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lizzaneia-elizalde · 8 months

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hey iit's me again! (can i be your 🌼 anon?)

Thoughts on yan!CEO with caretaker reader who is looking after his sick father (home service i dunno what's it called) and she does some little chores here and there casually. Yan!CEO is so used to seeing her around his mansion that it starts to feel natural along with his father pressuring him to get married because the father thinks he's nearing his end. So when the father really dies tragically (bcoz ✨taruma✨) he only sees reader as his salvation and he convinced that she'd look after him even though she didn't do anything significant with lot of effort.

Yandere! Hospital Chairperson x Caretaker! Reader

OOH MY FIRST ANON! Hi :3

Btw, forgive me, the CEO thing will be changed into something other than, well, CEO. My yandere! CEO is already taken! But, with the help of my friend, we got to a little discussion, and decided on a Hospital Chairperson. Why? You'll see hehe

Yandere! Hospital Chairperson name: Xavier

It's always Xavier.

"Xavier, can you write up the last patient's records?"

"Xavier, please do the time of death."

"Xavier, fetch the files for me please."

It's like he's being worked around like a horse around the hospital.

He has to run up and down the building, right to left on this huge private hospital. Sure, he was a newbie, a fresh graduate from medschool, but did these people had to work him to the bone?

It was almost abusive, the lot of them.

"Father, it's so hard..."

He would usually complain to his father who was the hospital chairperson.

His father laughed lightheartedly before giving a few loving pats on the head. Xavier gripped the handkerchief in his hand.

"it's because they rely on you, Xavier. You're very strong and independent, yet kind and understanding. You are very dependable."

Xavier wanted to protest, that he knew his father was the one to order for him to be ordered around like that, but he pursed his lips.

Xavier Signet. The heir to the hospital conglomerate that is his father. Ever since his mother died, his father did his best to raise him to be a well mannered man despite being absent most of the time due to his job. His father made sure to teach him good manners, to have great academics, and to not be spoiled and always appreciate hard work.

Hard work was something not unfamiliar with the Signets, they were new money after all. From a humble clinic to something as well renowned as the Signet group of Medical Facilities. They were medical practitioners to a tee, and valued other people's lives more than their own.

Xavier gritted his teeth as he held down the fountain of profanities and complaints as his father waved goodbye to him.

Nevermind the handkerchief in his hands, spots of blood in it, a sign on Xavier overworking himself too much.

What his father didn't know is that Xavier is not the angel he thinks he is. His superiority complex that borders on God complex made him boil inside with defiance and insults as he took every single work his higher ups throw at him.

He wanted them dead. So much.

But he can't.

Yet.

Fast forward five years later, and his father lied on the bed, sick and weak.

Xavier bit his tongue while holding his father's cold, wrinkly hand. It was so rough and dry. Obvious from the years of hardwork and patients he had to go through.

"Dad..." Xavier whispered. "You know you can't move already, so please. Let me hire a caretaker for you."

His father coughed, love brimming his eyes for his son.

Xavier matured into a well endowed person. One who was steadfast and an amazing leader, but also a great listener. He's the perfect man for the chairperson seat.

"Alright. You can hire one, son." Ever the fool for his offspring, he nodded.

Xavier hired you, a seemingly gentle and sweet soul, someone who knew how to take care of an elderly.

At first, Xavier was only curt with you. Professional, at most.

He was so busy with his work that most of the time, his relationship with you slips his mind.

It made him open up to you sometimes, while he drank his scotch.

"ah... Those bastards. Really? They want to siphon more money from our patients? Are they out of their mind? Isn't it enough that they stomp on the new residents, but also the patients."

You furrowed your eyebrows, listening to Xavier's whiles.

These were one of the days were you noticed that he drops his nice and angelic facade and into this arrogant, yet empathetic guy.

"Tch. They're not even fucking geniuses. All they do is pocket money, invest, and splurge. They don't give a damn to patients. Like who the fuck do they think they are?!" Xavier rambled more, the scotch making him blurt out his real thoughts onto you.

Sympathetic, you finished folding the clothes of his father and gently walked up to him, and then patted his head with a rub.

Xavier gasped, suddenly feeling that everything was at a standstill, slowly looked up to your peaceful face that was highlighted from the lights of the living room.

Oh god.

"Sir Xavier, those bastards are really something. They're public servants, they should be nice and caring. But all they knew is money." Your sweet voice infiltrated his ears, making his arrogant and superior walls crumble in just a snap.

He was so starved of affection.

Then, your hands caressed his shoulder and rubbed them, making his tense form go away.

Oh god.

And as he grabbed your form and cried into your arms, he knew that things will never be the same.

Xavier rubbed his temples as he listened to the whines of his constituents. Apparently, they wanted to invest in commercial businesses also, but it was a failing start up company with the asking money of 200,000 dollars in exchange of only 10% of the company.

They're seriously fucking him over if they think he'll agree to this obvious scam.

It's been two years since you got in their life.

In his life.

And everyday, he looks forward to coming home into your arms and crashing his low energy body in your embrace.

It was weird, really. At first, he was so stand-offish, but now he was treating you like you were his wife.

That, and also his father continued to pester him to get a wife, since he wanted Xavier to have children before he passes away.

And when he ranted to you about that, you laughed heartily and rubbed his head once more, making him lean into your touch.

"I look like your spouse if you think about it!"

And those words permeated into him, and latched itself into his bones.

Yeah, maybe.

He glared into one of his subordinates and they trembled.

"S-sir, I swear, it's a good investment!" The subordinate said, but their hands are shaking and sweaty.

"No. Get out."

They hastily bowed and ran outside.

Due to your encouragement, he learnt to not hide his true nature and not just grit and bare the shit thrown at him.

"You're the chairperson! And you're just going to let them walk over you?"

You were right. He was at the highest position. So why would he?

So now, he's the one making life a living hell for them. Exacting revenge like a bloodless villain. Even attacking their personal lives.

He worked hard for this position. Too hard. Now it's their time to work hard to maintain theirs.

Then, all of a sudden, his phone rang. He looked at it, and his eyes softened. It was you. With heart emojis in his contacts.

"Hello y/n, how's father?"

But then your panicked voice made him drop everything and drive as fast as possible to your side.

And he saw you crying at the foot of his father's bed, tears streaming down your lovely face as you wept.

His hands trembled.

This time, he's the one to comfort you as he whispered reassuring words.

He looked up at his father's corpse, silently wishing him goodbye as tears also starting to leak from his eyes.

Now he had no one but you.

He held you closer, a numb feeling erupting from his chest as he felt your tears wet his shirt.

Painful sobs of the both of you permeated from this seemingly quiet and cold room, finding one another for comfort from the loss of a dear father figure.

Xavier had to take a break from work.

He felt so numb, leading the wake and the funeral of his father.

As much as he hated him due to his extreme ways of teaching him manners and discipline, he was still his only family left.

His ears rung whenever his father's "friends" sent condolences in a professional, yet fake way.

Time was a concept, and now, he was looking down at his father's grave.

His father didn't want a mosoleum, just a simple grave besides his wife's, Xavier's mother who died in childbirth.

And you were beside him, gripping his hand.

When did the line blur from employer to employee?

Who knows?

But both of you needed each other.

He needed you.

You were the only one left on his side, genuinely.

And he'll be damned to let you go, his only anchor to prevent himself from going apeshit and letting blood spill.

He gulped a cry.

"Y/N, darling, where are you?"

You stilled, hearing his weary voice come from outside of your room. You gripped your clothes and hastily placed all of them in your bag and sliding it under your bed.

"Oh here, Xavier!" Your voice, strained yet giving the outmost genuine tone you could muster. Yet a slight shake can be heard.

"Thank god, I thought you left me. Haha." He opened the door and saw you, sitting on the bed with a wry smile.

He approached you and wrapped his arms around your waist, cuddling close. You bit your cheek.

"Xavier... Um, is it possible for me to go outside to shop?" You asked, rubbing his hair. Wanting a semblance of freedom and a chance to escape.

Xavier's head shot up and he shook his head desperately his grip on you tightening.

"no no no! Silly, definitely not. If you go outside, you'll catch some sickness out there that will probably kill you. And we don't want that, do we? We want you living healthy and long." Xavier desperately reasoned, clinging to you. You bit your lip and nodded slowly.

Ever since his father died seven months ago, he refused to let you go. He was crying, begging for you to stay, for you to take care of him. He even went and upped your salary just for you to stay with him.

But what use is your money if you're essentially locked inside his house?

He refused to let you go at all, scared that you'll get sick and die.

And then he would be truly all alone.

He doesn't want that at all.

He still wants to marry you, to make a family with you. To be with you, his only pillar left.

"I get it, Xavier. I'll stay put." A lump appeared on your throat as you saw his genuine smile of relief.

You were so torn with guilt and desperation for freedom.

You wanted out,

Yet also wanted to stay put and take care of the man.

So, what will you choose?

Spread your wings, while potentially setting off the ticking time bomb that is Xavier, or stay, and accept that being confined in this mansion with no one but Xavier as your only... Friend.

But one thing's for sure.

No matter what you choose,

You'll always end up in his arms.

It's an illusion of choice,

He's always the end game.

#yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere drabbles #lizzaneiaelizalde

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mistaeq · 3 years

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the stardust crusaders' hogwarts adventure: HCs

tw // none

dora's note: is this dora posting? what the hell? yes it is, i'm finally working. hopefully. i promise i'm doing by best yes ^^ i felt like doing this today, so... finally got to finish a draft that has been there for quite a while.

DISCLAIMER !! y/n is NOT a student in joseph's HCs, they're a GROWN ADULT with a JOB. !!

taglist: @fragolaaaaaaa @outofthiszawarudo @sky1mercy @cheemerthebebopfreak @berryvalentine @yandere-lovebites @catboy-kira @komaeda-kinnie [if you wanna be removed or added, all it requires is a dm or an ask !!]

kujo jotaro

♥︎ when he first sat down under the sorting hat, he didn't know what to expect and did not care in which house he would have ended up. everyone in his family, though, always had been one of two precise houses: slytherin or hufflepuff. so, very deep down, he hoped in one of them. but a different one would have been cool with him too, he would have been the first in his family with a different house sorting. he waited for a time that seemed neverending, but earlier than expected, the sorting hat said: "slytherin."

♥︎ the two of you met for the first time during a quidditch tournament. jotaro was a seeker, one of the most precise ones hogwarts had ever had. you caused him an accident, running over him with your broom, causing the two of you to fall to the ground. needless to say, he held a grudge on you for several days, until you had to get along to train for quidditch again.

♥︎ you wouldn't expect it from a wizard like him, but his favourite subjects are care of magical creatures, to study them, protect them, and get on an empathetic level with them, and muggle studies, to get to know more about muggles, in honor of his father, kujo sadao, who's not a wizard.

♥︎ it didn't take long for jotaro to manage to manifest his patronus. he had tried to practice that spell, since before the arrival of the dementors at the school. the two of you used to practice together after quidditch trainings, making you the first person - apart from him, of course - to witness the awaking of his patronus: a beautiful dolphin, a symbol of intelligence and protection.

♥︎ you will probably have to be the one to ask him first out on a date. he's not the best one when it comes to grades, and he spends quite a lot of time with his friends, trying not to think about it. no, he doesn't really care about having the best marks. you should ask one of his best friends, kakyoin noriaki, about what to do to convince him to go out on a date with you. most likely, he'll say yes because he trusts you enough to feel safe.

♥︎ jotaro does not underestimate your powers and doesn't feel the need to constantly protect you, but he must admit that as soon as the teachers of defense against the dark arts start disappearing every year or try to attack the students themselves, he's a little bit worried about you. he starts showing up outside your classroom at the end of every lesson, to check on you and keep you company until you get to you next lesson's classroom.

kakyoin noriaki

♥︎ when he sat down under the sorting hat, he was really nervous. what if it said that he wasn't even a wizard? what if he ended up in a house that would have disappointed his family? the redhead was shaking like a leaf, even at the point that the sorting hat itself asked him to calm down to allow it to examinate him better. noriaki's terror soon disappeared, as soon as the hat spoke. "okay, okay, my guy. you can calm down. ravenclaw!"

♥︎ the two of you met for the first time in the library of the school. you were looking for a specific book, the one about the fantastic beasts of the wizarding world and where to find them, when a guy who wasn't looking where he was going, hit the ladder you were standing on, making you fall, right... in his arms. ugh, that sounded like a pathetic love story beginning. until you heard a giggle from the corner of the room. the guy that was making fun of that scene was kakyoin.

♥︎ noriaki's favourite subjects are transfiguration, since he always says he has a talent in transforming objects in what he wants, and defence against the dark arts, since he wishes to become a professor one day. why is it related to that? well, since the professors of defence against the dark arts seem to change every year for some reason, his turn will come sooner or later, or not?

♥︎ for kakyoin, it was a little bit more complicated to manifest his patronus. he kept on focusing on the technique and the way he had to move his wand, instead of focusing on his inner power and mind. but after many efforts, it finally showed up: a beautiful fox, symbol of wisdom and guidance. he told you first thing.

♥︎ noriaki will probably be the one to ask you out for a date first. but he would do it through a letter. he's smart enough to write one that will convince you that he's worth it and that he's perfect for you. the redhead can't imagine you already think of him as such. either way, the letter will be very sweer and heartfelt, even if a little bit awkward sometimes. but you'll say yes regardless, he put a lot of effort in it, and has always been respectful towards you.

♥︎ he wouldn't be much worried about you at first, hogwarts is a safe place for the students, after all, right? right? oh, what? in a bathroom the little hermione granger almost got killed by a troll? you know what, nevermind? the guy is gonna be glued to you the whole time, he'll even skip lessons for it, despite how much they mean for him. you're not gonna get attacked by anything, with him by your side.

muhammad avdol

♥︎ everyone envied him when he sat down under the sorting hat, because despite the young age at the time, he looked absolutely calm and collected. he had no anxiety, and his eyes were closed, in complete relaxation, as if him and the sorting hat had some sort of mental communication going on. his smile was endearing, his fingers intertwined in front of his chest. but the hat seemed to take a lot of time sorting him. "your heart said gryffindor, my dear boy. but your soul spoke hufflepuff to me." the hat declared. but then... "hufflepuff!"

♥︎ the two of you met for the first time on the stairs. yes, the ones that like to change. your books had fallen from your arms on the stairs, and since he was passing by, he decided to lend a helping hand. what you didn't notice, was that you were standing right between the stairs and the floor. when the stairs changed, hadn't it been for muhammad's quick reflex of pulling you on his side, you would have probably fallen down several floors.

♥︎ avdol is naturally gifted, when it comes to subjects like astronomy, or his favourite one, divination. he seems to be the only student who doesn't stare at mrs. trelawney as if she were completely crazy. the majority of the ravenclaws, his friend noriaki included, sometimes don't even listen to her. but avdol does, and he's completely in love with the subject.

♥︎ it hadn't been difficult at all for avdol, to manifest his patronus. almost natural, for him. you weren't there to witness it, but you studied and practiced with him for it several times. the last time he tried, a beautiful and graceful phoenix escaped muhammad's wand, symbol of resurrection and life after death, a patronus that the student took as a symbol of hope.

♥︎ none of you two will ask the other out for a date. the love between you and avdol would bloom spontaneously, without the need of dating. you would find yourselves behaving like a couple just naturally. he likes to give you tarot readings and to stargaze with you. the stargazing sessions are the ones that get the two of you closer to each other.

♥︎ avdol would be protective over you since the very beginning. he can sense something's off in the school, and his tarot readings about hogwarts's future keep getting darker and more mysterious everytime. but every single reading hints at an upcoming source of danger, that most likely would be voldemort, he supposes. he has to keep an eye on you. he's scared.

jean pierre polnareff

♥︎ oh boy, this guy was mad nervous when he sat down under the sorting hat. everything but slytherin, everything but slytherin. surely, he knew he wouldn't have ended up in ravenclaw. he wasn't that much of a smart guy, but he did his best. either way, everything would have been cool to him, apart from slytherin. it just didn't sit right to him. but luckily, before jean could ask the sorting hat why was it taking so long, it spoke. "okay, okay, i get it. gryffindor, no doubts!" it said, making the young wizard feel relieved.

♥︎ the two of you met for the first time while he was trying so hard to find his way to the next classroom he had to be in. the school was huge, and polnareff couldn't help but to get confused in the corridors. you offered him your help, but he tried to play it cool, running away and dropping a book. well, you would have brought it to him.

♥︎ polnareff's favourite subjects are charms and flying. they're pretty basic, but he finds them the coolest things about being a wizard. he's a huge fan of quidditch too, but he wouldn't see himself playing. flying lessons give him the same feeling of freedom though, and he loves it so much.

♥︎ it took pretty long for jean pierre to manifest his patronus. he just couldn't focus enough. you've been practising with him, and you manifested it first, so it would have been good to try to help him. until he managed to do it. from his wand, a beautiful horse was freed, a symbol of power, independence, freedom, and nobleness. you could tell jean was satisfied, and grateful to you for helping him in manifesting it.

♥︎ he'll definitely be the one to ask you out first, probably not much time after you helped him to manifest his patronus. that event made him so happy and made him grow so fond of you, that he genuinely wants to improve your relationship, and hopefully, get something more from it. hopefully your heart, hopefully a kiss. but he means it genuinely. he's not trying to exploit you to get your help with assignments. for real.

♥︎ as the years go by, polnareff would start noticing hogwarts isn't the same place that it's always been, or that dumbledore claimed it was. he grows more and more protective of you, every year a worse mess happens, and it's always connected to voldemort. he's not liking it at all. not to mention you're worried, since the gryffindors seem to be pretty involved in it. more than you and jean pierre like to admit. he knows something he's not telling.

joseph joestar

♥︎ in his youth, when he sat down under the sorting hat, he didn't give a shit of what house he would have been sorted in, all he wanted was just start learning magic stuff. joseph was laughing with some handsome boys and pretty girls at the table, and was hoping it wouldn't take long to sort him, his adventure had just started. but the hat actually took really little time to figure out where he was gonna go. "slytherin." it announced, almost immediately.

♥︎ going through the corridors of hogwarts reminds him of many years ago, when you first met. he would never forget the way you told him to go fuck himself, while he was just standing on a chair, reminding everyone that him and his best friend of the time, a young lucius malfoy, were the best kind of wizards because they were purebloods. that was a bunch of bullshit he truly used to believe. luckily, he grew up to understand it wasn't true.

♥︎ now, joseph is a teacher. the last student you would have expected to become one, but he did. a teacher of defense against the dark arts, and he's not planning on leaving anytime soon. he'll keep his eyes open, he heard teachers have been disappearing every year. not to mention a lot of scary stuff is happening at hogwarts. he didn't choose a good time to work.

♥︎ he's always been a quick learner, and he managed to manifest his patronus quicker than many of his classmates. a really cool eagle, a symbol of truth, majesty, strength. despite his attitude, it was clear that joseph was a good wizard, it had to be given to him. and you grew to be into it. to admire it. he secretly liked you, too.

♥︎ joseph took the first step towards you, but he didn't quite ask you out, let's say that to keep his cool, he TOLD you that you and him were gonna date. as if to announce you. you were okay with it, and didn't accept just because you were feeling forced. you accepted because you liked him, and recognized it as a great opportunity to get closer to him. you would have worked on improving the romantic field throughout your relationship.

♥︎ now that he's a teacher, he has to recognize that there's so much going on, that the students do not see. joseph is acknowledged about how dangerous the situation is getting, and more than ever, he reaches out to you, or phones you, no matter the fact that you're working. everyone is talking about voldemort, and he doesn't like the smallest bit of it. he just wants to make sure you're safe.

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champagne-bucky · 4 years

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Rebel,Rebel

Summary: Peter doesn’t like a disobedient girl.

Warnings: Dark! Peter Parker (18+) x female reader, non-con/dub-con, knife play, face fucking, begging, humiliation kink, squirting, smut, fondling, hand job, anal play

Notes: Hehe, sooo this challenge is very very late and I’m very very sorry. I’d like to apologize to @mariessecretfantasies for being soooo late. Anyways I hope you enjoy this one!!

“WHAT YOU DID WAS INCREDIBLY STUPID. I CANNOT PUT INTO WORDS HOW CARELESS AND CHILDISH YOUR ACTIONS WERE! I SHOULD HAVE YOU SUSPENDED, NO-“

You tried your hardest to stop the growing smirk on your face as Fury yelled at you. You may or may not have almost killed yourself and others while executing a life or death mission. The key work here was almost.

Being a new recruit was no walk in the park. Other agents were constantly belittling your actions and questioning your position with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers, you showed them though. With every mission and every time you trained, you made sure to go above and beyond and prove every single one of those people wrong. As a result, a lot of agents became jealous and would do anything they could to ruin your credibility. Which brings you to Fury still yelling in your face.

It’s not like you were completely reckless, you made sure to carefully calculate everything you did so that you wouldn’t risk putting anyone in actual danger. Yes, that mission was technically very poorly executed, but it’s not your fault. Truthfully, the original plan would have cost people their lives if it wasn’t thanks to your quick thinking that saved everyone.

The only reason you were being yelled at instead of praised was because your incompetent teammates didn’t want to question the mission captain and think of a new plan. You were a hero, but those stubborn asses would never admit it.

“You really have me backed into a corner here, Agent,” Fury sighed as he rubbed his face.

“My desk is filled with complaints about your negligence to the team. Even your mission captain wants you suspended indefinitely,” you huffed.

“The only reason everyone complains about me is because they can’t be me. Everything they do, I do it ten times better than they could ever dream of. Even the lousy mission captain couldn’t think of a more brilliant plan than mine. You all should be thanking me really,” Fury raised his brows.

“Thanking you?”

“Yes, you should be thanking me because I’m the only competent one here willing to risk it all to save innocent people. Sorry you only hired people that were too afraid to get their hands dirty, what a sad sad team we have here,” Fury looked as if he wanted to chew your head off more, but for the sake of his already high blood pressure and an impending migraine, he decided against it.

“You know what I’m willing to do for you, Agent,” it didn’t take Fury long to come up with a plan.

“What, Nicholas,” you loved poking at his nerves. The vain in his forehead looked as if it were about to burst.

“I’m going to assign you to our Avengers program,” you gasped internally. The Avenger program? Does that mean-

“Don’t get it twisted. This program does not mean you’ll become an Avenger. This is a shadow program. You’ll be able to go on mission with your Avenger, go to their meetings, press conferences, you get the point,” you scoffed.

“And you’re doing all this for what?” Fury rolled his eyes.

“You may be able to get away with a lot of shit as an agent, but the Avengers are on a whole other level. One slip up and you're done. This program is gonna teach you just how we do things here at S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury leaned over the desk to be eye level with you.

You thought about giving him more attitude, but you didn’t want to push your luck. Even though Fury wasn’t saying it, he was pretty much saying that this program could mean a spot on the Avengers, right? Finally, you were all that hard work was giving you the recognition you deserve.

“Alright, Fury, I’ll join your little program. So, who do I get. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Agent Romanoff, someone who matches my intelligence and skill set?” You leaned back in your chair with a smug smirk. Fury matched yours.

“I believe a shadow program is well below their pay grade. I was thinking of assigning you to someone who was a little like yourself. I think Peter Parker would be the perfect match for you,” your eyes went wide in disbelief.

“Peter Parker? Him? Oh, Nick, you gotta be kidding me? He doesn’t even go on real missions! He just helps old ladies cross the street, scares punk teens from shoplifting, he’s not even a real Avenger!”

“Mr. Parker is way more qualified than being a neighborhood watchmen, Agent. He’s on the team because he is one of the best. You can learn a thing or two from him. He, very much like yourself, was a big rule breaker too, still is if you ask me. The only reason we haven’t kicked him off yet is because Tony Stark has a soft spot for the kid.”

You tried to argue your way out of being with Peter, but Fury insisted or you would be met with suspension. You grumbled and trudged your way out of his office. Fury mentioned before you left that Peter would be in contact with you shortly. You slammed the door before he got his last words out.

“And don’t forget, follow the rules or be faced with the consequences,” you mocked his words under your breath as you stormed back to the agent’s wing of the compound.

Peter couldn’t believe the phone call he had just gotten from Fury. More importantly he couldn’t believe who was going to be shadowing him. After all this time being in the Avengers program, no one ever wanted to pick him, but you, his crush, well his heart was just bursting at its seams.

“What’s gotten you all smiley, Spidey,” Sam took a seat next to him on the couch.

“N-Nothing, I just got off the phone with Director Fury, he says someone requested me for the shadow program,” Sam laughed.

“And that’s what’s making you get all blushing and giddy? Gee, you not getting enough attention at home?” Peter rolled his eyes at Sam.

“No, it’s, it’s just this girl that I’ve liked for some time. Apparently she wanted me to be her guide.”

“Who is she?” Once Peter said your name, Sam’s eyes lit up in fear.

“Aww no man, you don’t want to be messing around with her,” Peter’s face fell.

“Why not?”

“Well, rumor has it she’s kind of a rebel.”

“Kind of?”

“From what I hear from other agents, she’s always breaking protocol, almost always putting people in danger, risking lives, not a good look if you ask me. Come to think of it, why didn’t Fury deny her application?”

“Maybe he thinks I can be a good influence on her,” Peter smiled and nudged Sam’s arm.

“Pfft, when pigs fly,” Sam got up and walked away leaving Peter to write out an informative email to you.

“Just be careful with her is all I’m saying, kid.”

Peter ignored him as he pulled up his email and began to write to you.

Your alarm was blaring way too early in the morning for your liking. Peter insisted on starting everyday at 6 a.m. because “crime always starts early”, or something stupid like that. You two had only been with each other for a week and it was pure torture for you.

Peter on the other hand indulged in the time he got to spend with you. So far, Sam was being proven wrong about your rebel status. He always made sure you were to follow the book no matter how defiant the look in your eyes was becoming. Maybe you only followed the rules because of him, he’d like to think.

“Peterrrrrrr,” you whined.

“Whattttt,” he mimicked with a laugh.

“This shit is taking too long. Can’t we just-“

“Nope,” Peter interrupted.

“But-“

“Nada.”

“Peter-“

“I believe the correct word we are looking for is no,” you wanted to slap the stupid smirk off his face.

“Peter there is an easier way to do this,” you tried to reason with him, but he just wouldn’t listen.

“You mean there’s the wrong way to do this. I was given my instructions and now we will follow them, AS PLANNED OUT. If you don’t like how the Avengers run things, then maybe you should rethink your status in the program,” Peter stated as he kept his eyes locked on the bank.

This is what it’s been like for the entire week. You were starting to get agitated beyond belief by Peter’s smugness. What a cruel joke Fury decided to play on you. First, he makes Peter your partner, the most useless of all the Avengers when it came to missions and crime fighting. Next, his unwillingness to go off book for one measly second. If Peter could’ve known how much time he’d be saving by just bending the rules a little, he might be able to take on more serious tasks, unlike this stupid bank robbery tipoff he received earlier today.

Nevermind the other laundry list of reasons why you can’t stand Peter Parker and his dopey grin. Right now, you are thinking of good reasons why it would be impossible to get away with the murder of the most annoying person to ever walk the planet, in your opinion. While you were doing your own plotting, Peter was trying to keep his focus on the potential robbery and not the woman of his dreams next to him

The robbers made their move around 4 a.m. After countless hours of hearing Peter ramble on about Star Wars, chemistry, and his web fluid stuff you were thankful to end the night with some action. Peter made sure to take the lead while you were waiting at the back of the bank for a back up call. A stupid strategy, but supposedly Peter knew what was best and refused to go against orders.

Peter surprised the robbers by swinging himself down from the ceiling. There were four men trying to attack him and Peter fought every single one off without taking a breath. However, as things were going seemingly well they took a turn for the worst when one robber pulled out his gun and started to shoot. Peter faltered his steps and quickly dodged a bullet headed straight for his knee. During all this time you were watching from a small window, he still refused to call you for back up.

“Parker, you need my help, tap me in,” you said through your earpiece.

“No, no, uhh, I got it, thanks,” Peter responded quickly while dodging another bullet, this time to his shoulder.

“Parker, you're failing out there,” there was no response from Peter as he kept trying to tame the situation.

You huffed and decided to get to work. You really didn’t want to screw up your chances with this program, but you were left no choice. The line between Peter’s incompetence and stubbornness finally frayed and you just about had to butt in.

“I’m saving his life, I’m not breaking the rules… right?”

Peter was now tackled to the ground by two of the robbers. The one with the gun was reloading his bullets and the other was taking the money out of the machine. Somewhere along the line, they seemed to have damaged a part of his suit and he was bleeding out. That weakness alone was enough for the robbers to use all their strength and hold him down,

“It’s the end of the line for you, Spider-Man,” Peter started to freak out. Was it too late to call you?

“Hey boss, why don’t we see who’s under the mask,” one of the men holding him down said.

The “boss” agreed and began to walk his way towards Peter. He started to hyperventilate at the thought of not only his life ending, but his identity would be exposed.

The robber started to put his hands on the material of his mask, but not before he halted his actions and fell to the ground. Peter was stunned as were the rest of the men, but not for long.

“Hey, who’s that,” one man said as you came down from the ceiling where Peter had entered.

You have your few weapons at the ready and no time to waste. It had already been a long day and you were angry and exhausted. It took no time for you to wipe out the robbers and alert authorities of what went down. The men were hurt badly, but they should be okay, maybe.

Sirens were becoming louder as you quickly grabbed Peter and hauled him out of the back door and into the car. You whipped off his mask and started to check him for any injuries. When you went to touch a bruise on his face, he swatted your hand away.

“What did I tell you?” He said angrily.

“Peter I-“

“I said I would call you for backup and you defied me,” he pressed a button on his suit and it disappeared to his normal clothes.

“Peter you were choking out there! If I would’ve waited for your call you probably would’ve been dead by then! I saved your life, the least you could say is thank you,” you rolled your eyes and slumped back into your seat.

“Thank you? Y/N you blatantly went against my orders and did your own thing. Do you not have any respect for me?”

Your jaw dropped as Peter spoke those words. You cannot believe how irrational this boy was behaving. He was in trouble and you offered to help him.

“You know what Peter? No, no I don’t respect you. You were close to dying and I came in and saved your helpless ass. I have never met somebody so dimmwhitted, so stubborn, so incompetent, so STUPID, and so so SO annoying as you, Peter Parker. Come to think of it? How are you even an Avenger? Aren’t they supposed to have more than the one brain cell you seem to possess? Do they just let anybody be an Avenger or do we all have to suck up to Tony Stark just to get a spot on the team?”

“Get out,” Peter said through gritted teeth.

“What? Can’t handle the criticism?” You laughed as Peter slammed his hand on the center console, creating a dent.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT,” you were surprised at Peter’s tone of voice.

“Get out, get out of this car before you make me do something I’ll regret,” your eyes went wide as you got out of the car and started to run home.

Peter cried that night after he kicked you out of the car. Nobody, not even Mr. Stark talked to him the way you had. The girl he fantasized about each night had called him stupid, annoying, and possibly more hateful words in the English language synonymous to the ones she had said in the car.

Peter needed to take the weekend to himself to process everything. His heart was crushed and his emotions were conflicted. Even after all those terrible words, he still had some feelings for you. How could someone so perfect for him be so cruel to him at the same time?

He avoided everyone at the compound for the weekend. Usually he’d spend the few days there to work on some new tech with Mr. Stark or train with Bucky and Sam, but you lived there too and he couldn’t face you at the moment.

Peter was also screening calls from Fury. At the end of every mission with you, Fury would demand a status report. Peter would always have positive things to say about you, but this time he wouldn’t even know what to tell Fury.

After a movie with MJ and Ned to clear his head, Peter walked back home to the small apartment he shared with his Aunt May. He felt a little better after seeing some friends, but his heart still had a pang in it from your words. Was he really as annoying as you said he was?

Peter didn’t dwell on his thoughts for long before he felt himself getting pulled off the sidewalk and into a sleek black car. He tried to fight off whoever pulled him in, but he stopped struggling once he heard the ring of his cell phone.

“So, it does work,” Fury ended the call and scowled at Peter. “Any reason you haven’t been answering me?”

Peter took a deep gulp as he figured out what he was supposed to say. “Director Fury, I-”

“She finally cracked you,” he simply stated as Peter nodded in agreement.

“I didn’t know what to say because I’m afraid of how you’d react.”

“And what did she say?” Fury questioned.

When Peter told him the whole story from the robbery to her hateful words in the car, Fury just about had blown a fuse.

“SHE WHAT?” Fury expected the absolute worst from you, he’ll admit that, but blatantly insulting her superior crossed a huge line for him.

“Director Fury, I have it all-”

“No, Parker, I’m in the driver’s seat now. No more Mr. Nice Guy,” Fury called for the driver of his car to take off.

“Fury, please, just let me handle this,” it took a lot of convincing, but Fury came to an agreement with Peter.

“If you don’t get rid of her attitude and I find out that she continues to talk to you the way that she did, I’m terminating her position with S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury had no time for further discussion as he basically pushed Peter out of the car and sped out of Queens.

Oh, Peter was going to do all he could to make her obey him. It didn’t matter how he was going to train her, but when the time is right he’ll make his dreams come true. Peter was going to make his fantasies come true.

After about a week of no Peter Parker, the Avenger was back and surprisingly better than ever. He made no mention of the car incident and you didn’t want to bring it up either. In fact, Peter seemed to be his happy, normal self while the two of you trained together for an upcoming mission. He was cracking the same jokes and still rambling your ears off about the usual stuff. It shocked you to say the least, he held no ill will for you because of that night. Maybe he finally wised up and was starting to see things your way.

It seems as if lately Peter has become more lax with you. He didn’t get mad when you were just a little late for training sessions or when you would begin your back talk with him. It was as if Peter changed overnight into a completely chill person. Not that you minded at all, you would definitely be taking advantage of his easy going personality.

However, you did notice something in his eyes that you never seen before. You couldn’t pinpoint it, but it was almost like whenever you too got a little rough during training, he would enjoy it and try to push the limit. Maybe it was all a test to see how far your strength could go? Whatever it was, it kept you curious. Peter was acting different, but not too far off from his normal self.

“We have a mission tonight at the docks. Be ready at 10 and we can take turns being watch,” was all Peter said to you before he left the gym to go off with Mr. Stark.

You weren’t used to going on a mission so late. Peter always wanted to arrive at missions early just in case he was being fooled by a criminal. Of course, he always ended up being wrong and everything would happen later at night than in broad daylight (you tried telling him that and he simply waved you off).

You quickly rushed back to your room, slamming the door and triple checking that the locks were in place. The events from tonight’s mission left you speechless, shocked, horrified. Never in your life had you gotten out of a car and booked it to your room so fast. Peter Parker, Spider-Man, New York’s favorite defender, had done an unspeakable act.

It started out like always, just sitting in the car hiding out. Peter wasn’t talking as much so you decided you wouldn’t make conversation either. It was only until the criminals came to the docks where it all went downhill.

Peter told you the same thing he always had, he’ll call you if backup is needed. Of course, Peter found himself in hot water yet again and you decided to intervene. Only this time, you were met with more than just yelling and a kick out of the car.

“You didn’t listen,” the tone in Peter’s voice changed.

“Peter, c’mon now you were in trouble,” you began to speak, but he quickly cut you off.

“You didn’t listen, and now you’re gonna have to be punished,” Peter had a dangerous look in his eyes that scared you.

“Peter, if you’re gonna throw me out again I’ll save you the trouble and just leave. You know I don’t get why you have to be so stubborn all the damn time, if you just-,” as you were going to open the door, you heard the lock click.

“You didn’t listen, you need to be punished,” Peter began to lean closer to you as you pulled harder on the door.

“Peter, PETER,” you screamed as he put his hand on the front zipper of your top.

“Take this off,” you stayed still, “NOW!”

You rushed to take your top off and avoided the tears forming in your eyes. You fumbled with the zipper towards the bottom and Peter groaned impatiently. He grabbed the top and tore it off of you only leaving you in a bra.

You tried to look away from him and cover yourself in the process, but Peter wasn’t having any of that. He grabbed you by the chin with one hand as the other made its way to your chest. You tried to fight his intentions, but he wouldn’t have it.

“Stop moving. I’ll make this worse for you,” he grabbed your chin harder and you stopped trying to move.

He dipped his fingers into one of the cups and began to fondle your chest. Once Peter found your nipple, he circled it with the tip of his thumb. Peter was moaning as soon as it hardened. He never took his eyes off of you.

“Take off the bra,” Peter gave you a look that dared you to defy him. You quickly got rid of the bra and he took it and threw it in the back seat.

Peter was in awe, you were as beautiful as he imagined. Your bare chest and the tears in your eyes made him hard as a rock. He took his hand off your chin and began to palm himself through his suit.

Peter made his suit retract back into his regular clothing. He took your hands and placed them over the palm of his jeans. He pressed your hands down as you bit back a terrified whimper.

“Why don’t you help me out, yeah?” It wasn’t a suggestion judging by the look in his eyes.

You pulled down his zipper and didn’t go any further than that. Peter chuckled at you and brought your hand into the inside of his boxers. You couldn’t form any type of sounds as he made you hand travel through his patch of hair and up his cock. Peter was impressive, but there was no room for a pleasantly shocked emotion.

“Now take him out and finish what you started,” Peter pulled down his boxers and fully exposed himself to you.

You started off slow with a shaky rhythm. Who could ever be confident and cool in a situation like yours? Peter didn’t seem to like what you were doing and put his hand on top of yours. He guided you up and down his cock and took it off once he gave you a pace.

“Don’t be shy, go faster,” you picked up the pace as you saw Peter swipe some precum off his tip and shoved his finger into your mouth.

He didn’t even have to say anything to get you to start licking his fingers. You closed your eyes and Peter didn’t seem to stop you. The faster this was over with the faster you could finally be home.

After a fast few pumps, he was ready to come undone. He slowed you down and then demanded you picked up the pace. You were told to open your eyes and look at him, but you would close them again after a short few seconds. When he finally did cum, he brought your body close to his cock and let it all spill out on your chest. You felt disgusted, humiliated, and baffled that Spider-Man would take advantage of someone like you.

You opened your eyes once you heard the beep of a phone. Peter had his phone out and was taking a video of the whole thing. He took an additional few pictures and stashed his phone away in case you tried to grab it.

“You might want to clean yourself up, won’t take long to get back home,” Peter tucked himself away and started the car.

When you arrived at the compound you darted out of the car before he could say or do anything further to you. If he wanted to talk he would have to call you now.

You shed yourself of your clothes and began to scrub your body down. No matter how hot the water and how hard you scrubbed, the feeling of Peter on you will forever remain. You took a few showers once you thought the scent and act of Peter had washed off of you. When you left your bathroom it was well past 2 a.m.

Making sure the doors were locked for the hundredth time that night, you finally settled down into bed. You tossed and turned for the next hour until you heard your phone buzz. Not thinking anything of it, you picked it up to see who could be texting you so late at night. Your heart dropped once you saw the messages.

One after another Peter was sending you the videos and pictures that he had taken. Each one made your stomach turn more and more. He was mocking you.

Don’t ever disobey me again or I’ll send these out to everyone.

It took a lot to impress Nick Fury after everything he’s seen and been through. Alien invasions, aliens, cat aliens, raccoon aliens… a lot of aliens. However, nothing could’ve impressed him more than reading your progress report from Peter this morning. It took all of Fury not to frame the report and send emails to all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents the news of this miracle.

It’s true, over the past weeks you’ve been ever so obedient to Peter. You didn’t move unless he told you to move, didn’t speak until given permission to, he had you right where he wanted you and you couldn’t do anything about it. Even if you thought of telling someone of his mannerisms towards you he would hold out his phone and get the file containing all those pictures ready in a “Send All” email.

Fortunately, Peter never touched you like that night again. True to his word, you would only be treated that way if you ever went against him again. Needless to say, you were walking on something sharper than egg shells. He would tease you spook you relentlessly, even going as far as locking the car door just to see you jump.

Even late at night he would spam your phone with obscene text messages just to taunt you. Sometimes he would send you photos of himself and when he asked for some in return, you had no choice but to give in. Day by day, this man was messing with you and you had no way of outing him.

Peter would be hot on your trail if he saw you making your way to Fury’s office. He would stop you before you could even get to his office corridor. Peter couldn’t have this getting out, his credibility would be ruined and Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers would see to it.

He wasn’t happy about what he did, but he didn’t feel a lot of guilt either. What he did that night in the car set something diabolical off in him. It felt good to take what he wanted right there and then. Peter couldn't help but be a little prideful about what he did. He even hinted to Sam a few times that something might’ve happened between you and him.

While he was gloating you were scheming your way into telling Fury what happened. You can’t go anywhere near the man without Peter right beside you, and you can’t call Fury because he never seems to answer his phone. In fact, Fury has been out of the office more and more lately, perhaps keeping up with the other Avengers or being involved with more aliens.

Regardless of what it was, the next time you saw Fury in person you would say something.

You finished off your makeup and were now putting on the expensive dress your fellow agents coaxed you into buying for the party tonight. The material was tight and it was a little hard to breathe, but you’d get through it. Your body was buzzing in anticipation and nerves as you checked your hair one more time before heading off to the gala.

Every year, the Stark x S.H.I.E.L.D. Gala was held to promote and spread awareness for local and international charities across the globe. You never had an interest in going before, but this year you were bugged by the other agents to go and Peter had expressed his interest in your presence at the party. If you didn’t show you were afraid of what he might pull in your absence.

The hotel was extravagant, from the way it was decorated to the mass amounts of people in their expensive suits and elegant gowns. You scanned the room for Peter, but saw no sign of him. He was either taking photos with the Avengers or watching you from afar, and you wouldn’t put it past him to do that.

While you didn’t see him you got to work finding Fury. You went through the humongous crowd of people just to see if you could catch a glimpse of him, you even started to ask around, but no one seemed to know where he could be. It felt like forever and you were beginning to lose hope that you would never find him. If anything was going to happen it had to be tonight.

A tap on your shoulder stopped you in your hectic search. You knew who it was just by the clear of his throat. You faced Peter with a nervous smile on your face as opposed to the devilish one on his.

“I‘ve been looking for you all night,” Peter drank in your appearance, “you look beautiful.”

You squirmed under his gaze while he lingered a little too long for your liking. When he was finally done ogling you, you saw the lust in his eyes grow. You gulped as he extended his hand.

“Dance with me?” The band started to play a slow song.

You looked at his hand and then up to his eyes which dared you to say now. Reluctantly, you grabbed his hand as he led you to the dance floor. Immediately, a few wandering eyes were on yours and Peter’s figure as he led the first dance.

“You know I’ve been thinking. Since you’ve been so perfect lately, I was going to recommend you to Stark for a spot on the Avengers,” your skin formed bumps as he spun you around.

“Could you imagine that? My obedient little angel fighting alongside me. Ugh, could there be anything more perfect?”

You were about to speak, but the music had stopped and all attention was directed to the stage. Up walks Fury and Tony Stark, Fury was first to take the podium and began his long speech about the gala and what supporting these charities means to him and everyone here tonight. You kept your eyes on him the entire time and ignored the words Peter was trying to whisper in your ear. You only started listening to him when he squeezed your waist hard causing you to yelp.

“I said, why don’t we go back to my room when this is all over, huh?” You froze when he ran his hand up and down your spine.

“Peter, don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate?” He hummed in disagreement with you and he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Nonsense, I don’t even know why I asked, it’s not like you have a choice in the matter anyways,” the fucker laughed.

Your body was shaking and your face was turning red in anger. Peter was going to hold you down forever. There was no way you could ever escape someone as evil as him. Peter had a hold on you for as long as he wanted. You only had one chance to escape it seems and Fury had to be your ticket out.

Before you could form a response Fury handed over the mic to Tony. Fury stepped off the stage and you kept your eyes on him for the entire time. He was making his way out of the gala and you needed to be fast in order to catch him. Peter seemed too distracted by what Tony was saying so you loosened yourself out of his grip and stood beside him. Peter only glared at you for doing that, but you didn’t care, tonight would be the night you take down Peter Parker.

Slowly, you slinked away into the crowd as a round of applause sounded off for whatever Tony was saying. Peter didn’t seem to notice you leave and that’s when you took off. People were giving you disgusted looks as you began to run out of the ballroom and chase Fury.

You almost lost him in the elevators, but you took the steps and ran once you saw what floor he was heading to. You shucked off your heels and ran up the many steps to catch him. When you got to his floor, you pushed the stairwell door open and ran after him.

“Director F-,” you face planted.

Your ankles were tangled by some sort of slim rope and they wouldn’t come undone. Fury’s footsteps faded and new ones approached your struggling body. A pair of expensive shoes stopped right by your head as the body leaned down. You came eye to eye with an angry Peter Parker.

“Rebel, rebel,” he shook his head and hauled you up. You were beating on his back the entire time as tears formed in your eyes. The rope-like material was his webs which kept you trapped.

He went back in the stairwell and carried you up a few more flights until he came to his floor. The hallways were empty as everyone was still at the party. You tried to yell, but it only got you a harsh slap on your ass.

Peter stopped in front of his door and opened it. The second he closed it he threw you on the middle of the bed. He made his way to his suitcase and took out a pocket knife. You were screaming uncontrollably and he began to cut the webs loose. You knew better than to fight with a man with a knife, let alone Spider-Man with a knife.

“Rebel rebel, you’ve torn your dress,” Peter noticed the small tear towards the end of your gown and tore up the rest. “Rebel rebel, your face is a mess,” he looked at your makeup stained face. He put his thumb near your lips and began to smudge lipstick around your face.

“Rebel, rebel, what are we going to do about you?” Peter took off the rest of your dress. The only thing you were in was a lace thong. Peter licked his lips and began to trace the knife down your breast.

You were shaking, afraid that he might dig the knife deeper into your skin. Afraid that he was so mad at you he would go as far as to kill you. You started to whimper as Peter looked up. The smirk on his face grew wider and wider.

“Beg for me not to hurt you. Beg like the good little angel you are,” you were so close to not giving in, but Peter dug the tip of the blade into your skin just enough to pinch it.

“Please Peter, please, please don’t hurt me Peter,” he hummed in a way to tell you that he wasn’t convinced by the performance.

“Please Peter, I’ll do anything to please you. I’ll do anything to make you happy. Please Peter, I’m so sorry for being bad,” you were hysterical as he moved the knife further down your body. When he reached your center he chuckled and threw the knife to the other side of the room. He roughly grabbed you by your scalp and made you come face to face with him.

“Anything?” You shook your head in agreement. “Alright, I wanna fuck that naughty mouth.”

Peter pulled off his suit pants and became complete bare from the waist down. He pumped his cock a few times before grabbing your jaw and forcing your mouth open. He didn’t give you any time to get used to his size as he put all of himself in your mouth. He grabbed you scalp rougher this time and pushed your head up and down. Tears formed in your eyes again as you were forced to take him down your throat. He was a moaning and groaning mess until his thrust started to falter. Peter quickly pulled out watching in awe and the trail of saliva connected from your mouth to his cock.

Peter quickly sat you up and ripped off your underwear in the process. He started to rub his fingers along your folds where he found that you were wet. He smirked and chuckled as he continued rubbing up and down to make you become slicker than before. You tried biting back your moans, but Peter would only press down harder on your clit which caused you to cry out.

“See, I’m not so bad, princess. I could be good to you if you’re good to me,” he removed his fingers and pushed you down on the mattress.

“Peter, please,” you didn’t know if you wanted him to stop or urge you on.

“I know honey, I know. Just lay down and let me make you feel good,” Peter rid himself of the rest of his clothes and slotted himself between your legs.

His tip began to enter you and the rest of his length painfully stretched you out. You squirmed a little, but Peter reassured you it would feel better soon. Sure, he wasn’t your first, but it had been a long time since the last guy and you were a bit tight.

“Oh, angel, you really do feel like heaven,” he started to thrust a little faster.

Pretty soon, Peter was getting really rough with his thrust and making you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. Peter got carried away and didn’t realize how fast he was going on you. You felt an orgasm building and were trying to communicate that to Peter but couldn’t form the words. Peter felt you tighten around him just a little too hard and he took that as the signal to pull out. After all, he did want to see his crush cum, for him and only him.

You felt the rush of your orgasm after Peter pulled out. When you looked up at him, his chest was covered in the slick sheen of sweat mixed with your arousal.

“Holy shit, you squirted. That’s got to be the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Peter went back inside you and hoisted himself on his knees and making you face to face with him. “I wanna see that again, and again, and a hundred more times.

He didn’t slow down no matter how many times you tried to beg and plead. Peter ripped out orgasm after orgasm from you and it only coaxed him to go harder and faster. Your bodies were covered in each other’s sweat and you were beginning to get a little tired. However, your eyes quickly shook away their tiredness when you felt fingers prodding your other hole.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” and as Peter continued his thrusting, he pushed one finger into your tight muscle and pounded into you harder.

“Aww fuck this feels so good,” Peter cried out one last time and finally came inside you.

You both collapsed onto the bed still connected to each other. Tears formed in your eyes once the shock wore off. He had finally gotten what he wanted from you.

Only a week went by when you had finally heard from Fury again. This time, he wanted to speak with you privately in his office. Your time with the Avengers program was up and he wanted to give his final thoughts.

“Well Agent, I am shocked to be saying this, but I am thoroughly impressed by your behavior with Peter. A little rough in the beginning, but I’m glad to see you both worked through your differences,” you wanted to scoff, but you wouldn't put a damper on Fury’s mood.

After that night in the hotel, the sex became a regular thing. Peter would demand and you were forced to give in. His punishments were still ongoing as he was still mad at you for trying to snitch on him to Fury, but now that the program has ended you and Peter Parker wouldn’t be seeing each other at all.

“And because of your improving behavior I’ve decided to push through your request,” you furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Request?”

“You know, your request to join the Avengers team officially. Parker has been raving about your skills and training that we decided to recommend you for a spot on the team. You’ll have to meet with Mr. Stark for a few interviews and sessions, but seeing as Peter has talked so fondly of you there is no doubt in my mind you wouldn't be offered the spot.”

You stayed frozen in your seat as Fury went on and on about you. You only left when he dismissed you, reminding you that Tony Stark would be contacting you soon.

When you shut the door behind you, you began to freak out. Peter was planning on keeping you as his. At this point, there would be no way out unless you either die, face embarrassment and let the video get leaked, or wait around until Peter gets bored. Knowing Peter and his fatal attraction to you none of those could happen.

On your way back to your room, you heard the familiar footsteps you’ve grown too disgusted to know. You turned around to face the man who would be running you entire life for who knows how long. Just as you were about to speak he opened his mouth first.

“Rebel, rebel, there you are.”

#Dark Avengers #dark peter parker #dark spider man #dark marvel #dark!Avengers #Dark Fic #marvel smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #maries500challenge #peter parker image #peter parker oneshot

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vanderlindemorgans · 3 years

Text

Cross My Heart (Chapter 5)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings: one scene takes place in a hospital, some medical talk, more heavy drinking, talk of death and alcoholism (specifically related to drunk driving), mentions of drug addiction, Whiskey being a dick, lotta heavy topics in general.

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“Alright, so the X-Rays have come back and as you can probably already guess your left arm has been fractured”.

The news hadn’t been a shock to you at all - it was only logical that the result of being thrown off the back of a horse was your arm breaking from the impact of the fall, nevermind the sheer amount of pain that it had already caused you was even more indication that something was definitely wrong there. All things considered, it still wasn’t a pleasant piece of news to receive, causing you to let out a low groan as you settled back into the hospital gurney they had allocated to you after the ambulance had pulled you in. Dressed in only a hospital gown, you felt the chill from the room's air conditioning prick the edges of your skin, the coolness of temperature making the whole experience even more foreign to you. Of course, it wasn’t like you’d never been to a hospital before - an unlucky bout of croup had sent you to the emergency room as a little kid when you’d almost stopped breathing. At the resurgence of that particular memory you felt yourself shudder, recalling the hours spent passed out in a brightly lit room and being forced to drink gross tasting liquid that was meant to clear up your airways. At least you weren’t choking on your own breath this time round.

“Well that’s just fantastic. How long will it take to heal? I kinda got a ranch to run” you asked the doctor, who was standing off to the side consulting the clipboard nestled against his arm. Sighing, he looked up at you with a look of sympathy while he ran through the information he’d jotted down on his notes. “Usually it takes twelve weeks for fractures to heal - given the fact that a good part of your arm has been displaced you’ll need to be put into surgery to shift the bone back into place, which we’ll have scheduled for you in the next twenty-four hours. Afterwards, I’ll be putting you in a cast for a couple of weeks and you’ll have to come back in for checkups weekly. I’ll also give you a list of rehabilitation exercises you can do to ensure the recovery process goes as smoothly as possible” he explained. “After your surgery and subsequent discharge, I heavily recommend a few days bed rest due to the concussion you have sustained”.

“So I’m guessing most physical labour is out then” you muttered under your breath, sighing once you realized how heavily this would impact your ability to keep things running smoothly back at the ranch. Yes, you had employees but without you to oversee everything things would slow down and descend into madness real quickly. You wished you had allocated some sort of second in command for times like this, a manager of sorts to keep things in place while you recovered but you’d just never gotten around to it, brushing the thought aside every time it sprung up with a simple “Why would I need extra help anyway? Nothing ever happens around here”.

“You’d be correct on that. Now, I have some other patients to check on but I will be back in about 20 minutes or so to prep you for surgery, though I will send a nurse to give you some painkillers so you can stop feeling the worst of the pain for at least a little while” he replied. You went to thank him but before you could you felt a light touch graze along your right arm. Your eyes glanced over to where Jack’s hand was placed, his touch delicate and comforting, sparking that same feeling in your chest that you’d felt when he’d stroked your forehead back at the ranch. His eyes met your own for a moment, deep cedar brown looking at you with nothing more than concern and worry, somehow pulling at a single string of your heart even though you wanted to fight against it with all your might.

Snapping you focus back into place, you nodded back over to the doctor and thanked him for all he was doing, listening to his reassurances that he’d have you fixed up as soon as possible as he hurried on out of the room to his next patient in need. Once he was gone, you exhaled in annoyance and went back to staring aimlessly at the ceiling, mulling over the inconvenience of your predicament.

“Everything ok, sugar?” you heard Jack ask you, feeling his enchanting eyes study your expression, his anxiety over your wellbeing plain as day. Letting out a small laugh, you returned his question with a small smile of your own. “Does it look like I’m ok?” you joked, gesturing vaguely to your fractured arm.

He chuckled at your sarcasm, always enjoying that certain fire you had to your character that refused to silence itself. Unbeknownst to you, that was one of things that drew him towards you in the first place - his own air of cockiness and confidence was equally matched by your spitfire and sarcastic wit. Finding out the sweet disposition that lay behind that harshness the first time round had taken him by complete surprise, but only did more to endear himself to you. God, he was such a fool for losing that. He was certain that your sweetness was still there, closed behind even more layers of hurt and pain that he’d caused such a large hand in.

From the moment the ambulance had arrived, Jack had stayed beside you, refusing to leave for even a single moment. It was quite endearing, truth be told, a feeling that attempted to worm its way through your steadfast reasoning against him. He’s a liar. Don’t fall for his shit again, you repeated to yourself. Though it was becoming harder and harder to continue regarding him as your greatest mistake when he was behaving so kindly and gentlemanly towards you. Just a part of his deceptive charm, I guess, you thought bitterly.

“Y’know, you don’t have to worry about things gettin’ outta hand down at the ranch. I’m more than happy to step up and help” he spoke up, snapping your attention back to his words and out of your own contemplation. You thought about his proposal for a minute, the temptation to say yes seeming very appealing towards you, though somehow that felt like admitting to weakness. The ranch wasn’t his responsibility, it was yours, left to you by your dear parents. It was your obligation to run it in their stead - there’d been difficulties along the way, sure, including the occasional nasty cold every now and then but you had pulled through without any trouble. You didn’t need help or any sort of handout, and you were more than capable of taking care of business by yourself, even with a broken arm.

Then again, it is gonna be kinda hard to run a business while being confined to bed rest. Briefly you thought about just closing the ranch for a couple of days while you got back on track yet once you thought about the loss in profits you discarded that idea quickly. It wasn’t like you were struggling to make ends meet but a dip in profits could cause a bit of issue.

“Yeah but...It’s my responsibility. I can’t just ignore that because I got a stupid broken arm” you rebuffed, though you didn’t sound entirely convinced of what you were saying yourself. Sadly, stubbornness was your nature and even if you knew you were fighting a losing battle, sometimes it was more about the principle of having a position rather than whatever thing you were debating over. Some would say that was quite a counterproductive way to look at things, and you’d agree with them, yet you still remained stubborn in spite of them, feeding back into the cycle.

“Darlin’, with all due respect, I think what’s best for you is that you take a step back and let someone else take the reins. You need to allow yourself to rest a lil. Tell me, in all the years of runnin’ the ranch by yourself, have you ever once taken a day off?”.

“No, but-”.

“Exactly as I thought. You’ve been doing an amazing job at keeping things together for all these years, sweetheart, but you gotta relax a bit. Let me help you” he interrupted, gazing at you with those heart-meltingly sweet eyes of his, a look which made you seize up ever so slightly in minor fake annoyance. Little shit, he had to be doing that on purpose.

“Fine, only if it’ll get you to shut up” you relented, rolling your eyes in a dramatic fashion and hitting your head back down into the pillow below, eliciting a playful smirk from him in return. “That’s my girl, stubborn as always” he jested.

To that you cocked an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “Your girl? Careful there, Jack, for a minute I thought you were capable of genuine compassion and care. I may have once been your girl, cowboy, but not anymore. Or did you happen to forget?”.

His own expression softened slightly in regards to your snide remark, his mischievous grin faltering while he turned his gaze to the floor, looking somewhat sheepish towards what you had said, a far cry from his usual air of arrogance. “Yeah, I guess I deserve that” he murmured. “Tell me, sugar, do you ever think one day you’ll believe me when I say that I’m sorry?”.

“When pigs fly, dearest” you smiled with a shit-eating grin, though you couldn’t miss that momentary flash of hurt in his eyes that made you pull back, a sharp pang striking through your chest that hurt harder than the agonizing ache in your arm, which really, was saying something. Could that be...guilt, perhaps?, you thought, searching Jack’s face for any further sign of offense. If he was feeling hurt, he was doing a pretty stellar job at hiding it. Maybe it was nothing, and even if he was hurt, well, he said it himself, he deserved it. Without giving you another minute to ponder your own feelings, a welcome interruption in the arrival of a nurse found you, shifting your thoughts towards the relief of finally getting some painkillers into you.

___

The surgery had gone over well, and after a grueling day spent hanging out in that hospital room hopped up on painkillers you were finally discharged late afternoon the following day. The worst of your concussion had cleared itself up too yet you were still confined to your bed for those first few days - the doctor was insistent on that fact, saying you could never be too careful. You’d begrudgingly complied, not wanting to cause any further problems to your health, and even if you had tried to go against the doctor’s orders, you knew that Jack would be there to send you off back to bed if you dared lift a finger.

Jack had doted on you the entire time, making sure you were well hydrated and cool enough in the midst of the hot Texas summer, fetching you snacks and whatever else you needed from downstairs. In his own words, what kind of man would he be if he didn’t take care of an ailing woman. You’d rolled your eyes and insisted that he didn’t have to go all out with looking after you yet he’d insisted. It was somewhat heartwarming, and it felt nice to be taken care of again after those last few years alone. It reminded you of when you’d come down with the flu back in third grade, staying home in bed lazily watching television and barely being able to keep your eyes open while your mum made soup in the kitchen. You could feel your heart drop at the mere recollection of your parents, pain that stayed beneath the surface rising up in full force. Usually you pushed those feelings down, not wanting to become distracted from the business, but today, you allowed yourself the indulgence of missing them. What would they think if they could see you now? Would they be proud, or disappointed?

Feeling your stomach grumble, you shifted over in bed and reached your only good arm out to grab onto the half-eaten grilled cheese Jack had brought in for you five minutes before, letting out a low wince at the pain that writhed through your other arm, which had been placed into a cast and sling for the time being. Already you couldn’t wait for the day you could get the damned thing taken off - you hadn’t been able to shower and you felt grotty and gross. It wasn’t like you had to impress anyone, it was just you and Jack lying about the place. Still, you could only take so many days of waking up with unwashed greasy hair. And it was itchy too. Oh dear god, it was fucking itchy. You’d heard about how itchy the plaster could get second-hand but you never anticipated it to be that bad.

Directing your eyes to the clock on your bedside, you took notice of the time and let out a small relieved sigh. You could finally take another one of those painkillers, the fourth and dismally last one for you of the day.

Your relief quickly fizzled out into disappointment when you realised the packet of painkillers that had been sitting by your bedside was empty. “Seriously? It’s only been a few days, I couldn’t have gone through them already…” you muttered to yourself in annoyance. Nevermind, there was another packet downstairs. You may have been perfectly capable of getting out of bed and retrieving it yourself, though you found yourself not wanting to be bothered with such a task. “Hey Jack, you there? I ran out of painkillers, could ya run some up to me?” you called out.

“Sure thing, sweetheart” you heard him shout back, and no more than two minutes later he was striding through your bedroom door, carrying exactly what you had requested within his palms. “How are you feelin’?” he asked.

“No better than six minutes ago when you last asked me that. Thanks for bringing these up though, fuck that stupid horse for bucking me off” you grumbled, sniping the blessed white packet out of his hands and into your fingers. “Pain making you grumpy, sweet girl? You seem a bit more full of spitfire than usual today” he joked.

“Nah, you’re getting the discounted version today. If I wanted to vocalise exactly what I was feeling right now you’d be obliterated in a second” you laughed, chucking a tablet into your mouth and washing it down with a large gulp of water, anxious to feel some semblance of relief.

“You don’t say. How’s your head doing, though? No dizziness or anything like that?”.

“I’m fine, Jack, I promise. You don’t have to fawn all over me just because I broke my dumb arm” you assured, rolling your eyes at him.

“I wouldn’t call in fawning, I only want to make sure you're comfortable and all that. Not only because of your arm and all” he smiled gently, reaching out to brush a stray hair off your forehead. It could have been the heat of the room but you could have sworn your skin felt on fire the moment he touched you. You could feel him press the back of his fingers against your head, unconsciously allowing your breath to hitch at his touch. And just like that, the warmth of his hand was gone, leaving an invisible searing mark in its place and your own head full of frenzied and confused thoughts.

“Like I said earlier, just call out if you need anything else, alright darlin’?” he said as he was leaving, words that you didn’t care to take notice of as he left you to yourself again. Blinking slowly, you couldn’t even fully begin to describe what had just taken place, or why one little gesture was throwing your mind into somersaults. Why did his mere touch have to affect you like that? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? Groaning loudly, you settled yourself underneath the sheet covering you and huffed at nobody in particular, cursing both yourself and him for even existing. For fucks sake...

___

Taking a sip of bourbon from your glass, you leaned against the side of the stairs of the veranda with your gaze fixated off into the distance, though you didn’t take any notice of what lay ahead, lost deep in your own thoughts that clouded your mind. It’d been a couple more days, and you’d finally been able to get out of bed and get back to helping out around the ranch - not that you were still of any use to anyone, given the state of your arm. It felt good to be back overseeing things, albeit a bit more behind the scenes than you had been in years. It’d be a good month or so before you were able to move your arm properly and have things back to normal. At first that fact did nothing short of irritating you, since you weren’t one to lie about helpless when work needed to be done. Over the last few days though, seeing the ranch go about with business as usual with Jack’s extra help had put you at ease a little. It still bothered you somewhat that you had to be asking any sort of help from Jack Daniels of all people, though really, he was the one offering it in the first place so you hadn’t so much as asked him to do anything, moreso conceding to his instistance at the behest of your stubbornness.

The pain was getting a little better too, though whether that had more to do with the painkillers or not remained to be seen. For example, you couldn’t feel anything now but you had just ingested two glasses of pure straight bourbon, so of course any type of pain would be numbed. Remember when it could numb more than just that? You let out a small snicker at the thought, sounding as hollow and empty as it felt. Once upon a time you might have been classed as relatively lightweight, a fact that changed after years of the trials and tribulations life had thrown your way. You still got drunk easy, but it took a good few glasses before you actually passed out.

“You know, you should let me sign that for ya”.

Hearing that familiar voice ring out from behind you, you swivel around so see its owner standing right in the opened doorway of your home, his hands casually resting in his pockets and his frame leant against the wall. “What are we, in middle school? I don’t want it getting dirty” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him for good measure.

He smirked right back at you, letting out a small snicker that mirrored your own. “Why not? It’s not like you're gonna have to be wearin’ it forever. A little scribble in permanent marker wouldn’t do ya any harm” Jack grinned, taking a large step forward to descend down to your level, seating himself right next to you on the veranda. You cocked an eyebrow at him, letting your fingertips trail over the edge of the glass in your hands while you stared at him with utter audacity. “And yet I know you’re only so persistent in signing it because you’ll write something crude or vaguely flirty” you snipped.

“How little you think of me, sugar. I’d never dream of doin’ such a thing. I am nothing if not a gentleman”.

“Oh, do cut the charm, Jack. What is it you want?”.

“Please, can’t a man share a glass of bourbon with a lady without being subjected to the Spanish Inquisition?” he asked, wearing his devilish and frustratingly charming grin as he spoke, the appearance of which you swore made your cheeks flush a little bit hotter. Probably because of the alcohol...and it is hot out here after all...

“Not this lady, cowboy” you stated, gulping down the last dredges of bourbon in your glass and placing it back down to the floor with a thud. You went to go grab the bottle from beside you but found Jack had already snatched it up, pouring you another glass. Mumbling out a small thank you, you considered asking him if he wants a glass of his own, however once you caught sight of his silver Statesman issued flask in his hands you dismissed the idea entirely. With nothing else left to say, you glanced back up to the sky above towards where the moon was hanging over you two, the delicate light illuminating the stretches of countryside around your property in a soft glow, one that was both enchanting and eerie at the same time. Every now and then you would be reminded of how beautiful the Texan countryside could look, whether it be bathed in the rays of that damned blistering sun or the enigmatic glimmer of moonlight. It could pull you back to moments lost in time, years ago sitting right where you were in that very same spot, seven years younger and with the exact same man sitting beside you, head rested on his shoulder and looking out into the vast expanse of midnight black. Funny how things change, don’t they?

Out the corner of your eye you saw Jack shake his head, his eyes quiet, the sparkle of stark confidence bordering on plain arrogance missing. It was a similar look to the one he’d given you at the hospital that night, before he’d tried to cover it up with a certain facade of indifference. “What will it take for you to believe I’m sorry? What happened between us, it was all-” he started before being unceremoniously cut off by your interjection.

“In the past? I’m well aware of that. Doesn’t change how I feel” you stopped him. You’d anticipated him throwing out that line from day one and you’d come prepared. Shut it down. Don’t let him try to swindle you for a fool.

His expression changed to one more serious, a hint of him being slightly miffed that you cut him off in the first place. “Let me finish, darlin’. I’m gonna level with you for a second - what I did to you was one of the worst mistakes of my life. Letting everything fall apart like it did, I never should have let it happen” he expressed, his tone straddling between being firm and also being gentle. Cocking an eyebrow at him, you turned back to your glass of liquor, swirling the liquid around idly in a way that reminded you of that persistent thought running round your head. Did he have a point? Were you being too harsh on him?

Don’t become soft on him. Don’t do it. You shifted back into focus, pushing those thoughts far to the back of your tipsy mind while you took a couple large sips of liquor as if it were a lifeline. “Worse than whatever mistake led you to showing up on my doorstep?” you asked, eager to direct the conversation right back out of that uncomfortable territory and into something a bit more easier to stomach. Maybe later on you could ponder the true depths of your perceptions of Jack. Right now, though, you wanted to get wasted and not have to think about anything anymore. And hey, it’s not like I wasn’t wondering about the events that led him here in the first place anyway.“You never did tell me what happened. I know you said it was none of my concern but...I want to know. Call it a spate of drunken curiosity, if ya want”.

The question alone was enough to draw Jack’s face from being merely serious to an expression more cold and distant. He looked away from you entirely and rested his gaze to the few steps below the two of you, his hand clenching in a subconscious act that alone was enough to tell you his own reservations regarding the topic. “Truth is, I’ve been fucking things up for a good couple of years. What happened to lead me here, well, it ain’t a pretty story”.

“I don’t care, Jack, I wanna know” you asserted, surging with a sense of fiery confidence. It might have been the alcohol giving you a bit more moxie to push the topic. One thing was for sure though: you wanted answers, and you didn’t wanna let this go. Stretching your legs out, you finished off the glass you had while you waited for him to reply, not wanting to cave to your request even if he was looking at you like you’d threatened to kill the President.

Finally, he let out a low groan of annoyance and leant against the side of the veranda, not affording you a single look as he launched into his tale. “Basically what happened is some agents from an English based secret service came over to the states as a last resort - their base got blown up by someone and the two guys that approached us were the only ones left alive. Well, them and this other guy we had at our headquarters, but that’s a whole other story. The people behind the attack were a group called the Golden Circle, and Statesman had already been investigating them for awhile. I was called in by Champ to partner up with the Kingsman fellas, do the regular secret agent spiel of espionage and savin’ the world and all that crap. But, me and these other agents, we had an...ideological disagreement. I was covertly tryin’ to hinder them until the older guy got wise to my shit and shot me in the head. Ginger managed to bring me in and revive me, I went over to Cambodia where the two agents were confronting the leader of the Golden Circle, and to make a long story short things got nasty pretty quickly. I barely escaped with my life” he explained.

You nodded along to his explanation, the load of information being a lot to take in the first time round. You were always somewhat aware of Jack’s position as a secret agent though you were never privy to the nitty and gritty details - in fact, the way you’d found out about it in the first place was by complete accident and Jack had to beg Agent Champ to allow you to become cleared on even knowing the basics of his true work behind the front of being a Statesman investor. “And these ideological disagreements were…?” you pushed.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know” he deflected.

“Try me”.

He didn’t reply to you straight away, instead staring at you with a stark look of confliction across his face, an inner turmoil brewing inside of him on whether or not he should tell you even more. Being cast out as a traitor, he didn’t have to worry about breaking any sort of rule of confidentiality, so if you had to wager a guess at what his dilemma was, then it must have been that he felt mildly ashamed, or even embarrassed about the whole situation. In your mind though, you’d let him keep his secrets for weeks now, but if he was going to stay in your house you wanted to at the bare minimum know what he did that was so bad that he simply couldn’t return back home anymore. “Well go on then, hit me with your best shot” you prodded further, hopefully enough to get his demeanour to crack and for him to spill what exactly the entire fuss had been about. And sure enough, crack he did.

Running a hand across his forehead, he let out a low exasperated sigh, one that would have been inaudible if you hadn’t been seated beside him, indicating the exact moment he finally decided to break his own silence and reveal everything to you. “The Golden Circle were primarily a drug cartel and terrorist organization based out in the hidden depths of the Cambodian jungle. Their leader had devised a plot that involved lacing their distribution of drugs with a new type of chemical she created that caused death. Since their supply was mass distributed over the globe, they were holding the entire populace of drug users and addicts hostage to their respective governments, demanding a payout for the antidote. They didn’t, however, anticipate the President and other world leaders not really giving a red hot shit about the lives of junkies. Being the noble men they are, the Kingsman agents as well as the rest of Statesman were striving to get ahold of the antidote to save all those people. And that, is where me and them disagreed” Jack elaborated, avoiding your gaze in what appeared to be a calculated move in order to refrain from seeing your reactions to his admittance. In the span of two minutes, your expression had shifted from intense curiosity to straight up bafflement at what he was saying. It didn’t make sense - why was he against distributing the antidote? He was a secret agent, wasn’t he meant to save the world and innocent lives and all that?

“Let me get this straight - you were assigned on a mission to try to save the lives of innocent people, and you chose...not to do that” you asked, your tone laced with judgment. Not that you had intended for what you said to have come across any different. If what he was implying was right, then that would mean...

“Well, when you put it like that, sure, it sounds awful. I will concede, it wasn’t my best move. But all the people who ingested those drugs did so willingly. They knew they were taking a gamble on their lives the moment they stuck a damn needle into their arms” Jack grumbled defensively, allowing you to gawk back at him in utter disbelief. “Jack, no, you can’t seriously believe that? So what you’re saying is that the kid that decided to get high with his mates one weekend at a party deserves to die? Is that right?”.

“No, no, I didn’t mean like that, I just…”.

“Really? ‘Cause it sounds a lot like you’re saying that innocent people should die for their poor choices” you cut in, shaking your head to further drive your point in. “Jesus, just when I thought you couldn’t be a bigger asshole you proved me wrong”.

“Sweetheart, please, I know. It was a mistake, you don’t have to keep rubbing it in”.

“You know it’s a mistake, but do you truly feel it? Do you really feel remorse? Because if you don’t then it’s just a bunch of empty words” you rebuffed, shooting him with a cold piercing glare that could make an entire continent freeze over. Around about this time, you really began to take notice of the dazed feeling clouding you, every glass of liquor draining straight into your brain and making you feel like your entire head was swimming. Maybe take it easy on the next glass, why don’t ya? With that thought, you shoved the glass off to the side with your free arm and bit your lip, debating whether or not you should even say what you wanted to next. That debate, however, did not last very long as you found yourself blurting out exactly what was on your mind within two seconds of your last thought. “Jack, look...maybe I’ll hate myself for saying this later, and maybe it’s just the liquor talking but I don’t think you’re an inherently bad person. I think you’re an arrogant son of a bitch who does cruel stupid things but probably has a decent enough heart. You just...you gotta stop with this shit. Stop with the betrayals, and the lies, and the false promises, all of it, and just be the real you. The Jack I knew may be a prick but he was never one to let an innocent die on his watch. What’s really behind all this?”.

He continued to glare from his position beside you, somewhat intent on making you recant and drop the whole subject entirely. You wouldn’t go down that easy though, and he knew it, for as stubborn as Jack was you were at least ten times moreso, so when he folded first and trained his eyes low to the ground, you knew that he’d finally conceded. You could feel a whole shift in his demeanour from where you sat, the mask of defensive anger slowly falling away to reveal what was truly underneath: hurt. Pure, raw, unbridled hurt. Anguish that felt especially familiar to you and spoke to a part of yourself that you’d been turning away from for years, and even before he said those words you knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Years ago, before I became an agent to Statesman, I was married to the young woman I’d fallen for in high school. I think I told you about her in passing maybe once, or twice, I don’t know…” Jack started, trailing off once he began to fully re-immerse himself in the past, heartache plainly sewn across his features. It was then that you felt an ache of your own in your chest, a heavy feeling of guilt descending upon you once you realised the gravity of what he was saying. “I remember. You said her name was Lily, wasn’t it?” you murmured, your voice small and unsure, with a hint of something else present too. Regret? Guilt? Whatever it was, you couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it was there, strong as anything and clearly wasn’t going away any time soon.

Jack let out a small hum in reply, everything about his composure presumably a million miles away from everything around the both of you.“So you do remember” he muttered, brushing his fingers over the edge of his silver flask that he had cradled in his handles, tracing the Statesman logo engraved on the side with the pad of his thumb. “I remember you askin’ me about her the first time you came back to my apartment in New York - you saw the photo of her I kept on my desk and asked who she was. I only told you briefly that she was long gone, but I never told you how. The both of us were only twenty-three, and she was pregnant with our first child, a baby boy. Last time I saw her she left the house to go to the convenience store a few streets over”. He stopped himself for a split second, the darkness of his eyes being the all-too recognisable sign of falling deep into his own recollection, feeling as if he was reliving every memory that he revisited in his mind. “Twenty minutes later I get a phone call from a cop, saying there’d been an incident. Meth addicts had robbed the store at gunpoint and she’d been caught in the crossfire. She died instantly, and I wasn’t there to say goodbye. I never got to meet our baby boy, I never got to hold her in my arms again and say how much I loved her, because she was taken from me by a couple of meth-addled scumbags”.

You were honestly at a loss for words, not knowing if saying something would be the appropriate option or not. He was right, you knew he was married before - the time with the picture that he mentioned was the most you had heard of her. He never brought Lily up again, and you never thought to ask, since in your mind it wasn’t any of your business who Jack loved before. Now, the pieces were falling into place, the interwoven connections of his past to his actions as an agent making all the more sense to you.

What you wanted to do most was lean forward and envelop him into your embrace, tell him that you understood more than anyone what exactly that felt like, and even permit yourself to pour out your own heart to him. Drunk as you were though, you couldn’t talk yourself into doing anything more than placing a reassuring hand on his knee, letting your touch be soft and hesitant in case he shrugged you off, since you did basically just goad him into revealing his own wounds in the name of having answers. “Jack, I...I had no idea, I-”.

“How could you have known? I never told you” he mumbled flatly. In the dim veranda light, all though it was faint, you could swear that there was a teardrop lingering in the corner of his cedar brown eyes, nudging the dagger of guilt further into your heart. Say something, you idiot.

Starting off softly, you let your hand rest firmer on his knee, trying to catch his eyes into your own. Tearing his glance away from the flask, he looked back at you with the same raw grief that you had seen on your own face so many times. “I know it must have hurt like hell losing her. And you have every right to feel angry, and hurt that she was taken, but that doesn’t give you the right to hate. Every addict in the world is not the same man who took her life. You can’t just-” you started, before the sound of Jack’s harshest tone cut through your words like a knife.

“How would you know? Do you have any idea what it feels like to hurt, to have lost everything because of someone else’s choices?” he spat, anger seething in his scowl that was directed solely at you. It had taken you by surprise at first - as a reflex you withdrew your hand quickly from him as if he were burnt, perplexed at his sudden outburst. That didn’t last long however, as soon enough confusion was replaced by your own flair of anger. Now it was your turn to get defensive.“I think I do know what it’s like to hurt and to lose. In case you’ve forgotten, dickhead, there’s two people who should be right inside this house that aren’t anymore and haven’t been for about six fucking years now!” you yelled back.

Shit. He’d forgotten about your parents. The anger that had been in him disappeared without a trace right then, being replaced by something close to resembling remorse over his behaviour. “I...I didn’t mean...fuck, sugar, I…I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say” he apologised. You didn’t say anything back to him. You didn’t want to dignify him with any sort of a response. First of all, how dare he? You were only trying to empathise with him, and here he was biting your head off for daring to suggest that he doesn't hate every drug user on the planet. Why do I even fucking bother?

The awkward silence between you hung for awhile, the two of you not wanting to break it for your own different reasons. You could feel Jack stealing glances at you, like he was trying to talk himself into saying something but never had the courage to follow through. Huffing to yourself, you took in your next glass fast enough to make your head spin. You’d have to turn in for the night eventually, and truth be told you were considering doing so right then when you heard Jack speak up.

“I never did ask...if you don’t mind me askin’ that is...what happened to your folks anyway?” he asked hesitantly, as if he knew the question was fat-witted to begin with. Not that you minded too much by then. Drunk you was a lot more forgiving than you were sober.

Taking in a heavy breath, you relayed your tale of woe to him, one hand placed steady to your side to keep you sitting upright. “It was late, and they were coming back from a friend’s 50th birthday party. Their friend lived in downtown Dallas, so they had a fair way to go to get from there to here. When they were almost on the highway, an out-of-control car barrelled towards them, smashing into the front of their windscreen and killing both of them instantly. The driver of the other car had been drinking - according to the local news he was a known alcoholic and had been out having a heated argument with his friend in the passenger seat. The only survivor of the entire collision had been his friend”.

You saw Jack blink at you in silent shock, the weight of your words falling heavily on him while he continued to process it all. “Shit, darling, I feel like an even bigger piece of shit than I already did. If you slapped me clean across the face and kicked me out on my ass after this I wouldn’t blame ya one bit” he replied to you solemnly in a way that didn’t leave you questioning the authenticity of his words - he was genuinely sorry this time round. Taking his apology in stride, you shrugged back at him and acted as nonchalant about the whole thing as possible, not wanting to ponder the topic further. As far as you were concerned, you’d felt enough things for one day and would very much like a break from it all.

“It’s fine. You had no way of knowing. But please, if you take anything from this, at least listen to my words: externalising hate towards random people only feeds your trauma. It doesn’t resolve anything, and the only person left suffering in the end is yourself”.

He furrowed his brow at you, most likely feeling a little defensive that the topic had circled back around to here, but considering his unruly display of anger earlier he wasn’t one to indulge in his own instinctual need to defend his position. “But...didn’t you want the man who took your parents away to suffer? Didn’t you look at every other drunk driving incident in the papers with a little more anger and rage than before?” he asked, earning a single eyebrow raise from you in return. “I mean...I guess what I’m trying to say is...it’s so easy to hate...why didn’t you fall into that trap?”.

“Well, I did, for a little. It was almost tempting to look at every person I saw struggling with alcoholism in red. Since the man who caused the collision was already dead as a result of his own mistakes, at times I’d externalise part of that pain I was feeling onto others, and sometimes that anger became so hot and so burning that it was almost impossible to ignore. I realised pretty quickly that hating alcoholics wasn’t going to bring my parents back and that I’d have to make peace with their passing at some point. Honestly, I still haven’t processed a lot of that shit myself yet I’m still out here living my life as best I can, and really, with my own drinking habits I’d be a goddamn hypocrite to even try to find any true hatred in my heart towards heavy drinkers” you explained. Taking one last sip of bourbon, you discarded your glass off to your side and chuckled lightheartedly. “God, If I drink another glass I’m gonna collapse on the fucking floor. Think it might be time for me to turn in for the night. At least it’s Sunday tomorrow so we can sleep in a lil”.

“Y-you’re goin’ to bed? You’re not telling me to get lost or anything?” Jack sputtered in disbelief, which in turn earned him a minorly strange look from you. “Why would I do that?” you asked.

“I quite literally just admitted to treason against my former organization to you”.

“So? You made a mistake. A pretty fucking big mistake, and a shitty one at that, but still, a mistake. You obviously have some of your own pain you need to work through, and I can get that. Doesn’t mean I agree with what you did, but I get it. I’m not gonna kick you to the curb just because you have issues”.Upon saying that, you hoisted yourself up by latching your free arm onto the veranda’s fenceline, stumbling a little as you fought to maintain your balance while being both drunk and unable to fully utilise one of your arms. Nevertheless, you’d managed to straighten yourself up, and once you’d determined that you were alright to take yourself upstairs you faced on towards the front door and grasped at the brass knob in your hands, taking a brief pause to turn back and nod softly towards the man behind you. “Night Jack, I’ll see ya tomorrow” you called out, leaving him to sit there and watch you disappear back into the house with a certain look of dumbfounded astonishment.

Tag list (lemme know if you wanna be added): @giselatropicana

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #Kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #cross my heart #Kingsman: the golden circle #Pedro Pascal

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theautumnisnoble · 3 years

Text

we'll learn to swim in the oceans you made

After listening to Shirtsleeves by Ed Sheeran this scenario immediately came into mind, also heavily inspired by Jenn Im's pregnancy youtube video titled, "We're Pregnant!"

[Also a very big thank you to A (@solhwippedsubs on twt and holdoutandwin on ao3) for beta-reading this. I love you my solhwi fluff confidant!]

Word Count: 2k words

"Wake up!" Sol removes the comforter that was covering his husband's body and started shaking him. "Han Joon Hwi, ireona!"

"Mmm, Sol-ah. Why?" Joon Hwi covered his eyes with his arm to shield them from the rays of sunlight and wondered why the love of his life was forcing him out of their bed so early in the morning.

"Ireona! Jebal.." Joon Hwi immediately shot up as Sol's voice started to crack and he examined her face. Sol teared up and Joon Hwi noticed she was holding something tightly, stick close to snapping into half.

"Babe, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Joon Hwi held both of her arms and looked up at her.

Sol had been so emotional these days, well, more than she usually is. Sol always has been a passionate ball of fury, but Joon Hwi especially had it rough this week. He doesn't find Sol annoying or tiring for any of that matter, but he would wonder why Sol would suddenly cry or get mad at him for absolutely no reason, and if there was, then he avoided asking it as when he did that one time, Sol only got more mad at him. There was also yesterday when Joon Hwi sprayed on himself the perfume that Sol gifted to him on their wedding anniversary last April and Sol suddenly pinched her nose close and walked outside of their bedroom. And now, Sol was in tears, sobbing, at 7 am in the morning.

"Babe.. I'm starting to worry. What's wrong?"

"I told you to be careful!!!" Sol lightly punched his shoulder and bawled.

Joon Hwi raised his arm and wiped her tears using the sleeves of his sweater, pulling on the cloth with his fingers. "What did I do wrong? Calm down for a sec and tell me.."

"Don't tell me to calm down!"

"O-okay." Joon Hwi surrendered for a while and let Sol release all of her emotions. Moments later, her sobs started to simmer down and Joon Hwi opened his arms wide. "C'mere."

Sol bended down and let Joon Hwi's arms circle around her. Her lower body slowly went closer to him and then she sat on his lap, her shoulder against his chest. Joon Hwi wiped down the dampness on her face and caressed her arm. "Now, babe, talk to me, okay? I'm never gonna know what I did wrong if you won't tell me."

Sol faced him and tried to form intelligent words. "Well, you—"

"Hmm?"

"I'm—" Her mouth started to form into a pout and tears started fall again from her eyes. "Joon Hwi-ah." She released sobs again and buried her face into his neck. Joon Hwi sighed and patted her arm.

"Babe—"

"I'm pregnant."

Joon Hwi paused his movements and pulled his head back away, lightly pushing Sol by her shoulders, to let Sol face him. Sol's eyes wandered down to her left hand and Joon Hwi followed them, then he grabbed the stick from her hand.

It was a pregnancy test. Two red-dyed lines. Positive.

Joon Hwi faced Sol, his lips starting to form into a smile. "Babe—"

"I told you to be careful!!" Sol again whimpered, tears still falling.

"W-what? Is it because I—"

"Nevermind!" Sol wiped her tears in a rash way and breathed out to calm herself down. "I-it's actually not your fault." Sol now realized the irrationality of her internal reasoning.

Joon Hwi held back a chuckle and tucked a hair behind his wife's ear.

"Remember April?"

"When we shared a sloppy kiss under the rain?" Joon Hwi tried to lighten the mood by reminding her how they had to walk all the way to the bus stop under the heavy pouring rain, just right after they had their wedding anniversary date at a fine dining restaurant four months ago. It was a funny, but sweet memory.

"No! Before that, when I got diagnosed with PCOS."

"Aah."

It left Sol and Joon Hwi almost hopeless for a child when she was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. But Sol, even before that, was convinced she didn't need to have kids and that she was satisfied with her life with Joon Hwi, content that they'd be that couple with no children. They were already busy with their very time-demanding jobs and Sol— she convinced herself she wouldn't be competent with the whole mothering a child thing. But after knowing her condition, the question, "should I?" turned to "could I?". The condition that would possibly rob her of the choice eventually made her think about how it wouldn't be so bad, because Joon Hwi was there. So after the news of her condition, she decided on one thing.

"A-after that I got off birth control." Joon Hwi nodded and listened to Sol, who was still tearing up a bit, and he also wiped down those tears when he could.

"Then yesterday, when I realized I wasn't on my period yet, I got to read my period calculator and saw that I- I was 16 days late." Sol exhaled for courage.

"Then I bought the pregnancy test." Sol paused and looked at Joon Hwi, and her face looked like she was about to burst again. Her lips were shaking and her eyes were still crystal with tears ready to fall. She was scared.

"You can take it slow, I'll be here. I won't stop listening." Sol released a small smile, tidied her face and tucked in her stray hairs, preparing to tell Joon Hwi more while also now trying to relax herself.

"I didn't know if I should take it though. I mean, everything would change if I was pregnant. But I did wanna know, I wanted to be certain. And it said that I should use my morning pee for it so I waited until morning."

"But you hardly even slept.." Joon Hwi recalls her wife tossing and turning beside him, and then ultimately giving up trying to sleep then went downstairs. He bets on Sol reading up on her cases, which works as an alternative sleeping pill for her.

Ever since she was diagnosed with PCOS, Sol really took effort into having a more healthy lifestyle— like exchanging coffee for matcha, this among other things, and also trying to get some more sleep. So Joon Hwi knew that Sol would definitely try to catch up on sleep.

"I did, a bit." She smiled. "So, after that I took it just earlier. A-and I tested positive." Sol's emotions now returned to her and she closed her eyes, her eyebrows furrowed and tears started to fall again.

"I'm scared." She looked at him. "I don't know if I'm gonna be a good mother. I feel like I should be happy or something, but I'm just really scared." Sol now covered her face with both palms and cried, Joon Hwi pulled her in to embrace her.

"Babe.." He patted her back.

"What if I try my best, and our kid still doesn't love me?" That was it. Sol released another wave of sobs and her body shook against Joon Hwi's embrace.

Sol thought she wasn't ready. Even if it was her choice to get off birth control, she didn't think she would immediately become pregnant. After all, her doctor said it was now almost impossible to be. In her mind, pregnancy would change everything— from how much devotion she has to her work to maybe how her and Joon Hwi's relationship would change, and maybe for the worst. And she didn't like change, her idealistic plans for her future would need to be altered, and she also didn't like how it would most likely change their marriage. She couldn't have that, she couldn't live with a ruined marriage because she didn't want anything to change between Joon Hwi and her, and she also couldn't live with her child possibly having to live through all that. And what if he gets tired of taking care of me? And tons of other doubts and insecurities showered her.

Why does my mind do this? Sol asked herself. Why can't I just be excited? Joon Hwi is the father of this child. I'm sure he's disappointed in me right now.

Joon Hwi pulled away after she calmed down. He wiped her face, again with his already damp shirtsleeves. He placed short kisses on her wet cheeks and cupped her face. "Sol, I believe in you."

Sol melted and her lips turned into a pout, her face still showing fear and uncertainty.

"I'm with you, whatever your decision is. I will be always there for you as I always have. If you arrive to whichever decision, I will give you my opinion but at the end I will always support you. If you don't want to have the baby, I'll still be here. If you want to try and see it through the end, I will be happy and help you every step of the way. I'm your husband Sol-ah. I know you don't trust yourself that much yet, but trust in me. "

Sol put her arms around him and hugged him tight. "I love you Sol. We'll take it slow, step by step. I know you're panicking right now, but there's no rush. We'll do it together. You're never gonna be alone. I'll be there every single step of the way. And I'm sure our kid will love you. You were an amazing older sister to Byeol and you still are, she adores you so I'm sure our kid will, too."

"I love you Joon Hwi. I love you so much. I love you."

"You love me that much?"

Sol pulled away, annoyed. Joon Hwi released a chuckle.

"I love you too."

"You sure I can do it?" Sol asked. "Being a mom? What if I'm going to be too busy for it?"

"We can always ask Byeol to babysit. Or your mom, she has said she already wants a grandchild."

"You always know the solution to things don't you?" Sol rolled her eyes.

"That's why I'm the perfect husband to the ever worrier Eomma Sol."

"Eomma Sol?" Sol raised her voice, taken aback by the sudden nickname.

"And I'm Appa Joon Hwi. " Then Sol bursted out, laughing. Her tears were now drying on her cheeks and she was more relaxed now.

"See? It's cute." I just wanted to see you smile. Joon Hwi thought.

Sol pulled him into a hug again. "You better not regret being a father to our child, Han Joon Hwi-ssi."

Joon Hwi let himself fall into bed, taking down Sol with her. They both laughed and Joon Hwi pulled her into a kiss, tasting the bitterness and sadness of her tears. They made out, feeling at home and Sol, feeling assured and loved by the person in front of her. Joon Hwi kissed her, tasting the ocean, drowning in the one she made.

"I will never regret it. I will fulfill all the promises I made on our wedding day, to be by your side, To support you, to be a loving husband, to be always there to annoy you—" Sol laughed, remembering his one-liner during their exchange of wedding vows. "To always wake and sleep beside you whenever I can, and to never leave your side." They both smiled at each other and Joon Hwi placed a kiss on her forehead. They pull each other close, feeling each other's warmth. And Sol is now close to slumber, fatigued after her nonstop crying.

"I'll be the happiest father to our child. Of course I will, you're the mother, after all."

#law school bingo #law school bingo: kissing in the rain #law school bingo: insecurity #law school bingo: wedding vows #law school bingo: anniversary #law school bingo: pregnancy #law school bingo: nicknames #law school fic fest #law school month #law school bingo: i just wanted to see you smile #Law School Bingo: Verdict

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fiction-in-my-blood · 4 years

Text

Obey Me! Brothers W/ Mentally Slow MC HC

~Longer than necessary A/N ahead so, if you don’t care, you don’t need to read it, just sharing stuff about myself to random strangers on the internet lol.~

So... I’m slow. Like, my brain just does not computer things quick enough a majority of the time? I’m not a great conversationalist because of it, I have a pretty bad stammer, I mix up names even though they don’t sound at all the same, and I get too excited when I do know something that when I try to say it its just a jumble of words that don’t make sense and I tell my friends to just forget about it because I know I won’t be able to say the right words lol. Luckily I have great friends and they give me the time to rethink my sentence so I can say what I want to say. Oh, and I daydream to the point I never dream in my sleep haha. So, this is basically an HC for me lol. That being said, I’m pulling from mostly my own experiences here, so I’m sorry if they sound a lil depressy haha.

And I would like to say, if anyone can relate, there’s literally nothing wrong with you!!! (Cannot stress this enough). We just have our fun lil quirks.

~Also, I’m so sorry for missing out on Belphie. I love him somuch but I could not think of a scenario for him. If I do in the future I’ll edit or reupload idk.~

~Oh, and @theshove , I finally posted again ;), although I’m sure it’s not gonna be as spicy as you’d like.~

Warnings: Descriptive explanation of a panic attack in Mammon’s HC, reference to bullying in Satan’s

~~~~~~

Lucifer:

At first, he was secretly pretty frustrated.

He thought it was a confidence issue, he heard that was a common thing in human youth, to not believe in yourself and have anxiety about the way you looked, spoke, sounded.

You would often be having conversations with his brothers, debating a subject that Lucifer took no interest in, and you would be about to put in your input when a stream of nonsense passed your lips.

“Y’know what, nevermind.” Was a frequent phrase that left your lips when you did slip up, sighing to yourself as you thought about how ridiculous you just sounded.

Lucifer would ensure none of the brothers, or Solomon, ever teased you about your mistakes.

Although, it was mortifying everytime you accidentally called him Levi, and vice versa.

It was hard enough when you were still getting to know the brothers, but even on a date with the eldest, Levi just seemed like an easier word to say in the moment. It led to a few upsetting misunderstandings and some pretty severe punches to Lucifer’s pride.

Once you two got closer, you explained you mixed up your words because you used to be practically mute.

You weren’t a particularly extroverted child, nor were you interested in much, so you hardly spoke at all. You never got the practice you needed to familiarise yourself with words. It was Devildom that really brought them out of you.

After you did share that with him, he thrived off hearing your voice, even when it took a solid ten seconds to contemplate what you needed to say, even stretching your mouth muscles before you started just in case you stumbled again.

Of course, you made your mistakes now and again, got stuck on a word, laughing at how ridiculous you sounded saying ‘in’ several times in a row when you were trying to argue over tonight’s dinner, but Lucifer never cracked a joke like you did about yourself.

He smiled, happy that you didn’t let this impact your personality and recovered quickly and, gradually, at snail's pace it felt like at the time, you could hold a conversation, a bright smile on your face when you were able to pull it off.

“Lucifer, I didn’t stutter this time!”

“Well done, MC, shall I give you a reward?”

Mammon:

“Useless human, can’t even talk, huh?”

Trying to act like the big tough guy he played himself out to be didn’t fare well when you first arrived in Devildom, his brothers practically beat him up every other day for it.

The first time you laid your eyes upon a demon and they explained you would be a transfer student, it took you a few minutes of silence to understand what was actually going on.

It wasn’t because this wasn’t an extraordinary situation, you were an avid reader of fantasy novels and had waited for the day to be transported away from your boring, mundane life, but you just couldn’t compute verbal speech.

In potion class, you had to ask the teacher to write down the ingredients and the quantities because you couldn’t picture the words themselves, so you couldn’t understand what the potion was actually meant to do.

“What’re you writing it all down for?”

“It’s easier for me to listen when I can read what they’re saying. I guess it’s because my hearing’s crap?”

But your hearing wasn’t all that bad, it was just easier to explain it that way than explaining how transcriptions help you listen.

Sometimes, in the hallways of RAD, the bustling students and whispering gossiping of you, a human, making a pact with Mammon? Apparently it was hilarious to everyone else.

But it wasn’t what the demons were saying, it was how loud they were saying it.

It was just too many noises at once, you couldn’t decipher the surround-sound mumbling and it stressed you out, made you uncomfortable, and gave you that all too familiar feeling of a panic attack due to the sensory overload.

Mammon realised your discomfort as tears grew in your eyes and your breathing quickened and, for a moment, he was moving to beat up every single devil that ever even mentioned the word ‘human’.

“Ma-Mammon!” Your frail voice and a tug on his sleeve pulled him back to Devildom and he turned back around to you, watching as you clenched your eyes shut, trying to ignore the buzzing that continued to rattle your brain.

“Can you take me some place quiet?”

From then on, you would often spend your lunch breaks in a quiet classroom away from the majority of students. It was a good place for you to wind down, especially, when you two were close enough, Mammon would hug you closely, helping the panic in your heart when you did have a panic attack due to all the noises.

You didn’t have them as much now, the noise cancelling headphones he had bought you brought solace as you walked from classroom to classroom.

In class, he would try his best to act as scribe when you were running behind, but he did a terrible job. His handwriting was abysmal, only now did he appreciate how quickly you had to write to keep up with the lessons.

You appreciate the sentiment all the same, placing a quick kiss on his cheek- you were dating at this point- and explained that he didn’t have to do that for you, you could just get a copy of the teacher’s notes after class.

Now he could never feel more guilty about picking on you when you first got to Devildom.

“Hey, Mamo?”

“Yeah, MC?”

“Thanks for not getting angry at me.”

Leviathan:

You were pretty silent, never really talking unless you were spoken to directly.

Yet, you still had that dumb, normie trap of cute smile on your face when you listened to everyone ranting and raving.

When you did speak, it was quiet, almost a whisper.

Thank Diavolo for the demon’s enhanced hearing because, if they didn’t, they would be constantly asking you to speak up.

It wasn’t because you didn’t like your voice or you thought you were too loud otherwise, it was just because you couldn’t really be bothered to be louder.

You were content with just listening, watching everyone have a vivid conversation about the latest trouble Mammon had gotten into or Satan raving about the last Detective show you needed to watch.

You never had any questions to ask in class, and the ones you did have would usually be asked by another student before you got the chance to even raise your hand. You weren’t a genius, just a good listener.

Levi understood, somewhat. Why would you want to talk to his normie brothers? They had nothing interesting to say.

Most of the time he suspected you just weren’t listening to them.

But, it’s when you were alone together in his room as he told you about the latest anime he was enjoying, he got annoyed.

“Are you even listening to me? I don’t even know why I try. You don’t deserve Henry!”

“I was listening. You were explaining how you think the next season of TSL is going to go. I’ll admit, the Lord of Shadow saving that servant from the Lord of Corruption seems a little far fetched, but it’d be interesting to watch.”

That had possibly been the longest group of sentences he had ever heard you string together at once. And they were so soft, no hint of trepidation from his accusation.

Eyes wide in embarrassment for misreading the situation, and getting so aggressive about it, Leviathan looked away.

“I’m sorry, I know I seem really dismissive all the time. I just enjoy listening to you talk about your passions.”

The bright smile on your face calmed him down, as it usually did, and, every so often, you would make your comments about the shows you know only because of him. He was very good at explaining plot lines. Even when you had never seen the show, you felt like you had.

You would mainly just talk to Levi from then on, getting to the point where you could express your own hobbies without him judging you as a normie and more as a friend.

Well, not a friend, more than that, much more, but a friend would have to do for now.

The first time you strike up a conversation with him, calling his name from down the hallway of the house you’re staying in as he walks with Asmodeus, Mammon and Beelzebub is possibly the greatest day of Levi’s life.

“Lefty.” You accidentally pronounce his name wrong, like you sometimes do with “Bell” and “Ashmo”.

You didn’t have any problems with saying their names normally, but when you were tired, all hopes of communicating like a normal human being went out the window.

Your words were a low mumble, but they were something Levi had learnt to understand fluently from your late night gaming sessions that would usually end in ruin when your tired brain drastically slowed your reflexes.

“I heard it was your 200,000th bicentennial birthday coming up, so I asked one of my friends to commission this for you.”

Only Diavolo knows how you managed to pronounce centennial at this time of night, but you did it, handing him a paper-wrapped, flat square, a light blush dusting both your cheeks.

Asmo made a flirty, teasing comment about how close you two seemed and how, now, Levi was the lucky one.

Mammon got jealous, demanding that he wanted a birthday present, even though his milestone couple centuries had literally been a couple centuries ago.

Beel’s stomach grumbled, but he was a little curious about what you could have possibly gifted Levi, and how many words you just said as loud as they would usually be, which was wildly out of character for you.

“It’s the Lord of Shadow and the servant.” Levi gasped upon seeing the magnificent drawing your friend had made for you, which you insisted on paying for, and never had Levi been so jealous to have a friend like that. A friend with such talent.

“You were right, he did save her.” You smiled, eyes twinkling at the positive reaction Levithan had made.

You had seen the similarities in the characters with you and the demon. The servant was said to have had their voice stolen as a child, long before they and the Lord of Shadow had met. And it was obvious to you the similarities the anime brothers had with the demon brothers, but you wouldn’t dare tell Levi that. You were worried he’d get shy and call you a normie again.

So that statement you made was a form of confession to Levi. Something you hoped he would understand.

“You watched the season without me?! How did you even get the DVD? It’s not even out yet!”

Yeah, no such luck there.

“Levi, you know what isn’t fair?”

“What could possibly be unfair for you in this situation?”

“That you aren’t as good a listener as I am.”

Satan:

You were an avid texter, just like Satan.

Your fingers moved so quickly against the screen of your D.D.D or the keyboard of a computer, it was amazing someone could see them.

And you were smart. On electronics, you could keep up conversations on the latest book you were reading and discuss the detective shows you and he liked to watch together.

It was only when you spoke in person did your conversations so down.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” You cried out after a particularly long and troublesome stutter, mainly annoyed because it was an easy word but all the b’s tied your tongue like a tongue twister. Ironically, you felt like you were blubbering like an idiot.

Your stammer used to be worse, far worse. So bad you couldn’t even tell your parents anything without getting angry at yourself, but you got the speech therapy and learnt to just take it slow when you got eager.

Everytime you see Satan, you want to be able to match his intellect and speed. You felt almost competitive.

But it would hardly ever work out in your favour, your ‘S’s coming out like you were trying to start an old engine and ‘B’s and ‘D’s being switched in for each other like you were a toddler.

You spoke before you thought of what you were going to say, hoping the words would just float out of my mouth like everyone else’s did.

But no. Not for you.

You had to carefully plan each sentence, thinking about every conversation you had so you could make a pre-made answer just so you wouldn’t look like a fool taking so long to speak.

You were ashamed most of the time, bullied for your impediment as a child and even in your teen years by people you told yourself were your friends but really weren’t when they called you teasing nicknames instead of your given one after you had asked them several times to use it.

They were the main reason you still didn’t have the confidence to speak well now.

“Hey, take it easy. We’re not in a rush.”

Satan would always be nice, politely giving you the time you needed to take a breather, calm down, and start over again, still blushing from your last stuttering episode.

“Why don’t you call me an idiot?”

A lot of questions similar to these, the only difference- the name you would be called, passed your lips sometimes, when there was a lull in your time together.

You were used to people making fun, telling you to just shut up already so they didn’t have to hear your stupidity anymore.

“You’re not stupid. I care about what you have to say.”

Satan was always so serious everytime he answered a variation of your question, showing you he really cared.

You blushed, your mind blank and it would take a couple minutes after that initial compliment for you to reboot.

It was true, though.

Satan enjoyed watching your lips move and the sound of your voice as you two discussed who the killer in his detective show could be.

You both always came to the same conclusion before the episode ended.

Because most of your conversations happened through text, he found he missed your tone and expressive face when you got really into a subject.

He didn’t care if you stuttered, it was far better than just watching words flash across a screen, as most of your conversations went, on his D.D.D

Although, he did care that you got so angry with yourself.

Being the Avatar of Wrath, he understood how easy it was to give into frustration and just want to hit something every time you made a mistake, he had done that many times in his younger years, and it wasn’t healthy.

It wasn’t healthy to be ashamed of a mere stumble or get mad at yourself for it, you never learnt that way.

One night, laying in his bed, platonically, you shared your reasoning behind getting so mad everytime you stuttered.

You had seen Satan’s demon-form once before, but never had you seen it arise so quickly and so fiercely.

You had been down all day and he had brought you to his room so you could feel comfortable enough to talk to him, but this fearful man, no, creature before you only put you more on edge.

But he continued to hold you.

He continued to wrap his arms around you from behind, spooning your body, trying his best not to fly out of hell right now and hunt down those who had picked on and teased you for all those years for something you couldn’t even help.

To think the reason you hated something he found so endearing was because some mere humans had made you think your excitement to communicate with people was something wrong?

“I don’t think this exchange program is going to work out.”

“Wh...Why?” You tried your hardest now to sound strong, sighing to yourself when you repeated the letters.

“Because I won’t be able to hold back if I have free access to the human world. What kind of assholes do that?”

“Teenage assholes.”

Asmodeus:

What a cute little airhead.

From the moment he first met you, Asmo loved the clueless looks on your face as you sifted through the information you were being given, seconds behind the punch everyone else could get to.

You were slow, but you were meticulous, combing through every piece of information you could to give the correct response.

You were actually pretty smart because of that fact, studying so hard on everything you did so you weren’t embarrassed by being wrong.

And you weren’t too big with the whole ‘social cues’ thing either, mistaking Satan’s sarcasm for truth and Leviathan’s anger for genuine, relationship-ruining upset, desperately trying to fix the situation so that no one would get hurt.

You were selfless in the strangest of ways, too, opting to go without something you actually, really needed before asking someone for help.

Once, you had tried ordering shower gel off of Akuzon, but, instead, ordered Shaitan Gell, a special ingredient often used by witches to summon demons.

You had wondered why it was so expensive, but thought that maybe the Devildom economy wasn’t doing so well right now.

(It wasn’t your money you were using, so what the hell?)

It was even more confusing when it smelled a little off, but demons had strange tastes. Beelzebub literally ate brains and bat wings on the daily.

When Diavolo showed up in your shower the first time you used the oddly thick, black liquid, you just cocked your head, too weird to be embarrassed. Thinking this was a regular occurance in Devildom, you gave the prince a hearty hello and asked him, if he needed anything, could he please wait outside so you could get dressed first.

The news spread like wildfire, especially when Diavolo randomly vanished from a meeting with Lucifer.

When everyone did find out, as Lucifer was reprimanding you for using such a relic in that way, they teased you endlessly, some offering you their own makes of the potion so you might accidentally summon them in the same way.

Every flirty or sexual remark Asmo made went right over your head, thinking that with every personal question he asked was just asked to make conversation and not genuine interest on his part.

“Do you have a partner?”

“Well, no, I don’t really compete in dance competitions or anything.”

“What positions do you usually go for?”

“I don’t play many sports, but if I had to pick, I’d say a pitcher in baseball. I have a pretty mean throw!”

It actually became a little bewildering how oblivious you were to all of his advances, thinking every time he draped himself over you he was cold and you offered him your jumper.

He took them everytime, so you were starting to run low. He tended to hoard them in his room, savouring the sweet scent of the body wash he had bought for you after the Shaitan incident.

“Asmo, can I get my hoodie back?”

You called through his closed door at some point after returning from school in the dead of winter, shivering in the sweat pants and long sleeved top you already had on.

You were generous, you didn’t think you personally were, but all the brothers knew you would give anyone anything if they asked for it.

That’s why it wasn’t that ridiculous when Asmo had all of your jackets. Hoodies from years ago, sweaters you bought just to treat yourself because they were so soft, and even this jumper you got from your ex-boyfriend in high school, something you meant to give back but never managed to. You forgot every time you went to meet him with that exact intent the reason for seeing him.

It didn’t remind you of him, he barely wore it before you practically stole it, but it did make Asmo’s heart skip a beat at the ‘sweater-paws’ you got from the much-too-long sleeves.

Following a clattering from what sounded like trash cans, followed by a comical shriek of a cat, the door flew open to a slightly disheveled Asmodeus, fabric clutched in his hand as he stood topless before you.

“Oh, sorry, Asmo. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m just so cold.”

You laughed to show you weren’t upset with him as you rubbed your arms, bouncing on the balls of your feets to get your blood moving enough to create some heat.

How could all these devils, avatars of the seven deadly sins, not have heating?

“Let me warm you up, MC!”

Without even stopping to hear your answer, but he knew you’d say yes, no matter what, Asmo pulled you in by the wrist, immediately wrapping his bare arms around you the moment the door was closed.

He was warm and you were comfortable with him, he showed you curiosity and care, so you eased into that embrace, thinking it a friendly gesture as a thank you for using your clothes all the time.

When you felt a slight nibble on your ear, you started to freak out a little.

You stuttered out an inquiry as to what he was doing, shyly pushing away as he drew back with his flirtatious smirk.

“I’ve made it so obvious for so long, MC. I really like you.”

Asmo cooed back, prodding your puffed out cheek with the tip of his tongue as you tilted your head to the side the same way you did every time someone told you something new.

Knowing you would be taking a moment to compute the information, Asmo used this chance to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“I really like you too, Asmo.”

The realisation came pretty suddenly.

You had never put much thought into it.

Sure, he was the Avatar of Lust, he could just be saying this so he could express his temporary desires, but that was how you felt. You weren’t one for holding back, you were always scared of forgetting the topics of your thoughts if you didn’t say them aloud, so you just went for it.

Beelzebub:

Does this person even have bones?!

Like, seriously, your tripping over your feet like they’re not even attached to your body.

Rolling your ankle, walking off in directions that definitely don’t lead to where you intend on going, skipping right passed the class you’re meant to be attending.

The amount of times you’ve gotten lost in both the House of Lamentation and RAD is honestly worrying.

Your sense of direction? What even is a map because it seems like you’ve never even heard of the concept of signs or specific routes you need to take to get to your bedroom.

To help with your impossibly slow way of getting a lay of the land in your new dorm, you would often take midnight strolls.

Often getting lost, which is how you found Belphegor up in the attic, even when you had stayed on the same floor.

That’s how you and Beel got so close.

Because of the delectable scents coming from the kitchen, you would often find him having his late night snacks.

He would invite you to stay, at first only because Lucifer had instructed him to walk you back to your room every time he found you aimlessly wandering the house late at night.

“Is your ankle okay?” He would ask through a mouthful of food, but somehow you were still able to understand him.

Blushing, you looked down as your injury that was caused earlier in the day. You had stepped weird on the side of your foot- something that would usually happen and something you would usually be able to walk away from- but this time it was on the tall spiral stairs of the school you were still getting to know, sending you tumbling down flights and flights of steps.

It was a wonder you were human, because even Solomon was shocked you survived that.

“Y-Yeah, just a little red,” was an understatement.

You’re ankle killed. It was only a little swollen thanks to the spell your sorcerer friend used on you, but that didn’t help the sprain of your tendons. It was slightly bruised, covered by your loosest, most comfortable socks.

“Are you embarrassed?” Beel pointed out your bashful blush and you looked back up. He had seen your obvious hobble as you made your way to his side, but didn’t want to mention it in case you were feeling fragile about the subject.

“It just gives me flashbacks, is all.”

Oh?

Memories from MC’s past?

Yes, Beel would very much like to hear about that.

Not to tease or bribe you with, he was genuinely curious about your little human life. Not that you could tell, but he had never been so curious about another being like that.

“Oh, god, well, I guess I trust you.” You joked, blushing harder as you laughed about the memory that plagues your thoughts.

One time, in high school, you were walking out of the cantine when you tripped over literally nothing, throwing your bottle of water across the school yard like you needed to save it from your fall. It landed in the middle of a group of older students.

The amount of laughs you got from that. The teacher that came up to you to ask if you were okay. The cut that occured on your knee.

(Yes, this is a personal story. Yes, I have ptsd every time I pick up a plastic bottle of water)

Oh, it was like you were reliving the horror right there and then.

“It was mortifying! My friends still bring it up. To. this. day.” You sulk, resting your forehead on the table to hide the deep red on your face.

“Did it hurt?” The blunt question came as a shock, that’s for sure, and you no longer felt unbearably hot when you looked up to see him. There was little look of amusement except for a kind-hearted smile.

“W-Well, not as much as this other time...”

You found yourself telling him all of your most embarrassing tales, seeking for that one story that would make him laugh the way everyone else would laugh at you.

He didn’t. At all. It was actually a little worrying that he found none of your stories funny.

Truthfully, he did find the want to chuckle at a few of them, but he didn’t want to betray your trust by laughing at such ‘precious’ memories for you.

#this has been in my drafts for far too long #I have 20 other wips #why do i do this to myself?#I so wanna write but I have like four assignments due and I have NOT started any of them TT #obey me!#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me mamo #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me fluff

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taizi · 4 years

Text

it’s a better place since you came along

the adventure zone taako & angus mcdonald 7k words

read on ao3

“So, you must be here about the job,” the old man goes on. “To tell you the truth, I’d just about given up on finding a decent nanny. When can you start?”

Taako stares at him. There’s an alarm klaxon blaring in the back of his brain, along with a shrill inner voice advising him to “abort, motherfucker, abort!”

***

In which Taako answers a general “help wanted” ad that actually changes his entire stupid life.

There��s a baby crying somewhere.

Taako, left waiting in the foyer by a harried maid, has nothing else to do but tap a foot, twist one of the rings on one of his fingers, and count the long seconds that the plaintive wail continues to echo through the cavernous house.

Listen, he may not be a very good dude, just in general, and for a healthy plethora of reasons—but there’s a prickling sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach, as one minute passes into two, and the sounds of distress go unheeded.

What in the fresh fuck, he thinks, when another member of the house staff drifts through the room without any sense of urgency. If he knew shit about magic beyond a few travel-handy tricks and the occasional intuitive transmutation, he’d assume this was some sort of elaborate illusion. Maybe a sort of test played on unsuspecting hopefuls who came to answer the help-wanted ad.

Unfortunately for Taako, he remembers all-too well what it feels like to be an unwanted child, outcast and always alone. As it turns out, he has a very particular Achilles’ heel and he’s not overly thrilled to discover it.

“Well, I didn’t need the job that bad,” he tells himself, as he gets up to single-mindedly fail this stupid test. And nevermind that he kind of really did.

‘Confidence is key’ and ‘fake it till you make it’ are two mantras that Taako could live and die by, so it’s with long, unchecked strides that he crosses the grand foyer and chases the miserable cries up some stairs, down a long corridor, and finally into an out-of-the-way bedchamber at what must have been the back of the house.

The cries stutter when the door clicks open, and Taako gets a glimpse of a tiny round face peering at him through the bars of an ancient-looking crib. The sudden appearance of this strange elf in his nursery seems to have surprised the little human, but not for long. After about two seconds, he screws his face up and screams with renewed vindication.

Taako winces, his sensitive ears twitching back at the onslaught. This is way above his paygrade, but he used to babysit younger kids in the caravans while their parents were busy or drunk, in exchange for a hot meal or a few coins. He’s not totally out of his depth here.

“Hey, little man,” he says by way of hello. “Trying to bring the roof down, huh? No, I dig that. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but this house of yours is ugly as hell.”

Taako doesn’t raise his voice, because what the hell would be the point? There’s no way he’s winning that contest of wills, and nobody wants some lunatic shouting at them when they’re this fucking distraught, anyway. He just crosses his arms on the side of the crib and leans down to get a good look at the kid.

The baby’s face is tacky and snotty, dusky skin flushed darker with exertion, curly hair a tangled mop. But he’s a cute little guy despite himself, probably a year old or thereabouts, not that Taako is in any way a decent judge of that sort of thing. As Taako talks to him in a conversational tone, his awful, heaving sobs peter out.

The tearful gulps are better. The way he lifts pudgy arms up to be held, not so much.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Taako says, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. “I’m not even supposed to be in here. You have no idea how culturally insensitive people are when it comes to elves and babies. Your mama walks in and sees me holding you, and then she’s calling the guard, and I’m getting hauled off for attempting to spirit her little heir away, and we both perpetuate an archaic myth that all elves are equally capable of and greedy for voluntary childcare. Let me just say—from personal experience—that is not the fuckin' case.”

But he reaches a hand into the crib and lets the little human clutch at it. Tiny, clumsy fingers wrap around Taako’s much bigger ones and hold tight. The baby’s eyes are wide and curious now, soaking up Taako’s every word without a damn clue what any of them mean.

Taako almost forgot he knew how to do this. It’s been months since Glamour Springs, since Sazed ditched him on the road. Taako’s been living a half-life, made up of odd jobs and never staying for too long in any one place, and for all that it’s absurdly one-sided, this is the longest conversation he’s had since then, too.

“One of us is pretty fucking pathetic,” he confides. “And it’s not the screamy baby.”

“Ah, this is where you’ve gone,” a voice from the doorway says.

Taako jumps in alarm, and looks around in time to watch a man step into the nursery. He bears a striking resemblance to the baby in the crib, though he’s graying at the temples and his face is lined with too much age for him to be an immediate parent. Grandparent, probably. Distinguished, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than the entire cumulative worth of everything Taako currently owns, leaning heavily on a walking cane.

He doesn’t look as though he’s about to ring the alarm, but Taako is still a little keyed up. Given the way he’s been living, the feeling of getting caught, even for a moment, activates his fight or flight response.

“Sorry,” Taako says lamely. “I heard him crying.”

“I don’t doubt it. His parents, my daughter and her husband, died recently. An accident on the road,” the man says. There’s some sorrow there, but it’s pushed back and away. Compartmentalized. “He came to live with me, but the transition hasn’t been an easy one. It seems as though all he’s done is cry.”

Taako doesn’t melt even slightly for the poor kid, because he’s made of sterner stuff than that. But he does let him hold onto his hand for a little while longer. It’s not hurting anything.

“So, you must be here about the job,” the old man goes on. “To tell you the truth, I’d just about given up on finding a decent nanny. When can you start?”

Taako stares at him. There’s an alarm klaxon blaring in the back of his brain, along with a shrill inner voice advising him to “abort, motherfucker, abort!”

It wasn’t a nanny ad. It was just a ‘general help wanted in exchange for room and board’ type of deal. He wouldn’t have shown up to take the job in the first place if it had specified providing 1) cooking, 2) companionship, or 3) childcare, and that’s for damn sure. He believes in playing to his strengths, and while vapid charm is certainly one of them, being personable and likable for any extended period of time is not.

And Taako absolutely doesn’t know what to think of this old rich guy who seems to be operating under the illusion that thirty seconds is plenty of time to get enough of a read on some rando to then trust your child to them. For real, and from the bottom of Taako's heart, what the fuck?

He’s only been acquainted with this particular child for about five minutes, but his ears go back and his hackles go up at the idea of someone just walking in off the street to take charge of him.

Maybe there’s some crucial insanity element to parenthood that Taako just isn’t fucking picking up. Maybe total and complete willingness to just ditch your kid at a moment’s notice is part of the package. Sure would explain a few things about Taako’s childhood.

But… this old manor house is clearly in the middle of nowhere. Two hours from the nearest settlement, where the job posting was hiding beneath other flyers on the board in the square. Taako wandered the woods all afternoon and almost gave up finding the place before the chimney smoke tipped him off.

It’s remote. Safe. And, at a glance, more comfortable than any of the inns and caravans Taako has lived out of since his auntie died.

He’s not qualified for this position, but since when has that ever stopped him? It’s not like he went to culinary school, either, and for awhile he was one of the most famous chefs on the continent. A baby can't be that much work.

Fake it till you make it, he thinks, and then faces the old man with a smile.

“Hell, I’m already here. Might as well start now.”

Aside from Taako, there are three other members of staff on the books, and none of them are full-time. The maids come in every other day to do the cleaning and the laundry and bring in groceries, that sort of thing. The groundskeeper only works the weekends.

They like Mr McDonald well enough, the girls confide in Taako over tea on his first night there, and the pay isn’t bad, but he’s forgetful. Doesn’t think to eat until he feels hunger pains, that sort of thing. Don’t be surprised if you get paid twice some weeks, or not at all others.

“He’s just not interested in running a household, I think,” the older of the two imparts, ancient at seventeen for all the weariness in her eyes. “I’m glad he finally found someone to take care of the baby. I felt bad about him crying all the time.”

Baby Angus had seemed to surprise both teens by being agreeable and downright adorable, perfectly content to be tucked into the crook of Taako’s arm and soothed to sleep by the rumble of his voice.

Did any of you try, like, holding him? Taako wants to ask acidly. Seems a little fucked up that Taako, of all people, is more on top of this than anyone else. But the maids are little more than kids themselves, and it seems as though grandpa isn’t completely with it.

About a month after Taako first wandered in, grandpa proves it.

“It was before Angus was born,” Mr McDonald says, digging through the many drawers in his study, looking for some expensive rich person thing he’d acquired at auction four years ago. There’s an empty crystal tumbler sitting on the liquor cabinet, next to a half-empty decanter of whiskey. “We went to Goldcliff for a charity fundraiser. Marquis proposed to my daughter that night. You remember, Taako?”

Taako, halfheartedly poking through stuff on the desk while Angus chews on the end of his braid, replies, “Sure do, homie. Hell of a party.”

He finds a photo in a stack of letters and pauses. Two humans are pictured with their arms around each other, handsome smiles on their faces for the camera, a baby cradled tenderly between them.

At the bottom, in looping handwriting, someone wrote ‘Marquis, Angela, and Angus.’ There’s a little heart drawn under the names with such care that it, in itself, is something of a revelation.

Angus’ parents wouldn’t have let him cry himself sick in a faraway room. They wouldn’t have let some stranger be holding him now. They abandoned him, but not on purpose. Not the same way Taako’s family did.

This kid was loved. He’s due love. And all he has is an absent grandpa and a shitty elf looking after him.

“Check it out, Ango,” Taako says quietly, holding the photo up so the baby can see, carefully out of reach of those sticky fingers. “Your genes are killer. You’re gonna outshine the whole damn world.”

He pockets the photo with a sleight of hand he perfected at ten years old, and then guts some ugly painting in the service hallway in the name of repurposing the frame, and then he and Angus stage a tactical retreat.

The nursery was too depressing, just in general, so one of Taako’s first acts as nanny was to move all the baby stuff in with his. He had his pick of any of the second floor bedchambers, and he chose one overlooking the overgrown gardens, with a pretty bay window that it only took like two hours and a handful of stubborn Prestidigitations to scrub clean.

He enlarges the photo, slides it into the frame, transmutes it to look like a more professional job, and then sets it in place of pride on one of the empty shelves.

“Gang’s all here,” he says. He bounces Angus a few times, eliciting a toothy smile from the kid.

Lordy, Taako thinks, she’d be laughing her ass off if she could see me right now.

The thought comes out of absolutely nowhere and disappears just as quickly, sliding right out of his mind like water through a sieve. Then Angus makes a sudden dive to grab one of the charms hanging off the brim of Taako’s hat, and he has more immediate things to worry about.

Living in a house is weird. Having the run of the place is even weirder.

Taako is certainly not the type to sign up for extra responsibility, and he’d be the first to say as much to literally anyone who asked. Keeping himself alive has always been trouble enough, and now he has a whole ass extra person he’s in charge of, too.

But as time drags on, he realizes he’s been pretty solidly assimilated.

When McDonald forgets to give Catherine the grocery allowance before he fucks off on one of his bi-monthly business trips to Neverwinter, Taako forks over his own gold without feeling the sting of it too badly. He practically writes his own checks around here, anyway. He can make up the difference whenever.

When crotchety old Boniface came in from the gardens looking for an answer about the freshly broken fountain, he bypasses McDonald’s closed office door entirely to demand guidance out of Taako instead. Taako is in the library, laying on his stomach to supervise Angus’ painstaking and artistic destruction of a probably priceless but unfortunately racist oral history Taako found on one of the shelves, and gives Boniface the go-ahead to gut the old eyesore.

“If it dies, it dies,” Taako says plainly, passing Angus a new red crayon. Boniface, pleased that he’s allowed to demolish something, makes it a point to ask Taako about these things first from then on.

When Ezra shows up in Taako’s suite one morning with tearful eyes and an ugly burn from the temperamental furnace in the basement, neither of them stop to question why she ran all the way up here. They’re both reasonably intelligent people, after all, and Taako is quick to cast a nonverbal Helping Hand. He doesn’t need to overthink it. The burned skin on Ezra’s arm is shiny and red, but repaired.

The girl surges forward to hug him, visibly rethinks it, and then changes course and scoops Angus up for a hug and a noisy kiss on the cheek instead. Angus shrieks in bald delight, and Taako finds himself smiling.

So, yeah. It’s weird, the whole thing is weird, but he wouldn’t say it’s bad.

McDonald is a kind but largely absent presence in their lives. When he’s home, he’s shut up in his study. Angus hardly seems to recognize the man anymore, only watching him with solemn brown eyes from the comforting circle of Taako’s arms. It doesn’t really sit well with Taako—he didn’t take this job to upstage any relatives or be a replacement parent—but he’s already nanny to a precocious two-year-old, he can’t also be nanny to a seventy-something-year-old retired scholar. If McDonald wants to be a part of Angus’ life, that’s on him. It can’t possibly fall on Taako’s shoulders.

“And even if it did, I have a bad back,” Taako informs Angus. “You’ll have to do the heavy-lifting for me, sweetpea. How’s that sound?”

“Okay, Taako,” Angus says gravely. If there’s a tiny part of Taako that’s fucking delighted every time this tiny miracle says his name, he squashes it down good and hard and no one is the wiser.

It feels a little bit like nothing exists outside this spacious manor house. The extensive grounds might as well be a magic barrier between Taako and the rest of the world. It won’t last—nothing good ever does—but for now he allows himself to pretend that it will.

Taako and his little shadow swing into the kitchen around noon one day to find Catherine in tears.

This is so far from the norm that Taako actually draws up short in the doorway. Angus toddles right into the back of his leg, loses his balance, and plops down hard on his padded bottom.

“What’s this all about, darling?” Taako asks warily.

Catherine is sharp in all the places Ezra is soft, and while it makes her much easier to understand—a girl after Taako’s own black, shriveled heart—it also makes her approximately one million times more difficult to comfort, as likely to bite at a helping hand as accept one.

At the first sign of her vicious temper, he’s gonna grab his kid and bail. There’s fruit and bread in the larder that’ll see them through to dinner, and if not, he's not above bribing Ezra to run interference.

But Catherine just lifts her head out of her hands and says, “I burnt the stupid soup!”

Taako blinks. He stands still so Angus can use one of his legs as leverage to pull himself back upright, and cups the back of the boy's head in silent praise when he manages it on his own.

“Okay,” Taako says slowly. He can piece this shit together. “The soup is burnt. And you’re cheesed about it because…you feel really strongly about soup.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she snaps, but it’s without any real heat. “I just. I can’t get anything right today.”

Ah. Okay. So it’s one of those.

He hesitates for a moment, and then leans down to scoop Angus up and balances him on a hip. Angus knows not to toddle into the kitchen unsupervised, and rarely gets to toddle in at all when there’s cookery going on.

Taako himself rarely goes in. It feels too much like tempting fate. But his feet carry him forward, and he leans over the pot of thick and creamy chicken and dumplings, and right away he can smell the problem. It caught on the bottom of the pot and scorched.

He’s never worked in this kitchen—and he never will—but he remembers the steps. It’s mise en place. He reaches into the spice cabinet and withdraws a small tin shaker.

“Cinnamon,” he says at length, offering the tin to Catherine.

She stares at him, losing some of her steel for a moment. “Really?”

“Really,” Taako says, and firmly steps back. The six-second exchange has left him feeling tense and sick, his appetite fully and completely fucking out of the picture.

Angus is a perceptive little monster, and settles more heavily into Taako’s arms. He heaves a very pointed sigh, something he started doing to communicate that he’s feeling particularly safe and content. It makes Taako’s chest hurt in a much different way than impending panic attacks tend to, and he presses a kiss to the kid’s curly head.

“Thanks, angel,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

“Holy shit, Taako,” Catherine says, looking up from the soup with awe in her eyes. As he watches, she tries another spoonful, and then she actually laughs out loud. “It worked!”

He finds himself searching her face for—sickness. Shortness of breath. Something.

It’s stupid. The people he killed in Glamour Springs didn’t show signs of death for days.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” Catherine goes on. “Could you teach me?”

“I don’t,” Taako blurts. It comes out sharper than he meant for it to, sudden and a little bit too loud. Catherine’s smile tapers. Angus lifts his head off Taako’s shoulder. Breathe, idiot, Taako tells himself. Be a fucking person for two seconds. “Cook, I mean. I don’t cook. Or, uh, teach. I’m kind of useless. Pretty, though.”

He flips his hair. It makes Angus giggle, but Catherine isn’t an easily-amused toddler, and she’s not buying it.

Her eyes are sharp, and seem to peel through layers of Taako’s bullshit like a knife. And then she scoffs, and mimics his hair flip with her wrist even though her hair is only about two inches long, and the tension drains out of the room like someone pulled a plug in the floor.

“You’ve been teaching Mango to read,” she says dryly. “And Elvish. And magic. But okay, Mr I Don’t Teach.”

“He’s my fucking protege. That shit’s different!”

“Shit!” Angus agrees cheerfully.

“Whatever. Now that I know you’re secretly a fountain of knowledge, I’m dragging you in here the next time I fuck up a recipe.” She studies him for a moment, and adds, “You don’t have to cook, Teach. If it bothers you. I just…I need help sometimes.

Taako feels himself relenting. This house is turning him into a fucking pushover.

“I know, Cat,” he sighs. “Try to find one person who doesn’t.”

“Alright, little man,” Taako says, tugging Angus’ collar straight. “What are the rules?”

“Hold your hand, don’t talk to strangers, aim for the eyes if I can reach them, knees if I can’t,” his boy recites gravely.

Next to him, Ezra stifles a snort of laughter. Boniface, waiting by the loaded carriage, looks reluctantly amused. Catherine says, “Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to give you a kid?”

“Uh, your boss,” Taako says without looking at her. He stands up from his crouch as the front door closes, and they all turn as McDonald comes down the steps to join them in the crumbly courtyard.

“Are we ready, boys?” he asks with a smile. “Neverwinter is waiting.”

Honestly, Taako has been sick with dread over this trip for the past two weeks, but he wouldn’t know how to go about explaining that. And he sure as hell isn’t sending Angus off alone with his absent-minded grandfather. The kid probably wouldn’t make it home.

It’s not as though Taako has been sequestered in the manor house for the last five years. He’s ambled into the settlement with the girls now and then, has gone farther up the road to buy from caravans for Candlenights gifts, has let himself be bullied, cajoled, blackmailed and bribed into helping Boniface lug imported plants home from the train station.

But this is fucking Neverwinter. The Jewel of the North.

“Taako? You okay?” Angus says from somewhere near his elbow.

“Just dreading three hours on the road playing I, Spy with you, boychik,” he lies smoothly. “Go pet the horses so we can get that out of the way.”

Angus looks mulish for a moment, but he does insist on petting the carthorses before they take the carriage literally anywhere, so he lifts his head and crosses the courtyard with great dignity. Taako watches sharply until Boniface rolls his eyes so hard Taako can practically hear it and hefts Agnus up in one huge arm to better reach the giant creatures without running the risk of getting fucking trampled.

“I’m making the salmon at home tonight,” Catherine says abruptly, a non-sequitur that takes Taako by surprise. “If I don’t fuck it up, I’m gonna cook it here, too. So don’t be late, Teach.”

“I’ll a hundred percent eat your share if you’re late,” Ezra adds. Her smile looks a little strained.

Taako has not been subtle. He’s been freaking out right out loud where anybody could see it. Get it together, asshole, he coaches himself helpfully.

“Cat,” he says earnestly, “your salmon is literally the only thing I have to live for.”

She groans and pushes him away from her. Angus has finished with the horses and returns to Taako at a run, even though they’re all going to be walking back across the courtyard to the carriage in like one minute anyway.

McDonald is handing out a few last minute instructions. They’re mostly things that have already been taken care of, errands that have already been run, the ushe. The girls nod along politely, but there’s a level of uncertainty lingering above them like a cloud. They look as nervous about Taako leaving as Taako feels.

Now, Taako is many things—an elf, a failed chef, a murderer, a dime-store wizard, and one lucky nanny—but he is not some mercurial fairy tale creature. He’s not going to vanish from their lives the second they lose sight of him. He could if he wanted to, and he will if he has to, but he doesn’t want to. For now, he doesn’t have to.

So he lifts a hand and says, “Back soon.”

But for some reason, it fucking hurts.

The trip is about everything he expected it would be: long and boring. Angus gets bored with I, Spy within about ten minutes, the interior of the carriage is a little too tight to practice his cantrips, and Boniface seems to be aiming for the roughest parts of the road on purpose. Taako tries reading aloud from one of the Caleb Cleveland books, but McDonald keeps interrupting every time they get to the good, mysterious parts, so Angus and Taako trade a loaded glance and wordlessly agree to save it for later.

Still, it’s not awful. Angus at six years old is bright-eyed and relentlessly clever. He wants to be a detective like Caleb, and has taken to solving little mysteries around the manor house, like who left the jam out on the counter (Taako, and what are you going to do about it, pumpkin?) and who tracked the mud inside the undercroft (Boniface, obviously, that’s where all the booze is, and he literally works in mud all day. You didn’t have to put on your detective cap for that one).

Needless to say, Taako would burn the whole world down for this kid.

With no choice but to spend time in his grandson’s company, Taako can see Angus’ innate charm going to work on McDonald. There’s something wistful in the old man’s eyes, affectionate and more than a little bittersweet. He stops interrupting as Angus starts to describe his latest case in great detail—the mystery of the missing tarts!

The tarts are wrapped up and waiting in Taako’s bag for when they inevitably get snacky during the trip, but he's not going to tell. He kinda wants to see how far the kid takes this one.

By the time they board the train, Angus is tuckered out. The excitement of a trip so far from home is wearing off after hours in a carriage, and Taako ends up carrying him into their sleeper car and putting him to bed in one of the bunks.

McDonald takes a seat at the small table and watches without commentary as Taako extracts the boy’s hat and glasses and wand without waking him, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. And then, out of habit more than anything else, he murmurs the only Elven blessing he remembers, quite literally ‘sweet dreams.’ He remembers Auntie saying it to him, and…someone else, maybe? He remembers that it always made him feel loved to hear it.

“Hiring you was the best thing I could have done for him,” McDonald says suddenly.

Taako turns with a trademark smile on his face, only as charming as it needs to be. “Hiring me was the best thing you ever did, period.”

His boss smiles back, but there’s an edge to it that Taako can’t translate. This is the most present and aware he’s looked in the last five years. Taako isn’t sure he’s ever had this much of McDonald’s attention.

“There’s another reason I wanted to take the two of you with me this week,” he says.

It’s ominous as fuck, and as the train lurches into motion, pulling away from the station, Taako realizes that he’s effectively trapped here, in a way he never was at the manor house. Some of his thoughts must show on his face, because McDonald’s smile warms a bit, and he gestures at the other chair.

“It’s a good thing, son. No need to be nervous.”

Taako sits in an irreverent collapsing of limbs to prove that he isn’t nervous, actually. McDonald pulls a bunch of papers out of his briefcase and sets them on the table. They look official as fuck. McDonald’s signature at the bottom draws Taako’s eye—huh, so that’s his first name. After this long, it would have felt a little awkward to ask. Beneath that is the signature and seal of a notary.

“What am I looking at here, Charlie?”

McDonald’s lips twitch. He probably cottoned onto the name thing.

“Well, this isn’t an easy conversation to have, and I probably could have picked a better time for it, but.” He glances over Taako’s shoulder at where Angus is sleeping. “It’s probably better if the boy doesn’t overhear until it’s sorted.”

“I hear ya. That little bugbear is all up in everyone’s business all the time,” Taako says proudly. “Just the worst.”

“He’s amazing,” McDonald says. That sorrow swims into his eyes now, an ancient, ruinous thing. “He reminds me of my daughter every time I look at him.” Oh. “It’s been…hard to look at him sometimes.” Oh.

Taako carefully reevaluates his opinion of Angus’ absent grandfather. Not too much, because the dude still should have been around, but, you know. Some.

Taako tries to imagine losing somebody, how much it must hurt. He tries to imagine looking like somebody, a family resemblance, a belonging at face-value. He’s never experienced either, but there’s still a bitter pit in his throat, a feeling like if he swallows too hard he’ll start to cry. So he sits very still instead.

“But still, he’s my only grandson, and I want him to be taken care of when I’m gone,” the man goes on. “I’m getting on in years, and I probably don’t have much longer left—oh, Taako. It’s alright.”

Taako is certain he didn’t move. He’s still doing the sitting-very-still thing. Then he realizes his ears betrayed him, pressed back flat against his head. Goddamn things.

“No, it’s uh. Taako’s good, don’t. Just.”

It’s the human age thing. He doesn’t want to think about it. He waves McDonald on, a tight rolling gesture. They really need to power through the rest of this conversation while Taako still has enough self-control left to not do something really embarrassing in front of his boss, like have a whole emotion.

McDonald takes pity. Thank fuck.

“It’s normal to want to get your ducks in a row,” he says. “I’m not planning on kicking the bucket any time soon.”

“Alright, let’s organize these ducks,” Taako says with unwarranted enthusiasm. He’s trying to trick himself into it. “Fucking ducks, am I right?”

“Angus is my heir. When he’s of age, he’ll get the estate and everything that goes with it, as well as his parents’ properties,” McDonald says, once again reminding Taako that he’s a rich old fuck. Istus. “But that’s still more than a decade away. If something should happen to me, I don’t want him to end up a ward of the state.”

Taako blinks. In the back of his mind, he realizes that he has become one of those elves that would one-thousand-percent kidnap a human baby if it came down to it. Leave Agnes in an orphanage? His Agnes? It would literally have never occurred to him.

“Custody cases can be so long-winded. The easiest way to circumvent the whole mess would be to adopt you into the family,” McDonald says, super nonchalant about flipping the world upside down. “That way Angus has an immediate next of kin that no one would question.”

He looks up when Taako doesn’t say anything and frowns at whatever Taako’s face must look like.

“You don’t have to use the surname if you don’t want to. It’s mostly just for the sake of paperwork.”

“I can’t,” Taako blurts.

“Of course. I wouldn’t insist that you change your family name if it’s important to you—”

“Not—not that, who gives a fuck about my family name,” Taako says too loudly. Angus shifts around for a second, like he might wake up, and Taako snaps his mouth closed so hard it hurts his teeth. In a whisper, because it’s all he can manage without giving into the urge to scream, Taako forces out, “I—I’m—I can’t.”

In the nightmare scenarios that still sometimes plague him in the middle of the night, when everyone else is asleep and he’s alone with the voice in his brain that fucking hates him, the choices always boiled down to either leaving Angus behind or taking him on the run. Both choices were fucking awful for a myriad of different reasons, and left Taako pacing his room tirelessly trying to think his way out of an unsolvable problem.

The idea that he could become a legal part of Angus’ family as simply as signing a piece of paper is so far-fetched and ridiculous that he can’t wrap his mind around it.

But bringing all his shit into Angus’ life? Signing up for this only to get snatched away the second the paperwork goes through and the militia finally finds him? Leaving his dirty laundry all over the front yard like the worst fucking house guest imaginable, and then peacing out to spend the rest of his long-ass fucking elf life in jail, while Angus was left to just…deal with that?

He couldn’t. He can’t. Every single option is bad. He shouldn’t have stayed. He should have known he would fall in love with that baby on day one. It’s really fucking stupid that he stayed.

“—aako. Taako.”

Taako jerks his head up. His ears are twitching and his hands are shaking and McDonald has probably been saying his name for awhile.

The man’s eyes are bright and steely. They look exactly like Angus’ do sometimes, when he wakes Taako up from a miserable meditation, when it’s just the two of them in a huge house surrounded by a crumbling garden.

“Tell me,” the man says sternly.

At a fucking complete loss, Taako just…does.

When he’s finished, McDonald looks at him really hard for what feels like a long time. Then he pulls a pair of reading glasses out of an inner pocket of his coat, poises the business end of a fountain pen against a fresh sheet of paper, and starts asking questions.

It’s a business-like, no-nonsense exchange. Taako is wiped out, emotionally he is the equivalent of a damp rag wrung out to dry, and he has no wherewithal left to lie or deny or deflect.

When they’re done, McDonald has filled three notebook pages of blocky handwriting, and Taako is swaying in his seat. He watches somewhat vacantly as McDonald nods to himself and rummages in his briefcase for a stone of farspeech.

“We won’t reach Neverwinter until morning. Get some sleep,” he says, and his voice is kindly again, the way it was before. Taako stares at him. “And don’t tell me elves don’t need it, please. I wasn’t born yesterday, and you nap twice as much as my grandson ever did.”

Well, it would be nice to get one last unnecessary snooze in as a free man, Taako supposes, and he doesn’t hesitate to climb into Angus’ bunk. It’s a familiar ritual. The kid squirms to accommodate him without fully waking. Taako tucks an arm around him and buries his nose in that riot of curly hair.

He hears McDonald say, “You’re not much more than a kid yourself, are you?” but that might have just been part of a dream.

He hears someone else say, “That can’t be broken or lost or taken away, it’s always going to be so important,” but Taako thinks that, whoever that was, they were very clearly wrong.

Taako wakes up to a six-year-old’s warm brown eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners in an urchin sort of way, and it’s the only tell Taako needs. His kid has been up to some mischief.

“Grandpa said you were tired and I should let you sleep,” Angus reports cheerfully. “He also said that there was a nice lady selling flowers a few cars down, and I ought to go buy a few!”

Ah. Taako glances down at the ruin of his hair. It looks like about a hundred snowberry blossoms were worked into the thick flaxen braid. It’s going to be an absolute pain to brush out later. He’ll probably find bits of plant in his hair for days. He loves it.

He risks a glance in McDonald’s direction.

The man looks amused by their whole general existence, which is fair. He also doesn't look like he's about to summon the guard to have Taako hauled into the brig, which is a fucking relief and a half.

“The world changed while you were asleep,” he says significantly. “Would you like to sign the papers now or with your pardon?”

Angus says, all in one breath, “You should sign the papers first! Grandpa says then you’ll be my family! I mean, you already are, so I’m not sure what the point is, but it must be important. Look at how official they are!”

Taako feels about four cups of coffee behind this conversation. He scoots off the bed, spilling into one of the chairs at the table, and folds his hands.

“Charlie. Buddy.”

“I stepped out for two minutes,” McDonald says defensively, “and I thought he was asleep!”

“That’s the oldest trick in the book,” Taako mutters. His heart is doing something really complicated and largely unnecessary, fucking backflipping in his chest, at Angus’ thoughtless ‘you already are.’ Like it was a given. What the fuck. “Can you go back to, uh—the world changing? A pardon? What’s up with that?”

“An old friend of mine is a cleric,” he says pushing a steaming cup in Taako’s direction. “Level nine, or thereabouts. She owed me a favor from when we were in school together, when I—well, that’s not important. What is important is that she was happy to cast Discern Location to find your old stage manager.”

Taako fumbles the cup, almost drops it. He sets it down hard.

“What the fuck? No, hold that thought. Angus, I love you. Get lost.”

He’s really banking on the kid being more stir-crazy than curious, and sure enough, Angus hops right off the bunk and sprints for the door.

“Okay, I’ll be in the dining car! You’re not s’posed to take food back with you, but I’m gonna see how many pastries I can fit in my pockets so you won’t be hungry when you sign the papers that make you my family! Love you, bye!”

“A three-hour carriage ride followed by six hours on a train was the worst fucking idea,” Taako says severely. “He’s gonna be on eleven when we roll up to Neverwinter. They might not let us in.”

“He’s just excited,” the old man says, with the tranquility of someone who isn’t going to have to child-wrangle all day long. “I told him I had good news for you.”

Taako is fidgeting, turning the cup of coffee around and around in his hands. It’s leaving a ring of condensation on the table.

“You found Sazed?” he asks, and hates how small his voice sounds.

“We did.”

“He probably hates me,” Taako mutters. “I ruined his life.”

McDonald takes the cup from him and sets it down on the other side of the table with a firm clunk.

“Pardon my language, but you didn’t ruin crud.” Taako mouths ‘crud’ in bewilderment, but McDonald isn’t finished. “I was suspicious of your story when you described the way those people died. Those aren’t the typical symptoms of deadly nightshade, and I’d never heard of a transmutation spell failing in that way before. So I looked into it. Or, I should say, I had a few friends look into it.”

“Are you in a cult?” Taako asks. He can’t help it. He’s one part genuinely curious and two parts hardwired to deflect any time someone tricks him into having a serious conversation. “We frown on cults in this family. Mysterious shadow organizations are never a good thing, no matter what greater-good shit they’re peddling.”

“I’m very rich and belong to very elite social circles,” McDonald says dryly. He’s unmoved by Taako’s general everything. “This whole thing took about three calls. I wish you would have told me about this five years ago, but I do understand why you didn’t.”

Taako doesn’t have a cup to fuck around with anymore. He stopped wearing jewelry when Angus was a baby and literally everything smaller than an apple was a choking hazard, and he never really got into the habit of it again, so he doesn’t have rings to twist around his fingers, either. He wrings his hands instead.

“If it wasn’t the elderberries,” he chokes out, and doesn’t make it any farther.

“It was arsenic,” McDonald says. His voice is kind again, but not so much so that it’s painful to hear. “Sazed was questioned within a Zone of Truth. He admitted to—okay,” he cuts himself off, putting a hand on Taako’s shoulder. “We’re done talking about it for now. Just take it easy.”

Taako doesn’t uncurl from his chair until the door rattles open and Angus’ voice fills the room. He’s found a dozen things to talk about in the ten minutes he’s been gone, and is very proud of himself for all the contraband pastries he managed to make off with. There’s a cheese danish wrapped very carefully in a napkin, only slightly squished, that he presents to Taako with a showy flourish that he really only could have picked up from too much time around one particular idiot.

Taako accepts the danish, and then hauls Angus up onto his lap, and then says, “Charlie, baby. Pass me that fancy pen.”

For the first time in almost eight years, Taako is cooking for an audience again. His hands are shaking, but as long as everyone else is politely pretending like they don’t notice, he can do himself the same favor.

I fed those people their death, but it wasn’t on me, he recites inwardly for the seven millionth time, a nervous mantra. My magic was good. My cooking was good. I was good. It wasn’t on me.

He looks up from the counter where all his tools are laid out and his ingredients are arranged. Ezra is bouncing in her seat, Boniface is lingering in the doorway like he doesn’t care but he also isn’t leaving, and Catherine’s eyes are wide and moonlike and younger than Taako has ever seen them. Angus has place of pride, a seat on the counter by the sink with the best view in the house.

“Okay,” he says. “What are the rules, pumpkin?”

“No swiping ingredients, no magic in the kitchen, and no taste-testing until you say it’s okay,” Angus rattles off promptly. “Autographs at the end of the show are three gold apiece, photos are ten, and the overall experience is absolutely priceless.”

Over the sweet sound of the rest of his audience groaning at him, Taako goes on blithely, “And what are we cooking today?”

“Macarons!”

“And who’s your dude?” Taako asks, pointing a whisk at him. Angus giggles, and Taako’s hands aren’t shaking anymore.

In a month, Angus is going off to a summer camp out past Rockport. It’s Caleb Cleveland-themed, and the whole thing sounds extremely nerdy and book-cluby, and Angus is desperately excited. He’s also desperately nervous about being away from his family for three whole weeks but he’s trying to keep that on the down-low. He’s very grown up at nearly ten years old.

Taako can respect that. He also bought the kid a stone of farspeech, because actually fuck that.

And while Angus is off having his first away-from-home adventure—since the girls think that Taako’s just going to be useless and mopey the whole time, and Boniface already threatened to bury him in a flowerbed the first time he whines about literally anything—Taako is going to go do something cool, too. There’s always some interesting jobs posted on Craig's List up in Neverwinter. He’ll be able to find something to occupy his time.

But for now, he’s gonna make some goddamn desserts.

“Come on, Ango,” Taako wheedles, “who’s your dude?”

“You, papa.”

I’m good, Taako reminds himself. He looks at his kid, who only deserves the best this piece of shit world has to offer, and thinks, I can be good.

#the adventure zone #taz balance #taako taaco #angus mcdonald #taz fic #my writing #better place #ladies i dunno but i gotta work in like 3 hours and i wrote this instead of sleeping

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mersuperwholocked-lowlife · 4 years

Text

Dead in the Water

Word Count: 5,884

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sister!Reader, other Season one episode 3 characters

Pairings: Sam Winchester x Sister!Reader; Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

Warnings: angst, barely any fluff, canon level violence, mentions of death of a child

A/N:i t’s finally here, enjoy!

A/N 2: I was thinking about all the plans I have for like upcoming in this..... and oof, I’m so excited

Masterlist

“When did you get that?” Sam asked, looking over to your tattoo.

“Uhm, about a month ago. Me and Dean got drunk and then I woke up with this,” you replied, looking to your arm.

The three of you were currently at some diner, looking for a case.

“Wow, well it’s, uh….. something….” Sam stuttered.

You looked at the tattoo on your arm. There was really no telling what it was. It looked like it was supposed to be a lotus flower, but then it had an arrow going through it and some other random marks.

“You don’t have to lie. I’m pretty sure Dean did it,” you shrugged.

Well, thank god he’s not a tattoo artist,” Sam laughed.

“Yeah, oh look at that! The waitress is totally hitting on Dean! Do you wanna crash it or should I?” you laughed, as the two of you looked at Dean.

Sam made his way to the table.

“Is there anything I can get you?” the lady asked Dean.

“Just the check, please,” Sam spoke for Dean, sitting next to him.

You smiled, walking to the two of them.

“You know, we are allowed to have fun every once in a while,” Dean groaned.

“Last time you had fun like that, I was locked out of the hotel room, with my wallet and phone inside, and I had to sleep next to the Impala. Not in it, next to it,” you replied.

“Heh, well that was a good night,” Dean smirked.

“Eww.” Sam scrunched his face.

“Okay, well, here, look at this. I think I got one,” Dean showed the two of you a newspaper. He circled a photo of an 18-year-old girl, who seemed to have drowned.

“Sophie Carlton, 18, last week. Walked into a lake and didn’t walk out,” Dean started.

So far, it sounded like she drowned.

“Authorities dragged the water, nothing. Sophie Carlton is the third drowning in Lake Manitoc this year. None of their bodies were found either. They had a funeral two days later.” he finished.

“A funeral?” you and Sam asked.

“Yeah, it’s weird. They buried an empty coffin for closure or whatever,” Dean replied.

“Closure? What closure?”, you asked.

“Yeah, people don’t just disappear, others stop looking for them,” Sam said to Dean.

Well, here we go again, you thought.

“Something you wanna say to me, Sammy?”, Dean asked, giving Sam a look.

“The trail for Dad, it’s getting colder every day,” Sam said.

“Well, what are we supposed to do?”, Dean asked.

“I don’t know. Something, anything,” Sam replied.

“You know what? I’m sick of this attitude. You don’t think I want to find Dad as much as you do?” Dean asked, annoyed.

“I’m the one who’s been with him every single day for the past two years, while you’ve been off to college going to pep rallies.”, Dean started, raising his voice a little.

“So? (Y/N) was there too, you don’t see her acting like a bitch,” Sam scoffed.

“You know what?” Dean started.

“Okay, stop. Both of you. First, I wasn’t there for the whole time. I took a year away from them.” you started, your face fell with the memory. You had secrets that Sam and Dean didn’t know. That only your dad knew.

“Wait, what?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, now listen, Sammy, we all wanna find Dad, okay? But, it’s gonna take some time. So, until then, we’re gonna kill every son of a bitch that we find, because it’s our job,” you said, in a calm way.

It’s weird to think that you’re the mature one.

Sam rolled his eyes before exhaling sharply.

“Okay, fine. Lake Manitoc, how far?”

----

Hey Dad, it’s (Y/N) again. Another day of me texting you, and still no reply. We’re worried. Please get back to me.

I’m almost 100 percent sure that Sam and Dean are gonna murder each other. Sam’s going crazy looking for you. We’re just trying to work any hunt we can meanwhile.

We miss you, just please let us know if you’re okay.

“Hello? Earth to (Y/N)?” you heard Dean say.

You looked up to him, putting your phone away.

“Yeah, what?” you asked.

“We’re here,” the three of you got out of the car, looking at Sophie’s house. She lived a normal, quiet life, with her Dad and brother.

Dean knocked at the door. Another boy answered the door, which you assumed to be Sophie’s brother.

“Will Carlton?” you asked as he opened the door.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he replied, looking cautiously at the three of you.

“I’m Agent Ford, this is Agent Hamill and Prescott. We’re with the U.S. wildlife service,” Dean showed his fake I.D.

Will relaxed, letting the three of you in, taking you to the lake.

You looked in the distance, seeing their dad sitting on a bench near the lake.

“She was about 100 yards out. That’s where she got dragged down,” he said softly.

“What makes you sure she didn’t drown?” you asked Will.

“She was a varsity swimmer. She practically grew up in the lake. She’s as safe out there as in her own bathtub.” he explained.

“So, no splashing? No sign of distress?” Sam asked.

“No, that’s what I’m telling you.” he shook his head.

“Did you see any shadows in the water? Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?” Dean asked.

“No, again, she was really far out there,” he replied.

“You ever see any strange tracks on the shoreline?” you asked.

“No, never. Why? Do you think there’s something out there?” Will asked.

“We’ll let you know as soon as we know,” you gave him a small smile, as you and Dean started walking off.

“What about your father?” Sam asked. You and Dean stopped, turning to Sam.

“Can we talk to him?” Sam asked.

“Look, if you don’t mind, I mean, he didn’t see anything, and he’s kinda been through a lot,” Will explained.

“We understand,” Sam nodded, as the three of you walked to the Impala.

“You think he’s hiding something?” Sam asked.

“Or maybe he’s just in shock. He just lost his daughter,” you replied softly.

“Well, Will said he’s been through a lot lately. Maybe there’s more,” Dean said.

“Losing a child is a lot, Dean,” you replied rolling your eyes as you sat in the car.

“Sheesh, who put the stick up your ass?” Dean sassed.

“Shut up, Dean,” you clenched your jaw.

“Whatever, let’s go,” you laid back in the seat, crossing your arms as Dean drove off.

-------

“Now, I’m sorry, why does the wildlife service care about an accidental driving?” the sheriff asked, leading the three of you to his office.

“You sure it’s accidental? Will Carlton saw something grab his sister,” Sam asked.

“Like what? Here, sit down please,” he said, pointing to three chairs across from him.

“There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake,” he said.

“There’s nothing even big enough to pull a person unless it was the loch ness monster,” the sheriff added.

“Yeah, right,” Dean started.

“Will Carlton was traumatized, and sometimes the mind plays tricks. Still, we dragged that entire lake. We even ran a sonar sweep to be sure, and there was nothing down there,” he said.

“That’s weird, though. That’s the third missing body this year,” you said.

“I know. These are people from my town. People I care about,” the sheriff sighed.

“I understand,” Dean said.

“Anyways, all this. It won’t be a problem much longer,” the sheriff crossed his arms.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“Well, the dam, of course,” the sheriff said.

You looked to Sam and Dean.

“The dam, right, it… it sprung a leak,” Dean said.

“It’s falling apart, and the feds won’t give us the grand to repair it, so they’ve opened the spillway. In 6 months, there won’t be much of a lake. There won’t be much of a town either, but as federal wildlife, you already knew that” the sheriff leaned in, looking at the two of you.

“Exactly,” you replied.

“Sorry, am I interrupting? I can come back later,” you heard a voice from behind you.

The three of you stood up, smiling to the woman.

“Agents, this is my daughter,” the sheriff said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dean,” Dean smiled, shaking her hand.

You rolled your eyes, hasn’t even known her for a full minute and he’s already flirting.

“Andrea Bar. Hi,” she smiled.

“They’re from the wildlife service, about the lake,” he explained.

You saw a small kid from behind her.

“Oh, hey there, kid. What’s your name?” you gave him a small smile.

He looked at the three of you before walking away. You looked a little shocked as Andrea ran after him.

“His name is Lucas.” the sheriff said.

You continued to watch as you saw Andrea sit next to him, and give him crayons. He was drawing.

Your eyes watered a bit.

“My grandson’s been through a lot lately,” you heard the sheriff say to Sam.

You zoned out as they continued talking.

“(Y/N)? You okay?” Sam asked softly.

You inhaled deeply, wiping your face.

“What? Yeah, let’s go,” you replied.

“Okay then,” Sam muttered, walking behind you.

Dean stopped, asking Andrea for directions to a hotel, before asking her to walk you three there.

“What was that? In the sheriff’s office?” Sam asked you, as the two of you walked behind Dean and Andrea.

“What are you talking about?” you lied.

“You were about to cry,” he said.

“Cramps, Sammy,” you lied.

“Uhm, eww. Nevermind,” he replied.

“Kids are the best,” you overheard Dean say to Andrea.

Yeah, they are you thought to yourself.

“And here’s the hotel. Two blocks, as I said.” she turned to face the three of you.

“Thanks,” Dean smiled.

She sighed.

“Must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line,” she sassed Dean as she walked away.

You turned to Sam as the two of you tried to hold in your laughs.

“ ‘Kids are the best’? You don’t even like kids,” Sam said.

“I love kids,” Dean turned to Sam.

“Name three children you even know,” Sam said.

He would’ve known my kid, you thought. Shut up, (Y/N), focus on the hunt you told yourself.

He hesitated. “Well, you and (Y/N/N) are children,” he said.

You let out a small laugh before walking into the hotel.

“She’s acting weird, right?” Sam asked Dean.

“Yeah, thought it was just me,” Dean replied.

“Where was she when she was away from you for that year?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. Only Dad does,” Dean shrugged.

“You don’t think she…. was pregnant?” Sam asked.

“What? No. (Y/N) would’ve told me,” Dean said. The two of them sighed before walking into the hotel.

--------

“So, there’s the three drowning victims this year,” Sam started.

“And before that?” Dean asked.

You sat next to Sam as he read old news articles from his laptop.

“Yeah, six more, spread out over the past 35 years. Those bodies were never recovered either. If there’s something out there, it’s picking up its pace,” Sam said, showing you the articles.

“So, we got a lake monster on a binge? This whole lake monster theory, it bugs me,” Sam sighed.

“Why?” you asked. Dean stood behind Sam.

“Loch Ness, Lake Champlain - there are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts. But here, almost nothing. Whatever’s out there, no one’s living to talk about it.” Sam explained. He opened up a list of victims.

You saw Dean’s eyes widen.

“Wait, Bar, Christopher Bar. Where have I heard that name before?”, Dean said, pointing to the screen.

“Andrea. Her last name’s Bar.” you pointed out.

Sam clicked the article. It was a picture of Lucas, with his hair and clothes wet, wrapped in a towel.

“He’s Andrea’s husband, and Lucas’ father,” Sam read the article.

“Apparently, he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating wooden platform when Chris drowned… two hours before the kid got rescued,” Sam said.

“Looks like we have an eyewitness after all,” Sam said.

“No wonder that kid was so freaked out. Watching one of your parents die isn’t something you just get over,” Dean said.

“Well, let’s go to the park,” you said.

----

“Can we join you?” Sam asked, spotting Andrea sitting on a bench.

“I’m here with my son,” she smiled.

“Oh, can I say hi?” you said, walking to him.

Sam and Dean sat next to Andrea, talking to her.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you asked, bending to his height.

He continued sitting there, drawing.

“You know, my brothers used to play with these,” you noticed the toy soldiers next to him.

He continued to ignore you.

You sighed, sitting next to him.

“You know, I think that you can hear me, you just don’t wanna talk,” you started.

“I don’t know what happened to your dad, but I know it was something really bad. And I know how you feel,” you said.

“When I was younger, I saw something,” you remembered, thinking back to Mary.

“Well, maybe you don’t think anyone will listen to you, or believe you. I want you to know that I will. You don’t have to say anything, you can even draw a picture of what you saw, with your Dad,” you said.

“Okay, no problem. Take care, Lucas,” you gave him a pat on his head before walking to Sam, Dean, and Andrea.

“He hasn’t said a word to me, not since the accident,” Andrea sighed.

“Yeah, we heard. Sorry,” Dean said.

“What are the doctors saying?” Sam asked.

“That it’s some kind of post-traumatic stress,” she said.

“That can’t be easy for any of you,” Sam said.

“We moved in with my dad. He helps out a lot,” Andrea nodded.

She looked at Dean.

“It’s just… when I think about what Lucas went through, what he saw….” Andrea said softly.

“Yeah, kids are strong. You’d be surprised with what they can deal with,” you gave a soft smile. Now, Mary was the only one on your mind.

“Yeah, it’s just…. oh hey, sweetie,” Andrea said, as Lucas walked from behind you.

He handed you a drawing of a cabin.

“Thanks,” you gave him a smile.

He continued looking down, walking away.

“That was….. Lucas doesn’t ever give things to people. He doesn’t communicate with them,” Andrea said, surprised.

“Yeah, well, (Y/N) has a way with kids,” Dean smiled.

You felt your heart drop but ignored it.

“Yeah, uhm, it was good seeing you, but we have to be on our way now,” you smile at Andrea, walking off as you let a tear fall, but quickly wiped away the rest.

----

“So, I think it’s safe to say we can rule out Nessie,” Sam said, walking into the hotel room.

“What do you mean?” you asked, sitting across from him and Dean.

“I just drove past the Carlton House. There was an ambulance there. Will Carlton is dead,” Sam said.

“Drowned?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, in the sink,” Sam replied.

“What the hell?” you said, sighing.

“So, this isn’t a creature. We’re dealing with something else.” Dean said.

“Yeah, but what?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. A water wraith? Maybe some kind of demon?” Dean suggested.

“Well, I wouldn’t cross out spirit either,” you said.

“How could it be a spirit?” Dean asked.

“Well, I don’t know. It went after both of Bill Carlton’s children. I mean, who drowns in a sink?” you said.

“So, he’s probably involved somehow,” Dean started.

“Wait, I’ve been asking around, and Lucas’ dad, Bill Carlton’s godson,” Sam pointed out.

“Well, then let’s go pay Mr.Carlton a visit.”

----

“Mr.Carlton? We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Sam said, walking up to Mr.Carlton. He was on the same bench he was the previous day, still in shock. You felt his pain.

“We’re with the department of-” Dean started.

“I don’t care which department you’re with. I’ve answered enough questions today,” he replied shakily.

“Mr.Carlton,” you started.

“My children are gone,” you felt a pang in your chest.

“Sam, Dean, will you give me a moment alone with Mr.Carlton?” you said softly.

They looked at you, confused, before nodding and walking away.

“Mr.Carlton, I know it’s not easy, dealing with your children’s death. I know how you feel. But, me and my partners are trying to do everything we can to help you. You just… you need you to answer a few questions,” you said, taking deep breaths.

“Losing your children, it’s a feeling worse than death,” he said.

“I know,” you nodded.

“Just please… go away,” he cried softly.

“I-I get it. But, if you want to help us, if you want to avenge your kids, then give us a call. Me and you both know that something’s not right here,” you said softly.

He looked away from you, looking to the lake. You sighed, walking to Sam and Dean.

“Anything?” Dean asked.

“No, but he does know something’s going on,” you said.

“Wait….. Maybe he’s not the only one who knows what’s going on. (Y/N), where’s the picture Lucas gave you?” Dean asked.

You handed him the drawing from your pocket.

“I don’t think he’s the only one that knows something,” Dean held the drawing up, comparing it to the Carlton House. It was the house in the drawing.

----

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Andrea said.

“I just need to talk to him, for a few minutes,” you said.

“He won’t say anything, What good’s it gonna do?” she argued.

“Andrea, we think more people might get hurt,” Sam explained.

“We think something’s out there,” Dean said.

“My husband, the others. They drowned, that’s all,” she said, getting upset.

“If you truly believe that, then we’ll go,” you started.

“But if you think there’s even a possibility that something else could be going on here, please let her talk to your son,” Dean finished your words.

She hesitated before answering.

“Fine, He’s down the hall, first door on the left,” she said.

“Thank you,” you nodded, walking to his room.

He sat on the ground, with his toy soldiers surrounding him while he drew.

“Hey, Lucas. Do you remember me?” you asked, squatting next to him.

He didn’t reply, as expected, but you noticed his drawings. All the same drawing of a red bike.

“Uhm, I just wanted to thank you for your last drawing, but I need your help again,” you said.

Dean handed you the drawing he drew before.

“How did you know to draw this? Did you know something bad was gonna happen?” he continued drawing.

“M-Maybe you could nod your head yes or no for me,” you said.

“You’re scared,” you noticed.

“It’s okay, I understand. When I was a child, I saw something really, really bad happen to my mom, and I was scared too. I didn’t feel like talking, just like you. But, my mom….” you took a breath.

“I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about it every day,” you could feel your eyes water.

“And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too,” you said softly.

He stopped drawing, looking up at you. After a moment, he handed you another drawing. It had the red bike, a man, a church, it seemed, and another house.

“Thanks, Lucas,” you smiled, taking the drawing and standing up.

“Thank you, Andrea,” you said, as the three of you walked off.

“(Y/N), I-I didn’t know you saw Mom,” Sam started.

“I know. It’s weird when you’re that young, you don’t remember anything. That’s the only thing I remember,” you sniffled.

The three of you sat in the car and drove off.

----

“Andrea said he never drew like that till after his dad died,” you handed the drawing to Sam.

“There are cases going through a traumatic experience, could make certain people more sensitive to premonitions, or psychic tendencies,” Sam started.

“What if Lucas is tapping into it somehow?”, Dean asked.

“It’s only a matter of time before someone else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please,” Dean said.

“Okay, fine. We have another house to find,” Sam said.

“In this county alone, there’s about a thousand yellow two-stories,” Dean groaned.

You drifted from their conversations, texting John again.

This case is hard. It’s bringing up all my unwanted memories from the past, like mom, like my son.

I can’t believe I’ve kept all these secrets from Sam and Dean. Is it too late to tell them?

I just feel sick.

“(Y/N), are you alive back there?” Dean called you.

“Yeah,” you said, turning off your phone.

“We haven’t heard a peep from you this entire car ride. Are you okay?” Dean asked.

“I’m fine. Where are we going anyway?” you asked.

“We’re finding the church in Lucas’ drawing,”

----

“We’re sorry to bother you, ma’am, but does a little boy live here by chance? He might wear a blue ball cap, has a red bicycle,” Dean asked the elder woman.

“No, sir. Not for a very long time. Peter’s been gone 35 years now,” she sighed.

“The police never…. I never had any idea what happened,” she explained, looking at a photo of him.

“He just disappeared,” she turned to the three of you.

“Losing him, it was, you know, it’s worse than dying,” she said shakily.

Sam nudged you softly, pointing to the toy soldiers on the table. You nodded at him.

“Did he disappear from here? I mean, from this house?” you asked.

“He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school, and he never showed up,” she replied.

You nodded your head softly as you looked around a bit, spotting a picture with Peter and another boy in the mirror.

You looked at the picture before looking at the back, seeing the names.

“Peter Sweeney and Billy Carlton, 1970,” you read aloud.

You raised an eyebrow, giving Sam and Dean a look.

“Okay, thank you for your time, ma’am,” Dean said as the three of you headed out the door.

----

“So, Peter Sweeney disappeared and this is all connected to Bill Carlton somehow,” Sam started.

“Yeah, it kinda seemed like he was hiding something,” Dean said.

“And Bill, the people he loves, they’re all getting punished,” Sam said.

“So maybe Bill did something? Maybe Bill killed him?” you suggested.

“Yeah, Peter’s spirit would be furious. He’d want revenge, it’s possible,” Dean agreed.

Dean drove once again to the Carlton house as you three got out of the car, looking for him.

“Sam, Dean,” you said, seeing Mr.Carlton on a boat, driving out in the water.

“Oh, shi-” the three of you ran to the dock, yelling for Mr.Carlton to turn back.

“Mr.Carlton! You need to come back! Turn around!” Dean shouted.

“Turn the boat around! Get out of the water!” you yelled.

He looked back at the three of you, with watery eyes. You heard a noise as something flipped the boat over, killing him.

“Damn it.”

----

The three of you walked into the police station, seeing Andrea sitting with Lucas, who looked upset.

“Sam, Dean, (Y/N),” Andrea said, surprised to see you three.

“What are you doing here?” the sheriff asked her.

“I bought you dinner,” she replied

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I just don’t have the time,” he sighed.

She looked at Dean.

“I heard about Bill Carlton, is it true? Is something on with the lake?” Andrea asked.

“Right now, we don’t know what the truth is, but I think it might be better if you and Lucas went home,” the sheriff said.

Lucas’ head shot up, as he gave the sheriff a worried look. He ran to you, pulling on your sleeve.

“Lucas, hey. What is it? What’s wrong?” you asked, bending down to him.

His eyes watered, as he continued holding onto you.

“Lucas, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Andrea said, trying to hold him.

“Hey, hey, Lucas. It’s okay,” you pulled away from him softly.

Andrea held him, rushing him out of the station. He turned back to you, giving you a look. You knew that look, something was wrong.

You watched him leave, looking concerned before the three of you walked into the sheriff’s office.

“O-Okay, so you’re telling me you see…. something attack Bill’s boat, sending him, who is a very good swimmer by the way, into the drink and you never see him again?” the sheriff asked, a bit skeptical at your story.

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Dean replied, looking at you and Sam.

“And I’m supposed to believe this even though I’ve already sonar swept that entire lake and what you’re describing is impossible and you’re not really wildlife service,” he added.

You looked to him, a little shocked. Not saying he was wrong, but how did he know?

“That’s right, I called the department. They’ve never heard of you three,” he said, crossing his arms.

“See, now that we can explain,” Dean started, motioning to you.

“Enough, please. The only reason you’re breathing free air is one of Bill’s neighbors saw him steering out that boat just before you did. So we have a couple of options here. I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you as material witnesses to Bill Carlton’s disappearance, or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you can get in your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don’t ever darken my doorstep again,” he said, raising his voice.

Well, he was clearly unamused.

You looked at Sam.

“Door number two sounds good,” you and Dean nodded in agreement.

“That’s the one I’d pick,”

----

“Dean, please. You saw his face. He was scared. Just a quick peek, please,” you begged.

“(Y/N), we told the sheriff we’re leaving. I don’t want us in jail,” Sam sighed.

“Dean?” you asked.

He froze for a minute. If he turned left, we would be out of this town. But, if he turned right, you could check on Lucas.

After a long minute of hesitation, he turned right.

“(Y/N), this job’s over. Peter killed Bill, it’s over,” Sam said, annoyed.

“Well, what if we’re wrong? What if we missed something, and we leave? More people get killed,” you sighed.

“Oh, come on (Y/N),” he groaned.

“You saw Lucas’ face. He was really scared. I’m not leaving town till I know that he’s okay,” you said, crossing your arms.

You saw Dean mouth something to Sam, as Sam went quiet.

“Fine,”

----

You walked to their front door, along with Sam and Dean.

“It’s late, are you sure about this?” Dean asked you.

Before you could ring the doorbell, Lucas opened the door, hyperventilating.

“Lucas? What’s wrong?” you said, panicking

He ran up the stairs, to a locked door, which you knew to be the bathroom. There was water leaking from under it.

He started banging at the door. You pulled him back, as Dean kicked the door open. He and Sam ran into the bathroom, pulling out Andrea from drowning. You held on Lucas, trying to calm him down.

----

You and Dean looked through their books, trying to find anything on the sheriff. It wasn’t an accident that Peter went after Andrea.

“(Y/N),” Dean said.

“Yeah?” you were looking in the bookshelf across from you.

“You tell me everything, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course,” you said. You hated lying to him.

“There’s no big secret you hid from me?” he asked.

“No….. why?” you asked.

“Sammy thinks you were pregnant once,” you felt your body go cold.

“But then I told him, there was no way. Because you tell me everything. And you would’ve told me if you were pregnant,” he said.

You felt a few tears fall, but you ignored it.

“Dean,” you said softly.

He put his hand on your shoulder, turning you around. He wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Dean, this isn’t the time for this. Please, let’s talk later. We’re on a hunt,” you sniffled.

“Okay, fine” he nodded his head.

You two continued looking, as he called you again.

“(Y/N),” you went to him, seeing him hold a book. Jake - 12 years old

Your eyes widened, as you saw a picture of an old boy scout troop.

With the sheriff, and Bill Carlton.

----

“Do you recognize the kids in this picture?” Dean asked Andrea, putting the book on the table in front of her.

“What? Uh, no, except that’s my dad, right there. He must’ve been around 12 in these pictures.” she pointed to the picture.

“The connection wasn’t to Bill Carlton. It must’ve been to the sheriff,” Dean started, looking to you and Sam.

“Maybe it was Bill and the sheriff, they were both involved with Peter,” Sam realized.

You looked to your side, seeing Lucas look out the window.

“Chris… what about my dad, what are you talking about?” Andrea asked.

“Lucas? Lucas, what is it?” you asked, walking to him.

He turned to the door, walking out, motioning you to follow him.

“Lucas?” Andrea called, also following him.

He led you four to the middle of the yeard, which was surrounded by trees.

“Take Lucas inside and stay there,” Dean told Andrea.

She nodded her head, pulling Lucas to the house.

The three of you took your shovels, digging into the dirt. You heard a clang as Sam hit something.

He looked up at you and Dean before the three of you pulled something out of the ground.

It was a red bike. It was Peter’s red bike.

“Peter’s bike,” Sam breathed out.

“Who are you?” you heard the sheriff’s voice from behind you, as he cocked his gun, pointing it at Sam.

“Put the gun down, Jake,” you said as Sam raised his hands up.

“How did you know that was there?” he asked.

“What happened? You and Bill killed Peter, drowned him in the lake, and buried his bike?” Dean said.

“You can’t bury the truth, Jake. Nothing stays buried,” you said.

“What the hell are you talking about?” the sheriff asked.

“You and Bill killed Peter Sweeney 35 years ago. That’s what the hell we’re talking about,” Dean replied.

“Dad!” Andrea yelled, running to you four.

“And now you have one seriously pissed off spirit,” Dean finished.

“It’s gonna take Andrea, Lucas, everyone you love. It’s gonna drown them,” Sam said.

“It’s gonna drag their bodies to god-knows-where, so you can feel the same pain Peter’s mom felt. And then, after that, it’s gonna take you, and it’s not gonna stop until it does,” you tried to reason with the sheriff.

“And how do you know that?” he asked.

“Because that’s exactly what it did to Bill Carlton,” Sam said.

“Listen to yourselves, all three of you. You’re insane,” he said, continuing to point the gun at Sam.

“We don’t really give a rat’s ass what you think of us, but if we’re gonna bring down this spirit, we need to find the remains, salt them, and burn them,” Dean said.

“Just tell me you buried him. That you didn’t just let him go into the lake,” you said.

“Dad, is any of this true?” Andrea asked, her voice shaky.

“No, they’re liars and they’re dangerous,” the sheriff said quickly.

“Something tried to drown me. Chris died on that lake. Dad, look at me,” Andrea yelled.

You tried to focus on the rest of the conversation, trying to ignore your pounding headache.

Not again, please, not again you begged.

You scrunched your eyes closed, grabbing your head.

“A-Andrea, w-where’s Lucas?” you groaned.

“W- he’s in the….. Oh my god!” she gasped, seeing Lucas by the lake.

The five of you ran to the lake, calling for Lucas to get away from the lake.

You saw Peter pull him into the lake.

You ran, jumping into the lake with Sam and Dean.

You dived your head underwater, looking for Lucas.

“No, Jake!” you heard Sam yell. You saw Peter grab his leg, drowning him.

You heard Andrea let out a cry.

“Oh my god,” you said quietly.

You went underwater, trying to find him again. When you came back up for air, you saw Lucas, unconscious in Dean’s arms. You let out a breath of relief.

He was okay

----

“Okay, the case is over. You said we’ll talk when the case is over,” Dean crossed his arms, leaning against the wall in the motel.

“About what?” Sam raised his eyebrow, looking between the two of you.

“Dean,” you started.

“(Y/N)” he replied.

He walked to the bed, holding your hand and pulling you next to him. Sam walked to you two also, sitting on your other side.

“O-Okay, well,” you took a deep breath, looking forward, away from Sam and Dean.

“A-After….uhm, when I left….” you stuttered, not sure where to start.

“It’s us. You don’t have to keep this from us anymore,” Dean said softly.

A tear fell from your eye.

“I found out I was pregnant, and Dad said he’d help me get out of this life. That it wasn’t safe f-for me anymore,” your voice was shaking.

Sam and Dean were quiet, listening to you.

“I-I don’t… it happened so fast…. I-It was,” you tried to speak, holding in your cries.

Dean wrapped his arms around you, rocking you gently like you did when you were kids. Every time something was wrong, the two of you would hug each other, rocking each other softly, calming down one another.

“I’m so, so sorry, (Y/N),” Sam said, hugging you too.

You cried softly, holding onto Sam and Dean.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Dad told me not to tell anyone,” you started.

“It’s okay,” Dean replied softly.

“It’s okay,”

----

The three of you walked to the Impala, getting ready to leave.

“Sam, (Y/N), Dean,” you heard Andrea call you three.

You turned around, seeing her and Lucas walk over to the three of you.

“We made you some lunch for the way. Lucas insisted on making you these sandwiches,” she smiled down at Lucas.

“Can I give it to them now?” he asked.

“Of course,” Andrea replied.

“Well, let’s go load these into the car, yeah?” you smiled to Lucas, holding his hand and walking off with him.

“Alright, since you’re gonna be talking now, you have to remember this phrase. I want you to repeat it back to me,” you told him. You leaned onto the car.

“Zeppelin rules!” he exclaimed.

“That’s right. Up high,” you gave him a high five as he smiled.

“Take care of yourself, kid,” you said.

You looked to the side, watching as you saw Andrea kiss Dean.

You smiled, before looking back to Lucas.

“We have to go now, it looks like. Take care, kiddo,” you said. He nodded, running off to Andrea.

“Let’s hit the road. We’re losing daylight,” Dean said, walking to the front seat.

“You’re blushing,” you teased him.

“Shut up, Let’s go,” the three of you sat in the car, driving off.

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madtype · 3 years

Text

Cabaret Club Czar Training - YUKI (Part 1)

i'm slowly working on transcribing every training sequence from yakuza 0's cabaret club czar minigame - figured i'd start with our first hostess, yuki!

highlights: - yuki giggling like a weirdo - majima getting emotionally decimated at multiple points by a completely oblivious yuki - yuki (excitedly): i... don't have any hobbies!!! - both of them being a little bit dumb and mean, bless their hearts

full transcript under the cut!

---

MAJIMA: Okay, let's do a little conversational training.

YUKI: Y-Yes... Thank you for your help with this!

M: What's up, Yuki-chan? Ya nervous or somethin'?

Y: N-No, I wouldn't call it nerves. It's more like... battle butterflies!

M: That so? Well, I guess that's encouraging enough. Alright, ya ready to pretend I'm a customer?

Y: Y-Yes...

Y: H-Hello, customer! I-I'm Yuki! I look forward to a fun conversation with you!

M: Uh, you sure you've got this?

———————————————————————————

M: Okay, well, let's start with an easy topic. Tell me 'bout some hobbies of yours.

Y: S-Sure. Hobby talk... Um... So all I have to do is tell you about them, right?

M: Yup. Come to think about it, I don't know much about you either. Let's use this little practice to get better acquainted, eh?

Y: Hobbies, okay. Let's see here. Hobbies... Hobbies... Ah!

M: Got anythin'?

Y: Yes! I... don't have any hobbies!

M: Hey, hey, if you wanna be a hostess, that kinda talk ain't gonna cut it. You just flatlined the whole conversation.

Y: But, I really don't have any hobbies... Oh! I doubt it counts as a hobby, but I do write in my diary every day!

M: A diary, huh? That's a great start, actually. What do ya write about in it?

Y: Oh, just boring stuff like what happened today, what I should make for dinner, how my bonsai plant's growing... That kinda thing.

> Little details work.

M: You got an eye for detail then, Yuki-chan. That suits you just fine.

Y: Wow, Majima-san, you actually give people compliments?

M: What? 'Course I do, when they deserve 'em.

Y: Really? But Majima-san, I don't think I've ever gotten a single compliment from you.

M: Well, that's because you... Well, you're... Nevermind.

Y: Oh, you mean I don't deserve any compliments, is that it, Majima-san? You sure have a way of putting your foot in your mouth!

M: Hey, I ain't said squat.

> Bonsai?

M: Wait, wait, back up a bit. Bonsai?

Y: Huh?

M: Wouldn't you think that tending bonsai would count as a hobby? I bet your older clientele would love hearin' you babble on about that.

Y: Oh, I see! You're right, that might work. Majima-san, you're a lot sharper than you look.

M: ...Are you sayin' I look dumb, Yuki-chan? Anyway, why didn't ya mention your bonsai hobby in the first place?

Y: I-I only have about eight years' experience with bonsai, and in the bonsai world, that makes me a nobody. A more experienced hobbyist would just laugh at me.

M: Hmm, I see. Well, I think it's pretty amazin'.

> Yeah, boring...

M: Hmm, yeah, a boring diary like that's just gonna deflate some libidos... Not a great conversation starter.

Y: Wh-What's that supposed to mean? I may not be the most entertaining or glamorous, but you don't have to insult my poor diary!

M: Shouldn't you worry more about me insulting you than your diary?

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M: ......

Y: ...... (heh)

M: ......

Y: ......

M: You really clam up when the guest stops talkin', don't ya?

Y: Y-Yeah, I guess I do. It's just, I feel like it would be impolite if I just started talking all of a sudden.

M: Impolite? That ain't the right idea at all. Our customers are here specifically to talk to girls, Yuki-chan. You've gotta lead 'em in with some topics.

Y: B-But I... I don't have a clue what I should talk to them about! What should I do if it gets quiet?

> Try to smile a bit.

M: If a conversation's running thin, just put on a nice smile. A woman's tears can cut like a knife, but the steel of a smile is a thousandfold stronger.

Y: Y-Yes! I understand! I just have to smile a bit, right?

M: Yeah, give it a go then.

M: ......

Y: [smiling awkwardly] ...Hmhm. Hmhmhm.

M: ...?

Y: [nervously] Hehhehhehheh... Hehheh... Hahahahaha...

M: Whoa, Yuki-chan, let's put the brakes on that one.

Y: Huh? Why? I was just trying to smile like you told me...

M: Sorry, Yuki-chan, my bad.

Y: What? Why are you apologizing?

> Try to compliment them.

M: If you're drawin' a blank on somethin' to talk about, try a compliment. Ain't a man in the world who would turn down a compliment.

Y: A compliment? Like, say something nice about his face or something?

M: Yeah, his face, his voice, maybe his personality? If he looks even a little well-off, try sayin' something nice about his clothes, his shoes, or, hell, even his watch.

Y: Wow! Now I... Majima-san, this is the first time I've felt like I can really look up to you! I guess you don't wear that janky eye patch for nothing!

M: Wait, is that your idea of a compliment?

Y: Wh-What? I was trying really hard to compliment you... I-I'm so sorry.

M: Hoo boy... The road to success is gonna be long and bumpy for you, Yuki-chan...

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M: Let's see, what else is a good conversation starter... Do you have some kinda talent, maybe? Eh, on second thought, scratch that...

Y: Wh-What are you talking about? Even I have something I'm good at!

M: Oh, no kidding? Okay, what is it?

Y: Um, well... I'm... O-Older people do tend to like me...

> Older gents, huh?

M: Hey, ya see, everybody's got a hidden talent. That'd make you perfect for the older clientele.

Y: Oh, maybe you're right. I was always my grandpa's favourite, so I bet that's why I can speak a little more naturally in front of older customers.

M: Hey now, why didn't ya tell me sooner? We can't be lettin' a talent like that go to waste, Yuki-chan.

Y: Majima-san, I'm sorry. But thank you!

M: Then it's decided. Yuki-chan, you're gonna be our older customer specialist. Every grandpa who walks in here is gonna get assigned to you!

Y: Whaaat? I'd like to talk to some younger clients too...

> That's a talent?

M: Hmm, can you even call that a talent?

Y: Well, I suppose it's not exactly a talent... But sometimes the older customers give me candy, even if all I do is sit next to them doing nothing!

M: That's... amazing, but you should prolly try to take care of your customers instead of sittin' there like a mute.

Y: O-Ohhh. I-I'm sorry. I'll be careful, I'll be careful...

M: (Yikes. Come to think of it, it might be how green she is that's makin' her so endearing to the old gaffers.)

> You're a grandkid type.

M: I see, so the old guys fancy you, do they? I suppose ya do seem a little like a grandkid.

Y: R-Really? I'm not so sure about the grandchild part, but I was always my grandpa's favorite.

M: Makes sense. But that's actually a big plus in our line of work. I could let you handle all the grandpas who roll through the doors.

Y: Ah, thank you. But it would be nice to get a break from the grandpas every once in a while...

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M: Alright, let's change gears. Why don't ya tell me about a weakness you've got, instead. Anythin' come to mind?

Y: Weaknesses? I have a lot of those...

M: Why does that not surprise me?

Y: Hey, don't be rude!

M: Heh, I'm just messin' with ya. Well if you've got a lot, how 'bout ya pick one for me. Anything's fine.

Y: Let me think... To be honest with you, I-I guess I'm not very good at talking to men.

M: Eh? If you're no good at talking to men, why the hell would ya work in a place like this?

Y: Um, that's, uh... it's because... Oh, I know! It's because I'm not good at it! I thought I could get used to talking to men by working here!

> Y'know, I'm a man too.

M: Yo, you do realize... I'm a man too, right?

Y: Oh, that's true. But Majima-san, I can talk to you just fine.

M: Haha, and why's that? 'Cause I'm such a supportive and considerate guy?

Y: Haha! I don't think so. I'm probably okay with you because you don't seem like a man at all.

M: Hey, what the hell does THAT mean!?

Y: Eek! I-I'm sorry!

> You're lying!

M: Oh come on! You're lyin' through your teeth! You're a real terrible liar, Yuki-chan.

Y: I-It's not a lie! I-If you're sure it's a lie, let's see you prove it, huh!?

M: Damn girl... What've you got to hide, anyway? Listen, it's fine if you've got secrets, but if you wanna last here, ya gotta learn how to hide 'em better than that.

Y: Heheh... I'll work harder at that.

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M: Okay, I think that'll do it.

Y: Th-Thank you for the lesson.

M: Sure thing. Good job.

#cabaret club czar #yakuza 0 #goro majima #yuki #club sunshine

3 notes · View notes

hongism · 4 years

Text

not your typical flower shop story - chapter 5

➻ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader, Jimin x Reader

➻ Genre: Flower Shop Owner!Taehyung, College!Reader, College!Taehyung, Gang/Mafia!AU Angst, eventual smut, Lovers to Enemies to Friends to Lovers LOL, Strangers to Lovers

➻ Word Count: 5.0k

➻ Rating: M

➻ Warnings: language, talk of guns and weaponry, a bit of blood, guns are present in this chapter

➻ Summary: You always goes to the cute boy next door’s flower shop across the street because hi yes he’s the cutest damn person you’ve ever seen, until one day a guy with tattoos and a severe obsession with the color black shows up in the shop asking for the ‘usual’ and you find out that your cute innocent little flower boy has a dirty little secret.

⇐ previous | next ⇒

You force yourself to step forward. Heavy feet drag you to the edge of the bar. He turns to face you when you’re still three feet from his stool. Your heart nearly stops beating in your chest, blood runs cold, eyes surely bulge out of your skull. A smile is the first thing you see, dark brown eyes hidden behind the soft crescents of his eyelids. Plump lips. White teeth. Crescent eye smile. And –

“There you are, princess.”

A gunshot echoes through the room. You sigh, looking forward to the target only to see that your bullet missed yet again. You lower the pistol to your side with a grimace. The target taunts you: its body-shaped cutout looming in the distance with no bullet marks across its metal surface. A voice rings out behind you to drive the metaphorical knife of defeat further into your chest.

"You're distracted."

"And you're annoying," you grumble in response, repositioning the pistol to aim at the target once more.

"Don't look so surprised. You were told I would want to see you, were you not? Come now, princess, don't get cold feet on me now."

"You're putting too much weight on your front foot. You need to keep the weight balanced so that any recoil from the shot doesn't throw you off."

"You look about as confused as I thought you would. Don't worry, we will have plenty of time to discuss things in the future. Now that we're working together after all. Isn't that nice, princess?"

"Are you listening, Y/N?" Yoongi's voice cuts through the memory. You jerk your head to look over your shoulder, eyeing the silver-haired man. Instead of responding, you try your best to shake the memory away from the forefront of your mind and aim your gun. There is a slight tremor in your hands, barely visible, but audible. A faint clicking that resounds in the silence of the warehouse.

"I wonder how long it will take for you to abandon me this time. Three months? Two? A week? You've got a record to beat, I know, but try not to make it too snappy. I want to see my princess' pretty face a bit more before you betray me again."

In the moment you had wanted to scream, yell, shout, anything that would be loud enough to get through Jimin's thick skull. Perhaps punching him would have been effective, but all you could do was stand there. Looking dumb and clueless, mouth wide open even though you had had a sneaking suspicion that he would be there.

"Close your mouth, kitten. You'll catch flies like that."

He sounded so arrogant, so confident that he was in the right. You aren't wholly sure what happened to his brain when he had his accident, but something must have gone wrong that the doctors didn't tell you about. The Jimin you saw that night in the bar was not the one you left in the diner. It infuriates you.

All the efforts you've made for him, everything you've done, the money you've raised and spent on him, the time and effort you put into visiting and taking care of him -- all wasted on a Park Jimin who came back as an asshole?

You release a string of curses under your breath then unload your clip into the metal dummy across the room. Every single shot misses except for one: a clear hole in the middle of the dummy's head. You don't lower the gun. You just stand in the same position, gun forward and chest heaving, as tears start to well in your eyes.

It's been eight days since you saw Jimin in the bar, made a deal with Namjoon, agreed to give your life away all to see Jimin again, and yet not once have you stopped to think about seeing him again. Namjoon made a point of keeping you busy, jumping between lessons about everything under the sun day and night. Some of that is your own fault since you told Namjoon that you could handle it and would rather just do everything at once. Maybe your feelings are so pent up that they are ready to spill over.

A hand covers yours on the grip of the pistol. It pushes your fingers aside and takes the weapon into its own grasp. You glance to the left, finding Yoongi next to you with furrowed brows. Concerned. Of course. Everyone seems to be concerned. First Taehyung, then Namjoon, and now Yoongi. Everyone except for fucking Jimin.

"Let's take a break," he mutters. You scowl at the prospect.

"I don't need a break. I'm fine."

"Say that to the dummy with a hole in his head."

A scoff escapes your lips. You snatch the pistol back from Yoongi and make quick work of releasing the empty clip and putting a new one in as he showed you the first day of your little "training sessions".

"That's the point of this, isn't it? Hit the damn target?"

"You haven't been listening to a single word I've said in the past two hours. The point is to manage your surroundings. Not the targets. Scoping out. Not just shooting."

"Can we move on then?"

Yoongi's lips close before another sigh can get out. "What's wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?" You ask.

"Your hands are shaking, you can't focus, you haven't been listening to a word I've said. Something is wrong."

"It's nothing," you hiss out between gritted teeth. "Let's just move on and start a different lesson." You raise your pistol again, aiming it at the target to fire once more but Yoongi stops you. He places his hand over the gun and pushes it down to your side.

"How about you stop. Just take a break."

"Why do I need a break? Isn't Namjoon sending me on a job today?"

"It's a training job. Not a serious one." Yoongi eyes you. You fidget under his gaze, uncomfortable with the way he seems to be reading your emotions and thoughts with only a stare.

"Well, I need to be ready for it nonetheless."

"Is it about Jimin?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Your retort gives away the issue, but honestly, it's better than straight-up confirming what Yoongi thinks.

"Your mission tonight is with him. Did you think I didn't know that? Or notice the conversation you shared last week in the bar?"

"It was hardly a conversation, so don't call it that."

"Y/N..."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"We can reassign you. It's okay to not be ready for a mission with him. I can ask Namjoon to put you on duty with someone else."

"And do what?" You counter. You let your arm relax at last, pushing the pistol into Yoongi's outstretched hands, and take a few steps back. "Sit around not doing anything?"

"You have been working nonstop for the past week. Maybe you need to sit around not doing anything." Yoongi holsters the pistol in the band of his pants. He has thankfully stopped looking at you, but you still feel the concern radiating off him in waves.

"Where's Taehyung?" You ask, shifting the conversation.

"Doing his job," comes Yoongi's short response.

"Just put me with him for the night then. I can sit around being useless next to him. Would that make you happy?"

"This isn't about my happiness, Y/N. You joined us. You had the opportunity to walk away once you found out that Jimin was here too. But you didn't. You stayed."

"I didn't think--" You stop yourself, refusing to let the words reach the air between you and Yoongi. "I thought... nevermind. You know what? I'm fine. It's fine. I will go on this damn mission with Jimin, and everything will be fine." You step around Yoongi, ignoring the hand that darts out in attempts to grab hold of yours, and instead make your way towards the door of the warehouse. Footsteps resound behind you. Yoongi is following you, but of course he is because he can't seem to leave well enough alone.

Stepping out of the warehouse, you are greeted by darkness. Yoongi falls into step beside you despite your cold aura. The two of you walk through the alleyway in utter silence, the only sounds coming from the road before you. Cars whiz to and fro, as fast as your thoughts at the moment. As thankful as you are for Yoongi's silence, it doesn't help get your mind off the fact that you are going to have to work with the new Park Jimin tonight.

Over the past week, you have made many efforts to avoid him. Either he isn't around all too much at the base Namjoon set up, or you did a good job and failed to run into him. You don't want to work with him, but it seems stupid to go to the leader of a gang and say hi I don't like this person, can you not assign me with them? when it's your first mission.

It's fine, Y/N. It's fine. A simple little mission. One dinner. No guns needed, no hostiles, just gathering intel. It's easy.

Except it's the opposite of easy. You are going to be sitting across from Jimin and have to fake niceties with him as he does the hard work of gathering intel. In other words, you're a decoy for him to use as cover. Isn't that fantastic?

Yoongi senses your discomfort. He doesn't say anything but you feel him step closer to you, shoulder brushing against yours as you walk.

"Listen, Y/N," he says after the two of you reach the sidewalk by the road. "You don't have to take this mission. There is no shame in not being ready for it."

"Yes, there is," you grumble. The image of Jimin's taunting grin surfaces in your mind. "If I don't..."

"Namjoon will understand. He's really good at that surprisingly."

"This isn't about Namjoon." You pause, dragging your tongue over your lips, and glare down at the sidewalk as it disappears under your feet. You aren't sure what you're trying to prove. As much as Yoongi is confused, you are too, and there are a million reasons as to why you might be feeling this way. Jimin is at the top of the list. Of course. Of course. He was the only reason you joined. The money was to be for him, and when you confirmed that he was no longer in the hospital and working with Namjoon, the purpose was to be with him. You have a million and one medical bills to pay off because of him. A higher apartment rent to pay because of him. For as long as you can remember, everything you've done has been for him. You always imagined that it would all be worth it in the end, you would get to have closure and happiness again after it all ended, and yet here you are. Way sooner than expected. Far more disappointed than you could've imagined.

You stop in your tracks. Yoongi continues to walk forward a few steps before he notices that he's leaving you behind.

Closure. That's what it's all about: having even just a shred of closure from Jimin.

"I think I'll be fine, Yoongi." You resume your pace and leave Yoongi to catch up with you without explaining your sudden halt. "It's not that big of a job, right? All I need to do is sit there and look pretty for Jimin." There is a tinge of bitterness concealed in your tone, one that Yoongi doesn't comment on because he must know that you're right. As much as you don't like it, you still have to do it. Sure Yoongi said that you could ask Namjoon to reassign you, but if this is your one chance at closure with Jimin, then you need to take it.

The sun is breaching the midpoint in the sky, clouds dissipating and unleashing the heat of the day on you. You increase your pace, and Yoongi follows suit. It's a mystery how he manages to survive the heat whilst wearing all black all day. The two of you reach the front of a grungy bar, the dark wood a looming familiarity before you.

When Namjoon initially agreed to take you to his "base" as he called it (all the verbiage he uses is something you have yet to get used to), you were expecting to leave the bar and go to some super-secret building, but no. Instead, he took you around the corner of the bathrooms in the bar to a simple metal door and told you to go in. Of course, you should've assumed he would have a secret underground base somewhere, but a grungy bar was the last place you thought of.

Yoongi opens the door for you, letting you step in first before following behind, and you sigh when the cool air inside the bar hits you. It's relatively empty, although it's still early afternoon. In your mind, it's not early enough though, because you have to be ready to leave on a mission with Jimin in less than four hours. The anxiety is beginning to build up and bubble in your gut again. If Yoongi notices, he opts not to comment on it this time.

The walk to the door in the back is quick, made quicker by your haste, but you have to wait for Yoongi to catch up anyways since he holds the key to going further down.

"Why are you thinking so hard?" He asks at last while fiddling with his keys.

"I'm not," you argue.

"You have a bad habit of lying, Y/N."

"I'm not trying to..." The words come out quieter than you intended, making it quite obvious how you're feeling. Yoongi's long fingers hesitate next to the doorknob.

"If you're not careful, I'll tell Namjoon to reassign you myself," he mutters as he works the door open. You grimace and look away from the man. A creak resounds when the door swings open, much quicker and more forceful than you were expecting. Yoongi seems surprised as well, a small inhale of shock hissing through his teeth, and he takes a step away from the door.

"You're back!" The voice causes a loud noise to leave your lips, shoulders and body jerking from the surprise. You glance up and find a boxy grin revealing bright teeth. Relief washes over you.

"Taehyung," you greet with a smile of your own. His precious smile is a blessing honestly, and it helps alleviate your anxieties just by seeing it. He's still dressed in his typical casual outfit, along with the white apron from his small flower shop.

"Are you heading out?" Yoongi asks, motioning over the apron.

"Ah, no! I just got back," Taehyung explains. The smile never leaves his lips as he speaks. Yoongi opens his mouth to speak again, but Taehyung ignores him in favor of grabbing hold of your hand. He tugs you towards the descending staircase. "But Y/N, today was slow, so I had some extra time to work on arrangements. I made a really pretty one and thought you might like it, so I brought it back with me!"

Yoongi grumbles behind you, most likely about how he was snubbed, but you can only focus on not tripping down the steep staircase as Taehyung pulls you forward.

“I got a new batch of violets set up at the shop, and I was thinking of giving them to you for your windowsill. But! Then! I had an idea! So I worked on a new arrangement with a whole array of shades of violets. I got some indigo ones along with burgundy and pink ones, so I repotted them. The ones in your window die so quickly so I thought maybe it would be easier for you to have ones that you can water and keep alive for a while.” Taehyung’s enthusiasm is almost infectious, and you continue to smile as he rambles on about the flowers. You don’t have the heart to tell him that you never try to keep the flowers in your window alive. That would be unveiling your little secret about why you went to his flower shop so frequently. Then again, you get to see Taehyung much more often because of your new arrangement here.

Taehyung pulls you all the way down the long flight of stairs, and once you reach the bottom, he turns to you. You aren’t sure whether he’s expecting you to respond in some way but you don’t get to find out because his expectant grin leaves your line sight. He tugs you along, refusing to let go of your forearm. The typically dark underground warehouse is lit up at the moment, a rare sight usually upon Namjoon’s claims that he “thinks better when it’s dark”. Taehyung drags you all the way to his little open office in the corner of the room. The area is shrouded by a multitude of computer servers, a blockade that serves as the walls for his space. Behind all the servers lies a rather bare desk and chair, four computer monitors strung together with wires around them like a spiderweb. And sure enough, there on the desk, is a ceramic flower pot with an assortment of violets in it.

That’s when he finally lets go of your arm, dropping it to motion towards the pot with fervor.

“What do you think? Do you like them?” He asks as you look over the flowers. They’re soft and delicate, small buds and blossoms spread across the green leaves, and all dirt is tucked away from the flowers themselves. You almost reach out to touch the petals but think better of it.

“I love them, Taehyung. They’re really gorgeous.”

“I’m glad! It’s just something small, you know… I figured it might help you in some way maybe?”

“Help me?” You echo, head tilting to the side in question.

“Ah, well, you just – you seem stressed? Ever since joining us. I totally understand; when I first joined, it took me weeks to get settled and used to things. I think I was a high-strung mess for at least two weeks. I figured this might help ease some of that.” He’s even more concerned than when I first came. Great. At least he doesn’t think it’s about Jimin.

“Thank you, Taehyung,” you say with a small smile. “I’m not really good at keeping things alive though…”

“Oh! That’s okay! I can give you a few tips and tricks on how to best take care of the flowers. Maybe tonight after you get back from your mission?” Taehyung clasps his hands together and brings them over his chest. He beams down at you. “I could walk you home? I mean, if it’s not too much trouble… we’re next-door neighbors after all. If you don’t though, that’s perfectly okay!”

“No, no, no!” You refute. “That would be nice, yea.” Especially after the mission. And after Jimin.

“Amazing! I mean, great yes.” Taehyung scratches the back of his neck and turns away from you. There is a ding, then a small whooshing sound that catches both your attentions. He glances over his monitors. “Ah, looks like Emperor sent me a job. I’ll talk to you later, yea?”

You merely nod in response as Taehyung moves to sit down at his desk. It’s at that moment that Yoongi decides to catch up to you two. He clears his throat, and you shift to look at him.

“Speaking of… Emperor asked to see you before your mission.” Yoongi points over his shoulder with his thumb, and you follow his thumb with your eyes. No one is standing behind you so you aren’t sure why you look over there. Nonetheless you do, only to see nothing there except for an empty place. “In his office, Y/N,” Yoongi clarifies as he sees your line of sight.

“Oh yea, of course, duh,” you mutter more to yourself than to him. You move around Yoongi with the intention of going to Namjoon’s office. He catches you by the arm first, brows still furrowed as they were during your training session, and you want to look away.

“You’re leaving earlier than planned,” he says under his breath. He tilts his head away from Taehyung’s little corner, obviously not wanting the other man to overhear. “Star already took care of the reservation, but Emperor wanted to chat with you a bit before you get ready to go.” There is a lingering sense of foreboding in Yoongi’s words, and it feels more like a warning than anything else. As you pull away, you make eye contact with Yoongi and watch the slight shake of his head in confusion. I’m… what is that supposed to mean? Instead of asking for clarification, you merely continue to move away from Yoongi and head for Namjoon’s office with much more hesitant steps.

It only takes one knock for him to welcome you in, the door swinging open a moment after you rap your knuckles against the wood. Except it isn’t Namjoon who answers; rather it’s someone else, a new and unfamiliar face which is a bit surprising since you’ve been in and out of the base for eight days straight now. The man is about as tall as Namjoon, dark hair neatly swept back and held in place by hair gel, and he wears a suit. You weren’t expecting that either, seeing as everyone else you’ve met (aka Yoongi, Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jimin) wear seemingly casual clothes all the time.

“Oh perfect. Just who we wanted to see!” The man greets, full lips stretching into a broad smile, and his eyes fall into soft crescents. He ushers you into the room. Once you’re in, you spot Namjoon. He’s seated behind a large dark wood desk, one that looks quite expensive, in a tall leather chair. You’ve noticed over the past week that he always carries himself with an air of arrogance and pride, and you see it now in the way that he sits. Back rigid and straight, shoulders pushed back, one leg crossed over the other, elbows propped up on his desk.

You step further into the room without any hesitation.

“Have you two met, Miss L/N?” He asks once the door into his office snaps shut.

“No…”

“Kim Seokjin. Business dealings are my specialty but I also dabble in management and politics. You probably know me better as Star.”

“Oh? Oh, yes, yea I’ve heard the name mentioned here and there.”

“The two of you can exchange further pleasantries at a later time. Right now we need to discuss business.” Namjoon motions to the chairs set in front of his desk, and you hurry to sit down. “We had to adjust the schedule of your mission tonight. Move it up a little. The reservation is now for 5:15 instead of 6:30. Our client told us that things shifted a bit on his side so we made last-minute adjustments. However that’s not exactly what we need to talk about.” The other man, Seokjin, sits down beside you as Namjoon speaks.

“Our client requested further intel,” Seokjin explains further once he’s seated. “Paid a significant amount extra for the information as well. The requested intel, however, requires that you and Moon to do a bit more than just a simple dinner.”

“Meaning?”

“I made reservations for you and Jimin to stay at a hotel tonight. The same hotel that the man Moon will be gathering intel from, in fact. Don’t worry, the room has two beds so you don’t need to fret about that.”

“Why exactly do I need to go to the hotel with him?” You ask, voice rising as panic surges through you. You were alright with the idea of having dinner with Jimin for the mission, but having to sleep in the same room as him? That’s far different and far more anxiety-inducing. How the fuck am I supposed to spend an entire night with him?

“To keep up appearances,” Seokjin says. “We need the target to believe that the two of you are a married couple on a date. If he’s suspicious of anything then the mission is at risk. I understand you might not enjoy it, but your job is to make sure that Moon’s cover holds. You fail, he fails.”

“I understand,” you whisper. The man’s words certainly add a great deal of gravity to the situation and your part in it. Perhaps your earlier assumption that you would only be serving as a “trophy wife” was incorrect.

“The target typically spends an hour at the hotel bar. We’ve watched his movements and patterns for a while and know exactly when he will be at the bar in the hotel. You and Moon will go directly there after dinner, Moon will gather his intel, and you will make sure that no one suspects Moon of eavesdropping.”

“Easy.”

Seokjin laughs a little at your small comment. “Exactly. You and I will get along just fine, Y/N. Now, Emperor, I need to go close a deal with another client, so if you’ll excuse me?”

“Go ahead, Star.” Namjoon nods at the man, and he stands to leave without further ado. You watch him go out the corner of your eye before turning back to Namjoon once he’s gone.

“So how long until I get a fancy nickname like the rest of you?” You inquire with a small tilt to your chin.

“I was under the impression that you didn’t care for our “nicknames”, Miss L/N.” Namjoon chuckles, letting his elbows fall off the desk and relaxing his arms some.

“I just don’t understand the significance of them. I mean, Moon and Star make sense together, but what does Emperor have to do with anything? And why do you use codenames sometimes but not all the time?” You’ve never heard Namjoon call Yoongi or Taehyung by any sort of codename, at least not that you’ve noticed. It’s a strange inconsistency for someone like Namjoon who seems so serious about being right all the time.

“Hm well, perhaps I’ll explain it to you one day. Right now, however, you need to go change and get ready to go. You don’t have long until your reservation after all.”

“And am I supposed to wear just this?” You motion down at your current outfit, obviously being a bit cynical with your words, but Namjoon gives you a once over.

“No. Your outfit for tonight is in the bathroom upstairs. Since we made last-minute reservations for the hotel, we don’t have a set of clothes for you to change into after, but the hotel should provide something for you both.”

You nod along with Namjoon’s words. A whole night with him… not how I wanted to spend my night. I guess I don’t have a choice though.

“Right… uh, then permission to leave?” You try not to sound too upset with the change of plans. If Namjoon notices the tension in your shoulders or the darkness in your expression, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Permission granted.” Namjoon dismisses you with a shooing motion. You’re eager to get out of the office, although you would much rather go anywhere else than get ready to leave for your mission. Yoongi waits outside the door when you leave; however, he must not be waiting for you because the man from earlier – Seokjin – stands across from him. You nearly run facefirst into Seokjin’s back as you step out.

“Oh!” Seokjin exclaims as you bring up a hand to keep yourself from running into him. “So sorry, I didn’t mean to get in your way.” He laughs and steps out of your way.

“No, no, it’s okay,” you reassure with a small smile.

“Are you leaving already?” Yoongi asks when you move around him as well.

“Uh, yeah, I’ve got to go change and stuff first but then we’re leaving.”

“Isn’t it a bit early?” He questions again.

“We had to make adjustments and change the reservation,” Seokjin explains for you, and Yoongi glances over to him.

“Ah, well I knew that but I didn’t expect it to be this early. Good luck, Y/N.” You and Yoongi make eye contact. He reaches out to press a hand against your arm, an obvious attempt to comfort you in some way, but it doesn’t help you much at all. Instead it only makes you feel weak. Weak for needing comfort over something that seems so trivial and meaningless. You brush his hand off your arm, a small smile crossing your lips. It’s a minimal effort to reassure him, and a minimal effort that doesn’t serve any purpose truly because the gleam of concern does not leave Yoongi’s eyes.

“Thanks. It’ll go well, I’m sure. I trust Jimin.” You utter the lie through gritted teeth. No one cares to call you out for it if they suspect it. There is some truth hidden in the words though. Because, yes, at one point you could easily have said that you trusted Jimin with your life. You did. That night at the diner you proved it. Yet this is where your trust got you. Somehow you can’t quite give up all hope on him. Surely the Jimin you knew back then is still tucked away in there somewhere. As much as you want to avoid him and any form of confrontation, you know what’s most important to you.

Him.

You’re determined to do whatever it takes to get the man you knew back. Step one is going on this mission with him and trying your best to trust him again. After all, he’s going to have to trust you to keep his cover. It’s a dangerous game of trust really, and you realize that as you near the top of the long staircase up to the bar. You send a stare down the steps, looking down into the light before continuing upwards into the darkness.

...

a/n: hello hello sorry this was delayed for a bit!! i didn’t mean to keep you all waiting, this story just takes longer for me to write and prep!! i hope you all enjoy this chapter and the reveals and such, please let me know what you think!

taglist: @minyoonkeeks @succulentjinkook @xanny91 @knjkitten @shadowsremedy @purpleheartsfortae @etaerealboy @hotnoodle @xcastielbabyangelface @serious-addiction @moon-2seok @taestannie @krystle1990 @subtlepjiminie @goodnightbug @pars-ley @fangirls94 @naajix @fkyoutooo

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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michael-langdon-appreciation · 5 years

Note

Loved part 12!!! How long do you think it’ll be till 13? No pressure though :))))

It’s finally here, it’s been an absolute joy to write the Runaway Saga. When it began I had no idea that it would take off and so many of you would love it so much. We have an epilogue left to go but it’s nearly time to bring the story to a close. I’ve loved writing Jim, Duncan, Michael and Y/N. It definitely won’t be the end of the foursome, but all good things must end.

I hope you enjoy, I had to admit I was emotional writing this.

(Does contain giving birth)

—————————————————————————————

PART 13

MICHAEL

Her screams rip through me as I fight back the tears. ‘Come on my darling, you can do this.’ He grits his teeth so hard they crack, never breaking eye contact with Y.N. Her hair is glued to her forehead in sweaty strands, her chest heaving.

‘GET THEM OUT OF ME MICHAEL!’

‘We will!’ He roars back, ‘You’re almost wide enough. Is that what they even say?’

‘I DON’T KNOW!’

‘Fuck!’ His hands shake, both hovering above Y/N round stomach. Her screams are raw as the contractions come hard and fast, ‘Ease up baby please.’ He begs, ‘You gotta let her live! Please! You can’t make the same mistake I did.’

There’s a brief pause and Y/N lifts her head. ‘What’s happening?’

Michael listens intently, ‘I….don’t know.’ His hands rest on her stomach, Michael’s magic flowing throughout her.

One heartbeat.

And another…fainter.

‘Give your twin a chance.’ Michael whispers, tears tracking down his cheeks. ‘You’ve gotta ease up. You’re ready babygirl, just let them come.’

Y/N’s back snaps upwards as she screams loud enough to make the windows rattle in their panes. ‘MICHAEL!’

The door bursts open. Michael can’t even deal with the problem if he wanted to.

He has to make sure they live.

‘OH FUCK!’

It’s Jim, sagging against the door at the scene before him. Michael’s got Y/N propped up in bed resting against a mound of pillows. She’s gripping the sheets tight enough to nearly rip them. Duncan barrels into Jim, sending them both careening into the room.

‘What’s happening.’ Duncan demands, ‘Are they both alive!’

‘At the moment.’ Michael answers, ‘Let me do this.’

‘If you hurt my kid-’

Michael sends Jim back against the wall with a push of his hand. ‘I AM TRYING TO FOCUS!’

Duncan collects Jim, wrapping his arm tight around Jim’s waist for support. Both men kneels beside Y/N and she squeezes their hands the moment they’re within her reach.

‘I don’t know how you’re here but thank god you are,’ She grits out.

‘They’re early.’ Duncan murmurs, ‘It isn’t time yet.’

‘I know!’ Y/N’s tone is full of frustration, ‘And I can’t even get to a hospital I have to let the Antichrist be my midwife!’

Michael shoots her a scowl, but then he hear it.

A little girl’s voice, sweet and as melodic as a chime.

‘I’m ready, daddy.’

‘Okay Y/N you need to start pushing.’ Michael’s voice is full of authority as he clocks both Jim and Duncan too. ‘It’s time.’ Jim and Duncan wince horribly as Y/N crushes their hands. Her voice strains awfully as she tries to push with every ounce of her strength. ’Keep going!’ A headache is forming between Michael’s temples, the strain of sending healing magic to his Y/N a constant battle. ‘You’re doing so well.’

‘You can do it.’ Jim joins the barrage of encouragement, ‘You’ve got this Y/N. I’m so so sorry for all the shit I’ve put you and everyone through.’ His eyes flick to Michael, ‘You too. Just save my kid!’

‘NOT THE TIME JIM!’ Y/N screams as every single one of her muscles contract.

‘I can see a head,’ Michael declares. ‘One more big push, Y/N.’

The baby’s body appears, slimy and beautiful. Michael gathers the child at once, running on pure instinct as Duncan darts round to help him.

‘I saw them cut the umbilical chord in a medical drama.’ He says, brandishing the scissors. ‘I know how to do it.’

‘GET THEM AWAY FROM ME.’ Y/N screams, still very much feeling the pain.

Jim’s eyes are glued to the baby, ‘Whose…is it?’

He waits for the chord to stop pulsing, ‘Cut it now.’

Duncan does as instructed, making clean work of the job. ‘I hope you sterilised these scissors.’

‘Do you think I’m an idiot?’

‘GUYS!’ Y/N’s head flops to the side, a tear making it down her cheek as Jim wipes it away. ‘Is they baby okay?’

The little one’s eyes flick open, large ocean blue eyes meet Michael’s own. He feels the bond immediately as he towels off the little one, ‘She’s here.’ He says, ‘Our little one.’

There’s silence as everyone waits. Michael wraps his little girl up and passes her over to Duncan. He can’t be selfish now, he must be ready to act.

‘Where….where is-’ Jim begins as there’s an almighty scream from Y/N.

Michael dives back into action, reaching out to feel for the heartbeat. ‘They’re coming!’ He cries, ‘The heartbeat is strong.’

‘I CAN’T!’ Y/N screams, ‘IT HURTS!’

’We need another sweet child, my love.’ Michael coos, pushing all his magic into her.

Jim looks on the verge of passing out and Michael can’t blame him. Between Y/N’s screams, his baby girl’s first cries and Duncan’s mantra of encouragement it would be enough for anyone.

Excitement builds in Michael’s heart, his baby listened.

Jim’s child is gonna make it.

The child enters the world screaming, his lungs full as his eyes open, tiny arms flailing about. Tears fall fresh down Michael’s cheeks, ‘It’s a boy.’ He announces, ‘Healthy and alive.’

Jim is by his side in milliseconds, peering over Michael’s shoulder. ‘Oh my god.’ He whispers, eyes filling with tears. ‘He’s here.’

Duncan passes over the scissors, ‘Do the honours, Jimmy.’

Jim snips the chord and slips his baby boy into his own towel. Duncan brings Michael’s baby over to Y/N as the Antichrist takes a well deserved collapse onto the floor. ‘I….promised you.’ He wheezes, ‘I’d….succeed.’

‘You did.’ Jim nods, swaddling his baby. ‘I don’t even know if this is right, can we call someone now?’

Y/N has taken her little girl into her arms, ‘She’s so beautiful.’ She breathes, her expression awestruck. ‘Hello, baby girl.’

‘Did you ever think of a name?’ Duncan asks, his eyes soft as he gazes upon the child.

They haven’t discussed names, but Y/N answer comes as if she’s always know. ‘Miriam.’ She says, ‘I want to call her Miriam.’

If Michael had been crying before, it was nothing compared to the tears dripping down his chin now. ‘You…wanna call her that?’ He staggers to his feet, ‘I can’t think of anything better.’

‘Miriam Medina Langdon.’ Y/N says, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Jim cracks a smile, ‘It’s perfect.’

——————————————————————————————-

JIM

His baby is here.

This tiny potato-like miracle is his.

Jim can barely stand as he passes over his baby to their mother. Y/N takes the baby boy into her arms, passing on Miriam to Michael. The Antichrist is besotted already, he won’t remove his eyes from the child, nodding along occasionally. Jim is certain they’re already having their first non-verbal conversation.

Duncan rests his head against Y/N’s, ‘He’s got your eyes, Jim.’ He notes. ‘The same shape and colour.’

‘But Y/N’s smile.’ Jim says, ‘Her beautiful beautiful smile.’

Whenever Y/N smiles at him it’s like seeing the sunrise on a new morning.

‘You need a name for him.’ Duncan presses, ‘Now he’s here in the world.’

Jim hasn’t thought of a name. He didn’t fully believe his child was gonna make it, nevermind a name.

‘Uhhhhhhh.’ He wracks his brain, searching the room for inspiration.

He’s got nothing.

‘Any ideas?’ He asks the room, ‘I’m open to anything but Adrien.’

The room thinks, well Duncan thinks alongside Jim. Y/N closes her eyes, getting a few moments of precious peace. Michael’s far too enraptured with baby Miriam to notice anything else in the room. The witches could have come in, magic wands blazing and Michael would remain where he is cooing over the infant.

Duncan’s fixated on Michael too, ‘Jeffrey.’ The words come out a whisper, not fully realised.

His words bring Michael out of his stupor, ‘What was that?’

‘Give Jeffrey his chance now.’ Duncan’s eyes flick to Jim, ‘It’s…poetic I guess.’

Jim mulls it over, as Michael pushes away more tears. ‘Would you…like that Michael? It wouldn’t be…too much?’

‘Nothing would give me greater joy.’ Michael says, ’You can do what I couldn’t, Jim.’

‘And Miriam kept her word.’ Duncan pushes, ‘She let him come into the world.’

‘Jeffrey Mason.’ Jim knows it’s right the moment it’s said aloud, ‘Why not?’

‘And it ties us all together again.’ Y/N pipes up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. ‘That’s all I’ve wanted.’

Jim nods, ‘I’m sorry how I’ve reacted-’

‘You don’t need to be sorry.’ Michael cuts him off quickly, ‘I was the one who kidnapped Y/N.’

‘Yeah,’ Duncan frowns. ‘It doesn’t put you in the good books.’

‘I knew you would terminate her.’ Michael holds his child to his chest, ‘I…couldn’t let that happen.’

Duncan claps him on the shoulders, ‘We never should have even thought about it. We should have trusted you.’ Duncan pushes Michael’s hair behind his ears, ‘I for one, will never misjudge you again.’

‘So…where do we go from here?’ Jim’s voice has gone timid, ‘No offence Duncan, but we can’t have two babies at your apartment. Plus, it doesn’t look like Jerome is leaving anytime soon.’

‘The beach house.’ Duncan answers, ‘It’s got enough space for us all.’

‘But what about being in the city for work?’ Y/N counters, ‘You’re big plans to run for Mayor.’

‘I think that can wait till I’ve spent some time with my family.’ Duncan smiles, ‘Besides, people are far more likely to vote for married men with children.’

‘Would you come with us?’ Jim asks, ‘I know words are easy to say and not mean but…I really do want you in my life. In all our lives.’

Michael considers it, he’s lost in thought as the Antichrist peers down at little Miriam. ‘I don’t know if I can watch you marry Y/N.’ He admits, ‘It might be too much for me.’

Jim can see the slight crack in Duncan’s facade, ‘Oh.’

‘But I’d like to try.’ Michael says quickly, ‘I want to see if we can make it work.’

Miriam gurgles in the Antichrist arms, she reaches out towards her brother, straining to be closer. Michael brings her over and seats the baby girl beside her twin and Miriam settles at once, ‘Doesn’t look like Miriam wants to move away from her brother,’ Y/N notes.

Jim grins, ‘Looks like you’ll both have to stay.’

——————————————————————————————-

TAGGING: @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul@langdonsinferno @pastel-cloudz@misslanabananaa @lovelykhaleesiii @lostin-fern @lvngdvns@ccodyfernn @asstichrist@yourkingcodyfern@langdonsdemon@satcnas @russianspacegeckosexparty @rosy-pugs @luxuryglitterhoe@langdonsoceaneyes@sodanova @petersfern-fics @avesatanormalpeoplescareme@sassylangdon @confettucini@sammythankyou@wroteclassicaly @Sloppy-Wrist @Langdonalien@alexcornerblog@sevenwondr@queencocoakimmie@sojournmichael@langdonsdemon@satcnaskinlovecody @kylosbabe@americanhorrorstudies @ladynuwanda@xxpixiefromdixiexx @elenareginaauditore@dadddysprincessss@gremlinkween@readsalot73@astir-bread @i-will-die-for-jim-mason@ms-mead @mega-combusken @hanhanxx@kahhlo@thelangdoncooperative@langdonsrapture@ritualmichael@cryptid-coalition @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26@infernal-langdon @jim-mason2@duncandimension @dark-jim@jimmlangdon @xtheinevitableprophecyx@moontheweirdpan@moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown@bbyduncan@divinelangdon@theladynymph @divinelangdon@codyswhore-blog @blakewaterxx

#the runaway saga #the final part #michael x jim x duncan x y/n #michael-langdon-appreciation #michael langdon #Jim Mason #duncan shepherd #y/n #the kinky quartet #the reign of Michael #hello babies #Michael Langdon x y/n #the foursome #part 13

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drumboydowoon · 4 years

Text

Crescent | ATEEZ Fantasy Au |

Chapter 1 | Winter

Next / Masterlist

WARNING | fire mention, death mention

Summary | Have a happy birthday full of unexplainable nightmares, flower stalls, and strangers.

Word Count | 5,507

Lost, stuck, frozen, trapped. There was no right word for this situation. You stood in place, anchored in by time and unable to move. A bystander, a watcher, or a participant, you’re not sure which one best defines your role at the moment.

The setting that surrounds you is depressing. The town is covered in some kind of hazy fog. Was it a fog though? You couldn’t be sure since it invaded your lungs and made you want to gag. There wasn’t a sign of life in sight. The buildings sat in the distance, lonely and untouched by life. The fog grew thicker the more you looked on. It was beginning to suffocate you, but there wasn’t a thing you could do about it.

Soon, you heard footsteps. They echoed throughout the ghost town. Someone’s here. Should you be worried, or relieved that someone else is finally made themselves known? Many thoughts ran through your mind and each one made your stress go up.

One moment, your eyes blinked. When you opened them again, the world became something different. That’s when you realized it’s a horrifying nightmare. Your breathing became more ragged as you saw the mob of people circled around a gruesome sight. They all held torches that were burning, but they were brightly lit green. Such an odd color, but it made the scene all the more horrible.

The mob surrounded a pillar, no not a pillar, it’s a cross. There’s a man hanging on the front of it. He doesn’t seem to be awake, or aware of what’s happening to him. You wanted nothing more than to scream, to warn the man of his oncoming doom. However, nothing came out. Your mouth felt like it was stitched together without the stitches. You couldn’t utter a sound. The only available option was to stand and watch.

The second time your eyes blinked, everything was much louder. The green flames climbed the cross with ferocious haste. Each second they became closer and closer to the man that hung from the wood. The mob was rioting now.

“Burn the witch!”

“Kill him!”

“Let the Devil spawn burn!”

If your body allowed you to, you would’ve sobbed at the horrible shouts from the villagers. Instead, your breathing became heavier and your eyes rapidly shifted amongst the crowd. The flames inched closer to the man.

Your eyes scanned the crowd as a new insults were being shouted. Soon your eyes met someone else’s. Across from you stood a woman, who wore all red. It contrasted nicely with her deep black hair and her raven like eyes. A chill was sent down your body as her gaze stared deeply into your own. There was some kind of presence in those raven eyes of hers. You couldn’t quite describe the feeling, but you knew it was nothing good.

The woman’s lips curved up as she whispered, “Happy birthday my lily.” And though she stood so far away from you, her gentle menacing whisper was heard from everywhere. It felt as if it was an intimate moment meant for only the two of you, and you alone.

In another blink of the eye, the green flames reached the man’s body and consumed him whole. His agonizing screeches reached your ears, and then you tore your stare away from the woman to gaze upon the murderous spectacle. The last thing you experience is the smell of burning flesh in the air. You now know that it was never fog in the air, but rather a deadly smoke.

Jerking up from your bed, you inhaled a deep breath as you came out from underneath the harsh sea of sleep. Breaths came out ragged and quick. The cold sweat dripped down from your brow and raced down your cheek as your mind raced with thoughts of what you’ve conjured up in your dreams in the night. It was difficult trying to get your thoughts in order. Out of all the things your mind has to offer, why did it have to be the image of what you’ve been taught to fear most.

A witch burning.

The man on the cross that died in agony as the hot embers licked up his body in one fell swoop, made your gut wrench in pain. And the woman in red, the woman whose eyes stared into your own, sent a shiver down your spine. Her fiery gaze and the devilish smirk that plagued her lips--nothing made you feel such unease before. She wished you a happy birthday. You didn’t know who they were. You’ve never seen them in your life.

Just when you began thinking of different explanations, a rhythmic knock at your door catches your attention. Who’s there? You wanted to speak out, but your dry throat had other plans. Another knock sounded, and before you could get up and see who it is, it creaked open on its own.

“Sooyun, are you up yet?” a voice whispered, afraid that he if he was any louder, he would disrupt something. And soon the door widened to reveal Kihyun, the man you’ve felt so relieved to see.

You stared up at him from your bed with a happy smile, but unfortunately, the smile didn’t quite reach your blank watery eyes. A worried frown immediately formed on his features once he caught sight of you, “Hey, what’s wrong?” He strode across the room and to you, who hasn’t even lifted the covers off yourself yet. Each step he took, the wooden floorboards creaked.

Kihyun sat at the edge of your bed. He looked into your hazed over eyes with concern. The bright morning sunshine showed itself through the window, kissing each surface with its illuminating glow. What a beautiful morning. It would be shameful if you ruined it with tales of the dark.

"I'm fine. I just startled myself is all. I wasn’t expecting you to knock so early,” you lied. Your eyes didn’t even meet his own when you said it. And the distant look in your eyes has yet to fade, so Kihyun know that something wasn’t right.

He raised a brow at you, not believing a single word. After a few years of living with you, he knew almost everything about you. Whenever you were happy, there’s a bright smile that graces your lips, it’s one that can make any man fall to his knees. Or when you’re concentrating, he notices how your brow furrows and creates a crease in between, all while you chew at you lip with tremendous focus. And whenever you’re sad, though you refuse to show it, there’s this tensity around you. One that makes the flowers seem gloomier in a bright day or the sky cloudier than usual.

He’ll always know when there’s something bothering you, and it’s his job to comfort you. Besides, you’re not a very good liar.

“I can’t help but think that, that’s a lie,” he bluntly pointed out. Of course he would see through your act. You’re a terrible liar.

A heavy sigh escaped you as you prepared yourself to tell him about your gruesome dream. So you told him all about it while he sat there hanging on to each and every word that left your lips. An ache began in his heart when he listened to you. He could feel how scared you must’ve been. And all he could do is wish he could erase that memory from you since it sounded so painful. Though, he didn’t have that kind of power like old man downstairs.

Once you finished, Kihyun took in a deep breath. There was a heavy weight on him that you didn’t notice at first, but from how tense he looked, it didn’t take long to figure out. Guilt started to eat at you. Perhaps you should’ve kept your mouth shut--you didn’t want him to worry about you more than he already does. Though, he shouldn’t have to worry about you so much in the first place. But he’s persistent as ever.

He gives you a sympathetic turn up of his lips. It’s meant to bring you comfort, but all you can manage is worry. But the more you thought about it, the more it became, not just because you made Kihyun concerned, but because you had no idea what that dream meant. Is it a fortune? A bad omen that Uncle always told you about? Or was it just simply a random, out of the blue, nightmare? This is something you’ll have to discuss with the wiser man later. And in private.

Things like this shouldn’t be Kihyun’s concern. It was terrible to not include him, however he wasn’t like her and Uncle, so he wouldn’t understand so easily.

Kihyun makes a face like he’s trying to think of something, but nothing ever comes to his mind. Instead of trying to use words of comfort, he tried to get your mind off the whole thing instead. And with what? Food of course. The one thing that can bring people together and make the happiest memories, “Try not to think about it too much, okay? I don’t want it to ruin your appetite,” he consoled, then he replaced his worry with a charming smile to cheer you up. He didn’t want your birthday to start off worse than it already has.

The promise of food does work a little bit. You can feel yourself thinking of all the possible delicious dishes Kihyun has whipped up this time. Mouthwatering and vary in all sorts of tastes. It was a wonder how a woman hasn’t snatached him up and married him yet.

Kihyun’s smile becomes genuine once he sees that your face brightens up just a little more. He gently rubs your shoulder, “Hurry up and get dressed. I’ll be waiting downstairs,” he orders you. He then stands up from your bed and walks to the door, he reminds you to hurry with a teasing voice, “I understand that women take their time, but don’t take too long.” Nevermind, you understand why he hasn’t married yet.

“Happy birthday, by the way!” he shouted from the hallway.

After the door clicks shut and his footsteps begin to disappear down the stairs, you’re left alone in your room again. Thoughts of the dream threatened to creep into your mind once again, but your quick to snap yourself out of it. Listen to Kihyun, you reminded yourself. It was best to think about it later when you would have to with Uncle. For now, just enjoy the morning.

So you went to your closet and pulled out one of your few dresses. You looked at yourself in the mirror, thinking about how cold it is and how you needed thicker clothing for the winter. A measly simple dress won’t do. By the time Spring rolls around again, you’ll be thawing out from being frozen. Perhaps this is another issue you should bring up with Uncle.

It takes a while for you to finish getting ready for the day. You didn’t hurry exactly like Kihyun warned you, but then again, you didn’t care. Eventually you walked down the stairs, looking more proper than you first did this morning--wearing actual clothes instead of undergarments.

The upstairs portion of the house wasn’t anything too fancy to gawk at. Most of it was aged wood and dusty windows that can never be cleaned to perfection no matter how many times you’ve tried. Then there was the red carpet that hugged the floor tightly like it hadn't been touched in years. Kihyun’s room sat diagonally from yours. It was the last room in the hallway besides the bathroom that was across his room. The two of you shared it, he took baths in the morning, while you took them in the evening.

But downstairs was another story. It was beautifully crafted, almost like the gods themselves made it just for Uncle. Though, you know that isn’t true. It’s just Uncle having expensive taste in decoration and furniture. Luckily, this hobby of his started long before you or Kihyun had met him, so you didn’t have to experience his past debts.

The first thing that catches one’s eye when someone enters is the peacock like chandelier dangling from the ceiling. Its blue, pink and green stained glass looked out of place from the crimson walls and dark oak floorboards, but it managed to look in place as well with all the other strange decorations. The light that bounced off it resembled peacock feathers that spread out, wrapping the ceiling above it in a feathery hug. It’s one of your favorite pieces in the house.

The next thing that would catch people’s attention is the walls lined with bookshelves. You would never be able to tell the color of the wallpaper unless you paid close attention to the cracks in between shelves. There were hundreds upon hundreds of books stored in them, all of them having years of knowledge crammed into them. Everything ranging from basic mathematics all the way to how to escape a giant attack. Uncle knew much because of his decades of being alive. But there was only so much he could teach you since you’re somewhat like him, yet you weren’t at the same time.

Since you can remember, and because of stories Uncle’s told you, you’re the black sheep of the witch community.

It was an odd occurrence. According to Uncle, your parents had been highly respected witches within the community, though that changed when they died in a fire. But they were both witches. So why weren’t you like them? That’s a question that often lingered on your mind, digging deep into your skin sometimes. Perhaps some things weren’t meant to be passed down.

You could remember it like it was yesterday. Uncle sitting you down on the soft velvet couches after finding you passed out at his doorstep. He explained what he knew about you, and how he was close friends with your parents, or a close relative to your parents. It was different each time he would explain it.

You remember how he told you there was nothing special about you except for your high intuition (though, even that was questionable at times). Your genes just didn’t happen to match your parents so closely like most witches do. It became clear when Uncle tried to teach you simple spells and you couldn’t perform a single one. For a while you were devastated and confused, but you slowly learned to make peace with it. Uncle still taught you about the witch world (much to your liking) since the curiosity of your family’s history could never be satisfied.

You read the enchanting book titles with a melancholy feeling deep in your gut. Passing the rest of the library, you went straight to the kitchen, where you could smell the amazing aroma of what you can only describe as, home. The scent led you straight to where Kihyun stood, hovering over multiple plates of food. One for him, one for you, and one for Uncle. But Uncle was nowhere in sight, and your certain you didn’t pass him on your way.

Kihyun interrupts your thoughts with a disappointed tap of his shoe, “Well you took your time,” he commented, not pleased with how you kept him waiting.

“Never rush a woman. That’s very important for you to learn if you ever want to be with a woman,” A sheepish smile makes its way to your face seeing the blush take over the entirety of his.

“What are you talking about? Don’t be ridiculous,” he rushed out, clearly trying to play it cool and it obviously not working. The way he gets so flustered whenever you tease him brings you much joy. That’s why you’ll never stop it for as long as you live. A smile breaks out on your lips and Kihyun swears he can feel his heart stop.

He finally manages to calm himself down moments later after he realized that you were only messing with him. He shoves a plate of food and a cup of Wilhelm's famous blend of tea down on the table towards you, and then demands that you eat at the table. The red on his cheeks was still evident--feeling embarrassed for different reasons now. You giggled at his awkward state and happily took the plate from him, ready to taste the wonderful meal he made this time.

He watched you skip over to the dining table in the room next to the kitchen with fondness. How he wishes he could be as carefree as you are. But more pressing matters pestered the back of his mind. The dream you mentioned earlier still bothered him. He hasn’t known you to have nightmares like that before, and though he isn’t a witch like Wilhelm, your “Uncle”, he couldn’t help but feel like the dream was something more. Hopefully Wilhelm would be able to provide some insight for you and ease both your nerves.

Kihyun followed you to the table while holding two plates in his hands. He sat one plate down at the head of the gothic table, and then he placed his own plate across from you. He took a seat and began digging in. You did the same, but your eyes kept glancing over to the empty seat where Uncle usually sat. It’s no surprise that he hasn’t joined the two of you yet. Kihyun always made him a meal, but he never was around to eat with you. Instead Uncle would take the meal with him into study and eat alone while he read his textbooks are performed new experiments with spells and potions.

After finishing a bite of your food, you glance from the empty seat to Kihyun, “Where is he this time?” There was a hidden annoyance in your voice, just barely peeking out, but it was enough for him to understand.

“He’s out setting up the stall for the day,” he simply replied, then taking another bite. A frown makes its way to you. Why was he setting up shop this early? The day has hardly begun and no one wants to walk in the snow this early to buy some flowers.

As if sensing your confusion, Kihyun swallowed what was left in his mouth and explained himself, “I tried to stop him, but he doesn’t listen to me. He kept saying that he can feel that something’s going to happen today, and that he wants to get a head start so he can see it.” He also looked annoyed, but he was just better at showing it than you.

“He’s old. He’s going to freeze to death out there,” you scraped your fork against the plate, beginning to feel worried about him, “Or fall over,” you finished. You blinked up innocently at Kihyun, hoping that he would get the hint that he didn’t try hard enough.

He stared down into your eyes with a blank look, one that made it difficult for you to guess what could possibly be going through his mind. Then again, he was always a hard one to read. Even with how close the both of you are, you can’t always understand him. That’s just how he is.

But then a pout that makes itself present on him, surprises you, “I already tried to convince him multiple times to come inside. Do you think he would listen to me?” he waited for you to answer with what he knew you would, “No, of course not. He’s a very stubborn old man.” He said everything like it was a fact, and you couldn’t help but agree with him. Uncle is a man who needs to do everything on his own. He doesn’t need help unless he specifically asks for it.

A heavy sigh escapes from you after you finished the last bite off your plate. Without warning, you stand up so quick that your chair sliding backwards and nearly tipping over. Kihyun jumps at the suddenness of it and gives you a look of astonishment.

“Where are you going?” he calls out as you begin to walk away from him and the dining table. Confusion was clearly evident on his features.

Without even looking back, you replied, “I’m going to tie him up and drag him back in here by force obviously,” the teasing tone was evident in your voice, and the giggle that followed after didn’t help your case. Kihyun knew you were joking from the very second you told him that you were planning on tying up an 80 year-old man. In fact, he could always tell when your joking. Your not very good at hiding it, just like most things.

Kihyun sat back in his chair, less tense than before, “Good luck with that.” You couldn’t have said it any more encouraging.

By the time you reached the front entrance, you could feel the chilly air from the outside slither its way inside from the crack underneath the door. A chilly shiver traveled up your spine. It’s freezing outside. You eye the coat rack next to the door and spot Kihyun’s spare coat. It’s worn out and has a few holes in it from the many years that he was alone, but it’s still somewhat useful still. You grab it and wrap it around yourself, hoping that it will provide you some protection against the harsh nature.

Stepping outside for the first time today, you forgot how much snow there was covering the ground. With each step, your boots sunk in slightly as the white speckled ground ate you up. You took a look at the town around you. It wasn’t anything special or spectacular, in fact, it’s probably the last place that one would take a second look at.

Faracre is just the town one passes through maybe once in their lives, or maybe never. There’s far better places to be rather than here, the ghost town forgotten by the kingdom. Houses and buildings were caked with white snow. Not many people were out walking on this day. They wouldn’t want the cold to take them this early in their lives.

Uncle’s house wasn’t anything special either, just like the rest of the town forgotten by time. It was small on the outside, but on the inside everything seemed to grow twice as much. You never asked, but you just assumed Uncle put a spell on the house to make it fit as much as needed.

Speaking of the devil, right next door to the house sat the flower stall, the one the three of you took turns running. Uncle paced back and forth around the stall, moving beds and pots of plants. Many were exotic, and some were the everyday flowers you can pick right out of the woods outside of town. These beauties always gained attention and managed to keep Uncle in business.

You stopped right in front of the stall with your arms crossed. The tap of your shoes is what alerted him first. He turned to face you with a cheerful smile since he sensed that it may be you. There’s only one person who could emit such an agitated aura towards an old man, which is you, his wonderful adopted niece.

“And how can I help you today, Sooyun?” the old man was cheeky, he clearly already knew what’s gotten you so tensed, yet he continues to play coy.

A huff leaves you as you pout at him, “What are you doing out here, Wilhelm? It’s far too early and far too cold for you to be out here…” you pointed out. A chill runs through your body, like the air is aware that you’re talking about its chill.

He laughs, “Oh? Using my name now? I must be in trouble then.” Your pout seems to grow, and if it were anyone else, they may have found it cute, but to Uncle it was quite amusing.

“Because you are!” you exploded, which in turn caused an early morning walker to be scared. After apologizing to the townswoman for ruining her quiet morning, you focused on Uncle again with a glare.

“That’s adorable.”

“It’s not adorable. It’s supposed to be intimidating.”

“Oh no, I’m shaking in my 80 year-old boots. It’s your birthday, you shouldn’t be nagging me on your birthday”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” A frustrated groan resounds. How can someone who’s nearing death act like a child? Uncle snickered at you, clearly enjoying the effects of his teasing. He was too carefree and childish for an elderly man. But you supposed that’s what made his character so charming.

“Sooyun,” he said it in a way that told you that he was beginning a lecture, which you weren’t mentally prepared to listen to. “I understand yours and young Kihyun’s concerns, but they’re not needed, nor desired. I’d prefer to spend my final days in peace while I take care of my plants. I don’t need your constant nagging. I’ve survived plenty through my life. I survived a dragon’s attack as well! Do you know how?”

Sighing, you gave him the answer you’ve heard too many times, “By turning it into a dog.”

“By turning it into a dog,” he repeated, but he continued, jumping into a long rant about his dangerous encounter with the great dragon that was over a thousands of years old.

“Hey don’t change the subject!”

“And there I stood upon its lair unknowingly. It wasn’t long before I realized where I was- And oh boy, did I find out that I was in some trouble-”

He isn’t even listening! Leaning against the flower stall, you silently scream into your arm at Uncle’s personality. He continued on like you weren’t there crying to him to stop, but rather that you were there listening closely to his fascinating tale. Such an imagination he has.

You’re not sure if his tale was true or not since dragons weren’t real, but the possibility exists that he just stumble upon some bear in the woods and turned the poor thing into a dog. With Uncle, there’s no telling which of his stories are fake and somewhat real.

Now there was no chance you would ever be able to convince him to come inside. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to bring up the topic of your nightmares to him now. He wouldn’t let you interrupt his tale so easily. As you mentally cried to yourself for being stuck into an hour long story, you didn’t even notice someone walk up to the stall.

“The dragon was standing right behind me too! His foul breath went down my back, and in that moment I thought I was done for-”

The stranger cleared his throat, “Excuse me.”

Uncle’s rant stops abruptly, and your head perks up at the new voice. Before the both of you stood a young man that resembled Kihyun’s age more than yours. He was very handsome, and very unfamiliar. You haven’t seen his face around before, and you’re certain you would’ve remembered someone as handsome as him walking around town.

A smile graced Uncle’s lips as he stood a little straighter to greet the man, “Hello and welcome to Blumen Heller. What can I interest you in?”

There was a skittishness to him. He played with his fingers as he responded, “Uhm hello. I was looking for something for my mother. She’s terribly ill, so I thought buying her some flowers would cheer her up. Is there anything you recommend?” There was a certain boyish charm in the way he talked. It was a combination of shyness and politeness, it was cute.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he sent his condolences to the young man, “Are you looking for something more natural or exotic?” he asked.

“Oh, uhm… natural?” the young man said, not sure if that was the right answer, though there weren’t supposed to be any right answers. It was only what you, and you alone, felt was like the right answer.

Uncle nodded in understanding, “I can offer you a look at our assortment of Daisies or Peonies. Personally, I think you should see the Hydrangeas. They’re my favorite,” he began pulling out different arrangements of flower already put together. The Stranger raised a brow at this, seeing that they seemingly came from nowhere, or did he perhaps not notice the older man taking them out from somewhere such as chest, or secret drawer?

You studied the exchange. Noticing how the Stranger’s eyes wandered and wondered, your focus darted to Uncle, who was retrieving bouquets of various colors out of his sleeves. Luckily it was behind the safety of the stall and far from eyes to pry, but that didn’t stop the Stranger’s curious thoughts.

“So did you just move here?” you blurted out, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” This was a question, not only to cover up for your caretaker’s carelessness, but because you were a curious creature.

The Stranger wasn’t expecting this and looked at her with wide eyes, “T-that?” he stammered. It took him a moment to regain his composure, “Well, that’s because I’m not from here. I’m from a town that’s about a day and a half away from here by horse,” he answered.

Uncle perked at this with a mischievous smile, “So you must be from Dewhurst? Hmm what brings you all the way here then?” This made you perk up as well, the curiosity only grew.

The Stranger shyed, “I heard from a friend that there was someone here who sold medicine that could help my mom,” he rubbed a hand down the nape of his neck, “But I’m not sure if that’s actually true or another rumor he made up. Honestly I would do anything to find something to help my mom, so it would be better to see if it’s real or not.”

Listening closely, Uncle gave him a look of understanding. The Stranger saw an array of beautiful and vibrant Hydrangeas. They were a mix of purples, pinks, and blues. He picked these out and Uncle started wrapping them up for him.

“I’m sure your mother must be proud of such a brave son. Wandering to a distant town in hopes of looking for a cure for his mother…” Uncle mumbled the last part to himself and just the Stranger, “What a lucky woman.” Uncle finished the bouquet and the Stranger pulled out a pouch full of coins. Your eyes shined when you saw how heavy his pouch was, it must’ve been filled to capacity.

“That’s very kind of you sir. How much do I owe you?” and Uncle gave him the price and they exchanged their items. “It was very nice meeting you, and your lovely daughter....” he trailed off trying to think of some names, but none came to mind.

“I’m Wilhelm, and this is my niece Sooyun,” Uncle filled in the blanks for him.

The Stranger smiled, his previous skittishness and stuttering gone, “Thank you, Wilhelm.” Then he turned to you, “Sooyun… Such a pretty name for a pretty girl. Have a nice day you two,” he kindly said. There was a glint in his eye as he looked at you, one that made your cheeks grow warmer than before.

“Have a nice day,” you repeated back to him.

Soon he was gone, just like every other customer your dainty flower stall has seen. Both you and Uncle watched as the Stranger left. Did he ever give you his name? Or were you too focused on his gaze to notice if a name left his lips? These thoughts lingered in your mind, even as Kihyun stepped next to you with his arms crossed.

He apparently walked out of the house after the Stranger arrived. Kihyun just stood there and listened instead of making himself known sooner.

“Who was that?” he spoke up with a raised brow. He watched the Stranger leave, just like you and Uncle. All three of you had different reasons to stare at his longing figure, but none of you would speak about it.

Uncle quickly dismissed him, “Just someone passing by.” It only took half a second for him to change the topic. Uncle worked like clock. Every time the second hand ticked by was another moment of life that’s being wasted. If he wasn’t doing something every second of the day, then he was not doing his job.

“Anyways, I think Mr. Yoo has something he needs to do today,” he glanced to Kihyun with a mischievous smile, then went back to work tending his magical plants.

“You do?” you asked. You weren’t aware of any plans he made.

He stared off in the distance for a moment longer before he became livelier. His eyes met your with a bright smile, “Yes, we do. I believe we’re going out on a date. It’s your birthday after all.”

A last minute after thought blurted out of Uncle’s mouth, “Chores first!”

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muthaz-rapapa · 5 years

Text

StarPre Ep 40: A lesson in judging immaturely.

Dude, this episode hurt like a bitch to watch.

I mean, the preview suggested it would be but I will never be alright with seeing Lala cry, ok? N-E-V-E-R

Also, FUCK MADOKA’S DAD!!

Don’t you ever come near my daughter again! D:<

*cough* Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Rumor mills and ostracization.

Ok, let’s set aside the fact that Lala is indeed an alien, that strange things started happening around the same time she transferred in, that people woke up with no memory of what happened before they fell unconscious, etc.

Let’s set aside the fact that despite being a grade-A tactless asshat, Madoka’s dad was just doing his job on investigating things he found suspicious. That it probably wasn’t his foremost intention to disrupt peaceful school life by having everyone in Lala’s class turn on her just because he wanted confirmation on who she truly was.

Does that make his actions excusable?

NO.

You do not approach a middle school girl, tell her that her classmate is “highly illegal and dangerous” with absolutely no proof to your claim and simply not care about the consequences afterwards.

Look, we all know the kids in Hikaru and Lala’s class are good people. Nobody gangs up on others, nobody gets left out of the group and they all get along very well.

Most importantly, they welcomed Lala with open arms when she joined their class.

So for that to turn completely upside down overnight, there’s got to be reason for it and it certainly can’t be because they’ve all been rotten deep down this entire time. Naw, that makes absolutely no sense.

The reason is panic.

As good as these kids are, they’re still just kids, y’know? They’re children.

How do you think they’re going to react when an adult (who just so happens to be the former school president’s father AND a government official) says “your classmate may be behind all the strange things that’s been occurring all over town”?

Children are taught to listen to their elders.

Children also have very vivid imaginations.

If you tell them there is reason to fear, then they will fear.

They are not the cause of the problem (the one who set that fear loose is) but their misunderstanding of it can make things so much worse.

And in this case, it created a scenario none of them wanted.

They all went on the defensive against one innocent girl. They excluded her out of self-preservation and hurt her as a result.

Again, like Himenojou later clarifies, nobody in the class wanted to suspect Lala. They felt awful about it when Lala ran off crying after hearing their conversation.

But since Madoka’s dad tried to expose Lala’s true nature, it’s very hard for them to ignore the possibility of a connection between Lala and the strange happenings. They just can’t help but doubt.

And it’s so very easy for humans to doubt each other. It’s such a sad thing to admit but people in general tend to give in to their negative thoughts more than they want to try to believe the actual truth.

I mean, take a look at what happens on social media every single day. People are vicious and merciless when it comes to their opinions. We think we know what’s right when in reality, we really don’t know what to believe.

But more than how it affects us, how do you think it fares for the target of these “discussions”?

Do their feelings not matter? Are they supposed to just sit quietly on the side like an object as we tear into them with our suspicions?

That is just so WRONG.

Which is why I’m so glad, so eternally grateful, that even in times like these, there will always be at least one person in the world who’s going to stand by you no matter what. Who will cry with you but defend you to the bitter end regardless.

Nevermind that Hikaru’s been in on Lala’s secret since the very beginning. Nevermind that they’re very close friends or are on the same team.

Hikaru chose the Lala she knows over the vague accusations pointed at her friend.

Hikaru chose Lala for who she is, not what she is.

And like so many instances before, the theme of these season comes full circle.

It is worth it. Learning more about what you don’t know. Understanding and comprehending what you don’t know.

So that when you finally know, truly know, there is no need to doubt.

Because you already know what’s true so why should you doubt anymore?

Then of course, there’s Lala.

Oh, Lala.

You sweet, wonderful, beautiful girl.

Despite having such a shitty day bearing the distrusting looks of her classmates, Lala knows that they didn’t mean to hurt her. They were just afraid. They couldn’t help it.

It doesn’t erase what they all did for her when she became their classmate. It doesn’t render all the good times she shared with them moot.

No. Lala still sees them as her friends, people who are dear to her. People who have made her happy. For that, there’s no reason why she shouldn’t protect them.

They’re important to Lala, regardless of what they think of her or whether they can understand her or not, so of course she’s going to protect them!

And again, it comes full circle because now that everything’s out in the open, then it also means the entire class can see Lala for who she truly is.

And what they see isn’t a scary alien out to abduct them and take away their memories but a brave girl who’s doing everything within her power to keep them from harm.

A girl who’s also their precious classmate and who’s also an alien.

She isn’t just one and not the other. She’s both.

But most importantly, she’s Lala. Their friend, Lala.

By cheering her on and later defending her from Madoka’s dad, they’ve fully accepted her situation and choose to stand by her just like Hikaru did.

It doesn’t matter what she is. What matters is that she’s important to them and that she’s here to stay and they won’t tolerate anyone who says or think less of her.

The fact that it’s gotten to the point where even Madoka is tired of Daddy-o’s invasive shit and firmly tells him to leave them alone is just...gratuitous icing on the cake.

*chef’s kiss*

Anyways, out of all the individual-centric eps in this last stretch before the climax, Lala’s focus ep amazes and excels over everyone else’s (not sure about Madoka’s yet which we’ll see next week) again.

Because you gotta remember that on her planet, nobody cared about her, much less acknowledged that she has the potential to be more than what they believe she’s capable of.

Lala yearned so much to be treated with respect but Saaman would not give that to her.

However, on Earth, she’s loved for who she is and not rejected for what she’s not.

And then she came so close to losing that so she fought to prove herself. Even without knowing if they’d welcome her back now that they’re aware she’s an alien, she fought anyways because here on Earth, more than on Saaman, she feels like she belongs.

Lala is infinitely more happy with her Earthling friends than she has ever been on Saaman and it will be terribly heartbreaking when she’ll have to leave after the final boss battle.

T_T

...that said, as much as I loved the resolution of this episode, I can’t help but find the buildup towards it a little...tilted?

Please don’t get me wrong, the message was solid and everything does make sense in context (more than Yuni’s episode did, anyway) but...

I dunno, I just can’t shake off the mild impression that in order for people to accept you, you literally have to take a barrage of bullets for them. But it’s a very insignificant feeling and I know that wasn’t the writers’ intention so nevermind. Forget this nonsense I’m spouting. :P

Anyways, all’s well that ends well. Lala will be even more loved than ever and frankly, that’s all that matters.

BEST GIRL, YEP

#i skipped lunch to do this oi...#and now im gonna go home so will probably edit later #i just need to get this done otherwise my week will never start off #and again #I LOVE YOU MY LALA~!!! <333 #and #FUCKMADOKA'SDAD #)8<#star twinkle precure #hagoromo lala #cure milky #hoshina hikaru

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maggiemaybe160 · 4 years

Text

Falling

Thank you to @foxymoley for the beautiful artwork! made for @profoundnet birthday bash! Also Read on Ao3

The union between a human and an angel is strictly forbidden. The risk is too great. There’s the obvious reason, the most commonly used argument, that a Nephilim being created is far too dangerous. The reason that remains unspoken, is that the love an angel will feel will shatter them. It opens their minds to free will, a concept that was designed for the humans alone. Beyond that, the angel will have to watch their love grow old and die. They will likely hold their love and make promises they can’t keep. Promises like: “it’ll be okay, we’ll be together soon,” or “I’ll visit you in Heaven.”

There have been a few angels over the eons that have fallen in love. Their hearts bound to a human’s, their souls intertwined. They were exiled from Heaven as a last resort. Heaven didn’t give in so easily. They didn’t cut their losses. First, they would drag the offending angel back to Heaven and torture them. They would try to drill it into their beings that they don’t belong on Earth. They don’t belong with a human. They don’t belong. Well, they do belong somewhere. They belong with their own kind, in Heaven, following the orders of God and the Archangels.

“We need to talk.” Going to Dean in his dream in the middle of a battle was risky, but they had come for him. The rest of his garrison had cornered him and their battle began. It was hard talking to Dean now that Cas felt… something… for him. He wanted to protect him. He wanted to hold him. He wanted to feel his lips on his. He wanted to stare into those green eyes forever and know that he’s safe. Safe from Hell. Safe from Heaven.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

“It’s not safe here. Someplace more private.” He wished Dean would look at him, but even if he does, he can’t stay long. He may have been still in Dean’s head, but outside, he was in a warehouse with an angel blade inches from his face.

“More private? We’re inside my head.”

“Exactly. Someone could be listening.”

“Cas what’s wrong?” Now he looks. Now, when Cas was fighting for his life a few hours away, Dean looked at him with those eyes.

“Meet me here. Go now.”

He was yanked back to the warehouse just in time to see Uriel’s hand slam into the center of the banishment symbol. Cas screamed as he was dragged back to Heaven by his wings. He reached for the Earth, for Dean, but it was no use.

The angels sat back and watched, waiting to see if their methods worked. Was Castiel fixed of his affection for the hunter?

“I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean. I serve Heaven. I don’t serve man, and I certainly don’t serve you.” They congratulated themselves for a job well done, blinded by their own ignorance to hear a lie cross the lips of an angel. His heart still belonged to Dean Winchester. His heart will always belong to Dean Winchester.

Another tactic that Heaven uses on their disobedient angels is asking them to choose between their family in Heaven and one human. Angles, Archangels, and God’s absent love along with a strong helping of helplessness and following orders blindly against the unconditional, blinding love of a single human hand in hand with every emotion that was denied to angels and a gift-wrapped box of free will.

Castiel has faced this many times. Each and every time, he wonders why they think Heaven would ever win. Dean is the answer to every question for Cas. Why, amid all of the destruction and loss, does the world still seem like a beautiful place? Dean. How will Cas ever find a way to smile again, after losing so much? Dean. What makes it all worth it at the end of the day? Dean. Dean. Dean.

Other angels had also chosen their love and their freedom. Some had torn out their grace, singed their wings. Some had been reckless, creating a Nephilim. All had tried to run and hide. All had failed. Angels would come down from Heaven and either drag their lovelorn angel home or kill them.

Castiel was easier to pluck from the rubble than most. The only angel in purgatory was already a walking target. With Uriel gone, Naomi took the lead, lifting Cas out of the sandbox for monsters and ingrates, and plopping him into his own personal Hell. Surely, a second round of torture would work. The angels would just have to up the voltage and keep from flinching when he screamed.

Brainwashing is a method of torture that the angels rarely have to use. Physical torture to remind the wayward angel where their loyalties should lie is usually enough. Brainwashing an angel is another level of cruelty that angels don’t pride themselves on. They will do it, but it’s hard on all of Heaven. The start of brainwashing is the hardest part. The resistance and struggle they put up as they squirm in their restraints and scream around their gag.

The drill whirred and his eyes went wide, tears leaking out the sides as he screamed his muffled pleas. In his mind, he was tasked with killing Dean Winchester, the root of all of his problems, his main affliction. At the start of it all, he resisted. He stared down a perfect copy of Dean and he refused to harm him.

Castiel was unaware of the simulation at first. This Dean was so much like his Dean. His freckles were all there. His green eyes shone with the same intensity. His hair was just so. His jawline could cut diamonds. His clothes hung from his body the same way. Cas felt his heart pound in his chest. He didn’t know what was real anymore. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he was dying in a chair, a drill lodged in his brain as the angels tortured him. Maybe seeing Dean here, now, was his last chance to see him before he expired.

“Kill him.”

“I love him,” Cas argued. It was the wrong answer. Dean lifted his blade and let it come down on Cas with the fury of Heaven. “I love him,” Cas sobbed around his gag, sweat and blood running together on his face in the chair as he looked up into Naomi’s face.

“No, Castiel. You must kill him,” she ordered. “Again.” And he was sent back. Back to a room where it was just him and Dean.

Cas lost count. He lost count of how many times he let Dean kill him. He didn’t know how many trials passed before he stopped speaking, stopped crying, stopped. He couldn’t tell what was real and what was in his head. The only thing he knew for sure, was that it hurt every time he killed Dean. His heart would crack and bleed every time he gave in to the orders. He had thought that when he killed Dean, it would end. He would be allowed to return to him. He would be allowed to hold Dean in his arms again and go back to the regular, everyday torture that is hearing the word “buddy” cross his perfect lips.

Something was different that time. Everything was different that time. “Fight this! This isn’t you!” Dean yelled. Dean. That was the real Dean. He wasn’t in his head. He was hurting the real Dean, the Dean that makes his world bright, his heart beat, his breath catch, and humanity worth fighting for.

“What have you done to me, Naomi?” It didn’t matter how much he fought, how much more aware he was of the line between reality and simulation, he continued to hurt his love.

“I need you.” Dean was on his knees, half of his face bloody and broken. His hand is limp in Cas’ grasp. The brainwash had almost worked, but it had failed as Cas’ eyes locked with Dean’s. Heaven would continue to lose their battle in keeping their angel from falling in love. They couldn’t stop it because they were years too late. Even if Dean never returned Castiel’s feelings, he was too far gone from Heaven.

What do you do when you have an angel that is undoubtedly, irrevocably in love and no amount of torture, brainwashing, or weighted ultimatums can’t fix him? The gateway to Heaven was locked. If he wouldn’t learn his lesson, he was cut off, frowned upon, and stuck on Earth with the being he found himself so infatuated with, albeit one-sided. He was doomed to watch his love from a distance, the words he would speak, silenced. The Emtpy, the angels and all of Heaven decided, would figure out what to do with the poor orphaned Castiel. They decided this because even if they had lost their battle with the angel, that hunter would never return his affections. Not aloud anyway. They’re both in love, but they both remain silent, and that is enough for now.

“Can I ask you something?” Dean ventures. Cas lifts his head and looks into the eyes of the only being that has ever held his heart.

“You can ask me anything.”

“When you were hurt…” he trails off and shakes his head. “Nevermind.” He looks back down at his book and scratches the back of his head. Cas is more aware than ever that Sam is not in the room. Dean looks back up and sighs. “You said you loved us.”

“I said I love you,” Cas says before he can stop himself. He can feel the phantom presence of Heaven’s grip on his wings, threatening to yank him back upstairs to beat it out of him. It doesn’t happen. “I love you ,” he says softer. He wishes Dean would hear him.

“I love you,” Dean says so softly it doesn’t even count as a whisper. Cas closes his eyes, waiting for the qualifier. He’s a brother. He’s a buddy, pal, friend. “Cas.” His voice is tender.

Cas remembers the poison eating away at him as he stared up into the green eyes that he had fought for time and time again. He opens his eyes now and looks into those same eyes. His heart is going too fast, but he knows from experience that there’s no slowing it down. Not when Dean is looking at him. Not when they’re alone. Not when Dean looks like that.

He remembers lifting Dean from Hell, his hands burning into his shoulders. Dean had been torn to shreds, but Cas was healing him as they made their ascent. Dean’s hand on Cas’ right now has all the heat that could burn him, but it leaves no mark.

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice rough. They move at the same time. Their chairs abandoned, the table stepped around, there’s no space left between them as Dean pulls Cas into his arms and their lips meet for the first time.

Cas feels like he’s falling. He’s falling from Heaven, forever severed. He’s falling into Dean Winchester’s arms, his kisses a cushion. And Dean is there, with open arms, willing to accept the exiled, fallen angel. He’s there and he said it. He loves him. He loves him and he’s kissing him. Dean’s mouth his hot and urgent, his lips soft and wanting.

“I love you,” Dean says, his breath coming quickly. He’s shaking and smiling and wow his eyes are bright green when he’s happy. His freckles pop under the bright red blush. He says it like he can’t keep it inside now that it’s finally out. He says it like he’s been holding onto it as long as Cas has, letting it eat away at him over all these years.

“Dean,” Cas answers in between kisses, running his thumb over the short stubble on Dean’s jaw. It’s the only word that makes sense to say. “Dean.”

Dean is the answer to every question for Cas. Dean is his reason to rebel, his reason to live. Dean is the reason the sun comes up in the morning and sinks at night. Dean is the reason Cas was pulled from Earth, dragged by his wings into the harmful hands of the angels. Dean is the reason Cas has fallen. Fallen from Heaven. Fallen from grace. Fallen in love.

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andorerso · 5 years

Note

yaaaaaaay prompts!! Can I ask for 83 and/or 5!! (possibly featuring a grumpy Cassian??)

Thanks for the prompts :) I combined 83 and 5, and you’ll have your grumpy Cassian too.

For this one, I decided to do a modern bodyguard AU. Enjoy!

“You haven’t even touched yourfood,” Jyn said as she put down her spoon. Cassian was merely stirring theplate in front of him; she’d been watching for a while and she had enough. “What’sgoing on?”

“This isn’t food,” Cassian said in the same sourtone she’d grown used to in the past couple of weeks. “And just because you putit in a plate doesn’t make it food.”

Jyn withheld a sigh. They hadthis debate before; she knew how it started, she knew the arguments, and sheknew the closing lines. She knew they’d fight and she’d win and they’d saynothing they hadn’t already said before but she prepared to have this discussionanyway. Because it was the only way to get through Cassian’s thick skull whenhe got like this and she needed him to do what she said because she needed himto be okay.

“Cassian –”

“Come on, Jyn,” he interruptedher, pushing his plate away from him, “I’m sick of freaking yogurt andpudding!”

“Most kids would happy to liveon a pudding diet.” She gave him a pointed look. “And you’re definitely actinglike a kid right now.”

Cassian did not appreciate thatdig at him. His expression remained unamused and Jyn sighed.

“I know you’re sick of it. Andyou know what the doctor said. You can’t eat solids, only liquids untilThursday.”

Cassian threw his hands up inthe air, staring at the ceiling as if asking for divine intervention.

“This is madness.”

Jyn rolled her eyes. Who knewhe could be so dramatic?

“It’s for your own good.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Well, it’s true.”

Jyn picked up her spoon,preparing to ignore his temper tantrum. Nevermind that she was also only eatingliquids out of solidarity. It didn’t seem to appease him. Cassian was adifficult patient, she had realized, and as much as it frustrated her, it waskind of reassuring to know even he could lose his calm and steady composure.

“Why are you doing this?” heasked, crossing his arms across his chest. There was a meanness in his voice thatJyn knew meant trouble. They had some nasty fights when he used that tone. Sheheld her spoon tighter, steeling herself. “This is not in your jobdescription.”

Jyn knew that very well. Evenshe had to remind herself sometimes that she was just a bodyguard, not hispersonal nurse. But she cared about him, even though she didn’t know how to saythat. She wanted to take care of him because he was important to her, not out ofsome sense of duty.

Though, she supposed, Cassianwouldn’t know that. Maybe that was what bothered him.

“You’re paying me to protectyou,” she said simply. He was trying to get a rise out of her so she’d get upand walk away and he’d be free to do whatever he wanted. She was not taking thebait.

“Well, I’m not paying you to bemy babysitter,” he countered, his voice cold. “I don’t need you to coddle me.”

“Then don’t act like a baby,”she snapped at him. Despite her best efforts, she was on edge and he knew it.He knew just how to push her buttons and a small part of her resented him forit. How did they get to know each other so well?

Cassian sighed as he leanedback in his chair, watching her with an annoyed expression.

“You can go, you know. Yourshift has ended.”

Jyn said nothing, continuing toeat her yogurt. She attempted to block him out as best as she could.

“Seriously, why do you alwaysstay? You don’t get paid for these extra hours.”

“It’s not about money,” shesaid curtly.

“Isn’t it? Last I checked, moneywas the foundation of our relationship.”

Jyn’s spoon clattered to thetable as she pushed her chair back and stood. If he wanted her gone so badly –

She tried not to let it showhow deep his words cut her as she stormed towards the door, grabbing her bagfrom the hanger. Cassian’s eyes followed her like a hawk, burning a hole intoher back.

That son of a bitch. Jyn knewhe was just trying to get her to leave but it didn’t hurt any less. Especiallybecause he was right. Their lines had been blurry for a long time, but he wasright – this was a job. He was a client. You never get attached to a client.But she did and she would be paying the price for it.

Once she was done here, she’dnever see him again. She’d been dreading that thought for a while now, eversince she realized what he meant to her. To hear him speak about it socasually, to hear him dismiss their relationship as motivated only by money… itwas a slap in the face. He was getting what he wanted, she was leaving. She neededto cool off and –

He was getting what he wanted. Dammit.

With the same breath, sheturned back. No, he was not getting off the hook so easily. She’d make sure he’dstick to his diet if it was the last thing she did. So he expected her toabandon him because of a few harsh words, well, she’d prove him wrong.

“I’m not going anywhere,” shetold him, catching his eyes. He looked shocked, staring up at her. “You’regoing to eat your yogurt and I’m going to watch. But we don’t have to talk. Ifyou’re going to be an asshole, we can just sit here in silence.”

With that, she sat down and duginto her yogurt again. Cassian stared at her in silence for a few seconds, butshe refused to look at him. She was still pissed as hell, but she cared abouthis stupid health too much to just up and leave. Stupid bastard. She kept hereyes on her plate, and after a while, he picked up his spoon and began eating.

They were quiet as theyfinished their meal. When he was done, he sat unmoving, looking down at hisempty plate for a long while. The air between them was fraught with tension butJyn wasn’t going to speak. When she glanced at him, she could tell he wasworking up the nerve to say something so she waited patiently.

“Jyn,” he said eventually, hisvoice tentative.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

Jyn raised her eyes to him. Helooked pitiful and the ice in her heart melted. It was stupid how fast he couldmake her forgive him – just as fast as he could make her angry. No one ever hadsuch an effect on her before. But she knew how much he’d been struggling, andshe couldn’t help taking pity on him.

Still, she wanted to make himwork for it a little.

“You’re an ugly patient,” shetold him crossly.

He shrugged. “I’m not used topeople caring for me.”

And that was true. Jyn knew he losthis family as a child, and his closest friend seemed to be a guy who was morerobot than human. Kay had the best intentions, she was sure, but he didn’t showaffection like most people did. Like she knew Cassian secretly craved it. Nowonder he was so reserved.

“But I do, you know.” Sheswallowed. “Care for you.”

“I know,” he said, his voicebarely a whisper. It felt like something between them tipped over and spilled,and she found herself continuing.

“I know I’m annoying you andyou have every right to resent me.”

“Jyn,” he said, just that one word so full of intention. He wasalready comforting her. But she shook her head, too far gone to listen to hisreassurances.

“You got shot. On my watch.It’s my duty to make sure you’re alright.”

So maybe he had every right tobe angry with her. It was her job to protect him and she didn’t. She failed himand he almost bled out in her arms and he required multiple surgeries to repairthe damage done to his abdomen. Even now, when he was mostly out of the woods,he could only eat liquids and it was not fair. If that was what it took to makesure he had a full recovery, she’d stick to it, but it was not fair to him. It hadbeen her mistake.

Cassian stood up and came tosit by her side, taking one of her hands. She couldn’t look at him. Tearsprickled at her eyes and she didn’t want him to see it – she was supposed to bethe strong one. The protector. But Jyn had been holding this in for weeks andit was inevitable the dam finally broke.

“Jyn, you can’t blameyourself,” he told her gently, but she wouldn’t hear it.

“Yes, I can. I was supposed toprotect you, that’s literally my job.What kind of bodyguard lets their client get shot? You should have fired me.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re anamazing bodyguard.”

Empty words. Jyn knew Cassianmeant them but what did it matter if she couldn’t believe it herself?

She stared resolutely ahead,ignoring the warm pressure of his hand on top of hers. Cassian paused, seeingthat he wasn’t getting through her, and switching to a different tactic. Whenhe spoke again, his voice was careful but fuller of emotion that she had everheard it.

“Jyn, you sat with me at thehospital every day. Even when I was unconscious, you were there. You were thefirst face I saw when I woke up and you sat through every single one of mysurgeries. You held my hand when I began to walk again and you brought me homefrom the hospital and watched over me day and night, far beyond your workinghours.”

He paused, squeezing her hand. Shewas scarcely breathing; the look in his eyes was mesmerizing.

“And you make sure I keep to mydiet even when I hate you for it,” he continued, quieter. Gentle. “I couldn’task for a better bodyguard.”

She let out a sound betweenlaughter and a sob.

“Even though you’re sick of theyogurt and pudding?”

Cassian shook his head. “I wasjust being a whiny jackass, it won’t kill me to eat yogurt for a few weeks.Besides, my diet is almost over.” He perked up, an idea lighting in his eyes. “Tellyou what, when I can finally eat solids, I’ll make you some chilaquiles tocelebrate. We’ll watch a movie or something. How does that sound?”

Jyn nodded, smiling through hertears. Apparently, Cassian also had a talent for cheering her up.

Satisfied with her response,Cassian let go of her hand and stood up to collect their plates. She watchedhim walk to the sink, heart squeezing. Her hand felt cold without his warmthcovering it. Jyn inhaled softly. She was in so much trouble.

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