hidden by the oversized purple sweater that she wore most mornings, ratty as anything.

Fucking gorgeous, of course. Izzy considered if it would distract her if he got on his knees right now.

“It’s obsessive,” she muttered into her bacon.

“Yeah, okay,” he settled on instead, not liking his odds and not needing that ego bruise.

Izzy had met the next door neighbors all of once because meeting people was not his job. Eddy met people. Izzy remembered their names, preferences, and criminal backgrounds. Everyone had a role.

They were two guys, probably together, both tallish and good looking. One was blond and one was a redhead with a ponytail. Occasionally, he saw them headed to their cars in the driveway. Thomas and Flint.

The only time they’d met it was because Izzy was taking a box off the truck they'd rented to move in and Thomas had swung by with a half-smile and said,

“Hello! You must be the new neighbor.”

“Yeah,” Izzy watched him warily. It was early days of their retirement and Izzy had not even begun to unwind (it could be argued he’d never gotten around to it, but hey it was on the ‘to do’ list these days. Mostly on Lucius’ ‘to do’ list, but that counted for something).

“Just you?”

“No, me and my...” There hadn't yet been a word for what he and Eddy were to each other. He hadn’t dared something with any romantic weight, but he certainly wasn’t calling her boss anymore. “Eddy.”

“Ah,” Thomas said gently as if he entirely understood, which was fucking annoying. “My husband and I have lived here for a few years. It’s a good neighborhood.”

“Just need it to be quiet,” Izzy shrugged.

“It is that. Do you need a hand with that?”

“No,” Izzy got the box up on one shoulder.

“Ah,” Thomas watched the move with a twitch of the lips. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Izzy,” he said reluctantly. They weren’t hiding here.

“Hey, Flint!” Thomas called out and Izzy did his best not to flinch. Even in the short weeks since they’d retired, Izzy had gotten used to the silences. Come to enjoy them.

The other man, the one Izzy had clocked as soon as he’d stepped out of the car, stood up from the rose bushes. The tiny ponytail which had seemed ridiculous melted from his perception immediately. Even from a hundred feet away, Izzy could feel his gaze like a two-handed shove.

“Yes?” The man who must be Flint called back with a voice like velvet.

“This is Izzy! He’s our new neighbor!”

Eddy pulled up right then, her bike roaring, then silenced with a turn of the key. She dismounted, still in her leathers then, beard thick. Izzy knew from long experience that if one of them showed up like that, then it was a fun eccentricity to people like Thomas and maybe the husband. Two of them though, that was a threat.

Thomas just smiled even more broadly. “Hello!”

“Hello,” Eddy set her helmet on the seat, walking up the driveway.

“I was just introducing me and my husband to Izzy here,” Thomas said genially. “I’m Thomas and he’s...Flint!”

“What?” Flint looked away from Izzy at last and he sucked in a desperate breath. Fucking hell.

“Come over here and be a person!”

“I am a person all the time,” Flint said with a grimace, but he came over. His stride was ground-eating and his hand came up protectively to Thomas' back the second he was close enough.

“A rude one,” Thomas scolded, then looked back to Eddy and Izzy like they might want to take part in this domestic bickering.

“Can’t be ruder than Iz,” Eddy offered, always willing to play. She extended her hand, “Eddy. You’ve met Izzy apparently.”

“Apparently,” Flint said quietly, a thrum underneath that gave Izzy a chill all down his spine. Made him aware he’d been standing there with a box on his shoulder for too long.

“Going inside,” Izzy said to his feet, not even loud enough for himself to hear and vanished into the house.

He didn’t know where the box actually went, but he could figure that out later and just set it down by the door. He should go get another one, but instead he lingered by the door and it was with great relief that Eddy came back in not a minute later.

“Weird guys,” she determined. “You good?”

“Yuh huh,” he frowned. Had they been weird?

“C’mon,” she grabbed his forearm. “Let’s make a good first memory here, huh?”

Who was he to argue? Even if they had already fucked by the front door last week when they got the keys.

After that, Izzy had mostly just waved at the two vaguely if they waved at him and aside from that, kept to himself. Eddy, who in this new place was bubbling over with meeting people and ferreting out their interesting secrets to share with Izzy like prizes she’d dug up in the yard, didn’t talk to them either.

That held for years. They weren’t the kind that invited the neighbors over for a meal anyway. And then there were bigger fish to fry. Motherfucking Stede Bonnet. And who knew what the neighbors made of that, all these new people suddenly coming and going from the formerly quiet house?

Then a couple of months ago, Izzy had waved vaguely at Flint, keeping his eyes down, Eddy at his side.

“I fucking hate that guy,” Eddy said vehemently.

Izzy’s head whipped up. “What? Why?”

“He’s just-” she waved emphatically. “Always out there with the fucking roses.”

“Yeah,” Izzy frowned at her, “you’re out here more than anyone else, so what?”

“He’s an asshole,” she announced. “Anyway, you sure you want to come in tonight?”

“Said I would,” he sighed. “We’re almost in the car. What do you think I’m going to do? Do a runner?”

“Maybe,” she poked him in the ribs and he swatted at her hand. It was distracting.

It had taken a lot of time to get Izzy into the Revenge and in the end it was Lucius who managed to draw him inside, not Eddy. Something Eddy didn’t know and never would if Izzy had any say in it. Because Lucius had just straight up bribed him rather than bothering with convincing.

“I’ll get us a hotel room,” he’d licked his lips. “And we can ruin it.”

They’d done that and Izzy would think about that night whenever Eddy asked if he’d come watch her perform. He loved watching her, as it happened, even if the rest of it was a trial.

Tonight as he slid into his seat at the bar, Lucius was on him in an instant,

“Hello, lover,” he purred, so that Izzy would laugh.

“Hello,” Izzy obliged him. “What am I drinking tonight?”

“I’m feeling kind, so I won’t foist the Swede’s latest disaster on you,” Lucius touched his hand, alighting light as a butterfly. “How about one of my little inventions?”

“Yeah, all right.”

The drink was a wicked shade of green and tasted like sour apples with what was probably champagne bubbling through it.

“This one got a name?”

“How about the Happy Tart?” Lucius suggested.

“Naming it after yourself then?”

“Mean,” Lucius stuck out his tongue at him. “You’ve got your lines going.”

“What lines?”

Leaning forward, Lucius poked him in the forehead, “Those lines. Your worry lines.”

“Not worried,” he denied, then crumbled under Lucius’ disbelieving stare. “It’s an Eddy thing, you don’t want to-”

“I can deal,” Lucius cut him off. “Come on, you get tense when you’re worried for her, and I like you relaxed. Spill.”

“She’s gotten into this grudge with the neighbors and I can’t fucking figure it,” he exhaled. “It’s not like her. To just...dislike someone for no reason. Every time, she just carries on about the roses, but you can’t even see them from our property really.”

“That hot couple next door?” Lucius asked.

“The-” Izzy paused, recalled and then nodded, “Yeah, okay. Them. Or at least one of them.”

“Huh. Let me think about it.”

“Yeah, okay.”

What was the worst that could come of it?

Belladonna ruled the stage that night and Izzy gave her his full attention. She seemed normal...as normal as any six foot tall siren with ivy trailed through her hair and leaves painted on her skin could look anyway.

Too bad she was staying with Stede that night. Though Izzy did get one hell of a midnight kiss that left him with green paint smeared over his mouth and down his neck. He took the mess of it home and climbed into bed alone.

Lucius arrived the next day, said nothing about the whole thing and got to make good use of Izzy’s pent up energy. It wasn’t until the next morning while Izzy made breakfast that Lucius apparently decided to move into action.

Which for him was putting on cut-off jeans, a t-shirt with a v so low it was probably a crime and a pair of sunglasses, stalking across the lawn and greeting the neighbors like he fucking lived there. Izzy watched from the kitchen window. He hadn’t known Lucius owned shorts like that and it was doing some things to his brain.

Flint stood up beside the roses to greet him. And for a flickering second, Izzy watched Lucius take a step back.

Oh, I’ll fucking kill him, the beast inside Izzy hissed. But then subsided. Because dear Lucius wasn’t cowed for any longer than that, taking back that step and more besides. Coming in close enough to reach out a hand which Flint shook.

They spoke for only a minute or so, before Lucius waved a little and went down to the end of the driveway to check the mailbox. Which was...weird because he definitely did not get mail here. Then back up the drive with a shit-eating grin on.

“What was that about?” Izzy asked as Lucius came into the kitchen.

“I have done my research,” Lucius announced, pushing his sunglasses upwards. “And I have an answer for you.”

“In a one minute conversation.” Izzy’s eyes dropped to long milky thighs. “Were you baiting a trap?”

“A little,” Lucius leaned in and gave him a long filthy kiss. “And you can eat the bait later.”

“So what’d you trap then?”

“That man,” and...huh...Lucius didn’t sound thrilled with him either. “Radiates dom energy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Izzy frowned. “I can’t even fucking look at him.”

“You knew?”

“I mean you gave me the words for it, but it’s hard to spend all these years doing what Eddy and I do and not notice when someone’s like that,” he shrugged. “But he’s not doing it on purpose. I think it’s just how he is.”

“Oookay, well then obviously Eddy doesn’t like him.”

Izzy knit his eyebrows together, “Obvious how?”

“Do you not look at him every time?”

“Yeah? It’s not my proudest moment of the day, but it’s that or I get kind of...” he sighed. “You know. It’s embarrassing.”

“Eddy knows you space out when you’re hot,” Lucius said like it explained everything.

“Yeah and?” Izzy paused. “Wait.”

“Uh huh,” Lucius kissed his cheek. “Ding ding, the train has pulled into the station.”

“Really?”

“Really,” “Lucius’ arms slid around his waist.

“Huh.”

There was a nip at his neck and Izzy was no longer thinking about Flint even a little. “You too?”

“Mhm,” Lucius pulled him in close. “Only human. Even if I know you’re about as likely to do something about it as I am to get on the roof and pull a superman.”

It was a really good day after that, but after Lucius left, Izzy found himself stymied. He went into the workshop, but couldn’t start a project. He went to the kitchen, but the idea of making dinner didn’t appeal either.

In the end, he sat down on the couch and picked listlessly through a book until he heard Eddy’s motorcycle coming. Even then, he didn’t really move, just set the book aside so he could watch her come in the front door.

He couldn’t help, but admire her. There was probably never going to be a day when he didn’t. She had her hair half up, the rest cascading around her shoulders, messily wind blown. Stede must’ve bought her this outfit. It looked expensive, a shimmer instead of sheen to the lavender top with it’s knot in the front, showing off a tantalizing line of skin above tight black pants.

“Thought you’d be in the workshop,” Eddy said when she’d hung up her jacket. “Nothing on the lathe today?”

“Not in the mood,” Izzy said quietly.

“Yeah?” She glanced up, caught his expression. “You alright there?”

“Thinking.”

“Dangerous,” Eddy surmised and walked over to him, dipping down for a kiss. He kissed back, cupping her jaw. It was so smooth to the touch these days and he often found himself running his thumb along the bone of it. “What’s got your gears grinding?”

“I was thinking...” he sighed. “Fuck this sounds stupid, even in my head.”

“That’s gonna be good then,” she sat down beside him, resting elbow on the back of the couch, chin in her palm. “Tell me.”

“I was thinking that I wish it didn’t make me happy that you get jealous,” he admitted, sinking his head back beside her elbow, looking up at her. “Don’t think it says anything good about me.”

“I’ve been good about it for weeks,” she protested. “Lucius and I even did a whole event together and kept civil tongues in our head. Didn’t he say?”

“Not Lucius, though, yeah good job on not killing each other, I appreciate it,” he sighed. “I meant the neighbor.”

“What about him?” Eddy looked away.

“I didn’t notice. That it was messing with you,” Izzy watched her carefully. “I don’t even know the guy. Don’t really care to.”

“Yeah, you don’t care to know anyone,” she mumbled.

“I care to know you,” he turned his head enough to press his lips to her arm. “Eddy. You know no one else is allowed to touch me the way you do, right?”

Her hand flexed above him. A knuckle cracked. He stayed as he was. Waited.

“I hate how jealous you get,” Eddy said at last. “It's impossible sometimes, the way you want me. And so when I...when I get like that, I hate it even more. I’m such a fucking hypocrite. How can you like it?”

“Cause I want you to own me,” Izzy pointed out. Maybe instead of being distracted that afternoon, he’d been thinking. Turning old rocks around and around in his mind until they tumbled out polished and ready. “And you don’t want anyone to possess you. Not me. Not Bonnet. Not the world. And they don’t, Eddy. They can’t. I can’t. Tried. Didn’t work. Gave up.”

“Yeah, I know,” her hand dropped at last. Open, not a fist. It ended up on his chest, right over his heart. Her emerald glittered in the light. “Watching you react to someone else like that makes me want to spit acid anyway.”

“I don’t even look him in the eye.”

“That’s on purpose?” She frowned. “I thought that was kind of your whole...you don’t make eye contact with me either when you get like that.”

“Different reasons. If I look at you while I’m like that, it’s too intense too quickly and it’d all end in a second and a half,” he snorted. “I don’t look at him cause I don’t like a stranger rifling through my head. Felt like he knew what I was like the second he saw me. I don’t need more of that in my life. You are more than enough for one man to survive.”

“Really?” She turned the full force of that gaze on him and met it.

“Yeah, really. What? You think I’m out here trolling for more people to put me in my place?” He set his hand over hers. “I’ve got a demanding job, a house to keep up with, a spouse and a boyfriend to keep happy and satisfied, all with a fifty year old body. I’m spinning enough fucking plates.”

Her lips curved ever so slightly upward, “Getting tired, Iz? Too old to keep up?”

“With you?” He shook his head slowly, maintaining eye contact. “There’s no pace you could set that I wouldn’t keep up with.”

“Sure, I get a boyfriend, you gotta find one, half our age and twice as lively, huh?”

“It’s not a competition,” Izzy smiled lazily, stretching a little. The hand on his chest exerted pressure, kept him down. “But I think we know who’s winning.”

“Big words to someone who just admitted he’d come if I gave him too much eye contact.”

“Well,” Izzy tilted his chest up, “got to put a new tool in your kit for you sometimes.”

“I don’t need help,” her hand slid up to his shoulder, gripping hard. The nerves there had never healed right and pain rose up to meet her touch. “But I think tonight, I’ll take it.”

It took Izzy a full three days to recover from that night, and he enjoyed every last second of it. On the fourth morning, he was still riding the high a little as he went out to the workshop. There was a stool he was working on, an improvement over the last one Eddy had claimed for the garden. He was sanding it by hand, enjoying the process.

She stepped into the room and her usual basket had the shears sticking out and three roses, blood red, were nestled beside them.

“We have rose bushes now?” He asked distractedly. There was always something new out there and he could have easily missed her planting them.

“No. Flint offered up a few. They came with the property and he says there a bitch and a half, impossible to keep off the sidewalk. Has to trim them constantly.”

“Does he now?” Izzy paused in his work. “And when did he say that?”

“Just now. He was out while I was looking for fallen branches for the fire pit,” she said casually. “Asked him about them. He’s a lawyer apparently. Pfft. You know I feel about lawyers.”

“I do,” Izzy said solemnly.

“Anyway, they’re going away next week, so I said we’d keep an eye on the place. Could be good for when we’re not home too, huh?”

“Yeah.” And it was such a good thing he had long practice with not laughing at all because it was taking a lot of energy not to do it now.

“I know how you like red,” Eddy swept the flowers up and held them out to him. “Mind the thorns, huh?”

And she was in the ragged purple sweater, sweating a little and smiling herself. Maybe, maybe, on the cusp of laughing at herself a little. Holding out flowers to him as if this was how they always did things.

“Like the thorns,” he said, no longer anywhere near laughter as he took them from her. They were pretty things, probably last a few days in water.

She kissed him, soft and sweet. “Gonna go wash up. Coming with?”

He’d put them in water later. And then when they started to wither, he might just get a bit of twine, hang them in the corner of the garage to dry out. Maybe keep them there as if he’d forgotten about them, just another thing collecting dust in a garage. Even if they did hang just inside his peripheral vision as he sanded down the rough edges of his small domain.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #you're awful i love you

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or-something-better · 1 year

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Sam’s Writing Corner

August 23, 2022

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Okay, for this week, “Tell us about a Kill that had a lasting impact on your life”. Could have been your first, or a really difficult one, or even a kill by someone else that you were involved in somehow or had meaning for you in some way. Try to post by Sunday Night.

(This Writing Topic Is brought to you by Patience, so let’s show her some love and write killer stories😀…..see what I did right there? “Killer”…get it?😂Have fun!)

Ruby

THE Kill

I’ve had a difficult time trying to find the kill that affected me the most. Having lived over six hundred years makes it difficult to narrow it down to the one that was most memorable.

So many times I felt like death was an everyday occurrence. Still do. Some unexpected, some planned. And to be honest, I’ve lost count of how many I caused myself. It’s a dirty business.

And I’ve found many types of kills. There’s the “Down And Dirty, Face-to-Face” kind of kill. The number is mind-boggling on those. It’s also probably the one I’ve personally done most.

There are the “Maneuver The Humans Into Place To Get Them To Kill Each Other” kind. Done many of those as well. I still count the Greek/Ottoman skirmish in 1822 I planned, to be one of my greatest feats. It certainly got Lilith’s attention.

There is the “Kill To Stay Alive” kind. Yep. Couldn’t even count those numbers to this day. I suppose you could say they affect me because if I get it wrong even once, it’s over.

I did have a little incident early in my career once I returned topside from Hell. Minor little thing that went down in history known as a plague. It wasn’t planned really, it was an accident. Honest!

No, even all that, I can’t say that any one of them would be THE one. For it to be that I think I would still be affected by it today.

Now that I have had to relive all those memories, maybe I can *come up with the one.

And I had nothing to do with it. But it had a huge impact on my life.

It was 1344. The plague had started in Europe and ravaged so many villages. The sheer number of dead was staggering. I had hoped that my small village that was tucked away from the bigger towns would be spared. But disease will take whatever it can get, and my village was no different.

Our numbers weren’t very much to start with and once the first victim fell, it spread quickly. My brother Arthur was among the first to die.

That single death for me would be the killing that affected me the most. I remember the terror of an enemy you couldn’t even see. And because of Arthur’s death, it set me on the path to selling my soul to become a powerful witch so that I could save my mother and those I could in the village.

So yes, my dear brother, I choose your senseless death, as the kill that charted my course and the one I will never forget.

………………………………………...........................................................

Mary

The kill that left a impression on me was a ghoul. I tracked it for days. Some teens had been reported missing. So I went to find them. Upon arrival I saw some of the teens had disappeared while in the same area.

I went to the area and checked with the locals. All the missing teens were couples. I set up a trap and waited.

A couple walked past me as I waited. Once the ghoul was trapped I beheaded her and got the survivors to safety after burning her body.

…………………….....................................................................................

Eileen

This - is the story of how I died. again

totally suited title for our lives. how I died - AGAIN. this is… well, if you count the time Chuck snapped me away, this would be death number 3. and this time I was innocent! well, more than I was the other times, anyway. I mean, the first time, sure yeah I killed things, but they were monsters. and then Ketch just murdered me with his stupid Hellhound. I mean, I thought Crowley was supposed to keep an eye on them! glares at Crowley but anyway, I got out of Hell when Chuck made the rift open and came out as a ghost, then Sam helped me become alive again.. and then Chuck snapped me away… yeah apparently Chuck didn’t like me very much. well, when Jack took Chucks powers I became alive yet again. and now, I am, again, dead. I’m beginning to know how Dean feels. at first, when you die it’s funny. but after a while, it begins to get boring. but enough about what being dead is like. I want to tell the story of HOW I died. I mean there I was, relaxing with the team, making jokes. I was laughing at Crowley arguing with Gabe. then, (cuz I thought it was funny) I said “no one cares” to Gabe. (cuz he kept sending the same thing over and over again!!) and just like that, I became a trillion little atoms drifting apart after the nuclear blast took my life. AGAIN. I guess now I can see where Gabe gets that temper from. I mean, Chuck did snap me away too… the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. and so now.. I’m left to wander the earth .. alone .. forever .. hoping that someday Gabe will find it in his heart to bring me back. after all my time as a ghostly, I’m ready to be back in the land of the living. I mean, I am in the land of the living, but I’m ready to be back LIVING with the living. it has been fun doing some peeping tho.. I wouldn’t dare mention any names, as I value my life. I suppose I could mention names, as long as it’s not Gabe’s name, since I’m already dead, I can’t be killed again really. at least while I’m still dead. but I won’t mention names in case I ever do regain a heartbeat, I may be murdered again. one never does know. I don’t think people really understand what being a ghostly is like until they’ve been one. I mean, the people you can see! no need for tickets to a concert, no need to worry about the presidential security, you can just go in and see him. he can’t see you, of course, but that’s beside the point. it’s kind of an awesome gig. but to not be able to speak to your family… that’s torturous. to enter the bunker and see them all smiling, joking, teasing each other, drinking their beers.. I’m lonely for them. I see Perry the penguin and I want to give him a fishy, but I can’t hold a fish. I want to give bear bear a hug, but I can’t do that either. I can only hope and pray that Gabe restores my breath, and soon.

……………………………............................................................................

Dean

I was gonna make this longer but i guess there's no need. What was my best or favorite kill that made a lasting impact? Now THAT'S an easy one!

It was 2016, Sam and I were drawn to this very weird double murder case is Columbus, Ohio. When we arrived, we learned that this richy rich woman had gone to this old antique shop in search of this really old gold pocket watch from 1931. Apparently, her agreement in price fell through so the purchase was never made before she watched the owner just up and burst into flames before she herself followed suit. Bizarre? Yeah I thought so too!

So, when we got there, we busted into the place to have a look around. Sam immediately jumped on a nearby computer, like he always does trying to find out what this rich hag could have been there for. As he starts to ramble off some crap about this pocket watch and how it where it came from. Something about a bunch of Nazi nut jobs. At the same time I found a secret door and said Nazis? He asked how I knew. I showed him the room filled with old relics and gear.

Apparently, the Nazis owned the pocket watch but it had been missing for years and then we discovered the Thule Society might be involved. We called a friend in Germany who had a lot of useful information about the Thule, but knew nothing about the watch. While talking to him we hear about another body, and once again...spontaneous combustion! Upon arrival to the scene, we see a girl who had been forced into the back of a car and we follow it. So, this guy who kidnapped her, his name is Christoph He tells us about his father and how he died. Then he tells us that this pocket watch...Get a load of this! Holds Hitler's soul!

We then find out this girl, Ellie Grant is a direct relation to Hitler, thus being the key. Christoph says he has been ordered to take her to the Thules because they need her blood to resurrect that douchebag Hitler. So, long story short, we showed up, they captured us briefly, they resurrected the Nazi prick, we fought them, then BANG!

Now you tell me how many other guys get to say those awesome words??? "Dude! I freakin killed Hitler!"

………………………………..........................................................................

Patience

The hunt that impacted my life

Laying out on my car it's the middle of winter I love doing this it's when the stars are at there brightest. The air is fresh, no demons, no monster's just me, so peaceful. As I'm staring up at the stars I started to remember a hunt we went on last month my first real hunt after leaving my dad. Anyway I'm with Jodi, Alex and Claire when Donna calls. She had gotten word that there was a pack of vetalas spotted near Duluth Minnesota dam that word still sounds made up to me. Now these creatures can feed on one human several times be they actually die. They are said to be descendants of eve and a relative of leviathan. So when Donna called we had to rid the world of these creatures.. Jodi, myself, Alex and Claire we all get are gear making sure to have plenty of silver knives to kill them once they are stabbed you have to turn the knife in a complete circle. So, we get ready and head out the to the cars. We meet up with Donna at an old abandoned warehouse. We get out of our vehicle Donna gets out of hers. Of course lots of hugging going on. each of us ready knives out we sneak into the warehouse as quickly and quietly as possible.. Once inside it gets really quiet. Walking through a long corridor we come across one it grabbed me and Alex was all over it. Stabbing it the chest making sure to turn it one full circle... And then we were surrounded by 4 more. one goes after Claire, Jodi has that but then one goes after Donna, I run toward her as I leap and right on top of it. Stabbing it oh fuck I forgot to turn it through me through the air hitting the brick wall. Alex goes racing for it stabbing it and turning it a full circle. I'm still kinda seeing stars from my head hitting the wall. I start to have a vision but before I tell anyone I look around as Claire is taking down the last one. Jodi noticed me holding my she didn't even ask she already knew I was having a vision. So she comes over to me asking are you ok Patience? I just had a vision Jodi I say. It was a beautiful one. Then I tell her in the vision I was watching the 4 of you in action in my vision I realize this is where I'm supposed to be. I proceed to her. That before the vision I was watching you women fight those things. I knew that leaving my father's house that was going to be a hunter. You women kick ass and we along with the Winchesters who will? This was such an amazing hunt and molded what my life is going to be for the rest of my life. Thank you Jodi, Donna, Alex and Claire for being someone I can look up to and learn from. For the wayward sister's I love you all.

…………………………………..........................................................................

Crowley

My First Kill

I slump to the ground with a pathetic whimper as my mothers magic throws me across the run down shack. With all her power you’d think we wouldn’t live in squalor, but she really just used her wiles to sleep her way into someone else's nice house. I slowly push myself to my feet and try avoiding her gaze as she shrieks at me about the herb garden not having the ingredient she needed.

“Mother the market didn’t have that when you sent me for them…” I tried to explain pressing myself back against the wall while staring up at her looming figure stalks closer. “Are you making excuses, you miserable waste of space? Are you Talking back to your Mother?” I’m sent flying by her back hand and feel myself lifted from the floor as I claw at my throat.

It feels like hours until the magic suspending me by my throat is released and I howl in pain as I land wrong on my ankle, a sickening crack shaking my being. My head jerks up terrified, my cry of pain may have angered her further, but instead I find her with an amused smile returning to her spell work. I was sick of living like this, as her slave or her potion ingredients. She always commented how she made a mistake having me, that she regretted the trade for pigs falling though. Looking back at that day, I find that I did too. I was so naive back then, still loved my mother but now, this was a matter of survival. This woman was going to kill me one day if I didn’t do something.

As I make Mother her tea I slip some sleeping herbs into her drink hoping to give myself an opening. It only takes an hour of me limping around attempting to clean and busy myself until she goes to the only bedroom in the house and I listen for the sound of her dreadful snores.

Picking up one of Mothers spell knives I creep towards the room, biting the inside of my cheek until it bleeds to silence my pained whimpers. The door creaks as it opens, causing me to flinch in panic but with a peek inside the prone woman seems undisturbed so I continue to creep inside.

As I hover over her bed, my handshakes so I opt to grip the handle with both hands. Overcome by seeing her laying there, unblemished and unaffected by the injured SON she left in the other room. That she’d leave alone for months only to be treated like less than the dirt she walked on when back home. It wouldn’t bother me if I didn’t know she was capable of caring. I’d seen her with village children, and even with some of the men she strung along. No, the wicked bitch just couldn’t love me.

With an animalistic scream I plunge the knife into her chest and see her eyes snap open in surprise but it’s too late. I pull the blade out and plunge it back in over and over in a seeming frenzy, I don’t even count, I just use her as a pincushion to poke at. Her blood is everywhere, covering me, her, the walls and floor, staining her sheets and dripping into a puddle where I find myself now sitting wondering what I had done.

I don’t feel regret, I don’t feel remorse. Honestly, I feel nothing. I murdered my mother and instead of at least feeling freed from her I just wonder why I hadn’t done it sooner. The action had been cathartic, but as I sit in that puddle of her blood studying the knife I’d just used to butcher the woman who gave me life, I have a realization that I had become no better than her.

As I ponder these thoughts, I don’t realize a very bloody ginger sitting up off the bed where she was supposed to remain dead until slender fingers are wrapped around my throat strangling me.

I wake up in the mud outside a workhouse with a note laying atop me.

Fergus,

Since I’m your mother I’m allowing you this one chance to live. I’m benevolent like that. If I ever see you again I will ensure you know exactly what being stabbed to death feels like.

With Disdain,

Your Mother.

……………………………….............................................................................

Sam

While tailing the car in front of me, I try to make sure to hang back a couple of blocks and take parallel side streets when able, all in an effort to keep the driver of the grey Honda Civic unaware of my pursuit. This game of cat and mouse had been dragging on over a week and this time I was sure that I had the upper hand.

Having the benefit of hindsight and a full picture of what was going on, it had been fairly easy for me to pick out the remembered pattern to the murders. ‘One kill, in towns with parks near the highway, and move on��. Even when it was deviated from just the slightest… adding in a ‘skip one, skip two, skip three count’ it was easy to determine where the next victim would be sourced from. I’d been right on the last two, just not fast enough fast enough to change the outcome. Always getting there after the innocent victims had lost their lives. Those were the kinds of shortcomings that would haunt me.

Luckily, the last time it seemed fate was willing to smile on me, and I’d gotten a good look at a car near the scene. When verified against my meticulous notes, I knew I’d already seen it previously. Bingo! Now here I was, in the correct-to-pattern town and following that very same car through its downtown streets.

As the grey Honda turned into a motel on the edge of town, I drove past and then circled back to park on a side street. I had a clear view with my binoculars of the young man who’d been driving, when he let himself into a room on the end of the row.

After waiting about ten minutes, I approached the room and knocked, my hand griping tightly to the blade in my jacket pocket. Nothing. No one came to the door. Looking up and down the hallways, I slipped out my lockpicks and easily sprang the lock. Turning the knob as silently as possible, I cracked the door and could hear the sound of a shower in progress. That explains the no answer. Slipping inside, I close and lock the door behind me just as the sound of the water shuts off.

Pulling Ruby’s blade, I quickly sit in the bedside chair, hiding the blade next to my leg and wait. It didn’t take long before a skinny man, wrapped in a towel emerged drying his hair. Seeing me, he freezes and I can see his eyes dart towards the door judging his chance for escape.

“Hello Jacob”

The sound of his own name seems to jolt him and he stiffens, looking at me a little closer and with much more interest. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my room?”

“I’m Sam. I was a friend of your mom’s”

This information gets a bigger reaction than finding a stranger in his room had. Jacob looks rapidly around, seems to breathe more heavily and takes a step towards me. “Winchester… where’s your brother?”

Not moving and trying to keep things from escalating too quickly, I never take my eyes from his. “Dean isn’t with me, doesn’t even know I’m here.”

Jacob seems to immediately settle just a bit and comes one more step into the room.

“My mother considered you her friend.”

His words, spoken more like an accusation than a statement, still have the power to sting me all of these years later. “I tried to be.”

Jacob’s manner changed in an instant and the Kitsune within roared to life screaming. “You sent your brother to murder her!” In the a blink of the eye, he launched himself at me with claws extended and meaning to kill.

I knew before entering this room that only one of us would ever be leaving again. As Jacob screamed, I managed to lift the unseen blade at my side and the force of his impact against it impaled it in his chest handle deep.*

Surprise briefly flashed in his eyes before the light went out of them completely and his dead body slumped against me. I had to sit that way for a minute while my heart rate lowered from its heart busting rhythm. Finally able to breath regularly again, I push his body back, I stand up and let Jacob Pond drop back onto the hotel bed.

Despite knowing the Kitsune that he was, standing here and looking on his not even 20-year-old face was painful. Amy had planned and worked so hard to make a normal life for herself and her son and had largely succeeded until I came back into it. Her death, at my brother’s hand, ended any chance of Jacob growing up without killing to survive. Those countless souls he’d murdered since were blood on our hands, mine and Dean’s.

Wiping the blood off my blade, I stashed it back in my pocket and take a deep breath.

“Now it’s finished, Dean…”

I hope maybe now, that long ago chance meeting of a young Amy Pond in that Lincoln, Nebraska Library would stop its ability to haunt me.

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ersatzangel · 3 years

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I’m fairly sure no one will see this but: I started writing this one shot back in March and had the PERFECT title for it and it hadn’t been used for a Destiel fic at that time. I just checked and, since then, someone has used it. Should I still use my title, considering there are nearly 100k destiel fics and doubling up on titles is gonna happen sometimes or pick another less perfect title?

#Misc #Tbd #If I weren’t such a slow writer this wouldn’t have happened :(#And if I weren’t so dead set on not using the same title as someone else (within a ship at least) it wouldn’t be an issue lol

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therenlover · 3 years

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One Last Night In Madripoor (An 18+ Helmut Zemo/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?

Tags: Smut, SoftDom!Zemo, Hook Up, Semi-Public Sex, Drinking, Safe Sex, Explicit Consent, First Meeting, Wall Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Swearing, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count: 4200~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

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Madripoor was a place like nothing you had ever seen.

It wasn’t that the sights were anything special. You could find seedy criminal underbellies lined with neon where the streets ran red with blood anywhere if you looked hard enough. Even the ocean view didn’t do much to set it apart from any other place visually. No, Madripoor’s scenery and architecture weren’t what kept your eyes wide with wonder whenever you found yourself wandering through the winding back-alleys without a purpose. It was the people that kept you around.

Thieves, pirates, and miscreants had been taking shelter at the docks since before anyone there could remember. It was a city borne of the underbelly of society, the people nobody sees, but you saw them. You saw them every day when you stood in the main market waiting for an easy bounty. There were faces everywhere; big and small, tall and short, scarred and flawless. No two people in the streets of Madripoor were ever exactly alike. If you needed to remember someone, their unique face was right there waiting in your mind.

After living on the island for almost 6 months, most people were already cataloged neatly in your mind as friend or foe. This man, though, he was new. He was different.

The night was still young. There was some trouble at the Princess Bar that ended with Selby dead and a few murderers loose in the streets with a price on their heads, but you steered clear. Going after the killers meant going up against hundreds if not thousands of trained bounty hunters and assassins and no amount of money was worth dying over now, not while you were so close to freedom. Instead of chasing your doom, you decided to head to your room, get dressed up, and head out to wherever the music was loudest in search of a place to forget about your problems for the night. The thudding sounds of poorly DJ-ed club remixes led you to Leonardo’s Place. That’s where you found him.

You were two drinks in and sticking close to the wall when he stumbled into your line of sight. What initially caught your eye was his dancing. He couldn’t move for shit. What kept your attention, though, was his face.

There was transience to him, like at any moment someone could bump into him and he would disappear without a trace at their touch. Despite that he was gaudy. Everything about his clothing screamed wealth and fine taste from the thread count of his obnoxious purple turtleneck to the shine on his boots. He was strange, a walking contradiction, and one who had never had the pleasure of gracing your presence or screwing you over in the past. In the simplest of terms, he intrigued you. With nothing left to lose you downed the last of your cocktail and made your way to the gap in the crowd where the stranger had staked his claim. It was game time.

“You come here alone?” You asked. Your voice was barely a whisper above the heavy thrumming of the music.

He gave you a long look up and down before answering as if he were trying to size you up. Something about having his gaze linger on your body made your heartbeat soar. “I’m not looking for company,” His accented tone was gruff but left a sliver of room for reconsideration. You took the chance. What could go wrong?

With as much tact and grace as you could muster you let yourself slip a little closer to him. “What, do I look too expensive for you?” you teased, before backing off with a grin, “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not here for that. My job is a little more… dangerous.” As you danced, the hem of your dress rode up your thigh just enough to reveal the knife holster in your garter belt. It pleased you greatly to see this handsome stranger do a double-take; that meant he was looking at your upper thigh in the first place. “I just liked what I saw in you… do you like what you see in me?”

Somehow, your little joke had endeared him to you, however minutely. Instead of brushing you off the man paused his jerky dancing for a moment to really take you in. Then, he caved. “Would you like a drink?” He asked.

You smirked. “Who would I be if I turned down a free drink from a handsome stranger,”

He met you in the middle as he offered you his hand. “I never promised it would be free,”

So, the two of you found yourselves at the bar, bodies leaned into each other and away from the rest of the sweltering crowd as the bartender slid you your order. The stranger was drinking a brandy straight while you opted for a sidecar. It was enough alcohol that you were starting to feel pretty buzzed, but you still felt in full control of yourself. You took a long sip before speaking. “So, what should I call you?”

It took him a moment to respond but once he did, he seemed sure of himself. “You can call me Helmut, but Baron is fine as well,”

You cocked up an eyebrow. “Is that a nickname?”

“More of a title,”

He took a drink as you gawked. “Like royalty?”

“Not like. I am,”

Your cheeks flushed. The rational part of your mind was so stunned by the ease with which Helmut lied that it seemed to short circuit completely, leaving you very puzzled and more than a little intrigued. “Well, pardon me, Mr. Baron. What’s royalty like you doing in a place like this?”

“There are plenty of reasons a man like me would have business here. A woman as beautiful as you, though… not so much,” he waved his hand in loose gestures as he spoke, “Why risk your life and beauty for this? A life living in the underground where you cannot so much as dream of seeing the stars?”

You finished your drink in one large swig. It burned down your throat but you relished in the pain. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be born in a place where we can see the stars. Funny enough, though, I’m just about to get out,”

“Is that right?”

“I finally saved up enough money from small jobs to buy my way out from under the Power Broker’s thumb,” Something about the way Helmut smiled at you made you feel safe. It was like you could tell him your worst, darkest secrets and not feel an ounce of fear or guilt. “I’m nothing special here, a small-time bounty hunter, and I kept it that way for a reason. I’m not valuable and I don’t know much. If I just pay my dues and keep the money coming until I can get their claws out of my back, I should be free to leave with a freighter tomorrow morning,”

Helmut was quick to respond. “Ah, travel by freighter. It’s terribly dangerous to be a stowaway, you know? Impossible to predict quite what the seas will be like,”

“Well, that’s just a risk I’ll have to take to get out of here and stop… what was it that you said I was doing? Risking my life and beauty?”

The two of you chuckled as Helmut took one last drink to empty his glass. Then, the conversation stilled. Around you people were alive, gyrating to the music as their pulses thumped to the beat, but it was like they weren’t even there. Instead, your whole being was focused on the strange man in front of you who had stolen away your sensibilities with his cool tone and thick accent. He made you feel alive. No, more than alive. Every color was brighter, every sound was sharper, every sip of your drink was crisper. He was a once-in-a-lifetime man, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime night. Oh, to hell with it!

“I like you, Baron,” you purred, pressing yourself close to him. His breath hitched the moment you touched him. He acted as if it had been a very long time since he was last touched like that. “And I think you like me too. In fact, I think you like me enough that we should take this conversation somewhere a little more private. What do you say?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his gloved hand made its way around your wrist, and in a moment’s time, he was pulling you across the crowded dance floor towards a small, secluded hallway. You assumed that meant yes.

The instant you made it to the shelter of the shadows Helmut was on you like a man starved. One of his hands was quick to explore the skin just above the hem of your dress as the other pressed against the wall, caging you in and holding you as a more than willing hostage to his affections. He didn’t kiss your face, and you weren’t complaining about that, but he did put his mouth to good use sucking a dark bruise into your collarbone. His ministrations only stopped when a high, keening sound escaped your lips.

“You like that, don’t you, meine kleine schlampe?” he growled through gritted teeth. Something about his tone turned your already weak legs to jelly. The second you went limp in his grip, though, he pulled back. Straightening himself out, he offered you a steadying arm. You took it without hesitation. “I’m terribly sorry to be so rude. I assure you that I am not usually the type of man to hook up with someone on a whim, I’ve simply been… indisposed for many years and haven’t had many opportunities for pleasure, especially not with a woman as beautiful as you,”

His compliment was enough to have you blushing like a schoolgirl. You had killed more people than you could reasonably count, and probably fucked even more, but something about the way Helmut looked and sounded and acted made you feel almost innocent to his advances. He was a drug and you needed to get your fix before he disappeared forever.

“Does that mean you think I’m special?” You asked, all doe eyes with an innocent smile. Helmut ate it right up.

“Yes, schatzi. Very special,”

You hitched a leg up, letting your heel dig into his expensive dress pants and drag him closer to you once again. “First your little slut and now your little treasure? Which one is it, Helmut?”

“And so smart,”

“Move, Baron!”

At your insistence, Helmut was on you once again, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down your neck as he fiddled with his gloves, yanking them off and shoving them in his back pocket before he continued. “So demanding,” he chided, and yet he continued to lavish you with affection, his hand climbing higher and higher up your thigh. Your back was pressed flush to the wall now, and you were painfully aware of just how warm Helmut was. He smelled like a rich man’s cologne and yet his skin tasted of cheap soap when you leaned in to give him a bruise of his own.

“You love it,” you replied. He let out a husky laugh.

“I suppose I do,” he chuckled, and then his fingers brushed over your core. Your knees buckled. Helmut kept you upright with his body as he continued to taunt you through your underwear, but he seemed more confident now, almost cocky. “My needy schatzi, have you no patience?”

Your response was breathless; a confession.

“Not with you,”

Something about your words lit a fire in Helmut’s eyes. In an instant he had your leg hiked up while he ground his hardened length against your clothed wetness. Your mind went blank. He felt big. A mindless whimper fell from your lips.

“How do you want me?” Helmut asked. As he spoke he ran a light finger down your elevated thigh. You offered up another whimper. “I’ll need you to use your words and tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you,” His tone had you wet enough that you worried you were dripping.

With a gulp, you managed to fumble out the words. “I’ll blow you first if you promise to fuck me,”

That had him grinning like a wolf. “Perhaps you are my little schlampe, so eager to get down on your knees for me…” And you were. Even on shaky legs, you found yourself happily falling to your knees as the Baron fumbled with his fly. It was only then that you found yourself gazing down the hall towards the cacophony of lights and sounds and people maybe 20 feet away from your hiding place in the shadows. As if he could sense your discomfort, Helmut paused. “Are you alright?”

You nodded quickly. “I just forgot we were out in the open for a second,”

“Do you want to stop? If the location is the problem, I would gladly pause so we can find a new hideaway,” he stopped short, looking down and meeting your heavily lidded gaze, “or perhaps the idea of putting on a show excites you?” Your heart jumped out of your chest. Helmut noticed. “Well, if my little schlampe is so keen on putting on a show, she should get a move on,”

That was your cue to get to work. In a swift motion, you finished unzipping his fly and shifted his boxers, letting his lovely cock spring free. It was a pleasant penis and far as they went, average in length but thick with a leaking purple tip at half-mast. Just looking at it made you clamp your legs together.

Slowly, you gave a tentative lick up the underside of his length. He felt heavy on your tongue in the best of ways. Helmut jerked upward, a man possessed. You couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

“Less talking, more working little schlam-” you cut Helmut off quickly by taking most of his length into his mouth. That seemed to shut him up. His wolf-like grin had dissolved into a slack-jawed mess the second you started to suck him off. Oh, this was going to be fun.

For the most part, the Baron let you set the pace, bobbing your head and taking as much of his length as you comfortably could, but after a short while his hands were buried in your hair as he fought the urge to buck into your throat, hard. With a particularly rough snap of his hips, Helmut pulled away.

“You are an angel from heaven, schatzi,” he groaned, pulling himself slowly from your mouth as you got your first good deep breath in a while, “but a deal is a deal, and it wouldn’t be quite fair if I got to have all the fun, now would it?” Your breath hitched in your throat. Finally time for the main event.

Helmut was surprisingly gentle with you as he offered you a hand and helped you back up, only pausing to wipe a line of dribble off your chin with his thumb. With anyone else, it would have felt wholly humiliating but with Helmut… well, it did things to you you would rather not admit. You quirked up an eyebrow, though, when he got on his knees in turn, mirroring your past position. “What are you doing, Baron?”

“I simply assumed my sweet schatzi would enjoy a reward for taking my cock so well,” his words had you biting your lip as your cheeks flushed, “now be a good girl and take what I give you. I want to hear those pretty noises you made earlier,” With that, his face disappeared under your skirt. He pulled down your panties and… snickered?

“What now?” you groaned, squirming as his hot breath hit your exposed nub.

“You’re sopping wet,” he replied. Out of habit, you moved to shut your legs but found Helmut’s large hand was holding them open. “I do enjoy being sandwiched between your thighs, but you shouldn’t hide yourself from me. Take your pleasure. You’ve earned it,” That was when he began his assault on your folds.

You had been with plenty of partners over the years, all with varying proficiencies when it came to giving pleasure, but no one had ever made you feel quite as good as Helmut did while you gripped his hair and rode his face with reckless abandon. He always hit just the right spot, alternating between sucking on your sensitive clit and running his rough tongue in sloppy circles against it. In no time flat your pleasure was building toward’s its peak as your knees trembled.

“Helmut,” you squeaked, “Helmut I’m gonna cuuuUUOH!”

You were suddenly thrown over the edge of pleasure as the Baron worked you open with his fingers, pressing that spot inside of you just right. It was a revelation. Nothing would ever compare to him and you hadn’t even fucked yet. Once you had regained some semblance of stability he emerged from his place between your thighs, face slick with your juices, wearing the expression of a cat that got the cream.

“You make such lovely sounds for me, schatzi,” Helmut groaned, rising from his place at your feet and reaching into his pocket. While he fumbled for a condom you took the time to actually remove your panties, lifting one shaky leg at a time before balling them up and tossing them on the ground. You could grab them later. Or not! In all honesty, your ruined undies were the last thing on your mind as your watched Helmut roll the condom onto his proud cock, pumping himself a few times. “Now, are you sure you want this?”

You had never felt more sober in your whole life despite the drinks you’d downed earlier.

“God, yes,”

“Wonderful,”

He caged you into his body once again, lining himself up on your slick folds, and then with a pronounced bite against your collarbone, he was entering you. It wasn’t painful or uncomfortable, you just felt full, like a missing piece of your body had been completed. For the first few thrusts, you were too blissed out to really take note of anything around you, but once you tuned back into the world of the living you realized Helmut was talking. Well, babbling was more like it. He seemed to simply be speaking his stream of consciousness into your ear as he pistoned in and out of you like a madman. There was a jilted rhythm to it, but the abnormality kept you on your toes.

“I won’t be letting you go any time soon, schatzi, and definitely not on some dank freighter like a rat from the gutters. No, you will travel with me. Once I help my friends and slip away from the front lines I can take you anywhere your little heart desires. Paris, Vienna, Australia… Mein Gott, what a sweet cunt,”

Any sane woman, after hearing his sex-drunken musings, would have run. They would have heard the wild ramblings of a madman and left after their little fling was done to never see him again. It was only rational. He didn’t even know your real name. Sane women didn’t run away with strangers claiming to be barons they hooked up with in a seedy club selling stolen Van Goghs in a hub of the criminal underworld.

The only thing was, though, that you weren’t a sane woman.

You were a killer, a child left in the streets to live or die who had scraped themselves together and dragged themselves towards life. So what if the idea of some rich mysterious benefactor with a good dick coming in to save the day sounded fantastic? It was fantastic. Like your own personal version of Pretty Woman. Even if he wasn’t as rich as he claimed to be, being poor and getting dicked down by him was better than being poor and alone.

For just a moment, and with no regrets, you let yourself get lost in the fantasy and just let go.

It was as if Helmut could sense a difference.

“Are you close, little schlampe?” He gasped, letting his thrusts take on a faster staccato rhythm.

You could do little more than moan and nod as he pounded you into the wall. That seemed to be enough for him to get the message, though.

“What a good girl,” he purred. His mouth was so close to your ear, his hot breath tickling the sensitive flesh with each heaving breath he took. As he chased his own climax, he brought a hand between your bodies and rubbed tight, wet circles around your clit. It was already sensitive, your body was only barely recovering from your first orgasm, and yet something about the overstimulation was thrilling, like racing towards an impossible dream. With a shout, you came for the second time, melting into Baron Helmut’s arms as he quickly followed.

The two of you stayed there, slumped against the cool wall and still connected by your dripping sexes, for a few moments, breathing heavy. Surprisingly, you were the first to speak.

“Wow,” you breathed, letting a soft laugh escape your lips.

Helmut returned the sentiment. “You were wonderful,” In a strange moment of intimacy, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, but then he pulled out, tying off the full condom and tossing it to the ground as he tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his fly.

“Are you just gonna leave that there?” you made a gesture towards his litter.

“They have janitors,”

A burbling laugh escaped from your lips. “That they do,”

Back in the main room of the party, the crowd had only grown larger as the night progressed. Nobody had seen you, nor had they noticed your cries as they danced and drank and made merry under the neon lights. You were, for all intents and purposes, invisible at Helmut’s side. Within and without. There was something exhilarating about knowing he was the only one that truly saw you in a room packed with hundreds. It was like something out of a twisted fairytale.

“So…” you broached the subject gently while you pulled down your dress to protect your modesty, “Did you mean what you said back there about Paris and Vienna, or…”

“Oh, you heard that?”

You snickered. “It was pretty hard not to with you breathing in my ear,”

“I apologize,” he leaned against the wall beside you, shoulder to shoulder in the darkness, “but yes, I meant what I said. I-”

Suddenly, from down the hall, a booming voice interrupted your moment.

“There you are!”

“Goddamnit, Zemo, I thought we told you to stay low not hire an escort,”

There, at the mouth of the hallway, stood two massive men. They were obviously displeased, and though their faces were obscured by the lights you could tell you weren’t the one they were after.

They called him Zemo… where had you heard that name before?

Helmut stepped away from the wall with a shrug. “At least I didn’t cause a scene by forgetting to put my phone on silent,”

The larger of the two men stayed where he was, while the other walked to meet the Baron in the middle.

“I swear to God, man, you’ve gotten ten times more insufferable since I learned you were rich.

The Baron shrugged. “It comes with the territory,”

“But you don’t have to be such a jackass about it,”

You felt it was a good time to chime in.

“Thank you so much for that, Helmut, but I think I should give you guys some privacy,” you said, straightening out your dress and walking deeper into the hallway. There had to be an exit somewhere…

“Wait!” When you turned, you found Helmut rushing to meet you. The men in the background looked shocked and almost smug. “Save your money. Meet me out at the airstrip tomorrow afternoon if you feel like seeing me again. If not, know that the Power Broker doesn’t let go of assets cheap, and you just slept with a man with a million dollar bounty, so buying your freedom isn’t an option. If you want to go without me, you’ll have to hitch a ride on a cargo ship but not as a stowaway. Working for your keep is the best way to stay under the radar. Nobody can touch you once you’r-”

You cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips. “I’ll see you at your private jet, Baron,”

He smirked. “So you will,” With as much gusto as a man could muster, he returned to his companions but not before offering one last goodbye. “Farewell, schatzi, until tomorrow,”

As you leaned up against the wall once more, you watched them go with a twinkle in your eye.

“Who was that?”

“None of your business, James,”

“Guys, what the hell did I just step on?”

“I believe that was my used rubber,”

“ZEMO!”

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a/n: I hope you enjoyed the filth! I haven’t written for Zemo before, even though I’ve loved him for years, but he’s definitely going into my main rotation now. If you have any ideas, send them my way! I’d love to fill the void, because there just aren’t very many Zemo x reader fics out there. If you enjoyed this, maybe reblog or leave a comment! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again!

Please do not post my works to any other sites, thanks! <3

#oh my god this is filth #Would you believe I wrote my first smut like a week ago?#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #marvel #falcon and winter solider series #fatws #bucky barnes #sam wilson #smut #marvel fanfiction

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

Okay so since nobody’s suggested a fic under these terms, I ended up expanding on this post on discord and things snowballed. We kept to the basics of the entire plot revolving around Rey really hating her grandad and leveraging her blood relation to not be unalived about it.

With contributions by @atagotiak, @dracothulhu, @thepallaspalace, and several others. The title comes from @gelpenss.

The basic thing I absolutely need is this: Rey gets thrown back to the middle of the clone wars, and the subsequent plot leans in really heavily on her being, genetically-via-clone-dad, the daughter of the guy running the entire galaxy.

Nobody knows what to do with her.

The timing is mid-TCW for the past (because I want Ahsoka there) and vaguely between Episodes 8 and 9 because I... never watched E9 and don’t want to worry about the timeline. The only things that matter is that Luke is dead (he can die as he did in canon) and that Rey knows she’s Palp’s granddaughter (not the way she does in canon).

We'll say Luke found out from Anakin's panicked force-ghost and just went "well, fuck, okay, I should tell her this before she ends up in a situation like mine and finds out mid-battle or something."

Luke, prior to time-travel: Okay, so, now that I'm dead I know some things I didn't before. Like who your parents were. In the interest of full disclosure because I was in a very similar situation and I don't want you learning the way I did, I'm just going to come right out and say that your father was a clone was Sheev Palpatine. Rey: ... Luke: Are you okay? Rey: I don't know who that is.

(She grew up on Jakku, the history education was a little subpar.)

Setting The Scene

Imagine Rey showing up during or immediately before the clone wars. There’s this phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater who tells you that if you ran a paternity test, it would probably pop up the Chancellor. She may or may not bring up cloning. She accuses said Chancellor of being a Sith Lord.

Your other phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater, who may not be a teenager anymore but only barely, is very offended by this because Palpatine’s a Very Nice Old Grandfather Figure, but also he’s a little full of side-eye because if the blood test comes back as proof, then Palpatine had a kid and didn’t even know about them, or lied to Anakin, and that’s! Bad! Family’s important!!!

Palpatine hears about this daughter he apparently? Has? And is very confused because the timing doesn’t match up with ANYTHING he was doing, so the kid isn’t natural, and he says as much. (There is an explanation! It’s not a correct explanation, but he does come up with one.)

Finn and Poe and BB-8 all get dragged along because why not have the gang there? Nobody that’s already born, because [handwave] conservation of souls or something, IDK, point is the only person dragged along that’s even remotely close to already existing is Luke’s Force Ghost, who mostly hangs around begging Rey to be less impulsive. Finn is good because he is a nice polite boy, but for actual useful information they need Poe. The unfortunate situation is that the three do not land together. They land at the same time, in completely different corners of the galaxy. This means that nobody is there to curb Rey being her most impulsive self.

Time travel Rey knows two things. Luke’s dad ends up evil. Palpatine has always been evil.

She can solve one of these problems by killing the other, yes?

Rey: Ready to Rumble

See, the initial idea was this: Rey tried to break into the senate to kill Palpatine, got arrested, and then used the "he's biologically my father" card to get out of jail free. (Force Ghost Luke follows her like “please take five seconds to think this through.”)

But.

It would be very, very, very funny if The Force just dumps her in a flash of light in the senate building and she just attacks Gramps on sight. Just a shouted "YOU!" and no-hesitation attempted murder.

Palpatine has no idea what's going on.

Rey took maybe two seconds to get identity confirmation and then started swinging.

[Image Description: An individual in a green metal helmet with an eye slit, holding a pistol. In the upper left, upper right, and lower middle are the phrases “I do not know who I am...” “I don’t know why I’m here” and “All I know is that I must kill.” End description.]

Of course, she gets arrested. There are Master Jedi in the Senate. There are Clone Troopers. Palpatine isn’t the weak old man he pretends to be. Of course she’s stopped.

But she isn’t executed in time for Palpatine to stop her from ruining his entire reputation.

Immediately after Rey fails to kill her Shitty Granddad, Luke's ghost shows up and begs her to not talk about the Sith thing because it will completely undermine everything she's trying to do. Pass off the attempted murder as something else!

Rey, panicking: "that fucker left me on a desert planet for 10 years!" "You owe me 19 years of child support you son of a Hutt!"

The Jedi have to do the investigation, because the girl showed up with a laser sword, and the conversation is, uh... interesting. (“Where did you get that lightsaber?” “I got it from a mysterious old pirate lady I never met before. I don't know, I was being shown around by a smuggler and a Wookie.”)

Interviewer: Why did you try to assassinate the Chancellor? Luke: Say it wasn't assassination. Rey: It wasn't assassination. Int: You weren't trying to kill him? Luke: Assassination has to be politically motivated. Rey: This was, um... not political. Assassination is political, right? Int: You mean this was personally motivated? Rey: Yes. Int: I see. What personal motivation? Luke: Jakku! Rey: He's my grandfather. Int: ... Rey: Possibly father. Nobody was very clear on that. Int: ... Luke: Tell them to run a paternity test. Rey: Oh hey, a blood test would tell us which, right? Int: ............ Rey: I spent ten years as an orphaned scrapdealer on Jakku. He's my father. I'm kind of a little angry. Int: ........... Luke: Good job, kid. You bought yourself some time. Int: I'm going to get a medic to see about that parternity test.

Obviously, it comes back positive. Congratulations, Sheev, you’re the father.

Rey comes with a ready-made built-in excuse for hating Palpatine that nobody can question or fault her for!

Rey, pouring Truth into the Force: I didn't even know I was related to the Chancellor until a few months ago, but it's his fault I grew up the way I did, and he should take some responsibility!

The entire thing is mostly kept hush hush but someone leaks it to the press and Palpatine's ratings tank.

"Chancellor, I think we'll need to waive family visitation until she wants you a little less dead." "I would like to find out why she wants me dead, and indeed, where she came from." "...sir, for your own safety--"

Who would win? A master plan years in the making spanning decades of manipulating and work? or One (1) paternity test

"Okay, so, Rey Palpat--" "Ew, no, I don't want his name." "You--okay. Sure, we can understand that. Is there a name you would prefer to put on the paperwork?" Rey, who would have gone by Skywalker in honor of Luke but can't do that when Anakin is right there and all: "Can I think about it?"

Rey: I don't know what I want my last name to be but I know I don't want his, and most of the people I’d want a name from have famous families like you... Luke's ghost, pointing out the Literal Nobody that she cares about a lot: How about Solo? Rey: ...Solo, then.

(A few months later she runs into Poe again and he offers for Finn and Rey to both take his name because honestly they need SOMETHING but at that point she’s already decided on Smuggler Dad.)

Backtrack a bit. We’ve got a bigger cast.

They all arrive separately. Poe, for one, does better than Rey, who is aiming for a murder, but not quite as well as Finn, who is currently being adopted and hidden like a secret cat by a bunch of Alpha Clones on Kamino. He vibes with the names-or-numbers thing. He doesn’t necessarily tell them where and when he’s from, but he’s very sweet and a great liar and they adopt him wholesale anyway.

The Finn situation is just... "Buir Ti, we need you to hide this man, we've decided he's our little brother but if Nala Se finds out she'll make him leave."

Of course, this leads into Shaak Ti teaching Finn how to Jedi.

Maybe consider Finn needing to almost be tricked into learning Jedi things because he willfully forgets it could apply to him. Finn does not like to think of himself as special, which is super valid, but frustrating for Shaak Ti when it comes to, you know, getting him to acquire knowledge. Finn's training at some point is "here, levitate objects with the Force to entertain the tubies." It’s a lot easier to convince him to practice when it involves the babies.

(Everyone on Kamino looked at Finn and went “oh I love him I’m keeping him and teaching him things.”)

(He’s just very lovable.)

Poe, meanwhile, buys the trust of Anakin Skywalker via R2D2 declaring BB-8 the absolute most baby of droids. R2D2 met BB-8 three hours ago but.

"Hey Obi-Wan this is Poe I met him like five days ago but R2D2 says he checks out because his droid is a baby." "That's nice, Anakin, did you know the Chancellor has a daughter who tried to assassinate him in broad daylight yesterday? Because guess who had to stop the Chancellor from getting assassinated by his daughter in broad daylight yesterday."

A summary so far:

Finn, on Kamino: Hey, um, I don't know where this is, but it's not where I was a few minutes ago. Do you think you could get me a comm? What's your name? Poe, on [dice roll] Denon: Oh, hey, you're General Skywalker? Nice to meet you, I'm so sorry about my droid, she's a little excitable and thought your R2 unit looked like a friend of hers-- Rey, on Coruscant: DIE, GRANDFATHER

Finn: [Peacefully vibing on Kamino, unaware of the chaos and bonding with the clones] Poe: [Trying to explain how he knows someone who tried to kill the chancellor and defend Rey] Rey: [Arrested for trying to kill the chancellor]

Just... just...

Anakin: Some guy ended up lost on base yesterday with his droid, how’s your day going? Obi-Wan: I had to stop someone who claims to be the chancellors daughter from murdering the chancellor after she seemingly blinked into existence in the Senate building. Poe: 😐

(Poe: Oh, so that's where Chaos^2 went.)

Poe: In her defense, she is his... well we don't know if she's his daughter or granddaughter, but she's definitely related to him, and she definitely grew up in a shitty situation that was his fault, so...

(Poe is trying very hard to explain this and not get arrested on the military base.)

As you’ve probably guessed, what's especially funny about all of this for me is the fact that Palpatine is fully aware that this girl shouldn't exist, but can't find a single piece of evidence about where she came from. He didn't start any experiments that could result in a female child, and he didn't have sex in that period of time, so where the hell--

Rey spends so much time in jail... BUT they do eventually assign her a Jedi Master. Possibly before she actually proves her evil grandfather is in fact evil. Most votes went to either Plo Koon or Obi-Wan. Plo, because he’s dad-shaped, and Obi...

"Obi-Wan, you already raised one feral desert child with implausible amounts of power, you handle this." Rey in return is very "Sweet, you vaguely remind me of Master Luke," and nobody knows who the hell she's talking about. Obi-Wan is NOT on board with this plan, she'd really be better off with Plo or like........ Mace.

Reunion Tour

What I need out of this is the eventual Finn and Rey reunion scene that is just excited screaming while someone in the background explains to Shaak Ti that yes this is apparently Palpatine's terrifyingly force-sensitive daughter who hates him.

(Finn senses Rey’s approach and just. Gathers the everyone to wait. He’s just :D REY MY FRIEND REY GUYS MY FRIEND REY IS COMING.)

Anakin shows up with Poe--just a guy who signed on to the military, no big deal--and then Poe and Rey are EXCITED and everyone's just like "Cool, how do you know this literal terrorist child?" And Poe has to scramble and "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh she saved my droid from a scrapheap once and BB-8 is basically my child so I owe her one."

Rey knows that Anakin ends up evil so she’s maybe not actively hostile but definitely very “I’m watching you.” That said, she vibes with him on a lot of things that he maybe doesn’t actively notice.

Rey picks up a snake, snaps off the head for venom avoidance, and starts biting off chunks. Obi-Wan's reaction: [undisguised horror] Anakin and Ahsoka: Ooh, where'd you find that? (Obi-Wan: And now I’m up to three feral children.)

What Does Palpatine Even Do?

OBVIOUSLY at a certain point, Palpatine is just phoning up every ally he has to figure out who broke protocol to synthesize a daughter for him.

So of course, Palpatine blame Plagueis.

She'd have been born five or so years before Naboo, just a few years younger than Anakin. It's such an EASY theory to build a conspiracy around. It is ENTIRELY WRONG, but it’s plausible! And anyone who might have been involved to say otherwise is probably dead!

A random bio-kid shows up you can’t possibly have contributed genes to? Maybe it’s the evil bio spark that did it.

Palpatine tries to placate her with the ‘my genes were stolen for an experiment and I didn’t know’ thing. It doesn’t work because her actual main complaint is he’s evil in her future but he tries.

It'd be a struggle to even get access to her, because of the aforementioned “maybe don’t try to talk to the daughter(?) that hates you” thing, but you know who Palpatine does have access to? The Chosen One.

Rey kind of decides on her favorites early on (she gravitates to Dad Energy and Sad Old Men so Plo and Obi-Wan are on her list, and that means decent time around Anakin and Ahsoka). It's really easy to talk Anakin into helping to some degree because "he'd like to connect to a daughter he never knew" and "a child of her power on a planet like that, you'd know her struggle, my dear boy" and so on. Anakin tries to connect! He tries to play up Sheev’s kind political work and how it can’t have really been his fault! It doesn’t work. Rey does not believe a word of it. Mostly she doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Rey's just like "...oh right, you're the melted mask that Kylo Ren was always ranting about," which means absolutely NOTHING to Anakin, but he mentions it to Palps, who loses his goddamn mind trying to figure out what she's talking about, because it also means absolutely nothing to him.

Here’s the thing: Rey’s already decided that Obi-Wan is cool, because Luke said so, and Plo Koon is dad-shaped, and she also gravitates towards earnest kindness in general, like she made friends with Finn real quick, so Ahsoka? Already getting along great.

She doesn’t dislike Anakin, really, he isn’t evil yet, he’s just... meh. She’s a little suspicious and she likes him less than the others but... Anakin.

Rey, to Anakin: You are my least favorite. Anakin, to Palpatine: YOUR DAUGHTER HATES ME???

And he goes from “she’s a lil standoffish” to “she doesn’t like me” to “she hates me” as is normal for Anakin.

It’s just an escalation of this one time Palpatine wants Anakin to not have rifts and trust issues with a person, at least not until later, because he needs information.

Meanwhile, that very moment, Rey is just like "huh, nobody here is listening to me about how make a sixth-hand carburetor work, where's Luke's dad?"

Anakin is venting to Palpatine about how hard it is to talk to Rey, and she's over in the Temple just like "Hey, that guy was useful last time, I should ask him," but also she only ever thinks of him as Luke's Dad.

(At one point, Obi-Wan is having a bit of a break down, and then Anakin starts having a breakdown about that, meanwhile the clones are (badly) trying to hide Finn behind their backs, Rey is watching Ahsoka practice and being like "I want two lightsabers," and Poe is trying to keep R2 from stealing BB-8 and Force Ghost Luke is just face palming in the background.)

(Rey deserved a saber staff, maybe one that can detach and turn into a jar’kai set. Possibly a pike. Mostly I just wish she got more chances to whack things with a big stick.)

#Rey #Finn #Poe Dameron #Sheev Palpatine #Luke Skywalker #Anakin Skywalker #Obi Wan Kenobi #Darth Sidious #Plo Koon #Shaak Ti #Ahsoka Tano #r2d2 #bb 8 #star wars #time travel #Rey and the Grandfather Paradox #Phoenix Posts

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sukirichi · 3 years

Text

— falling out of love with gojo satoru

warnings: angst, mentions of sexual content, cursing

masterlist !

when you fell in love with gojo satoru, your heart exploded like a firework.

you still remember that moment very vividly at the back of your head. it was new year’s, and you two were drunk on both liquor and the feeling of having the other by your side. it was a tough year – as the norm was for jujutsu sorcerers – but you both made it out alive.

alive couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt that day.

satoru has always been the person who stuck by your side through thick and thin like how you were the one who always went against the higher-ups when they tried to limit his capabilities. you should’ve known then, that the higher ups were just the beginning. that when once you thought their oppression for satoru’s plans were nothing but microscopical compared to the barrier his family had placed between the both of you.

they didn’t like you.

he was a gojo, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, while you were...well, you.

you weren’t really anyone special or better than anyone. your technique was decent and had a lot more drawbacks than advantages that you had to improve your physical abilities instead to not be deemed a total useless tool.

satoru never saw you that way. to him, he admired you almost as equally as he cherished his best friend, suguru, so much so that the three of you become the best of friends in the blink of an eye. the more time you spent together, whether alone or with others, it felt like your world just hyper focused or snapped into tunnel vision, zeroing on no one else but the white-haired man whose smile was brighter than any other in the sky.

when he told you he loved you, you couldn’t distinguish which ones were the exploding new year fireworks or the drumming of your heart. you stared up at him then, lips falling open as you released a tiny breath of air, and satoru laughed. he actually laughed.

you wanted to tease him, to punch him even though you couldn’t really ever touch him just to get over the fact he had you losing your composure with eyes glossing over. “well,” he taunted then, one shoulder lifting up lazily. “aren’t you gonna say anything? if you feel the same way, now’s the best time to tell me. we can end the year as friends and start another one as-”

satoru never got to finish his sentence. you had jumped into his arms faster than the speed of light, hands yanking down his yukata to pull him towards you, your lips slamming on his almost greedily.

he didn’t mind. he never did.

for once, it felt as if his infinity never existed. you had both spent the night tangled under the sheets, your name rasped from his lips like a prayer. the way you kneeled for him just moments later with your eyes fervently closed made him feel like he’s the one being worshipped instead, and in a way, it was. you loved him – way too much that you no longer cared how much it would hurt the day after when he never gave you a break and kept you pulled closer to him.

you loved him – way too much that you no longer cared how much it would hurt if ever the time came that you no longer felt the same.

contrary to how you fell for him, you fell out of love with your best friend quietly. your shared apartment would still be filled with his annoying mannerism of dragging his feet over the floor as he walked, always groaning and complaining that he was hungry but never really bothered to cook anything for himself.

it felt a lot like living with a child where you were his mother, but in that sense, satoru hated it whenever you worried for him.

“you’re not my mother, stop telling me what to do!”

“stop being so arrogant, satoru!” you pointed to the barely conscious child in his arms, the first year student still barely breathing because satoru had gone out of his way again and brought yuuji while he fought a special grade curse. “you may be strong, but not everyone around you is capable of handling what you can! stop dragging people into your mess and start using your goddamn brain for once!”

“you don’t know anything, so shut the hell up.”

you scoffed, hands placed on your hip while you blinked back the angry tears that threatened to fell. you worried for yuuji, you really did, but in reality, you just couldn’t handle seeing gojo pushing himself to his limits and coming back home more wounded than the night before.

“i’m just worried for you, satoru. i don’t want you getting hurt.”

“i’m the strongest,” was all he said – was what he always kept saying. “i’m not going to get hurt.”

“you may not,” you reply stiffly, “but what about me? don’t you think about me? don’t you think about how much it hurts me to see you this way?”

you told yourself you hated him. you hated how arrogant he got. it was good he was confident of his abilities and prided himself of such an honourable title, but satoru was human. he was bound to fall at some point.

eventually, you got too tired.

it was too tiring to keep waiting for him to come home unscathed. you were assigned different missions all the time. satoru would always be working overseas while you mostly helped train the kids and exorcised curses from time to time; no missions that were as dangerous as his.

in the dead of the night, when you were turned away from him in your bed that had already gotten so cold from his usual absence, satoru would slip beside you as silently as he could. the morning afterwards would always be the same: good morning, did you sleep well? he knew the answer. he knew you never slept well without him, but he’d ask just to be nice, and it wouldn’t take too long before you’re both late to work because he missed you too much from being away all the time that he wanted to feel you clamp around him one more time.

it was tiring. too tiring.

that heavy weight never left your shoulders. you cried yourself to sleep far too much that you’d lost count – until you reached a point you just felt nothing. the bed no longer felt cold – just empty. his side always remained untouched, his chair in the dining table barely used, and you’ve gotten so used of washing only your plate and utensils that you wondered if satoru had ever been there.

you wondered if it was a coping mechanism; that maybe you could just no longer handle the pain of having to worry about him every damn night and he’d never care enough to at least be a little more careful, and this was why you just stopped missing him, which was why you just started enjoying the silence in your apartment a little bit more than you should.

but if it was a coping mechanism...why did you feel a lot freer and happier in his absence? instead of it feeling like you were supposed to be distracted, you felt awakened. alive.

alive in the same way he told you he loved you while the skies painted different hues of red, blue, green, and yellow in the darkness that bore witness to your souls connecting that night – the same sky that was now patiently watching as your souls split in half and formed itself whole all over again.

contrary to how you fell for him, you fell out of love with your best friend quietly.

there was no longer someone singing made up songs in the shower. there would no longer be that sound of an annoying loud kiss down the bride of your neck or the smacking of his palm on your ass when he wanted to piss you off.

you fell out of love him so silently that when he crawled next to you that night, you didn’t even hear him. and for the first time in a long time, you slept well the moment he left before the sun stretched its wings across the horizon. when you were greeted by nothing but your own pair of slippers outside your bedroom and not even a post it note to tell you he’d already left for work, a smile tugged on your face.

you made your breakfast in peace. satoru no longer dared to come back home if he was injured because he knew you wouldn’t care enough to fix him up.

although of course you would, but nothing ever beats in your heart for him anymore when you dab the disinfectant across his cut lips. satoru would catch your wrist then to tug you to him slowly, empty eyes staring back at his sky blue ones.

“thank you. for patching me up.”

“you’re welcome,” you’d smile, climbing off his lap while closing the first aid-kit. “go get changed. i’ll cook something up for you.”

it was a silent, empty routine. satoru would thank you for fixing him up because he was never every sorry for worrying you. he’d keep being reckless again and again until he reached a point you no longer cared for him enough to say goodbye to him with a kiss and the slow, tender promise of be safe – i’ll wait for you to come home.

you still kiss him – more out of habit than anything – but you’ve changed.

i’ll see you tonight.

it was empty, silent, completely different from the fireworks he’d ignited within you when he told you he loved you. satoru wasn’t dumb, and he didn’t need his six eyes to see that you’ve grown too comfortable over the large space between you and him between the sofa, almost as if him being away was what felt home for you.

he was never a confrontational man; he hated each waking moment that lead to this, but he had to do it. he needed to do it – to set you both free.

when the commercials started playing, satoru lowered the volume down, voice low and serious as he turned to you. you easily picked up on the sudden tension in the room – the first thing you’ve felt ever since you’ve fallen out of love with him – yet nothing changed. when satoru sighed, your heart didn’t ache.

“well,” he chuckled nervously as he leant back to his side, “things have changed, don’t you think?”

“yes.” there was no point denying it. you knew it – he felt it.

“what do we do now?”

you had no answer to his question. despite the fact you no longer looked at him the same way, not once had it crossed your mind to leave your apartment. not because you wanted to hold on as much as possible to whatever memories you shared under this roof, but simply because you didn’t know where else to go.

it wasn’t like it made a difference anyway. satoru barely came home, and when he did, he made his presence as scarce as possible that you could no longer tell what difference it would make if he was here or not.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, knees hugged to your chest. “what do you want to do?”

his answer came in the form of opened doors. you leant against the doorframe, watching as nanami and even yuuji came to help satoru move his stuff out of the apartment. he found a better place somewhere in the upstate, somewhere much closer to bars and clubs – which you know he thoroughly enjoyed it prior to meeting you – and your mind immediately went back to the time you and satoru first moved in.

it proved to be a difficult task. you both wanted to move in and finish unpacking as soon as possible, but satoru was too eager to christen each part and corner of the house that you both ended up making more mess.

nights spent tucked into each other because the heater was broken and you were both too tired to sleep anywhere except the uncomfortable mattress played like a broken record in your mind. satoru’s laughter echoed when nanami complained that he should stop spending money on souvenirs so he could’ve hired professionals to help him move out instead, your head snapping up at the source of that carefree, sweet laugher that always had butterflies erupting in your stomach.

as if feeling your gaze on him, satoru’s eyes flitted to where you stood. when he smiled, you could tell each genuine apology rang behind it – all the words he never got to say staying like a broken glass that kept cutting him over and over again.

he loved you. he still loves you.

and maybe, tucked away in the deepest parts of your heart that no longer felt fond of him the same way it did before, still held a little compassion enough for this man you once wanted to spend your life with.

you weren’t unkind. you didn’t need to love someone to know when to forgive them, but just for this moment, just for him, you could pretend to for one last time.

smiling up at him with your eyes crinkled and the last bits of adoration for everything about him gleamed through your lashes just before it slipped away into nothingness. it was enough. it was enough for satoru to know he’d been forgiven, and it was enough for him to finally set you free.

the next time you saw him at school, there were no longer fireworks.

your heart was at peace.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo x reader angst #gojo x reader smut #gojo-satoru-x-reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader fluff #gojo satoru x reader angst #gojo x reader imagines #gojo x reader drabbles #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru

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aerosiderwrites · 3 years

Text

Archery Practice ... Yandere Childe x Harbinger!Reader

warnings for genre typical portrayals of unhealthy relationships... ngl childe is kinda tame in this one tho

Word Count: 2k

Mid-evening tended to be an unpopular time to train. Most were having dinner, finishing their work day, and getting ready for as restful night as possible in the frigid climate of Snezhnaya. You typically would as well, but with a lot to reflect on and frustrated energy, you brushed off the snow on your person as you entered a Fatui training facility. You gave a quiet greeting to the guards who manned the building, who stood at attention at your arrival. You paid them no second thought as you began to navigate the pristine building.

You followed a path down the corridors you knew by heart, as even years before your ascension to being a Harbinger you found yourself here more than at home whenever your weren’t on assignment. Most windows into the various gyms were dark, and the ones with people in them had young recruits of little consequence to you.

You turned a corner when you heard someone calling for you. You processed the distinct voice as Childe, the most recent addition to the Harbingers. You ignored him, hoping that your increase in pace would not catch his attention. You mentally pleaded that he would avoid the archery range in favor of the other combat gyms.

He didn’t stop, as he never did, as his voice continued to come your way. You closed your eyes in weak attempt to hide your wince as he addressed you by name, by your real name, not your Harbinger title as the other nine would.

You stopped dead and turned to where he was trailing behind you and gave him your attention, unfortunately rewarding his bad behavior, “Titles only, Childe.”

“I wasn’t sure you could hear me” Childe responded, now standing tall right in front of you, his smile still the same, ignoring or otherwise completely unbothered by the standoffishness on your end. “I wanted to see if you wanted to spar while you’re here.”

Like clockwork. Every damn time you came in here and he was here too he’d ask. Each time you’d say no. Each time he’d hover around you until one of you had to leave. It had worked for the other Harbingers, as he now paid them no mind but for whatever reason, he still engaged with you. Tonight, you hoped your verifiable excuse and unfriendly aura would be the last straw for him.

“I’m just going to be doing target practice today,” you said, hoping to deter him. “I don’t want to do anything too strenuous today.”

“Oh you are? Do you mind if I join you?”

You blinked, “I didn’t know you knew how to use a bow,” you verbally dug your heels into the ground, even though you knew he could just walk into the range and practice along side you if he so wanted. There were no restrictions to who could use what when, but you desperately wished he would take a hint and leave you alone.

“I’ve been practicing on my own more recently, actually,” explained Childe, “And considering you’re the best archer among us, I can’t imagine having a better training partner.”

You narrowed your eyes at his compliment, while delivered earnestly, you couldn’t help but interpret his words as being subtly facetious. Since Childe sidestepped your frustrated hint with ease, you relented with a sigh, “Do as you please.”

The two of you headed to an archery range, Childe walking along side you, while you stewed in silent annoyance. So much for introspection time.

No one quite knew how to pester quite like Tartaglia. It was the popular opinion among the other Harbingers that the 11th was obnoxious. While you and your contemporaries preferred to work in the shadows and keep the often extreme extents of your servitude to your Archon hush-hush, Tartaglia, or Childe, as he preferred, ended up with a style that was far more akin to a performance. However, unlike most performers, he would make sure that his performance would be the last his audience would ever see.

You stopped in front of a door to the small range, opening it up unceremoniously, and Childe followed close behind. The room lit up, and illuminating the long room with three suspended targets, at three distances. Even with the unwanted company, you stretched and warmed up on autopilot, the silence between you and Childe surprisingly comfortable.

You glanced over, Childe having gone through his warm up routine faster than you. He had called his bow already, and you found yourself gawking at the absolutely abysmal posture he held as he aimed at the closest target, the one on the far left.

His shoulders were hunched and his bow hand gripped the bow in such a way that seemed entirely unsustainable. The arrow sat flimsy in his drawing hand, the only saving grace of the shot being the strength with Childe drew, which was borderline disturbing. You weren’t sure if he was showing off, or if he genuinely didn’t know to hold back.

You held your tongue as you watched him fire the shot, your eyes barely able to follow as the arrow swiftly embedded itself deep into the target, although the hit was only one by the smallest of margins

You watched him fire two more arrows, the second being a ring outside of the bullseye, and the third a near miss from the top. Both would be a challenge to pull from the targets as the fletching of the arrows were barely all that stuck out.

“See, I have a problem with being consistent in the hits I land,” Childe sighed, aware that you were observing, “What would you recommend?”

You took a deep inhale, “I think most children who pick up bows for the first time don’t have posture as bad as you.”

Childe flinched, his body language exaggerated, a pout resembling a kicked puppy having formed on his face, “Cut me some slack, I’m self taught!”

You remained unrelenting in your onslaught, “That’s obvious,” you scoffed, “You put way to much strength into the draw, especially when you can barely hold the bow itself. I’m amazed you hit the target at all.”

As as satisfying as it was to drag his form through the mud, Childe’s hurt expression only seemed to deepen, and you let yourself be worn down. “Draw the empty string, I’ll tell you what you need to fix.”

He did as you asked, and you rationalized to yourself that you were ultimately helping the Tsaritsa if you assisted Childe here. If he were ever stuck in a situation where he could only use a bow, you didn’t want him to be caught with his pants down. As invasive as he was, you didn’t want him to die or anything.

You lightly tapped his upper back, “Don’t hunch.” He fixed himself quickly. You moved his elbow up on his drawing arm, and went around to bend his elbow on his bow arm, going in quickly, and touching his as little as possible. You gave explanations for why each mistake would be detrimental for any kind of combat, and how to develop instinctive shooting, while making him maintain proper posture.

You were surprised how well he seemed to internalize what you explained, and you didn’t stop yourself from going into more detail than was feasibly retainable, but he stayed attentive, and showed a passion you weren’t expecting. You eased into a comfortable rhythm, and with rudimentary fixes, Childe was able to improve.

Time passed quickly, your engagement far more than either of you had expected. Childe had been trying to gauge you for a long time, but your persistence into giving him as little as possible became entertaining in and of itself. He enjoyed the open resentment of the other Harbingers, and before you had let your shell crack, he had enjoyed yours just as much.

Your patience with any mistakes was unexpected, your exasperation and irritation with his presence having dissipated entirely as you focused on helping him despite yourself. It was endearing seeing this side of you, a side that showed itself with surprisingly little prodding or string-pulling. It felt… natural, and unfortunately for you, it was also very endearing.

“Hey, [Y/N],” he started, interrupting a demonstration you had started about sights, earning a surprised look from you as he got your attention.

It took a split second, but you noticed he used your name instead of your title, your guard went back up, and you narrowed your eyes at him, “Don’t speak informally with me, use my title, Tartaglia.” You hissed out, using his official title instead of his preferred to emphasize your distance.

“Why? You can call me Ajax,” he offered, testing the barrier you set up. He hid his surprise when you hesitated, pursing your lips. He saw through how you tried to treat him apathetically, and forced yourself to be unkind to him. You were so much softer than you wanted anyone else to be privy to, and Childe was excited to exploit it.

In your own head, you had reached a conclusion that you weren’t sure he had reached, or if he even noticed in himself. You could have been way off, but as someone so at odds with his peers, seen as a tool by his superior, and feared by enemies and underlings alike, the pieces fit in your head and spelled out the fact that Childe was probably lonely.

Realizations clicked together quickly upon this conclusion, but you kept them to yourself.

“I won’t,” you maintained, refusing to let up. You couldn’t stop sympathy and understanding from now changing the tint of your interactions or how you viewed them, but you didn’t have to let him know any of that. Childe wasn’t your business, no matter how much he wanted to be.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Childe cooed, holding back a patronizing urge to pinch your angry cheeks, “I just wanted to ask why you’re helping me, since you seem to dislike me so much.”

You shifted your weight where you stood, “I don’t think you’d leave me alone either way.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from ignoring me before.”

Resentment bubbled in your chest, “So you are aware that you’re a pest.”

“Only because I like you.”

You were baffled that he could just say something that familiar, and you hoped any warmth that showed itself on you wouldn’t be interpreted as anything other than embarrassment on his behalf. “Well, stop.”

Childe seemed more amused than anything at your words, it only feeding into his idea that you’re just playing hard to get, “Am I really so unlikable?”

“You have no idea.” Any understanding you gained during your interactions being emotionally tossed to the wayside as your couldn’t bring yourself to care about someone with such a deliberate lack of regard for boundaries.

You disarmed yourself and made way to the door, pulling it open only for it to shut fast before you could blink. Your eyes followed the gloved hand that slammed it shut, Childe now far closer than you have ever let him get before.

You didn't want to turn around, and when you did you found yourself regretting it. His eyes were cold, completely unamused at your intent to leave while he was enjoying your company so much. He didn't mind a chase, but he needed you to realize that he was serious, and very difficult to deter.

If being pleasant and fun wouldn't get you to loosen up, he could change his approach until you changed your mind.

It had been a very long time since you felt this small. You’ve always been aware of Childe’s strength, but at the end of the day, despite his irritating nature, he was an ally. Or was. In that moment you looked up to see his lighthearted facade disappear so completely, you understood that regardless of your allegiance to your Archon, he was a threat.

“Don’t go, I still have so much I’d like to learn from you, [Y/N].”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #aerosiderwriting #ive been sitting on this for a while... sorryyy #its a lil messy n self indulgent but this was for Me anyway so [blows kisses to myself] for u beloved #see yall in another 4547589 months /j (hopefully)

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hoboal87 · 3 years

Text

The Fear

Title: The Fear

Pairing: Dean x pregnant!Reader, minor Sam x Eileen

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Summary: Dean comes home to find Y/N missing.

Word Count: 2300+

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, violence, fluff, pregnancy, non-graphic descriptions of childbirth, 15 x 20 adjacent.

A/N: my entry for @princessmisery666's #daily mix challenge combined with a Nonnie request.

Edit: I forgot to thank the lovely @lovealways-j for beta-reading this for me. Thanks, Sabrina!

My song is "The Fear" by The Score

My Full Masterlist

Something’s wrong.

Dean can sense it the moment he steps into his shared room with Y/N. He looks carefully around the room, trying to find a clue as to what’s got his hunter instincts in high gear. It looks no different then when he and Sam left three days ago, and yet, every bone in his body is telling him something is off.

“Y/N?” He calls out hesitantly as he makes his way towards her old room down the hall. She’d been in the process of turning it into a nursery for the last month and had a tendency to get lost in paint samples and baby supplies. As he closes in on the room, he can feel himself becoming more on edge and instinctively reaches for his gun. “Sweetheart? You in there?”

Dean’s heart sinks further into his stomach as he reaches the newly-converted nursery. The usually meticulously organized room was in a state of disarray as if there had been some sort of struggle. Dean calls out for Y/N again, willing her to give him some kind of sign that he was overreacting to what he was seeing.

He quickly pulls out his phone dialing Y/N’s number, he and Sam should have never gone on that hunt, Y/N was due in less than a month, but she insisted that they go.

This is Y/N, sorry I can’t come to the phone, if it’s an emergency please contact Sam or Dean…

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, waiting for her message to end. “Hey sweetheart,” he does his best to keep his voice steady. “Me and Sammy just got back and I just got a feeling…” he takes a deep breath. “Call me back. Love you.”

Dean pockets his phone, before taking in the room again, trying to convince himself that it’s his new-father instincts and not his hunter instincts that have him so on edge. That’s when he sees it: under a discarded bag, a small pool of blood. Dean’s breathing grows heavier, and he scans the room again, looking for any kind of sign of what may have happened in the room.

“Sam!” Dean yells out, his breath quickening. “Sammy!”

Sam’s behind him, skidding to a stop before taking in the sight of the room before him. Even with only a cursory glance Dean knows that Sam’s thinking the same thing as him, something’s happened to Y/N.

Dean hurries down to the infirmary, Y/N had insisted that they have everything to monitor her in the final months and in the worst-case scenario anything needed to help her deliver. The simple fetal monitor is right where they’d left it three days prior, Dean insists on listening to the heartbeat of his unborn child on an almost daily basis, letting the rapid thump thump thump put him at ease.

Dean’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when Y/N’s picture fills the screen. He takes a minute, calming himself, she doesn’t need to know that up until this moment he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles, “y’know you had us worried for a minute.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, save for heavy, scratchy breathing.

“Y/N?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Y/N whispers, choking back a sob. “I shouldn’t’ve trusted her. Now–”

“Baby, listen to me,” Dean finds Sam in the hall and mouths trace the call, Sam nods and bolts towards the library. “Are you okay? The baby?”

“That depends on you, Dean,” an unfamiliar voice replaces Y/N’s. “Now, be a good little soldier and do as I say. Only then will your precious wife and child have a chance to make it through this unharmed.” Dean can feel his blood boiling, this is why he could never not be a hunter. He and Sam have made too many enemies over the years, and now Y/N and their baby may be paying the price.

All the fear that he felt when Y/N first told him she was pregnant comes rushing back to the surface. Dean never thought he’d get married, let alone be a father, but with Rowena keeping the demons in check, and Jack limiting the angels' interaction on Earth, with the exception of Cas, life became some version of safe for the brothers.

That’s why Y/N insisted that they take the simple salt n’ burn just one state over. She knew that they were going a little stir crazy, Bobby, Jody and Donna, had started training the next generation of hunters so that boys could retire. Dean was hesitant to leave, Y/N was only a month away from her due date, but she shooed them out the door, claiming to need her own space from her overprotective husband and brother-in-law.

“Are you listening, Dean?” The voice tuts and Dean tries to clear his head of ‘if’s’ and ‘could’ve’s’ all it’s doing is driving him crazy.

“I’m listening,” Dean repeats through gritted teeth. The voice gives coordinates to a location a few hours away and before he realizes it he’s in the Impala, ready to do whatever it takes to save his wife and baby. Sam tells Dean what he’s already sure of: this is a trap and Y/N is being used as bait. He doesn’t care, he can’t lose her, lose their baby, not when she’s done nothing more than love him.

The sun is setting when they pull up to the abandoned farmhouse, original, Dean thinks. Dean wants to go bursting in, guns ablaze, but Sam stops him, reminding him that they don’t know who or what has got Y/N, and they have to be smart. He wants nothing more than to punch his brother for suggesting that they wait even a second longer to rescue Y/N, but he lets the words sink in and reluctantly agrees.

Silver bullets, holy water, dead man’s blood, witch-killing bullets and machete’s are divided between each brother, knowing that whatever has Y/N, one of these things will most likely kill it. When they enter the farmhouse Dean’s eyes lock on Y/N, who’s against a wall, two chains around her wrists.

Dean rushes towards her, the only thing on his mind is getting her and the baby out of this place and back home. Her breathing is shallow when he reaches her, and he gently inspects her body. Gingerly, he touches her face, allowing her Y/E/C eyes to meet his and she smiles lazily at him. Knew you’d come, she whispers, and Dean leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead. His free hand lands on the swell of her belly, where he can feel a slight kick against his palm.

“I love you,” Dean says softly so that only Y/N can hear him. “I’m gonna get you outta here, sweetheart, okay?” Y/N nods slightly as Dean focuses his attention on freeing her from her bonds.

There’s a grunt behind Dean, and when he turns around, Sam’s on the ground, and there’s a somewhat familiar woman standing behind him.

“Dean Winchester,” she exclaims as two large men appear and pull him to his feet. “Been too long.”

“Jenny,” he utters, remembering one of the first cases he worked with Sam. “You look good, a little dead, but, good.”

“Always the charmer, weren’t you Dean?” She takes a step towards Y/N. “I could smell you on her the second she walked past me. Women always trust other women, made her think I was a hunter; a tragic backstory here, a name drop there, and bingo, the dumb bitch is leading me into your home.”

Dean feels his anger rising as he tugs against the two men, his eyes flicker to Sam, who slowly starts reaching for the blade next to him.

“Up,” Jenny orders and when Y/N doesn’t comply she produces a blade, and presses it against her stomach. Dean’s heart stops at the threat to Y/N and their baby. “If you want to give your baby a chance to ever see the light of day, I suggest you cooperate.”

Y/N’s legs are wobbly as she stands, tears glistening in her eyes as Jenny slowly runs the blade against her. Dean’s gaze doesn’t leave her, watching as Jenny uncuffs her, and leads her slowly over to him.

Adrenaline pumps through Dean’s veins and he frees himself from his two captors; headbutting one and throwing a punch at the other as Y/N is pushed out of the way. Sam is up on his feet and in a swift move, swings the blade through Jenny’s neck, her body falling limp to the ground. For the briefest of moments, Dean relaxes, only for a vamp to be coming at him again.

Dean can barely keep track of anything, his eyes tunneling in on the large vamp in front of him. He can hear the grunts of Sam, and the familiar sound of another vamp going down. Y/N isn’t in his line of sight, and through the blood pounding in his ears, he hears Sam call his name.

It was just the distraction that the vamp needed and he barrels towards Dean, slamming him against a wooden post. He feels something pierce his side but he keeps fighting against the vamp. As the vamp is about to take his final shot, his head is gone, and Sam is quickly resheething his blade.

Y/N cries out, cradling her stomach and even from a distance he can see the pool blood between her legs. Go, Dean orders Sam who quickly obeys.

“I think she’s in labor,” Sam mutters. “I don’t think we can get her to a hospital in time.”

Dean rushes to Y/N’s side as best he can, telling her everything will be alright. Dean returns to Baby, grabbing the first aid kit, hastily patching up the wound, and retrieving a blanket from the trunk. The pain hits him all at once, but he pushes through it, his pain doesn’t matter, all that matters is that Y/N and the baby are safe.

Y/N’s screaming out in pain, begging for someone to make it stop as Sam does his best to calm her. Dean closes the distance in only a few steps, positioning himself behind her. He takes her hands in his, whispering praises in her ear as Sam orders her to push.

Within only a few minutes, Evelyn Marie Winchester is brought into the world, wailing loudly as Sam wraps her in his flannel and hands her over to Y/N. Dean offers Sam a silent thank you as he takes in the appearance of his daughter. Evie’s the perfect combination of him and Y/N.

The moment of bliss doesn’t last long, as Sam reminds them that they still need to get Y/N and Evie to a hospital. Dean moves from his place behind Y/N and winces at the pain now radiating through his body. Sam gives him a curious look, and Dean shrugs, trying to convince his brother that he’s fine.

Dean takes Evie out of Y/N’s arms, and cradles her against him as Sam helps Y/N to her feet. Dean takes a few steps before legs start to give and his vision starts to blur. The last thing Dean hears before everything going black is Y/N and Sam calling out his name.

Five Years Later

Dean watches as Evie runs around the backyard of their new home, chasing Miracle and laughing hysterically. Y/N was right, the Bunker was no place to raise a little girl, she deserves everything that he and Sam never had, and he is determined to give it all to her. Evie will never know what it’s like to go to bed hungry or cold, or wonder when she’ll see her parents again.

The opening of the front door tears Dean’s attention away from his daughter, Sam’s voice filling the otherwise silent house. He turns to see his brother carrying a ridiculous amount of gifts followed by a very pregnant Eileen with a shaggy haired toddler attached to her hip.

“Unca De!” Little Bobby tries to squirm out of Eileen’s hold and she carefully lets him down. The toddler bolts for Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean’s leg. “S’Evie’s birfday!”

“I know, buddy!” Dean laughs at his nephew, “how ‘bout you go tell her ‘happy birthday’?” Dean opens the side door and lets Bobby out.

“You are going to spoil my daughter rotten, Sam Winchester,” Y/N appears from the back of the house. Dean’s still amazed that even after years together, Y/N can take his breath away.

“Well, if I had another niece or nephew, I could spread the love.”

“I think you’ve spread enough love, Sammy,” Dean jokes as he heads into the kitchen, Sam following behind him. “I mean, you’re basically having your kids back-to-back.”

“Three years is hardly back-to-back,” Sam reaches out to grab a beer. “You’re just mad ‘cause I one-upped you.”

“Actually,” Dean peeks into the living room. “We’ll be even. Y/N’s pregnant.”

The words have hardly left Dean’s mouth before Sam’s engulfed him in a hug. Dean’s positive that Eileen and Y/N are having a similar conversation at this very same moment, but what neither Sam or Eileen know is that they have a bet on who will crack first.

“Just found out a couple of weeks ago,” Dean continues with the ruse. “She wanted to wait until after yours was born, didn’t want to take Eileen’s thunder or something.” Sam nods, seemingly understanding.

Hours later, after the last present has been opened, and the final piece of cake has been eaten, Sam and Eileen take a very sleepy Bobby home. Evie sits at the kitchen table, listening carefully and a smile growing on her face as Dean and Y/N tell her that in six months she’ll have a little brother or sister.

“Or both,” Y/N corrects with a knowing smirk.

“Both?”

Please reblog or send me an ask with your feedback!

This one-shot was requested by a nonnie, my requests are currently open, you can send me an ask or DM me if you’d like to request something.

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#pmdailymix666 #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean x pregnant!reader #angst #violence #kidnapping #angst with a happy ending

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subwaysurf45 · 3 years

Text

Winter Makes Ice (Ep. 4)

Summary: you’re captured after a brawl at the Avengers building, Bucky and others must save you before Hydra makes a new Winter Soldier out of you, Bucky has given up that title.

Words: 4123

Episode: Four

Warning: violence, gore, description of violence, fighting

Masterlist! Winter Makes Ice Episode: Three

Time: 3:20am

Date: October 3rd 2024

Wakanda was always calm when Steve went, the people who lived there just seemed to understand the ways of life. There was never a catcall or fight in an alley, people greeted each other with kindness and a soft bow, Steve always copied but felt like he was too stiff when he did so. He found he walked with his back a little straighter and his chin a little higher, he felt unstoppable in the warm climate, filled with power and generosity.

Natasha on the other hand hated Wakanda, not because of the people but for the same reason as Steve; it was too peaceful. She’d always get the dirtiest looks when trying to explain her case, no one seemed to understand the concept of ‘too much comfort is uncomfortable’. She ran to Bucky once after a moment and asked him why he liked it so much, she thought he off all people would hate comfort, he’d always be one to sleep on the floor because the mattress would feel like it was swallowing him. He just shook his head and shrugged, he’d never tell anyone why; Nat found out he never even told you.

Natasha had been trained to trust no one other than yourself, but after escaping the Red Room she questioned the one in the mirror all too often. People would smile and while Steve smiled and waved Natasha thought of ulterior motives, why were they smiling to them and not the people slightly behind them? but then they’d smile to the people behind Natasha and she’d question if it was to cover themselves. The welcoming's to almost everywhere felt weird, she wanted to break in or have to fake her way to what she wanted, having doors opened for her felt like a slap in the face for all the things she’s done for those years before.

“God, gives me the creeps,” Natasha faked a shiver, Steve just rolled his eyes. They were walking in the palace now, T’Challa would be waiting for them in Shuri’s tech room.

Apparently Shuri had been wanting to try a new type of cuff, one made of- obviously -vibranium that tightens at a lie. There were little needles that poke into the culprit's nervous system, it picks up on someone’s sign that they are lying and tightens when the little pins are triggered. If someone's breath picked up or heart rate doubled, it would squeeze a little bit more until their hands were blue. Nat thought it was amazing when she heard it over the phone, her mind was picturing it the entire flight over.

Steve had been thinking about Bucky, Steve was well aware of Bucky’s deep connection to you. You’d been dating for over a year and it was love at first sight (then Bucky quietly loving you from the other side of the room), Bucky was never one to fall for someone, he’d never have the confidence in himself that he’d be here for too long. But it was the little things Bucky began to do that made Steve appreciate you even more. He’d watch from his spot on the kitchen counter, quietly sipping coffee and reading the paper, which wasn’t actually paper because it was on his phone, while glancing over every so often to see you and Bucky in your own little world, both giggling at something. There's this moment for Bucky when he’d just look at you, Steve had seen it happen so often, like Bucky was taking a step back and realizing he had someone who loved him unconditionally. The laugh would die down and Bucky would whisper something, it would alway be along the lines of ‘thank you’ but it could change. He’d sometimes do it with Steve as well, both you and Steve would say the same thing, ‘no need to thank me, but you’re welcome’ because that’s what Bucky liked best.

You were just an agent when you arrived, nothing more. Slowly you had gotten to know who everyone was by going out of your way to give out cookies to everyone who walked by you, it was a little thing Bucky seemed to really enjoy. After your talents were discovered from past jobs you were moved to a spy, you’d used to work for a private firm where they’d track down people who launder money, you’d have to get so much evidence it often led you to get jobs at mattress stores or random shops. With that and a lifeguard certification- that you got when you were a teen- under your belt you were perfect to be an agent, Fury introduced you to Bucky for combat training because Bucky needed to learn how to work with others; Steve actually told Fury to give Bucky the assignment.

You’d spar everyday and the both of you would get into it. There would be times where you wouldn’t talk to each other for the rest of the day because the other cheated. Everyone would laugh but you’d take it very seriously, Bucky would always say you weren’t strong enough to go out into the field, so you lifted weights. He’d say you weren’t fast enough, then he’d see you sprinting on the treadmill a day later.

Steve knew you were good for Bucky when you were about to start dating, it was at that part where you were going on dates but you weren’t dating. With all the things Bucky had criticized you on, you flipped it on him with one simple task: keep your fiddle-leaf fig plant alive. It would’ve taken Bucky one google search to find out that 61% of people can’t keep this house plant alive, it’s the hardest one to take care of. It was a metaphor of sorts, for you and for your relationship.

It wasn’t a surprise to find it dead when you got home, Steve came to you with his shoulders slumped. Apparently Bucky had been crying for three days straight because he killed your plant and he thought you’d dump him because of it. It was the weird feelings when Steve saw you start to laugh, this was his best friend who was crying of guilt and you were laughing, he’d wanted to punch you square in the jaw.

“What’s so funny?” he asked way too harshly.

“Oh nothing…” you wiped the tear that had fallen.

“Baby, I’m so sorry!” Bucky had left his room and came running to you, his face was red and his eyes were barely open from how puffy they were. He quickly pulled you in for a hug, “I messed up your plant, I’m sorry.”

Steve was getting redder and redder the more you laughed, “what’s so fucking funny, huh?” Steve boomed, he was getting protective.

You had dropped the act then, both of them were very emotional at the moment and laughing wouldn’t be the best choice of action. “Don’t worry, Bucky,” you soothed him, “you weren’t supposed to keep alive.”

“What?” he pulled away and sniffled, “but you asked me to-”

“To try,” you paused with emphasis, “and keep one of the hardest plants to keep alive, alive.” you smiled, “I was proud that I had kept it alive for as long as I did, but I needed to see what you would do with something like this.”

“Why?” Steve asked for Bucky, still very protective.

“Did you buy a new one and hope I didn’t notice?” You asked, Bucky shook his head no. “did you get mad at me because I gave you a stupid chore?” He also said no to that. “Did you make Wanda keep it alive with her powers?” all these options ran through Bucky’s head and he didn’t even think of them, “you put so much effort into this, and even if you did fail you still cared a lot, that’s all I ever want. I want this relationship to work and if you run at the first sign of adversity then this won’t work, but you buckle down and keep pushing, and if it doesn’t work? Then I know you actually cared, and you tried. That’s all.”

“You’re a keeper.,” Steve said before walking away and giving them space to catch up.

Nat waved a hand in front of Steve’s face, and it turns out he’d been staring at T’Challa for a while while he was talking. They had walked the entire way and Steve just stared at the ground with a blank expression, he needed to look out for you in order to keep Bucky sane.

“S-sorry, I zoned out.” Steve straightened his posture a bit, hands on hips and shoulders rolled back.

“No worries, captain Rogers.” T’Challa spoke calm as ever, “I have the criminals in the room, they have the new tech that’s already set up, my sister wanted to set it up.” T’Challa opened one arm and guided them to the secret room where two men sat with their hands cuffed and on their laps. “Neither of them have any record of being born, probably a fake identity.” The king linked arms with Shuri and walked out of the small room.

Seeing how grand and futuristic Shuri’s lab was made it shocking to be in a normal interrogation cell, two rusty chairs that were occupied and no table. Steve looked to see the single light that hung from the ceiling, it wasn’t a soft yellow like the one’s at the Avenger building but purple, vibranium always casted a purple/blue hue.

“Where are you from?” Steve asked.

“Iceland.” the one on Steve’s left answered.

“Is Hydra now stationed in Iceland?” Nat cut in and asked.

“One station, there’s many.” The same man on the left kept talking, the other one had his head all the way down with his forehead touching his knees.

Steve leaned up against the wall, “you attacked Princes Shuri, why?”

“Because she is the one that made us start from the very beginning, she's the one that erased the trigger words from your friend and our weapon.” He snarled, “She needed to pay for what she did, we should have known Wakanda was the hardest place to attack, we’d need a Winter Soldier for that.” A smirk grew from the right side of his mouth.

“What are you smiling about?” Nat pressed, she walked closer.

“Oh, nothing- ow!” the handcuffs tightened, his breathing rate doubled as he tried to ride out the initial shock.

“Tell us!” Steve smashed the wall, causing a dent to grow from it.

“Fine…” the man adjusted, “once we found out we’d never get our Winter Soldier back we quickly moved on, no one can break Wakanda’s tech, it’s impossible.” The man sighed and looked off, “so we chose to start again, make a new way, create a new trial. It’s safe to say we did.” he took a deep breath and leaded back against his chair, his fingertips were beginning to turn purple, it was difficult to see with the purple hue of the room. “When we attacked your building we didn’t want Barnes, we wanted someone, anyone. This girl was the closest to us, and it seemed to be the closest to Barnes, am I right?” he quizzed, seemed to be genuinely wondering. “She’d wake up and forget where she is, normally she’d pat the ground beside her and call out for a man named Bucky, that’s Barnes. It was the perfect choice, completely on a whim.” He looked at Nat, “she got her confidence from you, the entire time we were slowly poisoning her she completely believed she was here for ransom, it was funny to see her face when he told her what we did to her, how we now control her. The look on her face when we asked who wiped Barnes’ trigger words… She spit them out but her face was full of fear, her voice and thoughts weren’t her own.”

“Why would you tell us all of this?” Steve asked.

“I know I will die,” the cuffs didn’t tighten, “and my friend is already dead, I’d like to go with a bullet and not torture.” He looked up to them. “I think my father has passed, he worked for Hydra and I’d like to see him, to ask for forgiveness.”

Natasha pushed back the other man who hadn’t spoken a word to find his hands blackened and completely dead, the tightness had cut off all circulation. Right near the edge of the cuff and on the man’s skin was starting to split, there was no blood to leak out of the cut because there wasn’t blood in the veins, it was slowly falling and peeling away.

“You tortured my friend- two of them actually!” Steve screamed, “I hope to god you die slowly.” Steve lifted his gun to the man’s face, he closed his eyes. But Steve moved the aim to the thigh, you had told him that a shot to the femoral artery was fatel after ten seconds of bleeding, you had also told him that the femur- which was what the femoral artery is attached to -is the most painful break for bones.

So Steve shot at the middle of the thigh, he and Nat watched without emotion as the man quickly bled out, the blood squirted in the air and rolled down his pants. Blood coming from an artery is bright red and tends to squirt, but from a vein makes the blood more slow and dark. When the final squirt of blood managed to hit the man’s face, Steve knew he hit right on target; and that you were right for all those things.

Time: 5:59am

Date: October 3rd 2024

Bucky and Wanda walked through the forest, most of the leaves had fallen off the trees due to the season so they could see further into the thick woods. Not a lot of talking was happening between the two of them, Bucky was way too focused on keeping his cool while Wanda used her powers to see if there was any form of life around.

The wind blew softly and the leaves that held on for dear life were now getting pushed aside off the flimsy twigs, they would fall and join the other countless leaves that met the same fate. Wanda loved the fall, she’d jump into a pile of leaves any chance she got. Right now she was purposely stepping on the ones that looked the most dry which would give a good crunch. Her nose was a little red due to the cold but everywhere else she was yellow and happy, it seemed she gave off heat.

Bucky hated the fall, the sound of stepping on leaves sounded like someone was right behind him. If there was a Hydra agent out in these woods they would have heard them from a mile away with all of Wanda’s jumping and giggling. Bucky loved Wanda in a motherly kind of way, but sometimes she was just too...happy…

When everything seemed lost, Bucky and Wanda’s phones began to vibrate, Bucky was quick to pick up. Both Bucky and Wanda made their way to a tree stump to take a moment to listen. Wanda sat on the ground floor and picked at the tons of leaves that covered the ground, she’d pick and rip them apart one by one.

“It’s Steve,” Bucky whispered before picking up, “Steve?”

“Buck, you have to listen to me,” his voice was shaken and distraught, “I’ve sent the coordinates, she’s there but I don’t know how much of her is left.”

“What does that mean?” Bucky asked as he looked over to see Wanda looking at the coordinates on her phone.

“I don’t know how much has happened to her, they’ve brainwashed her.” Steve took a deep breath, Bucky could hear Nat in the background, “we have to act fast, we’re on our way, do not wait for us.” he commanded and Bucky nodded but he knew Steve couldn't see, there was a type of mind reading between the two of them that really came in handy for times like these.

“Roger that.” Bucky hung up and began to move again, Wanda had read the location and it turned out they weren’t that far away, at the final stretch they saw the building through the empty trees.

The forest had been cleared around the building, the grass seems healthy but it was starting to brown with the changing weather. The building itself was very small for it to be the most dangerous Hydra facility, it was only one story. There were no windows and the outer wall was all one grey colour, no symbols or tanks ready to fire; there wasn’t even a guard around the building. It seemed too vacant for it to be true, the wind seemed to stop as they got closer into the open field, it was completely still and almost dead.

Bucky or Wanda actually had a plan, everything had been so fast there wasn’t anything drawn out or spoken about at some meeting, this was all instinct. Though there were no windows and security cameras they both knew something had to be watching the outside, they were low to the ground in the open field but the grass was way too short to cover them. Bucky had his gun ready while Wanda’s hands were in a position to create a shield for the both of them, at the sound of a vibration Wanda checked her phone.

“Steve and Nat have landed, they are five minuets out,” she whispered.

“Copy.” was all Bucky could think to say.

Both of their backs smashed against the wall, with their final moments of bliss before fighting a couple deep breaths were taken and eyes remained shut. Bucky’s finger fiddled on the trigger of the gun, Imagining what it would look like to blow the man who hurt you to oblivion. Bucky moved further and farther away from his Winter Soldier thoughts, the mass murder and robotic revenge. But when it came to someone hurting you, he’d even put the mask back on.

On the count of three the door was bursted open, and right away agents on the inside began to fire. Wanda and Bucky took them down their own way.

One agent was still alive, Bucky ran up and gripped his throat. “Where is she!” he screamed.

“You’ll never know-”

A gun was placed to his head.

“-Alright! Alright!” The man shrieked, “third door on the left, please don’t kill me!” the man cried.

“I won’t kill you,” Bucky lowered his gun but the grip on his neck tightened, “I’ll torture you slowly before.'' His left hand gripped so tight around the agent’s neck he could hear the bone shattering, clear fluid from the agent’s spine leaked from his eye and ear before blood followed. Bucky watched emotionlessly as the agent’s face turned blue and almost popped like a balloon. “Wanda, get them all outside.”

“Yes, sergeant!” Wanda yelled, she was fighting off everyone else.

Bucky blew by everyone as they ran to see the commotion, so ran right by Bucky without thinking he was the threat. Wanda was now outside and in a matter of seconds the eeriness of the outside matched the inside, the air was still and stuffy, it smelt like the beginning of decomposing. Bucky had his gun ready but it seemed no one was in here, his only threat was you.

Bucky took note of the stone grey floors, and stone grey walls, and stone grey ceilings. HYDRA didn’t put much money into design like the Avenger’s did, all the funds they collected went straight into the tech they made and Bucky was sure that’s why they were still around, they had so much money saved that they could pay people to turn their cheek and walk the other way.

As Bucky scanned for something to give away where all the scientists were, his eye met another door in the very corner of the room, it was exactly the same colour of the stone grey walls but the brass door knob caught his eye. All you could hear was the boot of Bucky’s combat boots on the floor, his breath was even scaring him. His hand reached out for the door and when he opened it he found what he was worrying about.

A cell. More specifically: an empty cell.

There were chains hanging from the ceiling, one large cuff, one for what seemed to be used for a neck and then four cuffs for wrists and ankles. Bucky completely forgot where he was, he didn’t remember there was an entire lab behind him, all his mind was throwing at his memories of a cell just like this.

Bucky didn’t remember much about cells in the early days fighting against HYDRA in a cell, in the 40’s. He did, however, remember what it was like to come out of ice when he was needed. The concept of life didn’t exist when he was frozen, it felt like a long blink, it didn’t seem like he’d been asleep for years.

He’d wake up and for a second he was still normal. He’d think it’s cold because it was winter and his house back in the 40’s didn’t have any type of heating system except for a small fireplace, his boots and pants were still on because he got hammered the night before- also explaining the headache -and just fell into bed. All his convincing would go away when his brain would fog again, and he’d look down and catch the shine of his left arm, all at once he’d fall back into place. The dissociating happens after dreams but it came from waking up and not really knowing who he was, as he’d walk to whatever commander was in charge that year he’d ask himself what he was, all the memories and answers in his brain would seem to pull further away, like a word in the tip of his tongue.

He was ripped from his thoughts manually, he thought of you. He thought he was hypnotizing himself when he looked in there at first, too triggered by what he saw to think straight, but he took another moment to look, he saw the chains swinging back and forth ever so slightly.

His stomach dropped, he knew you were still in the room. “Sweetheart?” he called like he always did, “it’s Bucky, we’re gonna get you out of here, come out, baby.” he tried to sound as soothing as possible, he looked under every lab table and every chair.

He flipped through pages on his desk, reading the details of what they did to you. “What is I.C.E.?” Bucky asked himself.

“Injected Complying Enhancement.”

Bucky turned as fast as he could to see you behind him. You were completely naked, body covered in dirt and grime, your hair was hacked and it seemed to have been pulled. Bucky just looked at your body, words were carved into your skin, every single one of them were infected, puss bubbles around the angry red scars. As his eyes trailed up he saw blue on your finger tips, then he reached your face to see a sunken cheekbone and massive cut on your forehead, but nothing compared to a generous piece of your nose hanging on by a thread, the tip was black.

“Baby, do you know me?” Bucky asked through heavy tears, this wasn’t what he was expecting.

You scanned over him, “Sergeant, James Buchanan Barnes, 32557038.”

Right at that moment, he knew you were gone.

Winter Makes Ice tag list: @small-death-and-codeine @commonintrest @buckyys-doll @lil-baby-nor

let me know if you want a tag!

#winter soldier fic #winter soldier oneshot #wintersoldier #winter soldier #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fluff #bucky barnes #bucky #barnes #bucky barns imagine #bucky series #bucky barnes series #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #bucky love

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Text

winged cupid painted blind // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: I’d really love something based on love story by Taylor Swift. The lines “We keep quite cuz we’re dead if they knew” and “take me somewhere we can be alone” stick out to me // I was thinking that the reader could be from a family that isn’t well off and her and Anthony meet at a ball somehow. They create a ruse that she’s from a well known family so that the gossips in the ton don’t attack her because Anthony has fallen in love with a “commoner.” All the Bridgertons are in on the ruse and at the end of the story Anthony proposes - @whovianwholikesgirls

A/N: Why is it that every Bridgerton fic I write, I end up writing thousands and thousands of words? This is long and I am sorry for that! As always, I hope I have done your request justice and that I hope you like!

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, class divides, pining, mutual pining, lots of fluff, dancing, kissing, happy ending, Anthony in love.

Word count: 7.7k

Madame Delacroix’s took up the central property on the most prosperous street coming just off of Grosvenor Square. The most popular modiste in London, many of society’s richest families flocked to her door in order to claim their own dress made by the talented seamstress.

Anthony sighs as he climbs down from the carriage. His mother must be in a particular benevolent mood to send him to pick up her newest dress from the modiste. Anthony would much rather be spending his day at his club, but he finds himself ringing the modiste’s bell for service.

“Monsieur Bridgerton!” Madame Delacroix smiles, delighted at the sight of the Viscount. “How can I help you?” She asks, her smile turning flirtatious.

Anthony responds with his own flirtatious smile. “I’m here to pick up a dress for my mother.”

“Of course, of course,” Madame Delacroix sings, “I have it over here. I finished it last night. It is divine!”

“My mother will surely thank you,” Anthony states earnestly, his gaze dancing around the room filled to the brim with fabrics and ribbons, models and hoops.

“No need,” Madame Delacroix, “The Bridgertons are my best customers.”

Anthony takes the offered box, marvelling at the lightness of its weight. For all the skirts, for all the numerous pieces of fabric that go into making a dress, Anthony will always remain shocked at the featherlight weight of it.

“Will Lady Bridgerton be wearing this to the Hastings’ ball tonight?” The modiste asks, her tone light as she tries her best to keep the burning curiosity out of her voice.

“Most likely,” Anthony smiles, tipping his head in goodbye.

The modiste calls out her goodbyes as Anthony walks out the door. He doesn’t pay much attention to where he is going; only knowing that he needs to turn left in order to reach his carriage. The very thought has him rushing, safe in the knowledge that the quicker he got his done, the quicker he would be at his club.

It’s that self-indulgent thought that had Anthony distracted enough to walk into something hard.

“Oh!” A feminine voice gasps as Anthony catches her elbow whilst keeping a tight hold on the dress box.

“My apologies,” Anthony offers, steadying the unknown woman.

“You’re forgiven,” She murmurs dryly, turning her attention back to the seamstresses window.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern, Lord Bridgerton.”

“My pleasure, Miss…”

“(Y/L/N).”

“My pleasure, Miss (Y/L/N),” Anthony repeats, adjusting the dress box in his hands. He goes to say something else but notices her slyly counting the money in her purse, watching her frown when she realises she cannot afford the prices set by Madame Delacroix.

“Have a nice day, Lord Bridgerton,” Miss (Y/L/N) remarks, stepping away from the Viscount to begin her walk home. She didn’t need a Viscount to be witness to her money troubles; she had thought she had enough, but the prices must have been increased since the last time she had wandered past the window. It would be another two weeks of saving before she could afford a new set of ribbons; it wasn’t worth it at this point, she sighed to herself.

“You too!” Anthony shouts to her retreating figure, feeling upset on her behalf that she could not afford the ribbons she was so dazedly admiring. Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, Anthony climbs into the carriage, thinking of the young woman all the way home.

-----

“Jayne!” (Y/N) laughs, “Slow down! I’m going to lose a shoe.”

“Alright, Cinderella,” Jayne snickers, slowing her pace as she climbs the winding staircase to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

“Have you ever seen such a home?” (Y/N) gasps; eyes widening as she takes in the grand structure. The brickwork is immaculate; many red bricks painted black to give the impression of a crosshatch pattern spreading across the building. This is only highlighted by the many windows; all seemingly lit by a countless number of candles and sconces.

“(Y/N)!” Jayne shouts, “Stop admiring the building! We have a dance to get to.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” (Y/N) laughs, hurrying after her friend who has already handed over their invitation.

Jayne grips (Y/N)’s hand tightly as they enter the ballroom together. The event is in full swing; the dancefloor already full with couples dancing a quadrille.

“Would you dance with me?” The handsome brunette asks of Jayne, staring at her hopefully. Jayne casts her gaze to (Y/N), not wanting to leave her friend, but wanting very much to dance with the handsome man.

(Y/N) nudges Jayne forward, answering for her. “She would be delighted.”

Jayne sends her a thankful smile as she joins more and more couples on the dancefloor.

The drinks table isn’t busy at all as (Y/N) wanders over. She makes sure to keep an eye on Jayne, watching her dance with what looks to be a Rokesby. (Y/N) shakes her head fondly at her friend; ten minutes into a ball and she’s already caught the attention of a member of one of the richest families in England.

Turning her attention away from her friend, (Y/N) reaches for a glass of lemonade when her hand brushes with a man clearly wanting the same glass. (Y/N) pulls her hand away, not wanting to cause any trouble at a ball she wasn’t even invited to.

“My apologies,” She murmurs, grabbing another glass from the many.

“You’re forgiven,” A voice drawls. (Y/N) glances upwards through her lashes to find Anthony Bridgerton watching her with a confused expression.

“Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) greets, curtseying lightly at the sight of her superior.

Anthony nods. He remains silent as he stands next to her; it’s not an awkward silence, rather, one where (Y/N) can practically hear the cogs and gears winding in Anthony’s mind, trying to figure out where he knows her from. If he knows her at all.

“I met you this morning,” Anthony recalls suddenly, snapping his fingers together when he remembers why he recognises the woman standing next to him.

“You almost knocked me over,” She states wryly, lifting her glass to her lips to take a tentative sip of the lukewarm lemonade.

“I believe I apologised for that, Miss (Y/L/N).”

“Call me (Y/N). And I forgave you,” She states simply, “But It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you forget it, however.”

“I’d be disappointed in you, if you did.”

(Y/N) laughs. The very sound music to Anthony’s ears and he briefly wonders whether he could have the sound imprinted on his brain; to hear her laughter for an eternity.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony asks, taking a pull of his lemonade before wrinkling his nose. Too sweet, not sour enough. “Are you here with your parents?”

“I wasn’t technically invited,” She confesses to the Viscount in a conspiratorial whisper. Anthony’s eyes widen when her words land, “What?”

“I came to chaperone my friend, Jayne. You may know her, she’s Lord Dorchester’s daughter.”

Anthony nods; he knew the man well, drank with him a few times at his club – dreadfully dull with a fascination for military history. Much like many of the men of his father’s generation.

“Anyway,” (Y/N) continues, “Jayne wanted to go, but needed a chaperone as her mother has taken ill – nothing serious thankfully. I was the next best option so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Anthony parrots, enunciating every syllable as his eyes pour over her figure. “If you weren’t invited, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a governess for Lord and Lady Saville,” She answers proudly; a happy smile on her face as she thinks of her students.

“I hated my governess,” Anthony confesses with a laugh. “I don’t care much for Latin which she knew so she would make me do double the work.”

(Y/N) snorts. “Latin is a very useful language; it’s a good skill to have.”

“I know that now,” Anthony gripes, “I just didn’t know that at ten years old.”

Silence descends between them. Again, not uncomfortable, but a natural stopping point in their conversation. After all, titled gentleman such as the man stood beside her didn’t speak to her occupation outside of a brief conversation about their child’s progress in their education.

(Y/N) places her finished glass of lemonade back on the table before smoothing out the deep blue skirts of her borrowed dress. She clears her throat, ready to make her excuses and check on Jayne when Anthony speaks first.

“Would you care to dance?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“I’m a governess, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Call me Anthony, please.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re supposed to dance with someone of your own class, Anthony.”

“I don’t want to dance with them. I want to dance with you.”

His argument is straight to the point; no beating around the bush that (Y/N) finds it hard to find fault with it. Instead, she sighs, “One dance.”

“One dance,” Anthony promises, holding out his hand for her to grasp.

She didn’t expect to find herself the centre of the Viscount’s attention, but she cannot bring herself to mind much. Not as he holds out a hand for her to take; not as he leads to her to the dancefloor and not as he settles a palm against her lower back. The feel of his hand feeling so right that she loses the power of speech.

The music begins and (Y/N) travels to a new place entirely. The room melts away; the couples, the families. They all disappear. The only two people in the room are her and Anthony; his blue eyes fixed on her as they start to circle the room in waltz. There’s no need for conversation; all words passed by looks alone.

When the music dies and the room fades back into view, (Y/N) only wonders whether she would feel like this again, whether they would be anyone to make her feel like this again. As Anthony bows and kisses her hand, (Y/N) has her answer.

----------

He doesn’t stop thinking about her. She left soon after they finished dancing; her friend finding her and asking whether she was ready to leave. Anthony wanted to argue; wanted to reach for (Y/N) and pull her back to his embrace where they could dance the night away.

Anthony returned home and went straight to his room. He undressed mechanically; still thinking of her as he slipped between his sheets and tried to fall asleep only to find that sleep was a fickle friend that would not be granting him a visit tonight.

He remains awake; thinking of every aspect of her. He didn’t think he would see her again after the modiste; it was a shock to find her at the ball, but he took the opportunity with both hands to find that he had quickly become infatuated with her.

Could this be called love? Anthony rolls over in bed; tangling himself up in the sheets as he runs a hand up and down his bare chest, thinking the question over and over.

He felt as if he had hit by the arrow of Cupid; as if he had handed himself over voluntarily to be pricked with one of the god’s arrows. He’s never felt like this; no woman had ever kept him awake at night in such a manner.

Groaning, Anthony reaches for the pillow on the other side of the bed, hugging it to his chest. All the while, he dreams it was her body he was pressing close to.

The day after the Ball, Anthony strides from his study to his mother’s drawing room. There, he sits next to his beloved mother, and asks her to gather his siblings for a family meeting.

They arrive one by one. The youngest arriving first; a simple call from the bottom of the stairs has Gregory and Hyacinth rushing to the drawing room, each one adamant that they didn’t do it, but rather their sibling. Anthony shakes his head in exasperation, not wanting to know what they were referring to and instead, asks them to take a seat on the pale blue couch in front of the window.

Over the course of an hour, Anthony’s family arrive. Each one just as curious as the last, each one just as questioning as the last. “Why have you gathered us here, Anthony?” Daphne sighs, her hand resting on Simon’s knee.

“I’ve met someone,” Anthony announces. He frowns at the shocked gasps from Daphne and Eloise; was he really so incapable of finding himself a wife? He ignores the jibes from them both, turning to face his dear mother.

Violet Bridgerton sits in her favourite chair; the one next to it empty as it has been for the last decade. Edmund Bridgerton died so suddenly, and their love was so strong, Anthony knew that there was no recovery from it. “Do we know her?” She asks; her face showing the happiness she feels for her eldest son.

“No,” Anthony sighs, settling down next to his youngest sister, Hyacinth. She offers him a sweet smile as he sits; Anthony cannot help but return the smile and ruffle her hair. When the moment is over, Anthony focuses his attention back onto his family who he finds is watching him intently. “She’s a governess,” He admits, straightening in his seat.

“A respectable profession,” Eloise states with a smile. Anthony feels a rush of affection for his sister; he had always been wary for her outspokenness, but right now, he could thank her heartily.

“What’s the problem, Anthony?” Eloise continues, crossing her ankles, leaning forward in interest.

“I think she may have feelings for me as well, but she’s hesitant to act on them because of our differences.”

“Differences?” Hyacinth questions curiously; unaware of such class differences at such a young age.

“(Y/N) is a governess. I am a Viscount,” Anthony explains, “It would be the subject of gossip for years to come should anything happen between us.”

“So we come up with another story,” Francesca suggests, shrugging her shoulders as if her suggestion was always the answer.

“Another story?” Daphne wonders, eyes glancing between her husband and her family.

“We create a ruse,” Francesca explains to her elder sister. “A story for (Y/N) and Anthony to follow when out in public.”

“Do you think she would go along with this?” Benedict asks; his tone wary as he thinks of the possible implications this could have for his family.

Anthony remains silent, tapping a finger against his cheek as he thinks of whether (Y/N) would follow such a ruse. “Why don’t we ask her? I can send a summons.”

Violet, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence, nods. “Send her a message asking her to come as quick as she can. Tell her it isn’t an emergency, but that you would like to talk to her.”

Anthony nods; rushing from the drawing room to his study to pen such a message. After that, he calls on one of the footmen, handing them the letter and the strict duty of delivering this to (Y/N) personally. The footman nods; his face serious as he takes the letter from his employer’s hand, all but sprinting out of the door.

Anthony returns to the drawing room; taking his seat next to Hyacinth.

“Did you send the missive?” Violet asks. Anthony nods; doing his best to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest. “I sent it with one of the footmen,” He answers, “It shouldn’t be long now.”

His family all nod, breaking off into separate conversations whilst Anthony remains stoic and silent. His leg bounces repeatedly; the only outward sign of his anxiety. Internally, he nerves were fraught. He couldn’t help but wonder whether this was all too much; he knew from their first meeting that Anthony would do anything for her, but if (Y/N) didn’t return such feelings then it was all for nothing.

Worries and thoughts continue to plague him as Anthony catches sight of Daphne leaning into Simon. It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, but Anthony cannot miss the devoted smile that crosses Simon’s face when he feels his wife press against him.

Longing breaks within Anthony’s chest, spreading through his body, leaving behind an ache that he doesn’t know how to heal.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” introduces the Butler, breaking Anthony’s longing in half.

He stands all too fast, appearing all too eager. Anthony shoots a glare in his brother’s direction when he hears their sniggering.

(Y/N) rushes into the room; her eyes filled with panic when she finds herself in front of the whole Bridgerton clan. “Anthony?” She whispers; her eyes finally meeting his from across the room.

“(Y/N),” He breathes, “Thank you for coming.”

“You told me not to worry, but you sounded so urgent.”

“We wanted to talk to you,” He explains, gesturing to his whole family. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

(Y/N) sits; her mind running a thousand miles a minute as she finds herself being watched by every Bridgerton/Basset in the room. The room is silent; too silent – no-one dares broach the subject first. They don’t want to anger Anthony or ruin his chances with (Y/N).

“Whatever is the matter?” (Y/N) finally asks, breaking the silence.

“We’ve come to understand that you and Anthony have feelings for each other,” Violet states quite plainly.

(Y/N) fidgets, somewhat uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I guess you could say that,” She offers, smiling smally at the aforementioned man.

“We also know that you’re worried about the differences between Anthony and yourself,” Violet continues to which Eloise huffs, crossing her arms in anger at the state of the class differences within England.

“It’s not so much worried,” (Y/N) explains, “It’s more resigned to the fact.”

Violet nods, understanding where the young governess is coming from. “Francesca,” Violet starts, nodding to the brunette sitting by one of Anthony’s brothers, “Has come up with an idea that we would like to run by you.”

“Oh?”

“It would mean that you and Anthony would be able to begin a courtship.”

(Y/N) feels herself flush; her face heating with how open the Bridgerton family were about their emotions. Their family unit so healthy and happy that everyone felt at ease to talk about whatever was on their minds.

“What did you have in mind?” (Y/N) asks, turning to face Francesca who responds with a large smile.

“We’re going to create a backstory for you. Not something terribly complicated, but something that you and Anthony can follow whilst out in public.”

“Okay…” (Y/N) whispers hesitantly, “What’s the backstory you’ve created?”

Francesca begins to look sheepish. “I haven’t thought of that part yet… I didn’t think Anthony would go for the first part.”

(Y/N) laughs; a light and airy sound that has Anthony straightening in his seat, smiling automatically. “Why don’t we come up with it together?”

“So you’re willing to go along with it?” Anthony asks; his voice unwaveringly hopeful as he refuses to look at anyone but (Y/N).

Something in his face has her nodding. “For as long as you’ll have me,” She answers earnestly, almost breathless when Anthony smiles widely in return.

“This is what I’ve thought of so far,” Colin announces, breaking the moment between Anthony and (Y/N).

The family turn to Colin to find him sat forward on his seat, an eager look across his face as he begins to lay out his plans. Anthony smiles and nods; happy with every word leaving his brother’s mouth.

(Y/N) cannot help but feel an ounce of doubt; not so much at the plan, but for longevity of it. How long would it be before Anthony realised she was not worth it? How long would it before the class difference between them became too much? She dreaded the day but knew it would be upon her before she realised.

----------

The annual picnic in Hyde Park drew in every affable family in London. After all, it was another excuse for mother’s to parade their daughters to the many eligible gentleman. For the gentlemen, it was a free lunch with whichever gazebo they chose to throw themselves upon.

The Bridgertons had been attending this picnic for many years; their station in society meaning that they were personally invited by the monarch. Violet took pride in her set up, making sure her cook’s famous biscuits were on display and that there was plenty of tea to go around. She also ensured that her family had the perfect view of the Serpentine; not too close for her children to fall in, but not too far for it to be out of sight. It was not a sorry affair.

(Y/N) had joined the family happily; talking briefly with Colin and Eloise before Hyacinth monopolised her attention. (Y/N) didn’t mind; she had taught many young girls the same age as Hyacinth and found them all a delight to educate. Hyacinth would be no different.

It wasn’t long, however, before Anthony joined her side. His hand settled comfortably on the small of her back, liking the way that she stepped closer to him, as if wanting to be in his presence all the time.

“Did you have fun the other night?” Anthony questions, thinking back to Daphne’s ball when (Y/N) had smiled at him as he lead her across the dancefloor.

(Y/N) smiles. “I did. I had a lot of fun.”

“How are you feeling about our ruse?” Anthony queries, catching sight of Lady Featherington marching across the many blankets in the direction of the Bridgerton patch.

“Confident,” (Y/N) answers, “Why do you ask?”

Anthony smiles; shifting his position slightly so he can hear every word of the conversation about to happen. He ducks his head, his mouth close to her ear as he answers, “Because it’s about to be put to the test.”

“Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington calls; her gaudy green gown shimmering in the sunlight as she teeters her way to the matriarch of the fine family.

“Lady Featherington,” Violet greets, her voice as polite as ever. “How are you?”

Lady Featherington smiles at Violet; her gaze glancing around the colourful blankets and gazebo set out for the Bridgerton family to remain comfortable as the picnic progresses. Lady Featherington smiles when her eyes find the figure she was looking for. (Y/N) stands to the side, wrapped up in a conversation with Anthony that certainly looks to be a private one.

Lady Featherington nods towards (Y/N); the fascinator attached to her threatening to slip into her eyes. “You have a new addition to your family, Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington states; no infliction of a question but one inferred all the same.

“(Y/N) is a distant friend of the family,” Violet answers breezily, “She hails from a wealthy family just outside of Leeds.”

“Leeds?”

Violet nods. “Yes, Leeds. It’s just over 20 miles outside of York, perhaps you’ve been?”

Lady Featherington smiles tightly at Violet. She smooths down the green panels of her dress. “A handful of times, Lady Bridgerton. After all, my side of the family hails from Manchester. The two aren’t so far removed.”

“Of course,” Violet appeases, “How does your family fare? I’d heard your mother was ill.”

Lady Featherington continues to smile graciously at the Dowager Viscount. Her eyes are brimming with warning and curiosity, but her smile is forced. “Mother is doing much better, she travelled to the coast. The latest journals are saying sea air helps with fragile conditions.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Lady Featherington nods her thanks to Violet before making her excuses. Violet’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she watches the notorious gossip walk away from her gazebo. Lady Featherington’s shoulders are tight with displeasure as she marches back to her own plot.

Violet returns to the stitching in her lap after a brief glance towards her youngest children. Gregory and Hyacinth occupied with Benedict and Colin as the older of the set teach their younger siblings games from their youth. Violet smiles at her children; content to return to the pattern at hand, the Dutch Tulips would not stitch themselves.

“What was Lady Featherington talking to you about?” Anthony asks. His face the very picture of innocence as he breaks his mother’s concentration and grabs two biscuits – one for him, the other he hands to (Y/N).

“She was fishing for information on our dear (Y/N),” Violet comments, observing her stitching to ensure it remains straight. “She didn’t find out a thing other than what we discussed.”

(Y/N) lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet waves away her gratitude with a dismissive hand. “You’re making my son happy; I’ll protect that and you with all that I have.”

(Y/N) flounders for a moment at the quick acceptance by Violet. She smiles at the matriarch; whispering her thanks to Violet, ducking her head as she tries to come to terms with rush of emotions coursing through her body.

Anthony returns his attention to the conversation; his mind no longer focused on way to distract Lady Featherington. He flashes a smile in (Y/N)’s direction; his heart racing when she sends her own smile back.

“(Y/N) and I are going to promenade, mother. You’ll be fine without us?”

Violet snorts. “Yes, dear. I have my seven other children to keep me company.”

Anthony rolls his eyes fondly at his mother. He presses a sweet kiss to her cheek before offering (Y/N) his arm.

They amble along the path; all the while aware of the maid sent by Violet shortly after they departed. Violet trusts (Y/N) implicitly, but she knows the reputation of her eldest son. The poor opera singer being prime evidence of his abilities to break hearts as quickly as he mends them.

“You look beautiful, by the way. In case I haven’t told you,” Anthony flirts, a handsome smile spreading across his face.

“You haven’t, but I’ll take the compliment now.”

Anthony laughs, throwing his head back in delight as they both pause their walk. “You are though,” Anthony murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger down (Y/N)’s cheek, “You’re beautiful.”

(Y/N) averts her gaze; her cheeks flushing from the unexpected compliment. Anthony glances on either side of them, catching sight of the maid only a few feet away, doing her best to nonchalantly follow them. Anthony turns his attention back to the woman in front of him, desperate for a moment alone with her. A wicked grin spreads across his face, “Follow me.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” Anthony repeats, stepping off the path and onto the grass. He gestures to a faint path; one less travelled. “Do you trust me?”

(Y/N) answers by taking his outstretched hand, letting herself be led down the lesser known path.

Their pace slows when they are certain they have lost their chaperone. (Y/N) feels a twinge of guilt as she thinks of the poor maid who was only doing what she was asked by her employer, but then she catches sight of the unbridled glee on Anthony’s face and her guilt is quickly replaced by anticipation.

“Where are we going?” She asks; her voice jostling slightly as she tries to watch Anthony and not trip over any loose twigs or stones.

“Nowhere in particular,” Anthony confesses, “I just wanted you to myself for a little bit.”

His pace slows; they’re a good distance away from the picnic party, they wouldn’t be interrupted by anyone.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Anthony wonders as he comes to a stop. His hands settle on her waist and she has do all that she can to focus on the conversation and not the fact that she can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her dress.

“You can tell me anything.”

“I like spending time with you. You make me…” Anthony trails off as he thinks of the word, “Happy. Yes, you make me happy.”

“You make me happy too.”

“If you want me to stop,” Anthony whispers, bending to press a line of kisses from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, “You need to tell me now.”

“Don’t stop,” She whispers, fisting her hands in the lapels of his jacket, tugging him forward.

Anthony kissed her carefully, as if afraid he would ruin her from the very moment their lips touched. What he didn’t realise, however, was that he had ruined her from the instant they met. He might not have realised it, but she knew. She knew that from that one conversation, that one touch to her elbow, she would be ruined for other men.

His mouth is gentle, hesitant. By the way he groans low in his throat, Anthony does not expect (Y/N) to react the way she does. Gasping against his mouth, pressing herself against him as her lips open under his. The kiss becomes hurried; oxygen becoming a distant thought of the past as (Y/N) tastes the lemon biscuits Anthony had stolen from his mother’s table.

Breaking the kiss, the couple each suck in ragged breaths. Shy smiles break out across either of their faces, not having expected such a thing to happen to between them. A short laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he keeps (Y/N) wrapped up in his embrace. Neither of them feel the need to say a word; happy to let the time pass between them in complete silence.

“We should probably get back,” (Y/N) eventually murmurs against Anthony’s cheek, the slight stubble scratching her skin.

Anthony releases a choked sound. “I don’t want to,” He confesses, “I want to stay here with you.”

(Y/N) pulls back, brushing a gloved hand against Anthony’s cheek. He leans into the touch; finding himself enraptured by the woman in front of him. “I want to stay with you too,” She whispers, “But your family will be looking for us.”

Anthony sighs, breaking the embrace entirely. He holds her hand; tangling their fingers together. If he could, he wouldn’t let go of her at all. He would keep her with him at all times; he likes to be in her presence, doesn’t want to be without it. However, society and duty calls, and he must return. However, he would be damned if he was to let go of her hand before then.

“Alright,” He concedes, beginning the walk back to the picnic.

The walk is quiet, but comfortable. Their hands remained tangled even as they arrive back to the Bridgertons. His brother’s throw Anthony a knowing glance which Anthony ignores. He knows his mother will have a strict word with him later, but he has more pressing matters on his mind – his future and the woman now sitting with his youngest siblings.

He’s found his forever; he just needs to keep it.

-----

“Miss (Y/L/N),” the Butler begins, interrupting the governess as she marks her student’s latest set of handwriting, “A Viscount Bridgerton to see you?”

“Oh!” She gasps, standing from her seat far too quickly. The inkpot on her desk spills, sapphire blue ink spreading across the multitude of papers thrown about her desk. As she watches the puddle grow, she begins to feel a deep sense of dread spread through her being.

“Shall I show him in?” The Butler asks, also watching the ink stain spread.

“Have you already made Lord and Lady Saville aware of his presence?”

“Yes, miss. They’re the ones who told me to fetch him to you.”

“Then yes, show him in please,” (Y/N) answers, staring forlornly at the ruined paper and wasted ink. The Butler makes a sympathetic noise before opening the door further for Anthony to enter.

“Darling,” Anthony greets. He goes to speak further but spies the growing blue stain. “What happened here?”

“I stood up too quickly,” (Y/N) complains. “It’s gone everywhere, and I can’t afford another bottle right now.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll get you a bottle.”

(Y/N) fixes the man with an unimpressed look. “No you won’t. I don’t want you buying things for me.”

“It won’t be bought. I have a stock of ink back at Bridgerton House due to the amount of correspondence I have. You can have a couple of pots; I will not miss it.”

“Oh… well, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Anthony smiles. “Now that’s sorted, I came here to ask you a question.”

“You have?”

“I have. Would you attend the Shakespearean ball? With me?” His voice has a note of vulnerability in it as he voices his question.

“What?” She asks, “As in arrive with you, on your arm?”

“Yes,” Anthony states slowly, “You would come with me and my family.”

She begins to pace the room; her hands wringing together as she tries to calm the pounding of her heart and mind. “Are you sure this is the path you want to go down?” She asks Anthony; her voice begging for a truthful answer.

“What do you mean?”

“This is getting very serious very fast, Anthony. This plan isn’t going to work forever; the ton will find out that I’m a governess and the ruse will be over. This could ruin your entire family, Anthony.”

“Hey,” Anthony hushes, interrupting her pacing. He reaches for her hand with one hand whilst the other cups her cheek. She automatically leans into the touch, sending a thrill through Anthony’s aching soul. “Nothing’s going to happen,” He reassures with a gentle tone, “Should anything happen, we can do damage control.”

“I don’t want to be the ruin of your family, Anthony,” (Y/N) whispers, her eyes lined with unshed tears. She could never forgive herself if the Bridgertons were socially injured by her lack of money relating to her lack of status. (Y/N) could not help the hand of cards she was dealt at birth, but society dictates her station, and hers was so far below Anthony’s it was any wonder that he noticed her in the first place. It was a dream to be accepted by his family; she didn’t want to be the cause of their ruination.

“You aren’t going to be the ruin of my family,” Anthony assures, brushing under her eyes with his thumbs to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “You’re going to be the making of it. I want you in my life, (Y/N). I want to see where this goes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I haven’t felt like this for a long time, I want to see where this feeling takes me.”

“Okay,” She concedes, doing her best to stop the tears falling, “I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

The smile that spreads across Anthony’s face makes it all worth it. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then another to her nose, to her cheek before finally kissing her in earnest. She hums against his mouth; getting lost in the feel of him.

“It’ll be worth it,” Anthony whispers. “All of this is worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” (Y/N) states quietly, pulling him back in for another kiss.

----

Lady Danbury was one of two women in London that could throw a memorable ball. The other being Violet Bridgerton. For her theme this year, Lady Danbury had chosen the works of the Elizabethan bard, William Shakespeare. For what could be more romantic than dressing as characters immortalised in his plays and sonnets?

Anthony would not tell (Y/N) one whisper of his costume; kept it a secret from her despite her barrage of questions. As revenge, she kept quiet about her costume, refusing to tell the man the colour of her dress.

The two walk into the ballroom with (Y/N)’s hand resting on Anthony’s forearm; her nerves rattle as she walks further into the room. She knew she had no reason to be nervous; Anthony and his family would protect her from whatever form of gossip falls her way, but she could not help the turning of her stomach as she walked passed many disappointed mothers who had hoped Anthony would pay their daughters the slightest bit of attention.

The music is loud; the laughter lightening the atmosphere and the dancers in full swing as (Y/N) begins to feel comfortable. Having taught many a child Shakespeare, (Y/N) spent a lot of time trying to decipher the characters in attendance tonight. She had already seen three Violas, four Benedicks, and six Olivias.

“I have to go talk to someone,” Anthony says apologetically, interrupting her guessing game, “I won’t be long. Will you be okay without me?”

(Y/N) nods. “Go. I’m sure I’ll find someone to talk to.”

Anthony presses a lingering kiss to her cheek, whispering as he does so, “A marvel amongst women.”

“You’re nothing but a flirt,” She laughs, batting the love of her life away. “Go talk business.”

“As you wish,” Anthony laughs, mock-bowing before leaving (Y/N) to wander the ball alone. Moments pass before she finds someone she recognises. “Colin,” She greets happily, “Who have you come as?”

“Romeo Montague,” Colin answers, stretching his arms wide to show off his rather fetching garb.

“How wonderful,” She laughs, watching the Bridgerton strike a pose in his costume.

“Who knows,” Colin teases, “Maybe tonight I’ll find my Juliet.”

(Y/N) laughs once more, batting the man away when he wiggles his eyebrows at her in a suggestive manner. “Off with you,” She snorts, “I’m sure there are plenty of ladies for you to dance with.”

Colin departs with a bow of his head. (Y/N) rolls her eyes at the antics of the younger man; Colin knew full well of the line of ladies waiting for his signature of their dance cards, but something warms in (Y/N)’s chest when she watches Colin walk straight to Penelope Featherington.

“They’d make a fine pair if he would pull his head out,” A voice full of humour sounds from behind her.

(Y/N) startles. She turns to find Anthony watching her; his lips curled in a manner that suggested he was holding back the laughter he so desperately wanted to let out.

“You made me jump,” She hisses, batting his outstretched hand away.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Anthony coos, pulling (Y/N) into his embrace by pulling on one of the many skirts about her waist. (Y/N) flushes at the term of endearment, but also at the many pairs of eyes now watching the young couple.

“You’re forgiven,” She sighs. “Who have you dressed as?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Ferdinand,” Anthony answers, “From The Tempest.”

“How odd,” (Y/N) muses, “I’ve dressed as Miranda from The Tempest.”

“‘Admired Miranda!/ Indeed the top of admiration, worth/ What’s dearest to the world!’”

“Only you could quote Shakespeare from the heart,” (Y/N) states wryly.

Anthony preens, puffing out his chest slightly. “All the Bridgertons can. We would do dramatizations of the plays.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) laughs, picturing Anthony as a young boy, dressed in breeches with a make-do ruff around his neck. The very image brings a fond smile to her face.

“What are you smiling about?” Anthony questions, wanting to be privy to the thoughts running through her mind.

“You,” She flirts, hooking her arm through Anthony’s as they start to take a turn about the room.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Anthony states pompously though his heart races at her words.

Her laughter chimes as Anthony steers (Y/N) around the room, pausing only to grab two glasses of lemonade from the drinks table. She sips at it delicately, not risking a spill of a single drop on her outfit.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Anthony murmurs into her ear. “Truly. I would have been lost without you.”

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” (Y/N) teases, enjoying the blush that begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. She briefly touches a gloved hand to his cheek, smiling fondly at the brunette. “I’m glad I came too.”

Anthony clears his throat; clearing his throat of the emotion clogging it up. He takes her drink from her, placing it on a nearby table. As ever the gentleman he was raised to be, Anthony bows towards the women he vows is the love of his life and offers his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“Always,” She answers with a breathtaking smile, taking his hand to be led onto the dancefloor for the start of the new song. Couples on the floor take up the position of the quadrille as upbeat music sounds through the hall.

It’s hard not to smile as Anthony takes her hand to begin the first steps of the lead couple. The first dance figure is performed before copied by the other couples in their square.

Anthony keeps a tight hold on her as he begins the next set of dance figures; spinning (Y/N) out before drawing her back in. Laughter falls from her mouth, setting his heart alight with the love he feels for her.

She catches the eye of Lady Featherington through one of many of Anthony’s spins. The Lady smiles knowingly, raising her glass to the young woman spinning in the arms of the Viscount.

(Y/N)’s breath freezes in her chest; she makes a choked sound and her steps falter. Luckily, no-one but Anthony seems to notice, but he recovers his hold on (Y/N) fairly quickly. It’s the end of the song; couples slowing on the floor, the audience beginning to clap their approvals.

“Darling?” Anthony calls quietly, breaking her out of her reverie. His hand remains in her hold; refusing to let him take even a step without her.

“Take me somewhere we can be alone,” She pleads, suddenly overcome by the sheer amount of people milling about the hall.

Anthony doesn’t need to be told twice, leading (Y/N) away from the dancefloor with a guiding hand on the small of her back. Anthony catches Benedict’s eye as he leaves the hall; his brother offers him a single nod to which Anthony relaxes – Benedict would make sure no-one would follow or interrupt, there was something important Anthony had to do.

The night air is cold against her heated skin as she inhales hurried breaths. The stone of the railing is cool under her fingers as she grips the stone tight; needing something to tether her to this place. It feels like a dream; a total dream that she would find herself costumed as a character from a Shakespeare play brushing elbows with some of the most powerful people in the country.

At this time of night, the gardens are dark, but she can still make out their heavenly fragrance perfuming the air, providing the perfect backdrop for this night.

“Are you alright?” Anthony asks, removing his jacket and settling it over her shoulders.

(Y/N) pulls his jacket tighter around her; inhaling the comforting scent of musk and sweet orange washing over her. “I’m fine now, it got to be a bit too much in there.”

“That’s an understatement,” Anthony murmurs, “I saw Lady Featherington.”

(Y/N) cringes internally. Her face is a mask of polite interest as she murmurs, “Oh? You saw that did you?”

“She only acts as if she knows everything, darling,” Anthony reassures, settling his hands on (Y/N)’s waist, desperate to be touching her.

“I know,” She murmurs, but his words do nothing to settle the panic tying her chest into knots.

“We’re fine,” Anthony promises; hands rubbing up and down the sides of her bodice. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” She repeats, sighing heavily, leaning back into his embrace. His chest is strong against her back, but she doesn’t get long to admire his strength. He turns her in his arms, peering down at the expression on her face.

“You’re who I love. I couldn’t give a damn what the rest of London society thinks.”

“I love you as well,” She answers, a small smile on her face, letting his words wash away any and all of her worries. “You do have a way with words.”

“Flatterer,” He teases, dipping his head to kiss her.

(Y/N) gasps at the first press of Anthony’s lips against hers. She had kissed him before; a hurried meeting of mouths before their chaperone caught up to them. This kiss differed from that; languid, unhurried. Anthony took his time to memorise the feel of her lips against his; the small whimpers sounding at the back of her throat.

Each brush of his lips against hers spoke of what he found it hard to put into words. He had never been a wordsmith; could never write poetry or recite the romances of the past, but with every butterfly kiss placed on her lips in time to the shuddering of her heartbeat could Anthony translate the sheer scale of what he feels for her.

She reaches up to cup the back of his neck, fingers carding through the dark brown locks. Anthony’s grip on her waist remains firm as he presses her further into the railing. The gentleness of Anthony’s kiss soon turns to a burning passion as his hands splay across the small of (Y/N)’s back, pressing her to him.

As Anthony’s kisses begin to travel the expanse of her jawline, (Y/N) is suddenly grateful for the railing behind her. If he was to let her go now, not only would she feel the keen absence of his touch, but she would surely sink to the floor. The feel of his mouth, pressed hot against her, has her knees feeling unsteady.

“(Y/N),” Anthony whispers, nuzzling the side of her neck, “(Y/N)…”

“You keep whispering my name,” She murmurs into the night air; her ragged breath leaving behind white plumes.

“Marry me,” Anthony all but pleads, pulling back from (Y/N)’s neck to gaze into her eyes. “Marry me and always be mine.”

It seemed that time had stopped and lost all of its meaning; there was no party, no gardens, no laughter of lifelong friends. No. In this moment there was only Anthony.

“Yes,” She whispers, laughter beginning to fall from her mouth as fresh as a morning rainfall. Once it starts, she cannot find it in herself to stop. Tears soon join the laughter as a smile breaks across Anthony’s handsome face. “Yes,” She repeats, “I will marry you.”

********

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 22

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 22 - This Venerable One's Shizun is Getting Angry

When Chu Wanning heard this, he was so angry that he could barely keep himself from retracting Tianwen and slashing the Chen couple. But he couldn't open his eyes to confront them. Once he opened his eyes, the barrier would be broken. The Return to Truth barrier could only trap a ghost once. If his interrogation was interrupted, he wouldn't be able to listen to any more of Luo Xianxian's story.

All he could do was contain his overwhelming rage and continue listening to Luo Xianxian.

After she died, her soul entered the underworld, unaware and confused.

The only thing that she could make out was a woman wearing red and green robes with facial features that resembled the Master of Ceremonies Ghost enshrined in a temple. The Master of Ceremonies Ghost stood in front of her and asked her in a soft voice: "You and Chen Bohuan couldn't share a bed in life. Would you like to share the same grave in death?"

She hurriedly agreed: "Yes. . . Yes please!"

"Then I can let him come join you right away. What do you think?"

Luo Xianxian wanted to blurt out a yes, rushing to agree, but suddenly remembered something and froze. "Am I dead?"

"Yes. I am the Master of the Underworld Ghost. I can give you the destiny you deserve and fulfill your long-cherished wish."

Luo Xianxian was startled: "Then, if he comes to join me, will he. . . also die?"

"Yes. However, if loves persists in the afterlife, life and death are irrelevant. What difference does it make?"

Chu Wanning heard this, he thought to himself that he had been right; this Master of Ceremonies Ghost would persuade others to make a wish so that she could reap the benefits. This immortal was truly diabolical.

Although Luo Xianxian died unjustly, she hadn't yet become a malevolent ghost, so she repeatedly shook his head: "No. It wasn't his fault. You can't kill him."

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost smiled compassionately: "And what did you get in return for this kindness?" It didn't force Luo Xianxian to do anything. As an immortal being, they could persuade someone to make a bad wish, but they couldn't force them. Its figure gradually faded away, its voice becoming hazier and hazier.

"Return to the world in seven days. During those seven days, go and see how the Chen family is faring. After that, I'll ask you again if you still have no regrets about your decision."

Seven days later, the day arrived.

Luo Xianxian's soul returned to a conscious form and returned to the world of the living.

Following the old road, she eagerly walked towards the Chen house to see her husband for the last time.

Unexpectedly, the Chen house was decorated with lights, and outside the courtyard, there were fireworks. Bridal flowers were decorating the halls. and a big "double happiness" banner was hanging in front of the main hall. Madam Chen was radiant, not appearing sickly in the slightest. She was smiling and instructing the servants to wrap the bouquets with red silk.

Who. . . was having a wedding?

Who. . . were the bride and groom?

Who. . . no one was engaged, what was going on?

Who. . .

She walked through the busy crowd, listening to the sound of people in the world of the living.

"Congratulations, Madam Chen. Your son is getting engaged to the daughter of the county magistrate. When's the wedding?"

"Madam Chen, you're so fortunate."

"Yao Qianjin is truly the lucky star of the Chen family and they aren't even official yet. Madam Chen, you look so much healthier already."

"Your son and Yao Qianjin are a match made in heaven. I'm so jealous, hahahaha."

Her son. . . Her son. . .

Which son?

Which one was marrying the daughter of the Yao family?

She shuttled back and forth across the familiar front yard, growing more and more frantic, looking for that familiar figure in the midst of all the laughter.

Then she found him.

In front of the peony flowers in the back hall, Chen Bohuan stood with his hands behind his back with a haggard face and sunken cheeks. However, he was dressed in red. Even though it wasn't a traditional wedding outfit, it was a Caidie Town custom. When a prospective son-in-law comes to propose marriage, he should wear this type of red gown.

Was he. . . going to propose. . .?

The decorations in the whole house, the strings of gold and silver beads, was it all. . . was it all from Chen Bohuan, her husband, as a dowry for the daughter of the Yao family?

She suddenly recalled the time when they got married.

There was nothing but two people that shared one heart - nothing else.

There was no master of ceremonies, no bridesmaids, and no dowry. The Chen family weren't wealthy at that time and didn't even own a decent set of jewelry. He went into the yard and picked a delicate orange blossom from under the orange tree they had planted together and carefully tucked it behind her ear.

She asked him: "Does it look good?"

He said it looked beautiful. After a moment of silence, he stroked her hair with some sadness and told her: "You deserve so much better than this."

Luo Xianxian smiled and pursed his lips, saying that it didn't matter.

Chen Bohuan told her that when he married her three years later, he would hold a lively wedding banquet. He would invite people from all over the world. He would have her make a grand entrance on a large sedan chair. He would give her gold and silver to wear, and the dowry gifts would fill the entire main hall.

Those vows still echoed in her ears. Now, all those promises have come true, the hall filled with gifts and guests.

He was getting married, just not to her.

A monstrous flame of anger and sorrow surged through her. Luo Xianxian screamed, trying to tear at the hanging red silk in the room.

But she was a ghost; she couldn't touch anything.

Chen Bohuan seemed to vaguely notice something. He turned around, staring at the silk moving despite there being no wind. His eyes were dull and hollow.

His little sister came over, a white jade hairpin clipped on the side of her bun. She didn't know who she was secretly mourning by wearing it.

She said: "Big brother, go to the kitchen to eat something. You haven't had a proper meal in days. You have to hurry up and go to the county magistrate's house later to propose. Your body won't hold up."

Chen Bohuan suddenly asked without thinking: "Sister, did you hear someone crying?"

". . . What? No, brother, I think you're still. . ." She gritted her teeth and didn't finish her thought. Chen Bohuan still stared at the fluttering silk sheets.

"How is my mother? Is she happy? Has her illness been cured?"

". . . Brother."

". . . I'm glad she's feeling better." Chen Bohuan stood there, muttering to himself. "I already lost Luo Xianxian, I couldn't live without my mother."

"Brother, go eat something. . ."

Luo Xianxian wailed. She yelled and bawled with her head in her hands.

Don't go. . . don't go. . . please don't go. . .

Chen Bohuan said: ". . . Alright."

The tired figure disappeared around the corner.

Luo Xianxian stood alone in a daze, large tears rolling down her face. Suddenly, she heard the brothers of the Chen family who killed her approaching. The second eldest brother and the younger brother were whispering to each other.

"Mother is finally happy. Finally, things are going our way."

"Right? She pretended to be sick for half and year. Now that that cursed bitch is gone, how could she not be thrilled?"

The younger brother tsked and said, "How come she died? We wanted to force her out, not kill her. Was she really so stupid that she couldn't even find someone to help her?"

"Who knows. She was weak, just like her rotten father. It's not our fault that she died. Even though mother pretended to be sick to get rid of her, our family has its own struggles. Think about it, when the options county magistrate’s daughter and some pauper girl, only a fool would choose the latter. Besides, even if Yao Qianjin is a brat, she's got enough money to go around."

"Yes, she's so dumb. She didn't want to live so she let herself freeze to death. No one could've saved her."

The words drifted to her ears.

After Luo Xianxian died, she finally understood the so-called "Divine Fate". She was completely broke and couldn't compare to the county magistrate's daughter who was so noble and honourable.

Only a fool would choose the pauper girl.

She finally snapped.

She returned to the Master of Ceremonies' temple full of hatred and resentment.

She died there. Unlike how weak and helpless she was when she died, she returned with overwhelming hostility.

She used to be such a kind person, but now, all the hatred and evil that had been built inside her while she was alive came flooding out. She roared, her eyes turning red, her soul trembling.

She said: "I, Luo Xianxian, would like to give up my soul and follow the path of wickedness. I only ask you to avenge me! I want the Chen family - I don't want you to kill them!!! I want. . . I want to let my beastly mother-in-law kill her sons by her own hand! All her sons!!! I want Chen Bohuan to go to hell with me!!! Let him be buried with me!!! Do it for me!!! I hate them! I hate them!!!!"

The eyes of the clay sculpture on the shrine shifted and the corners of its mouth slowly raised.

A hollow voice echoed through the temple.

"I have heard your prayers. It will be as you wish. As an evil spirit - kill all those that you resent -"

A piercing blood-red light flashed, and Luo Xianxian couldn't remember anything after that.

However, Chu Wanning already what happened next. After that, the Master of Ceremonies Ghost manipulated Luo Xianxian's spirit to possess Madam Chen and force her to kill each member of the Chen family.

The red coffin on the top of the mountain, the reason why Chen Bohuan was dug up, naturally, was because the Master of Ceremonies Ghost was fulfilling Luo Xianxian's greatest wish - "Let Chen Bohuan and I be buried together." Moreover, it deliberately placed the coffin on the property of Chen Bohuan and his new wife as an act of spiteful revenge.

As for the floral scent in Chen Bohuan's coffin, it was the scent of the butterfly fragrance powder that Luo Xianxian had worn before her death. The resentment and fragrance in the coffin were both extremely strong because Luo Xianxian's soul was resting alongside Chen Bohuan inside it.

Luo Xianxian had no family. According to the customs, if a person like that dies, their bones should be cremated instead of buried. Therefore, she had no physical body and could only be contained within the coffin by the Master of Ceremonies Ghost. That's why, when Chu Wanning opened the coffin with his willow vine, Luo Xianxian had escaped the coffin's containment. Her soul flew away, and it was difficult to recapture. It was a situation of "a closed coffin being heavy with resentment but an open coffin being light".

But during the illusion, why did other people have dead bodies as their partners but Chen Bohuan only had a paper-mache ghost bride?

Chu Wanning thought for a moment and figured out this much:

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost didn't break its promise. The paper-mache bride was the "physical body" that it gave Luo Xianxian. It was a vessel so that Luo Xianxian could be buried with Chen Bohuan.

Everything was clear.

Chu Wanning looked at the weak and helpless girl in the barrier. He wanted to say something but didn't know what to say.

Elder Yuheng wasn't particularly good at comforting words. He couldn't think of anything, so he stayed silent, not having anything he could say.

The girl stood in the vast darkness with her soft round eyes open.

Chu Wanning looked at her eyes and couldn't bear it. He wanted to leave. He didn't want to take another look. He was about to open his eyes and leave the Return to Truth barrier.

Then the girl suddenly spoke.

"Lord Yama. I. . . I have something else I want to tell you."

Chu Wanning: ". . . Alright."

The girl suddenly lowered her head, covered her eyes, and cried. She said softly, "Lord Yama, I don't know what I did after that. But, I. . . I really didn't want to kill my husband. I didn't want to be an evil spirit. I really. . ."

"I didn't steal the oranges. I really am Chen Bohuan's wife. And I truly, truly didn't want to hurt anyone either."

"I truly didn't want anyone to get hurt. Please believe me."

Her voice choked and trembled, her words breaking.

"I. . . didn't lie. . ."

I didn't lie.

Why is it that, in this life, almost no one believed me?

She sobbed and screamed. Chu Wanning's voice sounded low in the darkness. He didn't say much, but he said it with conviction.

"Okay."

Luo Xianxian was shocked.

Chu Wanning said: "I believe you."

Luo Xianxian wiped her tears with her hands indiscriminately but couldn't hold them back. Hiding her tearful face, she lowered her head and bowed her head in his direction in the darkness.

Chu Wanning opened his eyes.

After he opened his eyes, he didn't say anything.

Time in the barrier wasn't the same as in reality. He had stayed there for a long time but, for the people waiting outside, it had only been a moment. Mo Ran hadn't returned yet. The few remaining people in the Chen family were still looking at him with bated breath.

Chu Wanning withdrew Tianwen and said to Madam Chen: "I'll avenge you. You can find peace."

Madam Chen froze and opened her blood-red eyes, and suddenly fell to the ground with a thud, knocked out cold.

Chu Wanning raised his head again. His eyes swept across Chen's face then landed on the youngest son. His voice didn't waver, and it was still frighteningly cold.

"I'll ask one last time." He said each word slowly and decisively. "Did you really not recognize whose voice that was?"

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