#fate pulls me back masterpost | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mokulule · 7 months

Text

Almanac - Chapter 1

Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Masterpost Summary: Summoning extradimensional beings was never without a cost. Jason didn’t consider himself particularly knowledgeable when it came to magic, but that he knew. Desperate situations however called for desperate measures and the Justice League was desperate with Trigon suddenly allied to ghosts of all things. Summoning the Ghost King in that context even seemed like a sensible choice.

For better or worse John Constantine was the expert on those kinds of deals.

At least when his information wasn’t out of date.

Chapter 1 - September 23rd Fall Equinox

The summoning circle blazed in tall green flames. John grit his teeth against the terrible heat. Sweat ran down his brow, but he barely even dared blink. Across from him Zatanna was equally affected. This was like no summoning he’d ever done before. Normally the circle and the ingredients in a summoning ritual would do most of the work, that was the whole point. But this, John thought, as he doubled down on his hold on the magic, this was like riding a dragon. It was almost like the Ghost King really didn’t want to be summoned.

What else could cause this?

But they couldn’t give up, the fate of the world depended on it. Zatanna was not looking good, John didn’t suppose he himself was looking chipper either right now, but he had done things to increase his magic power Zatanna never had, because she was too good, and she was flagging. John growled, he’d be dammed a hundred more times if he lost her to this ritual.

Come on you bloody bastard!

A green rip opened in the middle of the circle with a terrible screeching sound. There was yelling and ears being covered behind him by the Justice League, but John couldn’t focus on that, it was not over. They were nearly there. A flickering dark shadowy form was getting sucked upwards through the rip. Wind rushed around the room, throwing papers and small objects around the room; The bucket of stag blood they’d used for the circle splattered onto Green Lantern judging by the sound of disgust. As long and tiresome as the ritual had been as suddenly it was over. Like an elastic band finally snapping, the shadow was pulled all the way through, the rip closed and the flames died.

“ ̵̨̜̩̜̖͈̺͈͎̜̩̻̖͔̗̺̳̘͈̳̖̩͂̄̏̇͂̂̃͒͌̊̓́̿̽̽̀̚͜ ̶̧̡̢̜̯̘͔̺̻̖͚͚͍̪̼͙̲̭͌͛̈́̈́̆̀͝N̵̢̢̧͓̩̱̮̰̪̘͙̹͍̪̤̼̺̑̀̓̔̔̍̂̍͛̈̈́͋͛͆̆͌̌̃̀̄̕Ơ̵̡̱͕̬͕͎̞̞̟͔͇̽̀́̇̐̂͂́̈́̈́̾͜͠ͅ ̷̢͖̯̰̙̥̤͔̹̜̦̙͙̲̪̲̯̗̙̦͓̜̓̋̂͋͘̚͝ ̶̭̺̣̻͖͗̍̔͂ ̶̡̰̞̹͇͓̫̜͖͛́̀̒̃͆̀͑́̅̂͌̿͐̚͝͝.”

The word rung in the sudden silence like a bell, cracked like glaciers, skittered across their mortal senses like small needles. John fell to his knees clutching his chest. It was so cold it was hard to breathe. Teeth chattering he forced himself to look up. The shadow coalesced into something with too long limbs, too many joints, claws, teeth. It had gained a blazing white flame and underneath there were two pools of green.

It observed them with an intensity like a thousand eyes on them, then it drew in on itself, getting smaller until it was more person shaped and the cold disappeared.

John gasped in relief. He wasn’t the only one. He looked to Zatanna, she met his eyes with a pale and tense nod. She was alright.

“Aaaaargh!” The frustrated scream had them quickly focused back on the circle. The green pools, now more eye shaped glared back at them all.

“The fucking Justice League of course, who else would summon me to save the world?” The shadow for lack of better words paced back and forth in the air, then spun on John. “And you John Constantine should know better.”

There was a pool of dread in his stomach and every single backup plan vanished from his mind as those toxic green eyes held him trapped. “If you have a problem that calls for the assistance of a ghost, why do you not ask a ghost you know? Why in the Realms would you summon the Ghost King? Of all the bullheaded…” The angry words devolved into an angry growly mutter too low for anyone to hear the words, but it was a sound that grated in their bones. And the Ghost King resumed their pacing.

“Deadman is-“

“I’m talking about Phantom,” the king snapped.

“Phantom?” John repeated baffled, meeting the equally baffled eyes of Zatanna. The friendly spirit from small Amity Park? “No offense, your Majesty, but Phantom is small fry compared to this.”

“Full offense,” The King growled. “I am Phantom.”

With a bright flash, suddenly there was Phantom. The surprisingly human looking ghost, who would have fit in perfectly amongst the Justice League standing outside the circle with his white highlighted tight black suit and the logo on his chest. Right now his usually friendly face was drawn into a glare.

It was then, when it clicked with a small delay in his brain that Phantom was the Ghost King, that John Constantine realized how much he’d fucked up.

Oo o oO

Danny was livid. He had done his very best to resist this summoning, but of course summonings weren’t meant to be resisted and with John Constantine and Zatanna Zatara two of the Justice League Dark’s most powerful magic users being the ones reeling him in like a fucking fish, it was no wonder he hadn’t succeeded. This was a disaster. Why did they put him in this situation?

“We thought you were a city spirit…” Constantine trailed off helplessly.

And that had Danny gaping. They thought… how? why? He was confused, but most of all-

“Excuse me, did I introduce myself as Amity? No, I did not.”

Of all the stupid things to think. City spirits were some of the proudest ghosts around, to even think a city spirit would introduce themselves by anything other than their name was beyond moronic. And last he checked his hometown wasn’t called freaking Phantomville.

“We thought, since you never left the city-“ Zatanna cut herself off when Danny swiveled his glare on her.

“It. Is. My. Haunt,” Danny hissed enunciating each word clearly, the lights in the room flickered. “Did you not at all think it was weird that a city spirit-“ he made quotation marks around the words- “was visible to regular people?”

“We figured it was because of all the death magic in the air,” fucking Constantine said and Danny keened in despair. It was a sound just at the edge of human hearing, and most of them really couldn’t hear anything of it aside from a very high pitched tone that had the entire group flinching. Superman though, not only flinched but also took a step back covering his mouth, he looked sick.

“You could have asked, like normal people. What did I do to give you the impression you couldn’t just ask?” He dug his hands into his hair and tugged, doubled over and took a deep calming breath.

“Okay,” he forced his voice chipper, “so we’ve established you’re morons and now you’re all going to pay the price.”

There was a moment of silence as they all took that in and Danny’s eyes ran over their faces: Constantine, Zatanna, the big seven of the original Justice League and would you look at that Batman brought a bunch of his brood along, one of which was an actual child. Danny whimpered.

“I don’t really understand the problem,” the Flash stepped up to the circle in, well, a flash. “If you can help us then what does it matter that we summoned you instead of going to you?”

“It matters,” Danny said rubbing the bridge of his nose, “because you’ve gone and made it official. You didn’t ask small time ghost hero Phantom for help saving the world, you went and summoned the High King of the Infinite Realms.” He waved a hand allowing the green flaming crown to manifest over his head and the ring to appear on his right hand, the long starry night cape settled over his shoulders with a familiar weight like freshly fallen snow.

“The fact that I am one and the same is irrelevant. Intent is the most important thing in magic.”

“So we can just unsummon you?” The Flash suggested, looking from Danny to Constantine and Zatanna who both looked away.

Danny chuckled humorlessly. He touched a hand to his chest pushing energy into the chains binding him, so they could all see the chains going from him to each and everyone of them.

“We are already bound in a pre-contract, that’s what a summoning is.”

Oo o oO

Jason looked down at the Lazarus green glowing chain, going from his chest to the Ghost King. From each of his brothers including the brat’s - the brat, who actually looked scared. No matter, his maturity and upbringing he was still just a kid. Anger flared in his chest, but before he could do anything Bruce stepped forward.

“John, what is the meaning of this,” he demanded. To the League, that was just the gruff Batman voice. To Jason and the birds, the undertone of fear was obvious. Nothing set the old man off like a threat to his birds. Jason would know, he’d taken advantage of that before.

Constantine grimaced, “well, you see-“

But the Ghost King interrupted him. “No, let me explain. John Constantine is the greatest con man that ever lived. He could sell sand in the Sahara. He’s swindled demons and gods alike. He’s somehow managed to sell his soul like fifty fucking times, making the day of his eventual death into a jurisdictional nightmare of interdimensional proportions.”

He paused to take another deep breath - something Jason noticed with bemusement was a bit strange for a ghost.

“Ol’ Johnny here probably expected Pariah Dark, the previous Ghost King, the kind of mad hat conquerer who’s been locked up for millennia for unspeakable crimes against the Realms - just the kind of proud, single minded sod that’s ripe for John’s kind of swindling. Whose only spells of freedom came from summonings like this, which were thankfully rare, ‘cause very few people are stupid enough to summon the Ghost King.”

“But me-” he touched his chest, “there’s a reason I’m not locked in a sarcophagus. For one I don’t deal in souls or eternal damnation, secondly even if I did I wouldn’t touch that soul of yours with a ten feet pole.”

“Congratulations, Jackass, you managed to summon the actually ruling Monarch of the World In Between Worlds at full power and there’s absolutely nothing you can offer me. I deal in equivalent exchange. Nothing matters to you as much as the world, except your own skin and your ownership of that is questionable at best. That leaves your… friends? Or coworkers? Is that what they are? to pay.”

And with that the King turned to them all, green eyes both angry and resigned.

“Better start thinking about what things you’re willing to give up, I’ll be friendly and let your offerings stack, the world is heavy enough as it is.”

An unsettled murmur rustled through the assembled heroes. It was one thing to sacrifice in the heat of battle, but this was something none of them had prepared for. They had all expected Constantine to handle things, they all were just present for safety’s sake. It was certainly why Jason was there or he wouldn’t have been in same room as the heroes.

Ever since his revival he’d had somewhat of a magic resistance and the All Blades were the best bet if something went south. That had been the idea at least, but this had gone south in the entirely different direction. And, Jason suspected, the All Blades probably wouldn’t even work on the king. The impression Jason got from him wasn’t evil at all; he had purposefully directed their thoughts in the direction of physical possessions.

With the room stalled in uncertainty, Jason felt anger rising. They were wasting time when the solution was obvious. He’d said he didn’t deal in souls or eternal damnation that still left a wide range of interpretation to Jason’s thinking.

“Oi, Spooky!” He stepped forward tilting his head up in challenge, “You can have me, - a willing sacrifice gotta be worth a good deal.”

There were gasps all around him but he didn’t look just kept eye contact with those glowing Lazarus eyes as they turned to him in consideration.

The was a sudden cacophony of protest from his brothers, hands grabbing onto him pulling him back but he stood his ground.

“J-Hood, back down right now!” That was Bruce’s voice and for a moment there, it was almost like he actually cared, but then he was just ordering him about like usual. Then Dick was in front of him and even he couldn’t ignore that.

“Jay, no,” he hissed lowly horrified, “what’s the matter with you?”

The was a small tug in Jason’s chest at that.

“He said he didn’t deal in souls,” Tim pointed out urgently.

“Todd,” was everything Damian said, but there was a vulnerability there that was rarely in the little brat’s voice.

Jason couldn’t help but smile. It was heartening that they cared at least a little. He set a hand down on Damian’s head and ruffled his hair roughly. “Take care of my books, brat.”

“NO,” That was Dick, and he held on tighter, Jason couldn’t shrug him off, but as it turned out he didn’t have to.

There was a tug on the chain in his chest and he slipped right through his brothers and flew right up to the king inside the circle until he hovered level with the Lazarus green eyes.

The was a cacophony of protest but it was somehow muted like background noise from here inside the circle and yet the crackling fire of the crown was loud in his ears. The inhuman Lazarus eyes flickered from Jason then behind him and then back again.

“You offer your life to the High Ghost King as a sacrifice?”

Jason shuddered, felt fear grip him at the wording, because that was what it meant. Truthfully he didn’t want to die, but he’d been there and he’d done that, and if he was to die again, at least those eyes held no cruelty. He was the obvious choice. He clenched his jaw and steeled his resolve, the world would do fine without him.

“I do.” There was a momentary frown like regret on the king’s face before he looked to the wider room.

“Then with the consequences of that we have a deal, and I, High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, will save the world.” The chains leading to everyone but Jason burst into showers of tiny green stars.

“Come.” A white gloved hand was reached out to him, deceptively human if it wasn’t for the glow. Jason took the hand and next he knew the world turned into a green swirl.

The world solidified suddenly like a punch to the gut and Jason fell to his knees in loose sand. He gagged, but nothing came up from his empty stomach. Slowly he looked up, they were in the desert. In the distance was the nightmarish portal to the Dark Dimension Trigon’s forces were coming through. If only Raven hadn’t been hurt so early in the fight, but Trigon was working with someone else, someone Constantine had claimed was a powerful ghost and the combined forces were not something they had been prepared for. Even so there were heroes in the distance trying to hold back the hordes.

“What are we doing here?” He looked up to the King who was floating just half a foot off the ground and he was suddenly aware of the fact that he was kneeling.

“Figured the least I could do is show you that I uphold my end of the bargain. Stay here, this distance should be safe.”

With that the Ghost King flew off.

Jason had half a mind to try escaping, but as the first punch was thrown in the distance the futility settled in his gut. At least he could enjoy the show.

Oo o oO

“Daniel,” Vlad greeted him in his typical self satisfied drawl, “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Danny’s lips split in a grin. He wouldn’t be so satisfied in a moment. He flashed forward throwing a punch that sent Vlad into a crater in the ground. He looked down at the man who at one point had been his nemesis. Now he just looked sad and confused.

“I think you’ll find you miscalculated this time, Plasmius.”

Finally Vlad actually seemed to register that Danny was wearing the full regalia and what that meant. His face paled to white.

“No, your Majesty, please, have mercy,” he begged, folding instantly - pitiful.

Danny snarled, fangs and limbs growing and growing with sickening cracks, like the frozen surface of a lake when you’ve stepped too far. He was the darkness of space itself, too many mouths split into white fanged grins.

“A line was crossed today.” His words reverberated across the field halting all the combatants in place as terror gripped them. “You have been warned time and time again. Now a price has been paid, a deal has been made and you shall reap what you have sown.”

With that he swept across the battlefield dark and all encompassing leaving only the heroes standing cold and shaken as he pushed Trigon’s army and Vlad and his panicking ghost minions back into the Dark Dimension.

The portal closed behind him when he willed it.

The large horned guy in the armor who was shouting in outrage had to be Trigon. The Ghost King was bound in contract to save the world from this threat. He could technically stop now, the threat was ended they had no portal and those were not simple to make, but was the world really saved when Trigon still stood and his army was still whole?

No, the Ghost King did not think so.

It had been a very stressful morning. He would very much enjoy taking it out on these fools.

Oo o oO

It didn’t take long before the Ghost King reappeared, thankfully looking more human, though there was still a wild glint in his eyes as if the beast hadn’t quite been sated.

“It’s done then.” Jason said with resignation. The green eyes blinked down at him slowly and again a white gloved hand was offered as if Jason had any real choice in the matter. Annoyance that he wouldn’t just get things over with rose up and Jason grabbed the hand with more aggression than was maybe wise.

All he got in return was a bemused look, as if he was less threatening than a kitten. Which arguably, compared to the eldritch monarch of the death, he probably was.

The world turned into a green swirl again. When the world solidified he found that traveling this way didn’t get easier a second time. He was down on his hands and knees in plush red carpet, his stomach turned nauseously. Shit it felt like he really would puke this time.

Suddenly a cool hand touched his forehead, somehow easing enough of the nausea that he could look up.

The king was kneeling in front of him, a worried look on his face. And that had anger rising in Jason’s chest, because how dare he.

“Why don’t you just get it over already?”

Black eyebrows rose.

“Get it over with?” He had the audacity to ask.

“Just kill me already, stop playing with me.”

Any leftover amusement went out of the Ghost King’s face at that.

“Why would I kill you?” He asked flatly.

“Because I gave you my life? What else would it mean!"

"Your life belonging to me, does not mean I have to kill you, in fact that would be rather stupid of me.”

“What difference does it make? Aren’t you the king of the dead!”

The King shrugged. “Sure, but I don’t own my subjects. Death is the one thing that will free you from me.”

Jason paled, he hadn’t considered this. The Ghost King had said he didn’t deal in souls or eternal damnation, but a human life wasn’t eternal - hadn’t he himself thought there was a lot of leeway in those statements?

“No no no, I’m gonna stop you there, you look like I ate your favorite pair of slippers.”

Jason blinked, startled out of his spiraling train of thought by the sheer absurdity.

“Is that something you have experience with?”

“You’ll never know.” The king grinned back at him teeth definitely sharp enough to rip slippers to pieces. His features turned serious. “Now you listen closely. You did not offer your mind-“ he poked Jason’s forehead firmly- “your body, your soul or your service-“ he underscored each of the last three words with a poke to Jason’s chest.

He got up to his feet.

“All I own in capacity of King is your life. And so your life will be lived here with me, that is all. Wording is very important in magic.” With those words he strode down the hall, cape flaring out behind him.

Jason was left on the floor, mind reeling.

“You changed the wording,” Jason realized, because he had offered himself - all of him being implied. But the Ghost King had changed the wording when they made the deal. He jumped to his feet to catch up. It’s wasn’t hard, the Ghost King was actually rather short when he deigned to touch the ground.

“You changed the wording,” Jason repeated firmly, “you-“

“I already told you I’m not into the soul trade. Nor do I want any slaves, there’s enough of that mess leftover from the previous king.”

He grimaced at that.

He wouldn’t kill him. He’d changed the wording, so Jason’s will was his own. He wasn’t a servant or slave, or a soldier or anything. “So what then?”

“What then?” The king stopped and looked back at Jason bewildered.

“You own my life and you have no plan or purpose for me, what am I gonna do?”

His eyebrows drew down in a frown but Jason was not done. Indignation burned hot in his chest.

“If you are not going to kill me or have any use for me, why even bring me here? You could own my life just as easily in Gotham as you can here!”

There was a rumble, it sounded like it was in the distance but somehow Jason knew it was from the ghost king in front of him. His legs suddenly felt unsteady.

“You are here,” the King growled, “because idiots decided to summon me and you and your family are paying the toll for saving the world.”

The anger turned to ice in his chest. “My family, what do you mean?”

“I mean, Jason Todd, that you mean the world to them and if it wasn’t for that your sacrifice wouldn’t have been enough, you think too little of yourself for that.”

What? No! That couldn’t be right?

“You’re lying,” he whispered. It couldn’t be true. Jason was the one paying the price, not his family. It couldn’t be.

The Ghost King snarled, morphing into sharp shadows and glowing eyes.

“You dare,” his voice boomed from all around Jason and he clapped his hands over his ears.

“I have stretched-” he seemed to grow longer and longer into spindlier shadows, chittering and cracking, “stretched, as far as I can on this deal and you call me a liar!”

The last word rumbled through Jason’s bones like a bulldozer and he fell to his knees. Nothing existed for Jason in that moment but the pain and the voice- he had nothing left to do anything with, he could neither protest or apologize. Only feel and hear despite plugging his ears.

“You summoned me! I did not ask to be cast as a villain in your Saturday morning cartoon!”

The temperature plummeted and there was something like a mournful wail in the distance, then a long spindly arm opened a door in the wall. Jason could have sworn it wasn’t there a moment ago, but honestly up could be down right now and he wouldn’t know. His teeth clattered and he desperately wanted to wrap his arms around his body, but dared not move them from his ears.

“Your room,” the King spat. The tapestries on the wall melted slowly together with his shadows.

“You may move around the castle, but don’t go into the west wing, those are my rooms, and don’t go into the dungeons - for your own sake.” He disappeared in a short flash of light.

Jason’s ears popped as pressure and temperature returned to normal and he gasped as if he hadn’t breathed for several minutes. Maybe he hadn’t. He couldn’t remember.

His mind was reeling, unable to comprehend, to process, what had happened. Words, he didn’t know them, but the King’s voice felt engraved onto his bones.

Beyond the doorway was a bed. A bed, he turned the concept around in his head as if it was a strange new thing, despite that he knew he should know the concept.

Slowly he picked himself up. With every staggered step, he felt more and more worried he would just melt into the carpet, but finally he fell down on top of soft covers.

Bed good.

We are not talking about the fact that this is another wip... >.> I wanted to do something for Trauma Tuesday, but in the end I'm too tired, and then Clock suggested it would be Trauma Lite Tuesday, so that's what we're going for XD I don't tag people, if you want to follow the story please subscribe to the handy masterlist/subscription post

#Almanac #dp x dc #dead on main #summonings have consequences #trauma tuesday #though more like #trauma lite tuesday

851 notes · View notes

railingsofsorrow · 6 months

Text

day-off

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: dad!spencer spends his day off with his daughter.

pairing: s.reid x reader (ft. eden reid)

w.c: 721

warnings/content: no warnings; father-daughter moments; fluff; tw!braids!! (solely because I suck at making them)

A/N: one standalone drabble for the eden reid collection (I think I'm gonna do a masterlist for that, we'll see)

want to read more works about this au?

→ recharging

navigation

masterpost

cm masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“What are you doing?”

Spencer's hands halted in the midst of folding a pink skirt. The corner of his lips wavering as his daughter buried her small feet on his socks, which promptly swallowed almost all of her body up.

“Do I look pretty, daddy?” Eden twirled around to show off her new style. He couldn't stop the laugh upon realising they were mismatched pairs.

Spencer crouched down to her height, ruffling her untamed curls which causing her nose to scrunch up cutely.

“You look absolutely dazzling, princess.” He voiced his fondness while scooping his little girl up in his arms and sitting down on the edge of the bed. The unfolded laundry forgotten behind them as Spencer grabbed his phone, something he only recently figured out worked for everything, including selfies. How could it be that a small device was able to provide so much functionalities? He still didn't know how to use half of them. But he could do selfies.

That didn't mean they'd be good.

“C'mon,” Spencer nudged her closer, not that Eden complained, she only snuggled closer, her cheeks squishing as both made faces for the camera that was in selfie mode, then Spencer shifted to their wriggling feet covered by mismatched socks.

TO YOU

[10:03a.m] What do you think?

[10:03a.m] Recording.mp4

Eden giggled after he showed her the sent video.

“Let's see if your mom approves our new look.”

Eden didn't warn him before throwing her whole body on him. With a groan, Spencer dramatically fell on the bed, earning another high-pitched childish laugh.

“Ah! I've been struck.” She kept throwing pillows at him as he expressed his surrender by covering his eyes with his forearms, making sure to always keep one eye open to check if she was too close to the edge of the bed. When one of her feet got tangled with the bedsheets, he pulled her up to the opposite side. “Hey, hey, what did I say about jumping on the bed?”

Eden flashed her innocent puppy eyes at him and suddenly Spencer was actually surrendering. “Don't do that.” He warned, pressing a kiss to her forehead. The warning went on deaf ears for a while but it bought him enough time to fold the rest of the laundry as she made a mess on the bed.

His phone pinged, letting him know of a new message. A smile stretched across his lips as your name popped up on his screen.

TO SPENCER

[10:20a.m] Love this <3

[10:20a.m] Now I miss the two of you :(

TO YOU

[10:20a.m] Eden's is asking for you to come home.

TO SPENCER

[10:21a.m] Don't tempt me!!!

[10:22a.m] Love, is that the “folded laundry” behind you...?

TO YOU

[10:25a.m] ( Picture attached )

[10:25a.m] It's folded now :)

Spencer brushed his daughter's strands back softly, pondering the variety of ways he could style her hair for the day. Eden was munching on her sliced apples as her morning snacks, pretty distracted in her own world and watching a cartoon about a ladybug and superheroes. Spencer could never recall the name, he'd just watch it with her.

“I want braids.” Eden spoke, not taking her eyes off of the TV but still pretty aware of her surroundings. “Like mamma makes them.”

Spencer had to hold back a laugh because no, he thought, my braids will never be as remotely good as your mother's.

Letting out a sigh, he pulled a chair in front of the couch so she could sit down and he could work on her hair without interrupting her entertainment.

“Okay.” Spencer said, accepting his fate. He had faced a lot of things in his life, but none were in the shape of braided hair. They could defeat him easily and he had admitted that a long time ago even if you say that it's just practice and that you'll learn eventually. He hasn't learnt yet. But if that's what Eden wants, that's what Spencer would (try) to do.

He wasn't able to say no to his tiny human.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @lilyviolets

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n

559 notes · View notes

fayes-fics · 10 months

Text

Mrs Bridgerton, Again

Mrs Bridgerton Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU, sequel to Mrs Bridgerton. This is what happened in those fateful 8 months.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f, f to m), cunnilingus, blowjobs, vaginal sex. Mentions of marriage, divorce, pregnancy and parenting. Lovers reunited, healing from heartbreak, second-chance love, emotions.

Word Count: 7.1 k

Summary: Requested sequel to Mrs Bridgerton from Anon, HERE, that fills in some of the time jumps of the original story, including the smut scene when they first reunite. Best to read that fic first before diving in, as this starts up immediately as she arrives in his bedroom (before the prologue). Yes, we are starting with total filth and ending with romance, lol. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing and @eleanor-bradstreet for the gif. Oh, and by the way, in case you are not familiar, this is Eton Mess. Enjoy <3

“Don't…,” he pants wildly, removing the hand from his cock and holding it up in a stop gesture.

You freeze, and suddenly, a wave of doubt hits you. Have you misjudged this?

“Don’t touch me, or I’ll come,” he warns. “Stay right there, and just let me look at you.”

The relief and the desire are potent.

“Fuck, how do you look even better now?!” he sounds almost pained as he drinks in the sight of you in bra and knickers; his hands grasp the fitted bedsheet, his cock pulsing.

“Ben, I…” you stutter to begin an explanation for why you are here, mostly dumbfounded by the sight before you. Somehow, you had made yourself forget how much you love him naked. A coping mechanism, probably. Right now, you have no earthly idea why you walked away from the beautiful man before you.

“Talk later,” he intuits. “ I am so fucking glad I kept the same security code,” he rasps, and you smile.

“Same,” you whisper.

“Turn around,” he pleads. So you do, pushing up onto the balls of your feet and spinning until you face away. He groans at the view of lace straining over your bottom in just the right way. “Oh god, I need to have sex with you, but I’m so close,” he groans, and even though your back is turned, you can tell it’s through clenched teeth.

You twist to give a wicked smile over your shoulder, then unclip your bra strap as he makes a hungry noise. Pulling the straps from your shoulders and flinging the item aside, your back still turned. You hook your fingers into the sides of your knickers to pull them down but stop when he climbs off the bed, falling to his knees behind you.

“Allow me,” it's velvety and dark, and you want to bathe in that voice.

For the first time in years, he touches your skin, and you have to lock your knees to stop swaying. Expert hands map up the outside of your legs from your ankle to your hips, long fingers hooking into the lace and tugging down. You can feel his breath warm on your cheeks as the material relents and gathers around your feet. Then he pitches forward, his nose landing on the small of your back as he takes a loud, almost obscene inhale.

“I have missed your smell,” he asserts, “not just… you know, but your skin. You.” His nose trails up slightly; warm, soft lips kiss your lumbar spine, causing goosebumps to break out over your thighs.

“Ben…” you whisper his name, almost scared to look behind as if it’s somehow not real.

You groan as he sinks lower and runs the edge of his teeth over the globe of your left cheek. Somehow, again, you realise you'd made yourself forget how things could be between you when it was good. Feral, passionate, addictive. The best you've ever had. He has barely touched you, and your inner thighs are damp, that thronging feeling around your pelvis that needs relief.

“Mrs Bridgerton.”

He says it. Just as you asked—wanton, thick, and sweet. And it's too much.

“I don't care if you last ten seconds; I need you inside me… please,” you plead, unashamed, grabbing your breasts as he kisses your cheek. You know how much he always loved it when you would vocalise your needs, desires, wants.

That’s when two fingers slide between your legs and, without warning, plunge into your cunt, making you cry out loudly, the sensation exhilarating, his knuckles pushing you open just the right amount, that same intoxicating feeling as before.

“Fuckkk,” he stutters against your skin. “I forgot how you cling to my fingers like this, good god.”

You have to shoot out a hand diagonally to grab the wall, locking your elbow, as he keeps teasing with deep but slow rocking moves. You mutter his name, a shudder running through you as he hooks his fingers and hits that spot that makes you almost buckle. Sensing the weakness in your stance, his fingers withdraw, and you whimper, missing them so much.

“Go and lie on the bed,” he orders softly, squeezing your bottom, painting your dampness onto your skin as he does so.

You do as he asks, taking an arcing path, keeping your back mostly towards him so he does not see your front—an extra tease. Then you deliberately mount the bed on all fours, goading him, throwing a sinful look over your shoulder as you widen your stance, tilting your pelvis, knowing your damp thighs are shining in the late afternoon sun that floods the bed from the skylight above.

“You fucking tease,” he snarls, again sounding breathless. The sense of victory that races around your body is enthralling. “I said lay down,” he adds, the bed dipping as he climbs on behind you and spanks your cheek, making you moan.

“Well, I say you can eat me out from behind, just like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you riposte, drawing your knees higher and lowering your forehead to the mattress, the fluttering in your belly hard, the thrill of the chase so exhilarating. “Until you are ready to fuck me, that is.”

“Why the hell did we ever divorce?!” he rails.

“I have absolutely no bloody idea,” you exhale shakily, morphing into a lusty cry as his hands part your cheeks and his tongue swipes deep into your folds.

As he swirls your clit, greedily, mouth hot, you are not surprised that he has not even so much as kissed your lips before he makes you scream. Somehow, you know this is the only way a reunion would ever transpire. Primal, filthy, impossible to resist. A need to fuck before anything else.

And it's just as good as you now remember, it all flooding back to you. You grab the bedsheet, knuckles in bony relief as you moan a litany of his name and filth you would never admit to as he growls encouraging noises. That needy, tugging deep inside as his hands band around your hips and haul you back onto his whole face, the slight stubble on his cheeks catching your labia as he does so.

It only feels like moments until he has you dancing on the edge. It's been so, so long since anyone touched you; indeed, he was the last, and you're shocked at how little it takes. An explosive build-up of unmet needs bursting from within, like ripened fruit awaiting devourment. And that is what he is doing, devouring your body without remorse or concerns for propriety. There's an extra tinge of desperation to his movements, too, as if he needs your release as much as you do.

Then he sucks your clit hard into his mouth and uses an edge of teeth to bite down where you ache the most. And you are gone. Muffling your screams into his mattress, biting the sheet, your pussy flutters around nothing, wanting, leaking, the static racing across your scalp and down your body, making you shudder, and your fingers and toes flex hard.

He is vocal, so vocal, in his praise. Asking for more, pulling upright and plunging those two fingers back inside as you scream again, your body rippling in waves, fighting to expel them as he growls and pushes deeper, dragging against the place that sends you stratospheric. Your mind shuts down, your mouth snarling at him not to fucking stop in a throaty register that is all lust and instinct. He doesn’t; he strings you out until you shake and leak over his hand, eyes almost watering, deep, ragged breaths as your lungs burn.

You collapse down, your shaking legs unable to stay up on your knees anymore; his fingers withdrawing slowly as he emits a triumphant chuckle, lightly spanking your cheek for good measure as you lay face down, panting, attempting to recover.

“Fuck Ben,” you exhale raggedly. “Was it always this fucking good? Or did we just get better?”

“Honestly?” he opines as you feel him crawling over your body, covering your dewy skin with all of him as he kisses the back of your neck. “I have no idea, but I swear we must be better now.”

“No kidding… I think I almost left my body then.”

Your giggle becomes a moan as he rocks his cock against your cleft. It's like you had forgotten that, too, which seems criminally negligent—again, probably a coping mechanism. It's sizeable, and you liquefy at the thought of taking him inside you once again.

“I’m still on the Pill,” you babble quickly, lifting your head off the pillow, “and I haven’t been with anyone since we split.” It’s your shorthand to tell him you want him to fuck you without protection.

He stills. “What?!” the tone is skeptical. “No one?!?”

You twist to look at him over your shoulder. “No. I was just thinking of dating again,” you answer abashedly as he looks bewildered.

“Wow… I thought you would have them lining up,” he exhales with a head shake. “Have you seen you?!” he adds incredulously as he shifts his stance, placing his knees wider on either side of your legs.

“Hah! Not at all,” you deflect the compliment. “You?” you inquire as he drops stubbly kisses onto the sensitive skin of your upper back.

“Once. I was very drunk. We used a condom. It was so terrible I’m sort of pretending it never happened. I, umm, called your name,” he winces, pulling up from your body.

You roll over under him so you face him. “You did what?!”

“I… I called your name, when I came. I was thinking of you the whole time.” The matter-of-fact way he shrugs as he says so makes your chest ache.

Words fail as you realise how stubborn you have both been. If only you had talked to each other, things might have been different. On instinct, you push up and kiss him. On the mouth. A real kiss. The first in many years. And his response is instant and break-taking. He lowers you back onto the mattress as you wrap around each other, tongue entwining, breathing each other's air, hands running over each other, relearning the contours you used to know so well.

“I didn't like the idea of fucking anyone else,” you confess quietly over his lips. “I was probably just going to be a celibate single mum.”

“You deserve better than that,” he states fiercely, shuffling so he can cradle your face with one hand and kiss your cheeks, tender and loving.

“As do you,” you answer, eyes fluttering closed under his soft kisses and caresses.

After the utter carnality it began with, the dynamic has shifted to this slower pace—almost romantic, nostalgia swirling with a trace of trepidation of what all this could mean. So you take the initiative, needing to be rooted back in your body, in physical pleasure.

“I don't want to think anymore,” you mumble, recognising the telltale signs that he is wandering the same path. “I want to lose myself in your body.”

That handsome smile that hooked you in the first place all those years ago spreads over his face, a touch more character-filled now with the intervening couple of years but no less devastating.

“I want that too,” he concurs, moving his knees so he parts your legs, the back of your thighs sliding over the fuzzy meatiness of his quad muscles as he does so, hovering over you, engulfing you. This is what you have missed as much as anything. That feeling of being so wholly with someone else, a warm human body moving with, over, under, around you, skin and sweat, muscle and bone.

His lips are hot and wet on your neck when he nudges your entrance and slides in with one well-angled thrust, his sense memory of how your bodies fit together. Your inhale is sharp, and your fingers grip tight around his bicep as you feel that wondrous, heartstopping moment of being invaded viscerally, pushed open, your walls clinging to him.

“Oh my god….” It’s an unintended, uncensored, gasping response that tumbles from his lips. “You are on fire,” he hisses as he bottoms out.

“You did this to me,” you avow, wanting to fan the flames, to make him burn white-hot. A clawing need to make it unforgettable.

Your lips meet as he begins to move, and you are slightly overwhelmed. Not just by the physicality as you find a wonderful rhythm moving in unison, but as if you are floating between the world of the past and the very real present. A coming home, a full circle, a reunion. You don't vocalise it, but you swear you can see it in his eyes, too, as he moves over you. His gaze holds yours as he surges into your body and withdraws again, a tidal motion that makes you cling harder, chasing the moment you break together.

It seems strange this is happening during daylight hours. It feels more like the type of illicit, smouldering passion that can only come out after dark.

Your whole being rolls with the force of his thrusts, pleasure humming over you, so you push back, chasing sensations. Mapping the muscles of his back under your fingertips, his mouth rediscovering that weak spot on your neck that makes you shudder under him. His lips curl into a victorious smile as he surges harder, hissing as you dig your nails into his shoulder blades.

Sliding your feet higher on his luxurious soft sheets, you wrap your legs around his thighs, your heels nudging his shapely rear, letting your body plead for more. His movements become quicker as you grab one of his hands and suckle his fingers, his mouth open and gusting hot on your neck, watching you run your tongue over his fingernails. He groans as you suddenly suck them deep into your mouth, tasting the tang of your own juices and an undercurrent that is all him. When thoroughly soaked, you slowly pull those fingers from your mouth, little strings of saliva webbing between you.

“Touch me, Ben,” you plead, pushing that hand down towards the junction of your thighs, between your bodies.

With a devastating smirk, he does just that. Fingers sliding over your engorged throbbing pearl, just the right amount of pressure to make your cunt clench around him, a vice-like grip that has his hips and fingers stuttering to a halt.

“Fuck, do that again,” he begs.

With a smirk, you oblige, squeezing your internal muscles tight in a slow pulsing motion. His cock feels huge, hard, and heavy as you do so.

His eyes close, and a shudder you can feel runs through him, buried to the root, feeling his cock pulse heavily.

Then his eyes fly open, and the intensity there takes you aback as his fingers start to swirl at a dizzying pace, restarting his thrusts, urgent now, hunched over you, enveloping you, the air between your bodies hot and clammy as he pushes intently, pleading with you to come for him.

Your lips meet in an artless but deep kiss, tongues dancing, desperate hot breaths into each other's mouths. His fingers circling your clit pushes you towards your peak, the catalyst you need. The telltale ripples deep inside, clamping your body to his, his cries at the intensity fading as you are swept away, your vision whiting out. Ripples fan out to every fibre, that addictive mind-numbing bliss like nothing else.

You clenching on him is what pulls him over the edge, too. His grip on you is rough; his mouth slack on your cheek, curling his whole body into you as he cums, the warmth of it blooming deep.

No words are spoken as he collapses onto you, panting hard. As he recovers, you bury your fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp until he is almost purring into your skin.

“Why the hell did we divorce?” you echo his line from earlier, and his responding laughter shakes your whole being.

Ravenous, after your exertions, he orders food delivery, insisting you both stay naked as you eat on the living room rug. Dusk slips to nighttime as you watch mindless, entertaining shows, chatting easily about everything and nothing, wrapped around each other like a vine, drinking excellent wine, and feeding each other.

He reaches for dessert, Eton Mess, and with a cheeky eyebrow raise, smears it over your naked breasts, using his tongue to thoroughly clean you up and tease you beyond distraction. Before you know it, he is covered, too, and you blow him right there, licking whipped cream from his leaking cock as his thighs tremble under your hands in that endearing way you remember. Before he comes, he begs you to stop, to ride him, and so you do - messy, sticky, giggling - right there on his living room floor, the rug abraiding your kneecaps, his large hands a vice around your hips.

“We definitely need to shower,” he opines as he watches you extract a shard of strawberry from his belly button as his cock slips from your body. You laugh in agreement as he reaches up and pulls a fleck of meringue from your hair.

Collapsing into bed with shower-warm skin, half an hour later, you fall asleep in an embrace.

The following morning

You awaken to his lips on your cheek, pulling you back into the curve of his body.

“Spend the day with me,” he implores, his voice rough with sleep.

“I want to,” you hum drowsily, reaching back to run your fingers through his luscious head of hair.

“Go on, be daring,” he goads into your skin. “Mrs Bridgerton,” he adds coquettishly, knowing those are now the magic words to make you do as he wants.

“Stop weaponising that,” you scold lazily, with zero vehemence.

“Not a chance,” he chuckles, rolling you onto your back and crawling over you, arms bracketing your shoulders, his mouth a lazy, lopsided grin. He looks positively angelic, his riot of hair backlit like a halo in the morning light leaking through the skylight. Even as he does the sinful thing of rocking his rigid cock against the apex of your thighs teasingly. Just as you push your legs out wider, welcoming him, he stills and instead reaches over and grabs your phone from the bedside table, handing it to you with a pointed look.

So you call in sick to work.

As a reward, he slips under the covers as you are apologising to your boss with a fake croaky voice and slides his tongue deep into you; you have to fake a coughing fit to disguise your groan. You grab a fist of his hair in silent reprimand, but it just seems to spur him on.

“If you had to call work today, I would have you in my mouth as revenge for that,” you slur as he works his magic, knowing he has gone freelance in the intervening years.

“I’ll happily put in a call to myself later,” he jokes unseen under the sheet, “and you can do as you wish while I tell myself I'm taking the day off.”

“Self-employment must be fun,” you comment wistfully, then cry out as he sucks so hard on your clit that you knock your phone off the bed, your leg kicking out so strong that he grabs it and pins you down.

“It has its perks,” his voice muffled into your body, “like I can spend all day right here… well, at least until you need some breakfast.”

You can't even form a response to that as his tongue spears into you; all you can do is hiss in agreement.

—

A little while later, Benedict is pulling ingredients out of the fridge to make brunch when your phone vibrates on his kitchen island.

“Oh god, it’s El,” you fret, putting down the cafetière you had just poured from.

“Why is she calling you?” he frowns.

“I was supposed to go on a date last night that she arranged,” you wince. “My very first one. But someone completely derailed that plan, didn't they?” you pout comically.

He chuckles. “Put it on speaker; this should be fun.”

“You had better have a damn good excuse for standing Dan up last night,” Eloise complains in lieu of a greeting.

“Well, good morning to you too, El,” you reply lightheartedly, taking a sip of coffee.

“Why does it sound so echoey?”

“You're on speaker while I make brunch.” It’s a slight lie; he’s the one making it; you are simply enjoying the view. Seeing as he is doing so in black boxer briefs and nothing more, your eyes mapping his torso with a covetous stare.

“Well, I'm waiting…” she points out.

“For what?” You giggle as Benedict pulls up behind you, crowding into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist, and planting a kiss on your temple. You sway slightly with his movement.

“For your excuse, and it better be a good one. That you are in a hospital somewhere, or you met the love of your life yesterday,” she warns, “and seeing as you are making brunch when you should be at work, I doubt it’s the former.”

“Maybe it’s the latter,” you breathe, her not realising how true that suggestion is, twisting your head to look at him, and he shoots you a molten look before your lips meet.

“Really? You met someone else?” her tone suddenly excited, forgetting her annoyance.

“It took me completely by surprise.” You exhale over his lips, and he smiles that crooked smile that makes your stomach flip.

“So… wait, are you at home?” she asks, suddenly very invested.

“Nope,” you pop the p in the word, and Benedict shakes with silent laughter, tilting his head to kiss down your neck, your hand sliding into his hair as you lean into his movements. God, he is good at this.

“Are you at his place?” she hisses, impressed.

“Maybe” you singsong.

“Take me off speaker, you nutter!”

“Why? Maybe he is enjoying hearing this,” you tease.

“He’s right there?” Eloise spits, disbelieving.

“Hello, El,” Benedict pipes up, between kisses of your skin, his warm fingers tugging on the knot of the borrowed silk dressing gown you wear. It's dark blue and swamps you, seeing as it's his.

“Ben?!?!” she splutters. “What the…? How the…? Whattttt?!?!”

“I'm hanging up the phone now, sister,” he rumbles as he opens your robe and slides it off your shoulders so you are naked. “Unless you want to listen to us making love over this kitchen island?”

“Oh fuck no,” she positively shudders and makes a retching sound. “Wait… you guys….what the…?”

“Don’t tell anyone yet, please,” your request squeaks, his erection pressing into the naked valley of your buttocks as he reaches in front of you to end the call.

“Goodbye, El,” Benedict laughs.

“You have a fuck tonne of explaining to d….,” her warning is cut off by him hanging up.

“She's going to be insufferable when she gets over the shock,” you point out and then sigh as his hands land on your hips and his warm, damp mouth is on your shoulder.

“A problem for another time,” he assures you as you feel him release you briefly to push down his underwear. He's now as naked as you.

“You meant it about the kitchen island then?” you simper over your shoulder and groan as he surges his cock between your thighs from behind.

“What do you think?” he teases, his voice pitched so low it echoes around his whole body and into yours.

“I think I could get used to this,” you whisper as he leans you forward over the cooling quartz surface and pushes aside your hair to suck insistently on your neck.

“Good,” he rumbles, “because I am going to fuck you right here every morning before breakfast.”

“Every morning?” Your breath hitching at the idea this might be something more than a one-time moment of madness.

“Oh yes,” he murmurs into your skin, “I want to spend every moment I can with you, beside you, inside you,” his tone smoky, and with that last word, he slips inside you, your responding moan so loud he huffs amused. “The noises you make, it's the same as years ago, so exquisite,” he smiles into your hair, the heated stretch as he opens you up, always so breathtaking.

“Feels so good,” you pant lightly as he bottoms out inside you—a solid weight pressing in all the right places.

“Yes, you do, my love,” the term of endearment slipping from his lips so casually, sounding so perfectly natural to your ears, you reach back and grab his left hand in yours, missing the sound your wedding rings used to make when you did so in days of old.

But then he starts to move inside you, and there are no more coherent thoughts in your head—just his name tumbling from your lips and his hands moulded to your body.

Nine weeks later

The hardest person to explain it all to is your daughter.

Everything snowballed so fast after that fateful day, you and Benedict spending every spare moment you could together—even sneaking into each other's homes after Emilia’s bedtime. It was no longer just sex; it was something much, much more. It's when she awakes one night and almost catches sight of him working in your home office while you sleep that you both realise the time has come.

Benedict turns up at your place as agreed. You open the door to him and place a lingering kiss on his cheek as he sweeps in, holding a bunch of your favourite flowers and a gift bag for Emilia containing all her favourite sweets.

“Bribery, what a genius idea,” you laugh quietly into his ear, knowing Emilia can see you both from her vantage point at the dining table, doing some colouring in.

“Daddy!” she calls out effusively when she looks up, jumping out of her chair and running over.

Benedict hands you the flowers and gift to pick up Emilia, swinging her up into his arms as her little hands wrap around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” her ask is one of happy confusion. “It's not one of your days.”

“Indeed it's not,” he smiles indulgently as you reach over and tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “Mummy and I here have some important news,” he adds, looking at you askance with an almost bashful smile.

“Let’s all go and sit,” you suggest, gesturing towards the living room as you place the flowers and gift bag on the kitchen island. Emilia won't release her grip, so Benedict walks with her in his arms. She only lets go when he reaches the sofa, snuggling against him as soon as he sits, grabbing one of her favourite cuddly toys from the sectional arm as she does so.

“I'm so happy you are here, Daddy,” she beams, and you already feel misty-eyed as he subconsciously places a hand over his heart and agrees with her sentiment.

You initially take a seat on the chaise at an angle from them, but Benedict shoots you a puzzled puppy dog look and pats the cushion next to him. So, with slight apprehension, you swing around to sit next to him, and he slides a hand onto your knee, which doesn't go unnoticed by your eagle-eyed daughter on his other side.

“Why are you touching Mummy like that?” she frowns. A tiny part of your heart cracking at the realisation that she has never known the love you once shared—the one you are rebuilding slowly, piece by piece, day by day.

“Remember I said that Mummy and I have some news?” Benedict begins softly, his long fingers wrapping all the way around to caress the crease at the back of your knee, a nervous tick of his you recall like a ghost from the past.

“Yes...” she responds warily, tugging on the ears of her toy, instinctively concerned.

“Well… Mummy and I have been spending time together as we used to when you were a baby,” he explains slowly, “and we really like each other again.” His lips twitch a beguiling smile as he turns briefly to look at you, his earnest face melting the anxious lump burning behind your ribs. “That means we touch each other and hug and kiss.”

“Emilia,” you join in, your voice a little tremulant. “How would you feel if Mummy and Daddy started spending time with you together rather than apart?”

She perks up, and she stops her fidgeting. “Really?” the hopeful tone makes your emotions bubble up again.

“Yes, really,” he replies.

“Every evening?” her hands clapping together with glee, climbing wholly into Benedict's lap. “Please, mummy?” she begs, the eyes she inherited from him pleading with you insistently as if the decision rests purely with you.

“If that is what you both want, then yes,” you offer tentatively, your look drifting from her to him.

“I want nothing more in the whole world,” he states sincerely, his gaze never leaving yours, his Adam's apple bobbing with a thick swallow as he does so. You can’t look away from those soulful eyes, wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

“Do you love Mummy, Daddy?” Emilia cuts in, breaking the hypnotic trance, looking at him expectantly.

“I never stopped,” he confesses truthfully, the hand on your knee feeling weightier somehow, the lump in your chest appearing again, but this time it's the furthest thing from anxiety. “We just lost our way for a little while, that’s all,” he says as much for you as your daughter. “Everything is working out as it always should have,” he ends, his tone wavering with emotion.

“Will we all live together?” she enthuses.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely believing it yourself. It's something you had discussed just a few days ago, the realisation this was very real coming to you both. “We will. Soon. We just have some things to sort out first.”

“Where would you prefer to live, Emilia?” Benedict queries. “We will keep both houses for now. So you can decide for Mummy and Daddy.”

“Is this where you lived when I was a baby?” she asks, pointing at the ground.

“No darling, Daddy and I sold that when we split up as part of the agreement we signed.” You see him wince at the memory, his fingers gripping your knee tighter reflexively. “But that is okay; that is the past. We want somewhere better for our future together anyway,” you assure, feeling the weight of his doting stare as you speak but keeping your attention fixed on Emilia.

She nods sagely, her little brain absorbing everything you say with the fearsome intellect she possesses. Then she swings over the arm Benedict has looped around your knee and clambers limbfully into your lap. You accept her embrace, grateful and relieved, Benedict's arm releasing your knee to slide behind your head, grabbing your shoulder, and pulling you both into his arms.

“I think we should all live here,” she nods decisively. “I like my room here better than at Daddy's; it's bigger,” she explicates, a touch sheepishly.

Benedict and you laugh together at her flawless reasoning, your heart melting as he nuzzles into your hair.

“I do believe the lady has spoken,” he chuckles, his lips grazing your ear.

And thus, it is decided.

Two weeks later

You ask Emilia to keep the news under wraps until her sixth birthday party two weeks later. Agreeing that if she does, she could be the one to break the news to your families—a bribe, indeed, but an effective one. Eloise is the only person with any inkling and has seemingly kept it secret, so this will likely be shocking news to many.

The night before the party, after Emilia is safely tucked up in bed, you are sharing a bath in your oversized tub.

“Is there anything else we need for tomorrow?” his question lazy as you lean back against him, his hands rubbing soothing circles over your tummy under the water.

“Hmmm, the cake and balloons should be delivered in the morning; I think everything is in hand,” you hum, closing your eyes and resting on his shoulder.

“I was thinking…” he begins.

“Uh oh…” You interject cheekily, popping your eyes open as he tickles your diaphragm in playful retaliation.

“Yes, yes, I know, brains are your thing…” he grumbles good-naturedly, “but I was thinking long-term; perhaps we should start to look for a new place? If we sell both of ours, we could get something nice right around here, with a big garden for Emilia, perhaps a home office and art studio space for me. And you know…. more bedrooms,” the last two words uttered in a throatier register, those fingers spidering lower under the water into the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“More kids?” your breath catching.

“Yes, didn't we always say we would have three?” he murmurs, his lips on your earlobe, sucking gently. Weirdly, the discussion of it all - buying a place together, having more kids - seems entirely natural, not jarring, even though you are less than three months into your new dynamic.

“That was when we were in our twenties, Ben,” you point out, but it fades into a hitching, needy sound in the back of your throat as his lips map the cord of your neck and his fingertips slide over your clit.

“And are you saying at the ripe old age of thirty-four, we are past it?” he checks, bemused.

“Thirty-three for me, thirsty five for you, old man,” you point out, attempting a dry tone but mostly just breathy as he teases you expertly.

“I was averaging,” he states, pressing harder so you moan loudly.

“You are never average,” you flatter, rapidly losing the ability to converse.

“I love how I can just shut off that brain of yours doing this,” he exhales gustily into your ear, his fingers circling insistently.

“Shut up and fuck me,” you groan.

“With pleasure,” he simpers, suddenly looping his arms around your knees to pull you open so he can slip inside you.

The following day

Emilia can barely contain the secret as the various members of the frankly enormous Bridgerton clan arrive. Your family, consisting of your parents and just one sister, is tiny in comparison, even as she strolls in with her boisterous boys and harried-looking husband in tow.

“What is with Emilia today?” she queries, ever the sharp observer, as she hands you a cheese board she has brought.

“Birthday excitement?” you shrug, finding a space for her contribution on the snack table as you attempt to sound non-committal.

“Hmm,” her mien thoughtful, “it seems more than that. I wished her a happy birthday, and her response was, ‘Oh, thank you, auntie, I almost forgot.’”

“I'm sure she was joking,” you placate. “Help me plate up the sausage rolls?” An intentional distraction. “Colin just turned up; I'm not sure the hundred I have baked are enough.”

A couple of hours later, food has been consumed, the birthday song has been sung loudly, and the cake cut and eaten. Music plays in the garden, and an alarmingly large gaggle of kids are all bouncing over-zealously in the small bouncy castle you have rented as Benedict materialises at your side. It seems strange that his hands do not slide around your waist, but the announcement has yet to be public, so he maintains a respectful distance.

“You think there is a child capacity on that thing?” You nod at the colourful inflatable taking up a good third of your compact garden.

“Simon claims to have it in hand,” he breezes.

“And you believe him?” you skew your mouth into a slant.

“He’s rich enough; he can pay everyone off if there are injuries,” Benedict smirks, and you can't help but giggle into your wine glass.

Just then, Emilia comes running towards you, out of breath from bouncing. “Is it time, Mummy, Daddy?” she effuses.

Sharing a glance, you nod, and Benedict fishes his phone out of his pocket to turn down the music, then borrows your wine glass, tapping a knife against it to draw everyone's attention.

“Everyone,” he calls, “our beautiful birthday girl has a different but very special announcement.”

All the adults turn their attention, even as the excited childish squeals from the bouncy castle continue in the background.

“Mummy and Daddy have some news they want me to share,” she begins as your eyes drift over to Eloise.

“What could it possibly be, Emilia?” Eloise goads, her face so smug you almost want to shake her. You settle for a pointed stare instead.

“Mummy and Daddy… are in love again!!!!” Emilia yells. “We are moving in as a family!” She then bows deeply for her assembled audience, no doubt expecting rapturous applause.

The assembled, shocked, and quiet faces confuse her, and she twists to look at you both for reassurance. “Did I do it wrong?” she asks, her little face screwing up in confusion.

“No, no darling, it was perfect,” you reassure, stroking her hair.

Benedict reaches down and hauls her into his arms, giving her the comfort she needs, and she buries her face in his neck, her translucent costume fairy wings slightly obscuring his face from everyone.

“Are you serious?” Kate pipes up cautiously as if a spokesperson for all those gathered, Anthony shooting her an incredulous sideways look that she, of course, completely ignores.

“Yes,” Benedict confirms, shuffling Emilia sideways to his hip and wrapping the arm not holding her around your back. “About three months ago, we were reunited by accident.” Gratefully, he fogs over the details. You are not sure a misdialed masturbation call should be the start of any anecdote at a family gathering. “And… things progressed rather rapidly,” he admits, giving you a quick sideways smile and a squeeze of your waist, “and here we are…”

“You’re in love again?” Violet checks, her hands clenched hopefully over her heart.

“Yes,” you nod to her, turning back to look at Benedict, “very, very much so.”

She starts the applause, which soon ripples out to everyone as they absorb the news. From over by the bouncy castle, there is a supportive whistle from Simon as he effortlessly frees one of his offspring wedged in an upside-down position before giving the thumbs up.

Benedict nuzzles your temple, and you know you are blushing as he echoes a gentle “very, very much so” in your ear before the assembled masses move in to offer you their congratulations in turn.

Twelve weeks later

You are idly clicking through houses on Rightmove on a Tuesday evening when a wave of nausea hits you so violently that you barely make it to the downstairs cloakroom toilet in time. Same as the previous day.

“I’m never letting you convince me that tacos from a food truck are a good idea, ever again,” you grouse as you re-emerge into the hallway after splashing your face and rinsing your mouth.

“We ate the same thing on Sunday, and I’m perfectly fine,” he points out as he reaches the bottom step of the staircase, having finished reading Emilia's bedtime story.

“Well, I'm sick as a parrot,” you lament, dabbing your forehead with a damp flannel you snagged. “And I'm so hot. I've been feeling off for two days on the trot. Mornings and evenings. I swear I've been poisoned…”

He suddenly goes very still, and your brow knits.

“What?” Your confusion grows as he appears to be doing mental arithmetic, touching his fingers.

“Aren’t you late?” he says quietly, looking up from his hands with the oddest but sweetest expression.

“What do you… Oh…” you trail off, and suddenly, your whole body runs even hotter.

OH.

“Are you?” his whisper so hopeful but reticent.

“I… I could be…” You stutter, a little blindsided. It's the best you can offer.

He pulls you into him, surrounding you, cupping your jaw, his eyes always so expressive. “We should find out,” he murmurs.

“The big Sainsbury's should still be open,” you blurt, unsure of what else to say.

He tilts his forehead against yours with an amused huff at your eminent practicality. “You stay here with Emilia; I’ll go,” he smiles, kissing your lips tenderly before backing away and grabbing his wallet and car keys from the hallway table.

Within the hour, you are staring at a white and blue stick again. Dumbfounded by the news, just as you were almost seven years ago.

“Fuck me…” You sigh under your breath, belatedly realising you really shouldn't have been as cavalier with your Pill taking; now you are having sex regularly again.

“I think that's the probable cause, yes,” he jests softly, charmingly treading on eggshells until he can fully gauge your reaction.

You break into giggles, rolling your eyes but collapsing into his arms, and his relief is palpable.

“I know it's so soon, and we only talked about it in theory… but…. God, I’m so happy,” he admits into your hair, pulling back to look in your eyes. “Are you?”

“I'm feeling a million different things,” you answer honestly, then reach up to hold his face, “but yes, I'm happy, Ben. A little shocked, considering I thought it was just bad tacos, but happy.”

His responding smile is sunlight and pure devotion.

“I love you,” he declares, heartfelt, simple, genuine. It's not remotely the first time he has done so since you reunited, but it feels particularly appropriate.

“I love you too.”

Two weeks later

Benedict takes you to dinner in Covent Garden after a house viewing. You both know it’s the one you will buy. A handsome Victorian detached with dual bay windows that felt like home the minute you walked in, even before you laid eyes on the expansive mature gardens and the all-glass extension that would be the perfect art studio for him.

Only when you stroll past a fancy bank after dinner do you clock the date on a glowing display; it's the anniversary of the fateful day you met at a party seven years ago.

But, fifteen minutes later, it's still a complete surprise when he gets down on one knee, Thamesside, the city twinkling around you.

“Marry me once more, y/n? Please? Be Mrs Bridgerton, again?”

There was only ever going to be one answer.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton fluff #bridgerton fluff

530 notes · View notes

actual-changeling · 5 months

Text

Uh. Hi! I'm Alex and I love writing pain.

I've seen the angst war going on and I am incredibly tempted to contribute; I'm not quite sure of the rules (if there are any) so feel free to bring me up to speed. Updates will be at whatever pace is fun/doable for me, interactions, asks etc. always very much appreciated 💚

@goodomensafterdark @daneecastle @gleafer @gahellhimself-blog @vavoom-sorted-art @kotias

I will put appropriate content tags on every chapter and make a masterpost once I have a handful of posts. Please keep in mind that this series is going to deal with a heavy dose of unreality, self-injurious behaviour, substance abuse, erratic behaviour/mood swings, and more. There will be a happy ending.

Now, without further ado, the first instalment of what is going to be us following Crowley down the path of (hopefully temporary) insanity.

rest your head \\ chapter 1

(~800 w, no additional warnings)

Sleep deprivation, while usually not fatal, is not the least bit pleasant. Human brains require sleep to function—and not just their minds, either. The entire body breaks down oh so slowly as every system designed to keep it alive deteriorates without the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.

However, the actual cause of death is yet to be identified, and luckily Crowley's corporation functions on the principle of 'what it doesn't know won't kill it'.

Over the centuries, earthly indulgences have become more and more common, pleasures easily sought and found no matter where he went, although nothing ever beat a good night's (or decade's) rest. Sleep calms his mind and allows him to drift through time without a care, surrounded by ever-shifting dream clouds and the occasional vivid interference. In short, it takes away the pain, and Someone knows there is a lot to carry when he returns home for the first time in four years.

No dust had dared to settle on the furniture, and the familiar smell of damp earth welcomes him. Locking the door behind him, Crowley blindly finds his way through the corridors, kicking off his shoes as he goes and throwing his glasses onto the nearest surface. When he pushes into his bedroom, which is just as pristine as he had left it, the anger churning in his gut cools.

Home. Has he ever had a home? Once upon a time, maybe, before time had been born, surrounded by breathing nebulae and void, and then—

Eden. Him. Right, that's done.

A snap of his fingers and his clothes change into a set of silk pyjamas, the fabric brushing over his skin like liquid silver, and the black-out curtains snap shut. Darkvision is one of the advantages of being a demon, but he finds the dark has nothing to offer him today, so he closes his eyes and pulls back the sheets to curl around a pillow.

Images flicker in the pulsating emptiness left behind, piercing blue eyes and fluttering hands, a press of lips against his, words digging into his skull like tadpoles making a home within his brain matter. Electricity crawls over his slowly numbing body, urging him to disappear, to sink into nothingness and waste away until he is a dried stain on the mattress.

No one will come looking for him, after all.

Maybe the world will be brighter once he wakes, the pain duller, the loneliness less aching and all-consuming. Within his chest bleeds a hollow, jagged wound, dripping black blood and drowning the radiant remnants of Aziraphale's presence; his essence is familiar, it's- home.

Crowley does not need to sleep, yet somewhere between Rome and the present, he had forgotten about it, his corporation shifting and changing, craving rest and punishing him for its absence. It will not kill him, it does not even occur to him that it might, but there are countless fates worth than death and he is already living one of them. What's another added to the mess his life has become?

His nails dig into the pillow case, his consciousness choking on the scorched battlefield of the day, but no matter how hard he tries, how desperately he commands his body to bend to his wills, sleep refuses to come. A new, different kind of pain rises, worse than fatigue and infinitely more addictive. Its sting is battery acid on his tongue, infusing him with a restlessness that is scratching on his bones, and when blue irises keep mocking him behind closed lids, he forces his eyes open, turns onto his back, and stares at the ceiling, waiting.

Light wanders and shifts, barely visible through the heavy fabric adorning his windows, and it dips behind the horizon before reappearing on the other side. Crowley stares at white paint and counts the moving dots gradually clouding his vision, absently pressing his knuckles against his sternum over and over—whether to calm himself or to chase away mental pain with physical is beyond his awareness.

Both, neither, maybe.

His too-human body protests and whines, and once he begins to see blue shadows in his periphery, Crowley bites his tongue and gets up. Coffee will help, then a hot shower, and yelling his plants back into order is going to occupy most of his afternoon anyway, so what's a night without sleep?

The next one will bring him the rest he needs, and Aziraphale's eyes will stop striking him down whenever he blinks. He is alone now (alone in London, alone on earth, his chest constricts and twists at the thought, stealing his breath) and he will have to get used to it; it'll be fine eventually, right?

—

Three days later Crowley is staring at his bedroom ceiling, impatient, restless, exhausted, and attempting to chase away the bone-white teeth hovering underneath lightning-blue eyes.

"Fine, have it your way," he snaps eventually, his voice too loud in an empty room, and feels the smile breathing down his neck all the way to the kitchen.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable angst war #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #im sure there is at least one person who saw this coming #if you thought i was giving you pain before we are about to enter an entirely new abyss

184 notes · View notes

wonijinjin · 3 months

Text

THE WEEKND SERIES: CALL OUT MY NAME - CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

author’s note: the first work of the series! i am all for strangers to more tropes so i hope you guys will have fun reading it! take care<3

synopsis: will shared fate with a stranger turn into something more, something you had never expected?

word count: 0.6k | genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, dark themes (apocalypse) | pairing: cheol x gn! reader | warnings: mentions of injury, doctors, apocalypse, death

the masterpost to this series can be found here.

the wind was blowing coldly as you reached the deserted capital, body tired from dragging it all day, not finding anyone near who could help you out. in the distance you could spot a silhouette, a human’s to be exact. “wait!” you shouted from the top of your lungs, taking all of your energy and putting it into a final call before you saw the figure turning around, running in your direction. the pain in your injured leg became unbearable and forced your knees to buckle; luckily the stranger who had arrived by your side just at that moment had caught you, laying you down on the muddy ground. “hi.” you smiled at him while his eyes widened in surprise seeing another human alive. there were not many people who survived the earthquakes or the tsunamis after the collision of the meteor. “nice to meet you.” he smiled back at you, inspecting the wound on your foot. “i guess you got this while trying to escape from the storm.” you wheezed. “good guess, sherlock.” his movements halted and he got a roll of surgical tape and bandaids out from his pocket. “so, do you want me to fix you up? you are not doing so well as i can see.” you nodded immediately, thanking him several times. “i have been searching for signs of life for days, but have seen noone so far.” he shook his head in agreement. “because there is almost no human here as of today. i’m surprised to see you here, never thought i would cross paths with someone here. everyone i know is at the same place, the mall. they gathered there, but they are starting to go crazy so i left.” he explained what he knew about the situation happening. your lack of response and the way you stared into nothing alarmed him and he pulled your body towards his so he could see your eyes. “you with me?” he swung his hand in front of your face. you nodded slowly to ensure that you heard and understood him. “good.” he thought for a moment. “must be shock which got you so quiet all of a sudden.” he finished wrapping up your leg, patting it for good measure. “can you stand?” he questioned with a warm look, one which you missed so much, after so long of not being in contact with others. “hello? i asked if you can stand up and walk.” he was crouching next to you, grabbing your chin to check your eyes again. you assumed that he must’ve been a doctor since he was looking for signs of head injury for sure, you knew this much of first aid. you leaned in without thinking, kissing him quickly. this caught him off guard, but it was so quick and sudden that it was over before he could register what was happening. “sorry, i just needed to check if you were real. i’ve been alone for a while, i wasn’t sure if it was just in my head or not.” he had a weird expression but only for a moment, then caught your wrist and lifted your finger to his face, poking it. “you could’ve just done this, you know.” he laughed sweetly, another thing you had been missing from your life. “you are right…” you whispered shyly, a bit embarrassed. “anyways, i see that you are quite lonely. you can accompany me for the time being if you want to. at least i can make sure your leg actually gets better.” you grinned tiredly. “if i’m gonna be your companion i gotta know your name at least though.” he extended his arm towards you. “just call me seungcheol.”

111 notes · View notes

screamingatanemptyroom · 3 months

Text

Please Fix the Story - pt 31 The Void Between - END

Last part. (Although I do plan for at least one or two side parts. One definitely from Liam's perspective. Maybe one from Adonis if I feel like it).

Guys, I started this story forever ago. Took a huge break when my life fell apart. I picked up the pieces, and never really thought I would get back to doing the things I love again. But here I am. Finishing this story. I'm so excited.

Please enjoy.

Masterpost linked here.

________________________________

“System!” I shouted into the white void, one hand still holding Liam’s tightly. “Stop hiding!”

THUD

Adonis had fallen to the ground, released from my power that had bound him. He stood up shakily, wiping a small amount of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Where did you take me?” He demanded angrily. “Where is this place?”

“This?” I looked around with a slight smile. “This place is the End.”

“The End?”

I thought for a moment. “Or perhaps the Beginning? It depends on your point of view, I suppose.” I gestured around at the blank whiteness around us “This is the void between, outside of the lower and higher realms, outside of stories. There is nothing here... nothing except memories.”

Liam stood protectively near me. “Where is the System?”

“It’s here. It’s watching. It just doesn’t want to admit that it lost. It views me as weak, pointless…”

Blue flames streaked out from out of sight towards my head. Sensing the magical attack, I dodged and waved a hand, countering it with my own power.

“YOU MUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE” The bright blue words briefly appeared in the void, then disappeared just as fast, leaving nothing but an afterimage behind.

“BEL!” Liam had fallen when I dodged, and reached towards me, panicked.

“It’s okay. That was just a test.” With a grunt of pain, I stood back up again. “REALLY?” I spoke out again. “A sneak attack? Are you really that pathetic?” There was no answer, the System was hiding again.

“Hey!" Adonis had recovered from his shock, and resumed being a pest. “Bel! Tell me what’s going on, now!”

I didn’t even look in his direction. “No.”

“What?! What do you mean, no?!”

"I mean: 'No'." Still looking for any trace of the System, I cast a sympathetic glance towards Liam. “Poor guy.”

Liam caught on quick. “Don’t worry, Bel, I’ll help him!” He cleared his throat, turning towards the enraged hero. “’No’ is an English word used to give a negative response. In this case, the word ‘no’ would indicate a refusal to your request for more information. Similar sounding words, such as ‘know’ with a ‘k’ can sometimes be confused depending on the context clues, but that word is generally used to indicate knowledge rather than refusal. So if she had said ‘I know’ instead…”

“SHUT UP!” Adonis screamed, swinging at fist at Liam, who let him punch him in the chest without any apparent pain. Adonis instead withdrew his hand with a screech, one of his fingers clearly bent at a weird angle.

“Your chest breaks fingers?” I asked with a raised brow.

Liam pulled his collar down, showing off a coat of black scales with a grin. “Dragon skin is tough. Also known as the ‘idiot-tax’.”

During this exchange, I continued searching with my power, trying to feel the system’s presence. “Seems fair.”

“Why is it hiding?” Liam asked quietly.

“It doesn’t want to face the truth.” At my answer, Adonis stopped groaning and looked insulted.

“Why do you answer HIS questions and not MINE?”

“Because he’s my husband… and you’re annoying.” I turned to Liam. “Are you curious?”

Liam smiled at my question. “Very.”

“Then I’ll explain it to you as we go.” I looked around again, sensing that the System had hid itself. “It’s hiding within this space, and so I’ll need to force it out. Since it wants to hide the truth, I’ll show exactly that: the truth."

My power swept around us, filling everything.

"It all started here. In this void.”

The world around us changed, showing infinite portals, each leading to a new world, glowing with various degrees of golden light.

“There are infinite stories, and therefore infinite lower realms. Some are stable, filled with energy… some are unstable, collapsing, draining energy from the realms around it.” As I spoke, some of the weaker portals flickered and died. “Each time a world collapsed, the entirety of the lower realms was at risk, a collapse of a universe of worlds and people.”

The golden light of the portals coalesced, forming a vague being of bright blue light. “The System came into being. It's exact origin is unclear. Was it created, another product of the authors or gods beyond our existence that write the stories? Was it just a random event, too much energy organizing into a sentient being?” I stepped closer to the glowing blue figure, staring up at it. “It’s impossible to know. But I do know one thing:”

The figure peered into a portal as it flickered and disappeared. It stared at the empty space for a few moments before shrugging and moving on to the next. “The System isn’t human. It has no understanding of human emotions, motivations, or relationships. It can read the stories, it can see the unfulfilled wishes of the author, but it cannot truly understand why some stories worked and others collapsed.”

Adonis stared at the figure I showed them, a look of frustration and anger creeping across his face. Liam watched with curiosity. They both stayed silent, however, and the System stayed in hiding, so I continued the story.

“The system depends on the survival of the lower realms, but it could not figure out how to save the stories that were disappearing. So it looked for a human partner, someone who could help it figure out what to do.”

The world around us changed again, and we were standing on a college campus. It was a bright sunny day, with students milling about, chatting, laughing, carrying books. We stood in the midst of everything, unseen by the people around us, unable to touch or affect anything we could see. Adonis, recognizing the area, turned pale, trembling as he stood rooted in place. “No.” He whispered. “This is impossible. This isn’t real.”

I smiled at him, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “Of course it isn’t real. This is a memory of the System. No one can travel to this lower realm anymore. It’s destroyed… thanks to you.”

“NO.”

As I searched the memory around us, I could sense the memory... and the System... nearby. “Let’s go.” I grabbed Liam’s hand and ran forward, rushing through the crowds, following the lead that only I could feel. After a brief hesitation, Adonis ran after us.

“The system sensed that someone had broken free from the confines of a story.” I spoke as we moved. All around us there were college students milling about, talking laughing with carefree attitudes. “What had been stable, had become broken, and it was all because of a single individual.”

I pulled Liam to a stop in front of two people, studying both of the figures in the memory with interest.

One was a handsome young man with a playful grin and long hair pulled back with a cord. He was facing another young man, who looked extremely angry.

The other young man was Adonis.

As we looked back and forth between the Adonis in the memory and the one that had followed us through the void, the Adonis next to Liam and I stepped closer, staring at his doppelganger with a weary, contemptuous expression.

“She loves me!” The memory Adonis spoke out. “Stop getting in the way!”

“You know that isn’t right, Adler.” The young man answered with a sigh. “Just because you two grew up together, doesn’t give you ‘dibs’ on her. You two are friends. Ara is my girlfriend.”

Liam raised an eyebrow as we watched the scene around us play out. “Adler?”

“His real name.” I glanced over at Adonis, who looked away. “He changed it to Adonis after he left this lower realm.”

“He CHOSE Adonis?”

“He thought it sounded more heroic.”

“Poor guy.”

“Save your pity.” I pointed back to the memory around us, where Adonis continued to argue with the other college student. Eventually, a young woman walked up, giving a hug to the other man and eyeing Adonis warily.

“Bel…?” Liam sounded concerned and confused, and I didn’t’ blame him.

After all, the woman looked just like me.

It wasn’t exact. There was a bright cheery innocence that this girl carried around her. A naivete, as if she would believe whatever someone told her. Nice, but gullible. She very much lacked my distrustful glares and heavy sarcasm. But the face, body, hair…. All of the outer features were the same.

“It’s not me.” I reassured Liam, who watched the girl with my appearance kiss the college student with a low disgruntled growl. “It’s Arabella. The heroine of this lower realm.”

Adonis stared intently at the woman, obsession in his eyes. “MY heroine.”

“Nope. Not yours. Because you weren’t the hero of your story, were you, Adonis?”

The argument between the three in the memory grew heated. Adonis… Adler… tried to grab Arabella’s hand, and she pulled away with a frustrated expression.

“You were the friend, the side character, the witness to the main romance of the story. But you were unwilling to play that role… to accept your fate.”

“IT WAS NOT MY FATE!” Adonis reached out, but his hand passed through the memory of Arabella. “I WAS THE HERO! I WAS THE ONE SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO LOVE!”

The Adonis in the memory had gone quiet. He reached into his coat, and pulled out a long knife, lunging forward, stabbing the young man and woman in front of him. Only when they were still on the ground, their bodies soaking in the blood pooling beneath them did he seem to recognize what he had done. He fell to his knees, screaming, as the world around his began to distort.

“You broke the story, killed the hero and heroine… and this caught the attention of the System.”

A glowing blue figure appeared in front of the blood-stained Adonis, words appearing around him.

"YOU HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE THE STORY."

I looked down at the dead body on the ground with the same face as me, letting out a quiet sigh. “The two of them made a deal. Adonis would be pulled out of the lower realm, become a higher being. He would help the System in fixing the broken lower realms.”

The Adonis in the memory considered for a brief moment, and nodded. As he and the System disappeared, the world they had left behind began to collapse.

“There’s always a cost, though. If you take someone out of a lower realm… the realm is destroyed as a result.” My eyes met Adonis’ as he watched the memory of the deal he made with a dispassionate gaze. All the emotion that had boiled over at the sight of Arabella had faded, and there was nothing, not even remorse. “You knew you were destroying the world if you left. And you did it anyways.”

“They did nothing for me.” His voice was quiet, but vitriol in it was clear. “I should have been the hero of that world… they didn’t deserve survival.”

“Just like Arabella deserved death for not loving you?” At my question his eyes flickered, but he quickly regained calm. “She didn’t die. After all, you’re here, aren’t you?”

“I’m not Arabella, Adonis. No matter the physical resemblance.” I smiled. “I’m something much more…”

Another blast of blue flames again came towards me. I pushed back with my own power, defending myself. My magic swept through from the direction the blast had came from, trying to strike back, but it had already disappeared once again.

“Oh you didn’t like that, did you? Are you mad enough to stop hiding, or should I keep talking?”

There was only silence in response. I chuckled grimly, continuing the story.

“Adonis was the one who thought of binding the lower realms to the higher realms. By having the heroes of the lower realms be connected to Adonis, by having him control them and their endings through these ties he called fate, he thought he could influence all of the stories at once, helping them reach a happy ending.” I paused. “How funny that the man who was chosen because he broke free of his fate, chose to bind everyone else even tighter.”

The portals showed up around us again, losing their glow and flickering out at a noticeable pace. “But it didn’t work. The lower realms were failing faster than ever. You contaminated all of the heroes with a part of you, they took on a part of your personality, your obsessive desire with being the center of the universe.”

I thought of all the heroes I had met in the lower realms, how they reacted with the story around them changed. Even kinder heroes like K’lliean in the elven world had shown signs… he almost cracked and tried to force me to be with him when he sensed me pulling away. They all had pieces of Adonis forced on them, tying them to an even worse fate then the broken stories once had.

“Out of desperation, Adonis suggested a new plan. It wasn’t enough to have a prototype ‘hero’ to bind everyone to. They needed a new prototype, a second higher level being.” I hesitated, seeing the realization and pain on Liam’s face but forcing myself to continue. “They needed a villain.”

The world around us changed again, and now we were in a beautiful green world with bright open skies. The System remained hidden, so I continued talking, hoping to goad it into showing itself once again.

“Adonis had always been a fan of fairy tales. Knights, princesses, and the evil monster that kidnapped her: the dragon.”

Dragons flew overhead with roars that shook the earth below. The world was filled with the mighty creatures, flying, fighting, sleeping. Simply existing in this beautiful realm. And right next to us was a large silver dragon, patiently teaching a smaller black one.

Liam stepped closer, tears running down his face. “Grandfather.” His hand passed through the larger form, his hand tightening into a fist.

“They searched though all of the lower realms with dragons, and within one found a young black coated dragon that they felt could be molded into what they needed.” I continued to speak, watching Liam closely. “The System tried to offer a deal, promising power and domination over all the lower realms.”

A blue figure pulled the small dragon away, obviously trying to convince it of something. The young dragon shook his head in response.

“But the dragon said no. He loved his world, his family. He didn’t want to leave, no matter what was offered to him.”

The dragon was enveloped in blue fiery light, disappearing with an inhuman screech of terror. The world around us, similar to Adonis’ world before it, crumpled into itself, fading away into nothing.

My voice dropped to a whisper. “The price of removing someone from the lower realms is always the same, whether they want to leave or not. The young dragon’s world… his family… was destroyed.” I reached out and hugged Liam, who was wracked with silent sobs as he watched his home realm disappear.

“I’m sorry.” I tightened my arms around him, feeling a deep pain within as he slowly composed himself. I was using this story to push the System, to make it angry enough to appear. But I had another motive as well. I wanted Liam to understand everything. To see this. He had the right to know the full truth.

The truth of what I was.

The picture around us faded, showing the young black dragon now in the Villain’s realm, surrounded by forest. He looked around, obviously lost and confused. Words appeared in the sky before him.

YOU ARE THE VILLAIN.

The dragon shook his head no.

YOU MUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE.

A portal appeared and chains shot out, binding the dragon and dragging it into a lower realm. The sight was heartrendingly familiar, and I had to take a deep breath, steadying myself to continue.

“They tried to mold the dragon into the villain they needed. The plan was to force the dragon into multiple realms, placing him as the villain of the story. If he refused to play his part? The realm would be destroyed. The dragon was too kind hearted, and eventually became resigned to sacrificing himself, story after story, realm after realm. Saving the realms but losing himself. The system tied the dragon to the villains of the lower realms, in the bonds of fate, but if anything, that made things even worse.”

The portals in the void reappeared, now most of them becoming unstable and flickering, even previously brightly glowing ones were slowly becoming dim.

“Your plans had brought this whole universe to the brink of destruction, and still Adonis refused to believe that his strategy was wrong. It’s just that the prototype story… the higher realm story… was incomplete.”

I turned towards Adonis, who was glaring at me with unbridled rage. “The knight, the dragon… and now you needed the princess. You were a hero missing your heroine. And so, you told the System to bring you your heroine.”

“Don’t…” Adonis finally spoke up again, but the word was forced out between clenched teeth.

“What? Don’t tell the truth?” I shook my head. “It’s not your secret to hide. It’s my truth to tell.”

“Stop!” He rushed forward, but my dark power wrapped around him again, holding him in place.

“Shush. I’m trying to explain my mysterious origins here.” I sat him down on the ground with my magic, and turned to Liam. I felt nervous, a desperation welling up within me. I wondered as I started to speak again if this is how he felt when I found out he was a dragon. It turned out he didn’t need to worry.

I wasn’t human either.

“Adonis would only accept one heroine.”

“Arabella.” Liam added, watching me carefully.

“Exactly. But that left the system with a problem. Arabella was dead. Even if she survived the stabbing, the entire lower realm had been destroyed by bringing Adonis out. It tried to convince him, but he grew only more desperate. He couldn’t accept the truth.”

I paused, taking a deep breath. “So the system did the only thing it could: it tried to make a new Arabella.”

“But that means…” Liam looked confused, but as realization started to dawn, I ran forward and tackled him.

“GET DOWN!”

The entire space imploded. There was nothing but blue fire, drowning everything. There was no noise, no heat. There was only magic destructive power. It lasted for what seemed like an eternity, and then slowly faded.

I lifted my head. An enormous being was wrapped around me, protecting me. Liam, who had shifted to his dragon form, continued to shield me, his dark blue eyes looking over me carefully, filled with concern, checking for injuries. I withdrew the magic I had used to protect us both, but I still saw a few burned spots in his scales here and there. Touching his scales with a regretful expression, I whispered. “Sorry.”

I had been goading the system, waiting for it to make its move, but as I told Liam the truth, my attention had shifted for a short moment. And in that moment, the System who had been biding its time, made its move.

“As long as you are safe.” Liam’s reply made me smile. We stared at each other for a few moments, both happy the other was okay.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU DESTROY HIM?!” Adonis’ voice destroyed the special moment. At least he's consistently annoying.

Liam rolled his eyes, the expression a bit strange on a dragon. “How did he survive the fire?” He asked me.

I thought it over, and winced. “My bad, my power was already wrapped around him to hold him down when the System attacked… I must have accidentally protected him.”

“It’s okay, we all make mistakes.” Liam nodded solemnly and comforted me.

“Yeah, maybe next time he’ll get burned to a crisp.”

“You know… I am a dragon… I could help us achieve that goal.”

“Tempting…” I started to respond, but Adonis started shouting again.

“System! Now’s your chance! Destroy the monster!” He pointed at Liam, his face triumphant as he commanded him. “And then we can fix Arabella, and start over with a new villain. We will make the story right, correct everything that is wrong, and retie the strings of Fate to save the universe!”

“…” There was something new that had joined us in this space between realms. A vaguely human shaped being made of blue flames. As it spoke, its voice was neither young or old, soft or deep, it was deeply disturbingly inhuman. The words it spoke appeared in front of us, scrawled across the sky, a reminder of its power.

“YOU MUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE.”

“System! Destroy it!” Adonis screamed impatiently.

“…” There was no response.

“It can’t.” I finally spoke up, calmly. “It doesn’t want to risk attacking Liam anymore. It had its only chance with that sneak attack and it failed. Facing me head on… there’s no way it can win easily.”

“I don’t understand. The System… it creates fate… it’s a god!”

“You are the one that doesn’t understand. I know what the System is, Adonis, much better than you do." I took a deep breath.

"After all… I’m a part of it.”

In the silence that followed I heard the soft sound of Liam’s sigh as understanding dawned. My heart beat nervously, but I continued to explain.

“The system couldn’t resurrect Arabella, so it split off some of its own power, a new entity that remained only with a limited connection. It used Adonis’ memories of Arabella as a template, but it could never be exact. From the moment of its creation, the created being would grow and change based on new experiences, meetings… to become something new, beyond the confines of what others wanted.”

“YOU WERE AN ERROR.” The system’s inhuman voice was cold.

“I was the only effective thing you’ve ever done to save the lower realms.” Was my even colder response.

“No… you’re Arabella.” Adonis was stuttering, staring at me with horror.

“You always knew I wasn’t her, Adonis." I sighed. "The only thing I can thank you for was that when the system used your memories of a template, it used data, rather than your perception of her. Rather than a perfect heroine deeply in love with you, it created a young woman with a thirst for adventure and learning… and no romantic interest in you whatsoever.”

The system stepped closer, and Liam’s wings spread out widely, protectively.

“THE DEAL IS INVALID. YOU MUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE.”

“The deal is already done, System. You lost.” I waved my hand, and my power formed into the shape of a sword. It always was my preferred weapon. “If you won’t concede that I won willingly… Then I’ll make you by force.”

As I circled closer, the System stood still, confident. “YOU CANNOT KILL ME. YOU ARE ME!”

I smiled. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

My sword swung, and a limb fell to the ground, disintegrating into blue flame. I held my blade at its neck and it froze.

“I WAS you. But the deals we made changed everything.”

The world around us changed again. The System buzzed with energy, trying to fight it, but I pushed through.

It was time to finish the story.

Liam continued to stand guard, watching Adonis and the System carefully. As my power took over, the world I was showing became clear:

It was me. I was in the villain world, laying on the ground pale and sweating. I was dying.

“After I was created, I only tried to save the lower realms one by one. I refused to listen to Adonis' plans. In his frustration, he tossed me into the villain realm to force me to submit. It was his way of continuing the prototype story. The dragon keeping the princess captive. But Adonis and the System didn’t count on one thing:"

In the vision I showed, Liam in his human form knelt beside me, his expression despairing as he gently wiped the sweat from my forehead. I held his hand, my eyes focused on him and no one else. Adonis stood nearby, ignored by both of us in the memory, watching with a hateful, weary expression.

“I decided I would rather die in the villain realm, die by my husband’s side, rather than submit to the horrible fate you and the System had devised.”

The System in the memory appeared next to human Liam, pushing him aside, and approaching the dying Bel. Liam screamed with fear and rage, trying to return to his dragon form, but was frozen into place half-transformed.

“YOU CANNOT DIE.” The system’s inhuman voice was quiet, but deafening at the same time.

The memory Bel forced a smile. “Better dead and free than trapped by your chains.”

“I CANNOT LET YOU DIE. IT WOULD DESTROY ME, DESTROY EVERYTHING. BUT YOU REFUSE TO LIVE… WE ARE AT AN IMPASSE.”

“Then how about we make a wager?” The weakness in her voice couldn’t hide the determination of her words.

I looked at the System, still held in place at the point of my sword. “So, we made a deal. I would travel the realms, save them, gather the energy from each of the recovered worlds.”

In the memory, blocks of text appeared in front of the dying Bel. She read through the deal with a frown. I watched the vision, shaking my head in frustration.

“The stakes were clear. If I could save enough worlds… could build enough power, separate from the System, I would be able to break free from the ending of this prototype story. To write my own fate. But… if I failed even one… the System would take all the energy I gathered, and I would be forced to submit to the fate designed to me. To be a mindless, soulless heroine, playing her role and nothing else.”

“Foolish.” Adonis was standing, glaring at me with blood shot eyes. Liam growled in response, placing his enormous form between us, but Adonis ignored him, continuing to speak. “You just had to agree to be a heroine, and we could have saved everyone together. Instead, you risked everything, left an unstable universe to try to save it world by world.”

“I chose to remain free. To not enslave these worlds to fate.” The System sensed my distraction and tried to strike, and so I pressed my sword of magic forward, dripping flames from the cut in its shapeless neck.

“The deal was designed for me to fail.” Again the picture around us changed. It was still me, but in many different forms. A student. An assassin. An elf. World after world, flipping faster and faster until it was a visual blur. ��You chose miserable roles for me. I had no memories, no knowledge of the story except what was provided for me. I was alone… or I was supposed to be.”

Another change. Now the System in the memory was talking with Liam. As he watched the memory, Liam beside me shook his head, as if trying to clear it.

“Liam had nothing the system wanted but his status as a villain. If I lost, he would play the perfect villain. No shortcuts, no mercy for the weak…become a puppet for the system. But the system wanted more.”

Text appeared in front of Liam in the memory. As the nature of the deal became clear, the real Liam beside me let out a moan.

“A sacrifice.” His voice was filled with pain, barely audible. “Every lower realm I had saved in the past by playing my role. How many worlds would that be? Countless lives. Innocents.”

“The System would absorb them for energy if we lost.”

“It asked for my soul. Saving those worlds by letting myself be defeated or killed in those realms was all that I could cling to when I was despairing. If I sacrificed them… “ He paused, his dragon eyes showing despair. “It wouldn’t have to brainwash me to become a villain. I would have already taken that step myself.”

“Liam would be given the chance to follow me. His memories wiped each time. He would have no idea who I was or how to help me. He would as always be the villain in the story. A bad deal.” The Liam in the memory agreed, and disappeared. “ I glanced at Liam beside me. “But you took it anyways, desperate to help me, to stay by my side. Even though you would more likely end up a mindless, soulless slave.”

“I would never abandon you, Bel. Not if there was any chance I could help you.”

"You did." I reassured him. "I had nearly given into despair by the time you joined me. You gave me purpose, helped me forward. I would have been lost, along with everything else." I glanced over at Adonis who was shaking in rage.

“Adonis made a deal too, of course, but much different from ours. He wanted to follow, but wanted his memories, wanted to know the full story. The System only allowed him limited access, into a few worlds. It worried that if Adonis followed me everywhere I would be motivated to resist longer, as I had in the higher realms before.”

Adonis in the memory accepted a deal, and disappeared as well. There was only the system left.

“You thought I would give up, or that I would fail to fix a world. I was supposed to accept my fate. Instead, I refused. I resisted. I fixed every single world I went to. I won. Which brought us back to the higher realm.”

“NO.” The system beside me pushed back with all of its power, erasing the memory I had shown around us. I tried my best to shield Liam and I, but as I concentrated on my own dark magic, I heard someone running up behind me.

“You ruined everything!” Adonis had a knife, trying to slash at my back as he drew closer. The System kept attacking, forcing all of my attention on it. I was helpless to stop the attack from the hero.

Fortunately I wasn't alone.

A dragon tail swung out, knocking Adonis a fair distance where he fell to the ground with a crunch. He lay still, his hand grabbing at the hilt of his knife where it protruded from his side after he landed on it.

“How…?” He touched the blood spilling from the wound, shocked.

“You brought it on yourself.” Liam growled. “Also, why is your only response to rejection stabbing? You seriously need better coping mechanisms.”

I laughed, but couldn’t lose focus on the battle at hand. I turned to the system, who had stopped attacking “Now that this story is done, all bets are complete.” I waved a hand, a wave of dark power covering the void around us.

Liam’s eyes blinked, and then cleared, a sense of timelessness within them. He rubbed his head against me. “Bel. You did it.”

I smiled. “Thanks to you.”

Adonis had changed as well. His face was pale, then red with anger, then pale again as he continued to lose blood from his side. “You cheated, System! You promised I would keep my memories! How did…”

“It wasn’t the system, Adonis.” I interrupted. “This last story, us repeating the Higher Realm… it was me. I gained power because I wanted a different ending to OUR story, and this is the ending I chose. Not one with me dying in the villain realm, with Liam and I accepting a terrible deal in a desperate attempt to save one another. A better ending.”

Adonis struggled to his feet, sneering. “So what? THIS is it? Your so-called happy ending? You become a villainess instead of a heroine and get to stay in the villain realm with that monster? Big deal.” He spat on the ground, the spit mixed with blood from the wounds on his mouth. “The System and I will find a real heroine. Not a FAKE one like you. We’ll restart the story, and fate will save us all, with the villain and villainess being destroyed!”

I laughed. A true, villainess cackle. It echoed in the vast emptiness of the Void, seeming to go on for ages.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Who told you my goal was to be the villainess?”

The System began flickering, like a candle going out.

“YOU MUST ACCEPT…”

“My goal was to be the new System.” I swung the sword in my hand, and the already fading system fell to pieces. “To destroy fate itself.”

The last of the blue flames fizzled out with a soft sound. If an inhuman machine-like existence could sigh with relief, I would have sworn that is what I heard. The System was gone.

There was only me left.

Adonis screamed at my actions. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

“I gained enough power in my travels to be fully independent of the System. That is why it feared me. Why it tried to destroy me in the end. But now its gone. As is your foolish fate.”

“Every realm will be destroyed! Without a prototype… without a guide… all of those worlds will be lost!”

“No Adonis.” I stepped closer to him, and he shuddered in fear at the power I wielded, moving backwards. “Those worlds will be free. Some strong, some broken and needing help. But I’d rather spend the rest of my existence helping worlds one by one then ever attempting what you and the System tried to do.”

“It’s impossible to save them all!” He hissed, his voice cracking with pain and terror.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying.” I shrugged, looking over at Liam. “I hope you don’t mind, dear. He’s not wrong when he says it’s an impossible task.”

“Traveling with you to different realms for all eternity? How horrible for me.” Liam laughed. “Now there’s fate I can get behind.”

I turned back to Adonis. “You see… he’s fine with it.”

“I’ll have to make a sling to carry future eggs if we’re always going to be traveling…” Liam muttered to himself. I ignored him, continuing to stare at the former hero.

“So what now, Bel?” He scowled. “Are you going to kill me? Torture me? Your villainous plans don’t scare me!”

“I don’t have to do any of that, Adonis… or should I say Adler?” A villain laugh sounded out again. “You have much to answer for: How many have you killed in your quest to be a ‘hero’? How many have lives have you destroyed in your desire to impose fate on the lower realms?" He shook his head, trying to deny my words, but it was too late.

"Killing you? No. I have a much better ‘fate’ in store for you:” Reaching out, my dark power curled around him, healing his wound from his side and lifting him up in the air

“You will be banished to a lower realm. To live out your days as an insignificant side character.”

His eyes widened with shock. “NO! YOU CAN’T!!!”

“By day, you will remember nothing… but every night, your memories of the higher realms will be returned to you, just enough so you can always live in regret for what you have done.”

“NO!”

I looked at the man I had once thought of as a friend.

“You always told me to accept my fate. Well now, you must accept YOUR fate, Adonis. Goodbye.” My power covered him, and he disappeared, forever.

Only Liam and I were left.

“Soo…” I looked up at the dragon. “No issues with me being a multidimensional being, whose origin comes from a homicidal fate-obsessed system?”

Liam’s serpentine face grinned, and with a brief covering of smoke he turned back into a human. “No problems here!” He reached out and hugged me. “So what now? We travel the lower realms? Save worlds?”

“Yeah, but Liam…”

“So many different weddings to plan…” He rested his chin on the top of my head. “I wonder if we can visit old worlds? I’d love to let the Blood Wolves celebrate with us.”

“I think that could be arranged… Liam…”

“Yes, Bel.” his deep blue eyes shining with joy as they met my own.

“Can you put on clothes, first?”

He looked down at his naked human form, and then back up at me, hugging me tighter. “Sorry, I don’t have extra clothes in the void.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Where did my shy and modest dragon go?”

“He remembers at least four different weddings we’ve had in different worlds.” His smile widened. “Now that we’re finally alone, no spying system, or stalking heroes… I feel like we have very important things to discuss.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Like dragon eggs?”

“Bel!” He gave me a fake shocked expression. “I was going to discuss the weather! But now that you’ve brought it up…”

I laughed again at the evil villain dragon. The villainous minion. The support spouse. My husband the dragon.

“Sure, Liam. Then when we’re ready… we’ll go travel the realms. Visit some old friends. Save some worlds.”

No more heroes.

No more villains.

No more Fate.

Just us.

________________________________

In a lower realm…

“Are you ready?” Adam, his tall form dressed up in a fancy suit, held out a hand towards me. He didn't look too different to how he had seemed in high school, his features more mature, his eyes wiser. The look of brotherly affection hadn't changed at all, however.

“Of course!” I grinned and took his hand, looking at his face. “Are you crying?”

“What? No!” He wiped his eyes quickly. “Just shocked at how much my little sister has grown up! Seems like yesterday you were a goofy highschooler chasing that bozo Jake around."

“You grew up too.” I smiled. “When is Jessica due?”

His expression grew soft. “Just 2 more months. I told her she should take time off, but she likes running the café. Says people watching is her pleasure in life." He glanced back at me. “Speaking of which, are they going to hire a substitute to teach calculus while you’re gone?”

“They’re going to have to. I’m not spending my honeymoon teaching math, that’s for sure.”

“I can’t believe you became a teacher… and a calculus teacher of all things… I thought you hated it.”

“I’m somewhat of an expert on the topic. Plus, I feel the need to spread the… joy… of learning calculus to others.”

“I feel sorry for your students.” he shuddered. "At least you don't spray them."

“Nope, that's only for brother behavior modification.” I laughed out loud, and Adam shook his head at my signature villainess sound.

“Good thing Liam likes your craziness.”

I shrugged. “He wouldn’t have me be any other way.”

We walked forward, stepping up to the beginning of the aisle. I grabbed the white skirt of my wedding gown in one hand, holding Adam’s hand with my other, as the wedding march played.

At the front of the church, Liam, dressed in a suit and looking slightly nervous waited. As I moved towards him, our eyes met. His dark blue eyes, the same in every world, lit up with joy, despite the countless weddings we’ve had before.

Different realms. Different bodies. The same souls. The same love.

Well… not everything was the same.

Wait until he finds out about my surprise. I laughed silently. The egg sling is finally going to be of use.

I took Liam's outstretched hand, and we spoke our vows once more, surrounded by our friends and family of this realm.

Promising to stay by each other’s side.

Forever.

#writing #please fix the story #ending #hope you guys like it #fantasy #magic #dragons #doesn't feel real

126 notes · View notes

lvlyghost · 8 months

Text

In the Midst of War

PAIRINGS: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Shadow!Reader

SUMMARY: Home is no longer where it used to be. Left with no one else you wonder who your friends and foes are.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

TW: blood, angst. Description of wounds. self-doubt. Reader's callsign is Vesper. some background for reader too. medical inaccuracy and poorly written action. future +18 chapters so mdni!

A/N: it's quite embarrassing the amount of time it took me to get this out, but between work and just my personal life it was so hard to find the time to write. i'm excited to see how the next chapters will play out✨remember english is not my first language so corrections are appreciated💕comments and reblogs add years to my lifespan 🌸.

Masterlist✨Masterpost

"𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒏."

The amount of blood coming from your wounds is mortifying. Your body hits the dusty soil beneath you while you try to breathe in as much air as possible. The black hummer you stole from the headquarters refused to keep going, no matter how much you tried to get it to start again. Certainly you'd die out here, in a forgotten highway in the middle of nowhere of a foreign country, where the sky was starting to set on the horizon.

Was this your fate? To die alone in a god-forsaken desert, far from home; simply because you tried to do the right thing?

Blue eyes stare back at you as you try to press one of the wounds on your stomach. The disappointment in Phil's eyes when you confronted him about the whole situation. As much as an asshole he was, he cared for you in his own weird and twisted way.

You were his favorite amongst all of them. And if someone were to ask him about it, you were the closest thing he ever had to a friend.

Your stomach contracts violently fighting a wave of nausea. It won't take long until you pass out from blood loss and exhaustion, your throat constricts when the feeling finally settles in.

Are you crying? A lone tear slides down your right cheek.

"Yep-yep." You choke out dryly. "This is how it ends." A sad ending for a sad life.

From the moment you became a part of the shadow company, you thought you had found a family, something you no longer had back in the states; the old victorian house didn't count. Thought you belonged somewhere at last. Why was it that when something good happened to you couldn't last.

You were damned from the moment you came into this world. The moment of your first breath.

It's the sound of screeching tires behind you that brings you back to consciousness. Eyes barely opening when darkness threatens to consume you, pulling you down to the deep slumber you'd certainly never wake up from. Rocks creak beneath heavy boots approaching. If only you had the strength to reach down for your gun and defend yourself. You cough and more blood splutters out of your mouth, coating your lips and chin. This doesn't seem promising, the voice in your head whispers. The bullets must've hit a vital organ.

A radio crackling you hear, indistinct voices and then a deep voice.

"That her, Price?"

The voice is distorted, a sudden waft of air carries the words away; it's starting to get cold. Is it supposed to be this cold at this time in the south? Even in your dying state another wave of nausea fills your stomach, bile threatens to burn you from inside out.

Seconds later you're being scooped up by an unknown force, almost too big, almost too strong to be real.

This is it.

You try to reach up, to move your arm but it stays the same; why can't you open your eyes anymore? The person that carries you is walking as fast as possible, trying to not worsen the open wounds. Whoever these people are, they know you might not get to see another day.

But sleeping now is what you want to do the most, and at least you wouldn't die alone.

The conversations come and go just as your consciousness. Brain fogged and head heavy. Aching body. You fight when the darkness threatens to swallow you whole; you've endured the worst. You've been through hell and back.

The constant beeping of the machine next to your bed, the tears that spill from your eyes rolling down your cheeks. The soft and warm breeze that comes through the open window, softly moving the curtains. Birds that sing a distant song. It's painful, to even fully open your eyes to take in the surroundings; yet beautiful.

A small cozy country house with vintage furniture. A rocking chair in the far left corner. The painting of a white rose with a golden frame. With a shaky hand you take oxygen mask from your face, breathing is still a challenge, it's as if the bullet wounds on your stomach would reopen if you dared to breathe. The medication is doing wonders nonetheless. Keeping the pain at a minimum. Eyes slide further away from the rocking chair and to the other side of the room.

Pupils widen at the sight of a man leaning against the wall, brown orbs squinting when he realizes you're indeed awake.

He doesn't speak nor move. His strong arms are crossed over his broad chest, face hidden under a black balaclava painted in white on the lower half. Your breath catches in your throat at the terrible realization of who that is.

"You..." voice barely above a whisper. You cough, your dry throat hurts and you notice as he sighs and moves around to help you, a glass of water in hand. Slowly you swallow down feeling the liquid soothe your throat. "Thank you..." it's a low response to which he just gives curt nod and then retreats. "Am I a hostage... of the task force?" The man... you don't want to truly believe it but even you know who it is.

"No such thing, kid. I need to report this." You try to stand up, regretting it instantly, whimpering as the stitches around your abdomen threaten to reopen. The masked soldier hisses and darts forward to —and surprisingly— help you lay back with soft hands. "Stop that. It's not gonna help, you're still healing."

"Why... why do you care?" You ask him, lips pressed into a thin line. You were far from home or anyone you could call family. "Why didn't you just let me die?"

"Laswell would've killed us all if we didn't."

"Kate?" You stammered, dumbfounded.

The man shrugs seemingly annoyed that he has to answer or to even talk.

"Said it was important."

A moment passed where none of you say another word. You have so many questions, but you also have the feeling he won't answer them even if you asked.

"You're him." He gives you a blank stare. "The one they call Ghost."

Unfazed by your statement he turns to exit the room. You hear him walking around the living room, the wooden floor creaks beneath his combat boots, you wish you'd make out what he's saying but his voice is low so you just wait for him to come back. He has to, you think.

Ten minutes later he's entering the room, making it look smaller than it is with his sheer size. A silver tray in his hands.

"Doctors said you must eat." He approaches setting it down. "Sorry about this but let me help you sit down. Put your arms around me yeah?" You can tell by the way the corner of his eyes wrinkle that he's just as disgruntled as you by the whole situation. Lifting your arms you oblige. "One, two..." and the he lifts your upper body, careful enough for you to adjust, checking on you for any signs of discomfort. When you unwrap your arms he pulls back, his heavy hand rests on top of your shoulder for a short moment before he's sure you'll be alright. He places the tray in front of you. Chopped fruit, apple juice and a sandwich. Your mouth waters at the sight.

"Ghost." You try, your voice is barely above a whisper. He halts all of the sudden on his way back to the living room. "I'm sorry. For what was done." And it's true. You never wanted to be a part of all this mess, and in some ways Phil tried to shield you from it, until he couldn't anymore. His favorite. You don't think he'll answer, but when he looks over his shoulder and his gaze bounced from the walls to your eyes he leaves you speechless.

"I'm in disadvantage here." His deep voice echoes across the silent room and reaches your eardrums.

Your heart begins to race and cheeks blush so hard you're mortified he might notice. There's something about his presence...

"Vesper, sir."

"You there, Ghost? That was a big mistake brother... son of a bitch." You hear him curse when you walk past the threshold of the facility. Eyebrows furrowed and a racing heart. You had been off-duty at the mexican special forces base. Sleeping for a good 5 hours before the sound of bullets ricocheting echoed through all the hallways and walls. You rub your eyes with your hand on your pistol as you come outside, it's raining and the first thing you see is Alejandro's unconscious body on the ground. Blinking rapidly you crouch down.

"Is he alright?" You ask, none of your team members answers but rather chuckle and murmur things amongst them, not minding the bodies scattered around the floor; you suck in a sharp breath. "Phil?" You look up from the man to find his blue eyes already fixed on you. "Sir, what's...-"

"Let's get you inside." He grabs you by the arm dragging you back into the hall. Shadows carry Alejandro's body God knows where. He takes you to the main office, locking the door behind him; Phil takes off his combat vest. "Our orders have changed, Vesper." He announces coming close to you. "And I expect you to obey accordingly."

Shaking your head you laugh humorously.

"What does that have to do with Colonel Vargas... and the 141?" Annoyance glints in his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why couldn't you just trust him?

"Soldier, just fucking do as you're told. None of that." He stops you when you're about to say no. "Now go get geared up and wait for my signal. We need to find those bastards first. You're in charge until I get back." When you don't move, frozen in place at what you just heard he barks again. "You're dismissed!"

Blinking you turn on your heels making your way to the dorm and getting dressed, leaving your Captain staring at your back as you leave, sighing long and deep. You hadn't met these guys personally, Graves was the one with direct contact but you knew they were on your side, why were they suddenly the enemies? You dart to your laptop and log in. Fingers typing on the keyboard finding your most trusted contact. If Graves wasn't going to give you the answers you'd personally search them. She's quick to type back and as you chew on your lower lip you read her reply, heart racing and clammy hands ghosting over the keyboard. Swallowing hard you shut it down, grabbing your things you step out, the device that he confided to you feels heavy in your pocket. Your comrades are starting to line up at the entry door, Phil's eyes squint, lips going thin and he asks if everything's alright; it's in that moment that you think you can't recognize the man in front of you.

The rest of the night is quiet, a contrast to what's happening in your mind. Phil did not only have Colonel Vargas under arrest but all of his team. Upon speaking to your contact yet again and gaining more information as the night went by you decided to pay the man a quick visit. One that wouldn't alert the shadows that were left behind, even so you were in charge so it wouldn't raise suspicions if you went to check him.

"Colonel?" Two soft knocks on the metallic door should be sufficient. He doesn't answer at first so you open the small window on it. It's pitch dark inside, safe from the moonlight that shines through the small opening up above.

"What do you want?" His voice is raspy, defensive. You don't blame him.

You take a quick glance to the hallways. No one's around.

"I apologize sir, for all of this. I don't know what's gotten into Graves but...."

He scoffs standing to his full height and slowly but menacingly walking towards the door.

"I won't ask again. Qué chingados quieres?"

Inhaling deeply you shift your weight from one foot to another.

"Not all of us are bad."

His face remains the same, unbothered. He doesn't trust you and you think if you were in his place you'd do the same.

"Then I suggest you to stop talking and do something about it."

Chaos unfolds. A hellish night you would certainly remember. You meet them although from afar. Hiding in the far tower of the compound under Graves' commands.

"Let them fight. But I need you alive, don't engage. Retreat until I get back."

You're certain you would've died on your way to hide. Because he saw you through the shattered window, and you saw him.

A quick glance where the world slowed for a short moment. Maybe he was too occupied shooting the other shadows, you'll never know; but if he hadn't been distracted by the bullets firing his way he would've gone after you. A fight you were bound to lose.

'They're too good' you pondered.

It's not that you weren't you thought you were amazing at your job, but the display of power and force shown by the 141 had made you rethink everything.

Maybe I'm not as good as I believed.

Silence settles once again, birds chirping outside when your Captain comes to find you, motioning for you to follow him. You oblige, adjusting the cap on your head. Phil is furious. Reminds you of a child throwing a tantrum when he didn't get what he wanted.

"I have to be out there Phil." You say, his blue eyes snap to you. "I'm not gonna hide and guide them through a radio." His jaw clenches. He knows you're right. "You stay. And be our eyes."

He hesitates, fingers tapping on the surface of the desk, considering his options; he comes to realize that he doesn't have many. And there's no more time to wait.

"Alright, kid. You go out there and guide the shadows."

Inhaling deeply through your nose you nod your head. As soon as you walk out the door it may be the last time you see each other. Despite his complicated persona he was always someone you looked up to.

Like a big brother.

But not anymore.

"Yep-yep."

With one last look into his eyes you walk outside and tighten the grip on your rifle.

It ends today.

More often than not you found yourself wondering if you had taken the wrong decisions. Both in your personal life and your job.

If I had taken the right turn to go through the shortcut I wouldn't have crashed. If I had studied enough instead of escaping with your boyfriend i would've passed the exam for college. If I had been smart enough I would have made it to the medical school and have a different life. If I had waited enough time mom would've woken up from the coma. If I had been a good daughter, and look after dad he would've been fine. If I had checked on my sister regularly after the tragedy she wouldn't have taken her life.

Life was a series of unfortunate events.

It's a series of what if's.

And the biggest one today was: if I had left sooner maybe I wouldn't be in this position. Hiding behind a concrete wall were bullets flew and hit the soft flesh of my body.

But none of that happened and that's why you're in the midst of war. A war that wasn't yours to begin with yet you'd pay with your life.

You bolted, desperate to find the way out. It was your last chance. A bleeding arm firmly pressed to your body, legs limping, ragged breathing.

And three bullets lodged into your stomach. The truck you readied prior wasn't far but getting shot not only once but thrice had made things more difficult. By the time you open the door your head's spinning and the bullets are whizzing right past you, turning the keys you feel it jerk to life; one last look through the rear view mirror and the chaos that unfolds you say goodbye to your team and to the man who took you under his wing, trained you and gave you a sense of family of belonging. You truly wished it didn't end like this.

But it did.

You hiss when the nurse takes the IV out of your skin. The sting reminds you of all the wounds left to heal. She changes your bandages in silence merely answering questions you ask her here and there.

Ghost, true to his name stays out of your dorm, walking in only when needed. Until you ask him to help you stand.

"I need to go to the bathroom." You explain to which he plainly stares you down, eyes hard. "And I could use some fresh air." He sighs but moves closer, standing next to the bed.

"Just hold onto me. I'll carry you. Don't want to risk your stitches opening up. Nurse won't be coming for a few days." You do as he says, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders; he lifts you with ease as if he was picking up a leaf instead of your body. Mind traveling back in time when the shadows used to tell stories about the SAS lieutenant. A low grunt leaves your chapped lips as he readjusted your body. "You alright?" He asks, face heating up when you realize you're just too close to his face. From your position you can make the blond of his eyelashes and the way the corner of his eyes crinke.

"Yeah." You murmur. Ghost takes one last glance at you before walking towards the bathroom. "Should probably get a shower at some point you know?" He lowers your body with so much care it's astonishing.

"Might as well do it now that you're here. I'll bring you some clothes and wait outside."

He does as he says.

It's difficult to even lift your arms, to stand for five minutes under the hot water, leaning on the cool tile walls you shower as best as you can given your condition. It pains you that outside this place there's nothing no one waiting for you. When you finish, your eyes red and the tears have long dried. You find the clothes neatly folded on the bed. A simple black t-shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants you put on with great effort.

The indistinguishable voice of the man who's been your companion for the last few days filters through the door, muffled and quiet; curiosity wins over. So far you've gotten zero answers regarding your future so you walk to the living room his back is turned to you, hand tightening over the disposable device.

"You better come up with a bloody solution then Price. You know how I feel about babysitting." He snarls

Your heart drops, it's not because of what he said but the feeling that wormed its way to your heart. That's what you've been your whole life: a burden.

"Could've just left me to die then." Ghost tenses when he hears your hard voice behind him. Turning to face you he ends the call, despite the voice of his Captain calling his name.

"Supper's in the kitchen." He brushed off your comment. Part of you wondered if there's even a human behind that horrendous mask.

"I didn't ask for the fucking supper." You snap at him. His eyes widening for a small fraction before he glares daggers at you. "I know what you must think of me, that I'm a poor pathetic shadow girl who needs saving, well I don't. I did not ask for this, don't want your pity."

"I do not pity you, kid."

"Then stop looking at me like that." A delicate finger from your hand pointing at him. "I earned a spot on that team. I am strong, I for once tried to do the right thing and look where it got me. Just put me on the first plane and fly my ass back to the States." It gets harder to breathe you don't know how but you've kept the tears at bay.

"Can't do that." He simply responds

"And that's why?" You demand, raging inside.

He crosses the distance between the two in three long strides, you feel the heat that radiates off of him, you stand your ground nonetheless.

"Because the moment you set foot on American soil they'll arrest you and get you court-martialed for deserting. Does your brain understand that? Bloody fucking hell." He seethes.

There were moments in life when you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders; but hearing the words coming out from his mouth broke the last hopes you had to at least go back to the only place you knew, it didn't matter how painful the memories would be. Ghost's looking at you frantically, waiting for your answer, for you to retaliate. He's eager even, to get some sort of reaction.

Hit him, scream at him, but none of that happens. And then he sees himself in you.

In those eyes.

The spark that he saw the very first day flickered, until it burned away.

Part 2

367 notes · View notes

notjustjavierpena · 11 months

Text

Three Times You Didn’t Kiss Joel - And One Time You Did (Part I)

A/N: Enjoy the beginning of a four chapter fic, where a cute summer romance starts! This is the same universe as Hurried Morning but before! Chapter two and three are just waiting to be posted. See my masterpost for all chapters.

Summary: Joel helps you restore your grandparents' house over the summer. He has big strong arms.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 no smut but mature thoughts (minors DNI), pining, summer romance, DILF Joel, sexual tension, idiots in love

Word count: 2.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47914783/chapters/120803500

Chapter One: Introductions

The house had been empty for a while when you had moved in. The location was good, somewhat quietly charming as the suburbs were, but the house’s neglect called desperately for a loving hand to bring out that charm again, which had been allowed to fade for too long. It wasn’t that the house had been willfully neglected by you, no you had wanted the house for a long time, but the whole scenario of you ending up here had been long and ridiculous: Your older brother had finally, out of the goodness of his heart, offered it to you, but only after a few years of having been in doubt about whether or not to move into it with his family. He had only gotten first say in the fate of the old place, because he was the oldest of the two of you, a thing that he liked to remind you of.

The house was overly suburban, missing only a wisteria bush and a fresh coat of paint, additionally, perhaps, a good amount of effort put into the garden as well. It was going to be a time-consuming summer project, but one that you were excited about because of its potential end result.

The house was all paid off by your grandparents, but after the passing of your grandfather some years ago, your grandmother had felt like the house was too overwhelming to live in all by herself, so she had found some place smaller and left the fight of inheritance to your mother, who had then passed it onto you and your sibling. The fact that you had now won that fight was ironic; you would end up alone in a house that your grandmother found too overwhelming to be alone in.

You step out of your car after parking it in the driveway, walking around its back to open the trunk and start unloading its contents. It is half your latest salary worth of a Home Depot haul.

You head to the garage door, knowing that your grandfather used to have a workbench inside and you need tools to assemble some of the things you have bought, amongst other a stepladder that you hope to build without too much trouble.

Though the lock at the bottom of the garage door is already doing its job of causing trouble, and you curse quietly as you have to put everything onto the ground at your feet to use both hands on it. The lock struggles for a moment but then clicks, and you finally pull up the garage door until you can duck underneath it with ease.

You get a feeling of someone watching you as you drag two buckets of white paint into the garage, following with a new set of brushes and paint rollers.

The feeling grows stronger as you reemerge from the garage and you start to hear muffled voices nearby too, but you ignore it due to how much you have scheduled for today. Additionally, you would admit in all honesty that you would be staring at the single woman neighbor too, if she was struggling with the garage door and making a fool of herself. You push your curiosity away and reach into the car trunk again.

“Hey,” it’s the voice of a teenage girl. You jump and nearly hit your head against the roof of the vehicle, and she chuckles a little in a way to seem cooler than she is, “Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you, but you just looked like you needed a little help and I wanted to offer. Well, my dad told me not to.”

“It’s alright, I’m grown. I can handle myself,” you stand up a little straighter to properly look at the teenager, giving her a smile to reassure her that you’re cool too. She’s around fifteen, kindest eyes you’ve ever seen in a girl her age, a mess of curls and her thumbs tucked into the belt loops on her jeans. She looks shy, but something tells you that she isn’t. You realize that you are staring, then hold out a hand and introduce yourself.

“I just moved in, inherited the place from my grandparents,” you add as the teen shakes your hand.

“I’m Sarah, we live just a house away. There,” she points to a nearby home, where a man is standing against one of the posts on the front porch. He has his arms crossed over his chest but you’re too far away to read his expression. Sarah continues, “Oh, right, that’s my dad. Yikes, that stance makes him look like a jerk.”

“Perhaps a little,” you laugh genuinely and Sarah beams at your approval. She raises her arm and waves her father over, who protests against it at first by waving his arms no, but then capitulates and walks over to you.

“Joel Miller,” he states as he approaches, holds out his hand and you repeat your name, trying to grab his hand for a shake, but it ends up the other way around with the size of his palm. Joel’s hands are huge and rough, calloused in a way that makes you guess that he doesn’t sit in an office all day. He has a firm grip, and you catch yourself watching the way that the muscles of his underarm flex when he holds your hand in what feels like an instant.

He doesn’t notice you staring at all, but you wonder if it’s because he is so used to it; Joel Miller is gorgeous, scruffy and sexy in his washed-out jeans and a simple army green t-shirt. You wish that you had worn something other than your dark blue t-shirt with a Batman logo, but a sundress would not have been practical for assembling stepladders and carrying tools.

“We were wonderin’ when we were gonna see someone move in,” he speaks with a Texan accent. It suits him very well, “I’ve wanted to paint the surface several times last summer, would be a shame to have it crack if you had the opportunity to save it.”

“I could use some help, honestly. My grandma moved somewhere smaller because it was too much work to be alone here,” you run a hand over your hair, brushing a strand behind your ear. Sarah looks from you to her father, and then back to you again.

“Maybe that’s our summer vacation!” She exclaims. Joel turns quickly towards her.

“Sarah, honey,” he warns but she just continues without a hint of hesitation, sporting childlike enthusiasm and innocence.

“But you said that we needed something to do together this summer, and we couldn’t afford a trip somewhere,” she reasons excitedly, “This is perfect. Very movie-esque, you know.”

“But it’s not our house,” Joel adds, smiles at you apologetically and makes your pulse spike.

“But she says she needs help,” she doesn’t let it go. It’s sort of sweet, “Come ooon, dad.”

“I do actually need help,” you back her up.

“You don’t have a boyfriend who knows how to swing a paint brush? Or who you’ll hurt by not letting him do the heavy lifting?” Joel asks casually. Sarah scrunches up her nose beside him.

“Nope, no boyfriend with a masculinity complex,” your cheeks blush a little as Joel chuckles, hidden by a smile as you shake your head no. You wish you did have a guy in your life, but right now only so you could see if there’d be any detectable disappointment on Joel’s face when you said yes.

Joel reaches up to scratch his beard. He looks like he is weighing the pros and cons, but a part of him also drags out the anticipation to tease his kid. He smirks, “Fine then, but you better be up early every day for a day’s hard work, Sarah Miller.”

“Oh, he used your whole name. You’re in trouble now,” you point out with a grin. Joel eyes you from beside you.

“Yes! Better than summer camp,” Sarah removes her fingers from the belt loops of her jeans to grab her father’s arm and press her forehead against it, “Thank you.”

“You’ve never been to summer camp,” Joel rolls his eyes but wraps an arm around his daughter.

“I sleep in though, so don’t come knocking at eight in the morning,” you point out.

“Dad sleeps in too, don’t worry,” Sarah keeps going.

“Sarah, what’s wrong with you?” Joel is the one who looks embarrassed now. He pushes her gently away, “Go back home, kid. Let the grown-ups sort out the details. You can call for pizza, yeah?”

“Ugh,” you hear her say to her father but she gives you a sweet smile, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Sarah,” you reply but she’s already walking away with her back towards you. Joel, on the other hand, doesn’t move from his spot in front of you, suddenly stuffing his hands in his pockets and almost entirely mirroring Sarah’s stance from moments before.

“Tell me what you need help with?” It’s meant more as a question or a suggestion than a command.

“Right,” you wonder how long you have been staring at his mouth. It’s been a while since you’ve been kissed, so you allow yourself the fantasy of Joel Miller being interested in kissing you. His beard tells you that it’s been a day too many since he would normally trim it, and you can almost imagine the feeling of the hairs tickling your chin and jaw as he kisses your mouth and neck—

Stop.

“Well, I have some work to do on the house facade,” you blurt out after the silence has gone on for too long.

“Clearly,” Joel nods in acknowledgement, crossing his arms over his chest and spreading his legs a little where he is standing. Like this, he looks like he is a good listener, “I should see if I can find some cheap but good wood protection, looks like it’s going to be more expensive in the long run if it doesn’t get some kind of coat.”

“That’s so nice of you,” you give him a soft smile. It is confirmed then; the man is clearly not the office-type with how he talks about restoring the construction of the house to its peak.

He goes on: “Don’t worry about it, yeah? I’m sure you can pay me with hot dinners for Sarah and I or something. I can do this, the work on the house, but I’m terrible at getting her to eat other things than takeout with my normal schedule.”

Suddenly very open. Interesting.

“I wouldn’t mind that, no. It’s going to be a lot of dinners though. I have a whole lot of ideas,” you reply, still trying to not drop your gaze to his mouth again as he talks, “Garden needs to be weeded out, replanted, lawn mowed— oh, you don’t have a lawnmower, do you?”

“Sure do,” he answers, nodding towards his house, “I can get it. You need help with that now?”

You blame the Texan sun for how breathless you feel as you have time to really look at him. He has his hands on the handle of his old lawnmower, gripping firmly to the point of unintentionally showing off his biceps in the form-fitted shirt that he wears as he pushes the lawnmower around the wild grass.

You are sitting on the back porch, legs crossed with a screwdriver in hand and the instructions to the, by now, stupid stepladder. You’re more creative than practical, and it shows in the way that you tighten one screw but the stepladder still wobbles as you test it out.

Frantically, you go through the instruction manual front to back and then back to front until you accidentally rip the thin paper, but you don’t feel any smarter about what you are doing. You throw the screwdriver onto the wooden boards beneath you, fighting the urge to scrape a bad word into the grayish wood.

You lean back on your arms and close your eyes almost all the way, soothing yourself by taking in the sun and letting yourself look at Joel work without him noticing too much. Your eyes travel down his frame, looking at the jeans that have green patches around the base of the legs before going upwards again. You try to convince yourself that looking at his clothes makes up for how you’re ogling him now.

Subconsciously, you stretch out your legs from underneath you, then cross one leg over the other and lean further back on your elbows instead. Joel’s knuckles are slightly white from gripping the lawnmower and his t-shirt has started to form a patch of sweat at the base of his spine, supposedly caused by sweat dripping from the back of his neck because the hair there is damp. You curl your toes a little, press your thighs together. You want to know how strong those hands are, how they work at his daytime job, which you guess by now has to do with construction work. It feels wrong to think these things, but you allow them as long as they don’t leave your head.

You close your eyes fully then, not needing to feel even more warmth prickle at your skin, radiating from your core instead of being caused by the sun. You lay like this until the lawnmower stops.

“Woah, what happened here?” Joel walks over and looks down at you and then to the crime scene you’ve left open on the back porch flooring. You stare at him with a sheepish expression on your face as he shields the sun from you with his body.

“It didn’t want to do it the way that I wanted,” you simply say.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he jokes and shifts where he stands until the sun hits your eyes again. You grin up at him, holding a hand over your eyes to not be forced to close them and miss how he looks as he smiles back.

“Thanks by the way,” you add a moment later, “I’m honestly happy that I don’t have to do it myself.”

“Yeah, no problem… Look, I’m gonna go back to Sarah, have a shower, then the pizza that’s probably cold by now,” he lingers for a moment before starting to move.

“Sorry about the pizza,” you say and start to get up again, leaving behind the mess of screws, ripped pages and stupid tools.

“All good, I think Sarah will forgive me. She likes you,” he waves back at you as he leaves. You wave after him too, something feeling like it’s about to implode inside of your stomach and you know what it is. It is butterflies. It is the beginning of a crush.

In the morning, you find the stepladder assembled to perfection on your back porch.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us #joel miller x you #my writing #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dilf!joel

361 notes · View notes

asimplearchivist · 5 months

Text

‘ 𝓪 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ jake struggled to decide whether you were a blessing or a curse to the system—his personal feelings about you didn’t matter. they never had. ⤏ until they suddenly did, that is. ⤏ now he had to fix the mess he caused before he ruined everything for the two he’s trying to protect most as well as you. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader | marc spector/reader | jake lockley/reader word count ☾ 15.6k a/n ☽ ⤏ this chapter was certainly a challenge to write! I have such a particular interpretation of jake in my head influenced by such lovely headcanons and fanfics in the mk community that I had a bit of stage-fright trying to portray him with justice to my vision of him. having very little on-screen material from which to go off of certainly doesn’t help—steven and marc’s voices are so clear to me, but jake’s is a little more subtle and stepping out to develop it on my own was a little nerve-wracking because I wanted so badly to do him justice! ⤏ I also apologize that this chapter came late—I had a busy weekend on top of homework and I was wrestling with jake’s characterization. but here he is, now! let me know if y’all like how I wrote him! :) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ☽

The first time Steven had met you, it had been strictly by happenstance.

The first time Marc had met you, officially, it had been an accident.

The first time Jake met you, it was an inevitability.

Steven and Marc were wrapped around each of your pinky fingers. Completely enamored with you. Nearly worshiped the ground that you walked on. You had lodged yourself inextricably into their gravitational pull, orbiting them as though you’d always been fixed to their collective side—present almost as often as Jake was.

Jake found it inconvenient at best. Dangerous at worst.

Because despite his near slip-up, fumbling just a bit at the suddenness of stepping in that fateful night Marc had decided to swoop in and rescue you (not that you’d really needed rescuing—you were owed credit for holding your own better than most women with whom they’d ever interacted in such scenarios), the two had not been particularly watchful for him.

Sure, they discussed it more—never around you, of course, worried that you would worry about their unease, being unable to properly identify the source of their combined blackouts. The outlier. But they were doing little else than that, and Jake had almost been concerned about them trying to draw him out by force. Biding their time, maybe. But that was fine—Jake was patient. He waited them out every other time he slipped to the front while they were unaware, save during emergencies, and this would be no different—eventually they’d drop their guard, start to doubt their suspicions, and put the idea to the back of their mind where he dwelt and he could comfortably resume his work.

…That was, provided you were removed from the equation altogether.

London loomed in the height of winter, several months later. They had gotten over themselves long enough to enter full and individual romantic relationships with you, and Jake had to admit that he had never felt either of them as happy as they were around you. Marc had loved Layla dearly, still did, and Jake knew she had been integral to keeping him steady and for some of his healing—but you were different. You were an unknown variable, and yet Marc was putting in his every effort to make it work, not looking to repeat his past mistakes in order to ensure your mutual and assured trust: you knowing the brutal nature of Marc’s past and Marc entrusting you with the intimate knowledge of it.

It had taken time, of course (an excruciatingly long period of it, in fact), but you hadn’t flinched once even when he’d told you of the blood staining his hands, both innocent and villainous, during his time as a soldier and mercenary. You had stayed, hadn’t run, hadn’t treated him like the killer he’d always convinced himself that he was. Marc had been relieved.

Jake had only grown frustrated. The situation was rapidly getting out of hand.

Because Steven’s infatuation with you was one thing. He’d had a few crushes here and there, had been laboring in the dating scene for weeks by the time Marc had inadvertently revealed himself to his alter, and Jake had even tried to help the pobrecito* catch a break once. (Jake couldn’t lie—he’d almost hoped that he could’ve caught a break, too, since Marc had left Layla high and dry and Jake had been pent up with all the mounting stress Marc had only been internalizing instead of dealing with in a somewhat healthy manner—but Steven had deserved to be doted on by a pretty woman at least once in his oblivious, lonely life, and Dylan the tour guide was a very pretty woman.) Steven was a romantic at heart, had sought a meaningful relationship more than anything for the longest, so it was to be expected that he’d eventually fall in with some unwitting little thing ignorant to the myriad problems riddling the inner depths of his psyche—that, Jake could have dealt with, hypothetically, if things had escalated to that point. A quick misunderstanding carefully orchestrated leading to a break-up would have been a simple solution, and while it would have hurt Steven greatly for a while, it would have been ultimately necessary for both the long-term safety of the system and for the security of Jake’s continued, secretive role as Khonshu’s fantoche*.

But Marc getting involved threw an entirely new wrench into the gears of Jake’s plans. Because Marc Spector operated in black or white. All or nothing. Always had and always would. Either he didn’t trust you as far as he could throw you or he’d carry you through the depths of hell barefooted on red-hot coals and have the nerve to apologize to you for stumbling on his bleeding blisters.

Marc’s trust came two-fold, also, now that he was in full cohesion with Steven—he still didn’t readily trust anyone, but if Steven did? He was sold soon after just on the principle of the matter. Steven’s judgment of character was, admittedly, as keen as any telepath’s, despite his naïveté and optimism—and Marc trusted Steven more than he trusted anyone else in the world. Even Layla. Even you.

Even Jake, though it had been entirely subconscious up until very recently.

Because he’d fought Jake the last time he’d forced himself to the front to save his life (and yours, by extension, loathe as Jake was to admit it), whereas before Jake had always managed to blindside him. It was a close call—one that Jake could not afford to make again.

And it would be so much fucking easier if you weren’t around so damn often.

Any bit of spare time the boys had that happened to coincide with yours, they were trying to see you: from snack breaks between your classes or on your shared lunch breaks to movie nights featuring home cooked meals and set tables and lit candles because you were just as much of a romantic as Steven was (God help them). You dried one bloom from every bouquet of flowers they ever brought you, keeping them all in a pitcher you used as a centerpiece more than once. You had even started packing them lunches, for Christ’s sake, with plentiful options that either Steven or Marc would enjoy depending on who ended up fronting. Even when either (or both) of you were too tired to go out on the town for a date (which happened so often Jake wondered how Marc hadn’t depleted his bank account already), the long evenings you weren’t obligated to work or study were spent cuddled up on the couch in your apartment or theirs, oblivious to the outside world as you indulged in each other’s company.

The winter brought worsening weather with it, which meant that you were spending more time at home with them. You’d even started spending the night, which was treading on Jake’s very last nerve—his one assured bastion of being able to take the body surreptitiously without Marc or Steven realizing it was put into jeopardy because while you were a heavy sleeper (almost like a fucking corpse, really—he’d had to check to make sure you were even breathing, once), you hadn’t yet gotten used to sharing a bed with someone, which resulted in you rousing slightly any time the body so much as shifted. Marc still had night terrors occasionally, and you’d never fail to comfort him back to sleep, even at the cost of your own rest.

Jake should be thankful, really, if he thought about it for too long. Marc had managed to keep sober long before he met you, but his cravings had dissipated almost entirely since you’d gently steered him towards sodas instead of beer—meaning no more black-out drunk episodes from which Jake had to nurse the body back from the brink. The body rested better with you there to anchor their unsteady mind at the times it decided to bring back the bad memories. You were feeding them better than they’d eaten since living with Layla, hearty and savory dishes that had packed a few pounds onto their lean frame, helping to negate Marc and Steven’s combined forgetfulness towards even the most basic practices of self-care. You had even started buying them groceries in thanks for the dinners they bought you, keeping their fridge and cabinets full and their personal products stocked up throughout the apartment.

You were doing the brunt of his job for him—making sure the body was taken care of and that neither of them spiraled nor regressed. He should be happy that he didn’t have to pull so much weight anymore, that he got to kick back and relax.

So why did it all piss him off so damn much?

You were pretty, he supposed. Not the most stunning bird he’d ever seen, but you were a decent pull on Steven’s part. You got along with the little nerd, and you got along with Marc—which was a feat in and of itself. You had an incredibly dry sense of humor on top of a quick tongue that drew inadvertent chuckles from even the surliest of Marc’s moods. You kept up with Steven’s intellect effortlessly, and the pair of you could talk hours upon hours on the most mundane of topics—oftentimes earning a scolding from Marc whenever the conversation would carry on past midnight (which would only make you both giggle and apologize sheepishly and rarely actually curbed your shared enthusiasm). You mediated their occasional disagreements with utmost diplomacy, always playing devil’s advocate even on their most childish of squabbles, never played favorites even when they’d playfully compete for your affections—you stood resolute in your stance of loving them equally in their own unique relationships with you.

You made them completely, perfectly, incandescently happy. That should have been enough.

It wasn’t.

Because Jake was getting…distracted.

He’d always been strictly about business—the sole reason he existed. He protected the body, no matter the cost. Now he had Khonshu to answer to, and that was difficult enough, trying to balance enough time at night to do the old bird’s bidding while Marc and Steven slept—blissfully unaware thanks to Jake’s skill in repressing them both to the work he’d been doing the last several months trying to cull out the vestiges of Harrow’s cult.

Because of course that bastard hadn’t taken all his people with him to Cairo to hunt for Ammit’s tomb. Of course he’d left pockets of his followers scattered all over London—assured by his own success, he’d planted them there in order to divide and conquer the city once he’d freed Ammit. And of course they had to be skilled enough at hiding to require him to painstakingly construct an elaborate underground network of people keeping their ears to the ground for any signs. That’s what was taking so long to eradicate them all, and it irritated Khonshu to no end, having to sit and wait when he constantly hounded Jake to ‘execute his justice’. Jake was patient. The god of the moon was most certainly not.

Now add the stress of keeping you unaware of his goings-on? With your infuriatingly saccharine smile and fawn-like fluttering lashes and easy affection that haunted the back of his mind when he did find precious little time to front? He could hardly concentrate on prowling the streets anymore when your detergent of choice had wormed its way into the clothes he kept packed away in the back of Marc’s closet, well away from view (because you even did their laundry for them sometimes when Steven ended up working late on inventory—like a little housewife or something), the scent trapped under Khonshu’s armor nearly smothering him.

Jake knew, deep down though he’d done his best to ignore it, that his ruse would come to a head eventually—Marc was keen on his interiority now that he was no longer in denial of his issues; and Steven was, too, since Marc had let him in on all of it. Jake just didn’t anticipate having to deal with you and your unnervingly observant perception on top of it.

Ultimately it was of little surprise that the scouts for the rest of Harrow’s carroñeros* had put a flag on you, since Jake’s alters spent so much time with you in plain public view. At the very least, it had allowed for that one slippery bastard to finally be put away after somehow surviving Jake’s wrath with him ever having realized it, even if it had put you in danger. The hijo de puta* had played a calculated risk to come after you, trying to cover it up as a robbery rather than a hit to get back at the spectre picking them all off one by one—one that hadn’t paid off in the slightest. He was lucky that Jake hadn’t had the time nor privacy to do exactly what he’d wanted to—a fractured temple via blunt force trauma, hopefully with an added concussion, would have to suffice for the time being. He’d better pray that he wasn’t released anytime soon.

Especially since he’d had the audacity and the gall (and the balls) to target you. Jake wasn’t cruel enough to wish you any harm, don’t get him wrong. You hadn’t done anything wrong, necessarily, just…frustrated him to no end. They were lucky that you’d had the foresight to text them, or else that would’ve been the last that Marc or Steven would’ve ever seen of you.

Jake knew that would only have resulted in disaster.

You had crossed over the threshold of being a danger to the system to being a necessity for their safety and sanity—because if something happened to you now, Jake doubted sincerely that he would ever be able to pick up the pieces of Marc or Steven’s hearts and minds. And so Jake was forced to resolve himself to add one more individual to his list. For the betterment of the system.

Joder, pues claro.*

…It wasn’t as if he didn’t like you. He had to admit that much to himself, at least. You were pleasant enough to be around. You did tell good jokes, well thought out ones that made Jake have to think about them a little while before he got them. He appreciated how rational you were about things, rarely letting your emotions impact otherwise simple miscommunications or misunderstandings over which most women would have a conniption, choosing to talk out your problems while also being honest about how you felt rather than giving them the silent treatment or some shit—it was a necessary balance to Marc’s precarious internalizations of his own complicated feelings and his ever-present struggles to express them in a concise and healthy manner. Jake didn’t mind listening in on your tangents all that much, even if the topics didn’t interest him in the slightest—your passion and thought process kept him hooked enough, as did the dimples bordering your smile and the creases crinkling the corners of your glittering eyes. You were a damn good cook, to boot—Jake had snuck your leftovers on those late nights more often than he’d ever readily admit out loud. Neither still were you hard on the eyes.

So…yeah. If Jake found himself co-fronting, lingering in the back of the headspace well away from Marc and Steven’s reach, as Marc watched you gape at the street performer juggling flaming swords while balancing on a unicycle…that was between him and the soft smile tugging at the corners of their host’s mouth that Jake would likely have reflected despite himself.

The early evening had plunged the city into a nose-numbing one—but you’d been itching to revel in the cold, misty air and to venture out into London’s brimming nightlife with the bolstering safety you’d confessed to feeling while in their presence. The entire plaza was thrumming with music and noise and laughter, light and fire mixing to highlight the angles, curves, and planes of your disbelieving face. You were bundled up to the nines to fight the cold, still unaccustomed to the weather in contrast to the south US’ comparatively mild winters, but you refused to tuck one hand into your pocket in favor of clasping Marc’s firmly. Seated on a bench wedged so closely together that even Jake could feel the tremors in your limbs, you remained glued to his side as though to sap the warmth from the body—evidently, it wasn’t working, because you let out a shuddering breath as your teeth chattered when the performer paused to take a break. Another stepped up to take his place, and the loosely gathered crowd clapped to welcome him.

“You’re going to freeze if you don’t let me take you home,” Marc rumbled into your ear, covered by the toboggan he’d insisted you wear to spare yourself from frostbite.

“Just a little longer, honey?” you pleaded, turning your head to gaze up at him with those infuriatingly fawn-like eyes. “It’s supposed to ice over tonight and I just know I’m going to get cabin fever tomorrow.”

Marc huffed out a wry chuckle, unthreading your fingers to coil his arm around your shoulders and to tug you closer, keeping his mouth tucked close to your ear. “You’re a homebody, baby. I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble staying inside cuddled up with us for the weekend than you normally do.”

You pouted at him playfully, jutting out your bottom lip, and Marc’s gaze was fixed on it until you smoothed your expression. “All right,” you bemoaned, tilting your head away in faux dejection, “I suppose I’ll allow you to coop me up for the next couple of days…” You fluttered your lashes at him. “...as long as you promise to keep me warm, that is. Won’t you, honey?”

“As if you even had to ask.” Marc dipped his head to skim his brow against yours, peering directly into your eyes. “But that’ll require thawing you out first. It’s not getting any warmer.”

“I can think of a few ways to solve that,” you murmured, half-lidded, and slanted your mouth over his—the breath’s breadth between your lips and his was quickly stolen by Marc with a low, knowing chuckle.

Jake rolled his eyes. Metaphorically, of course. He’d even facepalm if he could. You two were hopeless—and he’d thought Steven had it bad.

Can it, Casanova, remarked the Brit as though summoned by Jake’s internal musing, she’s still shakin’.

“I know, I know,” Marc mumbled, pulling away and shaking his head at your amused expression. It had taken a while for both of them to get comfortable enough to vocalize their seemingly one-sided conversations around you, but you treated it as normally as if you could hear the third party, too. Marc patted your hip and stood, grumbling under his breath at the stiffness of his muscles, courtesy of Jake’s last bloody brawl a few nights prior—unbeknownst to either of his alters, of course. “Come on, I bought hot chocolate. We’ll start with that, and then a hot shower.”

You gasped in delight, lurching up to your feet and latching onto his hand once more. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?” you demanded, tugging eagerly at his arm toward the direction of the bus stop. “You could’ve gotten me home hours ago!”

“I wasn’t going to stop you from enjoying all this,” Marc returned, allowing you to guide him in the wrong direction only to see the excited sway of your hips. His eyes cut over the plaza on reflex, but locked onto a couple of guys lingering near the fountain that started to move in the same direction at the same time. His brow furrowed. “Let’s take a shortcut—don’t want to miss the bus.”

He folded your hand over the crook of his arm instead, winding his way through the crowd in an attempt to lose his tail. Jake could feel Marc’s mind crowding with alarm—who they could be, what they would be doing, which group he had once pissed off that now had decided to try to ruin his night—and he edged just a touch closer to the front to peer through Marc’s periphery.

Ah, yes. The bastard with the scar that had come after you had a handful of lackeys, and these cabrónes* were two of them. Twins, big and ginger and mean as hell. Marc was none the wiser to the reason why they were after the body, however—no recognition passed through his racing thoughts—and Jake inwardly cursed.

Steven noticed Marc’s growing apprehension, likewise. What’s wrong, Marc?

“Nothing,” he muttered, causing you to glance up at him questioningly.

“Everything okay?” you asked quietly, glancing around the thinning people as Marc herded you towards the end of the plaza where it was quiet and dark. He ushered you into a narrow alleyway that broke out onto the main street, and while your brow was furrowed, you followed him without resistance. “We haven’t gone this way before.”

“We’re being followed,” he muttered to you, glancing over his shoulder towards the retreating lights. “Remember what I’ve told you?”

Your expression morphed from shock to grave in an instant. It was a discussion Marc had reiterated multiple times—being in a relationship with a wanted man always entailed a certain amount of danger, and Marc had hammered emergency protocol into your head in the event that something like this ever happened. He had hoped that it wouldn’t, for your sake, and the fact that you were schooling any signs of fear in all but your eyes only reinforced the reason why Jake hadn’t wanted you involved at all in the first place.

Jake pressed in closer. Marc’s ears were straining in lieu of ample light, eyes trained on the end of the alleyway—which became shadowed as another pair of silhouettes hemmed the both of you in.

Marc, Steven breathed, tone tight with worry, what now?

“Fuck,” Marc hissed, jerking you against his chest. He whipped around to dart back out from whence you’d come, but the twins had caught up. Heart pounding, he cupped a hand around your head and whispered urgently, “I’m going to take these guys down first so you can run back to the plaza where it’s lit and there’s other people. Call the cops and stick with a group and do not go anywhere by yourself, all right? Not until I come get you.”

Your hands were vices around the collar of his jacket, eyes shining in the dim. Your voice quivered. “Marc, I am not leaving you here alone.”

His fingers tightened around your shoulders. Their footsteps were picking up in speed from both directions, echoing off the dampened brick. “We talked about this—you promised you’d listen to me,” he growled. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Us. We’ve faced worse odds.”

“What if—” you started, but didn’t have enough time to finish.

Marc shoved you behind him as the first giant reached out with mitts for hands towards you. Marc latched onto the bulky limb, twisting his wrist and pinning him onto the concrete in seconds. He pressed and jerked and the unfortunate soul’s arm popped out of place—a wet, skin-crawling pop that resonated far more loudly off the narrow walls than it should have. The man cried out in pain.

“Marc!” you gasped.

Jake leaned in as Marc took a blow to the side of the head—the other twin’s paw clapped against his ear and sent him careening into the wall, discombobulated as his hearing rang like a siren. His shaken equilibrium buckled his knees, but he pushed himself upright to land a series of resounding punches along the brute’s side and back, targeting the sensitive places sure to bruise at the very least. The ribs gave under the combination of Marc’s strength and expertise, and like a tree the second twin was felled with a well-timed hook to the chin.

“Go!” Marc snapped over the ringing in his ears, hooking a hand around your waist and shoving you in the direction of the exit between the two groaning gingers. “Get out of here!”

You turned back to look at him, utterly terrified. “But—!”

“Damn it, baby, please just—”

The latter pair of cultists didn’t give him as ample a warning as the former—and they were smart enough to pull the guns from their holsters rather than rely on their hands. The shot flashed like lightning, muffled by its silencer.

Marc staggered back, the burning in his side stealing the breath from his lungs. The tinnitus increased twofold, to the point that your startled shout was drowned out entirely. The pounding of their pulse roared in their ears, and Jake thought he heard Steven hollering over the din trapped in their head.

Marc’s control slipped in his shock and pain. Steven grappled for it in terror wholly driven to protect you. Jake seized the opportunity and yanked them both back into the headspace to block them off as he lunged forward—so suddenly that the body folded in half from the strain. His knees buckled and his shoulder struck the brick, jarring him.

“This is the guy that’s been giving us so much trouble?” gloated one of them. “All it takes is one bullet?”

“We’ve shot this one more than a dozen times and it’s never stopped him before,” the other said warily. “Where’s all that get-up?”

Jake muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes and concentrated.

“What’s that?” crooned the fool, gesturing lackadaisically towards him with the smoldering muzzle. “Have something to say before we rid the world of your chaos, asshole?”

“Sí.” The avatar raised his head, glowing eyes casting his assailants' suddenly wan, fallen countenances in a spectral hue. “Dije,” he growled as the familiar ragged bandages coiled around his limbs while he straightened to his full height, “te vas a arrepentir, pendejos.*”

The bullet clinked against the damp asphalt as he was fully enveloped in the armor.

“Ah, shit,” they said in unison.

The shock on their faces precluded the terror that followed his swift movement. The crescents whistled as he slung them in their direction—the cocky one caught it in the throat, plunging through his jugular. Blood splattered in a wide arc against the ground as he fell. The cautious one managed to tumble to the side to avoid it, however—just barely.

A heavy hand grabbed his padded shoulder and whirled Jake around—only to be struck across the temple with an errant piece of pipe. Mierda. The twins were back up on their feet, tag-teaming to make up for their missing mobility.

Jake jerked his head back to avoid another swing, summoning a truncheon from the small of his back and shattered the first’s wrist with a well-timed parry. Two more strikes upon the man’s solar plexus and skull sent him crumpling to the ground, totally unconscious at the very least. Two to go.

He didn’t have time to pause. The gunman fired thrice at his back, but the slugs passed right through him. Jake exchanged blows with the twin for a moment, finally propelling himself off the brick wall and swinging over the expanse of his mountainous shoulders to lock and twist his neck between his knees and bring the behemoth crashing down face-first. He didn’t move again even as Jake leapt back to his feet and pitched another array of darts at the gunman’s retreating back. Sliced flesh, a gurgled curse, and the clatter of metal preceded the heavy tumble of his body.

Jake stalked further into the shadows, tucking the truncheon back into its holster and flexing his fists. He grabbed the collar of the gunman’s jacket and hoisted him upright, pinning him to the wall with his forearm against his throat. Blood dribbled from the corners of the man’s mouth onto the woven gauntlet.

“Tell me where the rest of your amigos* are and I’ll consider letting you go,” he growled.

“Funny,” the man spat viciously onto Jake’s mask near his shielded eyes, “how you think I’ll talk after you murdered them!”

“Just like you attacked a bunch of innocent kids, yeah?” Jake snarled. “Said their scales wouldn’t balance just ‘cause they were picking on someone else? Even though your fucking goddess is dead and you don’t even have the power to read a single palm? Child murder isn’t going to get you where you’re wanting to end up, pendejo, and a little bullying isn’t enough to condone ritual execution!”

The gunman roared and tried to grapple with him, but Jake only pinned his wrists into the mortar with a dart over his head before jabbing him in the ribs. He only noticed the panic button clasped between his fingers once the indicator began to blink a rapid crimson.

“Mierda,” Jake hissed, clocking his elbow across the bastard’s face and snatching the device once he slumped over. He dropped and smashed it with his heel, grinding it into bits.

“...Baby?”

Jake stiffened, head whipping towards the sound of your small voice. You had cowered against the wall, plunged mostly in shadow, but your hunched shoulders and quick breaths fogging against the shafts of light that the street lamp at his back cast tipped off your apprehension. He didn’t have time to react, save to open his mouth, before the distant squeal of brakes, the heavy slam of vehicle doors, shouting, and rapid footsteps at the far end of the alley interrupted him.

He marched over to you, the armor receding with every step. He glimpsed your eyes in the dark, round and anxious, even as he gripped your arm and tugged you in the opposite direction. “Come on,” he muttered gruffly. “Better scram.”

“What’s wrong?” you breathed instead, resisting him. You were sturdy, he had to give you that, even as the heels of your boots skidded against the rain-slickened pavement.

“Other than having a bunch of madmen with guns on our tails? Nothing at all.” He pulled a bit more forcefully this time. “Let’s go.”

Your protesting noise was drowned out by an ear-ringing report of a gun, and the air near Jake’s ear whistled with the near miss of a bullet. It ricocheted off the brick and had mortar showering the ground.

“Por el amor de Dios,” Jake hissed. “Corres, chaparrita!*”

He pulled you along behind him into a full sprint. The pair of you broke out of the alley towards the crowded plaza once more. You stumbled a couple of times on the uneven concrete due to the awkward mobility afforded by Jake’s unforgiving grip on your wrist, but he was not going to let you go for fear of you falling behind and getting snatched or worse. His scowl and speed drew bemused glances from the bystanders, but their expressions morphed into shock when their eyes passed over his shoulders.

So the bastards were pissed (or desperate) enough to give chase in broad moonlight. They had balls, he had to give them that—and while it made them stupid, it didn’t make them any less dangerous.

He headed towards the far side where the plaza merged onto the main road littered with vendors on the broad sidewalks. People buzzed along the blocked off street—for the entire event would last all weekend and force all the normal goers to circumnavigate the grounds—in tight throngs, along which he had no doubt he could lose the zealots. The tactic has served him well countless times before—and not just in London, or while under Khonshu’s directive. Merging and camouflaging with oblivious civilians and letting one’s hunters pass one by altogether often worked better than trying to outrun them or to hide outright.

The gateway was narrow, and Jake shoved a man twice his size out of his way to hook a sharp left. The man’s curses were drowned out by your profuse, breathless apologies, and Jake growled out a tense, “Callate!*” before narrowly dodging a street lamp since he’d cast a glare over his shoulder at you.

People’s attention only grew as the street funneled into a narrow crosswalk connecting to a broader street. Jake hooked a right that time, darting past families and couples as he went. You were keeping up with him surprisingly well, but your panting was getting too loud—your stamina would give out soon. He had to figure out a way to blend the both of you in without drawing attention so the zealots would go on and he could double back to lose them completely.

Another right at the end of the block revealed another market street, though the middle was undulating with dancing couples as a busking band was playing a lively, energetic tune.

“Mierda,” he growled, “las cosas que hago por vosotros, hermanos.*”

Jake hauled you to a brisk walk instead, melting into the ring of onlookers clapping along with raucous chatter and laughter. They would provide good enough cover, but Jake knew he could show neither of your faces or else the ruse would be for naught. That necessitated unbearably close proximity with the bane of his existence for the last few months—and you had clocked him instantly. It wouldn’t fly for long.

Jake broke through the wall of people nearest the booths, thankful for the partial shadow that would aid to your obscurement. He hastily tugged the collar of Marc’s jacket up, ruffled his fingers through their hair to conceal the majority of their upper features, and hooked an arm around the middle of your back to tug you against his chest. You scarcely caught yourself on his shoulders to keep your nose from bashing into his sternum. With his free hand he pulled the toboggan from your head and stuffed it into your pocket before tugging the back of your scarf up the back of your head and over your forehead, overlapping the tails to cover your chin and mouth—which opened as your brows furrowed in protest.

Jake ducked his head, pressing his lips against your covered ear. “If you want to live long enough to see the end of the night,” he hissed, hands slipping to your waist and beginning to sway you in time with the music, “you’ll do exactly as I do. Me entiendes?*”

You pursed your lips, but the indignant flare behind your eyes didn’t flicker once—even as exclamations of shock caught his attention. Jake pulled you further back into the shadows, but to his luck a couple of other dancers swung between the pair of you and the zealots squinting down the street for any sign.

Jake began to match the others’ movements to appear more natural, the quick tempo dictating the shuffle of his feet—forward, scuffle, back, ad nauseam, faster than he could breathe. He could hardly concentrate on that as well at the moment, unfortunately, given he hadn’t danced in years.

You were hot under your clothes from the running spree, seeping through yours and his shared layers where the weight of your torso was pressed tightly against his. He kept his face tucked close to the sweep of your neck and shoulder, angling his broad shoulders towards them, winding carefully behind more and more couples while keeping careful rhythm. Your panting came harsh and high next to his ear, your breath warming his chilled shell and lobe. Your hands slipped from his shoulders to rest more convincingly on his chest, a firm press to keep your balance.

Although you didn’t seem to know all the specific steps to this dance, you were obviously familiar with the form and rhythm of it. You were a natural, the shimmy of your hips almost smoother than his own—you didn’t stumble once, light on your feet as you (reluctantly) allowed him to guide you without a single glance behind you to confirm he wasn’t about to walk you into a wall or another person. No, your eyes stayed fixed on what you could see of his face the entire time, forehead perspiring and cheeks darkened from exertion, mouth slightly agape to pull in much-needed air. You were studying him, it seemed like, scanning his features as though dissecting every crease and stretch.

Jake didn’t like it, not one bit. You already knew too much—the last thing he needed was you committing any of him to memory.

Instead of stopping, the band shifted into an entirely new song with a different beat altogether, but when Jake adapted to it, you did so, too—seamlessly, in fact, perfectly in tune to the body’s movements. (Ew. He didn’t need to think about that shit.) The two of you were so close that your knees would have knocked together if your feet weren’t offset. You were used to it, to him, even though you’d only learned the body while the others were using it. You knew him, even though he was a stranger.

Shit, shit, shit. He was so fucked.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of Marc’s sweatshirt over his thrumming heart, anchoring yourself as the tension finally drained from your form—he felt it before he saw it, watching your shoulders loosen as you lost yourself to the music. You almost seemed to be enjoying it, and Jake almost lamented the fact that you were only able to indulge in it under these very dire circumstances.

Almost.

“Are they gone?” you ventured breathlessly, chin brushing against his clavicle as you tilted your head forward so he’d hear your low tone that caused each hair on the nape of his neck to stand on end.

Jake blinked, then looked back up to the street corner with a deep-set frown. “Me distraiste jodidamente,*” he growled under his breath, shoving the visceral image of your chapped lips to the very back of his mind. “Yes, they’re gone.”

Your expression relaxed, then, into one of relief. The song tapered into an end, allowing both the dancers and the musicians a breather, and Jake finally peeled himself away from you as though your warmth had scorched him. He grasped your elbow again, tugging you through a narrow passage between booths to the mouth of a quiet side street with outdoor diners clustered around tables set out despite the weather.

He expected questions. He expected you to demand answers, like any other person in your situation would. ‘Who were they? Why were they trying to hurt me? Who the hell are you and why are you not Marc or Steven?’

He did not expect, however, for you to drop your gaze to his abdomen and to fish your hand under Marc’s jacket. He flinched back, but you’d already hooked a finger into the hole torn into the sticky, blood-soaked material of Marc’s shirt, fingertip grazing the smooth, whole flesh underneath and searing your fingerprint there in the process. He pushed your hand away, taking a half step back to distance himself from the mix of concern and confusion in your eyes.

“Are you hurt?” you asked him quietly, not venturing further into his personal space (to his relief).

Jake clamped his jaw shut and shook his head.

You hesitated. “What’s…what’s your name?”

Fuck his lack of luck, honestly. He half-turned away so he wouldn’t have to look at you.

“...Thank you for saving me.”

He scoffed under his breath. “If you’d kept your promise to Marc in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Your tone instantly sharpened with indignation. “I know what I promised him, but he—you got fucking shot! I wasn’t about to leave you to die!”

“Wouldn’t have died. Just a scratch,” he groused, contorting and tugging the hem of the shirt up to show you the unblemished skin there, smeared with tacky blood against his knuckles. “See? Missed.”

“They did not miss,” you told him matter-of-factly. “I saw Marc fall. There’s fucking blood all over you—I’m not stupid. Do not lie to me.” You stepped closer, then, pointing that same bloodied finger at him and poking him in the sternum. He bared his teeth at you, cornered with the alley wall at his back. “All that back there was something that you’ve got going on, wasn’t it? Marc hasn’t told me about anything like this.”

You were too goddamn smart for your own fucking good. “There’s a lot that Marc hasn’t told you,” he growled, “and for good reason.”

Your eyes flashed. “And I bet you’re the authority on all of that, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

“I’ve noticed them being vigilant lately, but they won’t tell me what’s bothering them. Lots of private conversations—and no, don’t look at me like that, I didn’t listen in on them—and they get anxious when they’re tired or spacey. It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out why they’ve been walking on eggshells ever since you popped up in the coffee shop that night—”

Jake’s jaw dropped open. Things were rapidly escalating out of hand, faster than he could hold them together. “How on earth do you—?”

“Marc is many things,” you said lowly, “but he is not a man who glorifies in violence. It bothers him still to touch me on his bad days, much less brushing up against a stranger. He wouldn’t smirk when he knocks someone out cold—with the pommel of a knife, no less. Neither would Steven, for that matter.”

Jake squared his shoulders and folded his arms over his chest to brush your hand away, glowering down at you. “Why haven’t you said anything to them?”

“Because they haven’t brought it up. I don’t push them for answers that they don’t want to give me. I know it’s already hard enough for them to be open to communicating their thoughts and feelings between themselves—I don’t want to pressure them any more by adding myself to the mix.” You jutted your chin. “But if you’re going to keep putting them in danger, you need to let them know what’s going on so they don’t get caught off-guard again.”

“You need to keep your nose out of my business and let me do my goddamn job,” he ground out.

“It becomes my business when both of our lives get put on the line!” you returned. “And what exactly is your job, huh? Circus performer with a specialty in knives?” You tugged on the hem of the jacket, ignoring how he went rigid. “Where do you keep that costume so they don’t realize they’re wearing it, too, by the way? Because I know for a fact that Steven would’ve mentioned cosplaying as the fucking Mummy if he knew about—”

He gritted his teeth. “It’s not a costume.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” You raised a haughty brow. “Do they know you’re running around like an albino version of London’s Daredevil?”

He was not about to explain all of Khonshu’s business to you. You knew too much already, and if Marc and/or Steven even caught wind of the old bird still hanging around, Jake was done for. “They don’t know about me for a reason, chaparrita, and I’d like to keep it that way. They can’t know about me—it’s better for all of us in the long run—so if you’d very kindly just keep your trap shut—”

“You have to tell them about you,” you told him firmly, eyes blazing, “and about whatever vigilante shit you’ve got going on. It’s not fair to them—they think they’re free from Marc’s old merc work, and here you are using the body against their consent to do whatever it is that you please. Do you realize how much danger you’re putting them in carrying on with shit like this?”

“I am protecting them,” he bit back, a snarl building in the back of his throat.

“By getting them ambushed in a fucking alley?” you snapped. “Your involvement in this could’ve gotten all three of you killed!”

“That costume is the only thing that can keep them alive through anything!” Jake returned sharply. “They would’ve been fine!”

“And what about me?” you demanded. “What about my safety? I know I chose my lot once Marc told me about his past, but this is adding a whole new level to all this that I wasn’t prepared for! What if you hadn’t been there, lingering in the background, or—or however you knew to step in? Do I need to live my life looking over my shoulder just in case there’s someone tailing me, waiting to catch me off-guard long enough to hurt me to get to them thinking they’re you? How do you think they’d react if something happened to me out of the blue, just by my being around them and whoever it is you’re fighting, thinking you’re the same person because you share the same face? Even then, they’d try to get to the bottom of it, and they could get shot, or stabbed, or—or whatever, just by trying to clean up your fucking mess!”

“If you weren’t around being seen with our face in the first place, you wouldn’t be involved to start with,” he growled, “and I wouldn’t have to concern myself with keeping you out of harm’s way all the time! You’re a liability to them—if something happened to you, they’d lose their shit, and I can’t have that happen. You’re as much of a danger to their wellbeing as these fucking cabrónes are!”

You retreated then, hurt flashing across your features so fast he almost missed it, before you schooled your expression into something frigid enough that it sent a chill down Jake’s spine. You floundered for words, lips moving without a sound, and Jake’s fuse shortened by the second. You swallowed, then, and roughly tipped your chin up—in defiance, certainly, but Jake didn’t miss the shine of moisture welling along your lash line. “…Do they feel that way, since you do?” you finally ventured. “Somewhere deep down? That I’m just a burden to them?”

“No,” he sighed, tucking his head and scrubbing his hand down his face. “There’s not a thing in this fucking world that they wouldn’t do for you, chaparrita, or kill themselves by trying. That’s the problem. That’s what makes you so dangerous. They care about you far too much.”

“And you don’t, I take it?” you supposed tightly. “Is that your job? Not to care?”

Jake ground his jaw so tightly his temples throbbed. “Don’t put words in my fucking mouth.”

“Then tell me why, exactly, you’re so hellbent on hiding yourself from them when they’re already trying so goddamn hard to heal and work together? What gives you the right to opt out and do whatever you damn well please, spilling more blood on their hands at the same time they’re trying to wash them clean?”

“There’s nothing special about me,” he bit out, “and they don’t need me—because if they knew what I’ve had to do to keep them alive they’d never forgive themselves!” Your brows twitched up, and Jake snarled under his breath. “Mierda. Just stay out of my fucking business, will you? The less you know, the better. And do not tell them about this, or about me, me entiendes?”

“I am not going to lie to Marc or Steven, and it’s stupid of you to think that I would,” you told him resolutely. “Either you tell them, or I will.”

“Did you miss all of what I just fucking said?” he spat. “If they know about me, it’ll do far more harm than good. They have a hard enough time reconciling what they’ve gone through, I don’t need to add all my shit to it!”

“You’ve helped them survive what they’ve gone through,” you pointed out, and Jake’s breath stopped short. “I’m not stupid, despite what you may think. I can tell even now that your primary concern is their well-being. But don’t you think telling them that you’re here, and that you’re a—a what, a superhero?—wouldn’t that be better than keeping them in the dark?”

“I am not a hero, chaparrita,” he told you darkly.

“Well, you’re certainly not a villain,” you responded evenly—as if you were stating fact.

Jake scowled. “Did they tell you what happened in Egypt? What really happened?”

Your eyes flashed. “They don’t have to, it’s not really any of my business. I know it was hard on them and they don’t like to talk about—”

“We got shot. Twice. We died! And it was only that armor that brought us back!” Jake flashed his teeth. “Marc let the bastard that did it go, but I killed him. That’s the difference between Marc or Steven and I, chaparrita: I hurt those who deserve it and feel no remorse for it.”

You blinked, then, eyes rounded. Realization dawned behind your gaze, and when you looked sharply off to the side, a stray tear slipped over the curve of your cheek. Your expression tightened, and Jake could imagine that you were finally putting together all the fragments of what Steven and Marc had mentioned offhandedly about their time in Egypt.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, sinking against the wall and dropping his head back against the brick. He dragged a hand down his face with a harsh sigh. He’d completely fumbled this entire situation. “...Mira.* If something were to happen to you, mis hermanos* won’t take it well.” He looked down at you, eyes half-lidded—meeting fire with fire obviously didn’t work with you. Even when Marc was being surly, you only listened when he stopped and lowered his voice. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out that you shut down when you were shouted at, based on the way you’d stared at him like a doe caught in headlights. “...Do you really care about them?”

Your head recoiled to stare at him critically. The vessels in your sclera were an agitated crimson. “Of course I do!”

“Then you’ll listen to me, all right?” He straightened and stepped closer, fingers flexing at his side while he repressed the urge to reach out to you. Seeing you upset was doing funny shit to him. (He didn’t like it. Not one bit.) “After what happened tonight, I can’t afford to wait any longer. I need to finish up my business as soon as possible—I spent too long investigating and biding my time to see when those guys would crawl out of their nest. They are dangerous, and I’m going to do my damnedest to tie up all those loose ends. All right? That means I can’t have you caught in the crossfire. And once I get done with that…” He shook his head, casting his eyes upwards briefly. “...then we’ll talk—you know, about…everything else. Do you understand?”

You glared at him for a long moment, lips pursed as you considered him. Finally, you nodded curtly, once.

He raised a brow. “Can you say it for me?”

Your temples flexed. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Buena nena.*” He peered around the corner just to ensure that the zealots hadn’t doubled back, then moved to the edge of the street and flagged down a cab. When they stopped, he gestured you over. You watched him warily all the while, glancing both ways. He reached for the door and grasped the handle, but you laid your hand over his. He froze.

“Please,” you murmured, pleading him with your gaze, “be careful. Keep taking care of them. Let me know if…if you need any help. If there’s anything I can do...” You squeezed his hand, then let it go. “I’d prefer you three to come back in one piece, you know.”

He swallowed roughly, then nodded. He opened the door, and as you stooped to climb inside, his hand curved around the back of your head. You glanced up at him in surprise, but once you were seated, he abruptly retracted his touch.

“I’m trusting you,” you told him. “I don’t want this to be the last time we meet.”

Jake gave you a rueful, wooden smile. “If you’re lucky, cariño*, you won’t ever have to see me again.”

He shut the door, waved off the driver, and shoved his hands into the pockets of Marc’s jacket. He watched the cab round the corner out of sight, closing his eyes briefly, and turned to start walking in the opposite direction.

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

60 notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 1 year

Text

XI. All of It || KNJ

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns, eventual and brief smut

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

Being away from home for Christmas makes you re-evaluate the choices you’ve made, and the people you’ve pushed away.

Section Warnings: language, drinking, kissing, one pov switch, big time jumps

WC: 8k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sunday December 24th

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Namjoon asks you for the ninetieth time.

“Namjoon, go,” you laugh. Mrs. Kim is running out to get a few last second groceries, but insists that you stay at the house to “rest”, instead recruiting her son to help her carry everything home. “She’s waiting for you!”

“You could tag along,” he offers. “I know she told you to stay, but she’s not that scary! You can disobey!”

“I absolutely cannot,” you tell him seriously. “It’s fine - you’ll be gone, what, an hour? I can entertain myself.”

He sighs, like he hopes you’re right. “Okay. I’ll try to hurry her along so we’re back sooner.”

You stretch to kiss him goodbye, and watch as he exits through the kitchen door, loping around the house to where Mrs. Kim waits for him. Then, alone in the kitchen, you face the silence and stillness.

This is fine, you think. It’s a moment where you don’t have to be on in front of strangers, a moment where you don’t have to watch what you say because his family is forming their impression of you. You stand there for a minute, palms on the cool countertop, just breathing.

Then, from the other room, you hear something: the unmistakable sound of the opening lines of your favorite, cheesiest Christmas movie.

You creep to the doorway of the living room. The second he sees you in his periphery, Mr. Kim jumps a mile and scrambles for the remote, rushing to change the channel.

“I’m sorry!” you call, trying to bite back laughter. “I didn’t mean to interrupt - I’ll go do something else!”

His cover blown, he stops scrambling. On the tv screen, a team of flying reindeer pull Santa’s sleigh across the moon as the opening credits run. Mr. Kim hangs his head in shame.

“I will never hear the end of it if they find out I’m watching this,” he tells you.

“This is my favorite one,” you tell him honestly. “So if you want to leave it on for a while… I promise to take the secret to my grave.”

You sit in comfortable silence in a plushy, blue chair next to the couch, enjoying a garbage holiday indulgence, listening to the crackling fireplace, and watching the snow flurries out the window. And, true to your word, when you hear the front door unlocked, you pull out your phone like you’ve been doom-scrolling for an hour while Mr. Kim turns on the news station.

–

That night you accompany the family to Namjoon’s uncle’s house. It’s big, and bright, and loud, and full of screaming little cousins running underfoot, and aunts that shriek and hug you when Namjoon introduces you as his girlfriend.

“Our Joonie!” one aunt cries, pulling him sideways away from you like that will stop you from hearing her. “She’s beautiful!”

Namjoon winks at you, and tells her, “Smarter than me, too.”

Later, you catch some air together outside.

“I am not smarter than you,” you tell him adamantly.

“We can agree to disagree,” he murmurs into your mouth, because he’s already kissing you.

“Merry Christmas,” he tells you when you break apart, his voice low and soothing, warm and loving. “I’m really glad you’re here with me.”

“Yeah,” you say, snuggling closer into his embrace. Snow falls lightly, as it has on and off all day, landing on your dark winter jackets. “I am, too.”

Monday December 25th

Christmas Day is bittersweet.

The morning is lovely; Namjoon and his parents exchange a few small gifts and you bat away Mrs. Kim’s apologies that she has nothing for you.

“We keep telling you,” Namjoon laughs, his feet in huge, fluffy slippers that his parents got him, “just send us home with food. Neither of us can cook, it’s a miracle we haven’t starved.”

“Don’t say that to your mother, she’ll worry,” Mr. Kim chides.

You glance at the clock and notice that it’s about the time that Lin would be getting home from work. Impulsively, you excuse yourself and step back into the guest room, closing the door nearly all the way and pulling out your phone.

Lin answers on the second ring. “Everything okay?” she greets you.

It makes your heart a little heavier. It doesn’t even occur to her that you might be calling just to say Merry Christmas.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you assure her. “I just wanted to tell you Merry Christmas before you went to bed.”

“Oh.” She sounds surprised. “Well, Merry Christmas to you, too. And your boyfriend. Are you having fun?”

You’d shrug if she could see you. “They’ve been really nice,” you tell her. You hesitate, then say, “Hopefully you’ll meet them someday.”

“Sure, at the wedding,” Lin jokes. “You’ve always been so private!”

You’re not sure what to say to this. You know it’s true. You never shared much with her, never had a big group of girlfriends to tell things to. It was always just you and Taehyung.

Now you’re sad for two reasons.

Somehow, Lin seems to read your mind through the phone. “Is it weird not having Christmas with Taehyung’s family?” she asks.

“I was trying not to think about it,” you admit, and she laughs.

“I’m sure they miss you!” she says. “I’ll tell them hello - I see his mom all over town. I’m sure it was weird for him to come home without you. Do you think he’s jealous that your boyfriend gets your attention now?”

She’s joking, but she’s spearheaded the truth so perfectly that it knocks your breath out.

She interprets your silence correctly and the teasing vanishes instantly. “Oh, honey,” she says, voice full of regret. “I didn’t know you were going through that. Are you, like, actually fighting? What happened?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “We… aren’t speaking right now,” you admit, your voice tight. “But could we talk about it another time? They’re all waiting for me out there and I don’t want to get all upset…”

“Sure, sure,” she says quickly. “But Y/N? Taehyung loves you - he’s been your best friend for so long. He’ll adjust. It’ll be okay. Alright?”

That’s all it takes to set you off - just her kindness, her reassurance. As you tell her thank you, and goodbye, you’re choking back tears, trying to get it together. As you hang up, you feel - for the first time maybe ever - like you actually miss her.

You and Namjoon spend the afternoon reading on the couch together, your feet on his lap. His parents tut and whisper that there’s two of him now, and you can’t help but smile.

Late in the afternoon, you glance at your phone, tempted to text Taehyung Merry Christmas. You’ve never had one without him before, except for the year he had the flu. In the end, you slide your phone back into your pocket, screen still locked.

Tuesday December 26th

You and Namjoon decide to head back a day early once the weather reports start forecasting an actual blizzard.

His parents are disappointed, but understand. Namjoon’s dad warms up the car, idling in the driveway while you two collect your bags and zip your coats. Namjoon steps out ahead of you, and you can see past him that the clouds are low and gray, the air feeling like impending snow.

Mrs. Kim calls you back by your name, and you hesitate, turning to see what she needs. She shuffles in from the kitchen, a reusable grocery bag in her hands, laden with leftovers. She pushes it into your hands wordlessly.

“Thank you,” you tell her enthusiastically, eyeing the number of containers she’s crammed in there. “We’ll eat well for at least a week. Thank you so much.”

She keeps her hands on the bag’s handles for a second longer, not allowing you to pull away. She opens her mouth, then hesitates, like trying to decide how to say what she wants to say.

“I hope you’ll come back soon,” she says finally. “If you need help with… cooking, or… if you need someone to talk to… I hope you’ll come to see me as someone you can reach out to.”

Tears well in your eyes and you blink them away quickly, embarrassed, as she finally releases her hold on the bags.

“Thank you,” you tell her, your voice a little choked. “And thank you for letting me stay here. I appreciate it… so much.”

On the train, Namjoon bumps his knee against yours. “You’re quiet,” he says, a loving accusation.

You sigh. “Your family’s awesome,” you tell him.

Understanding, he takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. “Come home with me any time,” he says. “They’d love it. And so would I.”

You watch the countryside roll by in silence for a while. You’re almost drifting off when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Then again, and then again.

[10:51 AM] Taehyung: my mom says merry christmas [10:51 AM] Taehyung: i missed you during the drive home [10:52 AM] Taehyung: i miss you now, at home [10:52 AM] Taehyung: we’ve always spent christmas together [10:52 AM] Taehyung: the guys said you’re with namjoons family [10:52 AM] Taehyung: i’m glad you weren’t alone. I would have felt even worse [10:53 AM] Taehyung: i know i said it a lot of times, but i’ll say it again. i am SO sorry for what i did [10:54 AM] Taehyung: can we talk when i get back to campus? Like… actually talk?

You turn the screen and nudge Namjoon’s elbow, letting him lean over to read it. You feel… kind of empty.

“I think he means it,” Namjoon murmurs.

You press your lips together, clutch the phone so tight your knuckles turn white.

“I think he does, too,” you agree finally.

“You gonna talk to him?” Namjoon asks.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. You turn the screen off and slide your phone back into your pocket, the messages unanswered. “I’ll think about it.”

An hour later, as the train rolls past campus, your heart clenches as you catch glimpses of the places you’d spent with Taehyung the last few years - the dorms, the academic building, the football field. You pull your phone back out, feeling something inside you crack and break.

That something might have been your pride, your hurt feelings, your tightly-clutched anger.

[12:04 PM] You: merry christmas to you and your family, tae

[12:07 PM] You: yeah… let’s talk when you get back

Friday December 29th

“Did you know that you’re the warmest person on the planet?” you ask.

“I think you mean hottest,” Namjoon jokes.

You’re wrapped up together, in his bed this time, as you’ve been for most of Christmas week. The blizzard came and went without incident for the two of you - you stayed inside, comfy and warm, reading together, eating food that only needs to be microwaved, and talking - about his book, about your upcoming classes, about the beautiful snow coating everything outside.

About your upcoming conversation with Taehyung.

There’s something you don’t talk about, though - your niggling feelings that you owe Lin more, like you have something to make up for for bailing on going home.

“I can mean both if it makes you feel better,” you tease back. “But right now, I really mean warmest.”

“I’m sticking with hottest,” he says, eyes closed happily.

You’re quiet for a few minutes, just listening to him breathe, just reveling in feeling happy and safe and - yes - warm.

“Joon?” you murmur.

“Mmm?” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“Wanted to ask you something.”

Now he peeks at you, curious at your sudden meekness. “What is it?”

You wiggle your toes in discomfort. Namjoon waits you out, like he always does.

“I was thinking about how I left Lin alone this week,” you say slowly. “I mean, she’s always alone. It’s not, like, my job to make sure she’s not lonely.”

Namjoon says your name quietly, disarmingly, a reminder that you don’t need to jump to defensiveness - not with him.

You sigh. “I feel bad,” you admit. “So I was thinking about going home on the train for New Years? And, um, no pressure, but if you want to come with me –”

“Of course I do,” he says immediately, not even letting you finish. “Of course I’ll go with you.” He laughs, once. “Honestly, I’m honored. Have you ever brought a guy home before?”

You hide your face, blushing and fighting a smile. “Literally never.”

He grins at you, and you press a kiss to the dimple closest.

“Sounds fun,” he says. “When do you want to go?”

“Sunday, maybe?” you suggest. “New Years Eve day?”

“That’s fine,” he says, eyes on the ceiling as he flips through his mental calendar. “You gonna give your aunt a heads up?”

In the end you text Lin and Taehyung the same thing - “coming home Sunday for new years. See you then?”

Sunday December 31st

The train ride to your hometown is significantly quicker than Namjoon’s was. Somehow, you feel even more nervous this time than you did on your way to meet his parents. You’re not sure if your nerves are for introducing Namjoon to Lin, or for talking to Taehyung again after what a disaster it was last time.

Both, probably.

“What if he pulls some shit again?” you ask out of nowhere, the question that’s burning under your skin finally breaking free.

Namjoon grimaces. “I’ll be there this time.”

You sigh, frustrated. “And that’s fine for in the moment, but I’m more worried about like… the long-term. If he acts like an idiot again, where do we go from there? Do I just just not talk to him for another week until he’s sorry again? Is it a cycle? Or do I cut him out completely and just… give up on the friendship?”

Namjoon’s grimace doesn’t waver. “I think that’s up to him. And you,” he says gently.

You let out a slow breath.

“I wish I knew what to mentally prepare for,” you admit, huffing out a quiet laugh.

“Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it,” he promises, and you appreciate the gesture. But it isn’t the same for him, and you know it. Taehyung’s his friend, sure, but it’s very not-the-same.

“Anyway,” you say, trying to give yourself a mental shake. “I’m excited to bring you home. I’ll focus on that.”

“I’m more nervous about that part,” he admits with a smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You sit like that for the rest of the trip, leaning into his embrace.

Lin’s house is walkable from the train station if you know the shortcut through a broken chain-link fence - which, luckily, you do. You let yourself in the front door with the key you keep, both of you kicking off your shoes and leaving your suitcases in the narrow entryway.

You enter the small living room first, Namjoon behind you trying to get his boot off of his foot. Lin gets up from the couch with a smile, coming to give you a hug.

“How was the ride?” she asks, starting to pull away.

You start to answer her, when her face suddenly changes as she sees Namjoon come through the doorway behind you. Her smile drops, her face goes pale, and - completely inexplicably - she starts to tear up, a hand coming to cover her mouth.

Adrenaline and alarm rush through you.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, “I should have warned you I was bringing Namjoon. It was kind of a surprise. Shit, Lin, are you mad? We can get a hotel room for him instead –”

“I’m not mad,” she manages, wiping under her eyes. “I’m happy. I never thought - Honey, it’s so nice to meet you.”

She’s moving around you and hugging Namjoon, who looks at you with comically wide eyes over her shoulder.

She lets him go, sniffling a little, pulling back to get a good look at him.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Namjoon says awkwardly. “If it’s too late notice for me to stay here, I understand –”

“No, no,” she says quickly. “It’s fine. It’s wonderful.” She turns her teary gaze back to you.

You’ve never seen Lin cry, never in your life - not even over Grandma.

“It’s just,” she says, clearly trying to get her voice under control, “Y/N’s never brought home a partner before. You barely even brought home friends. As you grew up… it felt like you were pushing this place away, rejecting it as a home - like you didn’t consider it a place worth bringing the people who were important to you.”

This floors you, knocks you right out. You take a deep breath, try to still your shaking hands. You turn to Namjoon. “The guest room is through that door off the kitchen,” you tell him. “Do you want to bring your bag in?”

He gives you a long, searching look - like he’s trying to figure out if you’re okay, like he’s trying to figure out if it’s okay to leave you on your own.

But it is. This time, it is.

You give him a reassuring little nod, and he gives you the tiniest hint of a smile back before going to get his suitcase from where he’d abandoned it in the entryway. He wheels it past you, through the kitchen and you turn back to Lin, who’s wiping furiously under her eyes.

“Lin,” you say quietly. “I… I didn’t know you felt that way.”

She sniffs again, working hard to get it together. “I understood,” she says kindly. “Things were so hard for you. I could understand it if you took your anger at your situation out that way.”

“It wasn’t that,” you say, trying to explain. “It was just… the only person who was important to me was already here.”

Her eyes flash to the living room’s front window, which looks out to the street - where, across the pavement, you can see the corner of Taehyung’s house. Then her gaze flits back to you.

“I see,” she says somberly. Then she brightens. “But not anymore, huh? Now you have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” you say, eyes on the doorway where Namjoon had disappeared with his bag. You can’t fight your smile. “Apparently I do.”

She squeals a little and pulls you back into another hug. “I can’t wait to get to know him,” she tells you. “I hope you two will come around a lot more.”

You’re reminded of Namjoon’s mom saying the same thing. It feels… strange - to have homes waiting for you, with people wanting to see you. It’s something you hadn’t ever really felt, growing up.

For the first time, you’re starting to see family as something you have to build.

“By the way,” Lin says, glancing at the clock, “are you two having dinner at the Kims with me tonight? If so, I’d better tell her to add a place at the table for your man.”

“Oh my God,” you say, laughing, covering your face. “Don’t call him that.”

“Dinner at the Kims?” Namjoon asks, finally deciding it’s safe to come back now that you’re done hugging. “Tonight?”

“Just across the street,” she tells him. “I have work tonight, so unfortunately I’ll have to leave around ten. Are you joining? Or are you and Taehyung…?”

You shrug. “He texted. We’re supposed to talk. Maybe tonight’s a good chance for that.”

She reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “I like the sound of that. Start the New Year off with a clean slate.”

You like the sound of that a lot, too. You really, really hope that’s what the night will bring.

“We’ll go,” you say, looking up at Namjoon for confirmation. He nods, like he doesn’t care what you do as long as you’re together. Which… is probably exactly what he thinks. “Right?”

“Sure,” he says easily, reaching out to grab your hand. “What’s for dinner?”

–

Tons is the answer to that question. Taehyung’s mother cooks for the six of you like she’s cooking for twenty.

Lin leads you into the house, calling cheerful hellos. You hug Taehyung’s parents happily, then step back, meeting your best friend’s eyes for the first time in almost three weeks. He chews his lip nervously, gives you a tiny nod. You return it. Behind you, Namjoon is shaking Mr. Kim’s hand, introducing himself.

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “Mr. and Mrs. Kim, this is my boyfriend, Namjoon. He’s a grad student at the university.”

Mrs. Kim and Lin head into the kitchen and Mr. Kim heads for his study down the hall, leaving the three of you alone in the living room.

Awkward silence echoes.

Taehyung breaks the silence first, addressing Namjoon. “You want a beer?”

Namjoon eyes him for a minute, jaw clenched. For a scary second, you think he’s actually going to tell Taehyung to go fuck himself. Then, he unclenches, twists his mouth to the side like he’s thinking, and nods.

“Sure,” he says. “A beer would be great. And maybe one for Y/N, too?”

“Yes, please,” you say, flashing Taehyung a thankful grin. When Taehyung returns, holding out the bottles to you, you take them, feeling… hopeful. It’s just a beer, sure, but it feels like a peace offering. It feels like everything might actually be okay.

–

Dinner is delicious, and somehow not awkward. Taehyung’s mother has always doted on you, so she peppers you with questions - about school, your thesis, about how you and Namjoon got together. You’re afraid it will be weird, but while Taehyung doesn’t contribute to this part of the conversation, he listens attentively. You realize he probably didn’t know the story, himself.

When ten o’clock rolls around, you hug Lin goodbye at the door - something new for both of you.

“This year’s gonna be better for us,” she promises you in a whisper. “I can already tell.”

You nod against her shoulder, then wish her a safe drive.

–

“Five… four… three… two… one! Happy New Years!”

Everyone in the room cheers, Taehyung blowing into a noisy paper horn. Namjoon’s eyes glitter, and then he tugs you closer by the waist, kissing you soundly. Somebody - Mrs. Kim, you suspect - whistles and you feel yourself blush. Your happy, bashful laugh breaks the kiss, and he squeezes your waist once as you break away.

You grin up at him, so happy you could burst from it. It’s hard to believe that four months ago you were strangers, tip-toeing around each other at home. It’s hard to believe that four months ago you couldn’t shelter in his arms, listen to his heartbeat, tell him every stupid thought you have.

The Kims have huddled noisily on the other side of the room, giving you two a little privacy for a moment, so you take the opportunity to press yourself closer to Namjoon. You stretch onto your toes, your lips close to his ear, and whisper, “Looking forward to this year of loving you, Joon.”

His arms tighten around you and you swear you hear his breath catch.

Then, he nuzzles his face in his hair, whispering back, “I love you.”

You hold him tight, swaying a little, your heart soaring and soaring. You don’t think you’ve ever been this happy in your life.

–

Tae’s parents go to bed shortly after midnight, and you’re eager to leave, too - your house across the street is empty tonight, after all.

Taehyung walks you two to the front door. Namjoon steps out first, heading down to the grassy yard. Taehyung calls your name from the top step, and you hesitate.

“Can… could we talk now?” he asks, voice small. “Like… alone?”

Two steps down from you, Namjoon mutters something that sounds an awful lot like audacity.

“I’m all ears,” you say.

Taehyung flushes, his chest going dark and patchy above the collar, the way it does when he’s upset. “Listen,” he says, “I know what I did was really fucked up. I want to apologize - to both of you. I really am… so goddamn sorry.”

“I appreciate that,” Namjoon says evenly, voice low. There’s something hot about how he says it, and you feel a tingle and a thrill. You want to take his hand and drag him home.

“I…” Taehuyng falters, his eyes on you. “I really do want to talk to you about everything. And… it’s hard. Right? It’s not just me? I think I’ll… do a better job saying what I mean if it’s just us.”

You frown, but the truth is you understand. For your whole lives, it had been the two of you. You speak your own language with each other. What he’s trying to tell you is he can be more authentic if he isn’t trying to communicate in a way that lets Namjoon in, too.

You look at Namjoon to gauge how he feels about this. He looks back at you, face unreadable. Your choice, the blankness tells you.

“We stay right here,” you say, pointing at the steps.

“That’s fine,” Taehyung says eagerly, like he can’t believe you agreed.

You look at Namjoon again, and he nods. “I’ll be over there,” he says, nodding at your house. “You know where to find me.”

“Don’t worry,” you tell him, a little devious. “I definitely plan to come find you.”

His smile back is wicked as he turns and lopes across the yard, disappearing into the dark.

You wait for him to start, to say what he wants to say, but he just looks at you. In the dark, his eyes look almost black.

“Okay,” you say finally. “I’m here to talk. So let’s talk.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, like it’s bursting from him, like he was waiting for permission to unleash it. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did that to you.”

You press your lips together and look away, shove down the wave of emotion - fresh anger, deep hurt. “So why did you?” you manage.

“I could see myself losing you all semester,” he admits. His voice trembles, just slightly. “I could see it happening little by little and I couldn’t figure out why and I felt so… frozen… I didn’t know how to pull you back without crossing any lines with you…” He rubs a hand over his face, inhales roughly. “When I found out you were in love with Namjoon, it’s like my brain went into this panic state and my body just reacted and did the only thing it could think of that might stop you from walking away.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. Angry tears string at your eyes, their tracks suddenly warm on your cheeks. Your voice shakes when you mutter, “That’s so fucked up, Taehyung. I don’t deserve that.”

“I know,” he says, rubbing a hand down his face again. His shoulders shake, barely noticeable, before he pulls it together to continue. “Of course you don’t. I just… wanted you to stay. I don’t know… how to live a life that isn’t… half yours.” His sentence is punctuated with long sniffs, hurried swipes under eyes - for both of you.

You hate it, but you know exactly what he means. You hadn’t known how to live a life that wasn’t half his, either. But you’d learned - you have to build it yourself. It doesn’t come out of nowhere.

“Tae…” you say, sniffing once more and trying to take a steadying breath. “That stuff you said to Namjoon…”

He hangs his head, exhaling, the sound whispery and warbling. “He really just pissed me off,” he admits, not looking at you. “But, for a second, I really did wonder…”

You can see exactly what’s coming and you brace yourself, wondering how bad this next admission will hurt.

“Of course I love you,” he says, looking up at you. He’s not crying, now. Instead, he looks at you so seriously, like he’s got to see your reaction, to know you hear him. “You’re my best friend. There was really a minute there where I wondered if my way of loving you could really be that different from…”

From your way of loving me. He doesn't need to say it.

It doesn’t hurt as bad as you thought it would.

“The answer to that,” you say dryly, “is yes, very.”

He nods, acknowledging this. “And,” he admits, voice going quiet with shame, “I think a little part of me was trying to hurt you back. When I found out you’d been getting serious with him and keeping it from me… that hurt, you not telling me. You and me… we don’t lie to each other, and we don’t keep secrets.”

You scoff. “That’s bullshit, Taehyung. We’ve been doing both for… years.”

The silence stretches between you as he considers the truth of these words. His gaze drops to the ground.

“I guess you’re right,” he says sadly, like he hates that it’s true. “Things have been fucked up between us for a long time now. And… I’m sorry for that, too. I’m sorry for being a terrible friend - this year, and all these years. I shouldn’t have let you… keep hurting. I think I was lying to myself about… how you felt. If I didn’t address it, if I didn’t technically know, then I didn’t have to do anything about it. And if I didn’t do anything about it, I couldn’t risk doing the wrong thing.”

You take in his explanation, your arms crossed over your chest. It doesn’t make things okay, it doesn’t absolve him. But you can understand. You’d been afraid to rock the boat, too.

You two should have talked years ago.

“How long have you known?” you ask quietly.

He makes an unhappy noise. “Ah. We don’t have to do that.”

“I just want to know.”

He sighs. “Since high school, I guess?”

You look away, letting out another bitter laugh. “That’s a long time.”

“I guess I thought if I never looked directly at it, then nothing between us would change,” he explains.

“It had to,” you say firmly. That’s the truest thing you can say right now.

“I know that,” Taehyung says, exhaling. “I know that, now.”

You’re both quiet for a minute. You shiver a little, wonder if Namjoon is okay over at Lin’s house.

“These last two years were hard,” Taehyung says suddenly, like now that he’s opened the tap he can’t stop the flow of words, can’t stop spilling every truth. “I stopped knowing… how to be your friend. I didn't know where the line was - I didn't know what would hurt you, what would mess with your head when I was just being me, just being us.”

“We need new boundaries,” you say quietly.

He nods, agreeing. “It won’t be easy,” he sighs. “Because… well, it can’t be the same. But I feel like we can figure it out.”

“Should be easier, now,” you observe. Now that he doesn’t need to worry about your heart, you mean.

He nods, understanding.

Past the horizon of trees, a burst of fireworks light up above the line of rooftops.

“You have a resolution?” you ask him.

He nods, sucking on his teeth a little. “Yeah. To… let someone in.”

You turn to look at him, silently waiting as he finishes the thought.

“We wasted a lot of time,” he says, smile twisting sideways wryly. “You were… y’know… waiting for something that wasn’t coming. And I don’t think I gave anyone else a fair shot either. Just because… she’d have to be my best friend, right? Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?”

You look across the street again. “Yeah,” you say. “Usually that’s how it works.”

“And where would that have left you?” he asks.

“Yep,” you say flatly, understanding exactly the point he’s trying to make. “That was my problem for a while too, when this started.”

“What I’m saying, though,” he tries again, a little frustrated that his words aren’t doing what he wants, “is that you were the brave one. I was too scared to see what would happen, to see what we could figure out. You gave someone a chance. You had faith that we’d be alright.”

You nod, considering this. “So, are we?” you ask. “Alright?”

He nods. “Can I hug you?” he asks.

You smile, crooked. “I think that’s allowed,” you joke.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and you lean your head against his chest. “My dummy,” you say affectionately, and his laugh rumbles under your ear. “I missed your stupid ass.”

Then, you step away. “I should go,” you tell him. “Namjoon’s probably looking at my baby pictures and there’s no one in there to stop him.”

Taehyung laughs. “Okay,” he says. “See you back at campus? Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year,” you tell him, as you walk away.

Friday May 25th

[3:55 PM] Joon 💕: it’s here [3:55 PM] You: O.O [3:55 PM] Joon 💕: you want me to open it? [3:56 PM] Joon 💕: or should i wait for you to get home? [3:56 PM] You: omg pls open it [3:56 PM] You: just text me yes or no [3:56 PM] You: nothing else. just that. hurry.

[3:58 PM] You: NAMJOON

[3:59 PM] You: i will THROW UP!!!!!!

[4:01 PM] Joon 💕: you got in [4:01 PM] You: SHUT THE FUCK UP [4:01 PM] You: YOU’RE KISDING RIGHT [4:02 PM] You: PROMISE ME YOURE OT LYING [4:03 PM] Joon 💕: lol you think i’d fuck with you over something like this? [4:04 PM] You: no??? But??? Everything is turning black around me??? I think i’m dying??? [4:04 PM] Joon 💕: breathe, babe [4:05 PM] Joon 💕: and come home soon so we can celebrate [4:05 PM] You: be there soon

You call Lin first. She answers on the third ring, groggily, and you’re aware that she must have worked last night and you’ve woken her up.

You can feel guilty later.

“I got in!” you squeal, and she shrieks so loud you have to pull the phone away from your ear.

“Congratulations!” she’s crowing when you get brave enough to put the phone near your face again. “I told you you would!”

“I know, I know,” you say, breathless with delight. You’d applied for a few grad programs in the area, but your sights were really on a small, private university in the city. Their writing program was renowned, but they only took a small cohort each year. You had felt confident that you’d get into the writing program here, at your current university, with Namjoon, and you’d been right. But it hadn’t been your first choice, not if you were being really honest.

“We should celebrate,” Lin tells you. “What if I came to campus this weekend? I could take you and Namjoon out to dinner?”

“We’d love that,” you say. “I’ll just double-check that he doesn’t have anything on his schedule but it should be fine.”

“Let me know. And Y/N? I’m really proud of you.”

You’re almost home when you hang up, and you practically skip the rest of the way to the apartment. It’s almost hot out, the late-spring evening promising summer days on the horizon. You take the steps two at a time, ready to get swept up in Namjoon’s arms, ready to share your joy and triumph with him the way you’d once shared your uncertainty.

He delivers; you’re barely through the apartment door when he’s sweeping you into a hug, swinging you around so your living room spins around you. You laugh, delighted, holding on tight. He sets you on your feet, peppering your forehead, cheeks, and lips with playful, sloppy kisses.

“Namjoon!” you protest, laughing. “Let me put my bag down!”

“I can’t,” he murmurs, smiling, lips still against your forehead. “My genius girlfriend got into her dream program. I must kiss her.”

Even as he says this, though, he steps away, allowing you to slide your bag off your shoulder and set it on the floor.

“Did you tell Lin?” he asks. “I texted my mom - she’s so happy for you. She wants us to come visit; she said she’d make your favorite as a celebration.”

“Ooh,” you say. “So many people want to feed me for this. I should get into grad school more often.”

“No one tried to feed you when you got into the mid options,” he points out, eyes glinting playfully. He moves to sit at the breakfast bar, turned sideways in the seat so he can still face you.

“To answer your question,” you say loudly, ignoring his bullshit, “yes, I called Lin. And please tell your mom thank you, and we’ll visit soon.”

Namjoon’s thumbs move as he types. “As much as I love my mom’s cooking, I was thinking tonight we should celebrate just us?”

“Keep talking,” you say slyly, coming up behind him to read over his shoulder as he answers his mother. You lean against his warm, wide back, letting him hold you up for just a moment. Then you wrap your arms around his middle, resting your cheek on his shoulder, waiting as he finishes up.

He sets his phone down and turns to look over at you. “Want to go out for dinner?”

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, picking your face up from his shoulder so you can see him better. You keep your arms around his, his own little jail cell of affection.

“Somewhere nicer than normal?” he suggests. “Since this is a big deal.”

“How nice?” you push, eyes narrowed.

He smiles at you easily. “The kind of nice where they have you try the wine before they pour it.”

You laugh loudly, finally releasing him. “Wow,” you say. “I might need to pull out some high heels for that shit.”

“You might,” he agrees, his smile turning a little flirtatious. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” you say, considering. “You want to call and make a reservation somewhere while I go wash my hair?”

He nods, already reaching for his phone again. “Anything for my genius.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, swatting at the bit of his ass you can reach with him being seated as you pass by, heading for the bathroom. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“Impossible,” he calls, as you disappear.

Later, after you’ve dried your hair, as you sit at your desk with your make-up bag unzipped before you, you wonder if this is news you should tell Taehyung.

Once upon a time, you would have told him first. Back in the fall, even, he would have been the first to know.

Now, in the five months since you’d reconciled, you and Taehyung don’t talk that much. What used to be several dinners a week on campus is now a meal at the apartment maybe once a month - and never just the two of you. The last time he’d come for dinner, Namjoon had been home, and Jungkook and Hoseok had both joined, too. And that was over a month ago.

What used to be daily texts about absolutely every stupid, little thing is now maybe a text or two a week - Taehyung’s texts to you mostly consist of dumb memes that make you feel like you’re losing brain cells by looking at them. Your texts to him tend to ask after him - how are you, how’s your mom, did you pass that midterm?

It isn’t like it was before. You feel a little bit like you’re both tiptoeing, teetering in this space between too much and not enough. You’re both pushing the boundaries of your distance, of your time apart, hunting for the edges, looking for the places where the map turns black. To not tell him big news like this seems like a deliberate distancing, not quite the middle ground you’re trying to find.

And besides, Taehyung does know you’ve wanted into this program. You’d talked about it months ago when the application process started, when you’d been choosing your back-ups, talking through your Plan B’s with anyone who would listen.

You text him - ‘big news’.

[5:52 PM] Taehyung: 🫄?

[5:53 PM] You: i literally fucking hate you kim taehyung!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[5:53 PM] Taehyung: lmaooooo it’s a legitimate question!

[5:54 PM] You: now i’m not telling you! I’ll call your mom and tell her instead!

[5:54 PM] Taehyung: wow. You haven’t used that line on me since we were eight.

[5:55 PM] You: yes and i was very upset with you that time too 😤

[5:57 PM] Taehyung: ok so what’s the news

[5:58 PM] You: ask your mom

[5:58 PM] Taehyung: this is abuse

[5:59 PM] You: ok you crybaby. I got into the good one. I got the letter today

[6:01 PM] Taehyung: yooo congrats!!!!!!

[6:02 PM] Taehyung: i’m so happy for you seriously

[6:03 PM] You: thanks tae

[6:04 PM] Taehyung: you honestly SHOULD tell my mom lol she’ll cry

–

“So,” you say to Namjoon. His face flickers before you, broken and dancing by the candle flame on the table between you.

“So,” he echoes, leaning back in his seat. The bottle of wine you’d split sits nearly empty next to the flickering candle. And yes, he’d gotten to taste it before it was poured. This place is upscale.

“Do you want to talk about this?” you ask cautiously. “Or should we not tarnish the celebration?”

“Tarnish?” he echoes again, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah,” you say, “I mean… my program’s over an hour from here. We have to talk about that eventually. What it means for us.”

His brows don’t unfurrow, and his mouth slides into a frown. Seconds ago he’d been relaxed, but now he sits up, leaning closer to you. That candle flame flares and settles again, excited about nothing.

“What it means for us?” he repeats.

“Can you say something that I didn’t say first?” you snap. His eyes widen, and you close yours, deflating. “Sorry,” you say immediately, before you even open your eyes to look at him again. “I’m just… scared about this, I guess.”

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, still frowning, “I didn’t know you were worried about what we’d do. I thought it was obvious.”

“What?” you utter. Sometimes Namjoon does this, has entire conversations or solves problems in his head, forgets to let you in on it. “What did you think?”

He shakes his head, like he can’t believe you didn’t know what was going on in that brain of his, like he forgot you don’t reside in there, too. “I thought we’d just find a place together, in the middle. We could each commute to class about half that distance. It’d be like forty minutes each way, it’s not totally unrealistic. Plus, a lot of the classes are hybrid these days, half the time we’re online…”

Now it’s your turn to frown. “It’s forty minutes by car. Have you looked at the train schedules?”

He looks embarrassed suddenly, not meeting your eyes.

“Namjoon?” you prompt, suspicious.

“I…” he says, still not looking at you. “I mean… yeah.”

“Yeah what?” you ask.

He sighs, caught. But he’s so predictable, this boyfriend of yours.

“I was looking at what towns are in that area, right in the middle,” he admits. “I checked the trains from there… and some apartments, too.”

“Namjoon!” you scold. “I hadn’t even gotten in yet!”

He gives you a sheepish smile, those dimples shadowed dark in the dimly lit restaurant. “I knew you would, though,” he says, so easily, like it was just a basic truth. “I knew they’d want you.”

You sip at your water to cover how choked up you feel at his absolute faith in you. When you’ve got yourself under control, you set your glass back down and ask, “So, what’d you find?”

“I can get here on light rail,” he says, a little bit of victory slipping onto his face. “Right outside campus, honestly. There’s an express sometimes, too.”

“You don’t think you’ll get tired of that?”

He looks at you seriously. “My choices,” he tells you, voice low, “are to commute by light rail to my grad classes from the place we’ll share, or to learn to drive and buy a damn car so I can drive two hours to you every night from here. Which would you rather I do?”

You stare at him, face slipping into an indignant frown. “Be serious,” you chide.

“I am being so serious,” he tells you. “I’m going to see you every night. I’m going to sleep by your side every night. Those are the options.”

You can’t even look at him; there are times you’re slapped with how undeserving you feel of the love he gives you, how completely he’s made you his world. This is one of those times.

“And for me?” you croak finally. “Is there a light rail option for me to get to my classes?”

He shrugs, which means no. “You’ll need a car,” he admits.

“I don’t have a car,” you point out needlessly.

He grins at you across the table. “How’s your credit score?” he asks.

Tuesday July 12th

Namjoon locks the padlock on the back of the rental moving truck, ensuring the door won’t open and spill your belongings all over the highway.

“I think that’s everything,” he says. “Do you want me to check upstairs one last time for anything?”

“Check the closets,” you tell him, and he nods, giving your arm an affectionate squeeze on his way by. As he disappears upstairs, you sit on the bumper of the moving van, desperate to get out of the scorching summer heat.

A few of the guys, who’d all come to help - and to say goodbye, follow Namjoon inside. Jungkook plops down on the sidewalk, using his bucket hat to fan himself, and Jimin sits next to him, taking a long drink from a sweating water bottle.

Taehyung sits next to you on the bumper, the van bouncing a little as he does.

“Hey,” he says. He doesn’t look at you. You’re reminded of sitting side by side on the stone steps that are to your left, past Jungkook and Jimin, the day you’d told him about Namjoon. “I have something to tell you.”

You look over at him, alarmed. His face is drawn, and he chews on his lower lip nervously.

“Yeah?” you say uneasily. Once, you might have reached for his hand to help ease his apparent nerves. That was Old Boundaries, though. New Boundaries say hands-to-yourselves, except for hugs goodbye.

He licks his lips, eyes on the pavement. He scuffs his sandal along the road, takes a deep breath.

“I got into an art program abroad,” he says finally, all in one breath.

Your eyes go wide. “Taehyung!” you cry. “That’s amazing news! Where? When do you go?”

He looks at you sideways, almost smiling, almost happy. “All the way in Europe,” he admits, laughing a little. “I’m scared out of my mind.”

“Oh my god,” you say, reeling a little. “You’re moving to Europe? How long is it? Is it, like, for school technically, or a job-?”

He considers this, head cocked as he thinks. “Kind of more like an internship with some killer benefits, and education mixed in?” he says. “It’s a little… unorthodox, I think. Anyway… it’s eighteen months… so almost two years.”

“Wow,” you say. “Wow, Taehyung, congrats.”

“Thanks,” he says, almost shyly, back to looking at the ground. “Anyway, I’ll make sure we have dinner or something before I go. I have the rest of the summer here. Just… make sure you call my mom a lot while I’m gone, okay?”

This makes you laugh, knocks you out of your little stupor. It’s just so typical Taehyung, asking you to do his duties for him. “They have phones in Europe, Taehyung,” you point out flatly. “You call your mom.”

Namjoon emerges from the apartment building, followed by Yoongi and Hoseok. Seokjin, a year ahead of Namjoon, had graduated the week prior, had already moved away from campus. “You ready to go?” Namjoon asks.

“Yeah,” you say, pulling the truck’s key from your pocket. “You ready, co-pilot?”

He grins at you over the heads of the other guys as you stand, preparing to hug everyone goodbye. “Ready,” he tells you.

Thursday December 19th

[9:14 PM] You: i have☝️ a question about christmas

Your phone lights up with a facetime call; you should have known Taehyung wouldn’t just text like a normal person.

“Taehyung’s facetiming me,” you inform Namjoon, who’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, scrolling through his own phone. “Don’t say anything questionable.”

“Questionable how?” he asks, as you answer the call.

“Hello, Kim Taehyung,” you say, waving.

“Bonjour,” he says, grinning.

You grimace. “I know I don’t speak French, but… I think your French is pretty bad,” you tell him regretfully.

He rolls his eyes. “Anyway. Christmas. I’m staying here.”

You frown, disappointed. “Really? I know it’s a long flight, but…”

You trail off as a voice behind Taehyung says something. He turns for just a second, murmuring, “Just a second, jagi.”

Namjoon’s head snaps up and his eyes meet yours, comically wide as you both clock it. You bring the phone very close to your face.

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, and he looks back at you, eyes equally wide, caught. “Did you just call someone jagi?”

“He did,” Namjoon says. “He absolutely did.”

Taehyung covers his face with a hand, slender fingers obscuring closed eyes.

“Oh, my god,” you say.

“Don’t,” he whines through his fingers. “Don’t make a big deal about it.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you demand. “In France?”

“Stop,” he complains. “You’re so annoying.”

“Does your mom know?” you cry.

“Yah! Enough!”

“I need to know!” you tell him. “I have to know or I will simply combust!”

Taehyung lets out a long, defeated breath, and looks silently at someone off-camera. Then, resigned, eyes on the ceiling, he says, “I’ve sort of been seeing someone here.”

“Sort of,” the someone off-camera scoffs.

You end up talking for almost another hour, both Namjoon and Taehyung’s new girlfriend moving into view as the four of you talk. Taehyung blushes and complains his way through the story of how they met, and she chimes in happily to add how they ended up together.

You hang up with smiles after telling Taehyung how happy you are for him. And you are - you remember his New Year’s resolution, almost a year ago: to let someone in, finally. It seems - based on the affectionate little touches, the quick, sly glances, the giggles and jokes that you’d just witnessed through your phone screen - that he actually did.

And, somehow, it doesn’t hurt at all. How could it, when Namjoon slides his hand affectionately up your thigh before he rises from the couch, stretching and yawning as he heads for the bedroom you share?

As you brush your teeth side by side, he asks you around a mouth full of toothpaste, “So, do you want to stick to what we did last year? Christmas with my parents, then New Years with Lin?”

“Sounds good,” you say, sliding your toothbrush back into the holder.

No need to think about it. It’s an easy answer. It’s always an easy answer when it comes to Namjoon. Because wherever he goes, you know you’ll always follow - feet, heart, all of it.

<- Prev

wow wow wow wow wow i can't believe it's over!!!!!! i fully do not know what to do with myself now!!!!!!

thank you all so so so much for going along this journey with me, and waving your pitchforks at taehyung, and putting up with my incessant need to defend his stupid ass, and for just being really incredible readers i love y'all so much :(

I have a Seokjin fic coming sometime in April, a fluffy oneshot called "Sit. Stay."

After that, it might be quite a long time until I post a long series again - fall at the earliest. I was doing okay balancing work and grad school through the fall and in the winter I had some breaks like over Christmas. But to be really honest, since late January it's been really, really hard for me to stay active. If this wasn't written ahead of time, I couldn't have done it. So just... know I'll be back, I have more stories I want to make happen... I hope some of you will wait for me even though I know I hardly deserve it <;3 and i'm really really thankful that you were here at all

324 notes · View notes

winter-dayz · 7 months

Text

Lonely St.

Pairing: Kim Seungmin x Reader Grim Reaper AU; Soulmate AU Genre: Angst; Fluff Words: 3322 Warnings: implied major character death; implied suicide; strong language

Masterlist | Fictober Masterpost

Taglist: @soobin-chois

Wandering.

Watching.

Waiting.

That’s all Seungmin really knew.

He wandered around the material plane, invisible to mortal beings, watching them enjoy their short lives. He saw them laugh and cry, celebrate and grieve. He watched their senseless wars, their fighting, their deaths.

And then he waited.

He waited for the feeling. The pull to a newly deceased soul.

It was all he’d ever known.

Ferrying souls so that they could rest, he’d never had a choice in it. It was what he was created to do.

The Fates had molded him in the shape of the beings he worked with, helping to gain their trust once they had left their mortal bodies and making it easier to get them to cross over.

He wasn’t frightening. He didn’t kill. He just did his job. He might’ve been a bit reserved towards his… clients, but he was anything but scary. Despite the rumors that the Grim received.

Presently, he was monitoring an older woman in the hospital. He could feel the tug. Any moment…

“Oh dear…” She sighed, eyeing her children and grandchildren weep over her. “I didn’t want them to mourn me.”

Seungmin nodded at the woman’s soul, “It’s what humans do. It can’t be helped. It simply shows that you were loved.”

Her wavering form seemed to smile up at him. “So are you the terrifying reaper, taking my soul?”

He shrugged, looking back over at the husk that the humans cried around. “I suppose that is what they say about me. Are you ready?”

“More than anything… I suffered long enough. I want to be with my husband again.”

“Just through there,” Seungmin motioned to the doorway of the hospital room, shimmering a white light. “He’s been waiting for you.”

The soul seemed to wriggle in excitement, becoming more and more amorphous as it melded into the white light of the other side, leaving Seungmin behind to once again wander… Watch… Wait…

What an odd thing it was, waiting.

He never knew how much time would pass.

🎃

The tug was there, and he followed it.

Just like always.

He found himself in a park, families with children and dogs with their owners playing all around him. As he settled on a bench, he felt the tug again.

Just in time.

A small brown puppy ran towards him, leash trailing behind.

He would’ve paid no mind. The creature wouldn’t be able to see him anyway.

“Hey! Grab that leash!” A young woman shouted at him.

He really would’ve paid no mind. If the woman hadn’t been able to see him.

For the first time in probably his entire existence, he moved reflexively. He didn’t simply wait. He reacted.

Seungmin grabbed the puppy’s leash in time, and the little dog whirled around in confusion, yipping at—presumably—nothing.

“Oh my god,” the woman gasped, coming to stand in front of him, “Thank you so much…?”

His mouth fell open, eyes wide and disbelieving. “You can see me?”

She plopped down onto the bench beside him, “Um… Yeah… Should I not be able to? Are you a spy or something? Oh shit! Am I blowing your cover?”

Sarcastic. The woman was sarcastic.

“Anyway, thanks for catching my dog. M is such a troublemaker. He’s always running off… I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Pretty. The woman—Y/N, his brain slowly supplied—was pretty.

“M is a letter.”

She hummed. “Very quick wit you have there, super spy. I wanted to name him M&M, y’know like the candy, since the day I got him he stole an entire bag of them, and then I had to rush him to the emergency vet… But he won’t respond to that. Only M, or just Puppy… If I’m being honest, I think he knows what his name is supposed to be and does it just to annoy me.”

Kind. Y/N was kind.

Wait.

Y/N could see him.

There was his brain coming back online…

How could she see him?

Was she on the cusp of death perhaps? A terminal illness? It would be rude to ask.

It also didn’t feel right. Those who saw him could usually tell who—what—he was. But she simply assumed he was a mortal out for a stroll in the park.

He turned to stare at her. The sun glittered against her skin. She was completely at peace, ethereal, in her human shell.

“You never told me your name.” She finally spoke, standing to leave with her dog.

He hummed but was still in too much of a daze to respond. She left with a shrug and a small laugh.

Dizzying. Her laugh was dizzying.

🎃

Her name had not been on his list, despite the tug he had felt to be in that spot at that moment.

It was as if he was destined to meet her.

But that shouldn’t have been possible.

He didn’t meet people.

He ferried souls. He did his job. He wandered, watched, and waited.

It was too much for him to figure out. Honestly, it was outside of his duties… above his pay grade, so to speak. And yet, it bothered him that he couldn’t do so.

His job continued; the tug reappeared, pulling him to the next soul.

He discounted the experience and moved on.

🎃

“So we meet again?” She tilted her head up at him, eyelashes batting and a playful smile dancing on her lips.

The tug had lied to him again.

He’d been pulled to the front of this ice cream shop, only to arrive at the same moment as the woman from the park.

She could still see him. She still wasn’t a soul. She was still ethereal.

“I don’t know why this keeps happening. You shouldn’t be able to see me.” He muttered, more to himself than to her. She snickered at him anyway.

“So you’re still undercover then? Wait, wait… Am I the target? Is that why I’m not supposed to see you?” She looked around, eyes wide as if she was afraid and searching.

At the furrow of his brows, she laughed and nudged his shoulder. “C’mon. Ice cream is on me, just gotta tell me your name.”

He hesitated, considered leaving. Obviously this was another fluke… And it’s not like he could really enjoy the human treat anyway. But then the tug returned, and it was stronger than it had ever been. It was so persistent, so annoying. He had to follow it. So, he followed her into the shop with a small mutter of, “Seungmin.”

🎃

He had double, no triple, checked his list.

Nowhere to be found was a L/N Y/N.

He had even broken a rule and snuck into The Fates’ hall.

Finding hers amongst the millions of threads should’ve been difficult. Normally, one is only drawn to their own string, and only The Fates themselves can easily identify anyone else’s thread. But…

But, the never-ending tug when it surrounded anything having to do with the chatty, ethereal woman led him right to her string.

It was fine.

It wasn’t frayed like she was near-death or ill. It wasn’t cut like she was deceased and unaware.

Y/N was a normal woman.

Or, as normal a woman could be if they could see, talk to, and feel the Grim Reaper.

🎃

This time he had intentionally followed the tug, knowing it would lead to the enigma in his life.

He shouted her name, stomping through the bar and uncaring of all the people around. They couldn’t hear him anyway.

She turned to him, her furrowed brows eased and a smile lit up her face when she spotted him. She didn’t notice that no one else had reacted to him.

Seungmin nodded towards the side door, and she followed him into the dark alley.

“How did you find me?” She laughed, drunkenly, “Been keeping tabs on me, super spy?”

“Yes.” Seungmin stated, “I need to know how you can see me.”

Y/N groaned, “You’re still playing this game?”

Seungmin huffed, “It’s not a game, Y/N. I–” He hesitated but let out a steady breath, “I am not human. I’m a Grim. I was created by The Fates to ferry souls. You shouldn’t be able to see me unless you are dead… or at least dying.”

Her eyes widened, seemingly terrified, “I’m dying?”

“No!” Seungmin nearly shouted. He was a rational being, but she made him react so strongly. “That’s the problem… Your thread seemed perfectly normal to me. Granted, I don’t work with them. That’s not my job, but it wasn’t frayed or ended.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N let the scared face slip, falling back against the brick wall in another fit of drunken giggles. “Are you insane? You really think you’re the personification of death or something?”

“I’ll prove it.”

And he did. He dragged her back through the bar, snapping in front of people’s faces and tapping on shoulders only to be met with confused glances around. She finally noticed no one reacting to him; she also noticed the crazy looks she got when she reacted and spoke with him.

It was her turn to drag him away, back to the front and into a cab that she shakily hailed.

Y/N remained silent the entire drive, only speaking to the driver.

Once inside her apartment, she let out a heavy breath.

“So I can see ghosts?”

“I’m not a ghost.”

“Well, you’re not a person, Seungmin!”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m aware of that. But I’m not a ghost. Ghost implies that I died and didn’t cross over. That’s not what happened.”

“Okay then, how are you… this?”

Seungmin’s brows furrowed, matching her own confusion. “What do you mean? I’ve always been ‘this.’ I’m a Grim Reaper. That’s how The Fates created me.”

“Okay… Not a ghost. So…” Y/N dropped onto the sofa beside him. “The Fates. You mentioned them earlier too and something about a thread?”

He nodded. “Yes. By all accounts, only beings that have passed and need to cross over can see and interact with a Grim the way you do. In some rare cases, a being that is terminally ill or on the precipice of death will see us as well, but their strings are always fraying. I checked yours since I wondered if that was the case for you; however, your thread seemed to be perfectly intact to me.”

“So I’m not dead, and you’re not alive… But we’re able to talk?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“It’s certainly not normal.”

“I see…” Y/N sighed, “Well, what if we just go our separate ways and forget about all of this until I actually am dead?”

“That’s the other thing…” Seungmin hesitated, “I keep getting drawn to you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, normally, I am drawn to a soul that is needing to cross over. But for some reason, more and more frequently, I am being pulled to you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, “That’s how you keep finding me… It’s what you meant by ‘keeping tabs.’ And here I thought it was a bunch of coincidental meet-cutes.”

He tilted his head, obviously not understanding, “I don’t follow. A ‘meet-cute’?”

She hummed. “It’s this plot device in movies and stuff where a future couple meet for the first time.”

Seungmin’s expression didn’t falter, but he whispered, “Couple?” to himself regardless. He was aware of the concept, of course, often interacting with sad souls being separated from their earthly partners or excited ones getting to reunite on the other side. But he himself had never considered companionship in depth… Particularly because before now he never thought it would be possible.

“You said those on the precipice of death can sometimes see you…” Y/N finally asked, breaking his lengthy pondering of what it would be like to have someone to wander through life with.

Seungmin noticed the quiver in her voice, the roughness of her tone. He hesitated, if only for a moment, before leaning forward and placing his hand on hers. “Yes, in rare instances. But, I can assure you that your thread was fine. You are not going to die anytime soon, Y/N.”

She shook her head, “That’s– No. I know you said that, and I believe you… I– I trust you. But… When I was little, I was in an accident. The paramedics who responded said my heart had stopped. I was dead for three minutes. Could that be some kind of exception?”

“I– I don’t know, Y/N.” Seungmin floundered. All of this was unprecedented for him too.

“Who would know?”

“The Fates.”

Y/N sighed, “I was afraid you were going to say that…” She stood from her sofa, trading her uncomfortable heels for sneakers. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Go?” Seungmin sputtered with wide eyes as he trailed her to the front door. It was the most reaction she had seen out of him; the most… human, he had seemed. And the cutest, if she was able to think about anything other than the fact that he was a Grim Reaper.

She shrugged, grabbing his hand without thinking to pull him to the elevator. “They are the only ones who know the answers to what is going on with us. So you’re going to take us to them, and we’ll get this sorted out.”

Seungmin gaped at you, “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.”

🎃

“Whoa…” Y/N breathed, staring up at the massive doors in front of her. “So this is the underworld?”

Seungmin shook his head, “Not exactly. It’s The Fates’ hall. It exists outside of your space and reality, a place that the trinity can weave time for mortals. It’s where I first remember… waking up.”

“Right. Well let’s go in.” She huffed, pushing forward as Seungmin’s eyes widened.

“Wha– You– We can’t just go in!”

She shrugged. “Why not?” Y/N asked, opening the doors and stepping through.

“Because it’s against th–”

“It’s about time you two showed up.” A voice spoke, reverberating down the neverending hall.

Y/N paused, gaping as she took in the millions of red threads strung around. Many of them crossed over one another, some tangling together and some fully knotted. There were strings dangling pitifully, obviously ended, and others clearly fraying and barely holding together.

What Seungmin had mentioned came to mind, settling like a rock in the pit of her stomach at how many people were so close to death without even knowing.

Another heavy feeling settled as she gazed over to the Grim, unaffected by the threads as he led her through the maze of red. How many people had he helped cross? How much death had he been around? How long had he been without real connection as the only beings that could speak with him were meant to leave immediately?

“Don’t think too hard, dear.” An elderly woman smiled up at her from a rocking chair, happily snipping a thread.

“Yes, child, you won’t likely remember any of those dreadful thoughts once you leave our chambers.” Another, middle-aged, woman spoke as she measured the string she was holding.

Y/N’s eyes widened, head shaking lightly to clear her jumbled mind, “Who–”

“Who are we?” The final woman, young—barely a woman—spoke, while she wove the red strings. “You know who we are. We’re The Fates. We’re time and destiny. And you are here because you are wondering how you can see our Grim Reaper.”

She nodded, unable to find words. Seungmin, likewise, remained silent. In all his existence, he had never directly met with The Fates.

The elderly woman tutted gently to capture the mortal and reaper’s attentions. “The Grim… Sorry, Seungmin… is a bit confused about his origins. We didn’t create him. He was a mortal once.”

“I was a what?!” Seungmin interjected.

“Hush child, don’t interrupt your elders.” The middle-aged woman scolded.

The young woman continued, “Yes, it’s true. We did not create you. You were once a man who cut his own thread, so-to-speak…”

“That’s to say that you unfortunately took your own life, dear. And, the punishment for this sin is to be reincarnated as a Grim Reaper…”

“You were assigned an undetermined amount of time assisting souls pass on. To not know rest, child.”

“But, a few years ago, we decided you earned your second chance… If you could reconcile with the soulmate that you so cruelly left behind in your last life.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered between The Fates as they stared at her meaningfully. “Oh my god… You mean me?”

“Yes, dear. You and Seungmin are a destined pair. Would you like to see your threads?”

She nodded dumbly, while Seungmin gaped. “I– But I looked at her thread, and I didn’t notice anything odd…”

“Well of course you wouldn’t, child. It’s not your job to read the strings.”

Before Seungmin could argue further, the hallway around them shifted, the strings around them changing. The scenery settled, and the middle-aged woman held two threads gently. She motioned Seungmin and Y/N over, allowing them to follow her explanation with a demonstration.

“This was your original thread, so beautifully woven and tied together, until…” She held the end of one of the threads, cut short as the other continued on, fraying slowly. “You cut your string, while your soulmate continued on, decaying from heartbreak. You were changed into a Grim Reaper shortly after, and we created a new thread from you.”

“And then,” The young woman continued, as the scenery changed once more. Seungmin recognized the two threads she now held, “Your soulmate was reborn.”

The Fates admired their handiwork on Seungmin and Y/N’s strings, tracing over where Y/N’s was cut and retied—explaining it was from her near-death experience.

“It wasn’t quite your time, dear. I apologize for being a bit scissor-happy. But, it was also a way for us to ensure our sweet Grim and you become more easily tangled later on.”

The two threads continued on, crossing over multiple times to signify each time Seungmin was pulled to her, and The Fates held them both tightly together as they stood still in time with each other in the hall.

“What happens now?” Seungmin whispered finally.

“Well, that will be up to you and your soulmate, child. Ideally, you two will continue on your journey together and strengthen your bond to grant you mortality.”

Y/N gasped, backing away into the maze of red string, “This is… a lot…”

Seungmin turned to follow her, making sure she safely made it back to the entryway, “I’m sorry if you feel you have no choice. I had no idea…”

She smiled sadly. “It’s not that, Seungmin. I actually like you… getting past all of this,” she gestured at the hall behind them, “I just don’t want to feel like we’re only together because it was forced by destiny.”

“We’re not.”

Y/N scoffed, “How can you be sure?”

Seungmin shrugged, “If we were being forced, we would’ve seen the rest of our threads woven together already. They aren’t yet because The Fates are giving us a choice.”

Y/N huffed at his blase attitude towards all of this, “Do you even like me, Seungmin?”

“What?” Seungmin’s eyes widened, “Of course I do! You were so kind to me, even when you thought I was crazy and kept following you. And then, all of this, you’ve been so brave and patient. You have such a light heart and not to mention how beautiful you are. You’re ethereal to me. Just unreal. I just…” Seungmin sighed, “I won’t force you into anything for my sake when all of this was my fault to begin with.”

“I don’t want you to be alone anymore…” Y/N whispered.

“I don’t mind. I’m used to it.”

“I don’t want to be alone anymore either…” She added, stepping closer.

“Then you won’t be. We can wander together.”

#stray kids #skz #kim seungmin #reader #kim seungmin x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #angst #fluff #grim reaper au #soulmate au #oneshot #fictober

74 notes · View notes

daydreaming-in-letters · 3 months

Text

Earth & Fire

Chapter VIII - The awakening of earth and fire

02/20/2024

Pairing: Hades (Hozier) x Anthea (OFC)

Word Count: 8,664

Warnings: language, fluff, plotting and scheming, abduction, blood (ichor), violence, cruelty, attempted rape, memories of past sexy times, nudity, blackmail, angst, so much angst, and Zeus (the God of Red Flags needs a warning of his own)

Summary: When the King of the Gods at last finds a way to lure Anthea from the Underworld, nothing will ever be the same again.

A/N: Nothing to say, just grateful you're still here.

Earth & Fire - Masterpost

Picture found on Pinterest

Divider by @firefly-graphics

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

His lover’s naked body gleamed enticingly in the golden hues of the fire light and he could not help himself from reaching out for the prominent curve at the far end of the young man’s back. He knew it would be silky as a freshly bloomed petal even before his fingers found the smooth skin. Hermes had never felt anything—or anyone—even remotely comparable to the touch of his beloved mortal, Krokos, and not a single day went by that he did not thank the Fates for the fortunate day their paths had crossed.

The god basked in the pureness of this moment, free from prying eyes, free to give himself to his lover completely and shower him with all the affection he deserved. He was not usually this sappy, he could not afford to be since, even though he was a god, he was well aware that there were far more powerful amongst the Olympians, who would only be too happy to use his enamoured state against him. They were vultures, all of them. Well, maybe there were a few exceptions, but he surely was not one of them. And he chuckled as he recalled the moment he had done to poor Hades what Hermes himself so desperately tried to avoid by meeting his lover in secret.

“Care to share your thoughts with me, my love? You know how dearly I like to laugh.”

Krokos’ words were muffled by the pillows, but he could not hide the drowsy slur they held. Hermes had tired him out thoroughly with their passionate lovemaking, a fact that sparked the sweetest of warmths to spread inside his chest. That alone would have been enough to sway him, but it was the anticipation of Krokos’ beautiful smile that ultimately set Hermes’ tongue loose.

“I just thought about Hades.”

“While caressing my behind? Is there any reason for me to be jealous?”

There was not. And Krokos knew that all too well. It was more than obvious that he was just teasing him as his mortal did not even stir underneath his lover’s tender caress.

“Krokos, please! He’s my uncle.”

“As if that were reason enough to stop you, or any of you immortal beings.”

He was right of course. Gods rarely cared about the degree of kinship when the heat of desire befell them, still Krokos’ remark earned him a pinch to his pliable flesh.

“And besides that,” Hermes went on pointedly, “he is still Hades, the most boring god the cosmos has ever had the audacity to create.”

“And yet the thought of him made you chuckle.”

“The thought of what I did to him today sure did.”

That statement finally made the young man sit up straight. “Oh?”

Hermes was silent for a moment as the full beauty of his love rendered him speechless. Those sparkly blue eyes never failed to pull him in, and he would have all too gladly let himself drown in them, but he was far more eager to see them burst with pride after hearing the story of his triumph over one of the great three.

“You remember how I told you of the greatest weakness a god can suffer, don’t you, my sweet?”

Hermes cupped the young man’s cheek as he sank deeper into the two pools of blue.

“Love,” Krokos’ whispered as his eyes briefly fell to his immortal lover’s lips.

“Exactly! It makes us vulnerable, even more so if our beloved is a mortal, an easy target for the other gods.”

Krokos’ eyes went wide. “No! You’re not telling me that Hades, of all creatures, fell in love with a mortal?” He chuckled before his eyes suddenly softened. “But then again it is only logical for death to fall in love with life, isn’t it? And so poetic.”

“Hush, don’t spoil it now. I was so proud of myself for playing them both, but if you put it like that, I almost feel bad for meddling with them.”

“Ah, no, my love,” now it was Krokos who reached for his lover and cupped his face gently. “If their love is as true as ours, I am sure it can’t be meddled with, not even by a powerful being like you.”

“That remains to be seen,” Hermes grinned wickedly. “For Hades is not the only one of the great three whose heart this mortal has bewitched.” The warmth of Krokos’ hands fell away, his sparkling eyes suddenly clouding over.

“I hope you know what you are getting yourself into, Kharidôtês. To do your mischief at the expense of the God of the Dead is one thing, to offend Poseidon or—Fates forbid—your own father—”

“Is something not even the Messenger God would be dumb enough to risk,” a boisterous voice broke the strained silence. “Or would you, son? And don’t disappoint me now, it was me after all who made you the God of Wit, amongst many other things you owe to me.”

No, it could not be. He had been so careful in choosing this place, and yet despite all the precautionary measures he had taken, the figure that stepped out of the shadows left no room for the hope of illusion. It was him. Unmistakably. And he did not blame Krokos for clutching his arm before freezing in place beside him.

The All-father was a fearsome sight to behold, and despite the calm facade he carried himself with, Hermes could feel his fury rage behind those azure eyes. Slowly he came closer and Hermes' own heart froze in his chest as he watched his father reach out for the defenceless youth.

“Aww, are you scared of me, puny mortal?” he scoffed before leaning in closer. “You very well should be. I could end you in an instant, you know. And I will not hesitate a single moment to do just that if my son won’t do exactly as I tell him.”

“I will, father,” Hermes was quick to comply. “Anything you ask of me, but please don’t—”

As long as he could remember, Zeus had never shown even the slightest bit of compassion. He did not know why he had hoped to find it in his father’s heart now. And the All-father’s haughty laughter seemed to prove once more that Hermes had been right not to expect anything different today. But at least he had let go of Krokos.

“Very well then,” Zeus did not waste another moment to state the true nature of his visit as he began to circle the bed. “First, I have a question for you, son, and I need you to answer me truthfully. As simple as that. Understood?”

“Yes, father.”

“So, I couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation and I fear it left me wondering who this mortal woman is that seems to have turned my broody brother’s head.”

Hermes had feared this day would come. He had feared it from the moment Hades had made him swear that oath, knowing that, faced with the impossible, it might very well cost him his life. And he had sworn it anyway in the face of being confined to the Underworld for an unforeseeable amount of time, separated from his lover. How ironic that it might very likely cost him far more than his freedom now.

“I…please, father,” he stammered, “you have to believe me! I would tell you if I could, but I can’t. I swore the divine oath.”

Hermes shifted on the bed, panic leading his body to move to keep his lover shielded from the All-father as best as he could. It would not make much of a difference, he thought as he awaited his father’s godly wrath. But to his great surprise, it never came. And when Zeus spoke again, his voice was completely levelled.

“I see. In that case, I suppose my brother made you swear not to tell anyone the mortal’s name.”

“Yes, he did. I am so sorry, father. Please…please…”

“Well,” Zeus continued, unmoved by his son’s desperate pleading, “did he also make you swear not to confirm should anyone—by pure chance—guess her name?”

It took Hermes a moment to realise what his father had just said, but his mind had understood already, a wave of relief washing over him instantly.

“He…he did not.”

“I thought so.” Zeus had stopped his pacing and was licking his lips in anticipation now. “And is that mortal woman’s name by any chance Anthea, daughter of Hephaestus?”

“It is.”

Hermes could see the spark of triumph igniting his father’s untameable desire anew. Nothing would stop him now, his prey finally within reach once more.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The Messenger God shook his head, his tongue suddenly too heavy to move as he realised his father was not done with him yet.

“Then there is only one more thing I need you to do for me.”

Hermes swallowed thickly.

“Bring her to me.”

“But father, I…that’s impossible. Hades will rather kill me than let me take her from the Underworld.”

Without a single word, Zeus flicked his fingers and Hermes could feel the warmth of Krokos’ body vanish from his side. In horror he peered down at the spot where he had just been sitting, but instead of the sweet sight of his lover, all he found was a tiny, violet flower. It could not be. It could not. On their own, his fingers reached out, still hoping to feel warm flesh instead of silky petals, but then he hesitated, afraid to damage the delicate flower and cause even more harm than he already had with his unguarded tongue. At least his eyes showed some mercy as tears began to cloud the cruel sight in front of him.

“A mere insurance, you do understand, my dear Hermes, and some motivation for you as well. Bring me what I want and he’ll be back to normal before you can even blink.” Zeus voice had been unnaturally balmy, designed to lull him into a sense of false security, but now his tone changed, piercing him to the very core with its icy touch. “However, should you fail, I will crush him underneath my foot and take comfort in the thought that if I am denied what I desire most, so will you.”

The horror of the thought was enough to make Hermes scream as if Zeus had already made do on his words. “No! Noooooooooo!”

But the All-father was gone, leaving his distraught son on his own. Still Hermes kept on wailing, even though there were no ears left to pick up the utter despair in his cries, no heart to be stirred by his woeful sounds but his own, not even a set of violet petals to shake in the air that left his lungs or tremble under the weight of the teardrops that fell from his eyes freely. It was only him now. Nothing less than a god, but also nothing more. Crumbling in the face of the impossible.

Darkness surrounded her. The eerie kind. The one that made the tiny hairs all over her body stand up straight. And the strange silence did not do anything to calm her growing sense of fear.

A sudden noise made her turn around. And even though it seemed to come from far away, the metallic sound made her shiver.

Anthea thought her mind was playing tricks on her when in the distance her eyes finally caught onto a dim sheen of light. But it was certainly there and the closer she came, the clearer it was to her that she was heading towards the dancing lights of a fire that fell through the entrance to a cave.

She was almost there, ready to face whatever was waiting for her, when a deep, familiar groan made her stop in her tracks. Ready to face whatever was waiting for her, but not this, please, not this. And as she finally stepped through the rounded hole in the stone, her eyes found him immediately.

He was chained to the wall across from her, the solid links leaving angry red marks all over his arms, legs and exposed chest. He was barely holding on to consciousness, his eyes already closed as he released another heavy breath. Besides the marks from the chain, he was covered in dark bruises and his face was drenched in the golden shimmer of fresh ichor. It still kept oozing from two deep cuts, one on his forehead, the other following the line of his cheekbone. She had never seen him like this and nothing could have prepared her for the dreadful sight, the panic that befell her and clutched her racing heart in an icy grip.

She wanted to run to him, free him from his shackles and take him home where she could tend to his wounds and see that he would find the rest he needed to recover. He would. She was sure of it. After all, he was a god and it would not take long until the ichor stopped flowing and his wounds would close. Soon there would not even be a single hint of them left, in fact, she was beginning to wonder why they had not already begun to heal. Unless…

“Anthea!” his blue eyes had opened and must have caught on to her sight. And the resignation she found there broke her heart all over again.

“Father!”

Her feet had started to run even before her mind had caught up with her actions and she crossed the distance in a heartbeat.

“Father,” she whispered again as she sank down beside him, trembling hands cupping his cheeks. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

She could see that he wanted to talk, but his tongue was too heavy to move. And so she got to work without an answer. Feverishly her fingers clawed at the heavy chains, using the full weight of her body as she tried to pull them out of their attachment to the wall. But however much she tried, they did not budge. With the realisation came the tears, making it even harder to focus on her task, still she was not ready to give up. She was groaning and grunting, pulling harder than she had ever pulled in her entire life, when the sudden touch of Hephaestus’ hand made her stop.

It was gentle but firm, and when her eyes found his, even through the salty veil of her tears she could see what he wanted her to do. And with the last strength that remained in his body, he spoke only one word.

“Run!”

Anthea’s eyes flew open and she was surrounded by darkness once again. Surrounded by darkness and him. He was everywhere, his scent invading her nose, his steady breathing breaking the silence and his arm draped around her middle, securing her against his chest. And it was his very presence that brought her to her senses again.

It was just a dream, she reassured herself as she stirred in his embrace to turn around and face him. Sore limbs and the slight ache between her thighs reminded her of the night before and she dreaded the darkness even more for veiling his beloved features from her.

He had been so gentle, so soft spoken, whispering words of desire and affection to her all through their tender lovemaking. Anthea could not hide the placid smile from curving her lips as her hand found the softness of his bearded cheek. Careful fingertips began to trace the prominent line of his cheekbone as he pulled her closer.

Even in his slumber he seemed to know exactly what she needed and so she stopped the exploration of his face and let her head sink against his fuzzy chest instead. His breaths came evenly, creating an enchanting rhythm as they mixed with the slow drum of his heartbeat.

She felt safe here in his arms, a safety she had only ever known in one other place: her home. But that lay abandoned now at the foot of Mount Mosychlos, while her father was at some place only the Fates knew to lead Zeus astray. If only he was well, and her dream nothing more than just a nightmare, one of Morpheus’ cruel tricks.

She could feel the panic begin to rise once more as the images resurfaced. What if he had found him? What if her dream had not simply been a nightmare but a vision? She had heard of that before, people seeing things in their sleep before they actually happened to them. What if Zeus—

Anthea jolted as a dull sound broke through the silence. It must have come from the balcony. On instinct she dove deeper into Aidon’s embrace. She would have to wake him because whatever it was that was moving about the balcony, it should not be here.

But then there was something else, a high pitched noise, like a bird’s chirp, and she suddenly knew what had landed right outside the room. Under any other circumstances, this could have waited until morning, but with the horrible images of her nightmare still fresh on her mind, she needed to know that he was safe. And so she wormed her way out of Aidon’s arms, careful not to wake him. She would be back in no time, calmed by the knowledge that her father was alive and well, ready to fall into blissful sleep once again.

It was not easy to find her way around in the dark and unfamiliar room, and it felt like an eternity until she had finally managed to make out her peplos on the ground and was ready to follow the blue sheen of light that fell through the tiny slit between the door and the ground.

Without the comfortable warmth of Aidon’s body next to her own, the air felt unusually cold as she stepped onto the balcony. Anthea needed to be quick. Find the mechanic messenger, read the news it brought from her father, and then hurry back to the source of heat she missed as dearly as if she had been separated from Aidon for days, not mere moments.

Step by step she moved forward, her eyes scanning the ground for the metallic sheen of the robin, but it was only when she had reached the doorway to her own bedroom that she finally made out the tiny bird—or what remained of it. Its formerly smooth and shiny wings were now crumbled and crushed, like the rest of its body. Trembling hands scooped it up from the ground as it tried to flap its broken wings. Once more it released that high-pitched noise she had heard before, a shrill tweet, and if she had not known better, she would have said it was in utter pain. Then it went limp and Anthea was left in the silence once more.

She did not even dare to allow herself the thought, and still she knew it was true. This could only mean one thing: her dream had been more than just a dream. A nightmare come true. And her father—

“I’m sorry.”

In an instant she stood, her eyes trying to blink through the tears, but when she finally spotted the dark figure leaned against the railing, she did not need to see clearly to identify the god.

“I should have known it is you. Is this your doing?”

Accusatory hands held out the crushed robin towards the intruder.

“No, it is not.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I am merely doing my job, Anthea. I am here to deliver a message.”

“A message? From my father?”

For a brief second a flicker of hope washed over her face, but it died away as quickly as it had come as Hermes shook his head in negation.

“I’m afraid not.”

He could see that her mind was still fighting the thought, but it did not take long before the former hope was replaced by realisation.

“No. No, this cannot be. I have been so careful,” she stammered as she had to lean against the palace wall for support.

“Not careful enough as it seems.”

A dark glare hit him. He had known it would come, and still it cut deep, allowing him a taste of the anger and despair she surely felt. He knew it all too well.

“Anyways, I am here to tell you that he wants to see you. And I was asked to make it abundantly clear to you that, should you refuse, your father’s death will be on your hands.”

Hermes could almost hear the thoughts racing behind her turmoiled eyes, and then it came, the reaction he had been waiting for. It was almost imperceptible, the slightest turn of her head in the direction of her sleeping lover.

“Oh, I wouldn’t even think about it. You’re on your own this time. No sweet Aidon to protect you. Or the deal is off.”

She glared at him again.

“What? Don’t kill the messenger!”

“Ah, shut up, Hermes, you little fuck. Everything that comes out of that mouth of yours is nothing but a lie. You are far more than the messenger in this game. Or how would Zeus ever have found out about this?”

Once again she held out the damaged bird to him and even though Hermes did not rise to her provocation, his silence probably spoke louder to her than any answer could have.

“You know very well Hades made me swear that oath. I could not possibly have—”

“Do you take me for a fool? As if you of all gods would not have found a way around this oath.”

Why? Why was it always him who had to take the blame? Why did she not see that he was merely a pawn in this game, just as much as she was?

“I am flattered, but I fear you take me for more than I am. And besides, what reason would I have to rat you out to the boss?”

She huffed. “I could think of a few. Do you want me to deliver them in chronological or alphabetical order?”

This was taking way too long. Any more of this agitated talk and Hades would surely wake and his whole plan would come to naught. He did not even want to think about what this would mean for poor Krokos. He needed to act quickly, force her to come with him if necessary. And so, in a gesture of utter despair, he closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm firmly.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” she hissed and before he knew what was happening, she had shaken off his hand with ease.

This…this was impossible. She was nothing but a mortal. How could she…? But Hermes was careful not to let his surprise show as in her rage she did not seem to notice what she had just done.

“You better cut out that bullshit and loose the attitude before meeting my father or you will regret it.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” she hissed.

“No, just a heads-up. And now let’s get moving. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“And I don’t like being raped. Tough luck for both of us it seems.”

Hermes seemed to be completely unimpressed by her words. And why would he be? She probably was not the first he had approached like this on behalf of his father. And like the others, he knew that she had no chice but to accept her fate and let him take her away. To believe she could somehow escape the All-father had been nothing but an illusion from the very beginning.

She just wished she could have said goodbye, not for her own sake, but for Aidon’s. Because even if she should find a way back to him, she would not be the same woman he had fallen in love with anymore.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Hermes move, and this time, she did not resist again as his fingers wrapped around her arm in a tight grip. He dragged her along a few steps before he pushed himself off the ground and even though she felt her feet loosing the ground too, it seemed as if part of her stayed behind to watch herself fly off to finally meet her fate.

Anthea had never felt time the way she did now. Not when she had passed these tunnels for the first time, after she had left the mortal realm behind to hide away in the Underworld, not even in the mere moments she had been alone with Zeus before her father had arrived to prevent the All-father from occupying her body. Because back then, she had still had hope.

After everything he had taken from her, her safety, her home, her freedom, at least hope had remained. But now even that was lost. Or maybe not all of it. If they could make it in time, if she would be complicit, there might still be hope for her father’s life.

“Can we not go any faster?”

“What now? Suddenly so eager to please the All-father?”

Anthea could not see his face in the pitch dark, and she did not need to. All it took was the malicious tone of his voice to picture the haughty smile on his lips.

“Oh, right. How could I ever believe that you of all gods would know what it feels like to have a loved one’s life threatened by Zeus?”

She had never anticipated her words might have any kind of effect on him, and it was more than possible that she was merely mistaken, but all of a sudden the whooshing noises of the passing rocks and cave walls seemed to speed up. It was not the first time that Anthea wondered how Hermes managed to glide through the gloomy caves this expertly, but just like before she would not find an answer to her question. She squinted, just to be sure, and soon the warming of the air around them confirmed what her eyes had not been able to tell without doubt: they were almost there.

Anthea had imagined this moment in her mind over and over again, up to a point that she had been convinced she could already feel the warming rays of the first sunlight on her face, but as they finally left the labyrinth to the Underworld now, she dreaded the golden light that hit her face. The rich crimson of the sky was much more to her liking. She had also anticipated Zeus to be waiting somewhere near by, eager to finally seize what he had been denied for weeks. And yet again, she was proven wrong as Hermes kept on travelling. Further and further he took her away, and when she turned around, the entrance to the cave was nowhere to be seen anymore.

Instead, in front of them the faint shapes of a number of buildings slowly appeared in the morning mist. It was a large site, a sanctuary that held not only one but many temples, and also the destination of their journey as Hermes steps became continuously slower until their feet touched the ground in front of the largest temple in sight.

“Where are we?” Anthea demanded to know.

“Olympia.”

Of course. What other place would he choose to force himself upon her than the very symbol of his power? Every child knew that sacrifices to the gods were best made inside the very heart of their own place of worship. And so she did not even blink as Hermes allowed her no time to marvel at the impressive columns that lined the entrance to the temple and merely dragged her inside without ceremony.

The strong smell of frankincense pushed itself upon her and she could feel herself starting to get dizzy when her eyes fell upon the vast centrepiece of the sanctuary and washed away any other sensation from her system.

Anthea was sure she had never seen anything even remotely comparable to the ostentation right in front of her in her entire life. Its magnitude was ridiculous, despite the shocking resemblance to the original it indisputably held. She had heard of the statue before, everyone knew of it, and still she could not quite believe her eyes.

The body was built from the finest ivory and clad in a gilded robe that was splayed out across his lap and cascaded down the legs, leaving his chiseled chest on full display. They had crowned the King of the Gods with a wreath of olive sprays and made him take a seat on a beautifully ornamented throne. Anthea guessed he was almost ten times her size and if he were able to rise from his throne, his head would easily break through the roof and enable him to take a good look around. Around his feet, a massive pool collected the liquid—probably oil—that covered his whole body in an unearthly shine, his reflection doubling the effect of his divine height.

In his right hand he held another deity which Anthea without difficulty identified as Nike, the Goddess of Victory, to symbolise his triumph in the Titanomachy and the beginning of his reign as the All-father. The meaty fingers of his left hand clutched a huge sceptre, topped off by an eagle which was flapping its massive wings. The sight caused a shiver to run down Anthea’s spine, so massive that she could feel small bumps begin to spread all over her skin.

“Do you like what you see?”

His voice was close and so heavily laced with arousal that Anthea’s heart stopped beating for a second. And when she spun around to face him, he was there, right in front of her, grinning down on her petrified form. For a moment, she could do nothing but glare at him with all her might, and still his eyes kept on shining with the full confidence of his victory.

“I didn’t think you would have your henchman drag me here just to hear my expertise on your temple.”

As a god, and the king of his kind at that, Zeus was not used to anyone talking back at him, but it could not have been more obvious than in this very moment how much it vexed him to be denied his rightful reverence. And the punishment for that was always the same. It was just her luck she was no use to him dead and so he opted for grabbing her chin instead of her throat.

“Humor me.”

“Very well then. I think the likeness is quite true to the original. Whoever is responsible for this has done a fine job, especially the display of megalomania is excellent.”

A rush of satisfaction ran through her as Zeus could not hide the twitch in the corners of his, until now, unwavering grin. His grip on her also tightened just the tiniest bit, but apart from that he stayed excruciatingly calm, no fit of rage she had counted on.

“I see you have lost nothing of your belligerence,” he said calmly before he leaned in. His lips brushed along her cheek and ear in the process, and Anthea could not tell whether it was his scorching breath that crawled along her neck or the ferocious excitement in his voice that caused her to shudder as he whispered, “I can’t wait to see what it takes to drive the disobedience out of you.”

Sharp teeth dug into the soft flesh of her earlobe and Anthea could not suppress the whimper that forced its way out of her throat. It was followed by a guttural chuckle, a mere foretaste of what was yet to come, and still it made her stomach twist violently. It would not need his gloating and amusement upon her pain to make this the most harrowing experience of her life, and even though she knew hardly anything about the All-father, it was enough to predict that there was no need to hope for mercy once he would be alone with her.

And it seemed the King of the Gods could not wait to begin his ravage as he forced his attention away from his trophy to talk to the one who had lured her here.

“I have to admit, you did well, son. I did not expect your return so soon. And successful at that.”

He did not wait for a reply before he reached inside his robes to pull a tiny flower to light. Anthea had never seen a plant like that before, she was sure she would have remembered those delicate, violet petals. But there had to be more to it if it was the reward Hermes was about to receive for delivering her to his father. And once again Anthea was proven right as Zeus placed it in his son’s hands with a rare display of carefulness. Hermes’ eyes flickered treacherously in the light of the young morning as he stared up at his father with such hope that it made Anthea’s heart clench for him. It did not take more than a flick of Zeus’ fingers to finally release him from his anguish and instead of the flower, the Messenger of the Gods held a young man in his arms. Immediately he clutched him to his chest, the tears he had fought so hard to push back now flowing freely.

“Krokos, my Krokos,” he sniffled as he pressed his face into the crook of the other man’s neck and as much as Anthea wanted to keep on hating him, she could not.

“Leave now! I don’t have time for your sentimentalities.”

Zeus did not watch as the lovers did as he had ordered and hurried towards the columns that led them outside. But Anthea did, her eyes glued to Hermes and Krokos as they made their way towards safety. Oh, how she wished with all her might she could follow them, to run as far as her feet would carry her and find a way back into the Underworld, even if she had to give her life to be granted access. But the pity she found in Hermes gaze as he turned one last time before vanishing from view, reminded her more than sufficiently that the Fates had other plans with her.

“Finally alone.”

His teeth were bared in a grin so jubilant that it made her hand clench into a fist, ready to punch it out of his nauseating face should the opportunity present itself. But it did not. Instead she found herself dodging his advance as he reached out for her while taking a step forward.

“Where is my father?” she snarled. There would be no reward without a bargain first.

“Your father?” Anthea had hoped that the change of topic might be just as effective as a punch to the face, but instead of wiping the haughty grin from his mug, her question only seemed to make it grow an impossible inch wider. “We both know the cripple you are talking about is not your father.”

“Hephaestus is my father in every way.” The father you should have been for him instead of getting rid of him by throwing a helpless baby off a fucking mountain, she wanted to add, but bit her tongue instead.

“In every way but one, you meant to say.”

“In every way that matters.” Her voice echoed from the high walls of the temple and Anthea used the short moment of silence that followed to make it abundantly clear that she had nothing more to say on that matter. “And now tell me where he is.”

Now it was Zeus’ turn to fall silent for a while and the longer it took him to answer her, the more she felt her heart sink. But it was only when the first grunt of amusement had wormed its way from his chest that she realised what was really going on. A trick, it had taken nothing more than a measly illusion to lure her from the one safe space in the whole cosmos, and she truly deserved the mocking fit of laughter he spat at her now. All their efforts in vain. The agony she could have prevented by simply giving herself to him on the day he had first demanded to have her. What a waste.

“Did you really think you could run from me, kasalbas? You and your father, you must be rather delusional if you ever truly believed that you could hide yourself away from me in the Underworld forever. Or did you hope for my brother’s help? Is that why you became his whore?”

Aidon’s whore. The thought made her huff. If only the god in front of her knew that she would rather be nothing more but Aidon’s whore forever than be so much as looked upon by this…this creature.

“What is it you want, Zeus?” she hissed at him with all the venom she could muster. “Do you want me to submit to you? To surrender so you can finally do as you please? Feast your sick and twisted understanding of passion and desire on me? If it will free me of you, I will do as you wish.” She took a step closer, arms spread wide so he could help himself to what she had promised. “I will give myself to you. My body. Because that is all you can have. The rest of me will never belong to you and there is nothing you can do about it. Imprison my father? Kill him? Take everything I love from me? Do it. But know that it will only make me hate you more. I will never belong to someone who calls himself the Ruler of the Cosmos, the All-father and yet acts only to his own benefit. The god of moral conduct? Of law and order? Of justice? You’re a fraud Zeus. It couldn’t be any clearer, yet you expect my devoted worship. And you dare call me delusional.”

“Enough!”

He surged forward in pure rage, and Anthea did not know what had happened. All she felt was the violent ache in her back and head where they had hit the column behind her. And the vibration of his booming voice that still shook the building. The rest of the world had gone dark for a moment, tiny stars dancing before her eyes as the heat of his body seeped through the thin fabric of her peplos. He would conquer her body now, the plundering and pillaging had already begun, one eager hand helping itself to her flesh while the other pinned her own hands in place above her head. He was more than ready, his arousal pressing into her stomach hard and heavy and everything that remained was the urgent wish that she had fallen unconscious the second her head had hit the column in his brutal attack.

“I’m going to make you mine now, Anthea,” he grunted before his tongue darted out to leave a sticky path all the way up her neck, “consent or not. You will be mine.”

He was still far gone when he first felt it.

In the beginning there was only warmth. Slowly it invaded his peacefully slumbering form, gently caressing the surface before it sank deeper, and then deeper still, until it settled in his very core, the warmth now pumping through him with every steady beat of his heart.

Next came the colours. Hues of gold and rust, dancing across closed lids, creating shapes and patterns that had been long forgotten. He had banned them from his memory, the images too painful to ever think of them again. Memories from a past life that he had left behind the moment he had become the God of the Underworld.

It was strange, the time they had chosen to resurface, but not entirely implausible. With the first spark of light that had befallen his heart in centuries, it seemed only natural that more light wanted to follow, even if it was only a faint memory.

“Anthea.”

Her name left his lips in a whisper, the hoarse tone of his voice not able to veil all the feelings that surged through him as the memories of last night came rushing back to him. The warmth within her touch. Her scent, floral and intoxicating, making him crave more—more of her kisses, her caress, her sweet song of desire that she had sang for him so ardently.

But it was more than passion that had bound them last night. What he felt for her, words could never do justice. He could hardly believe himself that feelings like these were meant for someone like him, a creature of darkness. And yet loving her was easy. Everything was easy with her by his side, it came naturally, like the first light of morning, soft and hazy, just to burst into all colours imaginable at once. It had altered him completely, had gifted him with a hope he had buried centuries ago, as if the sun was truly shining on him for the first time.

Would it always be like this? Every new day beginning with the thought of her?

Hades stretched his long, sleep-drugged form, yearning arms reaching out for his beloved mortal, but all they found were ruffled sheets, the other half of the bed cold and deserted. His lids flew open, just to close again as the golden sunlight burned brutally in a pair of eyes so inured to darkness.

What in the name of the Fates? He tried again, this time carefully squinting against the brightness. One hand lifted to protect him from the blinding light, he sat up. This was impossible. And still it was real. The God of the Underworld could not recall when he had last seen the golden disc rise from the ground, but it was a sight too imposing, too elemental to ever forget. But most importantly, it was a sight exclusive to the mortal realm, never to be enjoyed on the Underworld. In his bewildered state he took a quick look around. Relief washed over him for the tiniest moment when he immediately identified the familiar features of his bedroom, but it was easily drowned out by another heavy wave of unease.

He was up in an instant, hurriedly wrapping his form in the chiton he found at his feet. He needed to see for himself, needed to make sure he was not just delusional, and still, what he found when he finally reached the railing of the balcony, made him question his sanity all over again.

Where he had expected to find the usual rocky wasteland of his realm, there were meadows, woodlands and golden streams everywhere. Beds of flowers grew wherever his eyes went, some already beginning to climb the palace walls, their bloom seeming even more colourful in front of the dark stone.

He could have stared and marvelled at this miracle for the rest of his life, but his ears had picked up the soft patter of bare feet on the marble ground. Anthea. It must be her. His heart beating heavily inside its cage, as if it was about to jump out from all the joy it felt, he turned and in an instant it fell silent.

“Minthe?”

“My lord.” The naiad bowed lowly, eyes respectfully cast to the ground.

“What are you doing here? I thought I had made myself clear last time we spoke.”

“You did, my lord. You told me not to set foot into the palace again as long as the mortal was still around, and I didn’t.”

She lifted her head, a pair of watery blue eyes gazing up at him, and the hope he found there made his heart freeze in his chest.

“What do you mean?” he pressed out between gritted teeth and when her only answer was a wry smile, he could feel something snap inside of him. He moved quickly, leaving her no chance for retreat. Furious hands grabbed her in a tight hold, shaking the gleeful nymph until her eyes went wide and her insolent grin had faded from her lips. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!”

If she knew anything—or worse—if she had done anything to harm the woman he loved, not even the Fates would be able to help her. And Minthe knew, he could tell from the way she crumbled in his hands, from the way her eyes clouded over, the fire of hope they had held extinguished at once. She was just about to open her mouth and confess, when someone else beat her to it.

“My lord.”

He knew that voice. Dark and soothing. It made him want to set the nymph down, crawl back into his bed to forget about the all-consuming panic that had befallen his heart and sleep, just sleep.

“Hypnos, this is not a good time.”

Hades refused to face the intruder, instead he kept on glaring at the naiad, whose feet had slowly made contact with the ground again.

“I know, old friend. But you will want to hear this.”

The God of the Dead closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to calm himself down. There was no use in enraging the God of Sleep. He was too good a friend and ally, and still he needed him to understand that they would have to postpone their conversation. And so he turned to face the god. Covered as always in a grey cloak, it was hard to make out his face in the shadows of its hood. The only thing he could make out clearly was the pair of gleaming white eyes, and his matching hair that fell down his chest. The huge set of white wings that sprang from his back was crossed in front of him, an unusual sight, but Hades had no time to pay it any mind.

“Right now, all I want to know is that the woman I vowed to protect is safe.”

Hypnos sighed, and before he even opened his mouth to speak, Hades felt the last bit of hope dying inside him.

“I’m afraid she is not, my lord. Quite the opposite.”

And with that he opened his wings to reveal another winged figure. He looked very much like his father, the only difference being, that his hair, eyes and wings were tinted in the darkest of black. Gloomy shadows engulfed him, floating around his body, veiling him and revealing his true nature all the same: Morpheus, God of Dreams and Nightmares.

“Tell him, son. Tell him what you did and hope that it won’t be too late.”

There was no time to lose. If it was true what Morpheus had so ruefully reported to him, it might as well be too late already. The thought almost too much to bare, his heart clenched violently and he had to pause his steps for a moment. Just long enough until he had mustered the strength to push it aside. But unfortunately it had provided her with the opportunity to catch up with him.

“Please, Aidon, I beg of you. Don’t risk your life! Not for her.”

He stopped in his tracks, white heat rushing through him as he turned to face her.

“Don’t you ever dare call me by that name again, Minthe, or I swear I will make do on my promise and turn you into a bloody plant. And just to be very clear about this, I will risk my life for whomever I please, without needing approval from you or anyone for that matter.”

He was about to turn again, mere steps away from the two things the needed before he could leave, when she grabbed his arm.

“But she does not love you,” Minthe almost screamed, yet under his fuming gaze her voice became nothing more than a feeble whisper, “not the way I do.”

Hades huffed. This was ridiculous. They had already discussed this at length and now was not the time to—

“I love you, Hades, I do. I know everything about you, every little detail. I know that figs and goat cheese are your favourite food, and that darkness brings you unease. I know when you are upset, angry or happy from the way your eyes slightly change colour. I know that you sometimes sneak away to the Upperworld just to take a look at the moon, that you love the smell of soil freshly soaked with rain and the feel of Cerberus’ dark fur between your fingers. I know you, Hades. Every little thing about you.”

Minthe had fallen to her knees during her passionate speech, still holding onto him, and he could not help but see her as the dead weight she was to him in this very moment. But he knew that he was not being fair. Then again, neither was love, or life.

“It’s true. You know all these things about me, Minthe.” He found himself crouching down by her side, her chin held up by his fingers to make her face him. “But Anthea, she is the one I want to know all of these things about me. And everything else there is to know, even the darkest parts of my soul. She will know them one day, and if she still doesn’t run, then that, Minthe, that will be love.”

There was realisation in her eyes, and still, Minthe was not ready to admit her defeat.

“How can you be so certain that she won’t runl!? How do you know she does not only see the God of the Underworld and the power he harvests? Even a lovelorn fool like you cannot deny that it is quite convenient in her situation to have a strong protector wrapped around her finger. Although this power of yours might still not be enough to defeat your brother and save her.”

Hades stood, a feeble smile on his face as he took a step back. “Maybe not. But I vowed to protect her and I intend to keep my word.”

“Even it will cost you your life?” Minthe spat, unable to hold back the tears that had threatened to fall this entire time. He knew that his honesty was cruel, but she needed to understand, once and for all, no matter how badly it hurt.

“Even it it would send me right to Tartarus for all eternity.” Minthe gasped. “I love her. There is nothing more to say on that matter.”

He left her there, on the cold floor, silently weeping as he was finally able to grab what he had come here for. His fingers wrapping around the bident, the very symbol of his divine strength, he felt the power he wielded surge through him stronger than he usually did. He would need every last bit of it in the hours to come. But power alone would not suffice. He needed cunning as well, needed the element of surprise to stand even the slightest chance against his brother. And so he reached for the other item, a dark helmet, forged by the Uranian Cyclopses to help win the war against Kronos. Never had he believed he would ever need to use it against one of his siblings, one of the gods who had fought by his side, but times changed. And so, with a heavy sigh, Hades donned his helmet and disappeared from view.

“Goodbye, Minthe,” he whispered, as the ether opened before him with a flick of his hand and the God of the Underworld let the waiting darkness swallow him once more.

taglist:

@ashesofblackroses

@lowkeysimpinloki

@appreciating-fanfics

@notmanagingmymischief

#hades!hozier x ofc #hades!hozier #hozier #hozier fanfiction #greek mythology au #earth and fire

26 notes · View notes

eleanor-bradstreet · 6 months

Text

Chiaroscuro - Part 7 (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Vampire AU Rated/warnings: 18+ - explicit sexual content, language, discussion of terminal illness, blood, vampirification Word count: 4.6k Art by @bridgertontess

Part 6 Part 8 Masterpost

Filled with liquid courage - an entire bottle of it - you staggered back to Ben’s door in your pajamas. You knew what you were there to do. Your heart and mind were aligned on what you wanted. You just needed to numb yourself from thinking about it too hard. You knocked loudly until he appeared in the doorway, the picture of sin in a black tee and perfectly tailored trousers. He guided you, stumbling, into the lounge.

“Come in.” There was a wrinkle of concern between his brows. “Is everything alright?”

You spun around to face him. “Why is this so easy?” You knew the wine was slurring your words and lending them an edge of accusation. “Why does it feel like I’ve always known you?”

He paused for a moment, assessing you, then spoke gently. “Because you have. You studied my words and you saw me in my paintings. You’ve always known who I am, just not that I was so close by.” A hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he smoothed your hair. “I know you too. Why do you think I chose to live in this building? For years I’ve been keeping an eye on the beautiful woman who keeps an eye on my work.”

“Years?” You balked. None of this had been a coincidence.Then you smirked at him. “Should I be upset with you for stalking me?”

He scoffed. “It’s not like I’ve been watching you sleep. I’ve just been nearby hoping that one day you might approach me. But you never did. And then when I felt how sad you were, I knew something was wrong. I worried I may never get the chance.”

“So the wine was a nudge?”

“It was a hand extended, if you wanted to take it.”

“And I did.” You let out a shaking exhale, overwhelmed again by his thoughtfulness.

Standing only inches apart, he trailed his fingers down the length of your arm and entwined them with yours. “And now it’s yours. Anything I can offer you, it’s yours.”

You gazed back into the soft depths of his eyes. It felt as if his magnetism was pulling your true feelings to your lips.

“I want…I don’t want to be lonely anymore. I don’t want to feel hopeless. Like my future is just a void of pain.” Your breath hitched as hot tears began to pool in your eyes. “I told you I was going blind but I didn’t tell you why. It’s a brain tumor. It’s wrapped around my optic nerve. They can’t remove it. It’s death or blindness. Possibly both.”

Ben’s jaw locked, giving him an uncharacteristically serious expression. He listened intently, bringing his free hand to rub your shoulder.

“They don’t know if it’s terminal or how long that would take. My mother died of a brain tumor then my father died of grief. I know what it looks like to deteriorate from this. It’s…it’s a hell I’m not sure I can face.” Shuddering, you hung your head and took off your glasses to wipe your tears. You hadn’t confided this honestly in anyone since your diagnosis and it was an undeniable relief. When you had learned that the cause of your waning vision was the same hidden succubus that had taken your parents, you felt a wry and terrible sense of fate. You were just another generation doomed to be felled by the same beast. That was, until a beast of a different kind appeared and gave you some glimmer of hope.

Ben took your glasses and began inspecting them curiously.

“You can see how bad it already is,” you sighed.

He peered through the thick lenses before folding his lip into that trademark pout. “I can’t actually. My eyes adjust. I can see perfectly fine, even through these.” He shrugged. “Apex predator.”

As he rested them back onto your nose, your eyes locked in a moment of silent understanding. You weren’t sure if he could read your thoughts but you tried to telegraph them anyway.

“Do you want my help?” His voice was low, full of gravity.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He raised both hands to cup your face, pupils burning. “You understand what you’re asking for? You know the sacrifices you’ll be making? No more sunlight. No more wine. Fading out of people’s lives as they grow older and you don’t.”

One of your tears rolled over his knuckles. “I’d lose the sunlight anyway. I had the best wine of my life tonight. And I’d rather say goodbye at a time of my choosing than because my luck had run out.” You clasped your hands over his, imploring him to believe you. “I want it. I want it now. Whatever the sacrifices, they’re better than anything waiting for me if I stay in this life.”

You felt as if he were staring into your very soul. You were breathing so heavily, it heightened your awareness that he was not; an eerie imbalance but one that no longer caused you alarm. Now you imagined yourself the same way, as cool and still as stone, living for eternity in the shadows. With death and blindness no longer able to chase you and Benedict at your side, the tradeoffs seemed insignificant. You could still enjoy art and music and nights out in the city. You could still see your loved ones for years to come. You weren’t asking to die, just to be transformed. If the world in darkness still held enough beauty for Benedict to thrive upon for so long, you were certain it could sustain you too.

“Alright,” he finally replied, leaning in for a tender kiss. You melted under his generosity as he pulled back and rested his forehead against yours. “I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking of this for a long time.” He began to trail kisses across your jaw and down your neck, murmuring into your skin. “There’s something in you…magnetizing…want to make you mine.”

You clung to his shoulders, your hunger for him tempering your anxiety. “Have you ever turned someone before?”

He pulled back. “No. But I know how it’s done. Let me take you to bed. That would be the best way.”

“Is sex part of the process?” You asked, baffled.

He chuckled. “No. But I want to make it as pleasurable as I can for you. I think it would help.”

Nerves knotted your stomach. “So, it’s painful?”

He nodded, frowning. “For a short while. Then you fade and you wake up in a new life. Perfected.” His eyes raked over your body as he deftly slid his hands into your cardigan and eased it down your arms. He returned to kissing your neck, more passionate now, lathing your clavicle with his tongue. “And I want to fuck you,” he rasped. “I need it. While you are still the way you were born.”

Goosebumps broke out across your skin both at his words and the chill of his touch. You gripped into his hair, holding on as your legs threatened to give out. “Sex is different on the other side?”

“It is. It’s more. Nearly overstimulating.” He kissed his way across your chest. “So exquisite in its own way. But it loses its delicacy, that edge of danger. You won’t feel as searing to me as you do right now. You won’t sound the same.” Large hands splaying across your back, he pulled your body tight against his as he rumbled in your ear. “I want to hear you gasping when I enter you. Want to feel the heat of your cunt as you break around me.”

A small moan escaped your lips. His velvet voice ran straight through your core in a streak of arousal. “Take me to the bedroom. Now.”

With a devilish grin Benedict led you through his spacious flat and into the master suite. It was furnished as everything else was in heavy, dark regency style. Blackout curtains hung tight across a pair of french doors that opened onto a balcony. The massive wooden bed was ornately carved and draped decadently, but you couldn’t help snickering at the cliche gothic details.

“Black sheets? Really?”

Benedict shrugged. “It’s more of a practicality than a vibe. It’s not pleasant to wake up with your bed looking like a murder scene.”

Before you had time to wonder how exactly the sheets got bloodied, he pushed you against the nearest wall and pinned both wrists above your head. Groaning into your mouth, he plundered it with his tongue, pressing the length of his marble body against yours. The sensations were overwhelming, knocking you breathless. This had been your fantasy for so long, even before you had learned his secret, and now it was laced with even greater anticipation, making your heart pound against your ribs.

You shivered as Ben kissed his way down your body, over your heaving chest and through the silk of your nightgown. His hands moved so skillfully you didn’t realize he had slipped off your underwear until you felt the cool air against your wetness, quickly replaced by the oddly cool probe of his tongue. You gasped, fingers raking deep into his hair as he lifted your thigh over his shoulder and buried his face between your legs, snarling. The room started to swim around you. His lips moved so assuredly, his tongue swirling and surging to create sensations even your favorite toys had never achieved. He was playing you like an instrument, knowing precisely where and how you wanted to be touched without any need for conversation. You moaned helplessly, tossing your head back against the wall. You would never last long under such ministrations. Then a spike of anxiety brought you back to your senses.

“Is this…” You panted, clinging to his dark locks for dear life. ��When will it start to hurt?”

The sight of his searing eyes looking up between your thighs could have ended you right there.

“Darling, relax,” he purred. “I’m not turning you yet. I’ll talk you through everything once I do. But if you think I’m going to end your mortal life without feeling you come in my mouth first, you are sorely mistaken.” Another wave of arousal flooded through you and all you could do was gape. “Now, shut up and let me pleasure you.”

With a growl he returned to feasting on you. You didn't have a choice but to shut up. You couldn't breathe, all you could do was relent to the feeling of your mind and body hurtling toward a peak, dancing along a tightrope of the most exquisite tension. Though Ben's mouth lacked the heat of a mortal man, he more than made up for it with exacting friction. It briefly occurred to you that he had over two hundred years of experience delivering pleasure, and that he had no need to breathe. He was clearly lethal in more ways than one. He proved as much when two slender fingers slid inside to locate your most sensitive spot as assuredly as if he had crafted your body himself.

In moments you felt yourself spasming, moans escalating into shouts as everything in your core tightened. On his knees, Benedict groaned into your flesh with hungry, encouraging noises. His tongue triggered wave after wave of release, coaxing more out of your muscles than you ever knew was possible. You scrabbled against him, legs trembling as he eased your foot back to the floor and looked up, chin glistening.

"Can I feed on you? Truly?"

His voice was dusky, irresistible. Your mind was so flooded with bliss you were ready to give him anything.

"Yes, I trust you."

Something flashed in his eyes then his head dipped lower. With his fingers still curling inside you, he opened his mouth against your inner thigh, inches from your throbbing sex. You didn't feel any pain, just a sudden bloom of heat under his lips and an odd tugging sensation as he let out a muffled, animal sound. While he fingered and siphoned you simultaneously, you breathed deep and ragged, riding out the final waves of orgasm against his hand, feeling a pulse beating through your sensitive nerves and down to where his mouth clamped onto you. It felt like a natural extension of your release, letting him taste even more of you.

It was only when he sat back and you saw his crimson-stained teeth that you remembered he was dangerous. That he was more than just a man who was skilled in the bedroom. That this was more than just sex. That in this moment you were not just a woman, you were prey. You felt something running down your leg and turned to see dark rivulets streaming from the puncture wounds. You were still gauzy, it all seemed surreal.

"So much blood..." you marveled under your breath.

Before you could process any further, Benedict rose and guided you to lay gently across his bed. Standing by your feet he pulled off his shirt, lifted your injured leg and balanced it against his shoulder. You watched as he unbuckled his belt then wrapped it around your thigh above the bite. He moved with such purpose, it was obviously not his first time crafting a makeshift tourniquet.

“This won’t matter for much longer,” he murmured, cinching it tight until the muscle throbbed. “But I don’t want you losing too much blood while we…enjoy ourselves.”

The crooked smirk was paralytic, ensnaring you without any need for glamouring. Lowering your leg he bent over you, lithe, predatory, his pale eyes turned black with want. Long fingers hooked under your nightgown and slid it upward. Lifting it over your hips he planted a slow, deep kiss on your navel, then another on your belly, then your sternum, tasting his way over your torso as your breath returned, heaving. You had full view of his spectacular shoulders rippling in the low light until he whisked the garment over your head and stared down at you hungrily, now completely naked beneath him.

He moved next to your breasts, a low rumble emanating from his chest as his mouth scoured yours. Your skin hummed under his touch, the fire building quickly again in your belly. The cool swipe of his tongue instantly stiffened your nipples and you cried out, arching your back at the delicious, prickling sensation. You vaguely registered that he was removing his trousers while he marked you, sucking hard enough at your skin to leave a stippled trail of broken vessels.

A hand snaked between your legs and ran over your folds.

“Christ, you are soaking…” he groaned into your chest.

Then you felt him line up at your entrance, something blunt and sizable ready to press into you.

“Ben, wait!” You gripped his shoulders, a barrage of questions managing to surface just before you let yourself drown in sensation. He froze, looking up at you with concern. “I just… this is probably a stupid question.” You didn’t know how worried you should be about living out the storyline of some young adult fantasy novel. “I’m protected but, you can’t… is there anything supernatural I should be worried about?”

His eyes softened and he chuckled. “It’s not a stupid question. Blood is the only thing that’s potent in me anymore. I can’t get you pregnant.”

It was a relief to hear but made you wonder what to expect. “But can you…I mean, do you come?”

His lopsided grin pierced more deeply than his teeth. “Oh yes, I can still come.” He lowered down to purr in your ear. “Hard. And frequently.”

You shuddered, the velvet timbre of his voice sliding over your skin. “Good.”

Benedict pulled back again, his features serious. “Are you sure you want this?”

You knew what he was asking. Giving you one last chance to remain in your life as you knew it; a human life, but a doomed one. You thought about what you would leave behind, not only daylight and food but the chance to see yourself older than you were now, the chance for children and a family of your own. It didn’t give you pause. You had already relinquished those hopes with your diagnosis. Even if you survived without your sight, you had made a silent vow to never risk passing on a similar fate the way it seemed your mother had unwittingly passed it to you. There was precious little waiting for you if you remained mortal, and a whole world of possibility if you allowed Benedict to escort you into immortality.

You raised a hand to his cheek, your voice steady and sure. “Yes. Please. I want this. I want you.”

A light ignited his eyes as he turned and kissed your palm. Then as if sealing your pact, in one fluid motion he speared himself into you. Your mouth fell open, stunned by the odd and glorious sensation of his cold flesh plowing into the molten heat of your core. Ice meeting fire without diminishment of either.

Benedict threw his head back and cursed, hissing as his hips settled against yours. “You’re like silk set on fire…” he groaned. “How I’ve wanted this. You.” Those gleaming, voracious eyes locked on yours again. “You’re mine. Now you’re mine.”

Then you were lost to the storm of motion, flesh on flesh, grinding, clawing, invading. It was clear he was holding back a degree of his strength, caging some of his beastly inclinations as he drove into you relentlessly, but it was still overwhelming. His speed and depth, the poetic filth he growled into your ears and skin, the way his body enveloped yours, the way his cock struck at a precise angle with every thrust to drive you right to the edge. This wasn’t sex, this was ecstasy. This was bespoke stimulation of every inch of your body, preternaturally understood and executed by an impossibly perfect lover. You wondered if sex between humans and vampires should even be attempted. You feared your heart would give out before he even had the chance to turn you. Your glasses were lost in the fracas but you hardly needed them, sunk as you were in feeling alone. Locking your limbs around his pistoning torso all you could do was hold on, panting and mewling as he ravaged you.

At some point in the haze as you teetered on explosive release, his voice reached you.

“Are you ready?” he grunted, thrusts never relenting.

“God, yes,” you croaked, willing to do anything to perpetuate this bliss. To give yourself over to him, cunt, body and soul. “Please…please…”

“I have to drink from you. And you have to give yourself to me willingly.”

This was it, the point of no return. It wasn’t even a question anymore. As he pummeled you into the mattress you turned your head, exposing your neck. “I’m ready.”

“You have to say it,” he ground out, slowing his movements. “You have to pledge yourself to me. So I ask you,” he lowered, whispering soft in your ear. “Can I keep you?”

Your eyes rolled back, your toes curled. “Keep me. Kill me. Make me yours. Just please don’t stop,” you panted, desperate for him to elevate you to orgasm and everything that lay beyond.

His lips fell to your carotid artery and after a fleeting twinge of pain, you knew he was consuming you. Though it didn’t hurt. It was simply another connection between your joined bodies, something natural, predestined. Contented sounds muffled against your skin, he wrapped both arms tight around you and resumed the rhythm of his hips, pumping deep into one end of your body while he drank deep from the other.

You felt yourself growing cold, the chill spreading from where he invaded you, rising upward through your torso. He was siphoning everything out of you, sucking hard in time with each punishing thrust, groaning around his deadly bite. Somehow as you were emptied, all that was left behind was sensation, a heady, visceral magnification of every muscle and point of contact.

As your blood flowed into him it clearly lent him more energy, his rhythm growing faster, his noises becoming hungrier, bordering on growls. You clung to the cool sinews of his back as he curled into you, realizing that you were being well and truly devoured, and that you had never been more aroused. You would give him everything.

Suddenly his hands grasped your knees and pushed them down and wide, pinning you like a captured butterfly, angling your pelvis upward so that his own pounded against your swollen clit with every plunge into your body. You were wound taut, dancing at the very edge of the precipice. Benedict pulled back, leering down at you, his mouth blackened by your blood.

“This is the end,” he warned.

Your pussy was throbbing in time with what you could still feel of your heart, aching to let go.

“Give yourself to me,” he commanded. “The last of all you have. Be mine forever.”

You weren’t sure if you could speak anymore and so turned your head, offering him the parallel twin of the artery he had just feasted upon. You could feel the warm trickle from your injured neck staining the sheets beneath you. With a noise that caused you a singular stab of fear, Benedict descended back to your throat and sank his canines, the pain sharp and distinct this time, but somehow blended beautifully with the staggering pleasure coursing through you. The sting heightened every sensation, hurtling you to the apex of feeling. As he ate and fucked you simultaneously you screamed his name, breaking at last as your walls clenched around him.

He roared, the essence of your life running down his chin. Something cold and fizzing filled you as you both pulsed together, fused so tightly you could do nothing but relent to each other’s contracting muscles. You fought to breathe, so overstimulated you were clinging to your last thread of consciousness. Your mind was gauzy, hovering somewhere else entirely. The cause of both your dramatic blood loss and the most explosive orgasm of your life, he had jettisoned you out of your body, your last sensations being that of overwhelming pleasure, of grateful release. You knew you would never return the same. You floated now in a liminal space, sounds muffled, time slowed, and all you could comprehend was the silken purr of his voice.

“You’ll feel odd now, darling. I’ve nearly drained you. Your old life, your weaknesses, they are already gone. It’s time to be reborn.” He traced a finger down the curve of your cheek and kissed your forehead, so gentle it was almost chaste. A darkness was beginning to cloud your already blurry vision. From your distant vantage point you watched silently as he brought his wrist to his mouth and bit down. Then one hand cradled your head while the other descended until the wound was pressed against your lips.

Then you tasted it. Mother’s milk. Ambrosia. Honey and raspberries and champagne. The most decadent flavor you had ever experienced. It smeared across your lips and dripped electricity down your tongue, reinvigorating every centimeter of flesh it touched. It was life, new and vigorous life flowing into you. You suckled like an infant, making wet, indulgent noises, still too hazy to move your limbs.

“Good girl, that’s it.” Benedict cooed above you, the tips of his fingers running small circles in your hair. “Drink up. Take me in.”

This was an elixir. Something healing and restorative. Something you had been deprived of your entire life and never knew you needed, and now that you had a taste, you were ravenous for it. Its warmth began to slowly spread through you, coating your throat and working its way down your chest and arms. You were being set alight from within and all you knew was that you needed more. With newfound strength you wrapped your hands around his forearm and pulled him in tighter, staring up at him determinedly as you began to suck with vigor, lathing your tongue across his perfect skin and questing for every drop.

“Fuck yes, that’s my sweet girl,” he groaned. Slowly, he began to roll his hips and you realized that he had never left your body. He was still inside you, pushing his seed deeper and deeper, teasing you to the hilt. You were filled with him everywhere, taking him greedily as you clenched around his cock and dragged hard on his wrist, causing him to hiss. You had given him everything of yourself, now you wanted all of him in return.

Your body rolled in a slow, deliberate wave as he continued to fuck into you while you grew drunk on the nectar of his blood. Now you understood the ecstasy he had experienced only minutes before. It enveloped every sense to engage in both of these carnal pleasures simultaneously, satiating both lust and gluttony in the most sinful of ways. As more and more of him flowed into you, you began to perceive that things were changing. His skin was growing warmer against yours, the two of you falling into equilibrium. And you realized, miraculously, that the details in your vision were becoming clearer. Everything was sharpening into focus and Benedict’s eyes, locked intently on your own, were emerging from the blur.

You could see.

It had worked.

Breathless, you pulled away from his wrist ready to weep with joy. Then the electric warmth which had been slowly traveling downward through your torso reached your stomach and touched off a detonation. Pain. Explosive, jagged pain radiated out from your core, whiting out your newly perfected vision and causing you to scream. You felt Benedict withdraw from you and move to your side, gathering you in his arms. His voice nearly drowned out by the tinny roar of agony in your mind.

“Now it will burn. I know it hurts. Your body is petrifying, solidifying into something perfect.”

It was burning, as if your every vein held gasoline and someone had set a match to it. But it wasn’t the melting heat of fire, it was the unique burn of a deep freeze, the stinging ache of exposed skin gripping frigid metal. This empty, ravaging pain seeped through every inch of you, leaving you writhing and scrabbling against Benedict. You knew you were making inhuman noises, but were submerged so deep you couldn’t hear or control yourself.

Benedict’s arms gripped tighter as he curled around you, absorbing your tremors. Somehow, his words broke through. “This is the worst part, the refiner’s fire. But you’ll make it to the other side. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

The pain had found a focal point, searing right behind your eyes, hulling the imperfections out of your living flesh. It was unbearable. You felt yourself falling, caught in a limbo of transition. You burned while you froze, you trembled as you grew stiff, you had sight but were blinded, you breathed but you didn’t.

As you succumbed to the gathering darkness you could hear Benedict murmuring something against your temple, fading words that guided you on.

“Think not thou canst sigh a sigh And thy maker is not by; Think not thou canst weep a tear And thy maker is not near.

Oh he gives to us his joy That our grief he may destroy; Till our grief is fled and gone He doth sit by us and moan.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @colettebronte @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @mysticwitchcraftco @suspendingtime @faye-tale

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x you #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #female reader #vampire au #romance #angst #happy halloween

40 notes · View notes

fayes-fics · 1 year

Text

Innocence: Pt IV

Innocence series masterpost

PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict finally takes his wife's innocence

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, innocence/corruption kink, sex education, loss of virginity, dirty talk, smidge of exhibtionism, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex.

Word Count: 6.2k (oops)

Authors Note: Here we are, it's the wedding night and sex finally happens. I hope you enjoy <3 Thanks as always to makaylan for the beta read.

There’s a persistent feeling the whole of your wedding day. As if, in some ways, you are waiting for it to be over. Yes, your ceremony is lovely and emotional, and yes, the reception after is a terrific party filled with family and friends, but it’s not what you are anticipating.

A wedding lasts but one day; a marriage lasts a lifetime.

You are eager to get to the part where it’s just the two of you; starting the rest of your life together.

So, as you ascend into his, now your, horse-drawn carriage to return to his, now your, London home, the wait is finally over. His hand feels warm through your glove as he assists you, well-wishers waving you farewell as the carriage jolts to life.

He is smiling at you, sitting in the opposite seat, and you pout at him.

“What’s wrong, Mrs Bridgerton?” he teases, knowing how much you love your new title.

“You are quite far away,” you huff with mock indignance. “Can you not sit with me?”

There is a brief chuckle. “I am but a foot from you,” he points out, your knees touching, “and this carriage ride will be five minutes at most. It would be rather cramped if I were to sit next to you, and I doubt you would be comfortable. Now that I think on it, this is a carriage designed for one, really. We need to upgrade now, especially if we start a fam….”

He stops mid-sentence, his mouth falling open fractionally and his pupils rapidly dilating. You have quickly straddled him and sat on his legs, just like you did on that fateful night of the Bridgerton Ball.

“Husband,” you purr with a raised eyebrow, enjoying the look of surprise and desire on his face.

A large hand lands on your thigh, warm through your silk dress. “Is this how it’s going to be?” He fires you a lopsided grin. “My wanton little wife just climbing into my lap on every carriage ride?”

You tilt your head with a knowing smile and a raised eyebrow. “Is that a complaint or a compliment I hear, Mr Bridgerton?” you volley playfully, champagne making you louche and just a little bold.

His eyes sparkle in the low light of the passing street lamp as his face erupts into a proper grin. “Oh, I married so very well,” he opines and leans in to capture your lips with his.

You shuffle forward as the kiss deepens, and he makes a noise into your mouth as you rock the apex of your thighs on his crotch.

“How long did you say this carriage ride would be, husband?” you check as you break the kiss.

“Five minutes, more like three now,” Benedict replies, sounding almost rueful.

“Pity. I was rather thinking of fulfilling your wish,” you tease, running your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck.

“What wish?”

“For me to suck your cock in our carriage,” you breathe right into his ear.

He makes a low noise, and his fingers dig into your hips.

“Another time, my love,” he murmurs, “tonight is when you truly become a woman. Are you looking forward to it?”

“Yes, husband,” you whisper, diving back in for a hungry kiss as the carriage jostles you slightly to the left; you have to shoot out a hand and hold the roof to keep on him. His hands band around your bottom and pull you snugly over his rigid cock as you again plunder each other’s mouths. Endless kisses as you grind each other unhurriedly, building a simmering tension that threatens to boil over.

So engrossed in each other, neither of you realises the carriage has stopped moving until there is a polite throat clearing as a footman stands expectantly outside the door.

“We are here, my love,” he coos softly, not a shred of embarrassment about being caught in a passionate clinch.

In his arms, you duck down to look through the carriage window at the red brick townhouse that will be your London home. It looks homely, handsome even.

“It looks wonderful, Benedict,” you exhale, turning back to face him and placing a light kiss on his lips before detangling yourself from his lap.

He assists you down the steps to the pavement, but as you move towards the door, he sweeps you off your feet bridal style as you squeak in surprise.

“Do you honestly think I wouldn’t carry you over the threshold Mrs Bridgerton?” his tone honeyed with an undercurrent of heat, his body solid against you.

You stare at him mesmerised, your mouth open in surprise as he shoots a lopsided grin and takes a few purposeful strides towards the now-opened door.

“Thank you, Smith,” he nods to his valet as you enter. There is a friendly-faced elderly gentleman already in his outdoor coat and hat, “Provided all is how we discussed, you may leave for the night.”

“It is all set. Thank you, sir.” The elderly man bustles away, closing and locking the front door behind him.

“Should I not have been properly introduced to your valet darling?” you ask as he moves towards the stairs, your attention pinging around the hallway, admiring the decor of your new home.

“You will,” he guarantees, “but I have given all my staff the night off, so we may have our privacy. Mr Smith is well aware that our attention will only be on each other tonight. He will meet you when it is appropriate to do so. And that moment isn’t while I am so hard and eager to be inside you,” he whispers.

You giggle into his neck and kiss the warm skin there, enjoying the flex of his body as he carries you upstairs.

“Your home is beautiful, Benedict,” you sigh, craning your head to look around.

“Our,” he corrects, “our home. And if there is anything not to your liking, we can change it,” he offers as he moves down the corridor and sweeps you into a large room with a roaring fire and a four-poster bed. “This is our bedroom, my love,” he explains softly as he delicately pulls off your shoes and places you back on your feet.

“It’s so lovely. But I shall not have my own chambers,” you query in surprise, cataloguing the room, already enamoured with it, “as my parents do?”

“If you wish it so, you may,” he shrugs, “there are other rooms, but… I was rather hoping you would always lay with me,” his face suddenly tinged with a touch of vulnerability.

You look up and throw your arms around him. “That is what I want more than anything,” you rush out. “I am just getting used to being married, and I only have my parents to go on. I have no idea how all this works, Benedict; you will need to teach me,” you confess ardently.

“I will, but I think there are some more important things I need to teach you tonight, my love,” he says duskily, his voice dropping to a tone that vibrates right to your core.

Thoughts of anything else scatter as he walks you backwards, his lips ghosting over yours, the room suddenly notching up a few degrees as heat prickles over your skin, making the little hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You feel your spine brush solid wood and realise he has pressed you against a pillar of the four-poster bed.

Still kissing you, you feel his large hands unfastening the dress buttons between your shoulder blades.

“This wedding dress is stunning,” he murmurs, “but it is time it came off.”

You nod as he moves his lips down to your throat. Nudging your chin upwards with his nose and delicately nipping the skin over your windpipe, moving around to the side of your neck with soft gossamer kisses as his hands pull the fabric from your shoulders. Your dress relents, falling to a heap on the floor,

“Benedict,” you gasp his name as he tugs you roughly to his body, just in your chemise now. Fingers spider up your spine through the thin material.

“What is it, my love?” He asks, his breath hot on your skin, his teeth gently worrying the spot below your ear as his fingers push the chemise loose from your shoulders.

“Am I supposed to feel so, so overwhelmed?” You whisper, your body a riot of sensation. You feel flushed, and the ache between your legs has not been this intense before when still this dressed.

He chuckles richly, the sound vibrating into your bones as he surrounds you.

“Oh yes, my love, you should feel overwhelmed, drunken almost on sensation,” he explains, his words gusting into your ear, your earlobe between his teeth. “If I do this right, I don’t want a single thought in your head; I want you chasing the feelings your body is giving you. Don’t think, my darling, feel,” he advises, and with that, your chemise floats down to the floor to join your dress.

He grabs your hands and steps back; you watch as his gaze runs down over your body, just your stockings and stays left now. You feel somewhat self-conscious under his heavy appraisal, but he is holding both your hands out so you cannot cover yourself up.

“Am I still acceptable to you, husband?” You check, same as you had a few days before when he visited your bed chamber.

“You already know the answer to that,” he answers, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he places one of your hands over the bulge in his trousers.

You smile back at him as you splay your fingers out and squeeze him through the rough material.

“May I?” You ask coquettishly as you move to unbutton his trousers.

The hand over yours bats it away.

“Not yet,” he smiles.

He brings your hands high above your head, forcing you onto tiptoe like a ballerina.

“Turn around, my love,” he instructs, and you do so, his grip changing to your wrists as you turn your back to him. “Wonderful,” he compliments, stepping forward, so your bottom rubs against his rigid cock. He guides both your hands onto the wooden corner post of the bed. “Hold on here, and don’t let go until I ask you to,” he orders, releasing his grip as your hands grasp the wood as asked. It’s polished, smooth and warmed by the nearby fireplace. It feels solid under your palms, something reassuring to cling to.

His hands run over your arms, then over your back, until he reaches the lace of your stays.

“Tell me, darling,” he enunciates languidly as his fingers pluck the strings, “are you wet for me?”

“Yes, husband,” you reply, already feeling your hot, slick desire dripping onto your thighs at the mere mention of it.

“Do me a favour, as my wife?” Anytime you are wet for me, tell me. I don’t care where we are; I want you to lean over and tell me quietly right into my ear. Will you promise to do that for me?”

“Yes, husband,” you whisper.

“Good girl,” the way he says those two words has you in a jumble, and a sound leaves your throat before you can stop it.

“Oh my goodness, what was that delightful noise?” he teases, kissing the back of your neck almost as a reflex, as your stays come loose from his unlacing. “Is that because I called you a good girl?” his voice impossibly low as your last item of clothing falls from your torso.

You nod and bite your lip.

“Oh, then I shall always call you that in the bedroom,” he opines. “I need to hear that noise the way I need air.” There is a desperation to his tone that makes you lightheaded and frantic. As if he is as affected by you as you are by him, and you want to know it, to feel it in every fibre of your being—a mutual burning passion.

Your body is naked now except for your stockings, and his hands feel huge as he smears them down the expanse of your bare back, taking his time, trailing goosebumps in his wake, making you pant in anticipation and hold onto the pillar for dear life.

He drops to his knees behind you, and you feel him plucking the ribbons that keep your stocking over your knee. When they relent, his fingers trail over the back of your calves, taking the white silk with them. You are utterly naked now, yet he is fully clothed; his jacket is still buttoned up.

“Please take off your clothes,” you implore, even though you can’t see him.

“I will, my love,” he responds, “and you will watch me. But first…”

His hands grab your ankles and push them apart. You gasp in surprise as he kisses the back of your knee, and his tongue runs wet and wide up the back of your thigh until he reaches the globe of your bottom and bites it.

“Benedict..” you tense a little, realising he is pushing his nose into the crease between your cheeks.

“Shh, do not be concerned,” he soothes, the sound muffled against the back of your thighs. “Now bend over some more, please.”

You do as asked, your grip lowering on the pillar as you bend.

“That’s perfect” you feel his breath over your damp inner thighs and then feel blinding pleasure as he buries his face between your legs from behind.

“Benedict!” this time, it’s a loud throaty cry as his stubbly chin raps your clit, and his tongue unfurls, requesting access to your channel.

“Yes, wife, yell my name,” he growls into you, “tell the whole world you want me.”

Your knuckles go white from gripping so hard, eyes closed as he literally eats you from behind. His teeth nipping at your labia, his tongue gathering your moisture and drinking it down. You are sure this must be the most debauched tableau, and a thrill ripples over your skin at the realisation that the curtains around the windows are still open; with the sconces lit and the fireplace roaring, you are visible to the neighbouring houses all around the square.

“Benedict, we can be seen!”

“I know. Let them watch; maybe they will learn something,” he replies huskily, then sucks your clit between his lips. It makes you moan hard and push back.

“Yes, moan for me, writhe on my face,” he encourages.

He was right; you are drunk, drunk on sensation, drunk on him. You are dancing close to something amazing and feel it tingling across your skin. He keeps pushing with his tongue spiralling you higher, and then he sucks your clit hard between his teeth, and you are gone. Your legs shake as you drive back onto his face riding the shockwaves that emanate from your core. Waves of bliss tensing and releasing your muscles. You know you are calling his name and a litany of other words, but it’s all a blur as you fight to stay upright, sagging against the bedpost.

Just as you start to float, you are snapped back into the room as he pushes a finger into your fluttering channel, and you squeal at the sudden invasion.

“Oh my darling, I forgot how deliciously tight you are,” he groans into your thigh, “and how delectably wet you get.”

“Oh my god, Benedict, your fingers feel huge. Please go slow,” you plead, breathing deep, still fizzing from your orgasm.

“Darling, that’s just one finger; I will add a second and a third. Then you will have some sense of how my cock will feel.”

With that, you feel a stretch and keen as he gradually adds another finger and rocks into your fluttering channel.

“How’s that, my darling?”

“Fr…From this angle, it feels di…different than when I was in your lap,” you pant, confused.

“I’m reaching a little deeper, that’s why. You are halfway down my finger now, you brave girl,” his voice rough, the pressure inside feeling different.

“Is this what your cock will feel like?” You ask, clinging desperately to the bedpost.

“No, my cock will feel much bigger and go much deeper inside you,” he preens.

“Oh god, Benedict, I don’t know if I can take it,” you fret.

“Yes, you can, and you will do so beautifully.” He insists, “we just need to go slow, my darling. I can do that for you.” He promises and adds a third finger.

“That’s so much. I’m so full, Benedict,” you almost wail.

“Oh darling, you have no idea,” he chuckles against your bottom, teething the skin there.

You breathe in deep as he rocks his fingers in and out of your body, making the most carnal squelching noises, his fingers coated in your juices.

“Well done, darling,” he praises gently. “I won’t push any deeper for now, but in the future, you will take the length of my fingers and love it.”

Suddenly his fingers are gone, and he’s standing up behind you.

“Turn around,” he orders softly, and you do. The post digs between your shoulder blades as you lean upon it, your legs still wobbly. He waits until you look up into his eyes before he places the fingers that were inside you into his mouth and sucks them clean. You watch, mesmerised, until he pitches forward and kisses you deep, the tart, almost sweet taste of you blooming on your tongue.

“Now it’s your turn, my darling,” he declares calmly, “you may undress me.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as you reach for his jacket and fumble slightly as you slide the buttons loose. He looks down at you with a gentle expression as the jacket hits the floor with an audible thump. Next, you undo his waistcoat, starting to feel the warmth of his skin underneath as your fingers brush his shirt between buttons. Once that is discarded, you decide to surprise him.

You kneel and remove his boots one at a time, taking his socks too. When you glance up and see his gaze hooded, his chest moving up and down more rapidly than before, a warm feeling slides down your spine, and on instinct, you sit up on your heels and pitch your face forward, rubbing your nose over the rigid cock straining under his trousers.

He practically howls as you close your mouth around it, knowing your saliva is seeping through the material onto his heated steely flesh.

“Fucking hell, y/n,” he gusts, and you flood all over again, this need to please him so potent and intoxicating. “Your mouth feels like heaven, but please, no more; I need all my concentration to make this good for you.” You pout up at him, and he affectionately cups your cheek. “I love how enthusiastic you are to have me in your mouth, my love. Believe me. But this is for your benefit, just for tonight.”

You take his proffered hand and stand up.

“Why don't you remove my shirt?” he suggests with a knowing little smile. “You have yet to see my body nude.”

You perk up at that thought, and he lets you peel off his shirt, revealing pale skin with a smattering of freckles. When the material joins the growing pile on the floor, he takes your wrist and guides your hand onto his chest. You feel the play of muscle movement as he breathes. Fascinated, you run fingertips over his contours, his torso so very sculpted and appealing. His skin is warm and smooth.

“Do you like what you see?” He queries, almost demure.

“Very much,” you respond honestly, crawling your fingers up from his abs to his left nipple, puckering as you scratch a gentle fingernail over the nub.

His eyes track you as you begin to circle him, placing a kiss on his bicep as you pass. You trail your hand over the plane of his back, watching as there is a ripple over his skin where you touch.

“I like your body, husband. I feel the urge to touch it, kiss it,” you confess.

“You may,” he offers over his shoulder and somewhat on instinct, you crowd against him and kiss a notch on his spine, your peaked nipples pressing into the curve of his back as you do so. He makes a sound thick with desire. Your tongue shoots out unbidden and licks a line, your hands grabbing his clothed bum as you do. His skin has a salty tang that is irresistible.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters heavily.

“Did I do something wrong?” You whisper over his warm flesh, unwilling to remove your lips.

“Not at all,” he assures, “I love how instinctive you are. So inquisitive and so very carnal. It’s just delicious, wife,” his low tone rumbling from his ribcage.

“I like the vibration when you talk. I want to lean against you and have you read to me,” you sigh, “I love your voice, Benedict.”

He chuckles richly as you complete your circle around him, your lips landing on his pectoral muscle right above his thumping heart.

Two large hands cup your jaw and tilt your head to look at him. His pupils are blown, and his breath is slightly ragged. “I will talk to you as much as you want, my wife. I notice how your eyes darken when I whisper filthy words to you. Do you want me to tell you what comes next?”

Hypnotised, you sway a little in his arms and catch your bottom lip between your teeth as you nod.

“Once we are both naked, I am going to lay you down on that bed and climb between your legs. You will need to spread your legs wide, like when I held you open on my lap in front of the mirror. Are you ready to do that for me?”

You nod again, chewing the lip now, the tingle between your legs morphing into a full blooming ache.

“Good. Girl.” each word is a sentence, and you feel a shiver race down your spine.

“I felt that,” he gusts, tilting his head closer. “I will never ever tire of your body responding to my voice. It’s so very alluring,” he exhales, his hand flexing on your jaw.

“Then what will happen, husband?” you ask, enchanted.

“Then I will take my cock and push it gently into your body.”

You whimper at the thought.

“I still don’t think it will fit, husband,” you worry.

“Darling, a baby can come out of that channel. Believe me; I will fit in.”

“It does what?!?” you exclaim in shock.

“When you have our baby, my love, it will come out of there.” he lectures, a hand moving to caress your hair soothingly. “They really do teach you absolutely nothing.”

You try to put the thought out of your mind as it’s too much to contemplate—one thing at a time.

“Well, perhaps, husband, it is a good thing we are so very ignorant,” you reply, a tick of amusement on your lips.

“Why do you say that?” his tone becomes light and teasing, the hand in your hair slides to the back of your head, fingers stretching wide to cradle you.

“Because if I knew what it was like to suck your cock or have your tongue inside me, I would think of precious little else,” you respond seductively “in fact, I have thought of little else since.”

He makes a needy sound, crushing your lips to his; he devours your mouth as his other hand tugs at his trousers. As your fingers run covetously over his body, his tongue slides over yours, and his wedding ring catches your scalp as you feel his trousers slip away. You are both naked now, his cock searing your belly.

Before you can touch him, he breaks the kiss and picks you up as he did when he carried you into the house, placing you carefully at the centre of the bed. His lips find yours again as he hovers over you.

“Open your legs, darling,” his voice velvet and honeyed.

Slowly you open your legs wide, and he climbs between them. You see his engorged cock bob close to his body as he does so, and nerves fire in your belly.

He settles over you, his naked flesh covering yours, and you stop breathing for a moment. So much heat, and his natural scent floods your senses. You thought it was overwhelming when he laid on top of you fully clothed, but now without a stitch of fabric to separate your skin, it’s even more so. You don’t have adequate words to describe it. His weight pins you down, his cock brands the patch of hair between your legs, his arms cage your body, his hard chest solid against your soft breasts.

“Oh my god, Benedict,” spills from your lips.

“Do you like having my naked body between your legs, wife?”

“Yes,” you hiss as his teeth grab your earlobe and suck it insistently.

“Are you ready for me, darling?” It’s a dark whisper in your ear as a hand trails down over your skin and cups your core. “You certainly feel it to me.”

His fingers tease your bud, and your hips cant towards him, his hipbones digging into your flesh as you do so.

“Please go slow,” you murmur, and his eyes soften.

“Of course, my love,” he reassures, and you feel his hand slip away from your folds and grab his cock.

You feel a sizeable blunt pressure between your legs and gasp.

His other hand caresses your cheek. “Look into my eyes, darling; that way, I’ll know everything you need,” he promises.

You hold his gaze, your body alight with anticipation laced with a silky thread of fear. You feel your body open up a fraction, and the tip of his cock slips inside you. Your world tilts. It is so hot, so hard, so big.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes going so wide, barely able to blink.

“You’re doing fantastic, darling,” he confirms, breathless and shaky from the effort of holding himself back so much, the instinct to plunge into your body so strong.

There is a stretching sensation inside, and you groan as he slips in further, the skin all around your cunt pulling taunt at the invasion. Then you feel a weird tugging resistance, and he stills.

“Darling, I can’t pretend this next part will be pleasant for you,” he admits quietly, “but it will be over momentarily, and you will not have to endure it ever again. This will be your maidenhood gone. Are you ready?’

You swallow heavily, the feeling already so intense. “Alright, husband.”

Sweetly, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it as you feel a sharp stab of pain that makes you whine. It feels like something inside you has snapped.

He is still again. “Well done, darling,” he coaches, “you took that so well. Do you still hurt?”

“A little,” you concede, feeling a residual dull ache around where he broke through.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “It will go away momentarily, I promise.”

Then he pushes in a little deeper, and the feeling is so strange. Not quite painful, but just so much pressure—like you need to burst.

“Relax, my darling.” he tutors, touching your ribs, “it will hurt less if you release your muscles. Breathe out for me.”

You do as asked, and he slides the last few inches more easily. You feel a tickle on your clit; it’s his pubic hair brushing you, his balls resting on your bottom, And you feel so very, very full.

He groans lightly, “See, I told you I would fit”, his voice delicate and soothing.

“Are you all the way in, Benedict?”

The pressure simultaneously feels completely alien but somehow pleasant.

“Yes, my love,” he responds, not moving as you adjust to the sensation.

“My god, it feels like you are in my tummy.” you blurt out, and he groans again.

“Yes, darling, I’m deep inside you now. As far as I can go,” he rocks a tiny spurt forward, and you moan at a different tugging sensation, this one pleasurable.

“That’s your hilt, my love. I’m at the very top of your channel. You see, as I told you, we fit together perfectly.” He smiles and leans down to give your lips an affectionate kiss.

“Now, what happens?” You ask softly.

“If you are comfortable, I will start to move.”

You take stock of your body, and other than the feeling of being so viscerally invaded, so held open in an entirely new way, you feel fine, well, even. The bloom of pain that you felt subsided. “I am comfortable,” you confirm.

“Wonderful,'' almost a sigh of relief. “I shall go slow at first, but I will go quicker when you tell me to.”

Your axis is thrown again as you feel him withdraw, your slick channel clinging to his cock, trying to draw him back in. You feel the ridge of his tip drag over your walls. Then he is surging back in, and all you can do is pant and cling to his body.

“Fuck Benedict,” it’s all your say.

“Does that feel good, my darling wife?” You thought his voice was dangerous before, but now with his cock buried inside you and his lips hot on your ear, it’s genuinely lethal; you feel your heart pounding.

“Oh my god, I never knew… nothing could prepare me for this; it’s breathtaking,” you effuse.

He laughs, and you gulp as you feel the jolt inside you. “Just you wait,” that killer voice expresses throatily.

You twine your arms around his body as he builds to a leisurely pace now. And you go with him, pushing up against his strokes into your body.

“Oh yes, that’s it, move with me.” he compliments and kisses you lightly as he rocks you.

The bedding rucks under your shoulder blades as he speeds up a little, and you both breathe heavily into each other's mouths. Every stroke makes your eyes want to roll back, your feet flexing against the mattress.

Then he changes angle, and suddenly you can’t help the sound that escapes you. It’s a moan and a cry all at once. A blinding surge of pleasure races through your body from your cunt all the way to your scalp.

“Oh, look what we’ve found,” his tone smooth as silk and rich as dark chocolate.

“What is that?” you rasp.

“That, my darling wife, is the spot deep inside you that I’m going to hit repeatedly to make you come so hard you won’t ever want to do anything else for days; just stay in this bed and fuck me,” he gloats, the confidence oozing out of his every pore. If you weren’t so far gone and dazed by that one spike of sensation, you would pull a disapproving face at that line. As it is, you feel your body clench around him and gush down his cock as he says it.

“My god, I love you,” he growls as he wheezes from the pressure you exert.

“You just love my cunt,” you riposte cheekily, grabbing his bum cheek and digging your nails into his tight flesh, then suddenly biting your lip, horrified by what slipped out without conscious thought.

He stills and pulls back. His expression is wild, his mouth dropping open in shock. “Fucking hell, wife. Where did this wonderful filthy mouth come from? And how can we ensure it never goes away?”

The last question is pitched low, and you know, on instinct, he wants you to grab his bum again, so you do.

“We are not leaving this bed for a week,” he snarls, grabbing both your hands and pinning them onto the pillow. “By the end, you will know everything I do and talk filth to me. I can’t wait for you to do that. My darling little innocent becoming my darling minx of a wife. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Good. My god, you were made for me. And I was for you.” He stutters.

He guides your hands back onto his shoulders.

“Are you ready to feel something truly extraordinary, y/n?”

“Yes, Benedict.”

And then he starts to move again, and it’s a blurry tide of carnality. His cock nudges that spot inside with each movement, and you cry out every time, your nails digging deep into his flesh, your legs hitching up around his hips, chasing the high, wanting more. Always wanting more.

You are drowning in him; he is inside and all around you. Pounding into your body now with a force you didn’t think you could ever withstand, but all you feel is incredible fullness and blinding pleasure as each stroke tugs at your clit, filling you up perfectly.

You rasp his name, and he grunts hard, the slippery dew on your skin making you slide against each other. His scent captivates you most; it makes your taste buds prickle and salivate. You want to bite him and soothe his flesh with your tongue. You want to mark him, have him mark you, a primal want of mutual ownership.

“Tell me this is good for you,” his voice implores with a tinge of ferocity.

“This is wonderful; I’ve never felt anything like this,” you answer truthfully, your voice surging with the push of his body roughly into you, wanting more than anything for him to believe you. “Please don’t stop, I feel something building Benedict, and it’s so, so magical.”

He groans deep and long as you tell him that, and you can tell he is hanging by a thread, waiting for you to break so he can too.

“Touch yourself, my darling, just like I taught you,” he breathes, guiding your hand so it is trapped between your bodies.

You curl your fingers into the top of your folds just as he showed you, shuddering as your knuckles brush his moving cock. Blinding, searing pleasure races through your body. Then you can’t stop the noises you are making, the white-hot intensity notching up your spine from your core and turning your thoughts to nothing but this, and now, and oh god, more.

You know your other hand is gripping his back hard, pushing up to meet his thrusts, writhing on his cock, calling his name, but it’s a distant second to the feeling exploding inside and the spots dancing behind your eyes as you screw them shut and scream. You hear him lavish praise on you, a chorus of yes, yes, yes, but the rush of blood in your ears makes everything so muffled.

He is thrusting hard now, feeling impossibly large as your cunt clenches in waves around him. Still floating, you hear his voice call out; he stills and makes the most guttural call against your neck, his mouth slack and hot on your skin.

Then there is a warm bloom of something deep inside you as he reaches his peak.

“Is that you, Benedict? Your seed?” You chant, still feeling under a spell.

“Yes,” he slurs near your ear, “milk it all from me, my darling.” And you do, cunt still fluttering and clinging onto him, as you tumble down slowly from a high you didn’t think possible.

After a few moments of shared panting, he slowly withdraws from your body, and you grunt softly as he slips from inside you, feeling a trickle of wetness leak out as he does so.

As he rolls and tucks you against him, you glance down and see a trace of blood on the pristine bedsheets.

“Don't be alarmed, my darling,” he murmurs in a reassuring tone, “that will not happen again; it was just your first time.”

You nod your understanding and settle into his hold.

“Did you enjoy becoming a woman?” he inquires, although you suspect he already knows your answer.

“Very much so,” you confirm with a satisfied sigh.

“I am so very glad,” his voice soothing as he runs his fingers through your hair.

“What do I learn next, husband?” You drawl a few minutes later, swirling a fingernail on his shoulder.

“In the morning, my love, once we are rested, you will learn how to ride me.” He smiles crookedly at you.

“Is it like riding a horse?” You ask bright with curiosity.

“Somewhat,'' he laughs lightly, “but much more pleasurable.” He kisses your lips chastely. “But for now, let us sleep, my love.”

As he says the words, you feel your bone-deep satisfaction transitioning into a drowsy pull, his body warmth making your limbs feel weighty. And as he twines around you like a vine, your eyes droop.

“You wish to sleep in each other’s arms? Naked?” You check, a little taken aback.

“Oh yes, we shall do this every night from now on,” he states, his chin resting on your head as you curl into him.

“Then why did my mother insist on so many nightgowns for my trousseau?’ you ponder out loud.

Benedict guffaws at that. “Those are not just for sleeping in, darling; they are for me, mostly to rip off your body before we have sex.”

“Ohhhh,” your eyes wide, now understanding the gleam in the eye of the married ladies in the shop as you picked them up.

There is still so much to learn.

Benedict Taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys!

1K notes · View notes

chaibewriting · 1 year

Text

PART FIVE — GENERATIONAL DAMAGE

prince! enji todoroki x black coded! (poc friendly) fem! reader x platonic! todoroki kids

content warnings: brief scene of violence, choking (but not of who you may think), yandere-ish behavior, please let me know if anything else should be tagged. this is dark content so don’t expect too much fluff.

word count: 2.6k

summary: Enji is very caring while Y/N is pregnant, not wanting her to lift a finger as his child grows inside of her. He’s so caring that it is almost unbearable to deal with at times.

prev. chapter five. masterpost. next.

taglist: @easilyobsessedbutflighty @rogueofbullshit @2chickenwangs @mimi-sanisanidiot @megumitodoroki @sexyashbish @nctseventeensworld @flamey-comet @theroosterswife24 @randomjuju @hecate-kitty @bluebreadenthusiast @flvr4ane

THAT night marked the very beginning of the turn of your fate, though you didn’t know it yet— nightmares would soon manifest themselves before your very eyes. As for now, you were feeding into the false happiness that the universe was currently surrounding you with, making you believe that everything was going well in the best ways possible.

You appreciated some of the things Enji did but right now you were a little… unsure. Ever since you had hit the seventh-month mark of pregnancy with your first child he’s started breathing down your neck more and more, telling you not to move around as much. To stay in your shared bedroom, to let the maids take care of you so that his daughter wouldn’t be roughhoused inside of your swelling stomach. For some reason, you found yourself too tired to argue and seemed to enjoy staying sentient and without responsibility for quite some time until you got bored. You still weren’t able to leave too far from your room though, every time you tried to take a little stroll down the hallway Enji would come speeding down the opposite end, scold you, and send you back to your shared bedroom. It was almost like he could sense it when you left the bedroom. It was mildly creepy. Frankly, being treated like a child was really starting to irk you, sponsored by MILF hormones.

Today, however, he was out in the town for business, leaving you to do as you pleased which lead you to be a little more adventurous, as well as mischievous, than usual. You had shuffled your way to the kitchen, a hand under your belly to help ease some of the weight off of your spine, and went inside, greeted by a few familiar faces.

“Your majesty… The king won’t be pleased if he hears that you’ve wandered outside of the chambers,” Victor, one of the head servants says while raising an eyebrow at you. You offer him a sheepish grin and then gently press your hands together, “I know I know, which is why this will be our little secret! I want to go out today!! It’s been so long since I’ve been in the garden, and I haven’t had much time to spend with Dabi outside of my bedroom so I figured a little picnic would be nice.” Victor grunted and rubbed his temples like he was dealing with a dilemma before he finally gave in, sighing and moving aside, telling others to move as well to let you do as you please. You were the Queen after all, though you told them not to treat you any differently than they treat each other. You’ve become especially friendly with the majority of the staff, so friendly indeed that they don’t hesitate to scold you most times when you do something ridiculous or weird, behavior that’s usually induced by the hormonal imbalance going on in your body.

You quickly thank everyone and start to make up some picnic foods such as finger sandwiches, sliced fruit and cheese, some cut bread, and a few other things, carefully tucking them away in a basket that one of the servants offered to you. “Thank you, everyone! Ah, before I forget,” you sneakily grin and then reach into your dress pocket, pulling out a pouch of gold pieces, handing out a generous but equal amount to all of them, “Consider this a bribe.~” You curtsy innocently and then speedily leave the kitchen with the basket in hand, well as fast as you could with the extra weight on your front. Now it was time to find little Dabi, he was more than likely hanging out with Keigo.

…

Okay, perhaps walking around the spacious castle grounds with a basket of food, a blanket, and a bulging belly filled with life wasn’t exactly the smartest thing to do. In fact, you found yourself having to pause every couple of minutes to catch your breath and hold your belly up. According to the castle’s doctor, you were pregnant with only one baby, yet it felt almost like you were carrying the entire next generation, as dramatic as that may sound. Maybe Enji was right about making you stay in your shared bedroom… No! You would not be giving up so easily, and who knows when the next time you’ll be able to go outside again would be anytime soon, considering how protective your husband had become over you and your unborn child.

With hard work, determination, and the occasional break, you’d made it outside and started heading towards the servant’s quarters, only to see Dabi and Keigo currently running around and attempting to capture frogs before releasing them again. You found it adorable and endearing, liking to see the two children do what children are supposed to be doing— playing and enjoying life with a smile on their faces. And so, with a last-minute thought and not wishing to disturb their time of making memories together, you quietly waddled your way over to a tree on the side of the servant’s quarters building and set the basket down to spread out the blanket before slowiy sitting on top of it with a content sigh. Taking the basket from the grassy ground beside you, you placed it down onto the center of the blanket and exhaled, relishing in the fresh air. The cool breeze raked its metaphorical fingers over your scalp, the smell of flowers nearby filled your nostrils, the sounds of giggling from the nearby children and the chattering of songbirds all clouded your senses. Fortunately, it was much more relaxing than overwhelming or overstimulating, a sense of peace and serendipity holding all of the pieces together.

It was utterly serene. You soon felt yourself slowly tilting your head back and peering up at the sky, mesmerized by the fluffy-looking clouds and the ocean-blue sky. Really, when was the last time you were able to go outside on your own? You couldn’t remember. Enji had made sure not to have you always sitting on your ass 25/8, but even then he was holding onto your hand and leading you with a hand on the small of your back through the courtyard placed in the middle of the castle. He was smothering you, but you knew he meant well, that’s as far as you could tell at least.

As you sat there, enjoying the nature that surrounded you, your sense of time seemed to diminish itself from your mind— probably for the better, seeing how at peace you seemed to be at the moment. And, oh! It seemed the baby liked the outside as well when you felt a sudden kick within your belly. Pressing a hand onto your stomach where the kick had landed, you chuckled in amusement, gently rubbing your hand over it through the fabric of your dress. “You like the outside too, I take it?” You quietly questioned, knowing that you wouldn’t receive an actual answer, not that that mattered to you.

“Mama?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of the voice that had come out of nowhere, somewhere nearby. Your eyes wandered over to the source and you sighed, realizing that it was just Dabi who had come over after hearing your voice. Immediately, your gaze softened and you smiled at him, beckoning for him to come over to you with the use of your hand. “Dabi, my little flame, c’mere.” You cooed, to which the little boy had come over to you and blushed faintly, having gotten used to the cutesy pet name. And as a ritual of sorts, he leaned over a little to your seated position and you kissed his forehead. When he pulled away, you realized that Keigo wasn’t that far behind him and immediately waved at you. “Hello, your majesty! Haven’t seen you in a while! Oh!! May I touch your belly?”

Dabi, being the protective older brother that he was starting to develop into, huffed at his friend and waved his hand around dismissively at him. “No no no, you can’t. You might imprint on the baby and they won’t know that I’m e brother!!” Keigo gasped at that, seeming to be convinced by Dabi’s worries. You giggle at the two of them and shake your head. “Pffft. That won’t happen, Dabi. Only certain species imprint on their babies.” You explain and then pat the area on the blanket beside you. “How about you two come and sit with me? I made some lunch for us to eat. Of course, you can join Keigo, and I don’t mind if you touch my belly, just be gentle.” That seemed to make the blond’s eyes sparkle as he rushed over to sit beside you and began to rub your belly, Dabi followed suit, sitting on the other side of you. As happy as he was to see you out here and also quite happy at the prospect of having a picnic together, he had his own underlying fears, particularly having to deal with the direct wrath of his father.

“Mama…? Did Father say it was alright for us to have a picnic outside…?” He asked softly, looking at you with his brows scrunched together in the center of his forehead, his lips slightly poked forward into a pout. You laughed nervously at that, unsure of what to say to your adopted son. Finally, after some thinking, you realized that you were still a grown-ass woman, queen or not, married or unmarried, you weren’t going to let Enji boss you around even when he wasn’t around. You sighed and shook your head. “Well, no, but it’ll be okay. I wanted to have a picnic with my little flame and so, here I am!” You exclaimed rather excitedly, with a childish edge to your tone. “Don’t you want to see what I made for us to eat?” An array of emotions crossed over the little boy’s face, he wasn’t sure of how to feel, especially not when it came to disobeying his father in any way. However, when he looked at you, he felt nothing but trust, love, and safety, and so, he gave in, giving his own small smile before quickly nodding his head and watching as you started to show off your culinary skills. Despite being royalty, you always found time to learn basic skills such as, feeding yourself, so making sandwiches and cutting things up like fruits and such was pretty much a cake walk, though you did have times when you were a bit clumsy. Fortunately, this wasn’t one of those times.

While you’d offered Dabi and Keigo first dibs on what you’d made, you picked up a whole apple you’d brought, beginning to peel and cut it up for the two of them while simultaneously engaging in a conversation about their frog catching. And just as you’d thought, this was exactly what you needed after being stuck inside the castle for nearly an entire month, it was more than refreshing. Sure, the courtyard had a glass roof and their windows all throughout the castle that gave you all the sunlight you needed, but it didn’t hold a candle to actually being outside in the open. You could understand Enji’s protectiveness over your firstborn child together, but Dabi was technically your first kid and he didn’t seem all that protective towards him. It was probably due to the fact that in the eyes of the law your first conceived child was not illegitimate, but that didn’t stop you from loving Dabi like your very own. Having this baby, and maybe even more in the future, wouldn’t stop that.

Enjoying your picnic, you were unaware of the potential dangers that were about to present themselves in the form of your raging husband who had just recently returned from his outing for the day after handling business in town.

…

The King soon returned after dealing with some rather insufferable individuals who dared to steal from him and his kingdom, as well as the people inside of it. Naturally, he made an example of them in the middle of the town square with a public execution, hanged in front of hundreds of eyes to witness. Adults, children, and many different people of all ages had come to watch the execution since it was such a rarity. Not because crime was relatively low in the kingdom, but because people didn’t dare to do any crime that directly impacted the king, and so, the three who had committed treason against the King— having become double spies for an enemy kingdom— were sentenced to death without remorse or any a single feather of mercy. Enji had, immediately after the deed was done, gotten into the carriage and ordered the coach to rush back to the castle so that he could see his wife. Knowing her, she was probably up to no good with him not being in the vicinity to steer her back to their bedroom. Hopefully he would not have to discipline you too harshly.

Once he had arrived, he was greeted by his usual servants, to which he grunted in greeting them nonverbally, walking past them and up the stairs that led to the front doors. He had failed to notice a few nervous looks from the servants that bowed to him, seeming to know something he didn’t. He could care less about them, he was more interested in your whereabouts. And so, he marched his way straight to your shared chambers, walking much faster than expected of a man his size. When the large oak doors, decorated with gold trimmings, had come into view, the slightest bit of a smile appeared on his face as he picked up his pace, pushing open the doors in hopes of seeing your face. “My Queen, I’m home—“ He said, though, upon not seeing you anywhere in sight he paused, quirking an eyebrow whilst giving the sizeable room a quick glance around. Perhaps you were in the bathroom? However, you would have verbally responded to him if you were, which led him to a few conclusions, all of which had him equally almost foaming at the mouth. Turning on the balls of his feet, he trekked his way to find the nearest (unlucky) servant.

After a couple seconds of walking, he spots a maid, dusting a painting propped up on one of the hallway walls, and immediately furrowed his brows, barking out his words like a rabbid dog that’s just had its chew toy taken from him. “Hey, YOU! Where is she? Where is the Queen? Didn’t I tell you to make sure she stayed in her room? Are you and the rest of the idiots in this castle this useless??” He questioned, watching as the servant immediately straightened up and began to tremble, the feather duster in her hand beginning to shake along with her. It seemed that he was waiting for an answer, seeing how he had now moved to stand just a foot away from her, looking down at her with a burning gaze. The maid’s mouth gaped open and then closed, mirroring that of a gasping fish. With every second of her lack of response, he was beginning to grow even more irritated with every passing second. Finally, he spoke again since she didn’t seem to know how to speak. “Where. Is. She?” He asked, each word sounding more aggressive than the last. The maid stared at him for just a few seconds longer before finally stammering out. “O-o-outside! Near the s-s-servants quar-quarters, Your Majesty!!” She quickly answered and then bowed her head to him, hoping that he would spare her of any horrible punishment. Thankfully her prayers were answered when she was met with the sound of heavy footsteps that quickly faded away from her location, and when she dared to look up, she could barely make out the King’s form as he hurried down the hallway. And she slowly stood up, swallowing her nervousness before her eyes widened upon realizing something. Then she crossed her heart and shut her eyes before quietly mumbling a prayer for the Queen and anyone else within a foot of the King’s wrath.

The heat that radiated off of Enji’s body was not just a result of his quirk, no, he was absolutely enraged. You didn’t listen to him, you disobeyed his orders, and who knows what kind of situations you were putting yourself and his daughter through. And with that rage fueling his walking speed, he soon found himself at another set of doors that let outside and after some twists and turns and few minutes of walking, he stumbled across you, currently standing in the middle of the grass nearby the servant’s quarters, looking around almost as if you were looking for something. And as he got closer, he heard you speak.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

At that moment, he realized you were playing that trivial children’s game— Hide and Seek. How dare you put your daughter’s life in danger just to play some stupid fucking game. Were you insane? His rage did have a tendency to blind him and make him act before thinking through things, and so, he wasn’t surprised when he suddenly stalked his way over to you, to which you turned to meet him and his hardening gaze, but a pained yelp jumped from your lips when he had suddenly struck you across the face with the back of his hand.

Enji didn’t mean to hit you so hard, but it seemed he couldn’t control his temper. He’d slapped you hard enough that it sent you rearing back, falling flat on your ass, thankfully the grass had cushioned your fall. The smack was so loud that it caused the birds in the trees nearby to flee, and you could have swore you had heard a duo of gasps as well. Even with your skin tone, the print of his hand was visible on your inflamed cheek. You’re stunned and go through the seven stages of grief in only a matter of milliseconds. Had he just hit you? The woman was too stunned to speak.

Upon hearing the sound of a slap, Dabi quickly retreated from his hiding place, only to whimper in anxiety and fear seeing the position you were in. You were still sitting up on the grass, cradling your cheek that was no doubt going to be swollen for a couple hours, and his father— glaring down at you with his hand still risen in the air. The disgust on his face was apparent and it had the four year old’s knees beginning to shake. As much as he wishes to run over and protect his new mama and his sibling, he’s frozen with fear, watching the two of you just… stare at each other, neither of you speaking a word. Keigo, who was nearby and had flew up to sit in the high branches of a tree to hide, happened to see the entire thing unfold in front of his eyes. He wanted to yell out for you and tell you to watch out but he didn’t dare too, instead, he’s horrified, but he doesn’t move an inch from where he is, not wishing to be punished in a similar, most likely worse fashion.

“I told you not to leave our bedroom. How many times do I have to remind you that until you give birth to our child, you aren’t allowed to go outside without me? Do you not understand the dangers that go outside these castle walls? Are you that stupid? Do I need to constantly supervise you like a child?” He began to drone on and on, scolding you after he had slapped you across the face and had no shame or even a tinge of being apologetic. As you listened to him literally talk down at you, almost like you weren’t his equal and you weren’t the mother of his children, your shock began to ball up into anger, rage, and something… else.

His voice and his words had made something else swell up inside of you, aside from your growing baby, and before you knew it— your quirk had unleashed itself without you controlling it.

Your head, where hair used to be, engulfed in black flames and your eyes began to glow a ferocious green color. And then suddenly, those same black flames continued to manifest themselves, wrapping protectively around your body like a suit of pure shadowy flames. You can’t control it, and before you can even register what’s taken over you, one of your shadow-protected hands wraps around Enji’s throat, choking the living daylights out of your husband, lifting him off the ground with a newfound strength that you never once knew you had. This new form is far from human, standing at nearly ten feet tall, the shadow of its body waft in the sun like long grass on a breezy day, it has no mouth, and its eyes are not truly eyes, they were simply crescent-shaped green flames, tapered at the ends. It’s bodyshape was elongated and widened, making your human form disappear inside of it as it created a protection barrier over every inch of your body. It was almost as if you had been shrunken down into a protective ball within the creature. The creature was a defense mechanism that you had no idea about, however, inside of it… it felt incredibly safe, almost as if you were being swaddled in the world’s safest blanket inside of your mother’s arms, lulling you to sleep and just let it protect you and keep you safe. You knew that you could control shadows, but you never knew that shadows could protect you like /this/, almost as if it was sentient… While you remained calm and relaxed inside of it your cheek had began to heal at a much more rapid speed, in mere seconds, you could no longer feel the swelling or the stinging pain anymore. The shadow creature had squeezed your husband’s neck, watching as his face had been to burn red and then turn blue due to the lack of oxygen, he wasn’t even able to properly activate his quirk due to this. If this continued you would probably kill him. But was that necessarily a bad thing? You were starting to think otherwise.

author’s note: hello again! so sorry it took me so long to post another chapter, for some odd reason i decided to start writing other multi-chaptered stories because i like pain and suffering. hopefully i will start to update this bad boy more often! hope you enjoyed this latest chapter, stay tuned for the next one!

318 notes · View notes