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kiss-me-muchoo · 9 months

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𝐃𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Do you want a baby? part one || Suddenly, we have a baby part two || part three

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ Miguel and you finally have a baby. Your little family attends Pavitr’s party. Things are not okay though . During Pavitr’s party, Miguel and you finally explode and everything is a chaos that night in Mumbattan.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ this is long, Miguel has men postpartum depression, grumpy! x sunshine!, age gap (legal), implied short reader, mentions of pregnancy and breastfeeding. NO PROOFREAD!

𝐀/𝐍_ <3 Indian culture and religions, inspired by M.I.A’s/ KSHMR songs, listen to Legendary Lovers from my playlist :)

♪ ♫ my miguel playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

One night, a young marriage lies on the wife's bed after a warm shower and a light dinner. Her round belly is getting more uncomfortable, but they happily wait for their little bundle of joy to arrive.

“Miguel?” you ask softly. He hums and looks down at you.

“Did you ever imagine you would be a father again?” it took him by surprise and pulled him out of reality. The image of Gabriella instantly appears.

However, his hand on your bump brings him back. He smiles, taking your growing belly with both hands, rubbing it up and down.

“Before you, not really. But the moment I married you, I kinda suspected it,” you giggle. Miguel smiles again before kissing your head, but you leave him thinking about the issue.

Somehow he wants to fill that void of his lost daughter. And while he knew he already had everything, trauma unconsciously haunted him.

“Do you want more kids?” He asks, and he hopes you say yes.

“I don’t know. As long we are okay, and the babies come healthy, I could have ten… Or just this little one,” you admit pressing your hand on his.

The man liked your answer, but the feeling of nervousness and a mix of panic and insecurity slowly started to grow bigger.

…

Miguel O’Hara was looking at his wife feeding his baby daughter; Magda O’Hara was about to turn five months old, and although she ate like a champion, she was still a tiny human.

You were sitting in the cafeteria, a lilac blanket covering your chest and the baby. Your eyes looked tired, your suit had a visible baby burp on the right shoulder, and your hair was very curly. However, there was a big smile on your face. A soft blush that made you sparkle and send the most motherly smile to your daughter.

Miguel smiles too, but he’s still watching, hiding behind a wall.

“Are you avoiding your wife and baby?” Lyla pops out of nowhere. Her heart-shaped sunglasses judge Miguel. He sighs, frowning at the AI.

“No.”

“I think you are,” she pushes.

“I think I’m not.”

“You are…” Miguel huffs in annoyance.

“NO. I being NOT,” Lyla shrugs, leaning to glimpse you and Magda. You are still feeding the baby.

“You know? One out of ten men get PPND after their baby is born” he had an idea of what the annoying AI was trying to imply; he wanted to ignore her for some seconds, but soon the worry assaulted him.

“What?”

“Paternal Postnatal Depression,” Miguel sighed. But then remembered how much he loved Magdalena, her round cheeks and dark hair like his, her tiny hands wrapped around his thumb every night. Then you, the kisses you spread over his face every time you greet him, his intense desire for you even when you claimed your body was slowly returning to what it was.

He wasn’t depressed; he was fine.

“Nonsense, Lyla. I’m fine” his tone was firm, confident, and intimidating. So the AI would not push it further.

“As you say, boss,” and with that, she disappeared.

When Miguel returned to see you and Magda, the cafeteria was full of spiders with lunch breaks, but you and the baby were gone.

…

Your boots with heels sound across the reports room of the HQ. Jess turns at the sound and smiles after seeing you. With a little wave, you pace toward her.

“Look at you, girly pop. If I didn’t know, I would say you have never been pregnant,” she explains with a big smile.

“Almost five months, Jess. I can’t believe it…” you admit, thinking about sweet baby Magda and her adorable yawns daily.

“I know, girl. My baby boy is almost a year now. Time flies…” Both of you nod. You start helping her with the reports.

Now you had been taking more missions and were happy to be back at work.

As you slide the pile of papers, Miguel stomps inside the room.

“What are you doing here?” He asks after spotting you beside Jess.

“Filling reports?” you don’t look at him, your eyes focused on the papers.

“You should be with Magda” His tone annoys you, finally pulling your eyes away from the papers and focusing on your husband.

“I spent the whole morning with her. She’s on daycare with Mayday and Peter” He rolled his eyes. And without another word, he sprint out of the room, leaving you very confused.

Jess kept staring at the door, where Miguel left but then turned to look at you.

“How has Miguel been dealing with parenthood?” you sigh.

“He’s amazing. He makes sure everything is fine with Magda and me. He also makes time to spend together, and…well, now I notice he’s stressed” Jess nodded, placing a new pile of paper on some shelves and opening a virtual screen to check the anomalies that had been reported.

“Maybe he’s…depressed?” her implication makes you break the focus on the report.

Having a baby was something big; you were okay, you felt amazing, just tired, but you felt healthy. However, even when you thought you had psyched Miguel that he was going to be a father again (with numerous methods. Like brief late-night talking, books, blowjobs, and fantastic sex). Maybe it wasn’t enough.

“You think he has it, right?”

“Maybe. Even if I tried to warn him, maybe…Yes.”

“I’ve known him since college, y/n. He’s a good man who loves you and that gorgeous baby girl so much. But he’s Miguel, and his damaged side will never leave.” It would never stop to amaze you how much Miguel changed after the events of Gabriella and her universe collapsing. You had to meet him just after that happened, so you would never know the man he was before that.

“However, you are his new chapter and a new chance to be better again. Just try to talk to him…” Her hand on your shoulder makes you feel supported. You smile, nodding at her.

“Thanks, Jess. I highly appreciate it.”

“Of course, girl. Now let’s finish these damn papers to have a break” a little less worried about Miguel, both Jess, and you had a good moment laughing and finishing the reports.

…

“Dear empress?” You roll your eyes, turning to your right to spot Lyla.

“Why do you call me like that?” You ask, laughing, chewing at your burger. Once again, a meal with your husband’s mask imprinted on the bun was a good idea.

“You are my boss’s wife, and Magda is the legitimate heir to the HQ” Again, you laugh. Lyla was funny and sweet; you really liked her and the dynamic she had with Miguel.

“To be an AI on earth-928, you are using medieval terms, Lyla,” she giggles.

“No, but Peter called. Magda woke up and demanded your company” You can’t even find yourself mad or annoyed. Your baby needed you after three hours separated.

Thankfully, you had taken a shower after the mission you had. Magda couldn’t be held with toxic particles and lizard’s spit.

“I’m on my way,” Lyla pretends to high-five you before opening the door of the balcony area where you were eating.

…

Soft cries flood the big daycare room. Lyla and you exchange looks before she speaks.

“Yikes, that’s my cue, bye bye” With that, she disappears.

When you open the door, you see Peter Pavitr, Gwen, and Miles showing baby Magda some toys to stop her from crying. Mayday is beside her, sitting, looking confused.

The closer you look, the better you can see Magda in a short sleeves onesie and her matted hair hidden under a little flower diadem.

“Oh, look, Magda. Mama is here,” Peter tells your kid. She’s very tiny, yet active to be four months old. Your eyes light up after taking her in your arms.

“Hi Bebé, I missed you so much,” Magda coos and plays with her little fists.

“Thank you so much for entertaining her, guys,” you tell your friends. They say it’s nothing. But you feel loved and welcomed, how well they treated your baby, and how much effort they made to include her even at her young age.

“It’s nothing. But… now you owe me in particular,” Pavitr says with a smile. You wonder what he wants. But then, he pulls out a pink envelope with orange and golden details and hands it to you.

“Happy Diwali season…” Immediately, you remember the party he mentioned months ago when you were still pregnant.

“Pavitr! This is so sweet, thank you” he offered a hug, which you accepted.

Few people dared to spread love like anything, and Pav was one of them.

“I want to see your little family there. And all of your too,” the guy threats smiley. Instant happiness succumbs you because you can’t wait to be at that party.

It was rare when you had the opportunity to hang out with every one of your HQ friends. Jess, Peter, and Mayday are the most recurrent since Miguel was very close to them as they were to you.

“I’ll bring my best clothes, man,” Peter calls before Pavitr leaves through a portal.

“I’m so excited!” You squeal along, Gwen.

Peter rolls his eyes, taking care of Mayday.

“We need some traditional dresses,” you comment.

“Oh, and we have to get Mayday and Magda matching dresses” The thought makes you die out of cuteness. Even Peter seems happy, claiming he will take many pictures if MJ can’t make it.

It has been a long time since you had a big party to attend.

The parties with your family were small gatherings where Miguel would likely get drunk with your father. Your mother and grandma would help you with Magda, and you had to be active.

So yeah, you were excited to celebrate Diwali with your friends and family.

…

That night, you are cooking some tray of peaches with cream muffins and jericallas, Miguel’s favorite desserts. Magda is sleeping in the pink carrier you bought for her and you (cause Miguel refused to wear every single day that carrier he got a grey one).

Dinner was quiet, which was weird in the past, but slowly grew normal.

You had wanted to ask Miguel about his possible PPND, but he always brushed it off before you could start.

Learning to look at the oven, there are five minutes left. You go to Magda’s room to put her in the crib.

You take some minutes to see her. She’s a carbon copy of Miguel. The sun-kissed skin, the dark hair, and you suspected she would have his spider abilities rather than yours. Oh, and her round puffy cheeks that you constantly filled with kisses.

You loved being a mother.

You preferred your own house on your earth; it was smaller, cozier, and homey.

And Miguel’s place was… an expansive apartment with minimalist colors and designs. It was still home… but not the same.

Still, you loved your family. No matter where you were.

So you clean the kitchen as the muffins cool off.

Miguel spent the whole evening locked in his lab. Claiming that he was finishing a new device for the HQ. Which you believed at the beginning, but soon you felt like he didn’t want to spend time with you, Magda, leaving the baby and yourself to play and read alone.

So you remembered what Jess said. Maybe Miguel was depressed or having a mix of emotions after Magda arrived.

Slowly, you open the door of the lab. He’s sitting, back facing you. He looks massive, being slightly hunched to work.

“Corazón…” you call him; he doesn’t flinch.

Miguel sees through the corner of his eye your silhouette, holding something.

A little plate, a jericalla, and a muffin slide in front of his face.

The smell of peaches and cream cheese invaded him. The small was enough to set him in a better mood.

“I made your favorites…” he knows he’s not the best husband material. But he was constantly irritated, and the last he wanted was to take it out on you or Magda. He would kill himself if something like that happened.

“Oh, muñeca. You didn’t have to “

“Yes, I had to… Miguel?… Are you okay?” You ask shyly, honestly scared of his reaction.

“What do you mean?”

“Lately… you’ve been weird. Is the work too much? I can take more; the master's program is basically finished. I have time, and with Magda-“ you want to find an answer before he even answers.

“Magda should be your priority.”

“She is. But I’m concerned about you too.”

“I’m fine.” You sigh. It wouldn’t be easy, you knew that.

“Just… you must know you can tell me anything, amor. I’m your wife…” his tense shoulders relax when you hug him from behind.

“I know that, mami.” A little smile peaks on your face, so you lean down to kiss your husband’s cheek.

He giggles before capturing your hands to give you a proper kiss.

“We love you so much, Miguel,” you add one last time.

“I love you and Magda too” Another little peck, and you're out of his lab.

Only that you tried to ignore the pain in your throat as tears threatened to spill as you lay in bed, waiting for him to come.

…

The sound of a phone taking pictures hits Miguel. When he enters the main bedroom of your house, he sees you in a traditional Indian gown in hot pink and orange colors, along with gold details.

He can’t help but think that his wife is perfect and that you gave him the best present ever; a daughter.

“Look at you, Magda!. You look gorgeous, my love,” she coos, stretching in the bed while chewing her feet. It makes you laugh, and Miguel feels relaxed.

You are taking pictures of Magda, and when Miguel gets closer, he sees his daughter in a colorful linen dress.

You turn to face your husband. Surprised to see him smiling.

“Look, Miguel. She’s totally ready for this party,” he finds himself sighing.

“Do we really need to go?” If you had to be honest, things with Miguel weren’t their best.

He continued to act desperate, less soft, and constantly irritated.

Last night, it didn’t work out.

He was fucking you on your back, but he was being rough. And not the type of wild you liked. It was rough where. You felt like a rag doll like it wasn’t lovemaking.

“Mig-Miguel. Can… Can we stop?” He had been so close, seconds away from painting your walls with cum. But you asked him to stop. That never happened.

“…Why?” He asked, confused and slightly angered.

“You’re hurting me…” it tears him. But the irritating demon creeped out for worse.

“Right, sorry. It won’t happen again,” without another word, he slipped out of you, locking you inside the bathroom and leaving you heavily confused.

Before last night, things had been like a rollercoaster, with ups and downs. They only didn’t make sense to you because you couldn’t understand your husband. He was taking care of pushing you away, and you were starting to feel hurt.

“It’ll be fun; it could help us to have a little escapade” he knows you want things to be better. But it seemed like the more you tried, the more he got frustrated. He was starting to believe Lyla about having PPND. And it scares him so much, already afraid of hurting you and Magda. So he had been a little secluded to avoid that.

In his mind, it was a good idea. But sure, it was not the best option.

“Fine. Do you want me to wear something specific?” His question made you pout.

“Just this…” you hand him a linen shirt in a cream tone. He sighed but surprised you by taking Magda in his arms and leaning to snuggle with you. Her tiny lips latched onto your neck, searching for milk, and Miguel peppered your cheeks with kisses. You started laughing at the tickles.

“Miguel! Stop!” You cry, laughing.

“Tell Mama she looks beautiful, Magda,” feeling her matted hair, your warms lips.

Of course, there were still some good moments. Like having a moment together, the three of you. Where there was only love in the air.

Miguel knew he had to change. He couldn’t lose his family.

Not again…

…

Whenever there was an anomaly on Pavitr’s earth, you would gladly stay longer than necessary. The colorful and loud city was always a sight.

But seeing the party he had spent months discussing was still a surprise.

There was a big rooftop with stone railings and details. Many plants partially covered the floor and every surface available.

And the colorful decorations in fuchsia and purple tones were breathtaking.

The Festival of Lights was the most exciting part for you. It reminded you of the movie of Tangled and how much you loved that movie.

The whole meaning of Diwali was beautiful, and having the opportunity to celebrate it with the locals, with your family, was even more special.

“This is beautiful…” you mumble, a big smile growing as you carry Magda. She seems attracted to the music and people talking around.

“Miguel! y/n!” Both of you turn around to see Peter and Mayday.

“AWW!” You let out once your daughter is reunited with Mayday. Both have the same linen dress, only that Mayday has her hair in a messy bun, and Magda… well, she was losing hair.

“They look adorable, Peter” Miguel says nothing, but he wants to smile so badly.

“I know; MJ took a whole album of her.”

“I can bet…” you add smiley. Peter looks at Miguel, and the tall and broad man looks annoyed, which makes him sigh.

“You look good, man,” Peter tries to soothe the strange air.

“Thanks.” It’s flat and cold. You are starting to feel anxious about Miguel and his consent mood swings.

“Man, you have to be happy. You are here with your gorgeous baby and wife. Smile…” You are surprised and thankful for your friend, not expecting him to speak.

To your dismay, Pavitr appears to say hi, but it’s not the best moment.

“Not now, Peter. You don’t know anything; stay away from this. It’s my family,” you frown, not liking Miguel’s tone. You and Pavitr exchanged looks before you turned to face your angry husband.

“Miguel, What’s wrong with you? Peter says it for good” he looks down at you, shocked to hear that you are not on his side.

“You’re letting him discuss our problems now?” To make the moment more stressful, Jess comes too; she looks confused at the scene but soon understands what is happening.

“What he said is obvious to everyone, Miguel. You’ve been off; we want you to be yourself again.”

“I am okay!” some people stare when your husband raises his voice.

“Miguel…” Jess warns him, hoping to avoid a bigger problem.

You came to a limit. All the weeks of dealing with an unstable husband, taking care of Magda on your own, working your part as a head of the spider society.

Indeed, you didn’t care that your friends were hearing.

“No, you’re not. You have been avoiding us!. We are your family, Miguel. If you weren’t sure of having a wife and kid again, you should have said it sooner.”

Ohh… everyone grows quiet. Peter holds your shoulder with his free hand, and Pavitr can’t believe what is happening.

“Don’t…” it’s all he says, but you cut him off.

“Maybe you’ve found someone else. Cause you’re rejecting Magda and clearly me. You don’t come home early; it certainly looks as if you were fucking someone else” Your baby is getting fussy, and your fears grow the more you talk. Now only waiting for his response.

“Yeah? Do you really think that low of me? Maybe I should go and make it real!” his words tear you a little. Making it impossible to not start tearing up.

Miguel realized what he had said when he heard Magda crying.

And he looked at you again; you were also crying.

He’s so embarrassed.

“Please take her for some minutes…” you say, handing Magda to Jess. The woman nods with a sad face.

And everyone looks at how you leave the party.

“I’ll go find her; please let me…” Pavitr tells Miguel, but he only stands there looking like an asshole.

“You’re right…” Miguel tells Peter, with his back facing him.

“I just want you and her to be happy.…” your husband nods, and Peter takes it as an apology and understanding of him.

“Can we talk?” Jess asks. Miguel knows he’s in trouble.

Both adults walk through the people to the most secluded area. Which seems to be a little garden.

“Do you want this baby?” Jess asks him, referring to the sleepy Magda in her arms.

“Or was it just for the lust of getting y/n pregnant?” It’s straight to the point, and it terrifies Miguel.

“Jess, you know I’ve always wanted a family,” he answers calmly.

“Then why the drama?. Everything seemed fine the whole pregnancy.”

“Lyla was right. I think I have PPND…” Jess sighed in relief because at least Miguel had an idea of his problem.

“That’s what I thought.” She replied.

“And now with this…I don’t wanna lose my girls” To hear Miguel in a vulnerable state was unusual. His eyes went straight to Magda. He walked closer to stroke her cheek.

He felt like a monster for what he did.

“You won’t lose them, Miguel. Everyone knows this baby, and y/n are beyond in love with you” Magdalena was his gift. And Miguel would always thank you for that.

The least he could do was be a supportive father and good husband.

“Go and talk with y/n. Then we can enjoy this peaceful party. It is almost time for the Festival of Lights” Miguel remembers how excited you were to see the lights. He worries that he won’t find you in time. Jess places a hand on his shoulder.

“Go. I’ll take care of Magda with Peter” The exit is crowded, so he hurries.

The streets are packed, people are celebrating, and some fireworks start.

Miguel ventures into the busy streets in hopes of finding you.

…

When Pavitr finds you, you are sitting on the long stairs that were the entrance of a temple. Your knees are pressed to your chest, your face hiding, and he can hear you sobbing.

“Oh… y/n,” he says, sitting beside you and hugging you. You are startled, but soon you are calmed to see your friend.

“I’m sorry for ruining the vibe of your party, Pav” He shakes his head, smiling.

“Nah, first of all, it’s my parent’s party. Second of all, nobody noticed what happened.”

“This was supposed to be a beautiful night. Not the start of the end of my marriage.”

“It’s not the end of your marriage, y/n. I can read people very well. Miguel and you hold an excellent dharma” You lift your head, looking at your friend. He offers you a kind smile that makes you feel comfortable.

“Call me ignorant, but what is specifically dharma?”

“It means a lot of things in my religion. But in this case, it means you and your husband have good energy. The connection is strong; there’s a balance that holds the love. And all of that is what Magda receives. This is just a bad season…” you analyze his words, trying to accept them.

“Then why do I feel like it’s not my fault? I feel that he needs to apologize…”

“Oh, because he does need to apologize. What he said was wrong. Even if he’s the one having a bad emotional moment, he caused this” It’s incredible how easy it was for Pavitr to understand when he was still a late teenager, only a couple of years younger than you, but wiser.

“Thank you, Pavitr,” he nods, hugging you again.

“Now come back, please. Gwen and Miles have been looking for you.”

“I’ll go. I need some minutes.”

He smiles one last time before leaving you alone again.

You sigh, and more tears spill, but quietly.

For a second, you don’t want to think about anything; you stare a the street in front of you.

The people laugh, scream, and look happy. A lot of them have the little lights in their hands already.

You try to savor the moment, so you sigh and breathe with your eyes closed, letting more tears run down your cheeks.

You could either fight for you and the love of your life and daughter… or move on, even if it was early to say it.

You don’t come to an answer because when you open your eyes, Miguel is on the stairs, going straight to you.

You’re startled, unconsciously standing up. You know you can’t enter the temple but you want to be away from Miguel.

He’s fast enough to stop you, grabbing your forearm.

“No. Not right now, Miguel,” you say firmly, with a broken voice.

“Wait. Please, bonita…” he hates to see you like that.

Finding you alone, crying on those stairs when everyone was happy and celebrating, was painful to him. Even more when he was the cause of it.

“I don’t want this night to be over with us fighting, please.”

You don’t say anything. You stare at him as he stays some steps under; you have him straight face to face.

“I didn’t mean anything I said before. I would never find someone else. Never, y/n” You remember his words.

Maybe I should go and make it real.

“That’s how it starts…” you say coldly. He shakes his head, grabbing both of your cheeks.

“No. No, mi amor… I only have eyes for you, and that’s how it’ll remain for the rest of my life,” he means it. Miguel fell in love with you one summer, months after meeting you. And from the day he accepted he was in love, the feeling never changed; it only increased.

“I must have… men postpartum depression” Immediately, you’re relieved. Because you had your suspicions, knowing that was the reason for the little downgrade of marriage soothed your worries about him cheating.

“Why have you always avoided it?.” You ask him. He only sighs, his hands leaving your cheeks to land on your shoulders.

“I don’t know. I guess I just… didn’t want to believe it?” you know he’s telling the truth. Miguel never lied; if he ever did, he would never babble. But he was looking defeated, showing vulnerability.

“It was stupid. I should have told you… agh, ¿soy un pendejo, no?” You nod, looking at him in the eye. Savoring his embarrassment, but not in a toxic way. You appreciated that he was recognizing his errors.

“We’ve talked about… Gabriella and what happened. But, now that Magda is finally here… I got scared again” It’s inevitable to not grow fond of him. He was guilty but also a victim of his own mind. And it was your role to help him.

“We’re not going anywhere, Miguel. I Can assure you that this family will last forever. Because I won’t let anything happen,” sometimes Miguel forgot that he married a brave young woman. Who showed him what he thought was lost in the world. And gave him a daughter to heal his past and grow better.

“I’d be lost without you and Magdalena, corazón. I’m so sorry for making you think otherwise.”

��And I’m sorry for not pressuring you to get help,” he smiles.

“No, y/n. You’ve done nothing wrong but being the most lovely and perfect mother and wife ever,” you blush. And Miguel will never stop loving his power to make you feel loved and blushed.

“Will you forgive me?”

“Are you going to the doctor?” He nods, so you sigh.

“And promise that this will NEVER ever happen again, Miguel O’Hara. Swear it…” he chuckles, but he knows it’s serious.

“I swear, this will never happen again. I swear it for my love for my wife and daughter”.

You smile, and that’s all Miguel needs to move his hands one last time. To your waist, to pull you closer.

As he hugs you, he enjoys the smell of your hair. That watermelon shampoo you loved to use. He’s at home.

“How can I begin with my apology?” He asks.

“Just hold me. Never… never, Miguel. Never let me go” his eyes get watery, and immediately his hands find their way to hold you, brush your hips, and lay his head on top of yours.

“I’m never letting go of the woman that saved my life” Tears flow across your face, but a smile grows too. No matter Miguel’s walls' height, you had all the power to crash them, and for the best.

“I love you, bonita,” you nod, sobbing and giggling simultaneously. Squeezed in his arms, you lift your head and smash his lips.

It’s warm, slow, and sweet. Both of you have flashbacks of the first kiss you shared. And it fueled the love, making the kiss even more adorable.

“I love you too. So, so much…” Between every so, you kiss his cheeks. It tingles him, so he laughs.

“Stop it, Nena” For some seconds, you stare at each other in silence, feeling the love slowly returning to reign.

You are thankful for having a husband like him. Someone who had problems like everyone else but would always stand up for his family and try to make everything better.

“Hear me out. I’ll never be able to give you back, Gabriella. But Magda and I will love and cherish you for her. This has been a big change for us, never forget that, Miguel” Magda was his light, just like you were the dawn he enjoyed every day. But the dread of his past wasn’t ready to leave yet. Nothing would compare to the time he had with Gabriella, but nothing would change the fact that she was gone.

“I’ll get over that someday. But now I have my girls, and it’s perfect. Simply perfect…” there was something about you that Miguel wouldn’t trade for anything. You gave him happiness, comfort, and a daughter.

The canon never warned him that you would appear, yet, there you were, willing to listen and help him. Even after all…

“I like the sound of that…. I can schedule an appointment with Doctor Spider-Man. He knows everything…”

“Yeah, that would be fine. I also think we should have a second honeymoon” Your eyes widen.

“What? Really?”

The first honeymoon was a fever dream. Almost a month in Oaxaca, in a boutique historic hotel, and fantastic food, outside activities, and… tons of sex. Thankfully you were cautious with protection, cause otherwise, Magda would have been a honeymoon baby.

“Yeah. Or we could have our first family trip. Magda is young enough to still make it pass as a second honeymoon” his playful tone makes you aware of what he meant, and it burns your cheeks.

“I’m also sorry about what happened last time we were…”

“I know,” you quickly answer.

“I would never waste the opportunity again. If I could go back in time, I would have apologized better and rewarded you with a big orgasm,” you laugh, punching his rock-hard chest.

“Miguel, shut up!. We’re at the entrance of a temple” he looks with curiosity and realizes it is true.

“Shit. Sorry… okay. Can we go back to the party?” You nod, and you gladly take it when he offers his hand.

…

When you make it back. The Festival of Lights is starting. Jess hurries and looks between you and him.

“Everything alright?” You nod.

“Thank you so much, Jess,” she says. It’s nothing, handing you a smiley Magda, who happily coos at you and Miguel.

The man smiles at her, kisses her hair, and takes her little hand.

“Oh, I got some perfect spots,” she adds. The balcony's edge is where a lake looks like a mirror with lights.

Peter, Hobie, Gwen, and Miles gather with you and your family.

But Pavitr leans closer.

“I told you it was all about the dharma you two hold,” the young man says, pointing at you and Michel.

Your husband frowns, confused.

“Dharma?”

“I’ll explain it later, man,” Pavitr answers smiley, leaving.

Miguel takes Magda in his arms, and he feels better; the light weight of his daughter and your head resting on his bicep was everything he needed as everyone watched the lights go up and illuminate the sky.

It was time to let go of his past at all. His present was right in his arms, and you were right.

As he would fight to keep his family, Miguel knew you would too, and that was a lot to say.

___________________________________

Sends ideas / requests 4 Miguel. I’m planning something based on hummingbird (I love that song so much) <3.

I’m seeing Taylor Swift tomorrow SEND HELP OMG :0

Taglist: @obi-mom-kenobi @g0oshtt @berlinswifey @alison645 @futuristicpandakid @sleepyoriana @amb3rrz @amyg1509 @t00-pi @crowleysthings @boobabietch @l3lazee @brtodd @gigachadcowboy @saturnknows @chiyoyooo @miggyyyyohara @puresweetenerx @saturnnnnl @natthernandez @reagan707 @voidashh @daisydark @kissezfornamjoon @etherealton @wonderlandangelsposts @niyanispunk @ang3l-dust1 @electro-supremacy @bestie1223 @dangerousness15 @iluvjisoo @atlaincorrect @naponiac @edgycatx @fluffy-koalala

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara angst #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #atsv x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman

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stiltonbasket · 10 months

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hi!! since you’re the nielan master, could you do nielan in one of your universes where they end up happy? thank you <3

"Diedie?" a tiny voice whispers in Nie Mingjue's ear. "Diedie, wake up."

Nie Mingjue is still half-asleep, his consciousness lost in the strange, sweet twilight between waking and dreams where he knows and remembers nothing save for his husband's warm weight in his arms—but in spite of the early hour, the sound of his son's piping voice rouses him at once.

When he opens his eyes, he finds Jingyi's round face hovering an inch above his own, aglow with a grin that reminds Nie Mingjue so much of a young Xichen that he nearly forgets to breathe.

"A-Yi?" he yawns, through a mouthful of Lan Huan's sleep-rumpled hair. "What are you doing here, baobao? Did you have a bad dream?"

"I don't have nightmares anymore. I'm not a baby," Jingyi protests. "And A-Die, you were supposed to get up at mao shi to make Ba's birthday breakfast! It's already past chen shi now."

Nie Mingjue reaches up to stroke Jingyi's chubby cheek. "Then I'll get up now, A-Yi. But you ought to go back to bed, because little buns like you should still be asleep at chen shi."

"But Ba's going to wake up before you're done cooking breakfast, so—"

"Your Ba is tired," Nie Mingjue chides, sliding out from under his husband's arm. "He might not want to get up until noon, so we still have time to make breakfast."

"I guess," A-Yi says doubtfully, crawling up to sit on the pillows beside Xichen's head. "But meimei might wake him up early, so I'll stay here and keep watch while you cook."

Mingjue laughs and kisses the top of his son's head before making his way to the kitchen. His heart sings at every step, though this is now hardly worth noting—for that heart has not stopped aching with happiness since the day he and Xichen declared their love for one another, some seven months after their wedding; and its song has only grown sweeter in the passing years, beautified and strengthened by every moment he spends with his husband and children.

He goes to the pantry in the kitchen for rice flour and eggs, and then to the garden for scallions. Nie Mingjue will have to make a simple breakfast today, since Wangji and Wei Wuxian claimed the privilege of arranging a birthday lunch for their entire extended family: and he has little time besides, so he mixes dough for scallion pancakes and prepares three oiled bowls for steamed eggs by the time Jueying begins to fuss in the bedroom.

"Yingying, don't jump!" Nie Mingjue hears Jingyi yelp. "You can't even walk yet."

At that, Nie Mingjue drops his pancake dough and runs out into the receiving room, where he finds baby Jueying crawling toward him on all fours with Xichen's forehead ribbon trailing behind her. Somehow, she had managed to make her way out of the bedroom alone.

"That's my strong Ying-bao," Nie Mingjue says, laughing at the resounding slap of Jueying's tiny fists striking the floorboards. "Should A-Die pick you up now?"

The baby shakes her head and crawls right past him into the kitchen, where she takes refuge under the table with one of Wangji's pet cats.

"Bu," she crows, delighted by the sound of her own voice. No was Jueying's first word, closely followed by Ba, for Xichen and Mingjue both; and since Yingying has rarely left her parents' sight, no is still her favorite thing to say.

Strange though it might be, Mingjue adores his daughter the most in moments like these, where she furrows her small brows and refuses to listen to her well-meaning elders; for it is then that he remembers that he and Xichen brought two tiny people into the world, with precious little minds and spirits of their own. Jingyi's mishaps and misadventures, Jueying's stubbornness, their shared passion for baked sweets and dislike of anything flavored with lemon—all of it came from the love that shaped Mingjue's very life, from the day he first laid eyes on Lan Xichen twenty-six years ago.

If it were any other day, Nie Mingjue would have abandoned his preparations for breakfast and returned to his husband's side, unable to keep away from him any longer; but Jueying has already fixed her beady eyes on the heap of chopped scallions, so Mingjue rushes over to placate her with a biscuit before cooking the eggs and fried pancakes.

"You can't eat these before they're cooked through," he tells her, watching the baby nibbling away at her biscuit in the safety of Xiaolongbao's wicker basket. "They might make you ill, baobao. But after your first birthday, you can eat anything you like."

"You musn't say that, A-Jue," a soft voice laughs from the doorway. "Ying-bao might take you at your word, and then where will we be?"

Nie Mingjue's poor, ever-hungering heart crowds up into his throat.

"Xichen," he breathes, holding out his arms as his husband comes running to meet him. "What are you doing up, sweetheart? I thought you would sleep for another hour."

"Without you in the bed beside me, Mingjue-xiong? I've been awake since chen hour," Lan Xichen smiles, leaning up to kiss him. "I would have liked to sleep a little longer, but I missed you, so here I am."

He kisses the tip of Mingjue's nose, and then:

"And Yingying crawled away with my mo'e," he says, perplexed. "Where is she, my love? Wasn't she with you just now?"

A high-pitched squeal rings out from beneath the table. "There she is," Nie Mingjue says fondly, as Lan Xichen drops to his knees on the floor and gathers Yingying into his arms. "We ought to feed her soon, or she'll try to eat Xiaolongbao's fur again."

With Xichen's help, the last preparations for their meal are completed in quick succession; and before long, all four of them are sitting around the table instead of underneath it. Jueying sits in Lan Xichen's lap, chewing bits of scallion pancake into pulp between mouthfuls of soft steamed egg; and Jingyi takes the little chair between his parents, so that he can lean against Nie Mingjue's shoulder while he eats.

For his part, Nie Mingjue sits with his arm about Lan Xichen's waist, and tries not to weep at the sight of his husband and children eating the breakfast he had made for them.

Surely such happiness is too dear for mortal men to know, he thinks dizzily. Just six years ago, a life with A-Huan and the little ones would have been beyond my wildest dreams, and yet—

Where was I six years ago? Nie Mingjue wonders. He and Xichen were twenty-five and twenty-three when the war broke out, and each of them had celebrated a birthday in the midst of the Sunshot Campaign; but neither occasion brought them any joy, for the beginning of another year of life in such straits could not help but remind them that they might not endure long enough to see the end of it.

Nie Mingjue had nearly died at the Nightless City, and if not for Xichen's skill in healing, he would have been stricken down by a qi deviation in the days after the last battle.

That would have been all right, Nie Mingjue reflects. He knows Lan Xichen's mind and heart as well as he knows his own; for Lan Xichen by far the stronger of the two of them, and he would not have succumbed to grief if Mingjue had left him that day.

"Perhaps not," Lan Xichen says now, reaching backward to hold Nie Mingjue's hand. "What you said when Jingyi was born—that is, what you said you would do, when you thought the worst was coming—I would not turn to such a course, but if I lost you—"

His grasp upon Mingjue's wrist grows tighter. "There would be no joy in this world for me from that day forth, though I would never seek to depart from this life before my time," he says at last. "You must know that, Mingjue-xiong. You must."

Nie Mingjue presses his lips to his husband's forehead.

"I know," he says thickly. "I know, my A-Huan. Happy birthday."

#mo dao zu shi #the untamed #nie mingjue #lan xichen #nielan #prompt fill #thank you for this prompt it was delicious ouo #my fic #this is set in the life in love's exchange verse btw #about five-ish years after the ending of the main fic #this is lxc's 30th birthday #life in love's exchange

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jokerislandgirl32 · 4 months

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Zach and Violet Kiddo Refs!!! Vera Edition!

Well, I already gave you Varina’s details, so now it’s time to share the details about Vera! Zach and Violet’s second oldest daughter! I am putting a cut below because it’s a lot again! Please note there are mentions of pregnancy and drinking, but they are only implied/ minor mentions!

Feel free to ask any additional questions about Vera!

Vera Vanica Varmitech

The Basics:

Birthday: December 14th, 2019 (4 years younger than Varina)

Drinking, A Fashion Show, and a Christmas Wish: Violet and Zach had been told they never would be able to have another child after Varina’s traumatic birth, but they wanted more children and Varina kept asking for a little sibling every year for Christmas…until her wish finally came true. Vera is the product of a wild night at one of Donita’s fashion shows when Zach and Violet were there to provide security (Zach’s Zachbots) and entertainment (Violet sang in the show). Donita gave them a little too much to drink….and Vera happened…As such, Donita often claims Vera as her own child, and they form a very strong bond.

Name Meaning: Vera - True; Vanica - Gift of God. Named for the fact that she was a true gift from God (see section above 😊). It should be noted that her name is pronounced “Vaira,” Zach and Violet collectively agreed that they hated “Veara” as a pronunciation.

Nicknames: Ve (By Zach and her siblings), Ve-Bee (By Martin), My Protégée (By Donita)….others to be added?

Physical Features:

Hair Color/Type: Dark Brown, but a shade lighter than Varina’s; long hair, but not as long as Varina’s - it goes to the bottom her rib cage; her hair is naturally wavy/has lose curls. She prefers to style it in a ponytail, down, with headbands and hair accessories, or with braids.

Eye color/ Shape: Emerald Green, round - they look just like Zach’s eyes. She uses darker eye makeup (browns and greens) to accentuate her eye color.

Signature Colors: Lime Green, Rose Pink, Black, and ✨Sparkle ✨

Style: Girly-Chic, preppy, formal, high fashion (she’s a girly-girl and complete fashionista).

Height: 5’4” - She’s taller than both Violet and Varina, something she likes to tease them about 😂.

She has Violet’s face structure: a muted triangle, she has Violet’s lips, she has Zach’s nose, she has pierced ears - two sets of piercings to be exact, and she has a mixture of Zach and Violet’s builds. She has a fair skin tone that is somewhere in between her father’s and mother’s, but it is a bit darker than Varina’s. As a child she had freckles.

Personality/ Relationships:

Personality: Sassy, sweet, caring, creative, intelligent, devoted, determined, ambitious, confident. Vera has Zach’s drive and determination, and Violet’s sassy attitude and heart. Vera is the type of person who knows what she wants and she’s not afraid to put in the work or effort to achieve her goals. This does not mean that she’s heartless though, she never wants to hurt or harm anyone with her actions, so she tries to ensure that everyone she works with or associates with is treated fairly and is comfortable with her and her decisions. She goes the extra mile to make sure those around her are loved and cared for.

Relationships With Family: She’s a total daddy’s girl and mommy’s girl. She is a loving sister to all of her siblings. Given her position as one of the older children, she does take on more of a caring role toward her younger brothers and Victoria, but nothing like Varina’s motherly role. She’s more of the older, wiser, fun sister they can come to about anything with no fear of judgment. She has the strongest relationships with Varina and Vallen, they both, in many ways, are her best friends.

Love Interest/Future Family: Due to the demands of her career, Vera does not pursue love until later in her life, she is well into her 20s when she finally decides to start dating, and even then love finds her unexpectedly. When visiting with the Wild Kratts crew on break from her touring schedule, she becomes reacquainted with a fellow Wild Kratts Kid, Nolan (please note I only ship her with the fictional version of Nolan, not the actual person, and I only ship them together as adults).

As children they were great friends, but once they are adults their friendship blossoms into a romance. I imagine that once Vera is in her 30s she decides she wants to start a life with Nolan. She still performs locally and releases music from time to time, but does not tour. Nolan is very supportive of her career and encourages her constantly, being so proud of the fact that she uses the proceeds of her career to help others and animals (see section below for more info).

They marry and have a couple children together (I feel like a boy and girl 😊). She and Nolan, along with Vallen and some other former Wild Kratts kids, eventually take over the Wild Kratts organization, carrying on the legacy of the original Wild Kratts Crew (@creativegenius22 helped me figure out the relationship/dynamic between Vera and Nolan! Thank you!).

Zach’s reformed by this point, but he still grips about the fact that his daughter married a Wild Rat and is a Wild Rat, so a similar reaction as he had with Varina and JJ.

Talents/Career:

Special Talents/ Future Career: Vera is very intelligent like her parents, and while she thrived academically in school (always making the honor roll and getting good grades), she decided to channel her creativity for her career. She is a skilled pianist, singer, and gymnast, and she excels in ballet and lyrical dance. When she became a teenager she decided she wanted to pursue a career as a musician. Much like Violet, she gets started locally around her home, performing in talent shows, etc.

Donita observes Vera’s talent and decides to take her on as a model and performer for her fashion shows (at this point Donita has stopped using animals for fashion), just like she did with Violet. This is Vera’s start and she gains a strong fan base. After a couple years she decides to go out on her own, but is nervous to perform alone.

Vallen had joined her many times when she worked for Donita, so once he graduated from high school, they form a sibling duo group much like Velvet and Veneer. They often donate many of the proceeds from their shows to animal conservation and cancer foundations; in particular they help donate to the Kratt Brother’s Animal foundations. They perform together for a few years, then Vallen quits to pursue a career in zoology, at which point Vera comfortably becomes a solo musician.

A Few of Her Favorite Things/Fun Facts:

Christmas and Valentine’s Day are her favorite holidays. Even though she doesn’t have a romantic love interest to celebrate Valentine’s Day for many years, she just loves love and enjoys the day with her loved ones.

She typically consumes a pescatarian vegetarian diet, loving fruits, vegetables, fish/seafood, bread, and sweets. She will eat red and white meat on occasion, but it is rare, it typically only happens at holidays if it’s a dish she really likes.

Music: She love boy bands and pop music, some of her favorites are … Britney Spears, Rihanna, Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Michael Jackson, Big Time Rush, The Wanted, Conor Maynard, Halsey, and Melanie Martinez.

Animals/Nature: She love all animals, but her favorites are nearly any type of bird (humming birds, cardinals, peacocks, doves are just a few of her favorites), butterflies, dragonflies, big cats, domestic cats, rabbits, pandas. She also loves all types of flowers, but roses are her favorite flower. Spring and winter are her favorite seasons.

She is not as outdoorsy as her other siblings, she, like Zach, prefers to stay indoors, but she will go outside and enjoy nature when the weather is nice. She becomes a Wild Kratts kid early on.

She loved Sofia the First as a child, and other classic Disney movies and shows, like all the princess movies: Princess and the Frog is her favorite animated movie. Another interesting show she enjoyed was Green Acres: she loved Mrs. Douglas’s sense of fashion. She absolutely loved the High School Musical Series, Ryan and Sharpay being her favorite characters. She also loved Trolls…especially Velvet and Veneer 😂. My, my, wonder why she became a fashionista and singer…

That’s all I can think of for now, I’ll start on the twins next! Victor will be up first!

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kkoumiii · 2 years

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⍣ 𝐇𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 ➵ 𝐼𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝑦𝑝𝑒 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

/!\ Friendly reminder that my readings should not be taken at face value, I do not claim to hold the truth and I do not mean any harm to this idol, my readings are only for entertainment purposes. /!\

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

⊱ What attributes attract Hyunjin? ⊰

✭ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵒⁿ + ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵃʳⁱᵒᵗ + ˢᵉᵉᵏᵉʳ (ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃᵗᵗʳⁱᵇᵘᵗᵉ) + ᵘʳᵃⁿᵘˢ ✭

Hyunjin appreciates people with prominent feminine energy: romantic, delicate, warm, sensitive, empathetic... He would be mostly attracted to someone open-minded who’s capable of putting things into perspective, and I think he would like a partner whom he can experiment life with, like a partner in crime. This person must be supportive and boost him, and he would do the same in return. He would love to learn everything about this person and appreciate each other’s particularities. Since I don’t feel like Hyunjin has a lot of experience in relationships, I think he would prefer someone who doesn’t have much experience neither, so that they can learn and grow together. I feel like he values people who know themselves well and work on improving themselves so as not to let their inner demons get the best of them. So, probably someone who reflects a lot, has a good discernment, and knows when to take a step back. As a result, the perfect match for him would be someone who finds a balance between their mind and their heart. He is generally attracted to creative, curious, generous, and ambitious individuals, but above all: someone authentic and I can’t stress it enough. I don’t know if I can put it that way, but I think someone “raw” and true to their feelings would attract him. He wishes his partner to be hardworking enough to fulfil their dreams, and even though I feel like he would like it if there’s a dreamy and idealistic side to them, he also wants this person to be down-to-earth. He also appreciates people with whom he can make compromises while respecting each other’s boundaries and saying things as they are (without being mean, obviously), because he wants to go through issues hand in hand. He would prefer a person that takes time to open up and is quite private since he would feel special if they get to open their heart to him.

Physically, I can see him preferring long hair and round features (maybe the shape of the face or the eyes?). I also see pretty manicured hands and high heels, so I add it just in case. He probably appreciates delicate features, but I think he would be intrigued by someone who has a unique and definite style that contrasts with their personality but is still comfortable with it. The type of person that can seem very daring but once you get to know them, you realize they are a lot more sensitive and private than they appear to be, or vice versa. It would definitely draw his attention.

⊱ What is Hyunjin absolutely looking for in a partner? ⊰

✭ ˢᵗʳᵉⁿᵍᵗʰ ʳˣ + 4 ᵒᶠ ʷᵃⁿᵈˢ ✭

Hyunjin wants to be with someone gentle and sensitive, he would hardly stand someone who is very confrontational and lacks empathy, because he wouldn’t be able to picture a future with a family and a stable environment with this kind of person. He wants to work on common projects with his partner and needs stable foundations to do so. His ideal scenario would be to share his life with someone he can enjoy the smallest things with, celebrate every victory, keep love alive with small attentions, and build a family. He wants a relationship where both parties pay attention to what the other feels and needs, and he wants someone that will always be by his side to support him. He needs stability and harmony to feel good, so someone superficial and unstable, who wants to take advantage of him and doesn’t want to question themselves would insecure him. I feel like he would also be a bit irritated by someone who doesn’t work hard to get what they want (he would probably not get it). In conclusion: he absolutely wants someone that can boost him and help him become a better version of himself each day, and he would do likewise for his partner.

.⋆｡⋆🌼˚｡⋆｡˚☀️˚｡⋆. ‧͙⁺˚*･༓📀

Thank you for reading, much love 💛

- kkօմตííí ❁

#stray kids tarot #stray kids reading #skz tarot #kpop tarot reading #kpop tarot #hyunjin stray kids #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin tarot #skz #stray kids

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1kook · 4 years

Text

hulu & woohoo

summary: But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. warnings: slight feelings of insecurity, smut; fingering, cunnilingus, cum eating, squirting, handjobs, unprotected, riding, slight praise kink misc: if you’re not a Jersey shore fan honestly GET OUT, mentions of capitalism😡, more kind/understanding kook, basically a “what are we?” fic but silly, irresponsible emailing habits, its so dumb just read wc: 6.3k

[ this is a sequel to netflix & chill !! ]

started off silly then I was like 😳what if we sprinkled in a dilemma™️😳 anyway here’s the kook i imagined for this fic <3

Contrary to popular belief, Jungkook does in fact have his own paid subscription to Netflix. He doesn’t ride on his family account anymore, nor does he swindle his friends into sharing their passwords ‘just once.’ Just like everything else about his mature persona, Jungkook is adamant on paying those ten and something dollars for the streaming platform.

However, his fall into capitalism doesn’t end there.

Among other things, Jungkook also pays for Hulu, Amazon Prime, Disney Plus, HBO, as well as a couple indie stuff you’ve never heard of in all your years. He’s a bigger nerd than you originally thought, with an incessant need to watch every single piece of media available.

Frankly, you don’t see the need to own so many different streaming services, especially not when pirating websites exist and you could so easily watch Jersey Shore for free, if you’re not too concerned with infecting your laptop with every software virus known to humankind. Luckily for you, your app developer boo with his—admittedly tiny—knowledge in computers can iron out those issues for you.

It’s moments like these, Jungkook fiddling with the internal system settings of your laptop to the best of his abilities, that you find yourself grateful for having met Jungkook, and even if it’s been a little over two months now and he still hasn’t popped the question (“Will you be my girlfriend?”), you’d still kiss him silly.

He sighs for the umpteenth time, rubbing his eyes as he stares at the same system warning on the screen. “Babe, just pay the six bucks for Hulu and you can watch all the Jersey Shore episodes you want,” he says, leaning back in his chair as he stares at you from across the dining table.

You scoff, almost scandalized by his suggestion. “You think I have the resources to hand over six bucks every month?” You abandon your homework in front of you, the one you had so dutifully been working on before your computer was flooded with about a thousand Hot Moms in YOUR Area! notifications before abruptly shutting down. “Buddy, that's lunch at Starbucks.”

Jungkook clicks around a few more times, round glasses sliding down his nose which he will occasionally scrunch up to save from falling. “First of all, lunch at Starbucks sounds sad,” he retorts, and you kick his shin from beneath the table. He doesn’t even flinch, the damn muscle bunny, instead leveling you with an unimpressed glare. “Second of all, I told you I’d give you my passwords but you said—“

“No!” You exclaim.

Call it what you want, but that rose-tinted image of Jungkook being a saint in this world, too sweet and naive for his own good, never faded. Your brain saw it that night of your first date and ran with it, never mind the fact he was quite the devious scoundrel, gentlemanly perception be damned the way he’d tug at your skirts and your hair in public like you were on the playground, always teasing, always playing with you, so discreetly no one would ever see it coming from him, of all people. Your brain saw all that too, the little childish streak he’d get sometimes, but your heart stomped it out, wrapped up in the image of Jungkook being your golden boy, and you couldn’t possibly take advantage of such an angel’s kindness to mooch off his streaming services.

From across the table, Jungkook gives you a pointed look, as if he knows you’re trapped in that brain of yours again. Unlike you, Jungkook was easily able to pick apart your true personality, and the way the devil on your shoulder spoke more often than not. He knew you were prone to outrageous schemes and evil villain monologues, and he still kept you around. Let you linger around his home in his big shirts and eat his healthy breakfasts with him. Jungkook liked you, as silly and mean as you were, and he was very obvious about it.

“The password—“

“Is none of my business,” you halt him with a tone of finality in your voice, gesturing for him to slide the beat up laptop back over. Jungkook sighs, runs a hand over his face like you’ve worn him out, but relents.

Taking it with a triumphant grin, you settle back into your seat, nudge his foot with yours beneath the table. Jungkook nudges you back, the adorable fuzzy socks he was wearing making you giggle, a sound that finally brings a smile to his face. “Y’know…” he says, “if you’re gonna be the Disney villain you claim to be, you might as well just take all my passwords.”

Rolling your eyes, you focus your attention back on copying some notes for class, falling back into the rhythm of glancing at the screen and back at your notebook. “You’re cute,” you mindlessly hum, taking great pleasure in the rosy hue that rises to his cheeks, one he tries to hide by coughing into his elbow. You set your pencil down, watch him squirm under your gaze like he always does, blushy and shy like he hadn’t had you twisted like a pretzel beneath him an hour ago. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching over to place your hand over his, where it’s idly tapping over some textbook he’s got out. Immediately, he turns it over, squeezes your palm in his. “I don’t mind getting thirty two viruses an hour.”

The reluctant worry in his gaze remains, sweet puppy eyes flickering over you as if trying to catch a hint of a lie. He was so adorable, you could kiss him silly. Finally, Jungkook gives in, though he does so with a lot of effort; letting you fool around on pirating websites truly was the bane of his existence. “Just bring it to me if it breaks down again, okay?” He settles, and you nod.

To your surprise, he brings your hand up and presses a kiss to the back of your knuckles, holds your gaze like he absolutely adores you.

He was so handsome, so caring, and so blatantly not yours.

—

“Not heading to your boyfriend's house today?” Doyeon asks the second she steps into your shared dorm, fighting with the boots on her feet. In the last two months of knowing Jungkook (everybody say thank you, Kim Namjoon), it’s become rare to see you home for more than two nights in a row. Jungkook was irresistible in more ways than you could count. If you weren’t falling into bed with him, you were smothering his cute face on the couch, or hovering behind him in the kitchen.

“Not my boyfriend,” you deny, huffy, and she knows how you feel about the subject, which is why she only prods more.

“Wow,” Doyeon drawls, glancing over your shoulder where you’ve got Jersey Shore playing on one half of the screen, an essay document on the other. “The man you see every other night, who looks and fucks like a god, who buys you a shit ton of presents, and treats you like you’re his world… is not your boyfriend?”

On screen, the toxic couple of the century is engaged in another screaming match, the reality tv show quickly spiraling as dramatic music takes over the speakers.

You scratch the back of your head. “Yeah. Well.”

Doyeon almost combusts at your response, flinging herself onto her twin bed in disgust. “He is a fool, a court jester if you will,” she seethes. “You're the hottest babe in a fifteen mile radius chasing after him and he still hasn’t asked you?”

Deciding you can’t comfortably watch the toxicity on screen with Doyeon talking so loudly, you slam down on the spacebar to pause the show. The fickity website, set out to ruin you since you first discovered it a few weeks ago, crashes. It takes your half-assed essay with it as the whole computer suddenly blacks out. You sigh.

“And on top of that,” she’s still going, “you’re hot and evil. Like bro. Come on.”

“Yes, I’m sure every man dreams of getting with an evil seductress,” you sarcastically reply, reaching for your phone to text Jungkook for help, when you suddenly remember why exactly you’re not with him right now. He’d gone to Busan to visit his family this weekend, a quick trip, he’d told you with his tongue down your throat. You shiver at the memory.

You still really want to watch Jersey Shore, though. Almost desperately. It’d been a long time since you watched it, and you honestly forgot the pivotal role that and a bunch of other reality shows had played in shaping you into the conniving woman you were today.

Doyeon seems about done with her tirade against Jeon Jungkook, dramatically storming into the en-suite bathroom you share with your neighbors.

Tapping your phone against your lip, you carefully consider your options. You could just boot your laptop back up, pray for the best and move on. But the 240p episodes were doing a number on your eyes, and for a moment you considered handing over those six bucks to pay for a Hulu membership.

It’s short-lived, and eventually you settle on calling Jungkook.

He answers on the fourth ring, and wherever he is is insanely loud. There’s voices shouting, lots of bustling, until eventually a door closes and Jungkook’s silky voice oozes through the speaker. “Baby? What’s up?”

“Hi,” you respond, feel something disgustingly sweet settle in your chest. “Is this a bad time?” You ask tentatively.

Jungkook laughs, low and raspy. “No,” he tells you, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Never a bad time for you.”

You could lunge through the screen right now, rain kisses down on his face until he’s giggling, telling you it’s too much. The feeling in your chest tightens, and you almost blurt out something embarrassingly cheesy, but a voice in the background calls for him, and Jungkook’s voice responds, “In a sec, mom. I’m talking to a friend right now.”

The glass roof shatters.

Even though you’d just told Doyeon you two weren’t a thing, despite all the coupley things you did, something about Jungkook telling his mom you’re just a friend isn't right. You frown, listen as his mother, a voice just as delicate as his, asks him to grab something from inside. With each second that ticks by, the discomfort you feel grows tenfold, until you’re barely holding yourself together.

Eventually, Jungkook returns. “So what’s up?” He asks again, and you remember what you initially called for. Putting on your big girl pants, you brush your uncalled for insecurities to the side, making sure he can’t detect anything in your tone.

“Your Hulu password. Can I have it?” You say, realize how robotical your voice sounds and belatedly throw in a, “please.”

Jungkook laughs, loud and boyish. The sound almost makes you melt, makes you fall for him even more. The niggling doubt in the back of your head still rings, but it’s temporarily washed away by the man on the phone. “Finally giving in?” He chuckles, doesn’t give you time to respond. “Sure, babe. I’ll text you the login stuff.” You hum, twirl your pencil idly as Jungkook announces he has to go, something about his family waiting on him. You bid him adieu, send him a halfhearted kiss over the phone, and only hope he feels half as content as you do when he does the same for you.

You don’t want to be dramatic about it. In your heart of hearts, you know Jungkook is just more reserved when it comes to dating. He wants to be one hundred percent sure your heart is in the same game as his, tied to the same rules, and putting in the same effort. But there’s a seed of insecurity that plants itself in the back of your head, tells you the reason Jungkook hasn’t asked you out is simply because you’re not good enough.

Jungkook was as rich as they come—not in money, but in personality. (Well, with the way he was advancing through his career, you get the sense he’ll be rich rich in the next few years too.) He had a huge heart, so caring and supportive of those around him, and an even bigger moral compass—hence the ridiculous amounts of streaming services he paid for—and you strongly believed no one was worthy of standing beside someone as wonderful as him.

Sadly, that meant you too.

Jungkook was your dream lover, and with every passing day, you were beginning to think you weren’t his. It had been two months since your first date, and realistically speaking, you know it’s not weird for people to casually date for such a time. It hadn’t been that long, truthfully, but the way you and Jungkook had clicked made it seem so.

He treated you like a queen, pleased your heart and body like no other. None of what Doyeon said earlier was a fib—he picked you up from school in that classy Benz, let you stay the night and sleep in his clothes, ate you out in the morning like you were his breakfast. You acted like you were in a relationship, but what exactly were the two of you?

Were Jungkook’s feelings even at the same level as yours?

Some days, you couldn’t fathom the idea of being so far away from him, texting him incessantly to feel a semblance of his presence. There was always a metaphorical elephant sitting on your chest, the weight of your unlabeled relationship, your insecurities, waiting for him to finally cut you off, decide you’re not what he wants. You wonder sometimes if he sees you out of convenience, but you always remind yourself Jungkook was too emotional and soft to drag someone around like that. (Or was he?)

Realizing how deep you’ve fallen into your spiraling pit of uncertainty, you shake yourself of those thoughts, mindlessly typing in the Hulu login credentials Jungkook texts you.

—

You’re in the student center when Jungkook comes home, laptop and books spread out over a circle table to stop anyone else from coming up to you. You’ve got your headphones in, the background sounds of late 2000’s club music from a Jersey Shore episode drifting through your ears.

A hand suddenly grabs onto your shoulder, and you send nearly half the table’s contents onto the floor when you screech, leg blindly kicking the table. “Woah, woah,” Jungkook calms, pulling out an earbud for you, and the sight of his face makes you relax again, before you’re striking his chest.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you warn, shooting daggers at him as he pulls a chair close to you, plopping down beside you. Jungkook laughs, kisses your temple.

“You doing okay, beautiful?” He inquires, and your heartbeat, which had only just begun to settle from your fright, lurches at the hooded gaze he sends you.

You nod, unconsciously lean closer to him. Jungkook smiles, cheeks pulled tight when you plant a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Glad to hear it,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to keep you close.

You never thought you’d be one of those people. Y’know, the couple shoving PDA down everyone’s throats in a very crowded place. But you can’t help it with Jungkook, gaze honed in on the mole beneath his lip as he recounts his trip to his family’s place. His hair is fluffy again, parted a little to the side to show his forehead. He’s got that big dark hoodie on, the one you love. Your love-addled brain thinks, I could give you a family, but you quickly shut that thought down.

There was no need to think as much for a man who wasn’t even your boyfriend.

Before you can spiral, there’s a set of fingers brushing over your neck, almost casually. You return your attention to Jungkook, watch him leisurely gaze over the bustling students around you. “Missed you,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear. Hell, if your eyes hadn’t been trained on his face, you don’t think you would’ve.

Finally, he glances back at you. He says nothing, his eyes dipping down to your mouth. He leans forward, presses a smooch to your lips, only to smile at you afterward. “Come over?”

The difference between you and Jungkook is that you were very obviously, outwardly evil. You were not embarrassed to admit you were scheming, or that you had ulterior motives behind doing something. You used what you had to your advantage, mastered all types of expressions to get what you wanted.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was a subtle schemer. In fact, he was so goddamn subtle, you doubt he even knew he was a schemer.

But he definitely was one, and your experiences with him were enough to convince you so. There were times he’d stare at you longingly, like a puppy, until you’d do something for him. Times he’d use his demure face to lure you into going to the hardware store for him, into watching some boring documentary with him. Times, like now, where his voice was a little too smooth and low to be considered his normal pitch, clouded gaze sweeping over your features until you understood what he meant by come over.

Numbly, you nod, watch the quirk of his lips as he kisses you once more before gathering your things for you.

The car ride passes by in a flash, Jungkook’s hand on your knee, your head in the clouds. You imagine how easy it would be to just lean over right here, tug him out of his sweats and get that super suck 5000 on him. But Jungkook’s shy, the devil on your shoulder croons, he’d like it better in the backseat, where no one can see.

Your bag hasn’t even touched the floor yet when he pushes you against the door of his house, shoes and coats half off as he envelopes your lips with his.

His hands are warm, cupping your neck to guide you through the kiss, blindly pulling you down the hall. You feel him falter by the stairs, torn between just throwing you on the couch and ravishing you there or making the trip upstairs to the comfort of his bed. You reach up, run your fingers through his hair. “Wherever you want, baby,” you reassure him, and become consumed with glee when his hands grab into the backs of your thighs, hitch you into his arms as he rushes the two of you up the stairs.

The bed is as fluffy as you remember it, and you bounce up towards the pillows after he drops you on the end. He tugs his shirt over his head, chocolate strands coming out a mess afterwards, before crawling up your body. Jungkook’s hands are incessant, grabbing onto every inch of you he possibly can. He kisses up your tummy, pushing your shirt up as he goes, hikes it over the swell of your breasts to gently fondle them in his palms.

When he’s just about suffocated himself between them, he pops back out, catches your gaze with a twinkle in his. “Hi,” you squeak, and Jungkook grins, leaning up to kiss you.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he returns, let’s your tongue slide into his mouth, sucks on the appendage teasingly. You whimper, and Jungkook releases. “You miss me?” He asks, and if you hadn’t been well-versed in the art of Jungkook’s sexy talk, you wouldn’t have noticed the tingle of nervousness that curls around the question.

You placate him, “always.”

It’s all Jungkook needs as he wiggles you out of your clothes, shucks them off somewhere to the side. His hands trail over your body, massage your breasts and pinch the nipples. You sigh, melt into the sheets as he runs his palms over you. He rolls you over, pulls your hips up and carefully pushes your face into the mattress, pushing your hair to the side to peck your neck when he leans over.

“So soft for me, sweetheart,” he purrs, hands slithering around your waist, down your abdomen until the tip of his pointer finger is idly swirling over your clit.

You whine, clutch the comforter beneath you at the touch. “Oh, fuck,” you groan, push your hips back against him. He’s still got his sweats on, and you want desperately to turn around and rip them off of him, feel the press of his cock against your ass.

As if sensing your urgency, Jungkook calms you with kisses trailing over your spine, hot breath fanning over your neck. His fingers slow, just barely grazing over your clit. “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asks, and you struggle to choke out a response when he presses his finger down against you.

“No,” you eventually gasp, jolt when his hand reaches down, glides through the swollen folds of your cunt.

As if content with your response, Jungkook lets his fingers caress you for a few beats, laps against the side of your neck as you whimper, beg him to continue. When he does, it’s with no ounce of his usual gentle attitude, two fingers shoving forcefully past the tight clench of your pussy lips, deep into your cunt. You shudder, gasping into the sheets.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises, flutters a kiss right below your ear. Your neurons are working overtime, unsure of what to do as he explores your cunt, fingers dragging against your walls. You want to close your eyes, bask in his touches, but every brush of his fingers has them rolling back, fluttering open. “This pussy is mine, isn’t it?”

His fingers curl, briefly brushing over your soft spot. But it’s enough to make you cry out, pant against the sheets. “Yours,” you choke, push back against him like he’ll do it again.

A thumb circles your clit, and the tight feeling in your belly snaps, has you crying out his name as your first orgasm in a few days washes over you. “Jungkook,” you whimper, nearly sob when his hands pull away, letting you flop down onto the mattress in a boneless heap. Your thighs feel sticky, and you watch blearily as Jungkook hovers behind you.

“So quickly?” He chuckles, turning you back over. He spreads your legs, exposing your pussy to the cool air of the room, and you shiver. A lone finger drags over your cunt, collecting the glossy substance on the tip, before Jungkook is sucking it into his mouth.

He had an affinity for this kind of stuff, you’ve learned. Like he genuinely thought your cum was the most delicious thing in the entire world. That being said, you’re not surprised when he ducks down, pushes your legs to your chest as he begins devouring your pussy.

“Slow down,” you gasp, hand curling in his hair as he spares you not, sensitivity be damned. He was gonna lick you clean. He groans, tongue shoved into your cunt, cute nose brushing against your clit. “Kook,” you warn, though it’s more of a shuddered cry. “I-I’ll come again.”

He pulls off with a wet smack, licks over his tongue as he narrows you with a daring glare. Gone was your sweet Jungkook, replaced with this cum-eating heathen who only purrs, “in my mouth” at your warning.

You scream when the second orgasm hits you, pushing his face against your cunt as his tongue continues, lapping at your folds and your hole as a gush of wetness spurts out of you. For a second, your vision pales, soundless cries caught in your throat as you come all over his face. When you touch down on earth again, your body feels featherlight.

Jungkook is watching you from between your thighs, his face, hair, and chest glistening. “Oh fuck,” he gasps, shit-eating grin slowly consuming his features. “Did you just.”

You groan, cover your face with your palms as Jungkook settles over you, beaming excitedly at your newest ability. “No,” you whine, pushing him away from where he’s basically glued to your cheek. “That’s so weird.”

He laughs, cute and airy. “Fuck, sweetheart, you squirted all over me,” he sighs, cuddles against you, and you wrap your arms around him only to hide your face in his shoulder, also glistening with your pleasure. He shifts closer, and the hard press of his cock rubs along the inside of your thigh.

“Can we take a break?” You murmur quietly, hesitantly. “I can’t feel my legs.” Jungkook nods, presses a kiss to your temple as he gets off the bed, tossing his t-shirt over to you. He stumbles towards the en-suite, comes back with a dry face and chest; his hair is still damp. He tugs the sheets out from under you, cuddles close. He’s got the two of you wrapped up in no time, your head cradled against his shoulder as he reaches out blindly for the tablet he keeps on the side of his bed, the Hulu app already open.

“Any requests?” He hums, scrolling through the multitude of movies and shows. You wiggle closer, stop his finger when he returns to the home page, and Jersey Shore is the first thing to appear. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s a good show!” You defend, click on it before he can argue. You press closer, throw a leg over his waist where you can feel his still rock hard member hiding beneath his sweats. Poor guy, you think, he must be suffering. But you have to rest for a moment if you wanna ride the shit out of him and knock him breathless like you’d planned.

Jungkook doesn’t comment on the erection he’s sporting, instead choosing to criticize everything wrong with Jersey Shore. You’re not surprised. He’s an avid film nerd, obsessed with ‘real’ storylines, not whatever reality tv shows were.

You’ve seen this episode about a hundred times, so you don’t really mind that he completely ruins it for you with his nitpicking. It’s cute, listening to him ramble about television integrity while you listen to the subtle thudding of his heart beneath your ear.

He’s on his fifth slandering of DJ Pauly D when you decide you’ve had enough, muscles in your legs feeling rejuvenated as you wiggle into his lap, toss the tablet off to the side as you straddle him. “That show makes you hard?” You tease, let your sensitive folds settle over the bulge in his pants.

Jungkook combusts, cheeks flushing at your jab. “No,” he huffs, “my pretty girlfriend’s boobs pressed up against me does.”

You short circuit.

“Huh?” You blurt dumbly. Jungkook rolls his eyes, too concerned with guiding your hips over his crotch to realize you’re having a complete meltdown in your head. An airy moan leaves his mouth, head lolling back against the pillows, when he moves you just right, grinds against you perfectly. But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. “Kook,” you say, cup his face in your palms to force him to look you in the eye.

Jungkook huffs, pointedly looking down at where you sit on him, “babe, gonna need you to—“

“What did you say?” You interrogate, press your foreheads together until he has no choice but to look at you.

Annoyed with your act, he groans. “Babe, your hips,” he urges, almost desperately.

“No,” you retort, “not until you say it again.”

“Say what again?” He cries, lips twitching in irritation, and you’re about two seconds from behind shoved into the mattress, pounded into from behind like he’d done the last time you teased him a little too much.

“That I’m your girlfriend!” You exclaim, heart hammering in your ears.

Jungkook seems to finally halt at that. “Oh,” he responds, leaning back to scan over your expression. “You are?” He says, unsure of what point you’re trying to make.

Your brain fizzes at the news. “Since when?” You cry, suddenly feeling dumb for all the time you spent moping over this perfect boy you thought didn’t want you. “You never asked!”

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed stare, reaches over for the iPad you tossed to the side, some dramatic fight scene on a boardwalk taking place on screen. You wanna scream. Why is he so concerned with Jersey Shore now of all times?

Before you can rain down your displeasure on him, he’s turning it around and showing you a bookmarked email.

It’s from you, apparently, sent a few weeks back at exactly two in the morning. You glance at the date received. It’s from Doyeon’s half birthday, when the two of you had drunk yourselves silly on wine. The title is some mix of dashes and exclamation points, but that’s irrelevant when the contents of the email come to view, some stupid slur of beeee myyy boyfrienderdd????? ;))((;;; that has your jaw dropping in mortification.

You glance back at Jungkook, who seems just as confused as you. “What the hell?” You shriek, snatch the tablet from his hand to see that not only was it a single email, but a thread of emails all asking the same question—there’s even a three stanza sonnet detailing your love for the mole on the side of his neck. You could die. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?! I was so drunk— how could you even take me seriously?”

Jungkook shrugs, almost amused now as he watches you scroll through the twenty emails you sent him. “The next day you told me you really liked me over lunch, so I didn’t mind. Besides, drunk words are sober thoughts, y’know.”

You stare in disbelief. “You told your mom I was your friend,” you whisper.

The blood rises to his cheeks quickly. “Babe,” he sputters. “I’m not exactly introducing her to every girl I date after three weeks.”

It makes sense, and you hate how much it does so. Pursing your lips, you look away, focus on the bedside table and hope he doesn’t see the tears that threaten to spew out of your eyes. He does, he always does. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He hums, sits up to pull you into his arms. One hand brushes over the back of your head, gently. Softly. “Did that upset you?”

You shake your head no, can’t help the ugly Kim Kardashian sob that rips itself from your throat. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you sniffle, covering your face with the iPad when he tries to duck closer and get a look at you. “Because it’s been two months.”

Jungkook shushes you, hugs you close to his chest as you cry like a baby over some apparently unjustifiable doubts. “That big brain of yours,” he sighs, kisses the frown of your head. “Too busy being evil to be logical.” You whine in protest, and Jungkook chuckles, carefully laying back with you clinging to his chest.

He lets you cry it out, palms rubbing over your back, listens to the annoying Jersey Shore opening song playing when the episode ends. When you’re done, you sit up, try to pretend your eyes aren’t swollen and puffy. Jungkook smiles. “All good?”

You might love him.

“I’m gonna ride you,” you announce, and he chokes in surprise, and before he can try to convince you it’s okay, you’re wrestling his sweats and boxers off, taking his half hard cock into your hand. Jungkook flounders, tries to calm you down, but you’re on a mission, working your hand over him until he’s fattening in your hold, melting into the pillows.

“Baby,” he grunts, rolling his hips into your palm. You lean over, pucker your lips and let a thick drop of saliva fall onto the tip of his cock. It trickles over your fingers, makes it easier to run your hands over him. Jungkook groans, reaches down to cup his hand over yours, urging you to squeeze tighter.

When he’s finally as hard as you want him, tip engorged and angry, you sit up, place your palms on his chest as you scoot over him. Jungkook watches you with dark eyes, skin flushed as you line him up. His hands reach for your hips to steady you, tiny gasps falling from his lips at the first prod against your folds. You’re wet from watching him squirm beneath you, from feeling the heavy weight of his cock in your hand, and you hope he feels how much he excites you.

“That’s it,” he croons as you slowly sink down on him, whimpers catching in your throat from the stretch. “That’s my girl.”

Jungkook is purposeful with his words, smiles at you when the muscles in your thighs jolt at the term. When you’re seated to the hilt, folds brushing against his pelvis, Jungkook ruts experimentally. “Fuck,” he chokes breathlessly.

You let your body adjust, spine tingling with every subtle shift from the man beneath you, still so sensitive from your two orgasms from before. Jungkook waits, even though you know all he wants to do right now is fuck up into you like a madman.

When you’re relaxed enough, you begin to move, pushing yourself on your knees slowly, hissing at the drag of his cock against your folds. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, fingernails scratching against where you’ve got them on his chest still. Jungkook grips your hips tightly, and you unconsciously reach for his forearms to steady yourself instead.

“There you go,” he purrs as you slowly pick up the pace, cock sliding inside of you rougher, faster. You know it’s mostly him, muscles in his arms flexing as he moves you up and down, but you don’t care—it feels so good, the upward curve of his cock brushing against your soft spot with each drop of your hips.

He holds you down on one thrust, grinds you over his cock until your clit is rubbing against him roughly, and you cry out his name. You want to kiss him, so very badly, but your position makes it hard. Besides, the sweat beginning to pool in the deep of his collarbones hinted at his oncoming orgasm.

Still, you can’t help the way your eyes instinctively go to trace over his mouth, pouty lips pushed out even more in exertion, teeth grinding together every time your pussy swallows him anew. “Kook,” you mewl, hips bucking forward.

He hums, plants his feet firmly on the mattress as he begins fucking into you. “What is it?” He grunts, pistons into your dripping cunt as you whimper, pleasure crawling up and down your spine. “My pretty girl needs something?”

You wail, nod your head as he continues fucking, ramming his cock into your quivering hole, precum dripping over him. “Yours,” you gasp, mind stuck on what he’d said earlier. “‘M all yours,” you sob, body finally giving out, and you barely catch yourself from falling into him with a palm pressed flatly against his chest.

Jungkook smirks, bucks into you brutally, like he wants you to fall into a boneless heap on top of him. “Yeah, you are,” he groans, as you finally give in, lips brushing against his ear when you flop down on him. “My pretty girl,” he huffs, and you nod, muscles pulled taut as your orgasm begins looming over you. “So cute and mean,” he rambles, lips pressed to your temple. His hips are beginning to lose their rhythm, thrusts growing stilted as he chases his high. “But you know what?” He murmurs, and you whimper. “I like her just like that.”

If his words don’t knock the air out of your lungs, your orgasm surely does. It makes you shudder, the way his hands run over your body, cock ruts into your heat, and you almost cry when the pleasure gets a hold of you. Your muscles tighten, and then loosen, melting into his chest. You’re trembling in his arms, like a leaf holding onto a branch for dear life, choked gasps of his name muffled against his neck.

Jungkook pistons into you, rounds the final corner in his race to orgasm, and eventually spurts his hot cum into you, coats your walls as another reminder that you’re his. He’s a silent orgasmer, sounds catching in his throat as his body twitches beneath you, silent even afterwards as he regains his senses.

A few moments later, you’re shifting out of his hold, pushing yourself onto your elbows to glance down at him. Jungkook’s eyes are shut, but, as if sensing you’re looking at him, he flutters them open, chocolate irises softening at the sight of you.

“Holy shit,” he groans, rolls you off of him carefully. His hand brushes over your thigh, like he’s contemplating licking you clean again, but you stop him with a pointed raise of your brows. “Fine. Pass me the tablet.”

You do, and it’s almost unnerving how easily the two of you slip back into comfort, Jungkook changing into some shorts and handing you your discarded panties, before climbing into bed to watch Jersey Shore. You’ve missed about an entire hour-long episode, so you end up rewinding until the point you last saw.

“You and your Netflix and chilling,” Jungkook snorts, head nestled against your breasts. You roll your eyes.

“This is Hulu,” you point out.

“Oh yeah,” he hums, snuggles closer. His body feels so nice and warm over yours, hands wrapped around you like a lifeline. You end up positioning the tablet off by your hip, supported by a pillow so the two of you can watch properly.

You’re still processing your new title, your new boyfriend, when he perks his head up suddenly, solemn gaze catching yours.

“Hulu and Woohoo,” he says, ever so seriously, and you understand why Doyeon thinks he’s a fool.

[ part three ; imax & climax ]

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #mine

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percabethfeelsfandom · 4 years

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Godly Parents

I’ve seen a lot of people trying to figure out who their godly parents is/are purely based on the face value of how Percy sees them and what they’re known for. For example, people claiming they cannot possibly be a child of Athena because they’re not wise or not smart. That’s not how it works.

I have always said that I was a child of Athena, and I have the tests to back me up (even though I’m also very likely a child of Poseidon)

And I don’t say this because I’m trying to become Percy or because I related on such a deep level with Percy and Annabeth and their characters. But because Athena is the goddess of knowledge, I have never known a closer, more valuable friend than words on a page. Never been so at peace than I was in the quiet of the night, reading under the covers while I know distantly owls are just waking for the night. I know I’m a child of Athena because no other god values the history of our world, the literature of our world, and it’s importance. In Athena, and in Annabeth I saw grit, determination, and I saw how they valued words in a way that spoke to my soul. And I knew. Knew that I was looking into a mirror.

On the flip side. I can see my potential as a child of Poseidon. It’s not just my inner dream and goal to be a waterbender. But it’s the utter calm that washes over me when I’m at the beach, the water lapping at my feet. The breeze in my hair. The whisper of the waves telling me I’m home. It’s the freshness of stepping into a shower, and coming out of it feeling alive. The way my temper ebbs and eases with the tide, clouding over and storming when things don’t work out. The way it slows down, to barely a ripple when things do.

Children of Hades aren’t just emo children ‘going through a phase’, they are the shadows in the group, the constant presence, laughing in the background, always there when you need them, though it may not always be obvious. They are the constantly cold hands, even in the heat of the summer. Soft voices that can command armies should they decide to. The temper that runs in their blood is different to their uncles (Zeus and Poseidon), their temper simmers, slowly growing over time, tending to it like a cold flame. These are the children of the night, burning the midnight oil, working on passion projects. You know you’re a child of the god of the dead, when you find comfort in silence, but still need that time with the people you love, because family is still family.

Children of Zeus are the leaders struggling with the pressure of being leaders. They’re the ones people turn to when things go wrong, wanting to know what to do. But they’re just trying their best. And their best is enough. They are the smell just before it rains. They are charismatic personalities that turn heads in a room. Extroverted people who thrive in crowds and gain their own personal power in being around like-minded people. They’re strong and resilient, but flighty.

Children of Hermes, keep your eye on these kids. Because they’ll pass you if you blink. And I don’t necessarily mean just by their speed. Their minds are constantly working, running, sprinting. Rivalling even the genius children of Athena and Hephaestus, these children throw themselves into work, working on half a dozen passion projects, pouring their heart in soul into them. Master on none, but master of many, indeed, they are the future entrepreneurs, innovators and CEO’s of the world. Helping the world keep going round, with the cheeky smile of their father and the smart aleck comment to match. Quick hands that never stop fidgeting, and unfocused eyes which are already thinking of the next thing to learn. They have new hobbies each week, and never bore.

Artemis

There may not be any children of Artemis. But there are hunters. They are immortal beings with grace unattainable by mere mortals. They are liquid in physical bodies, moving with ease, notching an arrow, taking aim and watching it fly. Running across fields without a sound. Braids whipping in the wind, and hair coming loose to frame faces of women who are free. Like the children on Athena their time is the night, illuminated by the moon their patron goddess rules over. The hunters are queens and princesses in their own right with their regal movements and the knowledge they have from living for decades.

Apollo

Children of Apollo are the wheels that keep camp turning. They are constantly working in tandem with the Hermes kids, always lending a helping hand, catching you when you fall, healing you when you need it. They are melodic voices and harmonious laughter. The embodiment of light, reminding you, reminding us that this is why we have art, because art and music, and everything that Apollo represents is what makes life living. They are the ones that light up rooms, drawing eyes in a crowd. People pleasers, that thrive in crowds. Similar to children of zeus, which makes sense as they are family. They may not be leaders, but they do set trends. Like the hunters, Apollo’s children have immense skill with a bow and arrow, letting arrow after arrow fly with precision and ease.

Dionysus

Children of Dionysus are the party animals. The ones with all the connections. They’re the friend that everyone references when they say ‘I know a guy’. They are the ones you can always count on to have a good time. They make you laugh so hard that you cry, they’re the ones you call when you’re upset and just want to forget about reality for a night. But they’re more than that, they work close with the children of Demeter, tending to the strawberry fields, their powers responding to the touch of their fingertips. Like their father they are stubborn, their thoughts set in and hard to break like the vines that grapes grow on. But be wary for, no matter how easy-going they may seem, they sometimes don’t know limits and can influence others to descent into the same madness that only they can control.

Demeter

Children of Demeter are the steady roots of camp. Unable to be uprooted if they don’t agree with plans. Stubborn but their feelings well intentioned. They’re always there to lend a hand. With faces tanned from time in the sun, and noses burnt, they have kind smiles and hands rough with callouses that come with working hard. They’re the one’s who seem to always know where to find the best snacks, and sneak them in to you when you need it. Like all Olympians children of Demeter are proud, tending to their plants with utmost care, always secretly thinking that theirs are the best. They are the quiet listeners of camp, taking in all of the information before speaking, acting mediator when they decide.

Aphrodite

Children of Aphrodite are the ones you turn to when all hope is lost. Because when nothing is left, there will still always be love. Beauty is subjective, but the children of Aphrodite are the pioneers for body positivity, constantly advocating for self love all around camp telling people that they are beautiful and reminding them of their self worth. They are the children you roll your eyes at, not realising the power they have in words. The true mediators of camp, calming fights between the hot heads and the stubborn blood. With hair that always seems to change colour the next time you see them, children of Aphrodite remind you that they are in fact children of a goddess, and they’re not about to let you forget.

Ares

Children of Ares are warriors from the moment they are born, but they don’t have to be. In typical olympian fashion, they are stubborn, the most stubborn of the family. But they are also the ones you talk to when someone says something bad behind your back and you want to get back at them. They persevere, they always push back and they never give up. On the field they are the ones you look to for guidance, for they show no fear. They keep to themselves in camp, preferring to stay with their siblings to avoid the way that campers look at them. But you just need to approach them like you would a cat scared of new strangers. Because they do have a soft side, because all warriors need to rest sometimes.

Hephaestus

Children of Hephaestus are the faces behind the scenes. The welders of the weapons you wield. The people that shape the shields that protect you. They are the immovable force that remains steady no matter what. Their hands always fidget wanting- needing to be tinkering something. They tend to be warmer than most demigods, their bodies naturally also more fire resistant. Working in tandem with children of Athena, they are all about creating, because without them there is no camp. They look at a junkyard and see the greatest treasure known to humankind. Turning any trash into treasure. They are soft despite their exterior, meticulous with their creations, pouring all the love and care into them that their father never received from his family. There’s an awkward edge to them but despite that they remind kindhearted, and always happy to help.

1K notes · View notes

pickalilywrites · 3 years

Text

for @certainbonksaladranch, whose kind words always give me a reason to continue writing. thank you for always being a beautiful soul in the rivetra fandom 💖

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If You Have Some Time, Would You Like to Marry Me?

Rivetra. My Girl + My Strange Hero AU.

A Love More Than Diamonds Series: Chapter 1

10175 words.

Read on Ao3!

The first time Levi encounters her is at a wedding.

Levi does not know the bride nor the groom. He actually doesn’t know anyone at the wedding. The only reason he’s attending at all is because the bride is the daughter of a businessman who has been a close associate of his grandfather’s for years. Because Levi’s grandfather was unable to attend due to his poor health, Levi had come in his place. He should be used to it by now, attending all these business meetings and social events with people whose names he can’t ever remember, but Levi still finds them tedious. This wedding is no exception.

After being greeted at the front of the garden and handing off his wedding gift to a staff member, Levi wanders aimlessly around the garden trying his best to be sociable even though so many unnecessary conversations leave him exhausted. He has to remind himself several times not to glance at his watch lest he appear rude. He does one round around the garden, making sure he doesn't miss anyone, before giving up on socializing completely and spending the rest of his time standing beside the fountain and remarking to everyone that passes by that he had never seen such a beautiful wedding before even though it’s a lie. He’s probably been to half a dozen ceremonies that were just as good if not better than this one.

When it’s time for the wedding ceremony to begin, everyone falls into place easily. It seems Levi is the only one stumbling about searching for a free seat. There isn’t anyone he wants to sit next to nor anyone that seems to want to sit next to him, so he sits in the very last row in the corner where nobody will take too much notice of him. He fidgets in his seat, frowning when the orchestral quartet begins to play Pachelbel’s Canon.

It shouldn’t be too long now before Levi can leave. He just needs to wait until the bride walks down the aisle and says her vows alongside the groom and then he’ll wait for the appropriate amount of time before leaving. He just needs to be patient.

Levi turns his head, expecting to see the bride making her way down the aisle. He doesn’t expect to see another woman hurriedly running towards the area where Levi and all the other guests are seated. Other staff members in their monochrome suits chase after her, hissing at her about trespassing because they’re too afraid to raise their voices and ruin the bride’s moment even more. It’s only when the woman pulls out an invitation from her purse and flashes it at the staff that they stop chasing her, although it might be in confusion over how a guest could possibly be so rude as to show up this late. The woman finally reaches the seating area and Levi glances at the bride at the end of the aisle, but it’s difficult to tell her expression under the covering of her veil.

When Levi turns around to check where the late guest has decided to seat herself, he’s almost horrified to find her sliding into the seat next to him. The woman doesn’t seem to notice his horror because she settles in easily next to him, brushing her ginger hair out of her face and flashing a smile at him.

“Ah, my ride was late,” she tells him as if he had asked. At least she has the decency to keep her voice low. Leaning her head towards Levi, the woman asks, “Do you think the bride hates me?”

“I don’t know,” Levi answers. He doesn’t know why he replies at all. He should have ignored her. The woman already made a small scene by arriving late to the wedding, and nothing good will come out of associating with her. He’ll probably have to apologize to the bride’s father for being seated next to the woman even though she was the one who sat next to him. He knows all this and yet he still finds himself saying (quite unnecessarily) to the woman, “I don’t know her at all.”

The woman doesn’t look surprised, only curious. “You’re a friend of the groom’s then?” she asks as they begin to untwist their necks and sit properly in their seats now that the bride is walking down the aisle through the rows and rows of seats.

“No,” Levi replies. “Not really.” He should have lied and said it was true or even made up some kind of distant relation between him and the groom. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t. Maybe he’s so surprised that he’s even having this conversation that he doesn’t think to tell any lies.

To Levi’s confusion, the woman looks absolutely delighted. She leans in even closer, her smile dazzling as she grows ever near. “Me neither. I don’t know anyone here at all,” she confesses, which only confuses Levi all the more.

She had clearly shown an invitation to the staff earlier or she would have been dragged out of the garden when she had first waltzed in late. Why, then, is she claiming not to know the groom or the bride? It might be the case that she is like Levi, only there to maintain a business relationship with either the bride or the groom’s family, but the more he studies the woman, the more unlikely Levi finds this theory.

The woman isn’t dressed in the same black-tie attire that everyone else is wearing, Levi realizes. While all the other women wear gowns with skirts that trail on the grass, the woman’s skirt barely ends at her knees, revealing smooth legs and open-toed shoes. Her hair hangs in a simple bob, ginger locks framing her heart-shaped face, instead of done up in an intricate hairstyle or set in elegant curls. It makes Levi wonder if she had perhaps missed the dress code on the RSVP, but he thinks it’s more likely that she doesn’t belong here at all.

He’s about to ask her how she was invited to this wedding when she suddenly lets out the tiniest squeal and whispers to him, “This is my favorite part!” She sighs with the most wistful smile on her face. “This whole thing is awfully romantic, don’t you think?”

Levi forces himself to look up front where the bride is standing with her groom. The groom’s back is turned to Levi as the bride’s veil is lifted, the bride’s smile blinding as she looks up at her husband. Levi assumes the groom is equally elated to have his soon-to-be-wife by his side. As the bride and groom recite their vows to each other, Levi watches the woman beside him from the corner of his eye.

She sighs almost wistfully as the bride and groom share their vows, chest heaving with a longing sigh and eyes sparkling. Levi doesn’t know how someone can look so enamored with the matrimony of two people they don’t even know, but maybe she’s a hopeless romantic who watched too many romcoms. He expects her to get teary-eyed when the minister asks if anyone would like to “speak now or forever hold their peace,” but she doesn’t. Instead, the woman does something much worse.

At the minister’s words, the woman stands up and Levi has no choice but to watch her even though he wants nothing more than to drag her down by the arm and ask her in a hushed whisper what the fuck she’s doing disrupting the wedding of a perfect stranger. He watches helplessly as the woman stands, her face cold and steely as if she hadn’t told Levi a few minutes before in an awestruck voice that she found the whole wedding awfully romantic, and says the absolute worst thing that can come out of her mouth:

“She can’t marry him.”

And then somehow even more unexpected and horrible:

“I love him.”

She’s staring directly at the groom, Levi realizes, the same groom she had claimed not to know when she had first met Levi. At first, Levi thinks this is just some terrible joke or that he had heard wrong, but everyone around him looks equally horrified and it’s clear that they’re all in the same state of disbelief as Levi.

Tears are welling in her amber eyes, an elegant tear even dripping down her cheek as she looks at the stunned couple. All eyes are on her, but it’s as if she doesn’t notice. Her gaze is fixed on the groom whose hands have fallen from the bride’s. As if entranced, she walks to him, stopping only a few paces away. With tear-filled eyes, she looks to the groom and stretches a hand towards him.

“Darling,” she says. Her voice is hardly a whisper but it seems to ring in the stunned silence. “Darling, run away with me. I love you.”

Everyone’s gaze turns to the groom now. The man looks just as confused as the other wedding guests, but he takes a tentative step towards the woman, then another. He takes another step and then one more until he’s finally reached the mysterious wedding crasher. His hand reaches out to meet the woman’s and she smiles as she intertwines her fingers with his. The woman’s face breaks into a dazzling smile and, without another word, she pulls the man after her and the two run down the aisle while the bride begins to shriek for the wedding staff not to let the runaway groom get away.

Levi watches as the poor maids and butlers try to chase after the groom and the woman who has just spirited him away, but the escapees manage to slip right through everyone’s fingers. The groom and woman make it to the entrance of the garden where an idle van awaits them. As soon as the woman slips inside after the groom, the door slams shut in the sweaty faces of their pursuers and the van takes off. Everyone watches as the van grows smaller and smaller until it finally vanishes and all the while the bride sobs like her heart is being torn out.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

The second time Levi sees her is at a bar that he had initially no intention of going to.

He usually didn’t have the time to attend social outings aside from the ones necessary to appease the business partners that Levi’s grandfather had long been associated with. It doesn’t bother Levi most of the time. He’s not a fan of crowded places, but Hanji always has a way of dragging him to places he doesn’t want to be. They had insisted that this particular bar was worth going to at least once, and Levi had reluctantly agreed because Hanji assured him that it was a hole-in-the-wall establishment where he wouldn’t be bothered even if people did recognize him.

“The atmosphere is very relaxed there. You might be able to take your mind off work for once,” Hanji told him. “The drinks aren’t half-bad either for their price. Oh, but the singer is absolutely divine. She comes out every week and she’s really amazing. Doesn’t a talented singer add to the ambience of a place?”

Upon arriving at the bar, Levi does have to admit that the atmosphere of the restaurant is indeed as relaxing as Hanji had assured him it would be. At the back of the restaurant is a small stage where a jazz band is playing. The place where the singer should be is empty, but Hanji assures him the singer is probably just going on a break and will be back soon. The bar is dimly lit, which gives Levi a slight feeling of anonymity that he typically doesn’t have under bright lights and flashing cameras. Nobody stares at or turns their head as Levi and Hanji make their way to a table in the corner of the bar, and Levi finds himself breathing more easily than he usually does.

“So, tell me about the runaway groom and the mysterious woman who whisked him away,” Hanji asks. In their hands, they cradle a glass filled with an electric blue beverage that smells vaguely of peaches with a wedge of lemon stuck to the top of the glass.

“You’ve heard this story already,” Levi replies. He knows it’s his own fault that he’s about to talk about this scandalous story over a gin and tonic. He doesn’t care for gossip, but he had off-handedly mentioned that he had sat next to the mysterious ginger-haired woman after Hanji had shown him an article in the news about a famous businessman’s daughter being left at the altar. Hanji, always interested in stories about anything strange or scandalous, has asked him to retell the tale at least a dozen times since then.

Hanji leans forward, elbows on the table and face in their hands. “Did you know when she walked in that she’d be running away with the groom? Did it look like the groom was having an affair behind the bride’s back the whole time? Was their getaway dramatic enough to be in a movie?”

Levi rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his gin and tonic. The sharp taste of alcohol burns quickly down his throat and he’s left with a lemony aftertaste on his tongue. “It’s not like I got to talk to her very much. The woman came late to the wedding. She sat down just as the bride was walking down the aisle,” Levi tells Hanji.

Hanji whistles. “Wow, she ran away with the bride’s man and didn’t even have the audacity to come on time. You’d think she’d have some manners.”

Levi believes the tardiness is negligible given the woman’s more offensive crime of running away with the groom, but he doesn’t say that out loud. “It’s strange though,” he says instead. “The woman mentioned that she didn’t know anyone there — neither the bride nor the groom. It might have been my imagination, but it didn’t look as if he recognized her either, at least not at first. He didn’t seem to expect her at all.”

“Well, it’s not every day that someone crashes your wedding and proposes that you run away with them,” Hanji points out. They’re not wrong, but that doesn’t explain everything either.

“It still doesn’t make sense,” Levi grumbles as he settles with his back against the seat, his arms folded across his chest.

“Maybe she was his first love or something and their parents wouldn’t let them marry because of their difference in social status,” Hanji says, chewing on their straw thoughtfully.

“This isn’t a soap opera,” Levi snorts.

“No,” Hanji agrees, “but it could be.”

Levi shakes his head, trying to rid his mind of the strange woman. He doesn’t have the time to think about a wedding crasher he’ll probably never meet again. It’s already too much drama that he doesn’t care for.

“Was she pretty though?” Hanji asks. They reach across the table and munch on a crispy potato chip from the appetizer bowl that was set for them when they had first arrived. It’s clear that even if Levi is done talking about the woman, Hanji certainly isn’t.

Levi wrinkles his nose. “I don’t see why that’s important.”

“It’s important to me,” Hanji says. They sigh and nibble at the end of their straw. “I was just curious if you had an opinion of her. I probably shouldn’t have asked though. You never have an opinion on these things.”

He rolls his eyes and is about to open his mouth when the lights on the stage begin to change color from a soft white to a warm violet.

Hanji sits up and twists in their seat. “Ah, it looks like the singer is about to start,” Hanji says eagerly. They settle down against their seat, hands folded in front of them. “You’ll see what I was talking about, Levi. Even if you aren’t a music aficionado, you can’t deny her talent.”

Levi merely grunts and lets his eyes flicker to the stage. As the band readies their instruments, a woman walks on the stage and the sight of her nearly makes Levi fall out of his seat. The flash of the woman’s ginger hair makes Levi blink — once, twice — and he leans forward in his seat to get a closer look.

The more he stares, the more he’s certain that the woman is the very same that he had met at the wedding. It’s the same woman he had seen running away with the groom, the woman Levi was certain he would never see again.

The woman sits on a stool at the center of the stage while the soft violet lights settle on her. Her eyes are cast downward as the band begins to play, a slick jazzy tune that drifts through the bar, and raises the mic to her lips. When she opens her mouth, the most angelic voice comes out, a voice that was made for singing.

Levi leans over the table, tapping on the surface to catch Hanji’s attention. “That’s her,” he says, not taking his eyes off the woman for a second. “That’s the woman who was at the wedding.”

“She’s the woman from the wedding?” Hanji repeats, confused for a second before they realize what Levi is saying. They do a double-take and then turn back to Levi, eyes wide. “She’s the woman from the wedding you’ve been talking about? Why didn’t you mention she was an amazing singer? We could have found her earlier!”

“It’s not like she sang at the wedding,” Levi scowls. “And even if I did find out she was a singer, how would you be able to connect those two dots?”

“I would have,” Hanji says confidently before taking a sip of their cocktail. They turn back to where the woman is singing. “Should we ask if we can talk to her backstage after the set? She seems so interesting. You don’t meet a wedding crasher with a phenomenal singing voice every day, you know.”

“Please don’t stick your nose into things that aren’t any of our business,” Levi says, although he knows Hanji isn’t listening. They always do what they want anyway.

Levi raises his glass to his lips and takes a sip of gin. He’s so fixated on the woman on the stage that he hardly feels the burn of the alcohol as it slips down his throat.

The woman looks comfortable on stage. Dressed in a loose white peasant blouse and dark trousers, she looks like she belongs under the spotlight and isn’t at all out of place like she was at the wedding. Her voice is melodious and sweet like a songbird, which Levi finds strange. He doesn’t recall her speaking voice as being musical, but he supposes there are people who have singing voices that don’t match their speaking voices.

He ignores Hanji as they flag down a server. The server leans over to hear Hanji’s request better — they’re most likely asking the server for a chance to speak with the singer after her set is over. Levi has half a mind to swat the server away. They’re blocking his view of the stage.

He wonders what a nameless singer is doing in a hole-in-the-wall jazz bar after crashing the wedding of two of the most powerful families in the city. Why isn’t the woman with the runaway groom somewhere overseas where nobody could find them? Why is she here singing at a bar like she hadn’t ruined someone’s wedding the week before? Who exactly is this woman?

“Is she really that pretty?” Hanji asks and snaps Levi out of his thoughts. When Levi looks at his friend, they gesture towards the stage. “You’ve been staring at her. If you’re enraptured by her, just remember: she already ran away with the groom at the wedding.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Levi frowns. He sits up and turns his head, pretending to stare at the wall as he sips his drink but he takes a peek at the woman from the corner of his eye.

Hanji rolls their eyes. “You don’t have to pretend you’re not staring,” they tell him. Levi is about to open his mouth and protest that that isn’t what he’s doing, but Hanji waves their hand about to silence him. “The set is almost over and the waiter I talked to earlier said we could meet with her backstage if you’re so curious about her.”

“I’m not,” Levi says, but Hanji clucks their tongue at him and gestures for him to follow. He doesn’t want to be left alone in an unfamiliar place, so he reluctantly follows Hanji. At the very least, he can apologize to the woman about his nosy friend.

The two follow one of the bar staff towards the stage where they’re taken to a backdoor. The staff holds open the door for Hanji and Levi. The staff member informs the two that the woman has been told of their request to see her and is expecting them backstage.

“She’s very flattered that you want to see her,” the staff member says as they lead Hanji and Levi through a dark hallway. “She’s very shy, though, so don’t do anything to startle her.”

“We won’t,” Hanji assures.

“If she’s so shy, how is she able to perform on stage every night?” Levi asks. He yelps when Hanji jabs him in the side with their elbow, but his friend only smiles sweetly at the staff member who turns around curiously.

The staff member leads them to the back of the stage where some of the musicians are resting. Hanji and Levi follow them to a woman standing nervously in the corner staring at her phone. She looks up quickly at them before looking back at her phone. It confuses Levi when the staff member stops them right in front of the woman. The ginger woman who had sung on stage only moments ago is nowhere to be seen.

“Ruth, here are the people who were so eager to meet you,” the staff member says to the woman, who smiles timidly at Hanji and Levi. To the two, the staff member says, “I’ll leave you two here for a bit. I’ll come collect you before the jazz band starts their set.”

Levi and Hanji don’t say anything for a moment. The three awkwardly watch as the staff member leaves before turning towards each other. It’s clear that the woman in front of them is too shy to say anything and both Levi and Hanji are too confused to introduce themselves properly.

After a moment, Levi asks, “Where’s the woman who was singing just a moment ago?”

“She’s ... I’m the one who was singing,” the woman — Ruth, the staff member called her — says. She plays with her hair, wrapping her finger around a dark lock and spinning it around and around. Levi notices that she doesn’t look up as she speaks. “The woman who was on stage … she just lip-syncs.”

Hanji is much faster at putting the pieces together than Levi. “So you’re the one who sings, and she lip-syncs,” they say, rubbing their chin thoughtfully. They tilt their head as they give Ruth a once-over. “Why, though? Do you two have some sort of deal? Is she forcing you to sing for her so she can claim all the glory?”

“N-no, it’s nothing like that,” Ruth says with a shake of her head. She bites her bottom lip as she finds the words to explain. “I’m just … so shy. Painfully shy. It’s just easier for me to sing backstage and have someone lip-sync on stage. She goes on stage and I sing, and then she gets a small cut of the money every night I work.”

Hanji hums. They’re no longer curious about the singer, but about the woman that had been on stage earlier. “Are you two friends?” Realizing that their questions might be frightening the woman, Hanji straightens up and gives Ruth a friendly smile. “Sorry, I’m just curious about how you came about this arrangement.”

Ruth looks down as she purses her lips. She kicks at some imaginary dust on the floor. “There’s a … company. They fulfill odd requests like mine,” Ruth replies. “I asked them if I could have someone stand on stage for me while I sang and they sent that woman.”

“That woman,” Levi repeats. He doesn’t say it in a particularly harsh tone, but Ruth still flinches. He should probably apologize for startling her, but he has a question he’d rather ask. “Does she have a name?”

Ruth nods reluctantly. “Yes … but she said it was a need-to-know basis,” the singer says. She rubs her arm awkwardly, her expression almost apologetic. “She told me when we were introduced, but she also requested that I not give out her name.”

And so the mysterious woman grows even more mysterious, Levi thinks with a frown. No longer interested in making conversation with Ruth, Levi withdraws behind Hanji as his friend bombards the singer with more questions: Where else does she sing? How long has she been singing? Would she be comfortable doing shows where she wouldn’t have to show her face? At a certain point, Levi thinks Hanji is overdoing the polite conversation and he’s thankful when the staff member finally comes back to collect them.

“So she’s a bar singer in the evenings and a wedding crasher on her free days?” Levi asks when they settle down in their booth. He slumps against his seat, frowning with his arms crossed against his chest. “This just makes less and less sense.”

“I think she’s just a woman of many trades,” Hanji says. They pull something out of their pocket: a little business card. They push it across the table towards Levi.

Levi picks up the card and inspects it. In the very center in simple typescript are the words “As You Wish.” In smaller font underneath are the words “A Wish-Fulfillment Company.” On the very bottom is a number and a website address. Levi looks back up at Hanji, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s really like Ruth said,” Hanji says with a smile. “The woman you’re so curious about works for a wish-fulfillment company. Apparently, they do odd jobs at strangers’ requests. For a price, of course.”

Pretending not to be interested, he pushes the card back towards Hanji. ��Are you going to call them up?” Levi asks.

“Nope,” Hanji replies. They look at him with a grin. “I don’t have any wishes for them right now. You can keep that card though. If you really want to know more about that woman, you could call them.”

Levi snorts. He knows he’s never going to call that number, but he tucks the card into his wallet anyway.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

The third time Levi sees the woman is when he finally learns her name.

He’s just finished dining at a restaurant with a few businessmen, who had (of course) left him with the tab. While everyone else has left, Hanji remains at the table, eating an enormous ice cream sundae that’s large enough for two people.

“We could just take it to-go,” Levi tells Hanji, who shakes their head.

“You’re just going to complain when I get ice cream on the car seats,” Hanji says, and they’re absolutely right. They’re a terribly messy eater and them dropping ice cream on the seats is inevitable. They gesture towards their ice cream. “I’m almost done anyway, so just give me a second.”

They aren’t almost done. They have over half the sundae left, but Levi just rolls his eyes and settles in his seat. He lets his eyes roam about the room. He looks over people who are eating and chatting about trivial things: the celebrity they ran into at the hair salon, the dress someone was wearing at the charity dinner, the yacht party someone else held the other night, or something equally unimportant. He’s about to turn and tell Hanji to hurry up when his eyes rest on a familiar head of ginger hair. He sits up in his seat and narrows his eyes, wondering if he’s imagining things.

The woman a few tables away from him has hair the same shade of ginger as the woman who had sung at the bar the other night, the same woman who had sat next to him at the wedding before running away with the groom. She’s the same height and build too, from what Levi can remember. She’s dressed just as oddly as she had been at the wedding, not inappropriately, but it’s clear that she doesn’t belong here. While most guests at the restaurant are wearing suits and elegant cocktail dresses, she wears a short frock that ends inches above the knee. Although he’s sitting from a distance, Levi can tell that even her jewelry is out of place: cheap cubic zirconia instead of the flashy pearls and gemstones that other women are wearing here.

He leans over towards Hanji and asks, “That woman over there … doesn’t she look familiar?”

“Mmm?” Hanji hums with a mouth full of ice cream. They follow Levi’s gaze to where the woman is sitting and their eyes widen. Nodding excitedly, Hanji hastily swallows their ice cream and says, “Oh my god, it’s her! The-the-” They gesture wildly as they try to collect their thoughts. “The woman from the bar! The one who wasn’t really singing! The one you said was at the wedding!”

Levi hurriedly shushes Hanji, not wanting to draw the woman’s attention. She, like many other guests, looks over in Hanji and Levi’s direction, but her eyes just gloss over him before returning to the man she’s seated with.

He’s not the groom from the wedding, Levi notices. He’s a completely different person. Unlike the woman, his attire is suited for the restaurant they’re dining in: a slick suit of midnight blue with a powder blue tie and a matching handkerchief tucked in his pocket. The man looks like he’s apologizing to the woman for whatever reason, bowing his head as he does so, but the woman simply smiles and waves her hand. Levi wonders for what occasion they’re dining together, but he finds out soon enough.

Another woman, an older one with a heavy fur coat and dangling pearl earrings, bursts into the restaurant.

“Where is he? Where is he?” the woman screams as staff members try to hold her back. They say something about having to make a reservation beforehand, but the woman ignores their words and shakes them off before bellowing, “Where is my son?”

Levi watches as the man seated beside the ginger-haired woman shrinks. He looks as if he’s about to hide behind the woman, but the ginger woman puts a comforting hand on his back and says something in his ear.

The woman in the fur coat scans the restaurant and sees where the ginger-haired woman and her companion are seated. She’s absolutely seething as she crosses the floor to where the couple is seated. Her face is flushed red and she’s breathing hard when she finally reaches the two.

“You stupid brat!” the woman hisses, reaching out to pinch the young man’s ear.

Alarmed, the ginger-haired woman reaches out and tries to pry the mother’s fingers off. “God, what are you doing? We’re in public!” she says.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be so innocent, you tramp!” the mother screeches. She lets go of her son’s ear to point a menacing finger in the woman’s face. “It’s your fault he’s like this! Maxed out his credit cards because you goaded him into buying luxury cars and flying you two to Cancún on spontaneous vacations! You’re responsible for this too!”

“Mom, can we talk about this somewhere else?” the man says. He looks nervously around the room. “Everyone’s staring at us …”

“Oh, now you’re concerned about people staring? You didn’t care when people talked about you having a cheap floozy on your arm,” the mother hisses. She looks at the ginger-haired woman disdainfully. “She’s not even pretty, and you’ve clearly bought those earrings at the dollar store. How dare you corrupt my son?”

“Ma’am,” the ginger-haired woman says, not even flinching at any of the insults. She gestures towards the guests. “If you could just sit down, maybe we could talk this through like civilized people. I’m sure we could work things out. You’ll see I’m not as bad as you might believe me to be and -”

The ginger woman doesn’t get to finish her sentence before the woman in the fur coat picks up a glass of wine from the table and spills it over the younger woman’s head.

“Don’t you try to talk to me about being civilized,” the mother sneers. “I’ve seen dogs more civilized than you.”

Levi doesn’t know when he had stood up or crossed the room. He doesn’t know when he grabbed the wrist of the woman with the fur coat. He doesn’t know why he’s getting involved when he normally wouldn’t. He’s almost as shocked as everyone else when he says to the woman, “Don’t speak to her that way. You’re the only one here being less than human.”

The woman is speechless — everyone is speechless, holding their breaths as they guess what’s about to happen next — and Levi turns to the restaurant staff.

“Please escort this mother and her son out of this establishment. She’s disturbing everyone here,” Levi tells them.

The woman is sputtering something incomprehensible as the wait staff ushers her out of the restaurant. The son leaves rather reluctantly, apologizing profusely to the ginger-haired woman. The ginger-haired woman is oddly unbothered by everything, calmly dabbing the wine out of her dress with a cloth napkin from the table.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think she’d be that bad,” the son says as his mother is dragged kicking and screaming out of the restaurant. “I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll … you can send me the tab for the dry cleaning.”

“Oh, I could just throw this in the wash,” the woman says, wringing out her hair. Wine drips on the floor and she frowns. “Don’t worry about it, really. Just wait for your mom to cool down and I’m sure everything will be fine. If she hates me this much, it’ll make your real girlfriend look so much better in comparison. Just … budget yourself more when you take her out on dates and stuff.”

“I will,” sighs the man. He looks reluctant to leave, but some waiters are already asking him to leave. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

“That’s fine,” the woman says with a smile. She gives him a small wave as he leaves before turning to Levi. The ginger woman raises an eyebrow. “Thanks for stepping in, but I had it handled.”

“That woman dumped wine all over you,” Levi points out, but the woman just waves him away.

“It’s fine. It’s just part of the job,” she tells him.

“And what,” asks Hanji popping up from out of nowhere, “is your job, exactly?”

The woman pauses for a moment before pointing from Levi to Hanji. “A friend of yours?” she asks him.

“Yep,” Hanji answers happily. They extend a hand towards the woman, who takes it after a beat. Hanji shakes the woman’s hand enthusiastically, pumping it up and down. “I’m Hanji Zoe, and this is Levi Ackerman.”

“Petra Ral,” the woman says.

“Ooh, cute name,” Hanji says. They look slyly over at Levi and give him a wink. He knows Hanji is going to brag about finding out the mysterious woman’s name once they get back in the car. To Petra, Hanji asks, “I see your companion has abandoned you. Would you perhaps like to dine with us?”

“We just finished eating,” Levi begins to protest but Hanji hushes him.

“Sure,” Petra says with a shrug. She doesn’t seem at all embarrassed to be dining in a wine-stained dress.

With a sigh, Levi gestures for the wait staff to clear out the table and waves over another waiter to take the woman’s order. The woman hardly glances at the menu before ordering, not shirking at the expensive prices.

“The crab cakes, please,” Petra says as she hands the waiter the menu. “And the Caesar salad as well.”

“Oh, and the dark chocolate crème brûlée,” Hanji adds quickly. To Petra, they say, “It’s amazing. You have to have it.”

“Don’t,” Petra says, eyeing Levi as he begins to pull out his wallet. “I’ll get the tab for my food, thank you very much.”

“You make a lot of money, then? Doing all this?” Hanji gestures at Petra vaguely. Hanji’s question makes the ginger raise an eyebrow, wondering if she should be offended, but Hanji quickly elaborates. “I’m just curious. Levi took notice of you at the wedding the other weekend, where you ran away with the groom.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Petra says. She nods at the waiter pouring her a glass of water and mouths a quick thanks before taking a small sip. She purses her lips and looks at Levi, tilting her head as she tries to recall him. He’s a bit uncomfortable under her cool gaze but he tries not to look away. After a moment, she smiles and sets her glass on the table. “Ah, did we sit next to each other? I think I remember you.”

“Well, he definitely remembers you,” Hanji says unnecessarily. It doesn’t surprise Levi when they begin to tell Petra exactly how they came about learning about her and her rather strange occupation. “He was so intrigued by you — I mean, who wouldn’t be? A mysterious woman running away with a groom at such a glamorous wedding — and then he recognized you at the bar you sing at sometimes.”

“She wasn’t singing,” Levi mumbles.

Petra glances at him but doesn’t react, her eyes quickly flitting back to Hanji who’s still talking.

“And then we found out, as Levi pointed out, you weren’t the one who was singing. We spoke to the real singer and she talked about you and the interesting work you provide,” Hanji gushes. They tap their cheek thoughtfully. “What was it again? ‘As You Wish,’ I think was on the card. A wish-fulfillment company. I didn’t know people had wishes about having people ruining their weddings, lip-syncing for them onstage, and getting drenched in wine by their mothers.”

Petra doesn’t flinch at any of these descriptions, although Levi would personally find them distasteful. She only shrugs. “Rich people have an odd assortment of problems and I help them through it,” she says. She pauses to allow a waiter to place a plate of Caesar salad and another dish of crab cakes in front of her, turning for a moment to thank the waiter before taking a fork and knife to cut off a chunk of juicy crab cake. “Although, I’ve had drinks thrown at me more times than I’d have liked.”

“Why do you do it then?” Levi asks.

Petra looks surprised at the question. She doesn’t answer right away, instead cutting another piece of the crab cake. It’s thick and juicy and the outer layer is crisp as she cuts through it. She lifts her fork to her mouth and takes a delicate bite of crab cake, chewing thoughtfully before she replies. “I like money,” she finally says. It’s not the answer Levi expects, but it makes Hanji roar with laughter.

“Gosh, you’re so interesting,” Hanji says. Levi’s certain that Hanji is giving Petra an admiring look. “I bet you have some stories to tell.”

“Probably as many stories as anyone else,” Petra says with a half-hearted shrug of her shoulder. She eats well, Levi notices, making sure to get every crumb and bit of sauce off her plate.

“But do you like your work?” Levi asks, and he watches as Petra stiffens at the question. He probably should prod and normally he wouldn’t poke and pry into stranger’s affairs but he’s been curious about her for quite some time. He was hardly thinking when the question just slipped from his lips.

“Why wouldn’t I?” The ginger woman doesn’t look at him when she replies. She keeps her amber eyes steady on her plate, cutting the last bit of her crab cake into tinier and tinier pieces but never picking up another bite to eat.

“Well, because it’s all a lie, isn’t it?” Levi says. He can feel Hanji look at him in alarm and he knows he can stop, but the words continue to spill from his mouth. “You posed as someone’s long-lost lover to get him out of an unwanted marriage. You posed as a singer to mask someone’s stage fright. You posed as someone’s gold-digging girlfriend to divert a boy’s mother from the truth about her financially irresponsible son.”

Petra continues to look down at her plate, pushing her food across the porcelain dish. “People have problems and I simply help them in whatever way I see fit, Mr. Ackerman,” she replies.

“If they think poorly of you because of it, if they’re throwing things at you and insulting you, I can’t see how it’s worth it,” Levi says. “Don’t you value yourself?”

It’s only then that Petra looks up at him, but her expression is unreadable. “I value myself enough to not let the opinion of others hurt me,” she replies easily. There’s a flicker in her eyes, a spark that makes it seem like she’s challenging him. “Some people hire me because they need a shield to hide behind, someone to lie for them. I don’t mind being a liar, especially if they pay me well enough.”

Hanji looks at their watch in an obvious attempt to end the conversation. “Ah, Levi, it’s getting a bit late now,” they say. They reach out to tug at Levi’s sleeve, but he snatches his arm away.

“That sounds terrible,” he tells Petra.

“Then you’re lucky. I guess you have enough money to solve all your problems. Since that’s the case, I don’t expect you to understand why I do this since it seems you neither care for nor have a need for my services,” she says rather coldly. She turns her gaze away from Levi once more and goes back to her meal, finishing the last bites of her crab cake. Lazily, she flicks her fork in Hanji’s direction. “Are you going to leave, Hanji? I think it’s best to do so now. I’d hate for us to leave on bad footing.”

“Bad footing? Oh no, the footing is great. It was a pleasure meeting you. I just have to apologize for Levi. He’s rather … rigid in many ways,” Hanji says with a nervous laugh as Levi scowls. They’re already getting up on their feet, tugging Levi by the sleeve and forcing him to follow. “It was … fascinating meeting you, although it would have been nice to meet you under nicer circumstances.” They gesture from their head to their person, alluding to the wine stains on Petra’s dress.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. It was interesting bumping into you two at this time,” Petra assures. She pauses for a moment, choosing her next words, and finally says, “And thank you for earlier, Mr. Ackerman.”

“... Sure,” Levi replies stiffly, but he still wants to know more even as Hanji is about to drag him out the door. He wants to know if she’s going to continue her work even if she’s left humiliated half the time, if she really only cares about the money, and if she really doesn’t care what other people think about her that she’d let them hurl drinks and insults at her without even batting an eyelash. He doesn’t, though, because Petra’s right. He doesn’t care for her work, so it isn’t any of his business. He turns around to follow Hanji only for his friend to stop abruptly.

“Ah, Petra!” they say, hurriedly returning to the table. They twiddle their fingers while their eyes wander towards the ceiling. “I was wondering if I could have your card or maybe your number?”

Petra looks confused for a moment and then amused. “Do you have something you need help with?” she asks. Her face breaks into a smile and Levi’s hypnotized for a moment, remembering how dazzling it was when he saw her smile the first time at the wedding.

“Well, not at the moment,” Hanji says sheepishly, “and maybe not even in the future. If you don’t mind having a chat every now and then, we could go out and grab a coffee. You just seem so … fascinating.” They say the word ‘fascinating’ as if Petra is a rare butterfly or a never-before-seen dinosaur fossil. It makes Petra laugh.

“You’re peculiar,” she says, “but that might be fun. Call me whenever you feel like it and maybe we can chat.” She reaches into her little clutch purse, a beaded bag with some loose threads here and there, and pulls out a card. It’s the same business card that Ruth had given to them at the bar the other night. “Just ask for me,” Petra instructs.

“Great, will do!” Hanji beams, cradling the card in their hands like it’s precious gold. They hook their arm around Levi’s, giving Petra a little wave as they practically skip out of the restaurant.

When the two settle into the car, Hanji is still holding the card in their hands, turning it from front to back several times. They look completely enthralled even though it’s just a tiny piece of cardstock.

“Are you really going to call her?” Levi asks.

“Why are you curious?” Hanji says. There’s something of a smirk curled on their lips. Levi wants to smack it off. “Do you want to call her, too?”

“Not at all.” Levi pretends to be disinterested, leaning against the armrest with his chin in his hand as he stares at his reflection in the car window.

“Well, let me know if you ever change your mind,” Hanji says in a sing-song voice. They waggle the card under Levi’s nose. They pause for a moment. “Do you still have the card that Ruth gave us?”

“No, not at all,” Levi lies. The card is still sitting in his wallet. He hasn’t taken it out since then. He had said he’d throw it out, but he never had. He just never had the time to and he had forgotten it after how busy he was, although he can’t say for certain that he would have tossed it even if he had remembered. “I threw it out a long time ago.”

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

Levi sits beside the hospital bed where his feeble grandfather lies, holding the old man’s hand. It’s so bony and withered compared to his own. His grandfather is sleeping as he normally does. He’s usually asleep whenever Levi comes to visit. Although he’d much rather his grandfather were awake, he understands. It takes so much energy for his grandfather to even open his eyes some days.

It’s quiet in the room save for the gentle beep of the heart rate monitor in the background. It’s more feeble than it was the last time Levi was here. It always surprises Levi whenever he visits his grandfather. Although his grandfather’s health has been deteriorating for quite some time, it's so strange seeing someone who was once a powerful businessman waste away in a hospital bed. He had a weak heart, the doctor had said a few years ago, probably from stress and overwork. It would be a miracle if he lived more than a year. Levi’s grandfather exceeded those expectations, still living years after the diagnosis, but it has taken a toll on his health. The doctors have warned Levi’s family that the man could pass away at any time.

Levi’s grandfather stirs in his sleep and Levi grasps the man a little tighter. He can see the old man’s eyelids flutter until they open weakly. His grandfather looks around bleary-eyed, eyes resting on Levi but not quite able to fully focus on his grandson.

“Grandfather?” Levi asks, his voice soft. His grandfather looks so fragile that Levi’s afraid even the slightest noise will be able to shatter him. “How are you? How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

“Levi,” his grandfather rasps. His voice is barely audible over the heart monitor.

“You don’t have to answer if it’s too much. Just rest,” Levi says. He gets up to fetch his grandfather water, pouring some into a glass on the nearby nightstand. Gently, he brings the glass to his grandfather’s lips and tips it for the old man to drink. It saddens him that his grandfather can’t even drink without help. With a careful hand, he wipes at his grandfather’s mouth with a handkerchief.

“Thank … you …,” Levi’s grandfather manages to say before closing his eyes once more. His breathing slows, his breaths so shallow that Levi can hardly tell his grandfather is breathing at all. If it weren’t for the heart monitor beeping in the background, it would look like his grandfather had already passed on. Levi thinks his grandfather has fallen asleep, but the old man’s eyes flutter open again and he looks at his grandson with a displeased frown. “Levi …”

“Yes?” Levi says, quickly sitting up and grasping his grandfather’s hand with both hands. He glances at the button on the side of the hospital bed, wondering if he should press it and alert the nurse. “What’s wrong? Should I call the nurse?”

His grandfather shakes his head, the movement so slight that Levi would have missed it had he blinked. “I want to … apologize,” his grandfather says. His breathing deepens, chest heaving like it’s taking everything he has just to speak these few words.

“Apologize? What for?” Levi asks with a furrowed brow. He shakes his head and on the edge of his seat if only to be a little closer to his grandfather. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Once more, Levi’s grandfather shakes his head. “I’ve been … so hard on you … all your life,” the old man pants. His hand trembles even as Levi holds it. “Sometimes I wonder … if you’re ever truly happy.”

Levi isn’t sure how to react. He’s not sure what brought about this line of thought from his grandfather.

“All your life … I’ve made you do everything I wanted,” his grandfather continues, his voice growing weaker and weaker. He no longer looks at Levi as he rambles on, his eyes wandering all about the hospital room as if he’s speaking to the air. “To make you into the perfect heir … you’ve had to sacrifice so much, haven’t you?”

Again, Levi doesn’t answer. Nothing his grandfather is saying is false. At first, Levi had thought it a burden following every one of his grandfather’s desires for him. As he grew older, he came to not mind them. He just went through with his tasks mindlessly and didn’t complain. Perhaps he hasn’t been able to do everything he wanted, but he has learned not to want things for himself as the years have gone by. Maybe he isn’t happy, but he can’t say he’s unhappy either. He is ... comfortable with his position in life and wouldn’t complain about it, especially not to his grandfather.

“I don’t … mind it,” Levi says reluctantly.

His grandfather gives him a pitying smile. He reaches out to touch his grandson with a withered hand. “I was so hard on you … because I wanted you to be happy. Reflecting on it now … I know that I have been selfish, never asking you what you wanted,” his grandfather murmurs. He’s lying back again, his eyes closed as if he’s about to fall asleep. “Before I pass … I want to see you truly happy …”

I am happy, Levi is about to insist, but his grandfather opens his mouth once more.

“Oh, to see you wed, happy with someone by your side,” his grandfather breathes. His eyes are open again. They sparkle with tears that are beginning to spill over and run down his cheeks. “Then, I think, I can truly die without any regrets.”

Levi is silent for a moment. Then he speaks. “You mean marry?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” his grandfather says with a sad smile. “I’m afraid … that by pushing you to inherit the family business … you’ll be too busy to find love and happiness with another. If I were to see you marry before I passed … I think I could rest well.”

“I see …” Levi’s voice trails. He doesn’t say anything more, just gives his grandfather’s hand a few comforting pats. In a few moments, he hears his grandfather’s breathing slow again and gentle snoring. It makes him feel slightly better.

With a sigh, Levi gets up from where he’s seated and steps out of the room. He sends a small update about his grandfather’s condition to his mother before tucking his phone in his pocket. For a while, he wanders around the hospital and eventually finds his way to the lobby where he slumps down tiredly in one of the benches with his face in his hands.

Levi knows he should just accept the fact that his grandfather will die without having his last wish fulfilled. After all, not all grandparents live to see their grandchildren marry, but he can’t shake the sense of guilt that rests so heavily on his shoulders after hearing his grandfather’s last wish. The more he thinks about it, the worse it makes him feel. Compared to everything else he’s done for his grandfather — graduating at the top of his class, getting a Master’s degree in business, inheriting the family business — getting married seems so much easier. Isn’t it just meeting someone you’re compatible with and signing a document saying that you’re legally bound together? It’s so simple that Levi feels pathetic for not reaching that milestone, especially now that his grandfather is lying on his deathbed.

But what if …?

The color ginger flashes through his mind for a brief second. Levi quickly shakes his head before the rest of the woman can conjure up his mind, but it’s too late. It reminds him of the card that still sits in his wallet.

He shouldn’t think about fishing the card out of his wallet, shouldn’t wonder about calling the number on the card, shouldn’t imagine asking for a Miss Petra Ral when the person on the other side of the phone picks up, but he finds himself sitting on the hospital bench with the card in his hands. It’s a little less crisp after sitting in his wallet for a few days and the printed words are already a little faded, but he can still read the number on the card.

Levi has to wonder if this is his last option. Is he really this desperate? Surely, there’s a friend he can recruit to get engaged to. He tries to think of one friend or even an acquaintance that would agree to such an arrangement. Unfortunately, Levi realizes, his list of friends is quite short. The only people he can think of that might even entertain the thought of getting engaged to him are Hanji and Isabel, but both are impossible options. Nobody would ever believe it. Everyone knows he shares a strictly platonic relationship with Hanji and that he and Isabel are like siblings.

Then maybe, he thinks, he could hire an escort. The problem with this is that quite a few people in his distant social circle use escort services and they usually hire people as more than just companions for social events. It would be a problem if, by some slim chance, word came out about his engagement and he knows that it won’t be long before people stick their noses where they shouldn’t be and find out how he met his contract-fiancée.

No, Levi grimaces, if he’s getting engaged, he needs to get engaged to someone that nobody knows, someone that can slip in and out of a wedding without anybody knowing their name even after running away with the groom.

Levi looks at the card again, holding it between his two fingers. He stares at it for another second, two, and then pulls out his phone and dials the number on the card. Holding his phone up, he listens as it rings. It takes a few seconds for someone to pick up.

“Hello?” It’s a woman’s voice but not one Levi recognizes.

“Is this … As You Wish?” Levi asks hesitantly. He feels a little nervous now, although he doesn’t know why. After all, this is exactly the kind of business this company deals with.

“Yes,” the woman replies. “How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if I could speak with one of your employees,” Levi says. He can’t believe he’s really doing this. A part of him wants to hang up and forget he ever called, but he’s already made it this far. He might as well just go through with it. “Would it be possible for me to speak with a Miss Petra Ral?”

“Petra?” the woman repeats. There’s a pause on the other end and he can hear muffled voices on the other end. After a moment, the woman returns. “Yes, she’s available. Please wait right one second.”

“Thank you,” Levi says.

As he waits for Petra to pick up the phone, he realizes that this might not be a good idea. They hadn’t left on the best of terms the other day. He had looked down on her job, calling it degrading and humiliating, while she made it clear that she thought him a privileged and spoiled brat. He’s almost certain that she’ll turn him down as soon as he says his name. Levi is about to hang up when he hears Petra’s voice on the other end.

“Hello?” Petra pauses for a moment, waiting for him to answer. When he doesn’t, she says, “This is Petra from As You Wish. I was told you asked specifically for me.”

“I … did,” Levi admits reluctantly. He clears his throat awkwardly, swallows, and then proceeds. If he’s going to get rejected, he should get it done as soon as possible. “It’s Levi. Levi Ackerman.”

“Levi …?” The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell because Petra’s voice trails off until it finally disappears. She doesn’t say anything else and Levi wonders if it’s because she truly doesn’t remember him or if it’s because she’s pretending just to spite him.

“From the restaurant when …” He stops himself there. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, and he’s not sure she’d want to be reminded about any of it — the woman with the fur coat screaming at her and creating a scene in the middle of the restaurant, getting a glass of wine thrown at her, and having Levi speak so disdainfully about her lifestyle. He purses his lips and tries again. “The wedding. I sat next to you.”

“Levi Ackerman … restaurant … wedding,” Petra murmurs. There’s a few sharp sounds on the other end, the sounds of someone snapping their fingers, and Petra says, “Ah, from the wedding. We saw each other at the restaurant the other day, didn’t we?”

He’s about to answer but Petra speaks again.

“But why are you calling me? I thought you made it clear that you thought my line of work was revolting.”

Levi sighs. He shouldn’t have said any of it. Even if he had thought it at the time, it’s not his place to tell her how to live her life. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he says. He’s not sure if he should spit out an apology. He doesn’t know how to give one without sounding like a sniveling idiot. “I’m actually … calling because I need your help.”

There’s silence at the other end and then a snicker. “Hypocrite,” Petra says, and the tips of Levi’s ears sting. He thinks she’s about to tell him to get lost or that she has no interest in helping him but to his surprise Petra asks, “What do you need help with?”

Levi blinks. Once. Twice. He didn’t think he would get this far. Now that he’s here, he’s not quite sure what to do. “I need …” He stops. It’s not a real engagement, so it doesn’t need a real proposal. Still, he should at least ask her for her hand civilly. After thinking for a moment, Levi asks, “I was wondering … if you have the time, would you like to marry me?”

#rivetra #petra ral #levi ackerman #my girl au #my strange hero au #almtd #a love more than diamonds series #certainbonksaladranch #snk

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spooderboyandtincan · 3 years

Text

Happy Halloween!

A/N: Here are the actual episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved mentioned in this fic! The Terrifying Axeman of New Orleans and The Horrors of Pennhurst Asylum. As a warning, both of these videos describe both very grisly and gory things, so please watch them with caution!

(Also, the author in no way claims to own or use these videos for commercial property. Just wanted to include them!)

~~~~~

Peter was having a great day, even when an apple tried to give him a concussion.

Normally, he would have caught the traitorous fruit, but there were several families around who might have noticed his outstanding reflexes, so with some split second thinking he let the apple bounce off his head.

“Ow!” Peter massaged the top of his head. Tony and May turned to him, both slightly concerned. “I think this tree is trying to kill me.”

“Oh, spare us!” Tony said to the tree, reaching out to ruffle Peter’s curls. “Not my darling son! Take me instead!”

Peter rolled his eyes at the dorky genius, actually finding himself feeling a little bad for the poor apple tree. “Don’t worry,” he muttered, patting the rough bark. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There was something very adorable about watching Peter trying to comfort a tree, both Tony and May observed. Their kid’s heart was so pure and kind it was blinding.

Peter snatched an apple off a low-hanging branch and, before Tony or May could stop him, bit into it. “Wow,” he mumbled through a mouthful of fruit, “this’s really good! Can we pick some?”

“That’s what we’re here for!” May sang. “Did you check for worms before you bit into that, Petey?”

“Worms?!”

Tony shook his head in fond exasperation. Peter spat his mouthful of apple on the ground in disgust, chucking the half eaten red orb to the side. “Ew ew ew ew ew!”

“Buddy, I’m pretty sure there weren’t worms in there,” Tony suggested.

Peter shrugged. “But are you sure? Now we have to pick more apples just in case they’re all wormy.” He stuck out his tongue in a mature display of unhappiness.

“Thought you liked picking apples,” he questioned, suddenly worried that Peter had only been pretending to enjoy himself.

“No, no I do! It’s really fun! But now I can’t eat any,” he pouted. “I’m so huuuungry.”

He frowned in concern. “Why don’t we get some food and come back, kiddo? We can grab an extra coat from the car while we do.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m already wearing, like three of yours,” Peter laughed. He gestured to the layers of puffy jackets he was bundled up in, along with his favorite Spider-Man hat and thin black gloves.

“Actually, I think you need a scarf,” Tony observed. “We can’t have any spider-baby popsicles on our hands, now can we?”

Peter rolled his eyes. Tony began fussing over him like a mother hen, wrapping his own scarf around his neck and zipping up his third coat. He took the boy’s small hands in his and winced, rubbing them to bring some warmth.

“You’re gonna lose fingers if we don’t get you some better gloves, bud.”

“I’m fiiiine.”

Peter heaved the bag of crisp, red apples into his arms with ease. Tony and May grabbed their own separate ones and heaved them over their shoulders with a lot less ease. They headed toward the muddy dirt road, lugging their apples and stopping for a moment to admire some chickens.

“Ooooh!” Peter exclaimed suddenly, spotting a glimpse of orange behind the tall pine trees. “Mr. Stark, May! There’re pumpkins!” He jogged off.

“Don’t you wanna get food before this, Pete?” Tony called, following the boy.

“I’ll eat the pumpkins!”

“Look out for worms!” May teased. Tony found himself thinking of the classic nursery rhyme, Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.

May found the perfect pumpkin almost at once. It was on the opposite side of the small field under a beautiful towering oak tree with red and golden leaves still on its branches. The pumpkin was a beautiful shade of dark orange and wonderfully round. She held it against the chest like it was a baby.

Tony didn’t have any particular pumpkin in mind that he wanted so he decided to let Peter choose for him.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna get the wrong one,” Peter worried.

“It won’t be the wrong one, kiddo,” Tony promised.

“Get that lumpy one, it looks like his head!” May advised from across the pumpkin patch. Peter sniggered.

“I’m offended. My head is perfectly oval-shaped,” Tony objected.

“Smooth as a shark,” Peter muttered to himself, completely missing the perplexed look from his father-figure.

He picked up the lumpy pumpkin and then began to scavenge for a second one, humming. “This is Halloween, this is Halloween, pumpkins scream in the dead of night… ooh.” Peter knelt down and began to inspect this potential nominee.

It was huge. Wide and tall with a round face and a flat back. The stem was long and twisting. The color was beautiful.

It. Was. Perfect.

“I found it!” he yelled. May and Tony turned to long at him and Peter displayed his pumpkin proudly.

“Congrats,” said May, her grin wide. Tony applauded.

“Can we get it?”

“Of course, Roo.” He smiled, kneeling down to take the lumpy pumpkin while Peter stood up with his own. “Do you wanna get another?”

“Are you sure? I mean, I kinda do…”

“Yes, Petey, I’m sure.” Tony bent to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Actually, I’d be delighted if you got another one. Really.” He loved seeing Peter so happy over a simple fruit. (Vegetable? Gourd?) Tony would gladly buy thousands of pumpkins if Peter could always be this happy.

Soon Peter had selected two more pumpkins, a wide, squat one, and round, light orange one. They made their way back to the parking lot and the barn, where lots of fresh produce stands were set up.

There was a beautiful, towering willow tree that Peter admired, watching its long limbs sway in the wind peacefully. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of rain and hay and something just distinctly fall. He trotted back to where his family stood in a line to buy their pumpkins and leaned into Tony, letting him wrap strong arms around him and hug him close.

They bought their pumpkins and sat down at a picnic bench under the willow tree and basked in the sunlight. Tony left to the car and came back with a picnic basket akin to the ones in cartoons.

Peter’s eyes lit up when he noticed the mac and cheese in a plastic container and immediately he dug in. After inhaling his pasta, he dug through the basket. His eyes sparkled like stars.

“Rhodey made us brownies!” Colonel Rhodes’s brownies were the best. They were gooey and somehow always warm, with extra chocolate-chips and an oreo in the middle. Rhodey had drowned them in jack-o’-lantern shaped sprinkles. He had even included a bottle of whipped cream, though most of it had probably been used on the current brownie Peter had just bit into.

“Oh, yummy,” May said, helping herself to a large one. Tony took his own and sprayed almost as much whipped cream on it as Peter had.

Before he took a bite, he laughed. “Pete, how did you get whipped-cream on your forehead?” He balled up his sleeve and wiped it off. Peter squirmed away.

He played a quick rhythm on his pumpkin before glancing toward the various stands by the barn. “We should get apple cider,” he said, having a sudden realization. “I guess they probably wouldn’t go very good with brownies but maybe with pumpkin pie or something…?”

“Good idea, bud. How about some candy apples while we’re at it?”

“Yesss.”

Peter was bouncing in his seat while he waited for May and Tony to finish their sandwiches. He helped himself to a few more delicious brownies, trying to savor every bite. (And failing because they were so good.”

When they finished their food, they took a quick moment to put their pumpkins in the trunk of the car, then Peter led the way to the barn. At the back of the big room there was a large assortment of fresh produce, which May made a beeline to. On the right wall were four tall refrigerators, chock full of apple cider.

“Why are they in milk cartons?” Peter wondered, opening the door and pulling the juice out. “Here!”

“Just one? You need to hydrate, young man,” he teased, pulling out three more jugs.

“I won’t just drink apple cider, Mr. Stark.”

“Actually, I think your blood is gonna be 75% apples, kiddo.”

“Carrots or asparagus, Pete?” May called.

“Carrots?”

“Good choice, honey.”

Tony noticed wonderfully red candy apples displayed on one of those cupcake stands he always saw at fancy parties. He pointed them out to Peter, who grinned and asked if they could have some.

“That’s what we're here for, Petey-Pie.”

The young man at the stand wrapped the tree apples individually with cellophane and placed them in a bag.

“That’s smart,” Peter said as they joined May at the checkout line. “Apples probably wouldn’t taste good with a paper bag.”

The cashier recognized Tony when they bought their food. Her hand flew to her open mouth and she shook her head in amazement. “You’re… you’re….”

He offered a smile. Peter inched behind him and grabbed his hand. Tony squeezed his hand comfortingly and moved in front of him so no one could see his face.

The cashier began to check out their items robotically, staring at Tony for an uncomfortably long time before she blinked and asked, “Do you want a bag, sir?”

Once they stuffed the groceries into the trunk of Tony’s car, Peter admired the farm one last time. The big willow tree swayed gracefully in the brisk wind as if it were saying farewell.

Peter crawled into the back seat and slammed the door, curling up and shivering. Tony glanced in the back mirror and quickly moved to turn up the heat.

He rested his chin on the edge of the window. The position was far from comfortable but at least he could watch the trees fly past as they drove.

“You okay back there, Petey?” Tony asked, sounding concerned.

“‘M good. Just thinking,” he mumbled. It was hard to talk with his jaw pressed against a hard surface.

“You sure, bud?” Tony still sounded worried. Peter sighed.

“Stop worrying,” he groaned. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, Petey, I trust you.” If he hadn’t been driving the car he would have held up his hands in mock surrender. “But you know that you can come to me for anything, right? Even if it’s just a stubbed toe, okay?”

“I know, Mr. Stark, really.”

A snore filled the car, and they both laughed when they looked to May and realized she was already asleep.

“So kiddie, whatcha thinkin’ about?” he asked.

“How I’m gonna carve my pumpkin!”

~~~~~

Peter dramatically threw the three pumpkins he was carrying down onto the kitchen island, pretending to wipe sweat off his forehead. He snickered when May rolled her eyes.

Peter took off his layers of coats and threw them on the couch, hanging his scarf up and then ripping off his hat. His hair frizzed everywhere and Tony laughed, his eyes soft and adoring. He flattened it down with his hand and pulled Peter into a crushing hug, bending to kiss his still slightly puffy curls.

They sat down at the kitchen island and chose their respective pumpkins. Peter looked around. “Where’re the knives?” he asked.

“Oh, I know.” May stood up and rummaged through the upper cabinets, bringing out an orange carton. “Here!”

Tony watched nervously as Peter grabbed a carving knife from the box and stabbed the top of his pumpkin without any regard for his personal safety.

“Careful, bubba,” he warned. He was about to take the knife from Peter’s small hands and bend it into pieces for being so dangerous and trying to hurt his kid. “No lost limbs today, okay?”

Peter laughed and continued to cut the top of his pumpkin. He yanked the stem out and sliced off the stringy guts. He took an orange plastic scooper and started scraping the seeds and guts out of the inside. Tony took his own pumpkin and did the same, keeping a watchful eye on his reckless kid all the same.

“What are you carving Pete?” May asked.

“Secret,” Peter grinned, turning the pumpkin so they couldn’t see it. “You can see later!”

“Well, fine. What about you, Tony?”

Tony hadn’t given much thought about it yet. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he had an idea that might work. “Secret,” he said.

May sighed in amused exasperation. “Suit yourself, lumpy. I’m going with the classic.” She took a purple sharpie and started drawing.

“Why aren’t there Halloween Carols?” Peter wondered aloud. “I don’t know like, any spooky songs and it’s sad.”

“There’s that one, um…” Tony trailed off. He did know the actual name of the song, but the look on Peter’s face would be priceless. “Spooky Scary Pumpkins? Ghosts? Is that it?”

Peter slowly raised his head, his eyes wide. “What?”

“You know, that one you’re always singing,” May said, joining in. “‘Spooky scary pumpkins’ sounds right.”

Peter groaned and buried his head in his arms. “No. This isn't happeniiiiiing.”

“I believe the correct title is ‘Spooky Scary Skeletons, Boss,” said FRIDAY’s disembodied voice.

“Thank you!” Peter threw up his hands in relief. “Spooky scary pumpkins. Ugh. Thanks for the nightmares.”

Tony ruffled his hair. “FRI, play it for us uncultured zombies, will ya?”

The first few notes of the song played and Peter started headbanging exaggeratedly, doing a dance in his seat. “Such a bop,” he said to himself, then went back to carving his pumpkin.

A bop? Tony decided not to ask. He sketched out his idea on the pumpkin with a light pencil and rummaged through their carving tools.

“Mr. Stark, you didn’t get the guts out!” Peter protested.

“Don’t worry, bud, you’ll see. Trust me.”

Tony finally found what he was looking for. “A-ha!”

“Is that..?” Peter leaned over. “Is that a dremel drill? Isn’t that for like, trimming dog nails?”

“One of its many uses!” Tony switched it on. “Carving time.”

“Ooh. That’s cool, I wanna try!”

He handed the drill over to him. Peter turned his pumpkin around to the back and started carving. “Oh, so it only gets like the fleshy parts! The flesh? So then it kinda glows through.”

“That’s right,” he said. “It looks pretty cool when you put a candle in it.” Tony took the drill and got back to work. Their song was still playing in the background, and at some parts Peter would do a dance and sing along.

After about fifteen minutes of ridiculous chatter and multiple songs played, May jumped up. “Finished!”

“Already?!” Peter exclaimed. “Lemme see!”

“Just a sec.” May ran off and grabbed a candle from one of the drawers in the living room, then hurried back. She put it in the pumpkin and lit it carefully. “Ta-da!”

“Oooh!”

May had carved a traditional pumpkin with a big, spiky jaw, a triangle nose, and big triangle eyes. She had taken seeds and put them in the corners of the eyes to act as pupils.

“Oh, he’s cross eyed!” Peter laughed. “That’s really cool.”

Tony grinned. “Clever. I like it.”

“Thanks, Tony. I think I’ll borrow that drill from you when you’re done. I want to make a flower on the back.”

“Sure.” Tony continued working on theinrticate design, squinting and trying to make it as precise as possible. He caught Peter trying to sneak a peak and shooed him off cheerfully.

When Tony looked up to check on Peter, he nearly cooed. His kid had the most adorable look of concentration on his face. His tongue poked out between his lips and his brow was furrowed. Peter worked carefully, selecting the tools he knew would work best and using them delicately.

When Peter looked up again, the sky was considerably darker. He looked at the clock. “How is it already five?!” No way had he been working for one and a half hours straight.

Tony blinked and snapped out of his stupor. “Huh. Time flies, I guess. I’m about done, how about you, kiddo?”

“Almost… I kinda messed up a few details but I think it looks okay!” He scraped the pumpkin more and looked up. “There! Where are the candles?”

“Here you go.” May smiled and handed him a red candle that smelled like cinnamon. He took the lighter and dipped his hand in the pumpkin while Tony watched anxiously.

“Don’t burn yourself, baby.” He bit his lip in worry. “Be careful.”

“I am!”

May dimmed the lights and pulled the curtains shut. The candle glowed brightly in the dark room and Peter turned the pumpkin to face them.

May gasped. “Oh. Oh my goodness! Peter, that’s gorgeous!”

The boy blushed in the candlelight. “Thanks.” He looked to Tony, who had been strangely silent this whole time.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Petey….” Tony felt his arc reactor and in his mind, compared it to Peter’s intricate, detailed carving that he had spent so much time on. “Petey… you made my reactor?”

“Uh-huh! I kinda messed up some parts, but I think it looks pretty good. What do you think?”

“I… I… oh my god, baby, I love it. I love it so much.” He pulled his kid into a hug, squeezing him tight. Tony kissed his head and blinked away the tears in his eyes. Peter, surprised at first, hugged him back. “Thank you, Petey.”

“No problem,” he said, voice muffled in Tony’s sweatshirt. “Does it look good?”

“It looks beautiful, baby.”

“I had no idea you could make something like this,” May murmured, tracing the arc reactor with her fingers. “Wow, honey. This is spectacular!”

“Thanks.” Peter’s face heated from the praise and he pushed his head further into Tony’s chest. “What did you make?”

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” Reluctantly, he let go of Peter (but not without another forehead kiss) and grabbed the lighter, He lit the candle, turned it around, and-

It was Peter’s turn to gasp. “Is that me?!” He admired the glowing spider emblem with wide eyes. It matched the one on his suit exactly. “Oh my god!”

Tony beamed. “Do you see the resemblance?”

“I’m pretty sure you just stole my suit and like, made it into a pumpkin. It’s so cool! I love it, thank you!”

“It was my pleasure,” he said graciously, giving a little bow. “Where do you think we should put them?”

“Um, I dunno. Where’s a good spot?”

Tony looked around. Eventually they decided to put them on the mantle above the fireplace. Peter worried they might rot, but the man assured him they wouldn’t and turned off the fireplace just to ease his kid’s fear.

Peter took a look at the room. A few days ago he and Tony had draped bright orange and purple lights around the room and Peter had added some webs that would definitely leave stains. There was a black spiderweb table runner on the coffee table, and in the kitchen there stood a plastic cauldron filled with dry ice. Ghosts made of tissue and paper mache balls hung from strings by the fireplace and above the couch and tv. Peter took a black and orange oreo from a pumpkin shaped plate cheerfully.

“When’s dinner?” he asked, realizing how hungry he was getting.

“Are you hungry, bud? We can order a pizza, how does that sound?” Tony replied, smoothing down his curls and then ruffling them so they puffed back up again.

“Great!” Peter patted his curls back down and flopped on the couch, taking out his phone.

Only fifteen minutes later the pizza arrived. Peter jumped up happily and opened the box.

“It’s pumpkin shaped!” he exclaimed. “That’s so cool!” The pepperoni slices had been arranged in jack o’ lantern face and Peter laughed. He took four big slices for himself and sat down at the table while May joined him. Tony poured three glasses of apple cider and gave the biggest one to his kid, then sat down next to him.

Peter wolfed down his pizza in the blink of an eye and downed the cider just as quickly. May and Tony started on their second slices while he started on his fifth.

He was about to ask May if she knew that some spiders had blue blood when her phone rang. She smiled apologetically at them and stood up to take the call.

“Sandra? Oh, hi.” She wandered into the living room. “Uh-huh? Oh, that’s too bad, I’m so sorry.” A pause. “I could. Yeah, no problem. It’s okay. I hope everyone feels better.” May put her phone down.

“I’m sorry, guys. I have to fill in for a friend for a few hours.” She sighed. “Her twins are sick and she really needs this. I have to go but I’ll be back soon, okay?” May grabbed her coat and gloves. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Aunt May,” Peter said, offering a smile. “What time will you be back?”

“Around two.” She titled his head back to kiss his forehead. “Get some sleep, both of you. No scary movies. Larb you!” She headed toward the elevator.

“Larb you too!” he called back as the doors closed behind her. Peter sighed.

The room was oddly silent without May’s laughter, but soon Peter started chatting and laughing and they relaxed into their normal banter.

When they finished their pumpkin pizza, they sat down on the couch. Peter snuggled into Tony’s side and yawned, grabbing his Starkpad. He scrolled to a video and poked Tony’s shoulder.

“What’s this, kiddo?” he asked, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Buzzfeed Unsolved,” he mumbled. “That’s Ryan and that’s Shane.”

“Huh. That’s cool. They solve mysteries?”

“Sometimes. They don’t really solve them, I mean, it’s called Buzzfeed Unsolved, but they do talk about suspects or theories or whatever. Sometimes they do supernatural ones and they’re really funny. And spooky,” Peter rambled. Tony chuckled and turned his attention to the video.

The Haunted Halls of Waverly Hills, read the title. As the creepy introduction played, Tony frowned. The two men he assumed were Ryan and Shane were walking around a long, spooky hallway with cameras that made everything look like it was tinged green.

“You sure this isn’t too scary, Pete?” he asked, not wanting his kid to have nightmares.

“It’s not,” Peter grumbled. “I’m fine. This one is cool!”

“If you’re sure, Roo.” Tony still sounded skeptical. He was prepared to turn off that tablet the second Peter showed any sign of fright, but he never did.

“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved we explore Waverly Hills Sanatorium as part of our ongoing investigation, ‘are ghosts real?’” said Ryan.

The camera panned to Shane as he shook his head. They went on to explain the history of the sanatorium. Peter giggled at their many jokes, especially when Shane made snarky remarks. Tony deduced that Shane was the sceptic while Ryan strongly believed in paranormal happenings. He was inclined to side with Shane, but Peter looked just as nervous as Ryan was when he walked down an empty hallway all alone.

“Pete, are you sure this isn’t too scary?” he repeated after a particularly gruesome description of the horrors that took place in that old building.

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” Despite his annoyed tone, Peter was smiling.

“Okay, okay.” Tony turned to press a tender kiss to his temple. “I just don’t want you to have nightmares.”

“I won’t. It’s okay.” Peter flopped against him and pressed the next video. “Promise.” He yawned.

The videos, Tony admitted, were pretty cool. He liked how they listed theories and possibilities instead of just leaving the mysteries unended. The two men were funny and entertaining, and he found himself enjoying the videos.

By now they had watched at least nine or ten episodes. It was easy to get lost in all the videos, which were only twenty minutes long each, but when you watched a few more, time had passed faster than you expected. When Tony checked the time he was surprised to find it was already nine-thirty.

“You tired, bubba?” he asked gently as Peter yawned. “You’ve had a pretty big day.”

Peter shrugged. “A little.”

“Do you wanna go to bed now, sweetheart?”

“Sure.” He stretched and yawned again. “Tomorrow’s Halloween, right?”

“That’s right,” he hummed. He helped Peter stand up and they made their way down the hallway. “Good night, baby,” he murmured, pulling him into a hug.

Peter felt a warm kiss pressed to his curls. “G’night.” He hugged Mr. Stark and stumbled into his bedroom, rubbing his eyes.

Tony watched with love shining bright in his eyes. He headed to his own bed and climbed under the covers, curling up and turning on the bedside lamp. He grabbed his glasses and perched them on the edge of his nose, planning to get a little reading done before he went to bed.

He couldn’t help but worry about his kid, who had just binge-watched ten episodes about terrible deaths and tortures. “FRI, tell me if he can’t fall asleep, or if he does and wakes up. Just tell me if he’s scared.”

“Certainly, boss,” the AI said smoothly. Tony nodded and began reading, though he barely took in a word, much more focused on the boy in the room next to him.

~~~~~

Peter thought he had been tired. He had nearly unhinged his jaw from yawning so much. But now, he lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

He shifted around, trying to get comfortable. Heavy blankets tangled around his legs as he thrashed. Peter sighed and mashed his pillow over his face.

After what felt like an hour (but in reality was only fifteen minutes) Peter rolled over and sat up, yawning and scratching the back of his neck.

He grabbed his Starkpad and earbuds. Peter only used one, because two was too overwhelming. He went to youtube and clicked on the first unsolved episode he found, just wanting to sleep.

The intro played loudly in his ear and Peter relaxed.

“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved we’ll cover the Axeman Killer of New Orleans,” said Ryan Bergara. “One of the strangest serial killer cases I’ve ever read.”

“And you’ve read a lot,” Shane replied.

Ryan explained the timeline, which began in 1918 in, of course, New Orleans and ended around eighteen months later. He detailed the mysterious and morbid attempted killings, saying, “In chilling fashion, he only seemed to strike people while they slept in their beds.”

Just to make sure, Peter peeked out the curtain. He shivered and hid further under his blankets. He snickered quietly when Shane made a joke right off the bat.

When the video ended, he turned it off and lay back down. He scrubbed his eyes, feeling refreshed but sleepy at the same time.

Except now, he was having a lot harder of a time falling asleep.

Peter stared at his bedroom door nervously, expecting someone to burst in brandishing an axe.

It never came.

He watched apprehensively, knowing this was stupid, and rolled over so he faced the wall.

Now his back felt even more exposed. Peter shivered and faced the door in a panic, swearing he heard something.

Nothing.

He sighed shakily and curled up under the blankets, his heart racing and his eyes wide. The shadows seemed to dance and his eyes flitted from corner to corner as he expected some creature with razor sharp teeth to come leaping out of them.

A chair, which he had thrown some dirty clothes on the other day, now looked like some skeletal creature with a huge head that could swallow him in one bite.

Peter, in a sudden burst of adrenaline, threw off his covers and sprinted the few feet down the hall to Tony’s room, the door slamming open. Peter leapt onto Tony’s bed, shaking, and wrapped his arms around the man.

Tony went rigid with surprise. “Peter?” He straightened up, squeezing his kid tight protectively and looking murderously around the room for the source of Peter’s fear. “What is it, baby? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Peter shook his head and crawled shakily into his lap, pressing his face into his chest. “Petey? What happened?” His voice was soft and gentle but somehow worried and protective at the same time. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Peter sniffed and blinked a few tears out of his eyes. His cheeks heated in embarrassment. He wilted in Tony’s arms both out of shame and overwhelming relief that he was safe now.

“Oh, baby,” he cooed. “You’re okay, I got you, you’re okay. I’m here, shh.” He kissed his delicate brown curls. “I’m here, I’m here.”

Peter sighed in relief and squashed his nose against Tony’s reactor. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled.

“Why are you sorry, bubba? You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” Tony murmured.

Peter nodded. “I- I just got scared.” His voice cracked and he tried not to cry.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re okay. I got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, ‘kay?” He brushed his fingers through his curls. “Pete?”

A soft snore filled the peaceful quiet of the room. Peter’s breathing was slow and even, his face lax. Tony’s face softened. He carefully maneuvered Peter’s limp body under the war covers and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his nose into his curls. “I won’t ever let anything hurt you, kay?” He sighed in contentment, holding his kid tightly. “I love you so much baby.”

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut. “G’night, sweetheart.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @imissyoutoo @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923

If you want to be added/removed let me know!

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

#FINALLY finished this #Happy Halloween!!!#peter parker #tony stark #may parker #aunt may is the best #pumpkin picking #pumpkin patch #pumpkin carving #tw knives #knives tw #irondad and spiderson #aunt may and tony are best friends #protective tony stark #worried tony stark #scared peter parker #buzzfeed unsolved #halloween tw #st*rkers dni

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strawberryhwa-writes · 3 years

Text

ateez ancient china!au - part 1

yesterday in bed i had a sudden thought of what if ateez was in an ancient china! au, so here we go hahaha. i hope you enjoy!

part 2: coming soon!

hongjoong:

the head tailor of the palace, makes clothes specifically for the royal family

was born in a middle class family as an only child, which was rare in ancient china

so there was a lot of pressure on him to do well

he was interested in clothing despite his father claiming it’s “only a woman’s job”

frustrated and ambitious — he wanted to prove his father wrong

so he made a name for himself at a very young age

that day, he spotted yeosang (who was disguised as a middle class man) shopping with his tailor

the salesman and his tailor seemed to know each other very well, referring to each other as xiongdi (brothers)

they were pushy, trying to convince yeosang to buy a yard of a golden silky fabric

curious about the commotion, hongjoong walked next to yeosang and touched it, only to realise it wasn’t real silk! (dun dun dunnn)

obviously the tailor and the salesman were trying to scam yeosang

joong was livid and exposed the both of them in the middle of the bustling market

yeosang was beyond impressed and asked for his name, and so that was how he was hired

ever since entering the palace, he’s low-key judgemental of everyone’s clothes

(especially the two faced scholars and eunuchs who try to harm the princes)

eventually he cut ties with his father but still sends money and hand sewn clothing for special events to his mother

closest with seonghwa in the palace because they’re the same age

secretly makes the best hanfu (clothing) for seonghwa

“because his proportions are immaculate” excuses

seonghwa

the first prince in line

was named by a prophet who said seonghwa had stars in his eyes

“the moment he opened his eyes”

have you seen him?

everyone feels like their heart is going to burst when they see him on a chariot

his gaze is hypnotising

but that’s actually him trying to look stern

because he’s so nervous in front of the crowd

behind the doors, without any eyes on him

he’s a soft baby that all the servants openly adore

everyone secretly wants to hit on him

but is too afraid too because of his younger brothers even though he’s b a b y

(seonghwa is godsend compared to the other princes)

knows how to play guiqin (a traditional chinese string instrument)

usually plays it at night alone near water with lily pads

loves hongjoong with all his heart

(probably had a tiny crush on him the first day he met him)

loves strawberries

and anything strawberry flavoured

when the strawberry season arrives the palace kitchen is filled with:

boxes and boxes of fresh strawberries

he manages to finish them in a few days!

he definitely seems to me another fellow mantou lover and basically all types of bread from dimsum

mantou is a type of chinese white bread with no filling in a shape of a round shape and it’s super fluffy, usually dipped in condensed milk

needs to eat a mantou every morning to get his day started

(he gets bribed every other day by yunho because he can’t resist mantou that has just been out of the oven...!)

yunho

a mischevious son from a wealthy merchant’s family

despite being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he has a big heart

loves watching performances of every kind! he watched a dragon dance performance and begged his father to find an instructor

his father was reluctant as performers were looked down upon in the ancient times

however, the teacher who took him in said yunho had a natural talent in performing

that’s how he became one of the palace’s performers

despite his living quarters in the palace being less lavish than the two roomed bedroom back at home with his parents

he’s truly chasing his dreams

and it’s completely safe to say he’s content

one night he overheard seonghwa playing the guiqin and he danced gracefully along it

only for seonghwa to find out

and that’s how they got to know each other

and how yunho found out seonghwa’s weakness is mantou

deep inside, seonghwa’s willing to help yunho because he trusts him

the prince covers for him when he wants to slip out into the capital for a breath of air

every once in a while he peaks at his old home to check on his parents

because he knows secretly they’re worried for him, afraid he’ll get hurt because they’ve heard stories of people fracturing their bones in the middle of practice

but at the same time they know his son has grown up and they have to trust him

so he keeps his distance in fear he will drop everything and run back home because chasing his dreams get tiring too

yeosang

the second prince in line

always ties his hair up into a ponytail with strands of hair left untied to frame his face

he wears soft pastel coloured hanfu most of the time with patterns of lotus flowers

(“a symbol of innocence!” hongjoong exclaims from his room)

and somehow he never gets his sleeves stained while eating

(prince yeosang please drop your life hacks now)

he’s very smart, definitely the model student

has really neat and nice handwriting, all the eunuchs are enthralled because seonghwa’s handwriting low-key traumatised them

had a lot of pressure on him to do well academically to “support his brother when he becomes the king”

there were rumours going around about how yeosang secretly wants to overthrow seonghwa when he gets crowned as the king

luckily, he never wanted to be king anyway

he’s a man with little words, but every so often you’ll see his composure crack when an official embarrassed themselves

a tiny smile will be on his lips but it’ll disappear as quickly as it came

when someone oversteps the line in meetings, he won’t hesitate to expose all their dirty secrets

he’ll embarrass them so bad they’ll kneel and swear they’ll never offend him again

so people avoid offending seonghwa too because yeosang is hella scary when he’s mad

but behind close doors though, he’s a completely different person

with close friends like wooyoung and hongjoong though, he’s humorous and likes to share weird facts he found out recently

“did you know that beluga whales have flexible necks, like this?” he demonstrates, making a weird face

no one believes wooyoung’s words when he says yeosang is funny though

brutally honest to protect the ones he love

but when he doesn’t open his mouth everyone assumes he’s the nicer prince

oh, they are so wrong

every time a princess from another region confesses her love to yeosang, she leaves crying because of how bluntly he rejected her

#ateez imagines #ateez headcanons #ateez scenarios #ateez drabbles #ateez #ancient china au #wow i really want to write an actual fic for this now

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tailorvizsla · 3 years

Note

Hi I love your writing. Could I please request some angst with the lovely Prince Oberyn Martell? thank yoooouuuuuuuuu

Anon, I’m pretty sure you meant to send this to someone else, but I’m more than happy to give it a whirl. 🤣

Title: Mistaken Identity Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader Word Count: ~2000 Rating: R Warnings: Angst, but with a happy ending, mentions of sex and violence typical for the show (I think), no explicit content though. Author’s Notes: shrug idk man I know nothing about GoT. This may go really well or it may go really poorly.

📚 My Master List 📚

If you want to be tagged in anything, send me an ask or leave a comment!

Wind howls through the long, winding stone corridors of the ancient castle you call home. Outside, lightning flashes, briefly illuminating the wild, windswept landscape. Whispers of your Prince’s death had taken the castle by storm, occupants and servants alive working themselves into a frenzy until a blood-stained golden cloth had been brought in. It felt like a fist to the gut. Even now, your breath comes in tiny gasps, your head swimming as you struggle to stay on your feet. Now, in your narrow room, you watch as the servants begin to build the funeral pyre in the courtyard.

“Milady,” comes a soft voice from the door.

“I do not wish to be disturbed,” you say, the words thick in your mouth. “Leave.”

“Milady,” your lady’s maid insists. “Please, come away from the window. You will catch your death if you linger in this cold.”

Pursing your lips, you step back, knowing that the older woman speaks the truth. The nights have grown chilly as of late. You wonder if you will ever feel warmth again without Oberyn’s arms around you. How could this have happened?

“Milady, if it pleases you,” she says, standing next to the bed.

She keeps her head bowed, but you can see the apprehensive look on her face, as if she fears you will fly off in a fit of hysterics. Part of you wishes to fly off into hysterics, but you know that you cannot afford to do so. With Oberyn gone, there is no one left to protect you, should someone decide to begin gossiping. You need to worry about what your future will bring, but you cannot bring yourself to such selfish thoughts.

Oberyn is dead. He deserves to be mourned.

She slides the warming pan out from under the sheets as you slide in. The bed is pleasantly warm. As she draws the curtain, she dims the candles and excuses herself. When you are certain she is gone, you grab your dressing gown and sink down into the divan at the end of the bed. His tunic is still here. It looks like he had left for just a moment to attend to business elsewhere, as if he will return in just a few moments’ time.

“Oberyn,” you whisper softly, eyes filling with tears as you stroke the golden silk between your fingers. “Oberyn. How could you leave like this? Without so much as a goodbye?”

Your throat tightens and the tears stream down your face, but you stifle your sobs, lest the maid in the adjoining room hear and come investigate.

“I still remember the day we first met,” you continue softly, running your fingers along the embroidered neckline. “My brother wished to curry your favor. I did not want to come – I confess, I was terrified. I could not stop shaking, praying that you would not notice me. I thought you might eat me like a snake would.”

You had hidden yourself behind your brother, drawing up your veil to conceal your features, hoping that the Prince known as the Red Viper would ignore you. That he would not notice you cowering in terror.

“Of course, I would not be so lucky, would I?” you ask softly, smiling sadly. “You greeted my brother by name. Then you looked at me. I could feel your eyes boring into my soul, Oberyn. Like I was completely bare before you.”

You had kept your eyes downcast and focused on the stone beneath your feet. Then he stepped closer. Then his hand drifted into view. Hard, calloused fingertips pressed against your jaw, as gentle as a butterfly’s wing, tilting your head up. Still, you refused to look at him – still terrified that he would have pupils like a real snake.

“Such lovely eyes,” he remarked, and that had broken your resolve.

You looked him right in the eyes. Even now, you still feel the warmth quivering in your belly when you recall his beautiful brown eyes. They had been filed with fire, burning into your very heart. You had let your eyes admire his features – soft, curling brown hair, prominent brows, and a distinguished nose. A plump lower lip. Carefully trimmed facial hair. Yet you could not stop looking at his eyes, marveling at his warmth.

“Of course, I made a fool of myself,” you whisper, sniffling as you laugh. “Do you remember, what I said next, my prince?” You wipe your eyes. “Oh, Prince Martell, the rumors are false!”

You laugh into the neck of his tunic, catching the faintest whiff of his rapidly fading scent. You choke back a sob, curling forward around the fabric. “You asked me, ‘What rumors, little one?’ And I…I…oh, how did you not refrain from simply removing my head?”

You laugh quietly.

“My Lord, your pupils are round!” you whisper with a soft smile. He had been in utter shock for just a moment before carefully schooling away his response. Before he could respond, your brother had turned and grabbed you by the arm, his other hand rising to beat you for your insult. “But you stopped him from flogging me, Oberyn.”

He caught your brother by the arm and forced it back down, eyes flashing with fury and jaw set tightly.

“I am called the Red Viper,” you whisper softly, remembering the keen look of amusement he had shot at you. “Do not strike her for believing the tales you have likely whispered into her ear.”

Your brother had been furious with you. After the prince had left, he had caught you by the arm and squeezed so hard he left a violent, hand-shaped bruise on you. He had promised to inflict punishment for your embarrassing behavior, to ensure you could never speak so improperly to your lord again.

“Before he could hurt me, you invited me to serve your lady here in the castle,” you continue. “He could not refuse without causing offense, and so you saved me. You have saved me so many times from my own stupidity.”

There had been so, so many of those moments as well.

“You taught me to read, to write, and to defend myself,” you say. “You gave me a dagger, Oberyn. You coated it in poison and made me swear to use it only to protect myself. Without you…what will happen to the kingdom? To your family?...to me?”

Sighing, you let your shoulders sag. You had spent countless nights here with him. From that first encounter where you lay on the bed, stiff as a board, terrified that it really would hurt as much as the married women back home told you it would. Until he told you that you had no obligations to share your bed with him. That he would not force you to partake. That had brought you pause – your brother had often lectured you on what would await you on your wedding night. Drink copiously, he said, it is the only way to make it bearable that first time for a woman.

“You are the only person who listened when I said no,” you say softly, tears splashing onto the fabric, dotting the fabric with damps spots. “You were so kind to me. You were gentle. You showed me that I did not need to be afraid.”

Oberyn then sat on the edge of the bed, tunic unbuttoned to his belly button, and looked at you with those warm, sympathetic, brown eyes. Shyly, you asked him to stay and tell you stories about his time at the Citadel, about the things he had learned there. And he did. He told you about the lands he had traveled to in his youth. The duels he had won. The time spent with the mercenaries in Essos. You marveled at his stories, staring up at him in awe, until you had finally drifted off to sleep in that soft, warm space in his arms.

For a week, he came back every night to hold you and tell you stories.

Then, one afternoon, you happened upon him training with one of his men. You had hidden yourself in the shadows to watch him, stunned into silence as he spun, parried, dodged, and blocked with ease. He moved with such deadly grace, lunging once to claim victory over his opponent.

The uncomfortable throb in your belly lingered until that night, where you shyly confessed to spying on him. He had given you such a mischief-filled smirk, whispering “I know” as his fingers slipped under your skirt.

This time, you encouraged him to continue, biting your lip at the memory of his fine, muscular body as his fingers found your intimacy. He had kissed you, touched you, made you feel like you were floating in the sky like the clouds. Oberyn showed you the most exquisite pleasure at his hand. You had never known such fire, such passion. That was not all he taught you.

“You taught me to stand up for myself. To protect myself when you were not here. How would my family react if they knew I would gut them for touching me?” you ask, hand falling to the sheath on your thigh. “How would they react if they knew I could read, write, and provide for myself?”

Sighing, you press your hand into your face. So many people had tried to take advantage of you, and he had protected you each time. Slowly, surely, you had learned the games played at court, and you adapted.

“Oh, my prince,” you whisper sadly. “Now you are gone, and it feels as if my soul has shattered. Will this ache ever end? Will I ever be whole again without you here?”

Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, you press your face into his tunic again, shoulders shaking as you finally break down and sob. You are only vaguely aware of the door opening and footsteps. A warm hand falls to your shoulder. Pure anger fills you at the thought of the maid touching you. You shove the hand off and jump to your feet, ready to snap at the girl. You come to a half upon seeing those familiar brown eyes.

“O-Oberyn?” you whisper. He grins. You sink down onto the divan, your face draining of its blood as he comes a step closer. He reaches out and presses his fingers to your cheek. He tilts your face up and leans in for a kiss. You stay there, staring up at him.

“I thought – I thought you we-were dead,” you stammer out, shaking your head.

“They neglected to mention which lord was dead,” he says. The impish grin on his face fades away at the expression on your face. “Oh, my sweet – you truly thought I was dead, didn’t you?”

Mutely, you nod, and then the overwhelming relief spills out. You begin to sob into the tunic in your hands. Oberyn joins you on the divan and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He smells like sweat and the road, as if he had ridden nonstop to get back home.

“Oh, my sweet, I am here,” he whispers into your hair. “I will not leave you that easily. I am here. Do not cry. It was someone else who perished.”

That does not help you in the least bit. The sobs grow louder, much to your mortification, as you grab great big handfuls of his robes, holding him tight. Oberyn holds you closer, hand massaging your back, as soft noises escape him. It takes a long time before your sobs die down, but he holds you the entire time, never once letting you go.

“Dry your tears,” he soothes. “Do not weep for me.”

He reaches up and brushes one of your tears away with his thumb.

“There we are,” he says. “Let me see that beautiful smile.”

You smile for him. He leans in and presses his lips to yours. You close your eyes, sighing with pleasure as he deepens the kiss, teeth grazing your lower lip. A whimper escapes you as his hand finds your breast. He kneads gently, pinching your areola lightly. When you gasp, his tongue flicks out against yours, his free hand curling around the back of your neck. Before you can gather your thoughts, he pulls away.

“I am going to bathe,” he says. “I will return shortly, my sweet.”

You sulk as he smirks at you.

“Surely you can last?” he asks. “Or would you like to join me in the bath?”

Oh.

“I will join you,” you say, getting to your feet.

Oberyn grins and laughs at you, offering his hand. You take it and let him lead you out of the bedroom, the thoughts of a hot bath soothing away the anxiety and fear that had been plaguing you all day.

Tags:

@hdlynn @princessbatears @oloreaa @phoenixhalliwell @reader-without-a-story @nelba @aeryntheofficial @trippedmetaldetector @jedi-mando @marthastewart89 @razzlefrazzum @paintballkid711 @hayley-the-comet @prxtty-big-simp @aesnawan @leias-left-hair-bun @shadylightbearherring @calamity-queen @pedroepascal @dinsdjarinwp

#game of thrones #prince martell x reader #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #sad at first but then it's happy #y'all i have never seen a single episode of GoT #what i know about this series is limited to about three gif sets i have reblogged #but he's cute #he's v cute #i could def see myself wearing that yellow shirt thing

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yungidreamer · 4 years

Text

Claimed

Summary: An intruder enters the territory of Chan and his pack, attacking people and causing havoc. Seemingly by chance he saves a victim that turns out to be his mate, but as fate would have it, he happens to be a wolf at the time. How will he protect her, come clean, and claim his mate?

Word count: 8.2k

Content warnings: slightly dark themes, a werewolf serial killer who is a vindictive asshole, impregnation kink, marking, minor descriptions of violence, sort of stalking, sort of possessive behavior. Some cursing.

Music: Come Out by Lenise Morales and War of Hearts by Ruelle

“Come on, boy,” she said, patting her leg and holding out the leash. “Let’s go on a walk before it gets too late.” Chan hopped up off his round dog bed near the couch, wagging his tail as he came to her. He sat patiently, turning his head to let her reach the leather collar she had put on his neck. Jesus, his pack mates would be in hysterics if they saw him like this, he thought to himself. But he could have endured the embarrassment for her.

How had he ended up like this? Really, it was a mix of destiny and bad luck on both of their parts. He honestly never thought he would meet his mate when he was in his wolf form and hurt on top of it. Fights weren’t something he got into that often and something he avoided when he could, but that night three months ago he had caught that piece of shit lone wolf stalking her.

Why the loner had picked her, he had no idea, but Chan had to be grateful in some ways. How long would it have been before he ran across her if not for that? Jesus, what if he had gotten there too late? He didn’t want to think about it.

That night he had been sent to track the interloper that had been causing havoc in their territory. He was the first of the pack to actually find him, which must have been luck since Minho was generally the best tracker and Changbin a close second. They had taken the two days before and barely missed catching him at the no-tell motel he had been staying at and at some restaurant where he had mauled some poor woman heading home after her shift. Changbin had been furious with himself for not tracking him fast enough and had been the one to find her bloodied and crying near the back door of the restaurant. He had shifted back to human and called 911, telling them he had been passing by when he heard her crying, a plausible enough story not to raise any suspicion. Besides as far as anyone involved knew, it was a rabid dog attack… a massive rabid dog.

Tracking was exhausting work and got shared amongst all the members of the pack. The third night had been his job and he had taken a neighborhood near the one he had been stalking, suspecting he had moved his hunting grounds but not that far. His hunch had been right, but it was pure luck that he had come across the scent of the intruder as he patrolled, just hoping to catch some hint, some clue.

That whiff had pulled him down an alley and into the strip mall parking lot of the craft store. For the life of him, he could not figure out why on earth he would pick this sort of place. The parking lot was half empty since most of the stores were already closed… except the big hobby shop. The sodium orange lights of the parking lot had flickered and buzzed, bothering his sensitive senses and it must have done the same for the lone wolf… so why on earth would he choose to hunt here.

Chan had spotted him, in human form, leaning casually on a planter half a dozen meters from the entrance to the store taking a drag on a hand rolled cigarette. He had let out an involuntary huffing sneeze, hating the smell as it drifted to him. That had given him away. Even if he hadn’t been able to sense that he was a fellow werewolf, no dog would have been wandering around alone in a parking lot here, like this, at this hour.

“I’m surprised you found me, rover,” the loner had chuckled, self-satisfied and amused. “I would have let you guys be, but you couldn’t just let me hunt a little.” Chan had growled as he watched him stand up, letting the shadows and flickering lights obscure his face as he pulled himself into a standing position. He had moved fast, charging at Chan and drawing a knife just before he got within an arm's length of him. Chan dodged but not fast enough, and the knife caught him in the ribs, grazing over a couple of them before he could dig his teeth into the man’s arm.

“Fuck,” the man yelled, punching Chan in the jaw to force him to let go. Stars sparkled in his vision and pain sliced through him as the knife slid along his collarbone and upper leg. He had gotten one last swipe in before retreating, leaving Chan bloodied and limping.

A safe place to shift was what he had needed, there surely would have been someplace nearby, a little alcove or alley between a couple of the shops, but before he could get very far, she had stepped out of the store, locking up and leaving for the night. Chan froze. He had been slinking away, slowly trying to get out of view, but was still very clearly in view when she had stepped out. His pain had blinded him to other sensations at first, but even before she turned and saw him, it hit him like a freight train.

Mine the sensation said with a ferocity he had never felt before. Why he had to find his mate like this, he had no idea. He wasn’t particularly unlucky. He didn’t spend tons of time as a wolf either. His pack was pretty chill and was pretty careful to stay below the radar. Their territory was safe and they were known for not being overly territorial, letting people pass through without a problem so long as they left and didn’t make problems. So how he ran across her while he was shifted and injured was just stupidly bad luck.

She had gasped when she finally turned around and saw him, but who wouldn’t when they turned around to see a massive dog behind them limping and bleeding. A moment’s fear had shot through her at the sight until Chan had whimpered, flattening himself on the pavement to look as unthreatening as possible.

“Hey puppy,” she said softly, putting out her hand for him to sniff as she leaned down, slowly coming closer. “Can I take a look at you?”

Yes please, he thought, rolling gently onto his uninjured side.

“What on earth happened to you… boy?” She asked, catching sight of his belly. “I don’t suppose you are going to make this easy on me and would just get in my car if I brought it around?” She sighed and patted his head. Rubbing his head into her hand, he rolled back over and pulled himself up to stand again. “Maybe you can just come with me, hmmm?” Standing up, she started to move towards her car, keeping an eye on him as he slowly limped behind her. She opened the back door to her car and patted the seat, inviting him to hop in, which he did quite happily. “Well at least that was easy.” She observed, closing the door behind him as he laid down on the back seat. “Now we just have to go spend my whole paycheck at the emergency vets.”

Sorry, he said to her in his head. I’ll pay you back when I can. Pain pulsed through him as the city lights swished over him in the back seat. The emergency vet clinic was only a half an hour away but that was way longer than he would have ever wanted to have to lay bleeding in the backseat of a car. In fact, he really was sure he could have gone his whole damn life without knowing what that felt like.

He was tough, he was the alpha of the group, though he didn’t enforce a hard hierarchy like some did. They were more family than anything else. They looked out for each other, did their part, contributed in any way that they could. It worked well for them and everyone was pretty happy with the arrangement. It was just his job to be the final voice when decisions needed to be made or to speak for the group when dealing with outsiders.

“Can you get up, pup?” She asked when she opened the door in the parking lot of the vet’s office. Chan nodded, though it probably didn’t look like it, what with being a dog and all, and stood up on slightly shaky limbs. Thank god they were close, he thought to himself as he stepped out the door and onto the pavement.

“I need some help please,” she said as they stepped through the automatic sliding door of the clinic.

“Oh my god,” the woman behind the counter said when she caught sight of him, picking up the phone on the desk and hitting a couple of buttons. “Doctor West we need you in reception now please, and bring whoever is back there to help.” She hung up the phone and dashed out from behind the desk. “What on earth happened?”

“I don’t know,” she said looking down at Chan as she kept a hand on his head. “I was just coming out of work and found him like this in the parking lot. Maybe he got cut getting out of a yard or went through a window or something?”

The receptionist had shrugged, it seemed like as good an explanation as any. They had taken him back, stitched him up and scanned him for an ID chip, which, shocker, he didn’t have. With no one else seemingly accountable for him, she had decided to take him home, saying she would try and find his owners. For now, she would pay for the vet bills and she just had to hope whoever owned him would pay her back. Though honestly, given the shape he was in, she wasn’t holding out hope there was someone, or at least someone responsible.

That was how he had ended up here and stuck in his canine form way more than he was used to. The one upside was that he was with her. She had spent a couple of weeks hanging up posters with his picture, but eventually just decided to adopt him herself, leaving him in the weirdest bind he could imagine.

The first few days he had stayed just because everything hurt too much to do anything else. I’ll change back soon, he told himself, I just need the stitches to heal a little first. Then one evening when she came home he could smell him and cigarettes on her and his heart had clenched. The loner had been there for her? For his mate? At that moment, that realization he had a feeling he never would have thought possible. Thank god I was the one that got stabbed. That had settled it. He had to be there, he had to stay and protect her, at least until the intruder was caught.

Not long after that he had shifted when she was off at work, finally getting in touch with his pack. After the understandable chewing out he let Jisung give him since he had basically disappeared without a word for DAYS, he explained what had happened and told him to pick someone to shadow her while she was out or at work. Jisung agreed, letting out a low whistle at the story and the news that he had found his mate. Chan left the details to him and the others, still not feeling even 50% if he had to be honest. He trusted them and for now, he was stuck.

Now it had been three months and the loner was still on the loose and still in their territory. They had no idea why and he had only attacked one person since that night. Now and again, when she came home from work, he would smell him on her, and still other times, he would catch the smell of the loner when they walked through the neighborhood. But it was never enough, never that fresh, and he had no idea how he was flitting around so close yet so far.

Jisung had the brilliant idea of getting one of them hired to work with her at the craft store. Chan had to admit, it had been a good idea, it kept someone close, but it probably wouldn’t have been the solution he would have wanted. Smelling Changbin on her every night when she came home from work rankled him an unbelievable amount, despite the fact that he knew nothing was happening with them. But between smelling his pack mate and the loner on her, and being unable to do anything with her aside from pretending to be her pet was going to drive him mad.

How on earth was he supposed to tell her who he really was? Buck also couldn’t just disappear. And yes, she had named him after the dog in Call of the Wild which was both adorable and painful. She was attached to him...just the wrong him. He needed to come clean but, aside from breaking to her that werewolves existed at all, something that would most likely freak her out, saying, surprise (!) you know that dog you’ve been letting sleep in your bed and changing in front of… well, he’s actually a guy. Because, you know, that would go over really well.

So that was how he ended up on the end of her leash, heading out for a walk. If he didn’t have to do this as a dog and have to make a show of going to the bathroom on these walks, he would be far happier. It was nice being out with her, he just wanted to be able to do it as a person, maybe holding her hand, though he might have tolerated a collar and leash if she really liked it for some reason.

Chan walked ahead of her, scenting the air as they made their evening loop of the neighborhood. All seemed well and normal for the most part, at least for the first half of the walk. But as they made the turn that would head them back towards home the scent of the loner drifted across their path. Chan stopped, causing her to bump into him and make a little sound of surprise as she accidentally stepped on one of his back feet.

“What’s the matter, Buck?” She asked, looking in the direction he was looking. “Did you see something?” Unsurprisingly, he didn’t answer and, after pausing for a few seconds, she moved past him, trying to snap him into moving again. Chan stepped in front of her, preventing her from going as he tried to place where the scent was coming from. “Come on, boy, I want to go home.”

I know, he said mentally, willing for her to understand him. Trust me, me too. Suddenly he saw it, the shape of another of his kind skulking on the other side of a cinder block wall. It’s dark chestnut fur moved slightly in the breeze as the animal stayed stock still. In a split second, it dashed back behind the wall and Chan gave chase. He pulled his leash out of her hand, sending a mental apology to her, and immediately gave chase. He couldn’t let this just keep going on. She called out his name, well the name she had given him, as he disappeared behind the wall, giving chase.

Quick as a flash, he saw the tail disappear around the back of the house on the other side of the block wall. He skidded around the corner, keeping the scent trail of the intruder under his nose. The chase led him through alleys and back yards as they ran and dodged. Finally he saw him disappear over a high fence and Chan lept after him, feeling like he was finally gaining on him.

When he landed he heard a snap and knew immediately that he had made a mistake. A sharp pain shot through his front leg. It had all been a plan, been a trap to get him here, to get him trapped… and to leave her alone. He had never really felt as stupid as he did right now. He finally gathered the will to look down at his leg to see it clasped in a leg hold trap, cut and bleeding, but thankfully not broken, probably by sheer luck. He couldn’t run like this and he had to get back to her.

With a gulp, he changed back, needing the dexterity of human hands to get out of the contraption. It pinched harder, stinging his nerves as his leg turned into an arm, thickening in the vice like grip. It took him a moment to stop seeing stars and then another to figure out how to press down the sides of the trap to open it. When he was finally free, he looked around. He had to get out but running around naked and bleeding was a great way to get the cops called on him.

Making his way to the edge of the neighboring yard, he looked over the wall to see laundry hanging on a line outside. He hopped over the wall and took a t-shirt and some pants, promising to try to remember to bring them back when he could. Once he was dressed, he ran. He ran towards where he had left her; ran like his life depended on it. Ran because hers probably did. His feet barely touched the ground as he rushed back to where he had left her.

Suddenly he heard a scream rend the air and he felt his whole body go cold. So stupid, he berated himself as he willed his body to move faster. Turning the corner a couple of blocks from where he had left her alone, he saw her… and him. The loner had cornered her against a fence in the front yard of some house, a hand around her throat and a knife pressed against her ribs. Without a second thought, Chan rushed forward with a guttural growl. The loner heard him and turned. Momentarily distracted from her, he didn’t notice when she jerked herself down, loosening his grip enough on her neck to fall in the direction opposite the knife he held on her. With his attention torn between two people now, Chan had the upper hand and wrestled him away from her.

“Run,” Chan commanded her as he tackled the loner to the ground. They rolled and grappled like gladiators, vying for dominance, both ignoring her. Something that turned out to be a mistake on the part of the loner. Just as he rolled on top, pinning Chan by gripping his injured arm, she rushed toward them, picking up the dropped knife and driving it into his back. The loner let out a rage filled scream and rolled away from them both as he changed back into his wolf form. Running away as quickly as he could manage and disappearing into the neighborhood.

“Are you okay,” Chan asked, getting up and grasping her upper arms. Her face was a mask of shock, eyes wide and not really seeing anything. “Look at me. Tell me that you are okay.”

“I have to find my dog,” she said, her eyes flashing around them, yet she didn’t pull away. “I think he tried to chase that thing away. He ran off and I need to make sure he’s okay… he was already hurt and…”

“I’m okay,” Chan said to her, giving her a little shake to get her attention. “I’m Buck. You found me in a parking lot and saved me. It’s me.” Her eyes snapped to his face and she went white. “I was following him that night, trying to figure why he was here. That’s how I got hurt, but that’s how I found you.”

“You were looking for me, too?” She shrank back, her eyes searching for something in his face.

“No, but,” Chan sighed. He needed to come clean but this wasn’t the place. Not in the open, not in someone else’s yard. “Let’s go home. Please. Can we talk there?”

“Home?” She asked, looking at him suspiciously.

“Your home,” he corrected. “Just, let me explain. Give me a chance.”

She looked down at the arms that were holding her, finally noticing his cut arm. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s not that bad,” he let go of her arms, trying to hide his injury a little.

“Let me take care of it,” she offered timidly. “Then we can talk.” Chan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. With a nod he led them both back to the house, keeping a gentle hand on her wrist as they walked. He needed the assurance that she was there, that she was safe.

She followed, letting him take the lead, slightly unsettled by how well he knew the way to her house. Part of her still didn’t believe him. But then again, she had just seen a man change into a dog or… wolf maybe, and she couldn’t explain that. She had never seen him before and yet he knew her dog, he knew where she lived, he had saved her. She wasn’t 100% sure, but something told her to trust him.

When they got to her house, she let them in and Chan pulled her inside, locking the door behind them before tucking her behind him as he scanned the room and tested the air inside the house for anything amiss. When he was satisfied that it was safe, he stepped further into the living room and headed towards the bathroom to care for his arm. He really knows where everything is, she thought as she watched him head there without hesitation. Stepping up to the sink he started running warm water, dipping his arm under the spigot to rinse it. He hissed as the water hit the wound, a tingling pain shooting outwards from it.

“Here,” she stepped up beside him, dampening her hands and lathering them so she could gently wash his wound. Chan sucked in a breath between his teeth at the sting. “Sorry,” she said softly.

“No, it’s okay,” he assured her. “I appreciate you helping me. I owe you my life twice over now.”

“Seems like both times it was because of me anyway so…” she didn’t meet his eyes, focusing on what her hands were doing.

“It’s not your fault,” Chan soothed. “We should have gotten him out of here long ago. He just… he keeps slipping away.”

“So what are you?” She asked as she patted his skin dry with a towel.

“Werewolf,” he replied softly. “But I won’t hurt you.”

She nodded and pulled some gauze and tape out of the cabinet behind her. Kneeling down in front of him as he sat on the toilet, she spread some anti-infection cream over one of the wounds before putting gauze over it and taping it down. She did the same with the other side, then wrapped both with a sports wrap to keep it secure on his arm.

“What’s your name?” She asked, finally looking up at him.

“Chan,” he replied gently, reaching out to cup her cheek. “My name is Chan.”

“That fits better than Buck,” she gave him a nervous smile and laugh.

“God I love hearing my name on your lips,” he admitted. He leaned forward hesitantly, giving her a chance to pull away, taking her lips with a gentle firmness. She tasted like heaven, even better than he had dreamed those nights when he lay beside her in bed pretending to be her pet.

What am I doing, she asked herself, feeling a fuzzy, intoxication filling her brain as his lips pressed against hers. His tongue darted out against her bottom lip, begging her to open to him. Why did he taste so good, she wondered as she shivered under his touch. He was hardly the first guy she had kissed but he felt different and she didn’t understand it. She didn’t know him at all, despite the fact he seemed to have been living in her house for months.

“Love, I… I need,” Chan pulled back and stepped away from her. “We need to talk.”

“Sorry,” she leaned back, not meeting his eyes, wiping her lips to try and erase the distracting sensations.

“No, don’t apologize,” he soothed, reaching out to her. “I just need—” he broke off. “I need you to understand.”

“What do I need to understand?” she asked him, frustration coursing through her.

“You’re mine,” he said, taking her face in his hands. “I knew it the moment I saw you that you were supposed to be mine. I protect what’s mine. But I need you to choose me. I can wait. I can send someone else to stay here and protect you. Just… I need it to be your choice because once I have you. I’m not letting you go.”

She should have been afraid, she should have made him leave and run as far as she could as fast as she could. But something in her trusted him. No that wasn’t strong enough. Something said he was right, they were a part of each other.

“Okay,” she nodded as much as she could, still restricted by his hands on her face.

“What?” He asked, his eyes searching hers, trying to divine what she was saying.

“I understand,” Her hands came up to loosely grip his wrists, guiding his hands down from her face. She leaned forward, bringing her lips to his.

“Wait,” Chan took a step back, having to use all his willpower to do so. “You’re sure?” She nodded and his will broke. It had taken so much of him to pull away, to do the right thing. He hadn’t expected her to accept him and what he was. With a desperate hunger, he smashed his lips into hers as he lifted her and carried her to the bedroom. He already knew the place well enough he didn’t have to take his lips from hers as he took them both to her room. He tossed her onto the bed and crawled in over her, pressing her into the mattress with his body. He was pure muscle as he pressed himself against her, she could feel it even through the odd mismatched clothing he was still wearing.

“Chan,” she breathed when he shifted to kiss along her cheek.

“Say it again,” he groaned, grinding himself against her. “Say my name.”

“Chan,” her hand tangled in his hair, holding him close. He pulled back, only long enough to strip off the shirt and to slip the borrowed jeans off his hips. He covered her still clothed body with his, drawing her arms around his neck. She moaned underneath him, parting her thighs to let him settle between them.

“I think I’m a little overdressed,” she pointed out.

“I can fix that,” he grinned, rolling them both over. With hurried hands he pulled off her shirt and unhooked her bra before sliding it off her arms and tossing it across the room. His pupils widened as he took in her bare breasts. They looked soft and inviting and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to cup them. She giggled and covered his hands with hers. Sliding backwards off him, she unfastened her jeans and stepped out of them.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Chan propped himself up on his elbows and took all of her in with his gaze. Her hands lifted to cover herself and he sat up, grabbing her wrists to stop her. “Don’t hide…” he blushed slightly as he admitted it, “You’re so beautiful.” He pulled her down to straddle him, running his hand over her waist and thighs.

She leaned down, bringing her lips to his as his hands wandered over her body. He had thought about this moment for months. Being so near her and having her not notice him, not see him had been killing him. So close, yet so far. Every night when she changed for bed, he had done his best not to stare as she stripped and put on her pajamas, only peeking a few times. Everytime she wrapped her arms around him and cuddled into his fur as she went to sleep. He had wanted to change, to confess, to throw himself on her.

Now he had her holding him as his human hands wandered over her soft curves and it was even better than he had dreamed. She smelled like heaven. Like the forest in summer and fields of wildflowers. He wanted to take her in every way possible. Kissing along the side of her neck, he buried his face in her shoulder, pressing her body against his tightly. He wanted to taste her, to feel her flesh in his mouth, to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

He knew why. It wasn’t that he wanted to eat her. The bite would mark her as his to any other wolf that might cross her path. It would meld them together according to their customs and the rules of the pack. The mark would claim her as his alone and give her the protection of the pack.

Breathing deeply, he fought the urge. He needed to do this right. I’m not an animal, he reminded himself, rolling over and moving them both to the center of the bed. Her pleasure had to come first.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded softly. “I just want you to feel me.” She looked into his eyes for a second before nodding and closing her eyes as she laid on the bed beside him. Kissing her lips, he tasted her with a slow and lazy sense of leisure, reminding them both they had all night. He licked and nibbled at her lower lip, letting out an involuntary whine as he asked her to open to him. She parted her lips and let him in, still allowing him to set the pace, to guide her. His tongue thrust into her mouth with a hungry confidence. He devoured her like a sweet dessert, enjoying her taste with a slow deliberation. As he did, one hand played lightly over her chest and collarbone. His touch was as light a feather, teasing her with the contrast of sensations.

Leaving her lips, he slid himself down her body, dragging his lips and tongue over her neck to the center of her chest. He could hear her heart beating under her delicate rib cage, fluttering like a wounded bird. The sound stirred the animal inside him. Was she afraid? Her scent tickled his nose telling him that she was mostly aroused but underneath it was a faint sliver of fear. It wasn’t a fear of him, or at least not a real fear of him. It was the type of fear that makes a rollercoaster fun or that tickles your stomach when you stand near the precipice of a mountain and take in the wonder of the view. That frisson of a potential danger that was entirely unlikely, but not impossible. Looking up her body, he saw her bite her lip in anticipation of… something, of him.

He slid between her legs and moved lower on her body. He kissed and nipped at the flesh of her belly; so soft and vulnerable. The wolf in him loved that she trusted his teeth there. His wolf could have ripped that flesh with such ease and the fact that she trusted him like this made pleasure rippled through him. Moving lower, he settled himself between her thighs, lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Can I taste you?” He asked, nuzzling against her inner thigh.

“Yes,” she nodded, squeezing her eyes tightly as her hands fisted around the blanket beneath her.

“Show me what you like,” he instructed, licking a line up the slit of her body. “Let me know how to please you.” She nodded, her hands fidgeting with anticipation. “Baby girl, you can look at me now.”

Opening her eyes, she looked down the line of her body to see his hungry eyes fixed on her. Chan’s hand reached up to take hers as he held her hips down with the other, keeping eye contact as he made a testing thrust of his tongue into her. She gasped and squeezed his hand. Satisfaction settled in his chest and he threw himself into pleasing her as he read her body. He licked and nipped and sucked at her until she came apart underneath him with a strangled cry. She was beautiful and he had never felt as powerful as he did in that moment.

He needed to take her, to fill her with his seed until he was sure she would bare his child. An image of her, round with child, floated through his mind. Yes, the wolf inside him growled, take her. Chan slid up her body and positioned himself at her entrance as he pulled her into a kiss. She could taste herself on him as he stole her breath.

“Are you ready for me, baby girl?” He asked, brushing hair off her face.

“Yes,” she nodded, eyes hazy as she looked up at him. “Please, I want you in me.”

“I would give you anything you asked for,” He admitted, coaxing her thighs around his hips. “Have you… done this before?”

“Yeah,” she assured him. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” he nodded, a little relieved he wouldn’t have to hold back. Holding her face in his hands, he looked into her eyes as he curled his hips into hers with a slow deliberation. He watched as her face filled with wonder at the feel of his invasion. When he was finally seated fully inside her, he paused, taking a moment to enjoy the way her body stretched to accommodate him. It was like she was built to hold him.

“Can I move?” He asked softly, running the pad of his thumb over her cheek.

“God, yes, please,” she nodded, digging her nails into the skin and muscles of his back. Smiling down at her and keeping eye contact, he pulled himself half way out before thrusting back inside her. She sighed at the delicious friction. His body felt so good inside her, felt like it belonged, or perhaps that they were becoming a part of each other. Chan moved slowly, relishing this moment. She shivered, her hands grasping at his wide shoulders as he moved.

“Please,” she said again. “I need more.”

“Anything for you,” he soothed, placing a few kisses across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. He pulled his hips back and plunged inside her, going as deeply as he could. Setting a steady rhythm, Chan buried his face in her neck as he began to let go and lose himself in the feeling. She filled every sense of his. Her smell, her feel, and the taste of her skin under his lips. Even her pants and moans filled him as they teased his ears in the quiet of the room. Her limbs held him close, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping her from falling.

Pleasure rose inside him and he knew there was only so long he would last like this. He wanted to feel her come around him, feel her body milk him as she came beneath his touch again. Her heels hooked around the back of his thighs as she arched against him. The slight change in angle let him brush the sensitive spot inside her, making her quiver and gasp.

“Harder, there,” she begged, a desperation growing inside her.

“Are you close,” he questioned, his face tucked in against her neck.

“So close,” she whimpered, her nails raking his spine.

“Cum for me, baby girl,” Chan panted. “I need to hear you cum.” She whined and moved restlessly against him as the warm pleasure pooled in her stomach. He put his lips to the thrumming pulse of her throat.

“Chan,” her voice was barely a whisper when the knot of delight finally snapped inside her. As her body gripped him, he bit the flesh where her neck and shoulders met marking her as his. The shock of pain melded with her orgasm sending a cascade of sensations through her. With a final thrust he came inside her, filling her body with his emissions. He stayed like that until he felt her move restlessly beneath him and only then, reluctantly pulled out and moved to curl up beside her on the bed.

Her hand went to the bite on her neck. It still stung slightly but not nearly as much as she thought it should. Chan splayed a hand over her stomach, rubbing it in small circles.

“Are… are you okay,” he asked, looking at her lovingly as he laid beside her.

“Yes,” she nodded, taking her hand from her neck. “I didn’t expect you to bite me.”

“Just this once,” he promised, pulling himself closer to her. “It marks you as mine, gives you the protection of my pack. You’ll carry a little of my scent now.”

“Oh,” she blushed and looked at him. “Am I supposed to feel different? I don’t feel any different.”

“No,” he chuckled and smiled at her. “It’s something only my kind would notice.” She nodded and laced her fingers with his where they laid on her stomach.

“Did you do it so that he, whoever he is, would know?” She questioned. “Was this all just to, I don’t know, put him off?”

“No, although I would be happy if it did,” He gave her an adoring look. “This was because you were meant to be mine. Meant to be the mother of my babies; to be by my side for as long as we live.”

“So you want children,” she laughed.

“I want to see you filled with my child,” he admitted, his eyes going to where his hand lay on her. “I want to see it grow inside you. I want to raise it with you, watch it grow into someone as beautiful as you are.”

“Someday,” she nodded. “But I’ve been on birth control, so I don’t think we could just yet.”

“The bond,” he explained. “When I claimed you with my mark, it sort of…” he paused, searching for the right wording. “It opens you to me.”

“Oh,” she blinked at him a few times, trying to process what he was saying. “Even if we just… this one time?”

“Maybe,” he furrowed his brow slightly. “If you don’t want, at least not yet,” sitting up, he moved to help her walk to the bathroom. “We can try to clean you out, maybe prevent it.”

“No, it’s just a lot to adjust to,” she explained. “A lot has sort of happened since this morning.”

“I know, baby girl,” he laid down again and pulled her into a spooning position against him. “Let’s go to sleep for now and figure out the rest in the morning.”

Over the next few days neither of them left the house. She called in sick to work, not wanting to put either of them in danger by going out to a place he could so easily find and potentially corner her. Even with Changbin there, with so many people and such a big space, it would be possible to miss him, or at the very least, to not notice him until it was too late. Instead his pack mates came over to plan their next move. Chan spent most of his time planning with Minho and Changbin, setting patrol schedules and scout missions for everyone. Hyunjin was assigned the duty to investigate at the hotel and talk to the woman who had been mauled. Maybe it wasn’t a random coincidence that he had picked her, Felix had suggested after their second meeting. After all, if he was just looking to hurt people and just stir up trouble here, why target her? Sure it could have been a coincidence if he had just been foiled and chosen another target, but he hadn’t.

The suggestion had made Chan go cold. It made sense, but what had made him target her? There wasn’t something particularly special about her, except that she was his mate, but even he hadn’t known that yet. Was it possible the loner had some way of knowing even before Chan did? As far as they knew, it wasn’t possible to know but, still the thought lingered.

As the meeting was drawing to a close, Chan’s phone rang. Hyunjin was calling him from the hospital where he had gone to talk to the other victim.

“Chan?” There was a slight edge of panic to Hyunjin’s voice as he spoke.

“What’s the matter?” Chan asked the other boy, worried immediately by his tone.

“She’s… she’s my mate,” Hyunjin whispered into the phone.

“What?” Chan had a sudden sinking feeling in his chest. He stood up, needing to see his mate, to touch her and know that she was there and fine. He found her sitting at the table in the kitchen, snacking on something as she read.

“I’ve never met her before,” Hyunjin started to explain. “But I felt it the moment I walked into her room. She was just lying there, still sleeping, so hurt, and it just hit me. Her scent and just her presence; I know she’s mine.”

“How did he know?” Chan asked, pulling his own mate against him as he spoke.

“I don’t know, but this can’t be a coincidence,” Hyunjin insisted.

“I know,” Chan agreed.

“Look,” Hyunjin sighed. “I can’t leave her alone here. I have to stay for now.” Chan understood, letting him stay with the promise to send someone else to keep watch over her tomorrow so he could get some rest and come back to discuss what to do next.

“I hate this,” Chan said, as he sat at the cafe a block away from the craft store.

“We can hear everything that is happening,” Jisung assured him. “She’ll be fine, but we need him to come out.”

“I know,” He shifted in his seat. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

They spent the afternoon waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Over an open line, Chan, Jisung, Changbin and Jeongin listened as she went about her day like everything was fine and normal. She helped customers, stocked shelves, and worked at the register, all while Chan was on the edge of his chair, waiting for something to happen. But, it seemed, it was all for nothing. The sun set and the store closed and seemingly all was well. She locked the front door and set about closing everything down by herself.

Chan relaxed a little, hearing her calm humming as she closed down the register and counted out the money in the back of the store. After the money was counted and locked in the safe, she just had to make one last pass through of the store to make sure no one had left something behind or left a mess and then she could head home. Over the radio, Changbin and Jeongin started joking around, getting playful after a tense day. Everyone was relaxing, at least until a loud crack broke over the mic followed by her surprised squeal. The jokes stopped and everyone froze.

“I know you all are out there,” the loner’s self-satisfied voice cut through the silence. “Don’t worry. I won’t make her suffer, but sadly, you will.”

Before the words were even finished coming out of the loner’s mouth, Chan was up, running as fast as he could to the store. He had to get in, he had to protect her. Jisung was on his heels as they ran across the street and into the strip mall parking lot.

“Why?” She asked, her voice slightly strained.

“Why should he have you when my mate was stolen from me?” He growled.

“What did they have to do with that?” She asked, keeping him busy for as long as possible. If he was explaining things, he wasn’t killing her.

“Nothing,” he admitted, dragging her towards the back door. “But neither did anyone in the last three territories I went through. This one was the first one that figured out it was me though.”

“What the hell is the matter with you,” she spat. “You think you can take something from others just because it happened to you?”

“Why should I be the only one who has to be alone?” He demanded, pushing her against the wall by her neck.

“The only one,” she scoffed, realizing this was probably not the ideal way to handle this, but she couldn’t help it. “You know most people don’t have some beacon to tell them who they are supposed to be with. Even those who do, people lose the people they love all the time. Car accidents, illness, crime, no one needs your help suffering, you selfish, shitty person.”

“What do you know,” he hissed back.

“I know that your mate was lucky not to have had to spend a lifetime with someone who would do this,” she challenged. “No one deserves that.”

Shock and rage vied for dominance in his expression as he stared at her. He made a sound of pure rage and pulled back a hand to strike her. Never having been the sort to just lay down and give up, she kicked out catching the side of his knee. It didn’t really hurt him, but it was enough to unbalance him and make him catch himself, giving her the chance to break out of his grip. She knew she wouldn’t get far, he was faster and stronger, so she just tried to get as close as she could to where Chan and the others were. They would come, she had faith.

The loner came up, grabbing her from behind. “I’m glad, even if this is the last thing I do, I’m not just denying him his mate, but I’ll take his child, too.”

On the other side of the glass door, Chan felt half a second of numbing terror. He had to get inside, for both of them. Changbin picked up a part of a broken concrete curb stop and smashed it against the window, cracking the safety glass into a million little pieces, still stuck together by the coating, but weakened. He hit it again, opening a hole the size of a fist, and again, until the tear in the inner plastic layer got bigger. Impatiently, and perhaps a little recklessly, Chan covered his hand with his jacket sleeve and tore at the shattered glass. Finally the hole was big enough and he crawled through onto the display on the other side of the glass. He had to find her.

Their scuffling was audible and he found them quickly, rolling on the floor a few aisles into the store. She had curled into a ball, only moving to thwart his attempts to move her or drag her further to the back of the store. They all leapt on him, pulling him off her and dragging him away before they made sure he could never hurt another person. Chan stayed with her, trying to get her off the floor where she lay. He needed to hold her, make sure she was okay, make sure the loner hadn’t done anything to her that needed an ambulance.

She peeked out from under her arm, checking who it was before throwing herself into his arms. Relief coursed through her like she had never felt before. She breathed his name and threw her hands around his neck. Pulling her to his chest, he held her close for a moment before pulling her back to get a better look at her. Bruises were blooming on her neck and wrists, but that seemed to be the most serious injuries inflicted upon her.

“Baby girl,” he looked into her eyes, trying to find the words to express how sorry he was he hadn’t been there.

“I knew you would come,” she assured him.

“I will always come for you,” he promised, his hand dropping to her stomach. “For both of you. I will always protect my loves with everything I have.” Over the past few days he had been so preoccupied with their hunt and their planning that he hadn’t noticed the subtle change in her scent.

“How do you know,” she shook her head. “I don’t feel any different.”

“Nothing much, just a little change in your scent… hormones and all that,” He smiled and shrugged. It wasn’t really something a person could sense themselves. “Are you happy? I know this has been… too much.”

“I am,” she nodded. “I may not have chosen this way to meet you and fall into your world, but I don’t think I can imagine ending up anywhere else.”

“You’re mine,” he assured her. “And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do just to see you smile.”

Masterlist

#bang chan #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #werewolf AU #chan #stray kids #kpop imagines #kpop smut #chan smut #bang chan smut

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fullsunalicia · 4 years

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since i just noticed we are in DIRE need of some yuta around here and i love your writing to bits... may i request a friends-to-lovers!au with our one and only osaka prince?🥺 some tooth-rotting fluff with a dash of angst sprinkled in between? thank you so much!💚

velleity • NMY

velleity (n.) - a wish or inclination not strong enough to lead to action. an accurate example: the love that has been blooming inside your veins for nakamoto yuta, long before you even knew what it was like to fall.

thank you so much for your request !! i love yuta with all my heart and i was so happy when i saw your message 🥺 i hope you enjoy bubs!

You meet Nakamoto Yuta in elementary school, back when his Korean was clumsy and his beautiful features had still been a mystery beneath these chubby cheeks. The grimace the boy presented when you pulled at them didn’t reveal them, either, so for a very long time both Yuta and you couldn’t ever imagine calling the other ‘beautiful’.

Now, it would be blasphemy to call him anything but. Yuta’s face is what people claim to be picturesque. Perfect, down to the last detail. To assume that he is flawless would be a lie, but you’re convinced that your best friend isn’t far from that. He looks like he jumped straight out of a fairytale, like the prince you had been imagining every time your mother read you a good-night-story. You see him when you close your eyes, long after you slipped into a dream. But because you never reduced him to looks, you get to brag with the title ‘Yuta’s best friend’. You know him inside out, all the little things and the trivia behind it. Your knowledge is a treasure, expanded over the many years where you get to know this precious soul and watch it grow. Take shape, a rose exploding out of its’ bud.

That knowledge contains the silliest facts. He loves takoyaki, especially when you cook it. Despite the fact that you’re not japanese and will never reach the culinary skill level his mother is on, he inhales the food like it’s his last meal and then bombards you with every single compliment he can muster up. He also loves soccer, but quit it to focus on school and later on becoming an idol. Another funny fact is that Yuta hates the taste of limoncelli, because it’s the first alcoholic drink you ever gave him and then procceeded to get him wasted with. An hour later, he vomitted it out. (To be fair, he asked for you to get him drunk because he claimed it’s the only way to cure a broken heart. Clearly, this man has never had the perfect comfort food.)

You have read Nakamoto Yuta and studied him like a favorite book, a favorite read. There are folds in his soul from pages that you hold more dearly than anything else, and torn pages that represent the many fights that you both had. Yuta is familiar, constant. From time to time, you take him out the shelf, dust him off and fall in love with him all over again. The story enamours you every time. Your best friend stole your heart when you were sixteen and unknowing, undisturbed, when he held you so tightly you were going to suffocate. The smell of perfume and home. Loud whistles from both of your friend groups, a heartbeat that resonates inside you as if it was your own.

Befriending Yuta had been fate. It had been like meeting a kindred spirit, and you broke the golden rule. You fell in love. You feel that love even now, when you look into those ebony eyes. You’re looking at him, but he’s looking at her.

Heart-wrenching. That’s what it feels like when you serve him his favorite food but he still can’t tear away his gaze from her, and you reminisce the days where he would cheer like a little boy and thank you with the brightest light in his eyes, even though your first tries at the dish must’ve been only edible at best. You grab for a chopstick and aim for his head, and he whines loudly when it meets its’ target. “You’re so mean! Is that the thanks I get for visiting you at work?”

“You mean bothering me, idiot?” You roll your eyes and turn around to wipe the counter. Of course your stupid heart had beat faster the second you saw him step into the restaurant, just for it to shatter into a thousand pieces when you realized that he was here for someone else. Sweet Sana, who had been on the receiving end of your envy for years now, based on the fact that she was Yuta’s dream girl and not you. The envy is always accompanied by guilt, because Sana is nothing but kind and selfless, the shoulder you had been leaning on for years now ever since Yuta dedicated himself to his career. You watch as she rounds the tables and picks up dirty dishes, a smile adorning her lips despite the tedious task. An angel. She must be. “You just showed up and demanded to be fed. Not a single please and thank you, you spoilt brat. Aren’t you ever getting sick of takoyaki?”

“I could never.” Your best friend seems disturbed by the thought. If Yuta was ever served a death sentence for having killer looks, you’d bet a thousand dollars he would still choose Takoyaki as his last meal on death row. To look that good should be illegal. And it should also be illegal to steal your breath every time you guys meet gazes. There’s so much warmth in his eyes, reserved only for you - it’s a look that not everyone can be grazed with, not to those who haven’t known his entire being by heart. But never will you find the romance you crave in them, and that thought pushes you to look away every time.

You swallow down the pain and force yourself to keep a neutral face. “I’m putting you on a diet, if that’s the way you’re gonna act when I serve you your favorite food. Stop staring at her already, creep, you’re scaring her.”

Yuta sighs, long and heavy. Dramatic. He’s always been open with his crushes. “But she’s sooo pretty,” he pouts then, resting his head in the palm of his hand to look at Sana more comfortably. Right when both of you look at her, she turns to where you guys are sitting and waves, a cute little blush exploding on her cheeks. Very relatable. There’s not a single girl who is immune to your best friend’s charm. Yuta immediately springs into action to wave back, and you try to ignore the way his excited grin makes your chest hurt. “See? She’s not even doing anything and I’m still falling even harder!”

Yeah, that feeling seems familiar. The only difference is who you associate it with.

— ❅ —

Falling in love is so easy. Too easy, considering the fact that it can take years for your heart to recover and even then, the person never leaves your heart fully. You have wasted many years trying to get over Nakamoto Yuta, but your heart refuses to do so; the farest you ever get is closing the door on him, but you can never quite get yourself to lock it. The keys are always in his hands, impossible to tear away. Some people just aren’t meant to leave.

You’ve learned too many lessons from Yuta for you to ever forgot about him. You will never be able to not associate warm summer nights with him, will never forget the way he runs off the soccer field straight in your arms and whirl you around after a particularly good game. The first person to ever teach you how to cut off people that cause more harm than peace, who showed you how a proper friend should treat you. A first kiss, though left undiscussed. The many nights spent cramming in information before an important exam, getting drunk together and letting your hands wander because you trust each other. It’s all Yuta, and it always has been. You look for him in other people, in hopes of moving on but also easing the pain in your heart that is solely caused by the boy with the chubby cheeks.

Your eyes search for him everywhere.

Sadly, you even find the boy in Sana’s eyes. Her eyes emit warmth, a home inside a soul. You met Sana in highschool and love her the way you should’ve loved Yuta - she’s family, a sister, a best friend. She knows secrets you never even dared to think about in front of Yuta and treats them like treasures, a pirate taking his precious things to the grave. Trust is like gold to Minatozaki Sana, and the fact that you willingly give her your entire world is the greatest gift you could’ve ever given her. You can’t hate someone who is a part of you - Sana is you as much as you are her, one soul in two bodies. It’s a pity you got the half that Yuta would never desire.

Her fingertips are coarse; so unusual for the girl who looks like the definition of soft. At the end of every shift, you guys take turns massaging sore spots in your shoulders since both of you are too broke to pay for a professional massage inside a salon. You make do with what you have, at ten in the evening. There’s too many chores that are still unfinished, but the laziness is more powerful than your sense of duty. Whatever. Your manager has never complained about you staying longer to clean, so there’s no rush.

“You’re tenser than ever.” Sana sighs over the groan you let out when she hits a painful spot, her thumbs digging in to erase the knot she found. For someone who claims to possess no strength, her grip is pretty hard. “Have you been sleeping properly? You know I told you to stop pulling so many all-nighters... It’s not helping you.”

“I’m aware, mom. But my college degree isn’t earning itself.”

“Oh, shut up.” Her apron hits the empty barstool beside you before she moves to grab a rag to start wiping the counter. The artificial light usually creates an unpleasant ambiance, but it looks like moonlight when it hits Sana’s skin. So surreal, out of this world. The gods must have shaped her, there’s no other explanation. A perfect fit for Yuta. For a second, you contemplate how you managed to befriend the most precious people in the entire world. She rips you out off your train of thought, though. “Your grades are fine. You’re just throwing a hissy fit. Here’s a deal, either you start sleeping on time or I knock you out. How’s that sound?”

“Very pleasant,” you deadpan, and that’s the end of the discussion. She pinches your waist before moving along to put the chairs on the table. It’s always quiet in the evening, especially in this corner of the city. Every night at the same time, an old couple passes the window and waves at you, like the precious members of society they are. There’s a distinct routine that Sana and you established over the years, and you fall into it on instinct. The clean-up is quick as always. The bell on the door signals the end of your shift, and you step out into the cold night as Sana turns the key in its’ lock.

You guys are like two peas in a pond, to the point where traditions and habits have been assimilated together. It has now become a reflex to know what to do in any situation - while anyone else panics at your tears, Sana grabs a bottle of wine and a good movie. When the world turns blurry and the stress is the only thing Sana can see, you’re the first one to cook some spicy food and watch as she eats it, just to catch that special, grateful smile. Cogs working in clockwork. A perfect fit.

“How are things going with Taeyong?” Sana sounds neutral, but the cheeky undertone in her voice is evident to you. You know her better. “Drop it,” is the immediate answer you shoot back. Her laughter rings in your ears like a melody. You wish you would be able to dislike it.

“Hey, I just asked you a simple question. Is that forbidden too, now?”

“Yes. You’re not even allowed to say the T in Taeyong. Move along now, I want to go home and get some food in my stomach.”

Sana hums. “I heard Taeyong is a pretty great cook, too. Did you know that?”

You don’t answer her. Taeyong is nothing like the man that is truly inside your heart, and yet there’s no possible way to deny him. You’ve once told him over a bottle of whiskey about the feelings you harbor for his fellow band member, and yet he doesn’t let that deter him from his conquest of your heart. Taeyong knows unspoken secrets that neither Yuto nor Sana are even aware of, and that thought is strange to you. Taeyong isn’t connected to you like he is to Yuta. It’s barely been a year since you’ve properly gotten to know him. And yet, he coaxes things out of you that you wouldn’t even admit in your wildest dreams.

Lee Taeyong is dangerous. Point, blank, period. Still, you let him court you because he doesn’t mind the constant reminder that your heart belongs to Yuta. It even hurts to tell him that, because Taeyong has one of the most beautiful smiles you’ve ever seen. His heart is yours to take, even though you don’t want it. Just looking suffices, though. You threw one look inside and have yet to tear your eyes away, locked into a spell. Like looking at a car crash.

He claims that look is enough for him to keep trying. To you, it’s just torture for an innocent man who could have everyone if he wanted. Girls who are kinder, more selfless. Selfless enough to finally move on from a childhood crush and give him all he craves.

“Hello? Earth to (y/n)?” Your blonde companion waves a manicured hand infront of your face. “I didn’t mean to step on a landmine. I’m sorry, okay?”

The sigh you heave out is more alarming than intended. Meeting Sana’s eyes, you already know she’s got you figured out. Lying is useless now. “There’s no reason to be sorry,” you mumble, but it sounds half-hearted. “I just feel guilty about Taeyong. You know, since it’s unrequited and all.”

“I’m telling you, you’re missing out. I get that you want to focus on finishing college, but that boy could be heaven for you. I wish a boy would look at me like that. You deserve the world, (y/n).”

If only she knew.

Your shared apartment is freezing. Sana hurries to turn on the heater, while you finally get rid of jacket and work clothes. The walk to your room is quiet, accompanied only by the sound of Sana’s playlist starting to quietly reverbate through the apartment. Every nook and cranny is filled with a reminiscent thought, a story that only the owners of this apartments can recall. Despite your awkward predicament, you’ve always been thankful to have Sana.

Life is so much better with friends, especially those who see your entire being and decide to love it. No matter what comes with it, no matter how many disputes. It’s been a rocky road, but Sana and you have moved mountains to honor your friendship. You wouldn’t give her up for anything in the world. Especially not for a boy.

To your luck, you fall asleep just in time before Sana can scold you. Atleast in your dreams, everything is perfect.

— ❅ —

Though you claim that Taeyong is dangerous, you’ve always been someone who likes to play with fire. He looks like an artist’s dream-come-true, with sharp edges and soft doe eyes. Not even the dye in his hair can jarr the perfect image he creates, though he claims you’re just trying to make him blush by saying that. Your eyes may be locked on another man, but you’re not blind. Taeyong is as pretty as they come, with the kindest heart you’ve ever seen.

Since you reject an invitation to coffee and cake because you need to study, Taeyong climbs the many scary stairs up your fire escape so he can tumble through your open window. Accompanying his sweet grin is a bag of macarons and other pastries, which makes your stomach grumble embarrassingly loud.

“I thought you weren’t hungry.” Taeyong sets down the paperbag on your biology book, before he settles in the chair beside you and curiously peeks at your notes. You asked him once if he ever wanted to attend college, and he said that he had considered. He’s too in love with being an idol, though. It’s an attribute that connects him to Yuta - their ambition for the stage. Your best friend gave up soccer for it. You wonder what Taeyong has left behind to perform for the world.

You open your mouth to answer, but your stomach interrupts you again - now the blush settles on your cheeks, the very thing Taeyong had waited for. He laughs as you grab the paperpag, murmuring a “I’m not hungry” before stuffing your mouth with a lemon macaron. Normally, you’d offer him the other half, but it seems like you’re starving. “I thought I told you to rest today,” you say instead, eyes raking over his face. His hair is tinted red and white, like blood on snow. Beauty in controversy. “Since, you know, you’re like the most popular idol in the game right now and everything is pretty busy as it is.”

“Did you really think I’d miss the chance of finally being home alone with you?” Taeyong throws your legs over his lap and leans back - shirt riding up to reveal his defined tummy - and you avert your eyes. He’s already being tortured, you don’t have to make it worse by thirsting after him. But his statement opens up a gaping hole inside your stomach, so unsettling that your heart starts to clench. “He told you?” you ask dumbly. Of course Yuta had. Who hadn’t he told of the happiest moment in life, right after being accepted into SM? After months of pining, Yuta had finally been able to score a date with the Minatozaki Sana. Now the apartment lays empty, like a hollow tomb. For your dead heart, maybe. You realize that you’re being melodramatic, but it’s the only thing cheering you up right now and you have no wit left to make up for it.

Sana had accomplished what you never did. In a few weeks, those dates will evolve into a relationship, and it’ll finally be your turn to vomit out the cold limoncelli that burned the back of Yuta’s throat. It’s a tradition to down it after a heartbreak, one you guys kept up long after highschool. For the first time in ever, it’s going to be Yuta’s fault you’re drinking it. An Irish Wake for the girl who got away.

She had locked sickening in that dress. You sent Sana off with one of the most hurtful smiles you had ever been forced to put on, before all your tears ruined the sociology notes of today’s class.

You stuff your mouth with another macaron. “I should’ve known he’d tell the entire world,” you sighed. A warm hand covers your thigh in comfort, but it’s useless. A band-aid can’t help with a wound that’s located on the inside. “You know, Taeyong, maybe I’ll just change my name and move to Hawaii. I’d be a lot happier on Hawaii. Is there any way for me to like, legally get rid of my identity and disappear under mysterious circumstances?”

You hate the look of pity inside his eyes. It makes you lower you own gaze, reminds you of the sea of pain that you’re drowning in. It’s hard to stay afloat. You don’t need anybody to make it harder. “We could start with some mimosas, first,” Taeyong gently says. The gentleness banishes any kind of annoyance that had developed under his pitiful gaze, and he lets you climb into his lap, hides you away from the world in his embrace. Until you are ready to face it, ready to return to reality. The one where you’re an unaffected roommate who’s simply happy for their friends. “But I feel like I’ve barged in on enough Yuta-(y/n) traditions. So how about we grab some food?”

“I told you I have to study, Tae.”

“Bullshit. I think I’ve been watching you stare into the air for about five minutes before I even came in, you loser. Admit it, I’m doing you a favor.”

The punch you deliver to his chest does nothing to quiet down his little giggles. “You suck,” you growl as an answer, but stand up nonetheless to change into something more presentable. Taeyong respectfully turns away while you do, humming a melody under his breath. The pants you put on are only pulled over your hips before you halt in motion and watch in awe as the sun casts shadows over Taeyong’s face; his face contorting into art as his cat-like eyes slip closed. For some strange reason, Yuta’s words come to mind; about how photographers always gush at the leader’s photogenic features.

For a second, you ponder over this reality. The reality in which you stop clinging to a lover long lost and face a new one, something that could be good and healthy for you. As easy as breathing. It would be like spring, the end of an era, getting rid of the chains that held you back. You only have to accept him. Almost in trance, you take a step forwards, toward Taeyong and that warm reality - just to get a closer look at the artwork - before those chains rattle again. You’re a fool to think that you’d ever be able to discard of them. The freezing metal rips you out of Taeyong’s summer dream, back into the room that is filled to the brim with Yuta’s memories.

It’s far too late for you now. Silently, you finish changing and tap Taeyong’s shoulder as a signal that you’re ready to go. His smile hurts to look at, and he doesn’t even wait for permission before he interlocks your fingers and pulls you along. You wonder how he deals with the pain of rejection. It looks like nothing on him, but you feel like you’ve been poisoned, slowly rotting away. The guilt seems to crush you a little bit more now that you’ve got a taste of Taeyong’s experiences. “Wait,” you say, voice tiny. Feet skidding to a halt. Taeyong’s curiosity is as innocent as ever, and you feel bad for how hard it must be for him to look at you and know you’re never going to be his. “Tae, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be the one you want me to be... I....”

“Stop.” Taeyong’s voice is strangely calm. It soothes your many worries, enough for you to quiet down. He raises his hand as if to cup your face, but decides against it - dropping it again to cover both of your hands. Smile never leaving his lips. “(y/n), I knew what I was getting into. It’s me who’s selfishly accepting every slither of affection you even grant me.”

“But am I not hurting you?”

“Sweetheart.” Taeyong laughs, as if you had said something funny. His thumb traces your knuckles, once, twice, a habit that he picked up from you. This time, he confidently tugs a strand of hair behind your ear, still giggling when he speaks again. “We all suffer for love. How could I ever judge you when your pain is essentially mine?”

You think you understand. If you imagine the pain to be a heavy bundle, it’s easier to carry it together. In awe at his strength, you let your gaze wander over Taeyong’s face again as he starts blabbering about a new K-BBQ place he’s been wanting to visit. When you catch the train, you finally feel like the poison’s slowing down. It hasn’t spread through your entire body yet.

As always, Taeyong is the remedy to all your problems.

Sadly, he can’t protect you from the awful sight Sana and Yuta offer when you find them tucked in the booth of a restaurant you used to frequent with Yuta. It would’ve been too much to be happy for one afternoon atleast. Despite standing outside the glass windows, you can hear Sana’s melodious laughter in your mind when she dips her head down to quieten the soft sound; golden curls flying with every shake of her head. Your best friend is beaming at her, drink in hand long forgotten, and you tear your eyes away from the scene before your broken heart starts piercing your lungs.

If only you had recognized the citrine liquor sloshing against Yuta’s glass, for you would have noticed something was definitely going wrong. You don’t take notice of his drink, instead quickening your speed and forcing Taeyong to keep up with you. When you start rambling, your companion says nothing, opting to shoot back his own anecdotes to take off your mind of the thing that is evidently bothering you. For the entire evening, he doesn’t let go of your hand once, and you return home with your belly stuffed with delicious dinner and your heart patched up by your new favorite member of NCT.

— ❅ —

You pass your exams with flying colors.

The pride that fills you when you see the grade on the piece of paper almost makes it worth all the things you’ve endured the past few weeks, even though it had been increasingly difficult to keep up. Silently, you watched your pretty roommate leave your shared home more times when you would have liked to count, while you remained stuck inside your stuffy room. The only escape you had for a while were the fire escape outside your window(which had been making you nauseaous the first few times you sat on it, but Taeyong had insisted it was fine) and work, where Yuta only came to blab about his idol life or test your culinary skills. You never ask him about Sana, and he never spills. His quiet support during exam season was the only reason you could handle Sana’s nightly meets, and you clung to the few moments where you could call Yuta yours.

There had once been a time in highschool where studying had been much more fun. Every correct answer had earned you another piece of candy, which became so addicting that Yuta and you upped the stacks by making the other treat them to dinner if they had more correct answes by the end of the free period. What started as school work evolved into a competition, which in turn had led to your first kiss under the lights of Seoul’s summer festival, the roar of passerbys and the loud music booming through the streets accompanying that precious memory. You had been glad, so glad it was Yuta who had stolen away that first experience, because you know for a fact he would never waste it. You had bet him a ticket of the ferris wheel, since it was terribly expensive and pocket money was barely cutting it for you. Not only had he purchased the ticket, but also won you the biggest teddybear on the market. You couldn’t remember what instilled it, but seconds after the plushie was placed into your hands, Yuta had cradled your face and kissed you like his life depended on it.

Your first kiss was magical. The sweet taste of cherries and the unimaginable trace of love that Yuta had left on your tongue had made you feel alive, as if for the first time in your life, your heart finally started to beat. The blood rushing through yours veins was powered by fireworks and adoration for one single boy, the sweet boy who taught you how to ride your bike without your training wheels, made you cook takoyaki atleast twice a week, and bothered to create silly traditions and inside jokes like limoncelli or Hello Kitty band-aids, placed over Yuta’s nose after he got a soccer ball to the face.

That summer had been the summer Yuta was accepted into SM. You had never talked about the kiss again. But what a vivid memory it was! Like your personal, handmade movie, your own living piece of magic. You had never imagined love to be so powerful. But you understand it now, as you look into Yuta’s eyes and realize that all you had ever wanted for him in life was for him to be happy. And he was.

That was enough. The pain, the endurance, you’d do it all again. For Nakamoto Yuta, who reached for your hand and never had let go. Not for soccer, not for the industry, not even for the many people he had dated in the past. That must be worth something.

“You’ve been looking at me weirdly all day.” Yuta scrunches his nose in fake disgust, but his eyes are still crinkled from the pleasant smile that curved around his plush lips. His mom always says that he looks like a fox; it had been his halloween costume three years in a row. Right now, he looks just like that. Coy and dangerous and in the wait. “You trying to pick a fight or what? Because I’ve got all day, and a little wrestling never hurt anybody.”

“So what, I’m not even allowed to watch now?”

Yuta winks before you realize the extent of your words. Cringing, you turn away, but not before seeing the laughter burst out of him, the sound addicting as always. “Don’t get weird with me now, Nakamoto,” you warn him, sliding off your soft bed to close the window. The cool wind was enjoyable, but it kept messing up your many exercise sheets that still needed to be sorted out before september came. Next time around this year, you’ll finally have finished your degree and would return to a proper working life. What an adventure that would be. “Are you planning to camp in here for the rest of your life or are you going to leave eventually? Because I actually got plans and I’m not afraid of kicking you out.”

It was already strange to you that Yuta was sitting here, and not in the living room with Sana. To your knowledge, they were still dating, and the reminder still stung. But no, your childhood best friend remains seated where he is, wrapped in your favorite blanket that you bought on a family trip to Osaka. Another memory that ties him to this place. Your parents had offered to surprise him since you guys were always seperated during summer vacation, and they had always wanted to go to Japan. You learned how to fish there. Weirdly, you kinda miss sitting on the cold river banks while your father tries to explain how to properly kill a fish.

Yuta clutches his chest in faux pain, dramatic as always. “So mean,” he whines. “Here I am making time for my best friend in the entire world, and it is not even appreciated. I’m kicked out, even! Tell me, what has happened to justice? Is it not first come, first serve anymore?”

“First of all - I’m your only best friend.”

“That doesn’t matter.” He nonchalantly waves you off, like someone would an annoying fly. “I still love you the most out of all of my friends, so it’s different. Pick up a book once in a while, (y/n).”

You try to shake off the pain that one single word had incurred in you, but it’s so unbearable. It makes you want to scream. Your life would be so much easier if Yuta truly loved you and you’d be able to tell him aeons worth of confessions, of how you found heaven in his soul and salvation is his heart. It sits on the tip of your tongue, a heavy burden to carry for someone who’s as frail of you, but you only tell him: “It is first come, first serve. Taeyong has been planning to take me out after my exams for a while now, while you were out being lovey-dovey with a certain roommate.” You raise an eyebrow at his awkward expression. A fox in the trap. “So much for loving me most, oh best friend.”

On any other circumstance, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to argue. Yuta is very clingy, and very affectionate. You’ve seen his band members on the receiving end of it, and are glad that they atleast don’t suffer his temper tantrums whenever someone challenges the position of ‘best friend’. Today though, he nitpicks: “You have plans with Taeyong?”

You blink. “Yeah, I guess. I told you we guys got closer in the past few months.”

Yuta’s hand feels more heavier in yours than Taeyong’s did. He pulls you onto the bed again, hands latching to your waist to hold you close, treating you like a personal teddybear. It doesn’t take long before your back is pressed against his chest while he rests his head on your shoulder. “How close, exactly?” he grumbles, childish annoyance peaking through his voice. “You’re not giving him all my Hello Kitty band-aids, are you?”

“Are you accusing me of treason?”

“Maybe so.”

You try to escape his death grip, but ultimately fail. God damn those muscles. “Get out of my room, traitor. I would never ever give away the holy Hello Kitty band-aids.”

“Hmm.” Yuta loosens his hold, and you suck in the breath you so desperately needed. Do you look like a ragdoll or what? “I suppose it’s alright then. When are you getting back?”

“Who are you, my father?” You smack his thigh in retaliation for him caging you in, but your friend only laughs it off. A pinch to your waist makes you jump away from him. “Since when do I need permission from you to come and go?” you complain then. Never once had Yuta been so protective because of a boy than now. It made you wonder what was going on with him. He only shrugs, not offering a explanation. With a last grin, he falls back into the mattress and crosses his arms behind his head, as if the room belonged to him. Ass. “Be back before twelve,” the man only hums.

When you leave Yuta in your room(although with a heavy heart, since you’re sure he’ll join Sana in the living room after you leave), he offers you his cheek as a goodbye. You freeze in place, since this is the first time since sixth grade you sent him off with a kiss to the cheek. Nonetheless, you bow down to do him the favor, his warm hand keeping you in place for a few moments longer, before he lets go of your waist and gifts you a smile that seems rather melancholic. You almost stay.

Almost. You’d rather choke than watch him lock lips with your only female best friend.

“What are you doing on saturday?” Taeyong asks you after offering you a bottle of soju, abandoning your side to place the fluffy picnic blanket over the grass. Han River glistens golden in the light of the sun, a honeyed mirror of the world. It’s almost tragic that life is so heartstrickenly beautiful, no matter what the circumstances are. You suppose that’s what makes it so beautiful. A few moments later, Taeyong has tugged you down so he can rest his head in your lap. With a happy sigh, he closes his eyes and soaks in the last warmth the day has to offer, as always ressembling a statue.

“Nothing, I think,” you tell him. The soju is sweet, easy on the throat. A stark contrast to the Yuta-(y/n) tradition. You don’t have the heart to tell Taeyong that the festival starts on friday, since it’s evident that Yuta is going to take Sana and not you. The magic spell from that fairy-tale kiss had long worn off. This is the real world. “Not until now, since you’re taking me out, I’m deducing?”

“Absolutely correct. No wonder you passed your exams, you’re so clever!”

“I feel belittled.”

Taeyong laughs. The sound rumbles through his chest, as harmonious as the lyrical verses he creates and incorperates into songs. “It wasn’t meant to be,” he promises, hand reaching for your own. His fingertips are cold from the bottle he had held for you until you reached the riverbank. “I’m very proud of you for passing your exams. You did exceptionally well, even though I mothered you so much.”

“Thank you.” Your answer was demure, but it came from the bottom of your heart. Taeyong had been an important emotional crutch, and he had even fulfilled your promise of seeing someone else so he could move on from you. Even though he does, he vows to be a friend for life like Yuta is. It’s so different from the Osaka prince, but Taeyong has truely gotten to the point where he became vital for you, in another way than Yuta is, but how Yuta should have been. He hasn’t told you the name of the secret lady, though. “You think I’ll get my degree?”

“A hundred percent.” A tight squeeze is reassurance enough for you, and Taeyong’s face contorts into a happy grimace when you squish his cheeks. “Thank you,” you say again. “You’re the best friend in the entire world, Taeyong. Really. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“If you want me to live, never say this in front of Yuta.”

“Sure thing.”

You’re not the only people bathing in the evening light, as the riverbank is crowded with families and friends all alike. Their joyous laughter takes you to a time where breathing had been a little easier, a little freer. Where your heartbeat didn’t resonate through broken shards. You’ve come to realize, though, that you wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.

Not if it meant Yuta.

— ❅ —

[08:26pm] yuta-chan ♡: do you think you could meet me at 9 at the ferris wheel? i have to leave for japan after that.

[08:29pm] (y/n): so that little cuddle fest in the kitchen today didn’t mean goodbye already?

[08:29pm] (y/n): that was embarrassing to do in front of taeyong, by the way.

[08:30pm] yuta-chan ♡: he can handle a little pda. i came first, you know.

[08:31pm] (y/n): i don’t think i’ll be able to make it, yuta. i’m out with taeyong.

[08:31pm] yuta-chan ♡: boo, you whore.

[08:31pm] yuta-chan ♡: can you please atleast try? for me?

[08:32pm] (y/n): yuta... ✓

[08:32pm] (y/n): are you serious? you lose service now?? ✓

calling yuta-chan ♡...

[08:34pm] (y/n): yuta, i cant just leave ty!! pls come back online 😭. ✓

Sighing loudly, you slam your forehead down onto your phone. The line infront of you was getting shorter and shorter, and the tickets to your movie were already purchased. What was so damn important for Yuta to want you to meet him at nine? Even if you went now, you don’t think you could be there on time. Taeyong watches curiously as you pound more messages into the device, only for you to whine since they aren’t getting through. “For God’s sake! I’m gonna kill him!”

“What did Yuta do now?” Taeyong sounds way too amused for your own liking.

Angrily, you try to call your best friend again, but to no avail. Apparently, Yuta had chucked his phone away after ominously telling you to meet him at the festival. That stupid festival, and the stupid emotional value it came with for you. “He wants me to meet him at the ferris wheel in twenty minutes!” you shout then, exasperated. The loud volume of your despair brings you a few nasty glances from the people standing in queue, but you cannot bring yourself to care right now. “And he knows exactly I’m out with you right now. I can’t just drop everything and go just because he wants me to! He didn’t even tell me why!”

“Just go, (y/n).” Taeyong pinches your cheek. The gesture would have been adorable if you weren’t so annoyed right now. “It’s just a movie, and we can just rewatch it - I’ll just call someone else.”

“No, I don’t want to.” You stuff your phone back into your pocket. You can’t come back running to Yuta, just because you love him. Being at his beck and call will just ruin you, as it always has over the many years you had been spent motionless at his side, too cowardly to step forward. The allure of velleity stops here. You have to break free of your curse now, or you’ll never be able to. “I’m sure it’s fine. I bet he just wants help with Sana or something, it’s not like he can’t do it on his own. He’s a grown man.”

“(y/n), it’s not about Sana.” Taeyong’s eyes turn serious now, shaking at your resolutement. “I think you should go.”

“Trust me, Tae, I know him. He’s just panicking because he has to leave Sana behind for a few months because he’s never dated someone over long distance, even though it’s not forever. I’m going to finally move on and accept that Yuta and I are never going to be.”

“He’s not dating Sana, (y/n)!” You squeak when Taeyoung abruptly turns to you to shake your shoulders, so unusual for the calm man he usually is. Your second mom, as you lovingly called him. “I am. They stopped dating a long time ago because Yuta explained he wasn’t into her, he was into you. He was trying to move on and failed! Do you understand, (y/n)? Nakamoto Yuta is in love with you!”

You gape at Taeyong like a fish out of water. For a few seconds, which feel like centuries, you’re so speechless you forget the urgency of the situation. Your brain can’t register everything at once, despite the fact that you just received the biggest news of your life, so it latches on to the most logical one at hand. “You’re dating Sana?” you repeat in utter shock, rumbled to the core. “When the hell were you planning to tell me?”

“I’d love to tell you more about my secret romance but I’m afraid if you stand here any longer, you’re going to miss out on your last chance to ever confess your feelings to Yuta ever again!”

The veil drops. In a matter of seconds, nothing in this world made sense but Yuta, because why wouldn’t it? Your best friend, the love of your life - suddenly growing overprotective and so hellbent on PDA, the long, sad gazes that seemed to trail after you that you had interpreted as pouting because you were neglecting your friendship. All of it falls into place, and awakens one instinct that has been buried deep inside you for years now, unused and unpolished ever since Yuta left the soccerfields behind.

Whenever the team had won, it was a race about who could tackle Yuta first. Yuta, the star player, dubbed score god by his teammates as he keeps carrying them to the win. You had learnt pretty quickly to leave your friends behind in the dust just to reach him in time, to fall in the arms that had always been waiting for you and you only. You barely remember the few occassions where Johnny had in fact been faster than you were, just for Yuta to avoid him so he could embrace you and whirl you through the air like some kind of doll. The sound of victory, the heavy pattering of a heart that is so familiar that you that it seems like your own. Now, it comes back to life - you barely remember placing the ticket into Taeyong’s hands as you stumble around and push past all the people, in direction of the main festivities. Your legs are light, lighter than the wind and the air as you run like you were running for your life, heartbeat hammering in your ears. Was it your own, or Yuta’s, the melody that has been accompanying all your life? No time to wonder as you pick up speed and pray, pray for any god willing to listen for Yuta to wait.

How could you be so silly and let him leave before telling you goodbye at the ferris wheel? Was it not another one of your silly traditions, like that disgusting alcohol and the awful takoyaki you had made in the first weeks of learning how to cook? The sweaty jerseys that were always exchanged to show your support at his games? The whispered promises, the untold ones, was it not always there? You feel blind, so blind - and so stupid! How could you not have noticed the ways Yuta’s gaze had stopped trailing after your roommate? Was it not you who left him in that bedroom and never saw him join Sana in the living room, crawling into the bed beside him when you returned like he hadn’t ever moved? Was it not you who had taken up all his time?

The festival is as stuffy as ever, as well-visited as ever. It is 09:08pm and you fear for your life, for your heart, because it’s with Nakamoto Yuta and he is about to leave with it forever. You fall onto your face a few times and scrape your knees bloodly, but you keep walking, praying.

No one familiar is standing in front of the ferris wheel.

This must be karma. It truly is, fate paying you back just in time for you to cripple in metaphoric debt. For years, you had prided yourself with knowing Yuta best, your favorite book, one you’d read for the rest of your life. Now, when you finally break out from the spot you were frozen in, it is already too late.

Atleast that’s what you think for ten long seconds.

There’s a warm hand who pulls you back, the hand that has been guiding you all your life. Late-night walks back home, your first time in Osaka. Han River’s riverbank and the streets of the city when the festival lights lit everything up. Yuta’s beaming smile goes straight to your heavy heart, and it soars in happiness as he hugs you and whispers: “You came back for me!”

“I did, you big idiot!” Without second thought, you jump into his embrace and throw both arms around his shoulders. You are right where you’re supposed to be. You’re home, you’re home, you’re home. While the salty tears of relief blur up your sight of the buzzing marketplace around you, loud, sincere laughter pearls from your lips. It’s a hymn of joy, your unofficial serenade to the man of your dreams. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here.” Yuta pulls back to cradle your face, something he had never done so carefully except that one time, almost seven years ago. “You’re here with me,” he says then, almost in disbelief. There’s a moment of silence where the magic of your teenage days returns, spell-bound, and just a second later, Yuta’s warm body finally crashes against yours as familiar lips cover your own. Of course he tastes like limoncelli, but below that, he tastes of precious memories and secret thoughts, the silent adoration that was never one-sided. His fingers trace your jawline while you tousle his hair, both mapping out each other as you imprint it into memory.

You are unconditionally, irrevoceably in love with Nakamoto Yuta. You tell him that when he finally lets go of you, and he repeats it back, as many times as he can. Confessions and explanations are exchanged, but nothing really matters except the fact that you managed to jump back in time and finally fulfill your chance. You finally made your move.

“I don’t think I can let you go to Japan yet,” you tell him then, several minutes later, while you stand in line to the ferris wheel, even though he should be long gone by now. There’s a flight to Tokyo going in two hours, and yet he’s still here. Clinging to your hand like you’re going to disappear if he looks away. Love-stricken eyes that make your knees go weak. “You owe me some explanations.”

Yuta pulls you closer with the arm he keeps hooked around your waist, bright smile never leaving his lips. “We’ll have plenty of time up there to spill,” he responds and kisses the tip of your nose. He smells like home. Like forever and beyond. “I love you. I’ll give you the rest of my life in exchange for just one evening with you.”

No, one evening wasn’t enough. You’d give Yuta eternity in exchange for his heart, but let’s just start with today. In celebration of being inclined to move. For two hearts who were lost at sea, meeting again after what they thought would be never ever. He’s definitely going to miss that flight, though.

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wisteriawritings · 3 years

Text

To Start Anew

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins

Ship: F!Aeducan x Gorim

Warnings: None

Genre: Angst

WC: 1933

Blurb: After the ultimate betrayal, Terra Aeducan has been exiled to the deep roads. Through extraordinary circumstances, she fights her way to the surface and becomes Thedas’s last hope against the coming blight. However, during her journey she must deal with painful truths about her family, her life back in Orzammar, and what her future may be.

They had only just arrived in Denerim. Terra Aeducan, with Alistair, Morrigan, and an affectionate Mabari in tow, had come in search of Andraste’s ashes. The hunt for allies against the oncoming blight had hardly begun, yet they were all bone tired. It was the exhaustion that led her to believe that she was imagining things. That Gorim’s sweet, warm voice was only in her mind. Even so, the sound pulled her towards the center of town, like a chain wrapped around her middle was dragging her forwards.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked, seeing the color had drained from her face.

“I just… I’m going to step away for a bit. I’ll meet you at the inn, yeah?”

Alistair nodded, though reluctantly. Alistair was tooth-rottingly sweet and Terra tried to summon the best smile she could to set him at ease and send him away. He was becoming a quick and dear friend to her, and she didn’t want him to see her in what seemed to be a lapse in sanity.

“Dwarven crafts!”

There it was again. Terra, her spine now stiff as stone, hurried away and through the bustling streets, following the voice. Dwarven crafts? It could be anyone though. Any number of low-born Orzammar men who left for the surface could be in town. It wasn’t uncommon, and neither was the accent. It probably wasn’t him, wouldn’t be him, couldn’t be him. She rounded the corner and in the square she saw him

Terra’s hands tremored. Words like “I missed you,” “I found you,” and “thank the fucking stone,” all caught in her throat. Her hands grasped at it desperately, trying to free them. Because there he was. Just a few yards away stood her best friend and the man she loved: Gorim.

She tried to call out his name, but only pitiful, strangled noises escaped her lips. But he saw her. His face – it was tanner now; it had finally seen the sun – lit up in shock, disbelief, joy. All the things she felt were reflected back to her. Her throat was still sealed shut, but her feet started moving. Suddenly she was running, running faster than she had ever run, straight into arms that opened wide at the sight of her. Solid, strong arms that knew the curve and the shape of her body so well. Arms that slid into their place so easily, it was like slipping on a pair of gloves. For the first time since she left Orzammar, her feet felt firmly planted on the ground. She was finally rooted to the earth the way she used to be, and the sky wasn’t threatening to swallow her whole anymore.

For a few blissful seconds, the Blight was far away, and Bhelen never betrayed her. With tearful eyes, Gorim studied her face with an intensity that felt like he was boring into her soul. He looked as if he were taking inventory of her features, ensuring that each one was accounted for and just as he remembered them. “I knew you would make it out. I never stopped believing,” he said softly. Suddenly his face changed, lighting up as if he were remembering something.

“I have something for you.” He bent down to a chest that lay under the table. After a few moments of rummaging, he produced a letter. “Before I left for the surface, King Endrin sent me with this. We both hoped against hope that I would find you up here.”

Terra’s heart, which was already pounding, somehow beat even harder at these words. “Father? How is he?” The thought of seeing her father again filled her with so much joy and longing she could hardly stand it. She felt like her heart was swelling so large it was pressing against her ribs.

“Oh, my lady…I’m so sorry,” Gorim said, in a voice so sad and soft it sent bolts of fear down Terra’s spine. But she knew what those words meant. The pressure in her chest deepened and sunk to reach down into her stomach too. She felt faint.

“If a man can die of a broken heart… King Endrin did.”

“But what happened to him?” She asked, trying to hold back the tears. Gorim hesitated, but Terra’s hard look of pain and determination gave him the permission he needed to part with the grisly details. “After Trian’s death-…no, murder, Endrin was stricken with too much grief and confusion to see that Bhelan had constructed it all. It didn’t take long for him to find his mind again, but by then it was already too late. You were already locked in the deep roads. That’s why it all happened so quickly. That bastard Bhelen knew he had to dispose of you before the shock of it all wore off.” Gorim looked at his feet and took a long, shaky breath before continuing. “It was like he just… wasted away. He couldn’t go on living, like he was a ghost.”

Terra squeezed his hand. She focused on that feeling; homed in on the way he callouses rubbed against the palm of her hand. It was the only tangible thing keeping her anchored to reality. Gorim looked at her for a reassurance that she wanted him to continue. She nodded grimly. She was sick to her stomach, but she had to know the whole story. It was her duty as a daughter and as an Aeducan.

“When he called me to him, just before I left… the room stank of decay. It was as if he had already been long dead. He was already a corpse, just waiting for his time to return to the stone. All he could talk about was you.” His other hand took hold of her shoulder, steadying her. She hadn’t even realized she was swaying. “Terra, he sent me with more than just a letter.”

Gorim fished in his pocket and took out a worn velvet purse. Among the coins glinted a chunk of golden metal. Terra blinked her tears away and saw that no, it wasn’t a nugget. It was the Aeducan signet ring. Trian’s ring.

He gently placed it in her hand and folded it into a fist.

“He loved you, Terra. That nug-fucker Bhelen, he’s not a real Aeducan. You’re the true last heir, and your father knew it. You deserve this, and no one else. He made that much clear.”

The ring felt heavy in her hand, like she held all of Orzammar in her palm. In a way, she supposed, she did. But she felt that she could bear it as long as Gorim held her other hand.

“I’m just so glad I found you. Thank the stone, thank the stone…” Terra drew herself closer to him, ready to step back into his embrace and find his lips. But a look she couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face, and he took a step back.

“My lady, there’s something else I should tell you. I’ve, well… I’ve found a life on the surface. A blacksmith’s daughter; we’re expecting our first. She’s… she’s lovely and…” Gorim trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

The world seemed to go still around her. Her heart, which had been thumping loudly in her ears just moments before, fell quiet. A few seconds passed, but they felt like centuries.

“I don’t understand…” Terra’s voice quivered, and she hated herself for it. “You said you’ve been waiting for me.”

Gorim’s face flushed red and he looked down at his feet. “I have been, of course. But… well…” Gorim stammered, his shoulders slumped. Terra thought that he looked almost like a scolded child caught stealing sweets before supper. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. He had been in Denerim for how long? Two months now, maybe? And he still hasn’t come up with a good explanation as to how he tripped and fell into a smith’s girl, all while claiming to ‘know she had made it out’.

He mustered the courage to meet her gaze again and flushed an even deeper red. He had always been able to tell what she was thinking, as if her very mind was binded to his own. She could feel his shame radiating off of him like a sickness. He knew he had done wrong. He knew that as a knight, he had acted shamefully. And she knew it too. Some dark corner of her soul felt gratified in this, gleeful in his self-loathing. She felt the anger rising.

“So let me make sure I understand,” she began, her words already dripping in venom. “You know, or hoped, or believed or what have you, that I was alive on the surface. And you, as my second, sworn to serve and protect me until death, fucked me and whispered sweet nothings to me in Orzammar. But when you’re separated from me for two months – oh, less than that actually, since she’s already knocked up – you decided to live it up with the first surfacer you see?”

Gorim’s eyes filled with tears. “It wasn’t like that,” he said firmly, but she could hear the tremble in his voice.

“Then what was it like?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, but I didn’t jump in bed with a surfacer. I searched for you Gorim.”

“My lady… We never could have been together. You know that.”

All of a sudden she understood, and the tears she had been holding back came slipping across her face. It didn’t matter what happened, or what he believed. Gorim was an outcast, a surfacer. Je was stripped of his caste his family name. But Terra? To him, she was still Lady Aeducan, and she always would be. Even if they had stayed in Orzammar, if Bhelen had never betrayed them, he would still think himself beneath her. He might have loved her perhaps, but he would have walked away eventually. He could never see himself as more than her second.

She realized she had been squeezing the signet ring in her hand. She relaxed her fist and saw her house crest bored into her palm like a brand. Gorim watched her as she first tried it on her ring finger and then settled with slipping it on her thumb. Trian’s hands had been bigger than hers.

Gorim reached out to comfort her, but drew back, unsure of himself. “My lady, if I had known you were alive…”

Terra glanced back up at him scornfully. “Either you did, or you didn’t.”

He reared back as if he had been struck, but he knew he deserved it. She saw no trace of resentment in his eyes. She looked at him for a hard moment and her anger fizzled out, leaving her with nothing but a cold hollow in her stomach and the crushing weight of her loneliness. Gorim’s cheeks were wet from silent tears.

“I hope I’ll have time to meet her soon,” Terra said.

“I’d like that. My door is always open to you.”

“I love you, Gorim. I hope you’re happy,” she confessed. Her heart gave one last weak tug at what had been between them.

“The same for you.”

She immediately recognized that he had not confirmed his happiness, and Gorim saw it in her face. Before he could say anything else, she turned away to rejoin her group.

Terra glanced up at the sky, vast and unending above her. Her family crest rested upon her finger and its weight, though heavy, was a comfort to her. She had a blight to end, and she didn’t need Gorim to do it.

#aeducan #gorim saelac #da:o #aeducan x gorim #dwarf noble #angst #orzammar #dragon age #dragon age origins #all the single ladies #F!Aeducan #female aeducan #lady aeducan

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fictionturnedherbrain · 3 years

Text

Marguerite

Full name: Marguerite Blakeney, née St Just

Nick-names: Margot; ‘little mother’

Age: 25 (‘scarcely five-and-twenty’, in September 1792)

Born: August 1767

Place of birth: France

Education: Convent school, Paris; travelled to England to study the language

Currently lives: Blakeney Manor, Richmond, England

Height: ‘Tall above the average’, perhaps 5’ 6”; slender, regal figure

Eye colour: A very fluid blue!

Hair colour: Strawberry blonde (‘reddish-golden’, ‘ardent’)

Facial features: ‘Classic brow’, ‘sweet, almost childlike mouth’ with ‘full lips’, ‘straight chiselled nose’, ‘round chin’ and a ‘delicate throat’

Marital status: Wife of Sir Percy Blakeney, Bt. They met at Versailles, during a banquet held for the Flanders regiment on October 3, 1789. Two years later, they were married at the Church of St Roch, Paris, ‘just like that’, ‘without a soirée de contrat or diner de fiançailles’

Family: Brother, Armand St Just (eight years her senior). Parents died when Marguerite was ‘but a child’

Occupation: A gentlewoman. Formerly an actress with the Comédie Française. Also a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, 1792-1795 (‘You are a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. The most adored. The most revered amongst all’)

Interests: Society hostess (balls, routs, suppers, etc.); music (operas, particularly Glück’s Orpheus); reading (contemporary novels, such as Fielding’s Tom Jones); setting the trend in fashion (‘She wore the short-waisted, classical-shaped gown, which so soon was to become the approved mode in every country in Europe’); the company of her friends, Suzanne Ffoulkes, Juliette Deroulede, Yvonne Dewhurst

Passions: Time alone with her husband (‘Moments like this, when she was alone with him, were the joy of her life’); the late night drives from London to their Richmond home (‘a source of perpetual delight to Marguerite’)

Character: Once an enthusiastic republican and feted actress, courted by men such as the Scarlet Pimpernel’s arch-enemy, Citizen Chauvelin (‘one of the many satellites that revolved around brilliant Marguerite St Just’ ), Marguerite gave all up for love. Yet despite exchanging the Paris stage for London and Bath society, she still holds true to the ideals of the Republic, even after personal experience has made her detest what people will do in the name of liberty. She does not judge by wealth or class, only by individual intelligence and creativity – and how these gifts are utilised. Marguerite is also very impulsive in her actions, and is often guided by instinct, whether wisely or foolishly. She has a passionate and loving nature, dedicating herself wholly to those she cares for – her brother Armand, and her husband, Percy. Her selfless concern for others has on occasion actually imperilled those she would give her life to save, so forceful is her desire to actively protect the people she loves. Her loyalty to her husband, the Scarlet Pimpernel, has never wavered, and has been tested many times. Initially insecure that his love for her, though great, was not as devoted as her own for him (‘He loved her and went away!’), Marguerite has learned to trust in her husband’s seemingly boundless good luck and ingenuity, supporting his dangerous mercy missions instead of trying to hold him back (‘the noble-hearted woman, whose very soul was wrapped up in the idolised husband, allowed herself to ride by his side on the buoyant waves of his enthusiasm’). She has even taken an active role in the League’s adventures, preferring to face her husband’s fate rather than be left without him (“If you go, I go with you”). If she sometimes gives into the emotional strain, and pleads for Percy to put her needs first, it is only because his love has come to shape Marguerite’s life (‘ the one man who had made her so infinitely proud and happy in his love’) ; from a young girl who thought herself incapable of love, and who claimed to have married for wealth and position, she has matured into a woman who is happiest in the company of her husband, and who will suffer any hardship to be with him. Marguerite has suffered greatly since learning of her husband’s dual identity, but she has also found a soul mate and earned the love of a noble-hearted, adventurous, and intense individual - somebody a lot like herself (“Are we not one, you and I?”) She understands that Percy’s honour is bound up in the reputation of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and that the strength of his love for her is proven by his dedication to others: ‘Nay, it intensified it, made it purer and better’.

Marguerite is not unaware of her physical charm, as it has helped to advance her career and attract admirers who flatter her vanity – but how much of her confidence is natural, and how much an act? Does she believe all that people tell her, about her beauty, wit and talent, or is she hiding behind a studied role?

Actress Vs. Child Marguerite definitely has a pampered ego, and will not let her guard down in public. Her republican philosophy that ‘money and titles may be hereditary, but brains are not’ seems to stem from her own self-image, rather than any political influence: she has only equals in society, never betters. When the aristocratic Comtesse de Tournay crosses Marguerite in public, the bourgeois actress regards her with ‘hard, set eyes’. Yet when the Comtesse refuses to let Marguerite speak to daughter Suzanne, a childhood friend of Marguerite’s, a ‘wistful, almost pathetic and childlike look’ replaces the defiant glare. This is Marguerite’s core: the young Mme. St Just within the haughty, practiced Lady Blakeney, and few are allowed to penetrate her perfect facade; only when she is alone can Marguerite relax, like one ‘long oppressed with the heavy weight of constant self-control’.

Love The key to earning Marguerite’s love is to win her trust. For all her brilliance and popularity, the twenty-five year old actress-turned-lady is emotionally insecure; before meeting Sir Percy, she had already consigned herself to a life alone: ‘I naturally believed it was not in my nature to love’. Why should such a beautiful, successful and young woman have closed her heart to happiness? After her rather unexpected and unconventional marriage, it was claimed that Mademoiselle St Just was a ‘brilliant matrimonial prize’ for which ‘there had been many competitors’, and this can be believed – but how many men might have proposed, how far they got, and what happened to them, seems not to have affected Marguerite. Even when speaking of Sir Percy, in the early days of their marriage, she can only say that she would have allowed herself to be ‘worshipped’ and ‘given infinite tenderness in return’; she does not speak of her love for him, because, at that point, she is not able to recognise it in herself (‘A woman’s heart is such a complex problem’).

Marguerite’s concept of love, as with her support of the revolution, is purely idealistic: she has notions of how it should be, but her upbringing has sheltered her from gaining any experience of the realities. Her formative years were spent in a Paris convent, where she was educated alongside the wealthy children of noble families, such as Suzanne de Tournay. After her education (she and Suzanne travelled to England, at one point, to study the language), Marguerite became an actress, making her debut at the Comédie Française when she was eighteen. Yet instead of succumbing to the attentions of male admirers at the theatre and perhaps becoming somebody’s mistress, she seems to have immersed herself in the romance and morality of the plays in which she acted, waiting for a ‘perfect love’ which might not exist. Percy’s slavish devotion to her flattered her vanity, but also appealed to her romantic imagination: when she talks of the Pimpernel, unaware of the connection with her husband, Marguerite reflects that ‘there was a man she might have loved’, the ‘shadowy king of her heart’ so like a character upon the stage in his bravery, chivalry and anonymity. She admits that she was ‘vain and frivolous’, attracted by Percy’s wealth and position, and takes advantage of all the trappings of her new lifestyle when he withdraws his love. Material possessions and a grand home in which to entertain a new court of admirers, however, are only superficial distractions; as Lady Blakeney, Marguerite is ‘lonely in the midst of her grandeur’.

Though praised for her beauty, wit and talent, Marguerite has always felt secretly undeserving and mistrustful of anything more than token flattery. Her vanity can accept compliments with ‘inimitable grace’, but she is wary of having to give anything in return. Though initially attracted to Sir Percy’s ‘curious intensity of concentrated passion’, it is the fact that she perceived him as ‘slow and stupid’ – or safe and submissive – which allowed Marguerite to overcome that main obstacle and agree to marriage. A clever or busy man would soon tire of Marguerite’s charms, her looks and her witty conversation, but she believed that an unquestioning slave such as Sir Percy would always worship her as a goddess, and bend to her will – which she accepted as no more than her due.

When Percy rejects her as soon as she becomes his wife, Marguerite is lost. She is ‘grateful’ to him, for his generosity, unceasing civility and polite attentions, but cannot comprehend the change in his attitude towards her. Loneliness, fear and a bruised ego cause her to defend herself in the only safe way she knows – by hiding her feelings behind a mask, and acting the role of her own life: ‘she, too, had worn a mask in assuming a contempt for him’. To maintain her dignity in public, and to try and rouse a strong reaction from her husband in private, Marguerite takes to mocking Sir Percy, who has similarly retreated behind the guise of society fop: she tries to ‘goad him to self-assertion’; ‘even amused herself by sharpening her ready wits at his expense’. When he merely accepts her taunts, she tries to stir his jealousy by flirting with other men, but Percy leaves her alone to do as she wishes, ‘to flirt, dance, to amuse or bore herself as much as she liked’, such is his pain over her apparent deception. Marguerite, like a vindictive child, wants to hurt her husband as much as the unexplained withdrawal of his love has hurt her, and says ‘cruel, insulting things, which she vaguely hoped would wound him’, but it is only her vanity that has been insulted. She assumed, before they married, that he would accept anything she did or said. Burdened with the guilt of her rash act of revenge, Marguerite told Percy of her part in the execution of the St Cyr family, trusting that her ‘boundless power’ over him would suppress his judgement of her, and took his silence as a lack of comprehension. Blinded by his devotion, Marguerite didn’t bother to learn about her husband’s true personality, just as he idolised his own image of her; only when she confronts her husband, after a year of estrangement, does she realise that her initial hesitation in confiding in him shattered his illusion of the ‘angel’ he married. When the permanence of marriage breaks the spell of their brief courtship, they begin to find out who it is they think themselves in love with. Percy learns about Marguerite’s human failings through her denunciation of the Marquis, and Marguerite must accept the exaggerated persona of her husband’s pride as his true self.

Armand ‘Her love for her brother, Armand St Just, was deep and touching in the extreme’: Marguerite is mother, sister, friend to Armand, and because he is the only person she can trust without reserve, ‘whom she dared to love’, the bond between them becomes like a lifeline to her. Losing their parents at a young age blurred the roles of their relationship: Armand, elder by eight years, became a father figure and chaperone to his young sister, and Marguerite, when she was old enough, provided a maternal influence in her brother’s life. Having Armand ‘near her to love and protect her, to guard her from the many subtle intrigues which were raging in Paris’ has obviously been a regulating factor in Marguerite’s unconventional upbringing. It is possible to imagine that he has saved her from her own guileless and impulsive nature, steering her away from unwelcome attentions on more than one occasion. Marguerite is naïve and sensitive beneath her cool attitude and arrogant beauty – she needs the advice of others to help her actively confront difficult situations, otherwise she is content to let events happen to her. And when she does act on impulse, to avenge her brother and her own injured pride, she is blind to the consequences until it is too late. Her denouncement of the treasonous Marquis de St Cyr, an unfortunate combination of her own petty desire for revenge and gullible nature, is the event which separates Marguerite and Percy immediately after their wedding.

Armand’s pivotal role in her life, however, makes Marguerite afraid to release her brother and trust in anybody else. Before he is to return to France, she holds him with ‘sudden strong, almost motherly passion’, and pleads with him that, “I have only you to care for me”, when what she probably means is that she has only Armand to love her. Her protective over-reaction is understandable, considering that Armand’s life is constantly under threat as a citizen of revolutionary France, but neither does Marguerite want to be left ‘alone’. Her brother’s first visit since beginning her new life in England as Lady Blakeney can only have intensified Marguerite’s feelings of loneliness and estrangement as a Frenchwoman in exile; her brother is her ‘home’, a link to the life she left behind. Already convinced that she will never love another being as wholly as she does her brother, ‘the only being in the whole world who has loved me truly and constantly’, her sisterly and maternal concerns for his safety are multiplied by her own fears of losing the last member of her immediate family, and being completely abandoned in a strange country with a husband who is cold towards her. Armand tries to reassure her, understanding ‘the reserve which lurked behind her frank, open ways’, but he is not as dependent upon her as she is with him.

Marguerite reveals to Armand the truth of her marriage, and hints at how unhappy she is in her new life, but her pride will not allow her to break down completely. After only a year apart, Armand finds himself locked out of his sister’s deepest confidence, and has to form his own conclusions based on his understanding of Marguerite’s nature. He realises that she has misjudged and underestimated her husband, not recognising that he could be as proud and headstrong as her until it was too late, and that her bargaining on a ‘fool’ might have been miscalculated. Armand regrets the distance between them, but as Lady Blakeney, she will not let down her guard, even to her brother.

Fate

Until she follows her husband to Paris to save his life, attempting to redeem herself by repairing the consequences of her actions, Marguerite tends to view the choices she makes as being beyond her control: ‘Fate had decided, had made her speak, had made her do a vile and abominable thing’. Without the support of a third party to ‘shift from her young, weak shoulders this terrible burden of responsibility’, Marguerite disassociates herself from her actions, in a defensive bid to spare her conscience: ‘What had she done to have deserved all this?’ Perhaps the greatest example of this is her view of the St Cyr executions, and the extent of her role in their downfall. The Marquis was a traitor to his country, a royalist and an aristocrat seeking military intervention from Austria, and this information was known by other people before Marguerite learned of it ‘amongst her own coterie’, but this doesn’t change the fact that she then, with ‘a few thoughtless words’, denounced the Marquis to the Assembly (probably via Chauvelin). Nor was her desire for retribution motivated by patriotism or political ideals – the Marquis’ crime was personal: ‘what her brother must have suffered in his manhood and his pride must have been appalling; what she suffered through him and with him she never attempted to even analyse’. Still naïve and immature, for all her renowned salon wit, Marguerite failed to foresee the fatal consequences of her actions, although her ‘friends’ were fully aware (‘they trapped and duped me’). ‘Horrified’ at the repercussions of her ‘thoughtlessness’, Marguerite ‘strain[ed] every nerve, us[ed] every influence’ to reverse what she had set in motion and save the St Cyrs, but it was ‘too late’. Satisfied that she had done all she could, Marguerite was able to convince herself that ‘fate had merely stepped in’, and that she was actually ‘morally innocent’. Spiteful, ignorant and easily influenced, she probably didn’t think beyond humiliating the Marquis, who had punished her brother, and therefore insulted her own bourgeois background, for being socially beneath his family – but that she did so in a petty bid for revenge makes Marguerite far from blameless.

Entirely free of false humility, Marguerite is equally aware of her attractions and her failings. She complains to Chauvelin about the incongruence of living in a land of ‘fogs and virtues’, and observes to the Prince of Wales that ‘virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when it is crushed’. Marguerite’s bohemian lifestyle as an actress, earning a living in deception and courted as a republican mascot, contrasts sharply with her strict and pious childhood in the convent, and the dichotomy of the two goes a way towards explaining her liberal yet penitent attitude to life. Whereas there is no doubt that Marguerite enjoys life, as the ‘darling of a brilliant throng, adored, feted, petted, cherished’, with ‘the joy of living writ plainly’ upon her face, her generous and compassionate spirit is easily disturbed by the cruelty and suffering around her. Her cynical wisdom and sharp wit display a pensive and distrustful side to her youthful personality, as she warns her brother that ‘little sins are far less dangerous and uncomfortable’. An ardent supporter of the ‘lofty virtues’ that inspired the Revolution, Marguerite welcomed the new Republic, but when the words and visions of philosophers like Rousseau and Mirabeau were replaced by the harsher realities of violence and executions, she was horrified and quickly abandoned the bloody excesses of France for the security of England.

Class

Marguerite is trapped between social plateaus in ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’: proclaiming herself a republican with ‘an enthusiasm for liberty and equality’, she is originally from a middle-class background, elevated in her own sphere by her beauty and wit, and then removed from her queenly position in Paris to become a pretender to the aristocracy in England upon her marriage. Sir Percy is a baronet, on the next to the lowest rung of the peerage, but his wealth, good name and novelty value in the Prince of Wale’s court ensure that he is accepted amongst the higher ranks of society (at least two of the League are lords). However, this still makes rather a hypocrite of Marguerite, who, despite professing that ‘money and titles may be hereditary, but brains are not’, seems to enjoy her new status. She accepts ‘jewels and luxuries’ from Sir Percy, in place of affection and a happy marriage, and adapts to the privilege and insularity of English society within a year. At Brogard’s inn, when she and Sir Andrew travel to Calais to warn Percy that Chauvelin is on his trail, Marguerite is disgusted by her fellow ‘citizen’, thoroughly acting the part of the pampered aristocrat as she holds her handkerchief to her ‘dainty nose’ and stares ‘in horror’ at her surroundings.

She and Chauvelin are both idealists, preferring rhetoric to action; when the diplomat seeks to enlist her patriotic assistance in Dover, Marguerite asks, ‘What can I do, here in England?’ Overhearing her confrontation with the haughty Comtesse de Tournay, Chauvelin confronts Marguerite with this typical example of social injustice in the hope that her bruised pride will make her an ally, but Marguerite can defend herself. Instead of betraying the brave Pimpernel to punish the undeserving aristocrats he rescues, such as the de Tournays, Marguerite calls the Comtesse’s bluff with the aid of the Prince of Wales, ‘with a wealth of mischief in her twinkling blue eyes’. As a bourgeois actress, Marguerite has suffered the prejudice and arrogance of the aristocracy, inspiring her faith in the Republican creed of ‘liberty, equality, fraternity’, but her popular reception amongst the London ton, and the Royal protection she enjoys as a friend of the Prince of Wales, tempers her vehemence. Marguerite’s primary motivation is safeguarding the security and happiness of herself and those closest to her: to avenge a brother, she spoke out of spite, and to provide for her future, she turned on her homeland. Money and titles may not matter to Marguerite, but neither will she renounce personal advantages on principle; without ‘her rank, her dignity, her secret enthusiasms’, she is always Marguerite St Just.

#the scarlet pimpernel #marguerite st just #lady blakeney #sir percy blakeney #character study #suzanne de tournay #armand st just #merle oberon #leslie howard

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ravenbrenna09 · 4 years

Text

Jij Verliest - Chapter Three: Clip 8

the edited version of the chapter will come up later tonight (also technically there are two clips)

master list previous

...

Vrijdag 22:32

When Robbe sat down for his typical Friday night stream, he had a plan. For starters, he was only going to stream for the usual three hours that he always did. No more. No less. After, he was going to study for an hour, look over notes for his test on Wednesday, and go to bed. Then, in the morning, he would wake up, have breakfast with the flatshare, and go skating with his friends. After that, he didn’t know.

Robbe thought he was stronger.

Once the clock neared 21:00, his chat thoroughly managed to convince him—aided by Moyo and Aaron, chanting over the Discord call—to stream for an additional hour. While the smarter part of Robbe’s brain had begged him to stick to the schedule in his head, he was having so much fun with his friends and the chat that he couldn’t help extending the time a little longer. And, as it neared 22:00, he couldn’t help but continue for ‘one more round’ which simply turned into five without blinking. Robbe was starting to wonder when it would end because he didn’t want to.

Then, through the act of his phone lighting up, the universe decided to tell him to get off the stream.

earthlingoddity: It’s so lonely under the stars without you.

The message in every sense of the word screamed Sander. Yet, it made Robbe’s insides twist and turn with such a defined precision that it was elating. Freeing. It was bold and private, a confession for only the two of them, something that they shared. Something that Sander wanted to share with Robbe so openly and so quickly and so boldly.

Even though the stream was running, Robbe couldn’t leave Sander without a response. As soon as he had hit send (the second time), he turned back to the stream, catching up on the donations and messages. It was practically second nature now. But, he still found himself watching for his screen to light up again.

sterkerdanijzer: Oh, yeah? How can I make it a little less lonely?

Sander’s next message was the final cannonball into Robbe’s intricate night schedule. Whatever ounce of want to look over his Bio notes, to get to bed on time, splintered into pieces on the ground at three simple little words that flashed on the screen.

earthlingoddity: Wanna join me?

Vrijdag 22:52

As soon as the invitation had come through, Robbe abruptly ended the stream and claimed that he needed to the studying that he had been neglecting. His chat had all wished him goodbye and good luck on his upcoming tests. Once the stream was ended, he practically hung up on his friends and tripped over his feet in his search for a pair of jeans. Once he had switched out his night-stream sweatpants, Robbe was shoving his feet into shoes and typing out a message to Sander about meeting him.

Sander replied with a wink emoji and then an address.

As Robbe stepped out into the hallway, he quietly shut his door and tiptoed toward the front door. Even though Zoë—and Senne—were the only ones home, he didn’t want to disturb them in his haste to meet Sander. As Robbe opened the door, he could hear the sounds of their movie sounding from the living room. Feeling like he was sneaking out past curfew, he tiptoed out the door and pulled it close behind him without a sound. Once the door was locked, Robbe practically sprinted to the elevator, impatiently pressing the button until it opened.

The address that Sander sent him brought him to a warehouse or rather a whole street full of warehouses of all shapes and sizes. Nearly all the surrounding warehouses had their lights shut off and the only light that bathed the street was the harsh white light emanating from the street posts. Other than Robbe and a stray cat that darted into a dark alleyway, the street was empty.

Standing outside of the warehouse with the matching address, he balanced on one foot and looked around, searching for a sign of Sander. Or, at the very least, a clue of where to go. As he hopped off his bike, he spotted another in the shadows of the building and the neighboring one. It was a dark bike with dark handles but there was a bright red lightning bolt sticker on the bars. It was Sander’s.

Stepping into the shadows, Robbe leaned his bike on the wall near his before he moved further into the alleyway in search of the other. It was short and badly lit. There was enough room for a dumpster and some breathing room, but aside from that, the alleyway was bare of anything else. In the end, it opened up onto the Scheldt and the dark night sky. Robbe stepped out of the alleyway and quickly found who he was looking for.

Poised on the edge of the concrete, Sander looked like a stone statue, left there for others to stumble upon and gawk in awe. His bleach blond hair was ruffled by the light breeze and he was staring across the river with a focused gaze. His legs were dangled over the concrete, hovering high above the dark water below. He was dressed in a plain black shirt and a pair of denim jeans that made Robbe wonder if Sander had just gotten off work. As Robbe approached him, cautiously and nerves bouncing frantically in his gut, he accidentally kicked a bottle which made him jump more than it did Sander, who seemed unbothered.

The endearing smile that bloomed across Sander’s face did little to calm the mild heart attack that Robbe had given himself. “Hey,” Sander greeted. Robbe moved closer to him and sat down on the edge of the canal with him. Their legs brushed flush together and a small smile formed over Sander’s lips. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here or I would’ve met you.”

“It’s okay,” Robbe said, smiling at him. “I managed to find you all by myself.” Sander chuckled, smiling over at him with a sheepish smile on his face. “Did you just feel like star-gazing tonight?”

“Yeah,” Sander replied, shrugging his shoulders as he turned to Robbe. “Since I had the late shift and had to close up tonight, I thought I would come out and watch the stars a little before bed. Plus, if I went back to my apartment, it would be too quiet anyway. Noor’s in the Netherlands visiting family and, well—you know where Senne is.”

“How did you even find this place?” Robbe asked.

“In high school, I used to sneak out and roam the city,” Sander said, shyly. “When I wasn’t in a good place, it always brought me comfort. I would search the city for graffiti art and document it all. It’s how I found this place and over a dozen more coves of hidden artistic treasures around the city.” Sander smiled, returning his eyes back to the water. “But, this place has been my favorite. There’s not a lot of lights to block out the stars and it’s peaceful this time of night because not a lot of people live here.”

“Yeah,” Robbe said, barely a whisper. Sander glanced over at him and Robbe felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment for being caught staring. Even as a bright smile formed over Sander’s face, Robbe found himself unable to look as his cheeks flushed brighter. “It does seem quite peaceful here.”

Sander chuckled before turning back to the stars in front of him.

Unable to keep still, Robbe turned to take in their surrounding. He had been so focused on finding Sander that he hadn’t taken in their surroundings. In addition, he knew that if he didn’t keep his eyes off Sander, he would fall into the same daze of staring until he was caught again. Though, Robbe had a feeling that Sander didn’t mind him staring a little too long. In fact, he was certain that he enjoyed it.

The warehouse behind them was a simple warehouse with a large deep blue door. He had seen it many times before, of course, because his normal skatepark was on the other side of the river. But, the warehouse next to it, the one a little further back and hidden, was the one that caught his attention. For a second, he thought it was the trick of the light—or the shadows—but he realized there was something on the wall, harshly obscured due to the lack of light.

“What is that?” Robbe questioned.

Sander turned to him. “Huh?”

Unable to answer his question, Robbe rose to his feet. He moved away from Sander, who shuffled somewhere behind him. As he got closer to the building, he pulled his phone out and turned on his flashlight. Once the light was on and he reached the side of the building, he directed his phone toward it and gasped.

It was a mural.

In a large oblique circle located in the center of the brick wall, there was a depiction of a torrential ocean. The waves were large and massive, looking like they would crash into each other in a second’s notice. Above the ocean were deep gray clouds that poured heaps of rain onto the ocean below. The mural took up half of the building wall and Robbe couldn’t stop staring at it, shining his light over every piece of the mural, not wanting to miss a piece.

There was the shuffle of boots behind him, but Robbe didn’t have to look to know that Sander was right behind him. “Do you like it?” Sander asked.

There was something lingering in his voice that Robbe didn’t pinpoint. Pausing, Robbe turned to Sander, who was moving toward him with cautious steps and his hands buried deep in his pockets. He turned back to the mural in front of him, his eyes searching the dark blue paint and its torrential rain and overwhelming ocean waves. “I love it.”

“Really?” Sander questioned.

The artist was closer to Robbe now. He could feel the warm presence that Sander radiated just out of his reach. Robbe’s head spun out of control, twisting and churning like the depiction of the torrential downpour in front of him. Despite the fact that his heart might leap out of his chest if he talked, Robbe said, “Yes.”

Sander let out a breath before he said, “I’m happy to hear that you like it.” His breath brushed against the shell of Robbe’s ear and he shivered unexpectedly at the feeling of him so close. Sander’s tattooed arm appeared over his shoulder and his right hand grasped Robbe’s hand which held the phone. His hand was warmer, larger, and the warmth flooded through his body unexpectedly. Gently, Sander moved his hand so the phone’s light was shining directly below the mural.

In the center of the light beam, there was a prominent black lightning bolt, outlined with a thin line of white along its right side. On its left, there was an almost unintelligible S and a similar-looking D was on its right. A realization clicked in Robbe’s head as he stared at the tag. Sander dropped his hand from around Robbe’s, his thumb swiping across his knuckles, and Robbe felt a small smile tugging up the corners of his lips. “You painted this.”

“Yeah,” Sander said. “One night, a few months ago, I couldn’t sleep no matter how hard I tried so I snuck out and came here with a bag full of spray paint. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I had found a ladder that someone left and I started working. Once sunlight hit and Senne realized I was gone, he found me high on the ladder with spray paint covering my hands and exhausted. When he asked me what it meant, I couldn’t explain. It was just how I felt.”

“I get that.”

Turning away from the mural, Robbe turned to Sander. But, he had underestimated how close the artist had gotten and the realization had knocked all of the wind out of his lungs. Sander was standing within reach, less than, with his hands buried deep in his pockets. His green eyes, which stood out from the dark shadows surrounding them, were focused solely on him and Robbe was positive that he looked like a gaping fish.

It felt like Wednesday all over again, green eyes searching brown ones, brown ones searching green ones, in the darkness of the night sky. But, this time, Robbe was the one who purposely dropped his gaze to Sander’s lips and the artist immediately let out a shaky breath. He glanced back up at Sander, who had a vulnerable but determined look in his eyes, as their eyes locked together again.

Then, Sander took a step closer.

With each agonizing second that Sander leaned closer, Robbe could feel his emotions churning in his stomach like the waves depicted on the wall behind him. They crashed against his skin in torrential waves, drowning him beneath their waves, and they collided in his skull like excited particles threatening to explode. His stomach was a fit of nerves and anticipation of what might come next—of what was coming next—of how much he wanted it to happen with every nerve and atom that existed in his body. Robbe tilted his head so their lips would easily slide together.

As their noses brushed together—as Robbe’s eyes fluttered close—as Sander’s warm hand cradled his jaw—as Robbe gripped onto his bicep, the waves shuttered to a stop and all the excited particles halted in midair, leaving only one thought in their wake as their lips grazed against each other: I want this.

If the wait was like drowning, the kiss itself was like breaking the surface of the water, the waves reducing around him and taking a gigantic breath of fresh air. Sander’s large, warm hands cradled his jaw. In Sander’s gentle, warm grip, Robbe felt like he was something precious. Sander’s lips pressed against his own, barely there, gentle and sweet. Robbe felt like his head was spinning, his senses filled with the smell of Sander’s intoxicating cologne. But, even with his senses full of the intoxicating smell, Robbe felt like it wasn’t enough—he wanted Sander even closer.

Sander pulled away, letting out a breath that ghosted across Robbe’s face, and he opened his eyes to look up at him.

A beautiful smile was on Sander’s face and it was directed at him. It was by far the widest that Robbe had ever seen him smile and it looked like it could’ve split Sander’s face into two separate pieces. It made him look like a piece of artwork or a moment snapped in time. And, it was absolutely infectious. Robbe’s own lips pulled up in a smile as he stared at him. Robbe’s cheeks ached and he knew that his dimples were likely out. But, no matter how much it hurt, Robbe didn’t want to stop smiling and he didn’t think that he was capable of doing so.

“Fuck,” Sander said. His thumbs dragged across his cheekbones, dipping a little at the dimples on the edges of his lips, before tracing the path all over again. One of his hands moved back into the hair at the nap of Robbe’s neck, holding him there, tugging at the strands of his hair. Then, he whispered, a confession for Robbe and Robbe only, “You’re so beautiful.”

“So are you,” Robbe whispered.

Robbe surged up toward him. He stood on his toes to kiss him again—to kiss him a third time—to kiss him as many times as Sander would want to. And, Sander was there, holding onto him tightly and ready to catch him, and met his kiss with eager force.

Their first kiss had been sweet and short. It was like they were testing the waters on it all, trying to see if it was something the other wanted. But, this kiss was hungry and desperate, like they couldn’t get close enough to satisfy their increasing desire. There wasn’t enough time in the world so Sander kissed him with everything that he had and Robbe tried to pull Sander closer and closer until there was no room in between them. Their lips moved in an uncoordinated fashion, half reacting to the other, as they tried to learn their lips. Robbe tried to mesmerize this moment with Sander’s fingers in his hair and Robbe clinging to the black fabric of his t-shirt desperately.

Sander’s kiss slowed a little, but not enough to separate their lips. Then, he moved, taking one step and the other, and Robbe tilted along with him, clinging desperately to his shoulders like a koala that was unable to let go. But, Robbe couldn’t help it and he didn’t think Sander minded. He did not want to separate from the softness of Sander’s lips or the eagerness of his kiss. Sander’s hand was tight on his hip, guiding him on where he wanted him to go, before Robbe felt his back press against the wall—the wall with the mural—before Sander’s kiss returned in full force.

Sander leaned further against Robbe, nearly putting all of his weight on him. His hands tugged on the strands of Robbe’s hair and kissed him harder and faster. Robbe let out a sigh and tried to match Sander’s overwhelming, intoxicating intensity. He arched into the kiss before wrapping one arm around Sander’s shoulder. He tugged Sander closer and he came willingly, stepping forward and crowding Robbe against the wall. Robbe dug his fingers into the blond strands of his hair and Sander sighed between their lips.

They broke the kiss, half panting into each other’s mouth, trying to regain their breath. They were quiet and still, simply holding onto each other and relishing in each other’s presence. Then, a giggle escaped from Robbe’s mouth and Sander let out a laugh before moving to close the distance again. Their lips slotted together like they never separated.

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