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dailytatsu · 3 years

Note

Heya! Can I request an Aether/Lumine & reader?

So reader is basically an immortal half-elf who've lived for centuries and a well refined fighter. Well at the beginning even tho they volunteered to tag along on traveler's journey to find their sibling, reader is rather obnoxious and a lazy-dork who only help when actually needed. But as the journey continues, they began to act like traveler's bodyguard after witnessing (archon quest spoiler!) traveler almost getting killed by the Shogun? And maybe random shenanigans happen between them (ft.Paimon). I don't mind if you do either Aether or Lumine if you feel pressured 🙏

Hi! This kind are my favorites! Tysm for requesting! (๑>◡<๑)

I did this with Aether since he is my favorite is who I chose, and I feel more comfortable writing with guys than with girls.

I know they have some different personalities but I can help but see Lumine as the all mighty abyss princess.

Hope you enjoy!

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Aether & Half-elf! Reader

GN! Reader

Inazuma Archon Quest Spoilers!

Request are open; sorry for any mistakes!

Genshin Impact Masterlist

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Aether always thought that immortality brought with it wisdom, beings who live for much longer than an ordinary human tend to gain an understanding of life and changes in the world after years of appreciating the passing of the ages.

But when he met you he couldn't help but feel that all his beliefs were based on fiction and old rumors from other worlds. You were anything but wise, not even his first choice to be the voice of reason.

Even Paimon takes her role as his guide seriously.

But what was so wrong about you that get him on his nerves all the time? And most important, why does is he still dealing with you?

To be fair, maybe he was waiting a little too much from you. After all, he always forget that you still have half of a human’s nature.

“Mmh? What are you doing?” You asked Aether the first time he removed your hair from your ears to see if they were pointy. They were, and Paimon yelled kind of a objection when she realize she had to pay for losing their bet.

Not a human, not a elf, but a hybrid between them.

The first encounter was really something he would never forget. Rumors about treasures and requests from the guild made them follow some clues to find a cave that was marked as lost, impossible to enter and explore.

But “impossible” is a word that doesn’t exist their vocabulary. Yet is common that regretting comes along when you’re that bold and risky.

At the very end of that strange cave there wasn’t a treasure waiting, not even a new clue to keep going with the mystery. Instead, was a humanoid silhouette, they seemed to be meditating, not showing a single interest in their voices neither getting nervous because of Aether and Paimon taking some steps forward to have a better look.

But they were breathing, and both could see the pupils moving slightly under their eyelids. Eyebrows twitching now and then, like they were having a nightmare, one of which they couldn’t wake up.

Paimon encouraged him to get even closer to shake that person's shoulder, while she was hiding behind some rocks, obviously.

Aether summoned his sword and then he approached slowly until touching them with his fingertips, waiting for some kind of jumpscare.

The stranger raised their arm, carefully but also in a robotic way. Their fingers were tense, as much that it was painful just looking at them. Like a quiet call, like a order that couldn’t be heard, from the pile of rocks where Paimon was hiding something emerge, breaking through the stone and letting a rusty polearm to be seen.

Their fingers closed around the weapon, bringing them back to reality.

“Master and weapon, reunited again, rise so the world can meet their end!”

Or at least that's what he would have preferred to find. A servant guarding a lost relic, a soulless body moving by a curse, perhaps even a fate that death could not prevent.

But instead it was something really underwhelming, something that broke the mystical and strange atmosphere. That person opened their eyes, annoyed by the light of the torches and disoriented by the situation.

With their body in pain and numb at the same time, how long have they slept in that position?

The first thing they did after waking up was sneezing.

‘So much dust…’

Never accepting missions for exploring legendary caves ever again. Nope. Negative. He refuse to.

What if they find another (Y/N)? Thanks, but no. One is more than enough.

“So what you mean is that your parents' families exiled you and locked you up in the cave for being an ‘abomination’ to both species?” Paimon confirmed once the three of you were back in the surface again. Her hands moving side to side to explain -in a very expressive way- everything you told them.

“It seems that we found the remains of an ancient race that used to exist in Teyvat.” Aether said, still surprised by the way you roamed to feel the wood of the trees and the grass under your bare feet. Kind of heartbreaking.

“Like the boar we found with Xiangling!”

He wasn’t sure if it was okay to compare both encounters but he could see her point.

“… ‘Wait for us’, they told me, ‘think about your existence and find the answer to why your conception is not the atrocity that everyone says you are. May their words not reach you, because we have long ears to hear the words of the gods and not the ones of those who defile earth’… ” You pronounced after decades of not needing to use the language you were taught, with one hand on your chin and eyes closed to concentrate. All you had left was the few memories you preserved inside your mind and heart.

“With ‘they’ you mean your parents?”

You nodded.

“And what happened next?… ” Asked back the tiny companion of the blond guy that rescued you.

“I got bored and I fell asleep.” You admitted, carefree about it, shrugging your shoulders and sighing.

A total waste of your youth.

“Eh!? Then you didn’t thought about those things? That sounded important!” Paimon seemed disappointed for your answer, while Aether held his forehead, without having a clue of how he was supposed to react.

That was the day you joined their party! New team member, (Y/N) strikes in!

Or something like that,,

“H-Hey! We could use a hand over here!… woah!” The little white girl scold you but from your high sit on the top of a big rock only a exaggerated yawning can be heard. Paimon crossed her arms to almost immediately duck down to dodge a fire bullet from the Fatui. Aether didn’t say anything, he was concentrated fighting.

“Oh, yeah… You’re doing great. Go, Aether, go…”

“Was that supposed to be a cheering?!”

“Hey, calm down” You said “He doesn’t need my help. Just take a look, he’s an adventurer. If I meddle it will be really boring for him.”

“Hmp! Now Paimon believes that you were lying when you said that you were a well refined fighter!” She was floating around you, ignoring the battle of his blond friend. Like a pesky bee, the only thing you did was avoiding her furious gaze. “Don’t ignore Paimon! How can you not hear with those ears!? That’s it! Paimon will give you a ugly nickname!”

“What about ‘extinct deaf elf-der’?”

“Yeah, that’s a good one!” She agreed immediately, then she shook her head, pointing at you like a guilty criminal. “Wait, Paimon doesn’t need your suggestions!”

When the last Fatui was defeated Aether turned back to face both of you, sighing because of the new arguing between you two. His sword disappeared and some steps were took to get closer.

Your eyes met each other, a slight smile in your face after looking him safe and sound. So confident but so unaware of the remain danger hiding. Your expression became a surprised one, then your gaze sharped like a killer sight.

You left Paimon on top of the rock when you jumped down, summoning your own weapon you ran straight to where Aether was. The traveler panicked just a fraction of second before loosing sight of you.

Next thing they know was that a you were behind him, facing at the nothing with a defensive pose, just a second of silence before a impact could be heard. Some dirt and dust was lift as the pair of Fatui Pyro Agents became visible again. They stayed there, defeated in one hit.

“Like I said. It would be pretty boring if I meddle...” Aether and Paimon were shocked, none of them felt their presence, not even the heat of the pyro delusion. Your weapon disappeared in the air, and your hands rested on your waist. “Dear Seven, that was intense.” Looking at your friends you sighed, with the laziness on your body language. “It was my turn to cook dinner, right? What a pain having to eat again… ”

Acting that relaxed after that really made them went Ô_Ô and Ö

A silent speech, where devotion and gratitude are the best topics of conversation. The message that is heard even if there’s no words in between. Just a exchange of gazes. Little signs of affection that are shown when it’s necessary.

Your family was gone. No clues about their whereabouts could’ve found in that cave of where you came. Not even the skeletons of a couple holding their hands and petrified in a sobbing position. Not even ashes.

When you have been thinking about the most unimportant things in the universe for so long you can deal with the lost faster than anyone else. Getting the idea of no remain evidence of your parents and feeling that it wasn’t that heartbreaking.

Maybe because you gained a new family almost immediately.

Still you could empathize with Aether, he still had his precious memories with his sister, still remember her face and her voice. And most important was that he knew that she was still roaming Teyvat, waiting for him.

Even if they leave behind Paimon and you at the end of the trip.

Or even if they just leave you behind.

‘I’m okay with that.’

You thought, stroking Paimon’s hair when her head found a comfortable place to rest in your lap. You thought, moving your shoulder so Aether wouldn’t have neck pain. Both sleeping peacefully and you staying awake night by night.

You’ve slept enough, for so long besides.

Somehow the flames of the campfire are warmer now that you have someone to look how the fire dance in the night.

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“I see, so you were serious when you told me that your companion was a mystical extinct creature, weren’t you?” Albedo’s hand went up to hold his chin, analyzing you from distance.

“They are half of it, actually.” Aether answered back, notice how Sucrose was asking you permission to check your features. The sparkle in her eyes made you accept her petition after feeling with the back against the wall.

“Your ears are like mine! Look, look!” Klee pulled your shirt, then she pointed at the side of her head.

“… Still the shape of both are quite different, the length too.”

Years of isolation really are hitting hard right now. You felt overwhelmed and somehow shy when Sucrose hold your face to have a better look.

You follow the traveler to everywhere, no matter the place, you were there. Like a shadow, sometimes just a spectator, other times like an actual active team member.

“Who would’ve tell that our Honorary Knight also has his own knight watching his back.” Kaeya’s voice has that joke but charming tone, as always.

Day after day, it’s the same, everyone talking you through Aether. Like some kind of translator.

“More like a human shield.” Your hand landed on top of Aether’s head, not agreeing with his explanation.

Bonk.

“I guess everything’s better than being Emergency Food.”

“Hey!”

“Haha! You three are quite a team, aren’t you?”

Of course you were. Mondstadt, Liyue, you name it. You could assure that every place in this two nations have at least one story about the team.

You knew that the most brave and magnificent outlander in Teyvat didn’t need a guardian, he can defend himself (somehow even if he’s still using that dull blade).

Bodyguarding also sounds like such a hassle…

You only provide a last resource help when was needed, sometimes also helping with some puzzles and mysteries.

The long eared people was known to be wise and smart people that searched for the full comprehension of the world. Also such a nerds and fans of knowledge. So, even if you considered yourself dumb, in your blood was the instinct of looking for the truth, and sometimes that impulse could be really annoying.

You were always near enough to reach him. Pulling his scarf from behind to move him away from danger. Countering after he gets hit.

Always in a place where you could reach him.

You just needed to extend your arm and you would catch Aether. It was always like this. Always with you jumping in the middle of the crossfire to shield them if it was necessary.

It’s always like this.

Until the day you three set a foot in Inazuma’s land. And a bad feeling of a imminent catastrophe made your shiver.

A new nation, a new problem to solve. But a war? Boldness and stupidity sometimes looks like the same thing, but no matter how many times you repeat this to Aether, he would still ran into problems.

And you would follow him, until your debt is paid, until his travel is done.

It used to be like this.

But then you failed him after being unable to move because of the fear that paralyzed your body. The day Aether faced Shogun Raiden in the ceremony. The day you heard the broken voice of a god inside the Shogun you also fell apart. It was painful, cruel, a void of anger and sadness.

Jumping into danger, without you behind.

You tried to ran between the goddess and your savior, you tried to get closer to at least be useful one last time as the shield you promised to be.

You tried.

But, for the first time, your hand didn’t reach him.

The void of despair and darkness that could be heard inside the Shogun devoured him.

The tears of panic and fear in Paimon’s eyes. The way the Shogun lifted her sword to end his life. The way you were paralyzed because of her presence, forced to be part of the crowd and presence his execution.

That day your facade of laziness faded away, the real feeling of being a knight burnt along your proud. It was so annoying, it was so unnecessary, but still you couldn’t ignore it.

“Are you… are you sure that you’re okay? We don’t have to find the Sangonomiya resistance today. If you need to rest then-” Your hands were shaking when you placed them in Aether’s shoulders, holding yourself for tearing up.

“We have to keep going. I’ll be fine.”

“Besides, if we stay near Inazuma this night they could find us! Paimon won’t be able to sleep like that!” Your mouth opened to counter their arguments, but not a single word dared to go against Aether’s plans.

They could see it in your face. The worry, the remains of shock and fear, the guilty.

“Don’t try to look strong then. If you get tired, tell us. I can carry you in my back.” Even if you were offering help your voice was serious, so cold but so hurt at the same time that nor Aether or Paimon knew what to said to bring the old you back.

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“… Aren’t you coming?” You could hear how the door was slid to let him saw you. The lighted spots on Aether’s clothes were purple, just as the lighting that almost end him. Your lips made a concerned and stressed grimace.

The young traveler took a seat next to you, outside the structure, sitting on the wooden steps and looking at the starry sky. The wind was cold but still the soldiers of the resistance were talking normally and the slight feeling of discommodity because of the excessive presence of other people was climbing up your back.

“(Y/N), there’s no need of guard us every night. You also need to sleep.”

“I'm not tired, I think I've gotten enough sleep, at least not to need it until the next century.”

Aether’s expressions went into a sarcastic one, asking if you were serious with just his gaze.

“That’s not how it works.” He said, trying to change the mood. “And if it does, then why are you always snoozing during the day in every chance you get?”

You had the answer to that, but you weren’t sure about telling him.

“Because everything supposed to be boring. Nothing really changed a lot and… looking at the familiar places was depressing.” So easy, so simple, but still enjoying the company, still enjoying the sound of theirs laughs and their own shenanigans. “… Lately, I’ve been thinking that I should not had left the cave. Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate that you two helped me to be back at the surface, and I really want to help you on your journey, but if you still run into the chaos by own decision I think I could not follow you any longer before being a burden in your adventures.”

Overprotection, an unbreakable shield, frequently avoiding fights, always being pulled back to not be part of the battle. Enemies of the braveness of the traveler.

Worry, panic, an overreaction due to fear of loosing everything again.

‘let me do it’, ‘I got it’, ‘wait here’, ‘don’t get close’.

These day could be described like that.

“So, before I do something worse as an excuse of defend you, please let me find a cave to await. You do what’s is needed and… call me back, or leave me there, anything you think it’s better… ”

You could be pronouncing the words from the very bottom of your heart, but still your face was the same seriousness as the accident almost happened.

And even with that you felt his gloved hand removing the hair that was covering your right ear, revealing how it slightly leaned down, showing sadness unwittingly.

“Hey, cut it out… I’m serious about this… ”

“It doesn’t matter if you think that it’s the best option, you’re still sad about leaving.”

“… That’s cheating.” Removing his hand away from your hair you tried to act indifferent.

“You know the reason why we invited you to came along?”

‘You felt sorry for me.’

“I can’t totally tell the exact reason, but it wasn’t for you to pay us some kind of debt because of saving you.” He crossed his arms, looking at the stars, wondering if his sisters was doing the same. “We don’t need a guardian, we need our friend back. And I know you care about Paimon and me, but still you must enjoy the journey. It’s not fair that you are always aware of every potential danger while we mess around lately.”

An eternal silence, your response is late to appear but somehow Aether can tell that you already have something on your mind.

“Then apologize.”

“… Why?”

“For believing that playing as the hero and jumping to face the Shogun was something you had to do.”

“… but-”

Neither Aether nor you slept that night, the blonde had to listen for hours to all the things that you ever wanted to complain about since you arrived in Inazuma.

You made your position on joining the army of the rebellion very clear, you had no intention of fighting to seek "justice" or "peace". Because after all, that fight did not correspond to you, but if he asked you to, you would protect some soldiers or help to guard the barracks, if he asked you to, you wouldn’t complain about it (at least not that much).

Both had enough of each other’s attitude, but it was okay. Because that was what all of you chose in first place.

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lisinfleur · 3 years

Text

Shelter

The request:

Author’s Notes | I took the chance for Day Felice’s new album and wrote it while listening to their song Shelter, if you guys want to listen to it while reading as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! (And the song too haha). Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon. Words | 1878 ⁑ Warnings: Mentions to child abuse and abandonment. Wounds, blood, and some angst.

His chariot noise was always something that would help his mind to ease after any kind of arguing. And with his wife, it wasn't different. This morning he’d left after a huge discussion with her.

Why was Y/N so worried about a slave child?

Ivar insisted several times she should just forget the thing and let it go. It wasn't their responsibility! And more: by taking leftovers and water for that child every night, she was only making the little thing's suffering longer!

"It would be dead already if it wasn't for you, feeding it every night!" he remembered trying to insist.

But Y/N's was stone-headed! Every single night, there was his queen, dressing her cloak and leaving his castle - once a former church - to visit the thing that now wasn't moving places, of course.

Someone was feeding it, helping it, all the time! Why would it be stupid and leave it behind?

Ivar was getting used to passing by that child every day as if the girl was some kind of door or local decoration. But not for his wife. Not his Y/N and her heart blessed by Frigg.

She was a natural mother. He knew that! It was one of the reasons he chose her the love Y/N would show for any child she could have around.

But when she came with that stupid idea, it went too far for him.

"I'm going to take her home."

A thing.

A useless thing that wouldn't serve not even as a slave, so thin it was.

They've discussed it for hours. Ivar screamed at Y/N she was insane, perhaps touched by some local spirit. Y/N yelled he was an insensitive motherfucker who could fuck himself out of her room if he thought she would let a child starve to death on her door.

As always, their love was intense but also was their anger. And whenever they would yell at each other, one of them would end up hurt.

This time, it was her.

"I don't fucking care about what you think! It's cattle, Y/N! Cattle die! And that's it! I won't spend my supplies with a thing that can barely give anything back to us!"

Or maybe not.

Perhaps... It was him.

"Fine then. Let us guide her to the woods and leave her to the wolves, Ivar. Isn't it what we do with useless things? Oh, wait... Wasn't it what your father did to you?"

Their words would always hurt each other deeper than they wanted to hurt. Their hearts would regret the words said at the moment they’d left their mouths.

But this time, her words forced his eyes to look out of his chariot. And Ivar stopped it by the street near where that thing was sitting, observing. Trying to understand why his wife was trying so hard to save that starving child.

Why was she comparing them as if there was anything in common between him and a Saxon abandoned child?

It was early in the morning. He watched as the little girl unwrapped the leftovers his wife had given to her the last night. At first, Ivar thought the little hungry thing would, of course, eat everything without care. But he watched with surprise as she fractioned the little portion, eating a quarter of it and saving the rest for later.

It was an intelligent move... She wasn’t a wild animal, after all.

That would be a cold day. Ivar observed as the little one looked up to the sky. The sun was born behind some heavy clouds - probably some rain would be coming at night.

He watched as the little thing looked around, smartly stealing a barrel from the trash of a nearby store, checking on its wooden pieces to place it properly as a shelter. She was young and thin enough to fit into it. It would serve for the night and maybe keep her warm.

The owner of the store, so as some people who were passing by, pushed her here or there, complaining about her attempts to move between them. And Ivar watched as the little girl looked up from the ground to the bigger people around her, fearlessly.

She wasn't such a defenseless little thing as he thought she was.

In fact, she was pretty smarter than he thought a Saxon child could be, hiding her barrel between the mead barrels of the same store, covering its problems with some mud, so the owner wouldn't see it wasn't one of his barrels.

She wouldn't have her shelter for the night thrown away or broken before she could use it.

Ivar lost track of the time he spent there, watching the girl moving here and there, gathering stones and mud to imitate the shop owner's way of stocking his barrels and preserving hers.

But the important matters of the town had to be more important than his arguing with his wife, and with this, Ivar moved away from that place.

His mind wondered if that was the reason why his wife was so sure he and that child had something in common.

The little girl was a fighter like he was someday, indeed. She was fighting her way to keep herself alive and, perhaps, his precious Y/N was right, and death wasn't exactly the fate that child had in this world.

Ivar tried to get himself occupied during the day. But the truth was that his mind never stopped lingering over Y/N's words, passing over and over the things he had seen that morning.

When the night was threatening to come, the sky broke in water as he thought it would. But curiosity dragged him away from the path to his home.

Ivar wanted to see if the little girl's plan had gone right and what was his surprise when he found the little one sitting away from the store under the heavy rain, with nothing but a rag to cover herself and wounds everywhere.

The barrel she'd tried so hard to protect was shattered near the store's trash, and a fence was placed by the owner around his barrels with some spikes near the place she was sitting before. It was preventing her from having coverage under his roof, even from the outside.

That angered Ivar a little. He'd seen her hard work! And, in the end, her plan had failed. She was clearly beaten and wet from her head to her toes anyway.

However, his eyes caught something he wasn't expecting.

After eating the last piece of what his wife had given to her, the little girl extended the leather over a hole he watched her carve with her bare hands on the ground. Treated, the leather started to catch water and fill itself, becoming a bag into the hole. The little girl caught the bag before it could lose its content, tied the leather with a strand of her ragged trousers, and created a canteen from where she started drinking the rainwater, relieving her thirst.

She was beaten down, defeated. Yet, she didn't give up. She didn't lay her pride down. And found herself a way to turn that rain into a chance for her to survive one more day.

There was determination in her eyes.

That little thing wasn't being sustained by his wife's crumbs. No. She was fighting to the limit of her strength to survive.

Like he'd done someday...

Ivar's eyes filled with surprise when he could see himself in that little girl's wounds, dragging himself through the mud when everyone thought he would never move.

Standing, when everyone was expecting his legs to break and let him fall.

She was a fighter. And, maybe, Y/N was right. Perhaps it wasn't about a Saxon child or a useless slave. Perhaps the gods were showing him they've chosen that little thing, to give her a chance, to reward her for the fight she was putting on for her life.

"Get in," Ivar's voice sounded.

The little thin thing lifted her eyes to see the mighty Viking looking at her from the chariot everyone from her people was taught to fear. Her wounded little body could barely reach the top of its wheels when she got up to look at Ivar.

Her eyes into his, instigating even more the curiosity he was starting to have about that little Saxon thing.

How fierce would she be if raised under his roof?

But the little thing didn't get up on his chariot at once. Instead, she lowered herself, gathering more stones with her muddy and wounded hands.

"I said get in! Don't you see you'll end up dying under this rain?" Ivar complained, annoyed he was standing under such heavy and cold waters for a thing that dared to turn her back on him, carving the floor and placing the stones in a way the rain wouldn't destroy her little monument. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I must do it, sir," she mumbled.

Ivar could recognize a small stone monument in that little girl's construction. His people were used to rising those little towers to pray for the gods or place small sacrifices and offers.

Was Y/N teaching her about the gods?

"Why?" he asked as she tried to climb up on his chariot, struggling a little with the height and her wounded knees.

"It is for the lady who comes here every day," she mumbled. "I promised if I ever was to leave, I would leave one of these for her, so she would know I'm not dead."

For his wife.

She was leaving a stone monument for Y/N, so she wouldn't be worried...

"I don't know where you're taking me, king Ivar," she said, showing she knew who he was. "But I don't want her to be sad."

Ivar's heart ached. There was indeed something in common between him and that child. But not only the fact that both of them were survivors.

She didn't want his wife to be hurt.

And so didn't he.

"Cover yourself," he said, throwing his warm cloak around her.

It covered her like a blanket in which she rolled herself, nestling with a grateful smile.

"She was right," the little girl mumbled as Ivar started to ride his horses.

"What?" he asked, and she repeated, smiling at him.

"The lady was right." She said. "The gods were watching me. Maybe I passed their test."

Y/N was definitely teaching that girl. And Ivar sighed, looking at the road.

Perhaps it was a test for himself as well. Or Skuld just had decided to use him as a feather to write that little girl's fate differently.

"Skuld," he said, catching her eyes. "We shall name you Skuld. To honor the god that wrote your fate like this."

"Skuld," she tried.

Pronouncing it perfectly.

"Sounds strong... I like it!"

What a petulant little thing, Ivar thought. As if she had any choice on how things would be from now on. A giggle filled Ivar's mouth.

Y/N was right and he would remember apologising after coming home that night.

The little girl wasn’t a useless thing. And he had to admit.

She was like him, after all.

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annhellsing · 4 years

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Rough One

notes: soooo i started this at a deeply unchristian hour and it turned smutty on me, of course it did. welcome to keishin fucker’s anonymous!!! rating: explicit, there’s wall sex!! pairing: ukai keishin / reader word count: 2,322

It’s difficult, remembering to romanticize even the unkind moments in your life. And waking up before six o’clock in the morning, you’re convinced, is deeply unkind.

You can see Kurasuno high school on the hill, at the other end of the steep slope. It looks clean and faint-orange in the half-sunrise from your spot far down the street. You stare, in a haze of wishing you were still asleep for several minutes.

And then you return to your senses. You lift your chin up a fraction and breathe in cold, early-spring air. The storefront to your right is crowded outside with vending machines, you’re almost tempted to grab a bottle of iced coffee and try to take a nap in your office.

But you shake your head, too tired merely dismiss the thought in your mind. The bell rings above your head when you open the door.

A man sits behind the counter, his hair spiked and his eyes tired. His bangs are held back with a headband, you pause a moment before turning down an aisle to look at him. He’s blonde and handsome, with his nose buried in a magazine.

He looks up at you just for a second before returning to the article he’s reading. His smile is slow and sleepy. It makes you feel warm in the pit of your stomach.

“Morning,” he offers up when he isn’t looking at you any more. You nod.

“Good morning,” you return.

You drift off down the aisle sporting bandages and rubbing alcohol, picking up a bottle of contact solution. Then you stare blankly at the labels on the pre-packaged food, considering breakfast somewhat distantly. The only time your vision is in any way pointed is when you turn your head to look at the clerk.

He’s more than handsome, you decide.

You think of your bed and its fluffy duvet, unmade and well-loved. You washed your sheets last night, and rolling between them with him would be nice. Passing in and out of sleep, his lips at your neck and shoulder.

You look at him again, at his tongue that darts out to wet his upper lip. His eyes aren’t moving across the magazine page.

He’s handsome and you want to take him home.

Your shoulders droop and you decide on what you’re going to eat, picking up the package and tucking it under your arm. As much as you’d like to mill about, stealing glances at this very beautiful man-- it’s getting later by the second. And you’ve made promises this morning.

“Just this?” he asks when you set your items down on the counter. He’s set his magazine down in preparation. And though he seems as sleep-addled as you, you appear to have his full attention.

“Mm,” you mutter in return. He quirks an eyebrow.

“You know, breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he replies, gesturing to the heatbox at his elbow where meat buns slowly spin. “Want one of these? No charge.”

“Are you kidding?” you ask, giving a little smile that borders on playful. And he seems almost embarrassed at the offering.

“The high schoolers eat ‘em all up around eight, so you’re here just in time,” he continues. You shrug and open the heat box, taking a bun and putting it on the counter for him to ring up.

“I promised I’d meet my boyfriend up at the gym,” you say, “he coaches the volleyball team. I wanted to see them practice.”

“You must love him an awful lot to get up this early,” he comments. You smirk.

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “Hey, I was in the medicine aisle and--”

“Something not there?” he asks, he almost looks impatient. Your smile widens.

“Condoms,” you say, “you sell that here?”

He glances at the door behind you, then at the clock on the wall immediately above it. Then, he returns your impish smile and stands up from his stool.

“In the back,” he says, “be lucky my mother’s not here.”

“Lead the way,” you reply, your purchases forgotten on the counter.

You follow close behind him, putting your hands on Keishin’s waist. He feels warm, his pace slowing considerably so that you can fold your arms around him.

“I said in the back for a reason,” he tells you, “I don’t want to traumatize my customers.”

“I love you,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. His blue tracksuit is faded and worn, the material scratching your lips. He sighs.

“Love you, too,” he says, “come on, we gotta be up at the gym in half an hour.”

“Wow,” you start, he takes your hand and keeps walking. You’re pulled along behind him. “I have you all to myself for a whole half hour? Think of the possibilities.”

“Oh, I have,” he says, “weird stunt, pretending you don’t know me.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking,” you admit, “it was kinda hot, though.”

“You make the oddest shit really hot,” he replies. That heat in your stomach burns a little brighter. “That’s a compliment,” he adds.

“Thank you,” you say.

His hand, the one not gripped in yours, reaches into his tracksuit pocket. Keishin takes out the back room key and unlocks the door, flicking the light on as he guides you inside. The door is safely locked behind you.

“Someone could rob the place,” you tell him. But he’s already turned around, an expression other than exhaustion on his face.

“You think I care?” he asks. You shake your head.

You move towards him, putting your hands on his broad chest and moving him back towards the wall. The shelves are stacked close together with overstock items, but there’s enough room to move between them. You press Keishin back against the wall, applying affectionate pressure.

“I was thinking about you,” you say, “what we could be up to right now if we were both home.”

“Well, it is Friday,” he says, “I don’t have to coach on Saturdays until ten o’clock.”

“We can have more fun tomorrow,” you start, moving closer and pressing your chest against his. You dip your head, taking a soft kiss from him that he eagerly returns. “But I want you now.”

“You got me,” he smiles. He kisses you again, just a quick peck, like he needs it to live. “You can have me.”

You intend to.

You take his tracksuit zipper and tug it down, opening his jacket. You push your hands under his shirt, and though he flinches at how cold they are, he doesn’t complain. His chest is soft, but you can feel firm muscle underneath as you press him back against the wall.

Keishin turns his head to the side, covering his mouth just in time as he yawns. And though you try to giggle at him, the same compulsion takes you over.

“Jerk,” you kiss him again, for longer this time. He tastes like cigarettes and you don’t have the energy to tease him about that. But he can tell when you pull away that it’s a conscious choice not to comment.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, like he’s trying to make up for it. You roll your eyes.

“I know,” you say, leaning in again and kissing his jaw. Your hands push his shirt up his chest, but you’re too short on time to undress him. “So are you.”

The chatter fades to sluggish silence, broken up by the sound of Keishin’s appreciatory grunts. When you nip at his neck, his head lolls back to allow you better access. You hold him, pressed between your chest and the wall. Your heartbeat is loud as thunder against his, he wishes he had three hours at hand.

No, he doesn’t. He knows how important practice is to his team, how much of a fight it is to force them to sleep in on Saturdays. But his mind drifts to tomorrow, to doing this with more time to spare.

He rolls his shoulders, pressing back against you. When your hand skirts over the front of his pants, Keishin groans in your ear. The sound wakes you up a little bit, spurs you to action. You palm him a little more heavily, feeling his half-hard bulge stir and throb.

“You were thinking about me,” you say. He laughs, still close to your ear. The sound raises goosebumps on your neck.

“I already told you that,” he reminds you. Keishin cuts himself off with a low moan when your hand slips past the waistband of his pants. But, even with the time crunch you seem determined to be a tease.

You toy with him over his boxers, pressing your palm harder against him. He leans back against the wall, going rigid before relaxing. His smirk is still tired, but now it’s for a different reason.

“Love you,” you tell him again, placing a delicate kiss at the corner of his mouth. He turns his head, chasing your lips.

“Love you, too,” he sighs.

“Where are the condoms, Kei?” you ask, nudging his jugular with your nose. You kiss where his pulse point flutters.

His hand darts out, fumbling on the shelf beside you. He turns to look only for a second, grabbing the first box he touches and giving them up.

“Switch with me,” he says, you inspect the box and tear the top open. His hands on his shoulders guide you around him until your back is pressed against the wall instead.

“All right,” you say, “but don’t get any funny ideas. Who’s in charge here?”

“Trust me,” he huffs, “it’s you. It’s always going to be you.”

You smile at that, happy to find genuine earnestness overcoming the sleepy expression on his face. Keishin stands back far enough for you to shift the box of condoms from your hand to the crook of your elbow, you push his pants down his thighs.

“Wait--” he starts, “hang on, I want to--”

“Ten minutes or less,” you warn him, “I know how you get when you’re fingering me. You can go forever.”

“Only you would think that’s a bad thing,” he mumbles. But he kisses your exasperated look away, and in the very same breath that he coaxes you to lift your leg.

You hook it around his hip, granting him access up your skirt and between your legs. Keishin wastes none of the precious time he has to begin his exploration, dragging the pads of his middle and ring finger over the crotch of your panties.

The box of condoms slips, you hurry to snatch a packet from it before your grip fails and it falls to the ground. With one in your fist, you loop your arms around his neck.

“You’re pretty,” he tells you, hooking his finger through the gusset and tugging the cloth aside. He’s gentle, almost to a fault and when he circles your clit it’s almost frustratingly light in pressure.

“More,” you whisper, “now. We don’t have time for teasing.”

“Hey,” he says, “you’re telling me you weren’t being a tease when you had your hand down my pants?”

“That’s different,” you sigh.

“Yeah, how?” he asks. You shake your head.

“It’s funny to watch you look so needy,” you reply.

“Funny, huh?” he asks, you open your eyes and watch his expression turn playfully sinister. “Well, I could say the same about you.”

“Whatever happened to me--” you cut yourself off, strangling a moan as Keishin finally deigns to press a little harder on your clit. It’s not painful, far from it, it’s the perfect amount of contact. It takes a moment for you to right yourself before repeating, “What happened to me being in charge?”

“You call the shots, same as always,” he says. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you insist, gripping his neck ever-tighter. “Please, no.”

“Since you asked so nicely--” he teases, slipping his fingers forward and sinking one inside you.

It’s jarring how quickly it happens, Kei can draw out foreplay with the best of them. But you look at the storeroom clock and realize with a sinking feeling in your stomach that it’s already fifteen minutes to seven.

“Hurry,” you whisper, tugging on his jacket with more impatience than you have energy.

“We got time,” he says, “we still got time. Come here.”

You’re pulled against him, hugged tight with one arm and your back is spared the wall. Keishin holds you there for a moment, wrapping you up in his warmth and the faint smell of smoke. You wish, more than anything, that you could fall asleep like that.

“Give me the rubber, babe,” he says. You drop it into his open palm and snake your arm back around his neck as quickly as you can.

He fumbles with it, content to lead while you have a rest. He tears the foil with his teeth and wastes no time rolling it down his cock.

“Ready?” he asks. You lift your head from his shoulder and kiss his cheek.

“Yes,” you tell him. He shifts, holding you against the wall and lining himself up.

In a slow, unassuming motion, Keishin eases into you. You fall forward again on his shoulder, too warm and content to stifle a moan.

“Now, that’s what I like to hear,” he grunts, pushing inside slow enough that you feel only a pleasant stretch.

His hand helping your leg stay wrapped around him relocates, finding its new home just above your joining. He teases your clit just as before, applying barely any pressure.

He starts up fast, rocking his hips and setting a pace that has you reeling. His middle finger presses harder, tapping and rolling over your clit in time with his shallow thrusts. You grab him tight, burying your head in his neck. You’re determined to leave as many love bites as you can below the collar, before you run out of time.

#ukai keishin #keishin ukai #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #ukai #ukai x reader #keishin x reader #keishin ukai x reader #ukai keishin x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu ukai #anniewrites #winks @ u all #this came outta almost nowhere #i did mean to write this for a while but #it happened quicker than i thought!!

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

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It’s The Avengers (03x11)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 11: Exotic Medicines

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: high and...slutty moments?

Word Count: My heart feels so light today. And Tari is one of the reasons for this. In the sense that she is amazing and gives me hope about myself.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

A creature with the head of an unhinged raccoon and the body of a dragon lizard scuttled on the dry patch of land, looking at its surrounding with those crazy eyes and panting with the sounds that usually came out of an out of breath pug whose nose was too small to take in the precious air for that chonky body. This guy, however, was more interested in chewing on the first piece of leather it bonked against, those huffing noises making any witness feel for this miserable looking animal. The leather boot shoved the raccoozard away only to have that stubborn bastard come back for the seemingly delicious leather that was now drowned in its spit. The boot kicked it casually- and lightly- once again to move away from the ground and instead rest on the barrel. The camera focused out of the boot to show Loki having no feelings look to the little 'zard. The other camera flying low over the creature was more interested in Lulu's raised hair looking at the abomination with caution before coming to smell the poor thing that laid upside down, thanks to Loki's amazing boot skills. Lulu raised its fluffy paw in the air, taking his sweet time to tilt his head and smack the animal in its face. And much to the little fluff's surprise, the 'zard growled and hissed at him, making the fluff ball take a step back. "Hey," Loki called out for Javier, who turned the galactic go-pro in his hand towards the God, "send one of your peekers inside to see how's it going." Javier moved the camera toward him to record himself giving Loki a look of confusion.

"The cameras are not 'peekers'," he signed before shrugging, "and peeking is not ethical." "Oh," Loki raised his brows while the camera quite tactfully panned in on the tension in those exposed biceps of his arms under the black shirt. He raised his hands to sign back. "So you go ahead be 'ethical' when those witches sacrifice her for her blood. Okay?" Javier's muted gasp had more emotion than Natasha on her bloody days- pun fully intended. "You were the one who suggested the witches!!!" The hand movements got more intense by the passing minute. "I suggested them for her bloody cramps," Loki signs back, still perched on the barrel, "I don't know what happens after?!" The camera was called to zoom upon Javier's face before he facepalmed himself harder than he should have. "Most cunning God MY ASS!!" "If the two of you are going to make a ruckus here then I would suggest you leave." Both boys stood in attention while the cameras focused on the woman in her wise years standing right outside the tent. Her authoritative features on that beautiful wrinkled green skin showed no sign of remorse or acceptance for the apologies. When she turned to go inside Javier turned to Loki to sign, "But we were not even talk-" "Because I can hear your thoughts, you useless meat suits," she shouted from the inside. Loki looked down at a fluffed up Lulu and shrugged. "Witches."

The Lounge "Okay, so the trick is for you to go-" Scott raised his leg and gracefully brought it back to bend over to let his beautiful booty naturally display the trademarked 'thicc'ness - "and then jerk it back like-" he continued by giving it a pop. Once. Twice. Thrice. The camera turned away to look at Peter and Vision stare in a mixture of shock as well as delight with a synced tilt of their heads. "How did you do that?" Pretending to flick away the hair from his face as he came back up- quite seductively- he sighed. "I've had practice." The audience waited and was met with no further commentary. "Oh, okay. So, we are not discussing the...uh...practice," Peter breathed before letting his brows furrow in deep curiosity, "but how the eff do you do the-" he bent over and tried to twerk. That twerk came out more like Peter trying to force his diaphragm to push up a seed stuck in his windpipe. Scott blinked at the effort before helplessly looking at the camera.

Scott: *clicks his tongue* White people problems. We either shake that thang like Beyonce was our mama or we bend over as if begging someone to do the Heimlich on us. *camera zooms in* There is no in-between.

"You need a lot of practice," Scott pointed at the spider boy before moving over to Vision. "And show me what you learned." Vision looked at Scott's phone and WAP started right from the build-up to the verse. The camera never went below Scott and Peter's torsos but the unprecedented shock in their popping eyeballs left a lot to the imagination. When Vision finally came back in the frame, he smiled at the two. "I feel like I could have popped my behind more." Scott and Peter blinked and felt themselves jolt at his statement. "More?!" Peter gasped. "How?!!" Scott shouted at the same time. Vision, unphased, let the music start from the top. "Like this," he added innocently and went out of the frame, leaving both the boys to find a God in their prayers to answer their questions.

Planet of the Witches Javier took the shade of the lone bush under the sweltering sun by squatting under it, all the while watching Loki's leg impatiently tap on the barrel it was resting on. And when their eyes met, the former smiled and signed something. "I'm not worried about her. I'm worried about my ears falling off from listening to Stark's babbling of 'not taking care of her daughter'. I am not her bodyguard. He should know that by now." Javier scoffed. 'Are you sure you know that by now?' Loki narrowed his eyes at him. "You have been getting cheeky by the day, boy." "And you cannot control your grumbling clouds for a fraction of the 'kula, can you?" The eldest of the witches, a humped grandma with a river of wrinkles over her face and hands and feet, came out to glare at Loki, who got off the barrel to stand in front of her in just a pinch of guilt before his eyes were distracted by your figure coming out of the tent. Before Loki's veiled relief could say anything, grandma took her crooked walking stick and slapped Loki's shin. The tiniest whine filled with confusion to the brim escaped the raven-haired boy. "OW!" the God growled at the old woman before raising his leg to hop around in pain while you tried your best to contain the laughter bubbling inside you. "Do not come to me for help if you cannot handle a few 'kulaeg, you impatient bog!" Loki's jaw unhinged while he hopped about and you gave the camera the more delightful look.

You: *gasp and beam* never in my life I thought I would see Loki stagger like that. That too by a five hundred-year-old alien lady!! *screeches* I love space! *shimmy your shoulders*

"I didn't even do anything this time?!!" Loki thundered, finally putting his foot on the ground. "Wait," you raised a finger in anticipation and confusion, "this time?" Grandma tapped her stick hard into the rocky ground. "Be thankful it's not a yank in your nethers for kidnapping my Logo last time." Your muted gasp grew wider, and the camera panned in when you stood in the middle of the two. "You kidnapped her Logo?" You whispered with elation. "Your Logo did not want to be kidnapped?" You tried hard to restrain the chortle in your voice before trying to come back to a straight face. The camera panned in on your face to catch you whisper, "I don't even know what a Logo is!" right into the lens. "I feel like there's a lot to unpack here. Grandmama, tell me everything this stupid ass has ever done!" Loki didn't seem to like the idea. "What is your problem, Se'tiri? You hit me even when I don't do anything wrong?! Every! Single! Time!" Se'tiri narrowed her eyes at the God, not letting her little body be intimidated by the six-foot tall creature. "You have one those faces, boy. Ones that are asking to be hit because they do not know what manners are." "Oh, dang," you whisper to the camera and secretly praise this alien grandma's spirit. "Fine, I'll never come here, ever again," Loki huffs, grabbing your hand to leave in a two-second surprise state, "come on, Y/N, let's go." "That's what you said last time you blue seaweed," Se'tiri shouted in her raspy voice, "make sure to remember this time! And take those damned bao-bao I made you and your friends, you giant slug!" Leaving your hand for a moment- that seemed to bring a microsecond of mellow sadness over your face- Loki smoothly turned a one-eighty to go inside the tent and bring with him a bento wrapped in blue fabric, grabbed your hand again and gave a stink eye to the woman. "I am taking these bao-bao with me, you rotten hag! And I will come whenever I please!" "You better come with some fucking bao-bao material or I'll not make more for you!" she yelled. Loki was already walking away with you by his side. "You will make me more because I am the only one who eats these stinky buns!!! Come on Lulu!" he yelled back, making the camera focus on Lulu standing upright, both excited and confused with something thin and long hanging from his mouth before he sucked it in and ran behind you two. The raccoon thing was nowhere to be seen.

The Lounge "You guys are the f***ing nuts!" Sam announced as the camera panned out to show Scott, Vision and Peter sitting on the sofa. Two of them had pouty faces while one was enchanted by the Falcon. A good moment of silence passed with Sam's firm expression before he finally spoke again. "You have to move your hips in a way to not hurt your lower back. And you have to split without hurting your nuts!" Both Scott and Peter winced at the memory and brought their ice packs closer to their crotch. "Now, watch...and learn." Sam gave one quick look to Vision and the AI automatically turned on the music for Sam to manoeuvre his body to the beats with the rigidity of water. And before anyone knew it, he was making a one-eighty with his leg to open it into a perfect split before popping that booty thrice for a perfect finish. The camera panned out to zoom in at the faces of equally bewildered and impressed Steve and Bucky standing at the entrance of the Lounge holding hands. "Should we...ask?" Steve wondered to his partner, his eyes still glued to the man of many talents. "Do we have to?" Bucky added.

Bucky: *in all his seriousness* We have to. I need to learn how to do that perfect split but I will cut my own veins before asking Sam for tutoring me.

Away From the Witches "All the weirdness aside because I know it comes from the insecurity in your past relationships of being not loved enough to trust another person, I have to say you and Grandmama Se'tiri really care about each other." The camera was stuck in one frame- on your head resting on your hand while your gaze was stuck on the God pretending to brood while eating the purple coloured buns the old witch had made for him. A quick glance from him at you from the corner of his eye and he was already turning his eyes towards you to question that softness stuck in your eyes while you looked at him. Not to mention your smile. "Stop looking at me like that," he muttered with his mouth half full. "Fuck you, I won't," you giggled lightly, getting a raised brow from Loki. "How the fuck can someone look so cute while eating? Why are you looking so good while eating?" Loki had to stop chewing and look at you for a few moments in keen observation. Or judgment. Or both. "What did they do to you in there?" It was your turn to sit straight in this weird open buggy floating between two alien rhinos as they languidly strolled over the deserted part of the planet. "They squeezed all that painful shit out of me," you inhaled. "Like I could feel my uterus squeeze and let the walls out from inside me, the blood, the gooey stuff, all of it. It hurt a bit at the beginning like every other time but once Grandamama and her sisters started chanting, it was all gone," you concluded with a smile. "Even though the goo was still coming out of my vagina." Lulu's camera caught the reasonable blankness on Javier and Loki's face before both of them put the buns down and tried their best to blink away the pictures you had so patiently put inside their heads. You, still perched with your head on your palm, smiled at the boys. "Should've left the bun for after the icky bloody part. Is it weird I can still smell the blood? Just like that bloody stench you get when you dump your menstrual cup down the drain during a shower and watch all that blood go down imagining you just murdered someone and are reminiscing the entire thing." Loki looked at the camera with newfound confused horror in his eyes.

Loki: Remind me to never piss her off during her bloody days. *inhales* Also remind me to make Clint and Steve piss her off on her bloody days *smirks and raises his brows suggestively at the camera*

"Oh! And she even gave me candy!" You nearly shout, going for the little backpack and unzipping it take out a blue plastic looking bag which looked like something straight out of your younger sister's newly opened business with much effort given to the packaging and the brand. An outline of a herb adorned the logo while a few imprints of languages unknown to you were written below it. "And I am not sharing it with anyone." Loki scoffed, looking at you while slowly putting the delicious-looking bao-bao in his mouth, making you wrinkle your nose before opening your own collection of fluffy marshmallow-like collection and putting one in your mouth. "Oh dang! It's cheesy!" You babbled through your full mouth, gasping with a sudden revelation. "Ooooh!! And spicy!" Loki chuckled and turned his whole body towards you. "Oh come on now, Y/N. You don't have to pretend to give your little trinkets flavours to tease..." His voice drowned when his sight apparently fell on the packet you were holding while gobbling down your second treat. "This one's minty," you added with a wiggle of your brows and a huge smile on your face. "...me," he barely whispered, his attention only on the packet with his eyes narrowing on the foreign words written over it. The bun resting in Loki's hand dropped into his lap for Lulu to make it disappear within less than a second. Loki's hand came for the packet but your reflexes were too good today to let him lay his claws on it. "Oh you aren't getting any," you gasped at his audacity. "I don't want to ea-" Loki snapped himself and moved his hand towards the packet- "let me see the packet." Silence. "Y/N." Your hand went inside the packet for another snack. "Y/N," he called out sweetly with a hint of caution. You popped the little ball of crunch in your mouth. He leapt halfway towards the packet, his hand reaching and almost grabbing your newfound treasure. "Stay. Away," you command with your eyes. "I just want to see the pack-" he leapt again and this time grabbed your back instead while the snacks were raised away from him. "Really?" "You're not getting any!" Loki was lying over your now. Both of you were grunting and squirming; Loki trying to lock his arms around your waist to push you down while you anchored your free hand on the edge of the floating buggy. "Give me the packet!" He roared. "No!" You growled back and hissed at him without turning around to look at his frustration lines. The God locked his legs around yours, using his one arm to restrain your waist and the other to tickle your armpit long enough to make you howl in a burst of laughter that ended with a blood-curdling sigh when he finally got the packet in his hand. "Aha!" He exclaimed, still not letting you go. "I hate you!" You wiggled inside his hold that didn't seem to work him much. "Why do you have to be so FUCKING strong!!" But Loki had all his attention on the package by now. His glow of victory faded as fast as it came when his eyes went over the print, the shades turning from a subtle shade of confusion to a much denser stroke of fear. "Wha-no...no!" Loki looked at your scowling face cursing him left and right. "How many have you eaten?" "Oh screw you!" "Y/N! How many have you eaten?!!!" All the rage in your pupils melted into full-blown innocent kitten eyes. "A few," you whispered. Loki- his lips parted in question with the nearest star hitting his pale face from the side to let his green eyes glow with the reflection coming from your white tank top- tilted his head to judge you with a raised brow. Your lips parted just like his but in heavy bewilderment of the sorts that one does not usually let out before turning to share a look with a camera.

You: *tilt head* was he always this...poetically beautiful?

You mumbled something under your breath with your eyes darting away from his face. "Y/N." "I said I had some at grandmama's place." A muted yet sophisticated gasp came out of Loki's mouth. "How many exactly?" "....Six or seve-" "We can still fix this-" "-teen?" Any hope bubbling in the God's eyes suddenly evaporated when he looked into a camera with a newfound fear.

Loki: This candy *raises the packet to show to the camera* is a sort of soother. It releases the tension in your muscles and helps in better blood circulation along with improving focus, increasing the stamina and...making everything quite...brighter? *sucks on his teeth* *looks at his feet while still holding the packet in frame* All of this happens when you consume two candies. *camera pans in on the artificial smile on Loki's face as he looks back at the lens* *whispers with a strain in his voice* she's had seventeen.

WAP Boys The flatscreen showed Loki gasping in sheer horror while the mute icon activated right over his disparate shade of horror as compared to your confused one. The same camera shifted from the huge screen towards the group gathered in the lounge, trying to figure out who did it. Scott, Peter and Sam were busy teaching Bucky and Steve while Vision made everyone some fizzy lemonade. Wanda searched for the WAP dance videos online while Natasha sat on the sofa- closest to the screen- making videos of the boys. For a second she revered her eyes from the screen to look at the camera sideways. A fleeting second, a straight face and the single silent entity in the chaos was all it took for the Black Widow to blink at the camera before going back to her phone. "There is no way I can do tha-" Steve was trying his best with his hands raised up to his chest in defeat. "Oh, come on, Cap," Scott begged, "you don't even have to do much. You just wiggle a little and your beautiful bouncy ass will do the rest of the work." Steve started to speak but stopped to give a hyperexcited Scott an expression filled with so many questions. "Word," Sam chimed in from behind Steve before gulping down his share of lemonade as he walked towards the sofa, getting a frown from Steve as a response. "Amen," Bucky announced whilst looking at the camera with a nascent smirk as he sipped his lemonade, at the same time trying to push his hair back. The 'really, Bucky?' look on Steve's face was a sweet bonus to already blushing owner of America's ass. "What the hell is happening?!" The unprecedented surprise in the familiar voice put everyone's metaphorical tails into one collective bushy goosebump. All the cameras shifted to a stunned yet stoic Tony Stark standing by the entrance of the lounge while everyone else tried to calm their heartbeats and look for an explanation.

Scott: I actually thought I was gonna get kicked out and so *shrugs*

"He did that!" Scott blurted out while pointing at the empty loveseat. Tony narrowed his eyes at him and the poor Antman found himself at a loss of words. "We were-" Steve paused for a second to give a quick look at everyone's faces before scratching an itch behind his ear- "learning a...a new dance?" "..." "It's the WAP!" Peter acknowledged with quite the enthusiasm till the wide cautious eyes of three people standing around him made him realise what he had just said.

Scott: *breathing into a paper bag* Oh crap! I am definitely dead today. Stark's gonna kill me for ruining his precious baby!!

"You all-" Tony at everyone in the room- "are learning the WAP while I get the news about a deadly virus taking over the world." "What?" There are muffled gasps and confused looks shared before everyone gets serious.

"It's a flu. The scientists are calling it Covid. Dr Cho, Bruce and Shuri are working on the cure," "Who's behind this?" Steve's persona did a complete one-eighty. "Hydra?" "The Neo-Nazis?" "Oh! Illuminati?" "Apparently, it has originated from 'bats'. The Wakandans have a lead on the 'bats'." "Okay, everyone," Steve announced, "let's suit up!" "Woah! Woah-ho-hooo!" The camera panned in on Tony's posture that clearly said 'nobody's going anywhere'. "Where do you think you're going?" Silence. Everyone looked at Steve for an answer. "To find the root of this virus." Tony took a step forward, his head already held high as usual. "Not before I win the WAP." Scott's jaw dropped to the floor, him and the camera looking at each other at the same instant. On the other side, Natasha- lying on the sofa- scrolled through her phone. "Okoye has already taken care of the 'root cause', hasn't she?" she nudged Tony. He didn't answer that. For a few seconds. "Doesn't matter. I can still wipe the floor with his ass. With all your asses." "Okay okay okay okay okay-" Sam nodded, enjoying the playful tension between the boys. "It's on. It is on!" The camera shifted to Natasha, who was still sprawled upon the sofa, smirking at her phone. "Perfect timing," she commented with a wink before opening her phone's camera to start recording.

In the alien Buggy "IIIII Loooove you BABAYYYYY. And if it's quite ALRIGHT!! I neeeed you BABAYYYY to warm these lonely NIGHTS!!!! OH PRETTY BA-" The singing continued in the background while Loki sat defeated on the floating vehicle, focusing on anything but that singing. His lips ran in a thin line, really telling the spectator the limit of his patience. The tension was boiling in his muscles and yet he did not move an inch, just waiting patiently. "Oh my God Loki?" You sat up in a daze behind him, your mouth agape with disappointed horror. "We have been together all this time but you got your hair conditioned! And not mine?!!" Loki's palm tried its best to rub some of his own disappointment off his face. "I thought we were best friends," you whimpered with betrayal in your already watering eyes. The camera focused on Loki shifting as he went for his bag to take out a bottle of water and a small green sachet. His eyes were on the camera when he asserted ever so sweetly, "of course, we are friends, Y/N. And I'll tell you where I got my hair conditioned-" he opened the sachet and mixed the herb-like contents in the water- "but first you need to drink some water." The camera panned out to show you running on the rough terrain away from the alien buggy- while Loki kept talking to himself- hopping in excitement at intervals. "It will hydrate you and flush out those undesirable dru-" The d-word hung in the air when Loki found the space behind him empty. "Y/N?" He questioned in a tender tone, quite probably wondering you were hiding somewhere. The second time your name came out in urgency when he looked at Javier and Lulu sitting there in confusion. The third time he hopped down the moving vehicle- which, to be fair, moved at a turtle's pace- and looked underneath the levitating body. There was no fourth time. He just looked at Javier and Lulu, who turned to look in the direction you had dashed in. "Why didn't you stop her?!" Loki was restraining the anger so hard. "Oh, what do you mean neither of you can speak!!" By this time, Loki's heart was in his mouth, he was sweating and his breaths were shallow. Javier whistled at the rhino-like aliens pulling their buddy to stop. Getting down, he set his camera to Loki's side profile, conscious to maintain a safe distance from an untethered God. Licking his lips, he shut his mouth and took one deep breath with his eyes closed. The nearest star helped with its bright rays to let the audience know the clench of his jaw was an intense one. Opening his eyes, there was only one emotion that was visible on his entire being. "Fuck."

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panda-noosh · 4 years

Text

back to the bad days {Sirius x Reader}

Words: 12.8k

Summary: You made a bad decision the last time Sirius saw you. Now that bad decision has come back to haunt you.

Genre: angst

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions!

---

You stopped using magic the day you killed someone.

An accident. Of course it was an accident. You were young, just starting your sixth year, didn't know what you were doing. Sirius was the one who convinced you to come back, but he was never there, too busy with his classes, or making an idiot of himself and his friends to pay much attention to the lone wizard he dragged along with him. You were left navigating the life of a legal wizard all on your own, and it was scary. The world was scary.

You remember the day clear as crystal, and part of you knows you always will. It's not the kind of thing you forget. Blue eyes losing life, hands gripping your shoulders, lips uttering words of mercy that didn't need to be uttered, because already you were desperately looking around for something – anything – to stop the life draining from your victims eyes.

And that's what he was – a victim. A man who said a few choice words under the influence of Firewhiskey, a man who happened to cross you on a particularly bad day, a man who didn't deserve what he got.

The spell wasn't illegal, just harmful, something Severus Snape had taught you during your many potions lessons together. The man – you hadn't even learned his name – had approached you, and his words were slurred and you knew he was drunk, could see it in every step he took, but his flirtations still infuriated you. You uttered the spell beneath your breath, and suddenly he was grabbing you, howling out for help as blood poured from wounds now slashed into his skin, ripping his white shirt to shreds. He shook and tugged and tried dragging you to the floor with him, but you were stiff in your shock, unable to move or help, do anything useful.

People grabbed you, asked you if you were alright, and you couldn't understand why. You weren't hurt. You weren't on the floor, slowly bleeding to death.

You were let go without question. In fact, you were given pity. A spell gone wrong, something that happens to even the best of young wizards; nobody thought for one second that an innocent little Hogwarts student such as yourself, so hard working and determined, would ever utter a spell meant to harm another human being. It wasn't possible. They sent you back to the castle, and it was three days later that news spread of the man's untimely, brutal death.

Sirius tried so hard to get you out of your own thoughts.

Long nights spent sat in the Gryffindor common room, you curled up in blankets by the fire, not talking even as pain thrummed beneath your ribcage. Sirius watched you from across the room, the fire dancing in his dark eyes, arms folded over his chest, neither of you saying anything because everything that could be said had already been spoken so many nights before, when you had crashed into his arms and sobbed into his chest, repeating over and over that you would never perform magic ever again.

Sirius called you crazy. He said that was dangerous. He said you were innocent.

But he hadn't been there. He didn't see you, didn't see your anger, your quick-fire decision to hurt this complete stranger. You knew you were guilty, and that was all you needed.

“How long has it been?”

His voice was both soft and gruff. You never figured out how he could do that, soothe you and put you on edge at the same time.

“Y/N, how long?”

“Three days.”

Sirius closed his eyes, tilted his head back against the oak door frame. Upstairs, fellow Gryffindors bustled back and forth, getting ready for bed.

“You can't keep this up, you know,” he said. “It's gonna eat you alive.”

“Maybe I deserve it.”

“Maybe you should stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself.”

You didn't react to his anger., keeping your gaze fixed on the flames.

Sirius sighed, running his hands through his dark locks before he pushed away from the wall and stomped over to you. He grabbed your shoulder, pulling you to look at him. His eyes were black holes, jaw set, mouth a thin line. “Tell me what I can do. Tell me what you need, and I'll do it.”

“I need you to leave me alone, Sirius.”

“You're not using your head. You've heard Dumbledore's warnings-”

You shrugged his hand off. “I don't care! If Dumbledore had been there that day, he would probably want me dead!”

Sirius dropped to his knees then, grabbing your hands. “Don't say that. You're one of his most special students-”

“How can I be special when I accidentally killed a man with one of my spells?”

Sirius flinched back. He flinched, and that was when you knew it was all over, that you had lost everything. Family, gone. Friends, gone. Mental stability, gone. The one thing you thought you could keep was Sirius, and he had flinched.

You pulled your hands out of his, eyes watering before you could stop them. He looked to the floor, letting his hands drop into his lap as strands of hair fell over his eyes, his forehead, shielding you from what you knew was a look of disgust.

“I'm not special,” you whispered. “I'm not even good. I shouldn't be able to do magic if I can't even – can't even control it how I'm supposed to.”

“Y/N-”

You reached into your pocket, and you remember this part so clearly. The hesitation, the tug in your chest, like a chord was being severed. In seconds your wand was in your pocket, and you were twisting away from Sirius, turning to the fire-

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping round your wrist, your name yanked from his throat in desperation, but it was too late by then. Already you had thrown your wand into the flames. The wood splintered, crackled, tiny sparks shooting from the hearth. Your hands trembled, tears slipping from your eyes as Sirius bounced up and dashed forward, pulling his own wand from his pocket, trying and failing to utter a spell that could save the precious object you had just completely obliterated.

“Stop, Sirius,” you said as he uttered his seventh spell in quick succession. “It's pointless. I don't want it.”

He span. “Are you fucking insane?”

“It's not-”

“We have to get you a new one.” He stuffed his wand in his robes, grabbed your hand and dragged you from the chair. “Dumbledore will understand this is an emergency. I'll get the map, and we can dodge Filch – or I'll just send Ollivander an owl, but fuck, that might take too long. We need to get you one now. It's already been three days-”

The desperation in his voice had killed you. For just a second, you were ready to stand up and go with him, go along with whatever plan he had in mind, because he was Sirius – your Sirius – and the thought of hurting him had been unbearable.

That man, though. His eyes, his grip on your shoulders, his buckling knees, the blood that pooled around him as he lay in the grass. That wasn't something you could just forget. The image haunted you, kept you rooted to the spot.

“Sirius,” you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear you.

He paused, fingers tangled in the robes he was trying to pull apart so he could slip them on and head off to Ollivander's.

“Sirius,” you repeated, louder this time. “I'm not going. I'm not using magic any more.”

His hands had trembled. You remember staring at them, the veins bulging from them as he gripped the robes a little tighter, mimicking the tendons protruding from his neck.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “You know the risks. You know wizards can't just. . . they can't just stop.”

“I killed someone.”

“You didn't mean to-”

“You weren't there. You don't know.”

Sirius span around, hair wild, eyes even wilder. “I know you! I love you, for Gods sake! I won't just sit back and let you waste away!”

That was the first time Sirius Black had ever said I love you, and you were too far into your own thoughts to even pick up on it.

“It's not your decision to make, Sirius!”

He scoffed. “Oh, don't start that shit. Tell me it's none of my fucking business, like you really expect me to sit back and let you do this to yourself.”

“And what are you going to do about it? Force the magic out of me? Use the Imperius Curse?”

Sirius shook his head, trailed nimble fingers through his hair. “You're ridiculous.”

“Go to hell.”

And to this day, you don't know why it was that particular comment that made him snap. Something inside him shattered, you could see it happening as if in slow motion. His eyes dulled just a fraction before he swung his arm, a wide arch, and slammed it into the wall on his left. His fist darted through it, plaster crumbling around his arm before he pulled it out, grabbed his cloak and stormed upstairs to the boys dormitory, all without saying a single word in response.

You could only stare, stood in the darkness with nothing but the flames to illuminate the damage. Upstairs, people bustled around, tiredly asking each other what happened, if they had heard the commotion, if they should go down and check.

You could have fixed it with a simple Reparo spell, but your hands trembled when you tried, and the words wouldn't come. So instead, you turned on your heel and left the scene before anyone saw you, casting one look at the boys' staircase before disappearing along your own.

Dumbledore knows something is wrong.

The moment you step into his office, you see the recognition on his face, your symptoms screaming. You don't even have to explain yourself, not when you stumble towards his desk, clap your hands upon it and say, through gritted teeth, “Please help me.”

He tells you to wait. You tell him you can't move. He grimaces, exits his office and comes back fifteen minutes later, MadEye Moody in tow.

“What's going on here then?” Moody asks. By now, you're doubled over Dumbledore's desk, groaning at the pulse in your stomach; it doesn't even hurt too bad right now, but it's there, it's present, and it shouldn't be. It's a warning signal, each thump yet another countdown to another outburst, another outburst you cannot afford.

“I need you to accompany Y/N to Grimaulds Place,” Dumbledore responds.

Moody swivels round. “Have you finally gone mad, old man?”

“This is serious, Alastair. We can't wait much longer.”

“You won't even tell me what's happening.”

“I'm dying, is what's happening,” you croak out, finally willing enough strength in your body to lift your head and glare at the two men behind you, both of whom seem to think you're no longer in the room, or that you've gone deaf. “I don't know h-how much longer I can hold back. We need to leave now.”

Moody raises a brow, still sceptical, but he's always sceptical, so it doesn't matter.

Nonetheless, he sighs, grabs your arm and says, “I want answers as soon as you can give them to me.”

You can only nod. With a final goodbye to Dumbledore, Moody Disapparates out of the office, and in seconds, the two of you are landing on the front step of a house you do not recognise.

Moody grabs your arm when you stumble, dragging you into his side. “Keep still while I find the damn key.”

You press your forehead to the door, closing your eyes at the coolness. The house is small, a thatched roof, oak door, a front garden littered with beer cans and moulding pizza boxes; to the untrained eye, it looks abandoned, falling apart at the seams, not even safe enough to live in.

However, Moody pushes open the door after a few seconds, and you can see it is far from it.

It's dusty, yes, but it's clearly habitable. Stepping inside, you are engulfed by warmth that tells of a fire blazing nearby. Multiple paintings are covered up, wallpaper torn and moulding at the edges. There's a staircase to your right, rickety and dangerous. You wonder where the bedrooms are.

“Welcome to Grimauld Place,” Moody says. “Sirius! Sirius, get your ass down here now!”

Your head swivels round so fast your neck cricks. You ignore the sharp pain, eyes widening. “Sirius? Sirius Black?”

“The criminal, yes,” a smooth voice responds, one that certainly doesn't belong to MadEye.

You whirl around just as Sirius appears on the second landing, a glass of wine in his hand. He's wearing a black trench coat that hangs to his knees, his black hair dishevelled, poking him in the eyes. He's got a beard now, if you can even call it that, and he truly looks like he hasn't slept in years.

He's still awfully, awfully handsome, though, just as he has always been.

“This is a surprise,” he says. “I wasn't expecting guests. I would have cleaned up a little bit.”

“You would have got that house elf to clean,” Moody corrects, still gripping your arm. You're still staring, unable to tear your eyes away from Sirius. “Get down here, Black. We need to talk.”

Sirius sighs dramatically, like he's being put out, before gliding down the stairs. He stops right beside you, shoulder brushing your own, because he knows. He fucking knows, and it's driving you insane, and you're not well enough to deal with his bullshit today, not well enough at all-

“Wine, anyone?”

“Y/N needs a place to stay.”

Sirius sips the red liquid, staring right at Moody as if expecting further explanation. When Moody doesn't offer any, he claps his lips together and says, “And that's my problem. . . Why?”

“They're staying with you.”

He stiffens, glass still resting against his lower lip. “When was someone going to tell me about this?”

“Dumbledore only made the order about five minutes ago,” Moody replies. “And no arguments, Black. We don't have time for it, not these days.”

“So you want me to just sit back and take whatever Dumbledore throws at me, huh?”

You scoff. For the first time, Sirius looks down, and it may be a mistake, a trick of the light, but you swear his eyes soften when they rest on you. “I promise, Sirius, this isn't going to be a tea party for me either.”

“Why are you even here?” he demands.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words abandon you. How do you tell him the truth? It's been years, and so much has happened since the last time the two of you spoke, but that doesn't change the fact you're dying, that Sirius was the love of your life a few years back, that you two have history. Time apart doesn't make this news any less difficult.

You glance at Moody, a silent plea for him to take the reigns. His glass eye swivels to look at you before he sighs and says, “Y/N's magic is coming back against their will.”

And Sirius knows what that means. Every wizard in the wizarding world knows what that means. Slowly, his eyes widen, eyebrows furrowing, lower lip jutting out like he's going to start crying. Your heart leaps at the sight, the sudden and unexplainable urge to pull him in for a hug overtaking you. You have to remind yourself it's been years, that it will be most strange if you were to give in to those urges now.

“So you're dying.”

He says it so simply, and even though the thought has been in your head for ages, it's painful hearing it come from someone else – especially Sirius.

You shrug, tucking your hands in your pockets. “I might be.”

“Have you not used magic since-”

“I told you I wouldn't.”

“Sorry. I just thought you were a bit smarter than that.”

Moody pulls breath through his teeth, a sharp hissing noise making you and Sirius step away from each other like a pair of children just caught doing something naughty. “I didn't come here to listen to you two argue like an old married couple, alright? Dumbledore's sent out the orders, and it's my job to make sure they're followed; Y/N, you're staying here with Sirius until the boss says otherwise. Sirius, you're going to suck it up and make sure they don't kill themselves.”

Sirius scowls. You attempt a scowl right back, but a coughing fit grips you and you instead double forward, wheezing into your hand. Moody pats you on the back, uttering things like, “Get it out,” and, “Better out than in,” under his breath, like that is a comforting tactic.

You recover soon after, body deflating as it always does when this happens. You just feel so tired. All the time, you are left drained and trembling, but it's embarrassing to be in that state in front of Sirius. He just stares at you now, slowly blinking, like he's in a state of disbelief that this is really happening. You straighten up, pull your shoulders back and ask, “Where can I sleep?”

---

Sirius leads you to his bedroom once Moody is gone. He can't take his eyes off you. He isn't sure it would be safe if he did. He can't be sure he won't turn back around to see you tumbling down the stairs, unable to hold your own weight.

You just look so fragile. Sirius thought for sure he had gotten over his protective streak when it came to you, but apparently not.

With one hand on the small of your back, he uses the other to push open his bedroom door. He leads you inside, wincing at the bareness of it all; he never got round to redecorating, too busy lost in his own head to think about doing something useful around here. The concrete walls are bare, his posters torn down besides a picture of him and the others, his arm looped around James's shoulders as the others file in around them. They are all in their school uniforms, and it brings Sirius back to the times when you and him used to hide under the stairs after curfew and make out, just because you could.

It's no surprise when you head straight for that very picture. Sirius watches you from the doorway, the way a small smile appears on your face, strained and tight, but present nonetheless. You trace your fingertips over James's face before, without turning, you say, “I miss him.”

“We all do.”

“Little shit that he always was, I thought he was a pretty decent bloke.”

Sirius chuckles, slowly approaching. “He was. He would have done anything for anyone.”

“And Lily...”

Sirius closes his eyes. It's too late at night to be reminded of such things, too late to be grieving passed-on friends. Gently, he takes your elbow and leads you to the bed pressed against the far wall. You sit down obediently and look around. Sirius can't help noticing how your eyes seem to sink into your skull.

“It isn't much, but I wasn't expecting guests,” he says.

You shake your head. “It's just good having a place to sleep.”

“Did you not have a place to sleep before this?”

“I had a flat in London.”

Sirius raises a brow playfully. “Muggle London?”

You groan. “Yes, Sirius, Muggle London. There was no point in me staying in Hogsmeade if I wasn't even practising magic.”

“Which I still think was a very idiotic decision on your part.”

“As you've said,” you grumble, and Sirius can't help the quirk of his lips, your tone so childlike.

He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the door frame. “So you abandoned the wizarding world for good, huh? Does that mean you haven't kept up with everything going on?”

He knows it's a shot in the dark. Even those wizards who distanced themselves years ago would have heard of his imprisonment, his break-out. The government made sure everybody heard about it, that everybody was keeping a look-out.

You purse your lips and look to the floor.

Sirius sighs. “Ah.”

“I didn't believe any of it,” you say quickly, like there's something to defend. “It just. . . didn't make sense, but even the Muggle Prime Minister was talking about you.”

“Flattering.”

“But I never believed any of it.”

Sirius stares. You say that so casually, fingers plucking the edge of a blanket, eyes darting around the room as you continue your subconscious little inspection. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, so forcefully he thinks you might be able to hear it, and you're just sat there like nothing is going on, like you're not dying, like Sirius hasn't got the biggest price on his head.

He slumps down on the bed next to you, and it feels like he belongs there. Calm, soothing, natural, just you with your shoulder pressed to his, like all them nights in the common room where you would be so absorbed in your studies, and Sirius would just sit and watch you work in silence.

“Thanks,” he says. Simple.

You glance at him. “You're welcome.”

“You know who I met the other day?”

“Who?”

“Harry.”

He feels rather than sees your shock. Against him, your body tenses, head snapping round as if checking to see if Sirius is joking. He just smiles, sipping his glass of wine as you continue to gawk.

And then suddenly you're latching onto his arm like an excited school child, twisting around, forcing Sirius into eye contact. His grin of amusement breaks the surface, a chuckle escaping him as he latches onto your forearms to stop you tumbling on top of him entirely.

“Really?”

“He looks just like James,” Sirius replies.

“Oh my God, Sirius, that's amazing!” Your smile is wide, glowing. “Does he know who you are? Does he know you're innocent?”

“He does now.” Ever so gently, Sirius nudges you back to his side, though he keeps his fingers wrapped round your arms, so frail and fragile with the state you're in. “A lot happened the night we met. I tried to kill Peter-”

“Huh?”

“I tried to kill Snape, too-”

“Understandable.”

“Peter admitted to being the one who told You-Know-Who about James and Lily's whereabouts.”

No comment.

Sirius winces, sheepishly looking up. Your expression has shifted dramatically, smile melting into a gawk of horror, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed. Beneath his fingers, he feels the tendons in your arms tighten.

He swallows. “Yeah.”

“Did you know-” you snap, suddenly standing up. “I never liked that little fucker. Never liked him. Every time you invited me to sit with you at lunch, I would sit as far away from that little rat as the table would fucking allow.”

Sirius stumbles up after you, tries reaching for your arms but you pull away before he can make contact. Your teeth are gritted, eyes alight with something Sirius has never seen before – it's anger, yes, but it's different, murderous.

“Y/N, calm down,” Sirius says. “You're not well enough to be-”

“Did he get away?”

Sirius falters. “Harry didn't want me to kill him.”

“Harry didn't want-” You inhale, closing your eyes in your attempts to calm down. “Harry didn't want you to kill him.”

“He's a good kid. And besides, I was being irrational when I made the threat; I couldn't kill a man in front of three high school kids.”

Your hands tremble as you lower them to your sides. Sirius takes his chance, setting his wine down and taking your hands in his own, pulling you back towards the bed. You go without resistance, staring into space.

“Harry Potter is probably the only reason I didn't get shipped off back to Azkaban,” Sirius continues. “I owe him everything.”

You nod slowly. “I would. . . I would like to meet him if that's possible.”

Sirius draws back, raising a brow. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with the wizarding world?”

“Well, I'm here now, aren't I? It's a bit late for that.”

Sirius chuckles and nods, pulling you into his side, just because he can, because he missed the feel of your body against his. He hasn't checked to see if you're single, if you still have feelings for him like he has feelings for you – honestly, right now, he doesn't care. You're not pulling away. In fact, you almost seem to nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes so your eyelashes flutter against his skin, sending goosebumps stampeding.

“I'll send an owl,” he says. “I'd love for you to meet him.”

----

Harry Potter.

The world knows him as The Boy Who Lived. You know him as James and Lily's son.

There is no secret surrounding who the boy belongs to. The sharp green eyes, the ruffled black hair, even a pair of glasses that sit askew upon his face – it's like seeing them again, after so many years.

Sirius stands beside you when Harry appears in the doorway, two friends following close behind. You recognise the red hair of a Weasley the minute Ron steps through the door, but the other girl has to introduce herself as Hermione Granger, a Muggle born, apparently very smart when it comes to all things wizardry. Neither Ron nor Hermione are familiar with you, but Harry gives you the shock of your life when he meets your eyes and says, “You must be Y/N.”

Before you have a chance to get over your shock and reply, Sirius places a hand on your shoulder, gently drawing you back into him. “I might have told Harry here a little bit about you.”

“Oh?” You narrow your eyes at Sirius, to which he merely grins. It's one of those rare occasions where Sirius Black actually looks sheepish, as if prepared for a telling off. “What did you say?”

“Only good things,” Harry interjects, stepping forward and offering a hand.

The action is James. It's James, and it's Lily, and it makes your heart squeeze at the sight of it. You remember the first time Sirius introduced you to his friends – the Marauders – and how James had shaken your hand like it was some kind of formal meeting. You remember giggling, asking him if he was this formal with everyone, and he had replied with, “Only the people who can put my Padfoot in his place.”

You grab Harry's hand and say, “Are you this formal with everyone?”

He smiles. “Only the people who can make Sirius flustered. Seems like a hard skill to master.”

“Alright, enough of that!” Sirius exclaims, cutting between you and Harry with a flourish of his trench coat. “Introductions are awfully boring – who wants a drink?”

“Have you got water?” Hermione asks as Sirius herds all of you into the dusty, run-down kitchen.

“I have wine and white wine,” Sirius replies.

“I'll have white wine,” Ron says casually, though you don't miss the child-like, giddy smile he tosses to Harry at the idea of being given an alcoholic beverage.

You roll your eyes, sitting at the table. Sirius bustles back and forth like a madman, and it's obvious the reason why. Though the three kids don't seem to pick up on it, you have known Sirius on a much deeper level than them, can recognise the excitement glittering in his dark eyes, the way his hands move like there's a time limit. He's been locked in this house on his own for so long, it must be a relief of the greatest kind to finally have someone to cater too.

“So, when did you get here?”

You turn and look at Harry. He sits beside you, nimble fingers brushing against the tabletop, wiping the dust off and onto the floor. He does it so casually, without a care in the world that he has to, keeping his eyes trained on you the entire time.

“Yesterday night,” you reply. “Alistair Moody brought me.”

“Oh, he's mental,” Ron chimes in.

Hermione hisses, slapping Ron's arm.

Harry doesn't waver. “Sirius told me a bit about you before, you know. Just in passing. I know you had a history with him.”

“A little bit. We went to school together.”

“That all?”

You raise a brow. “Nosy, aren't you? Just like your mother – needs to know everything.”

A blush sprinkles his cheeks, a tiny smile forming. “The way he spoke about you just made it seem like there was something else going on.”

“Well, you're right,” you say, resisting the heat that claws at your neck. It's not like you and Sirius had a scandalous relationship – you were together for three years, held hands in the hallway, snuck out after curfew because you felt like it. It was a normal, beautiful high school relationship.

Harry glances over his shoulder to ensure Sirius is still busy with the wine before he leans forward and whispers, “Were you together?”

You stay quiet.

Harry groans under his breath, kicking the leg of your chair. “Come on. He won't tell me anything about it. Says it's personal.”

“Personal?”

“I think it was special to him, so he wants to keep it to himself,” Hermione suggests. “Even in his letter inviting us over here, he called you his special friend. It's obvious you mean a lot to him.”

“Oh, give me a break,” you scoff, leaning back in your chair, though you can't help but glance over at him. He's humming to himself, running a hand through his black hair, tipping wine into glasses, messing about with bits of bread that he tries to butter without magic and fails miserably in doing so. “Sirius and I used to. . . we used to fancy each other a little bit back when we were at Hogwarts.”

Hermione gasps, claps her hands to her cheeks. “You did?”

“Well obviously,” Ron grunts. “But we want details.”

“Mind your business.”

“Did you go out with each other?” Harry asks.

“For three years.”

The three kids go silent. You purse your lips, tilting your head back so you can call out to Sirius. “Is that wine ready yet?”

Sirius scoffs without looking at you. “You're not getting any. You're ill, remember?”

“Not ill enough that I can't have a drink.”

“I'm not risking it.” He looks over his shoulder, flashes a dazzling smile. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

Your heart leaps at the endearment, though you hide it by sticking your tongue out at him. Around you, the three kids share knowing glances, though none of them have a chance to tease before Sirius is marching over to the table, placing five glasses down along with a plate of bread.

He sits down next to you, claps his hands and says, “Well, isn't this lovely?”

“You've really lost the plot, haven't you, Sirius?” Ron says, picking up the bread. “How long has that butter been in the cupboard?”

Sirius scowls. “Just eat it, you ungrateful git.”

“We were just talking to Y/N about Hogwarts,” Hermione cuts in, giving Ron a glare that he responds to with a shrug. “Three years you two went out?”

Sirius stiffens. Neither of you have spoken about your history just yet – the conversation felt a little too heavy after last nights endeavours, after Sirius had seen you basically doubled over in pain.

“Were you in love?” Harry asks, aiming his question at Sirius with a polite little smile on his face.

Sirius scowls. “Just like your bloody father, aren't you?”

“Well, it's an honest question,” says Hermione. “James and Lily fell in love at Hogwarts, too, didn't they?”

“James and Lily were different,” says Sirius, though he shoots you a glance at the same time, as if testing the waters to see if this line of conversation will upset you. You don't look back, instead taking a sip of the milk he has placed in front of you. “Besides, Y/N left Hogwarts in the middle of our sixth year.”

Three sets of eyes swivel on you. It's Ron who exclaims, “You did? Why?”

“I got sick,” you reply.

“With what? Surely the safest place for you to be if you're ill is Hogwarts,” says Harry.

Sirius sips his wine and says, “That's what I said.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” you snap before turning back to Harry. “There was a lot to it. I don't expect you to understand.”

Sirius scoffs around his wine glass, leaning back oh-so-casually. “Don't pretend the boy is stupid, Y/N. You can explain yourself.”

“I don't want to.”

“Why not? It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

Why is he doing this?

You don't know. You can't pinpoint the moment his demeanour changed, the moment he seemed to think you were just being rude. You look over at him, an eyebrow slowly raised as your hands tremble in your lap, a silent plea for him to just shut his mouth and stop whatever hostility he has rising to the surface.

He raises his brow right back, waves a hand as if to say Well? We're waiting.

You swallow, turn back to the three kids who all stare at you with wide, expectant eyes. “I'm – uh – dying. Slowly. Very slowly. It's why I'm here.”

It kills the mood. Of course it does. It always does. People don't know how to handle death, the implications that come with it. As soon as you mention it, you are no longer a person, a friend, a relative. You're just. . . someone who is dying, someone who won't be there in a few years, someone people have to say goodbye to, detach themselves from so they don't get hurt.

Hermione is the first to make a move. Awkward, frigid, her hand slides across the table and rests upon your own. Beside you, Sirius hollows out his cheeks and looks away.

“It's fine,” you say, even though nobody has said otherwise. “It's. . . controlled at the minute. I plan on sticking around for a bit longer.”

“Blimey, Y/N...,” Ron mutters. “That's awful.”

“This is what happens when wizards suppress their magic, kids,” says Sirius, and he sounds so cheerful, so condescending that you nearly draw back and punch him in the side of the head. Even Harry, Ron and Hermione look at him like he's gone mental.

“Alright, Sirius,” Harry says. “There's no need for that.”

Sirius shrugs. “I'm telling the truth. It's unnatural, isn't it? Magic isn't just stored in our bloody wands, or else Muggles would be causing havoc left, right and centre – it's inside of us. It's who we are. Suppressing that is dangerous. It eats us alive.”

“As I'm sure they already know,” you snap, and that's when you feel it. The shift in your stomach, the sudden fire ignited in your veins that makes you jump, knee slapping against the underside of the table. Sirius doesn't seem to notice your sudden shift, as he continues casually making comments about something he doesn't understand, something he will never understand.

“Personally, there is absolutely nothing in this world that will make me stop using my magic,” he says. “And I recommend you lot adopt the same mindset. Life runs so much smoother when you don't fight who you are. Not only does it take a bloody enormous physical toll, but a mental one, as well. I know all about mental tolls, I'll tell you now, and they aren't good. Not good at all. Sometimes I'd rather take a kick to the bollocks than sit and steep in my own pity-”

“Alright, Sirius!” you exclaim, gripping the tables edge. “We get it! You're a fucking hero!”

His eyes flash, darting to you. “You get it? Finally! Just eleven years too late, huh?”

And that's when it breaks.

You make to stand, but your knees give out. Magic bursts from your fingertips, and it's not meant to be there, it's meant to be in your wand, it's meant to be in your body, stored away for when you need it. But it bounces off the walls now, red sparks slamming into the wooden cupboards, knocking down plates and doors and cutlery that sprawl across the floor.

You crumble along with everything else in the kitchen, gripping the cupboard door as you try to regain yourself, to draw back the magic. It hurts. It hurts, and you want to scream, but your throat is suddenly too dry, and your brain is working at a thousand miles per hour, so you don't even know what you want to cry out.

Harry, Hermione and Ron are by your side in seconds. Harry grabs you under the arms, hauls you off the floor. He's yelling at his friends, but you focus in on Sirius, now stood up, staring at the scene with his mouth open, a trembling hand covering his forehead. It makes you angrier, which only makes the magic flare up even more; he stands there and acts surprised, as if he wasn't ridiculing you only seconds before, as if he wasn't the god damn catalyst for all this.

You want to yell at him. You want to tell him to go to hell, but you can't get the words out. Soon, you settle into Harry, head falling back as he guides you up the stairs. Behind you, Hermione chastises a silent Sirius, but you can't hear what she's saying, not over the thrum of your blood and your magic and your anger.

----

Sirius hates himself.

He doesn't understand why he does the things he does. He never has. Even before Azakaban, he would sit in the principals office and wonder why he couldn't just. . . behave. Why he couldn't just get on like the rest of the kids. Why he always felt the need to stand out and make himself look like a tosser.

But he has never felt such regret than he does right now.

It burns in the pit of his stomach, definitely not the alcohol. He sits alone in his kitchen, one foot propped up on the rickety chair Hermione was occupying only a few hours prior. To his left is a glass of wine, which he downs as a way to drown out everything else; it's easier that way, especially considering he has nothing else to occupy his mind with. He's not allowed out, he's not allowed communications, and the one person he has to talk to now most likely hates his guts.

And he can't even blame you.

He was just angry, that's all. He's angry a lot these days, a default reaction to the simplest of things. You were just sitting there, talking amongst these students so casually, as if your magic wasn't eating you from the inside out, as if you weren't dying, and something about it just set him off. The memories, watching Ron and Hermione awkwardly sneak around their feelings – it brought Sirius back to his own Hogwarts days where you would act so bloody oblivious to every single thing he was trying to say to you. God, he could have kissed you on the lips, outright, in front of everyone, and you would still act surprised when Sirius finally confessed his feelings properly.

But he'll never get that chance, will he? Not after what he did today.

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. His flesh is warm to the touch, the fire crackling in the room behind him not doing him any favours. He doesn't dispel it, though, enjoying the atmosphere it brings. The crackling has the ability to distract him for seconds at a time, and he takes those seconds with greedy hands. He'll take any distraction at this point.

“You look a right state.”

Sirius doesn't flinch, simply tilts his head to catch a glimpse of Remus Lupin as he strolls through the hall towards the open kitchen door. Dressed in rags, pulling his gloves from his fingers, a lopsided smile on his stubbled face. Sirius raises his wine glass and chants, “Moony! Moony! Moony!”

“Shut up,” Lupin says, knocking Sirius's chin so his mouth snaps closed. He takes a seat, shoving Sirius's foot onto the floor. “Harry told me what happened.”

“Did he? Shame on him.”

“Christ, Sirius – what's gotten into you? This is Y/N we're talking about, isn't it? The one you used to snog under the stairs at school?”

Sirius grins, hides it against the rim of his glass. “Maybe.”

“You used to be head over heels for them. Why would you say all that?”

Sirius's grin drops. He sighs, placing the wine glass back on the table, turning to face his friend fully. “It's complicated.” Lupin stares. Sirius rolls his eyes. “And it's not like I don't regret it, Moony, because I certainly bloody do. I just. . . . I was in a bad mood. The heat in here is woeful, and-”

“And you're scared.”

Sirius raises a brow. “I'm not scared of anything.”

“You've been in Azkaban, faced Death Eaters, are the most wanted man in the UK right now.” Lupin tilts his head, examining Sirius with those eyes that have always managed to unsettle everyone – it's why he makes such a good teacher. “And it's the thought of losing Y/N that has you getting drunk on your own at ten at night.”

Sirius scowls, glancing at the wine glass – empty, refilled multiple times, a Muggle drink, to top it all off. Since when did Sirius ever enjoy Muggle drinks?

“You know, I think James and I always knew this was how it was going to end up,” Lupin continues.

Sirius's eyes snap up; James has always been a sort of unspoken presence between them, something they acknowledge, something they don't technically avoid, but will admit it is easier to just. . . ignore for as long as possible.

Lupin smiles softly. “We always said Y/N would be the one to mess you up.”

Sirius groans, throwing his head back in exasperation. “I'm not messed up-”

“The alcohol would beg to differ.”

“Y/N is dying, Lupin.”

The words are out before he can stop them, before he can even comprehend why he thought they would be a good idea in the first place. He isn't sure if Sirius knows, isn't sure if this is some big secret he should be keeping to himself – but it feels wrong letting Lupin tease him when he doesn't even know the severity of the situation. Hell, Sirius barely knows the severity of the situation, but he caught a glimpse of it earlier when he drove you to the point of collapse with his stupid passive-aggressiveness, thinking he was being funny.

Lupin stares, almost pityingly. “I know. That's why I'm here.”

Sirius lifts his head, brushing curls out of his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Dumbledore thinks he knows what to do.”

Sirius blinks, certain he's hearing wrong. “Come again?”

Lupin rolls his eyes and leans forward, taking Sirius's hand in his own; they're trembling, only slightly, and it's this movement that reminds Sirius that Lupin knew you just as long as Sirius did. Lupin saw you grow up just as much as Sirius did. Lupin probably cares for you just as much as Sirius does.

“Don't joke around, Moony,” Sirius whispers, shaking his head. “Don't give me hope. That's cruel.”

“None of this is a joke,” Lupin replies. “Dumbledore's sister, Arianna – you remember hearing about her, don't you?”

Sirius nods, dazed.

“She died of the same thing Y/N has right now.”

“Oh, charming.”

“But that just pushed Dumbledore to spend his life finding a cure. That's what he does in his spare time, for crying out loud – he sits in that office and he researches. He's found something that has worked on everyone he's tested so far. He's found the cure, and it's more simple than you might think.”

“Will it hurt them?” Sirius asks, because he can't help it, because he needs to make sure you'll be okay before he throws you into anything so uncertain.

Lupin looks down, and Sirius's stomach twists.

“Moony...”

“I don't know the details, Sirius,” Lupin says quickly. “But I know it has saved people's lives. I have hope it will do the same for Y/N.”

“I need more than just hope,” Sirius spits, and that anger is there again, puncturing the surface before he can catch it, shove it back down along with all the other sour emotions Azkaban planted in his brain.

“I know,” Lupin corrects. “I know it will do the same for Y/N, because Y/N's one of the strongest wizards I've ever met. Smart, capable-”

“Dying.”

Lupin purses his lips. “Dumbledore wanted me to fetch you both, but I thought I should give you some pre-warning before we leave. After what Harry told me...”

Sirius blushes and glances up the staircase, as if imagining you standing on the landing, staring right back at him, ready to forgive him for the shit he put you through.

He turns back to Lupin and says, “Give me till tomorrow afternoon. I'll talk to them.”

Lupin smiles, pats Sirius's hand once before standing up. His patched jacket gets caught on the chair before he pulls it loose, turns and says, “Have you two had a quick snog yet?”

Sirius throws the wine cork at him. Never changed.

----

It's light outside, but the house is dark when you finally wake up.

You know how long you've been asleep, because you've been in and out of consciousness, checking the time, ever since Harry and Ron tucked you into bed a few hours prior. It was dark outside then, definitely past their bedtime.

You get out of bed at long last; Sirius must be asleep by now, passed out drunk from the Muggle wine he was sipping all night. You will go downstairs, grab your stuff and leave – that's your only option. You can't live like this, under the same roof as the man who has never forgiven you for a mistake you made when you were seventeen years old.

Under the same roof as the man you never really got over.

It's hard admitting it, because you thought for sure life moved on. You certainly felt like you had, reading reports of Sirius's murderous tenancies, how he was the most wanted man in the world. Back then, it was easier to believe it all. You weren't by his side, had nothing to disprove the lies, so why would you think any different to what the newspapers were trying to convince you of?

But now you're back, and he's with you, and it's so difficult to look past the friendly, flirtatious smile he always has for you, the back and forth banter you have with each other that feels so . . . unavoidable, like you couldn't turn it off even if you wanted to. It's like you're school kids again.

The creak of the wooden floorboards sound eerie when you think no one else is around to hear them. Kreacher mutters to himself behind a closed door just down the hall, but you duck your head down and scramble past before he takes notice of another filthy wizard out of bed. The pain in your limbs is only minimal now that you've had your rest, so it's easy to dart downstairs and into the kitchen, where you switch on the light and-

“Fucking hell!”

You scream, can't help it.

Sirius stands up abruptly, knocking his chair to the floor when he spins around and stares at you. You stare right back, at his dropped jaw and wide eyes, the half-finished bottle of wine sat on the table behind him. His trench coat is gone, so now he's dressed in only a thin black shirt and low-hanging jeans that make him look so, so good, and you're positive he's doing it on purpose, trying to make you-

“When did you wake up?” he demands.

“For gods-” You make a break for the door. It's the panic that drives you, settling in your stomach, forcing you to move before you can properly comprehend what's happening. Sirius curses and rushes after you, so much faster with his legs being so much longer than yours, and his health being so much cleaner.

He skids on the wooden floor, scrambles back up and claps his hand on either side of the wall, blocking you in entirely. You growl, take a step back, get ready to dart for the fucking kitchen window if you have to, but Sirius grabs your wrist before you can move. His fingers are soft against your pulse, and sweat beads your forehead from the effort your weak body has just put in.

“Where are you going?” he asks, panting.

“Away. I don't know. Somewhere else.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Dumbledore sent you here for a reason.”

“Dumbledore sent me here to die comfortably,” you spit, taking no pleasure in Sirius's wince. “Let me go, Sirius. You're drunk.”

“No I'm not. Not drunk enough to let you go out there on your own.”

“You think you can stop me?”

He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, mumbles something along the lines of, “You've always been so stubborn...,” before he seems to remember you're still there, standing in front of him, though you don't even know why you are – you should be running away, getting as far from this place as possible, as far from him as possible.

“I have something to tell you,” he says.

You draw back. “What-”

Before you can finish your question, he tugs you forward and wraps his arm around your waist, lifting you over his shoulder. You scream again, thrashing your legs as much as possible with the grip he has around them, but he barely even grunts at the contact; months in Azkaban have really paid off in the strength department for him.

“Settle down, love, settle down,” he says, all-but-tossing you onto the sofa. You immediately snatch a pillow from behind you and lob it at him; he catches it with one hand, reminding you that he was indeed an avid Quiddith player at one point.

“That was uncalled for,” you mumble, folding your arms over your chest. “I want to leave, Sirius – you can't hold me hostage.”

“I'm not holding you hostage,” he scoffs, slumping down beside you. “Just sit still for two bloody seconds, alright? Moony came to visit.”

Your eyes widen. “He did?”

Sirius grins. “I love that you remember who that is.”

You slap his arm, turning your body to face him. “What did Remus want?”

“He just popped in to inform me that you might not have to die after all.”

You pause.

And then you're angry.

Angry, because Sirius can't be telling the truth. He's saying this to get under your skin, to make you stay a little bit longer so he can continue chastising you for the thing he hates so much – that you didn't listen when you wanted him to, that you made your own fucking decision back in the day, and he's never got over it.

You stand up. His smile falls, hands immediately reaching out to grab you, but you pull away before he can make contact. You're crying, fucking crying, and it's so stupid, because he's literally just said one thing, one thing, and you can't handle it.

“Fuck you, Sirius. That's a brand new fucking low.”

He shakes his head, dumbfounded. “What are you-”

“Why do you have to do that?” you exclaim. “That's just cruel. I've come to terms with death already, mate, so whatever little lie you've got rehearsed in that sick fucking brain of yours isn't going to work. It's not!”

Sirius stands so quickly. His face is all hard lines, nostrils flaring, hands snapping out to grab your arms before you can even comprehend he's moved. You've seen him like this only a few times before, but you were always the one dragging him back, always the one pushing him into a chair, kneeling in front of him, whispering to calm him down. Now you're the one who's made him mad.

And what right does he have to be mad at you when he's the one doing everything in his power to make you miserable? That's what it feels like. He's trying to make you feel bad, trying to make you regret your decision.

Doesn't he understand that you've lived with that regret since the day the pain started?

“I'm not lying,” he says. Simple. Easy. Like you should believe him. “I wouldn't – Jesus, Y/N, why would I lie about something like this?”

“You tell me.”

He groans, running his hands through his hair. “Just listen, alright? Just listen. Dumbledore has a cure. He told Moony about it, and he wants you to go and get it done. Dumbledore said this, not me. Dumbledore. If you can't trust him, who the fuck can you trust?”

You blink. You've heard it before, of course, the hope and everything that comes with it, but never from Sirius. Sirius Black, who was always so genuine, who never lies to anyone because he believes life is too short for that kind of thing.

Your heart thunders. “There's a cure?”

Relief floods his face. He stumbles forward, grabs your hands, pulls you into him, and you don't even fight him this time. You just stare up into his eyes, so dark and tormented, but so familiar, too.

“There's a cure,” he says, and it sounds like a prayer, like the first gulp of air someone takes after being submerged in water. “Moony's coming for us this afternoon. He'll take you to Dumbledore.”

You nod, can only nod. And then his words settle, and you draw back, narrowing your eyes. “Us?”

Sirius frowns. “You didn't think I'd let you go on your own, did you?” “Sirius, you can't leave the house,” you say. “The Ministry have eyes everywhere, all searching for you.”

Sirius scoffs. “I didn't become an Animagus for nothing, love.”

“It's too dangerous.”

He groans, throwing his head back like a child having a tantrum; you nearly laugh at him, just manage to swallow it down. “Fuck that! I've already made up my mind.” He looks at you again and taps the tip of your nose. “You're not the only stubborn one in this relationship, I'm afraid.” Before you can reply, he drops your hands and skips towards the staircase. “I'm off to get my nice robes on! This is a celebration, Y/N! A celebration!”

It would be so easy to sneak out as he skips up the stairs and leaves you on your own – but you can't. You stare after him, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. He looks so happy, happier than you've seen him in a while. Hope is not an emotion many wizards have these days, so it's a nice change to see it now. An even better change to see it in Sirius.

----

Lupin leads you to Hogwarts. Of course he does.

The grounds are familiar, even now, so many years later. You remember all of it, from the Astronomy tower to the Womping Willow, Filch's voice forever echoing angrily through the hallways for no reason anyone could pinpoint. It's all the same now as Dumbledore leads you to the infirmary, where a group of robe-clad wizards stand around a single bed, hands folded, waiting for your arrival.

All of it is very formal, and you find yourself reaching for Sirius's hand despite yourself. He's right beside you, having turned back to his human form as soon as you were safely within the walls of the castle. He squeezes your fingers, pulling you that little bit closer to him as you finally stop in front of the group of professionals, all of whom bow their heads, saying nothing.

Dumbledore turns. “Y/N, meet the Mute Brothers.”

You nod, unsure if that is greeting enough. Nobody complains, so you think it's decent.

Dumbledore opens his mouth to continue the introductions, but Sirius cuts him off. At his side, Lupin rolls his eyes, and you have to bite your lip to stop from laughing.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sirius says, stepping forward. “I don't mean to interrupt-”

“But it seems like you will anyway,” says Dumbledore.

“Who are these people? I've never heard of them before in my life.”

“Well,” you mumble, “you were in Azkaban for a while; there's a lot of things you haven't heard of.”

Sirius shoots you a glare. Lupin snickers.

Dumbledore sighs, placing a gentle, bony hand on Sirius's shoulder. “Mr Black, I understand this is a very nerve wracking situation for you; everyone who had the honour of being amongst you during your time at Hogwarts knows just how deeply you care for Y/N-”

“Yeah, so I want to make sure there's no funny business.”

“I have entrusted these men with my life on multiple occasions,” Dumbledore says, even as your cheeks heat up from the oh-so-casual way Sirius said he cared for you. “I would not dream of putting anyone in danger by throwing caution to the wind with something like this. Y/N is in the best hands right now.”

Sirius purses his lips. You step forward, grab his arm and gently draw him back until his back is hitting off your chest, and he's settling into your grip. He keeps his dark eyes trained on the Mute Brothers, all three of whom stand tall, heads ducked down to the point where you can't even make out the shapes of their eyes. They are awfully scary looking, but you trust Dumbledore. You know he would never put you in harms way.

“Now, Y/N,” the headmaster says, motioning to the bed. “If you would like to make yourself comfortable-”

Sirius whirls around and cups your face. You gasp at the sudden contact, find yourself melting into it almost immediately, like it's reflex. His dark eyes bore into yours, and it's only then do you notice the crease between his brows, the slight tremble to his fingers. You cover his hands with your own, giving him a watery smile despite the pain screeching along your spine; it's getting worse. You feel it getting worse just standing there, your body shutting down for no reason at all.

“I'll be okay,” you whisper.

Sirius leans his forehead against yours. “I know you will. I know. Just. . . be brave, okay? I'll be here when it's finished.” He looks at Dumbledore. “Will they be asleep?”

Dumbledore nods.

Sirius closes his eyes, releases a breath before opening them again, giving you a smile that is so forced but so appreciated anyway. “I'll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

You squeeze his wrists. “I know you will.”

And you do. For a reason unclear, a reason that probably makes no sense to the people who know Sirius Black only on the surface, you know he will be there when you open your eyes, that he will be the first face you see, that it will be a moment of bliss after whatever you have been through.

You let go of each other haltingly, fingers lingering on hip bones, eyes refusing to detach until absolutely necessary. You slip past him, slip past Dumbledore, pull yourself onto the bed and do just as Dumbledore requested – you get comfortable. The Mute Brothers glide towards you, robes brushing the squeaky clean floor, and then their hands are on your face, tracing your jaw with fingers made of bone, no flesh, staring down at you with eyes black as pitch, seen only from the vantage you are being granted.

Part of you wants to scream when they touch you, because they're so cold. So unnervingly cold, like they've been dead for centuries. And maybe they have been. With Dumbledore, you never know, can never tell. He gives only the most minor of details and expects you to follow along, and maybe you're dumb for falling for it, again and again and again, but right now, you don't want to die. You will do anything to not die, even if part of you thinks it's what you deserve.

The whispers start shortly after. The room is cast in eerie silence, but it's interrupted by those whispers, sharp and loud in your head. It's weird, how whispers can be the loudest thing in the room when you're the only one listening to them. They bounce around in your skull, words making no sense, spoken in a language you don't know. They're talking about you, about Sirius, about magic and dead men. You snatch words from thin air and translate them as best you can, but your eyes are getting heavier, heavier, heavier, and there's something heavy resting upon your chest, driving you into the mattress until you feel your ribs crack and break beneath the pressure.

You want to scream. You should be screaming, because never before have you felt such mundane pain – and that's what it is. This isn't the pain that comes with a spell, or a flick of a wizards wand. This is the pain a Muggle would feel, and it's weird, unbearable in a different way to anything you've ever felt before.

The whispers get louder, a chant now, like you're in a cult circle, listening to it from the sidelines. You try turning your head, try reaching out for Sirius, try telling him to make it stop, make it stop whilst you're still conscious, but you can't move, and your body isn't cooperating, and then crack, something inside of you snaps.

So mundane. So unbearable. You're being drained.

The pain slides into your chest after a while, and you are still yet to make a noise. Maybe you are asleep. Maybe this is all a dream, and any second now you're going to wake up in bed back at Grimauld's Place, or in Heaven – whichever. At this point, you'll take anything, anywhere over Hogwarts.

The pain in your chest is like an inferno. It burns, burns, burns, smoke rising in your throat, clogging your senses.

And then the darkness floods in.

Maybe the pain gets too much, and that is where it comes from. Maybe you're passing out from blood loss, because even for a wizard that is possible. Maybe this is all part of the spell.

Whatever it is, you let it take you. Anywhere would be better than Hogwarts.

----

“You're gonna make an indent in the floor if you don't sit down.”

Sirius continues to pace, back and forth, back and forth. His thumb nail is lodged between his teeth. His hair has been tugged and combed through with trembling fingers too many times to count. His trench coat has been abandoned; being worked up makes him sweat.

Lupin sighs, head tilted back, legs crossed. The two of them were dismissed to the hallway as soon as you went under, and Sirius hasn't been able to sit down since. He doesn't know how Lupin does it, how he can remain so calm and collected when something like that is happening in the next room over.

“Y/N is going to be absolutely fine, Sirius. Please just have a sip of tea.”

“We don't even know what they're doing,” Sirius replies, shoving Lupin's outstretched arm out the way. “I didn't even ask.”

“You trusted Dumbledore.” A loud sip of tea. “That's all anyone can ever do.”

“Bullshit,” Sirius snaps. “Did you see how creepy them Mute Brothers were? Just standing over us, looking like that fucking Christ the Redeemer statue.”

Lupin sighs. “Dumbledore wouldn't put Y/N in danger. I really think you're looking too much into this.”

“They were on their deathbed a few days ago, Moony,” Sirius grumbles. “Excuse me for being a little on edge.”

Lupin is silent for a moment. Sirius continues to pace, shoving his fingers through his hair yet again. It's the only thing keeping his hands busy, save for punching a wall, which he promised Dumbledore he wouldn't do before he left the infirmary.

“You still really love them, don't you?”

Sirius growls. “Of course I do. You know I do.”

Lupin smirks into his tea, looking at Sirius through lowered lashes; it's his cocky look, his I always knew it look.

Sirius rolls his eyes, flipping his best mate the finger.

“I think it's nice,” says Lupin. “You need a companion.”

“Nobody needs a companion.”

“Well, no, but you certainly need someone keeping an eye on you. You were going mental stuck in that house on your own.”

“Y/N drives me mental, too.”

“But in a good way.” Lupin smirks. “In a way you enjoy.”

Sirius glares at him, hates that he's right. He always felt a little ridiculous not moving on from you – it just felt weird. He read the online articles, locked up in the dorms after you left Hogwarts for good. James would tell him to go to sleep, and Sirius would throw the covers over his head and continue searching the web – yes, the Muggle web – for remedies to heartbreak. Slughorn had already denied him access to all forms of Emotional Numbing potions, so Sirius really was on his own.

The articles always told him time would heal.

Time never healed him.

But now you're back, and you held his hand earlier, and maybe that's enough. Maybe that's a sign. If you get through this, maybe there will be something to salvage...

“Do you remember when you two had your first kiss?”

Sirius closes his eyes. “Why would you bring that up?”

Lupin idly points down the hallway. “It happened right down there, if I remember correctly.”

“I'd prefer if you didn't remember at all. Peeping Tom, are you?”

“Well, neither of you were very subtle about it. I believe James called it desperate.”

Sirius scoffs. “James was always good with his adjectives. The perks of going out with the smartest girl in school.”

“What James and Lily had was beautiful, but what you and Y/N had was necessary.” Lupin pauses. “You were what each other needed.”

Ouch.

Sirius turns away, hiding his face. He doesn't like the cheesy stuff. He hates it, even, finds it difficult to comprehend. His life has been complicated from the moment he was born, dealing with a family that hated everything he loved, then going to school and being known as the idiot troublemaker, then being arrested for something he didn't do – Sirius has never had it easy. It feels weird – wrong, almost – to have you just fall into his life like that, so easily, with no fight whatsoever. You liked Sirius and he loved you, and it was as simple as that – you were his for as long as you allowed, and it kind of felt like Sirius was cheating the system somehow.

But Lupin's an outsider. He saw it happen. If he says it was necessary, then it probably was.

“I can't lose them again, Moony,” Sirius mumbles, voice just above a whisper because he isn't even certain he wants Lupin to hear what he's saying.

Lupin stands, places a timid hand on Sirius's shoulder. “You won't. You've got a tough one there, mate. And promise me, as soon as this is over, you won't fuck it up. I'm not pulling you out of that hole again.”

Sirius punches Lupin in the shoulder. Lupin laughs, makes to punch him back, but the two of them stop dead in their tracks when the door to the infirmary opens and Dumbledore steps out, the Mute Brothers gliding along behind him.

Sirius pulls out of Lupin's grip so forcefully that Lupin stumbles back and has to catch himself on the wall. Sirius doesn't even care, dashing up to Dumbledore, trying to run right past him until Lupin catches his arm and drags him back.

“How are they?” Lupin asks, panting.

Dumbledore nods, solemn as always. “Resting. All was well.”

Sirius could cry. He could genuinely cry, can feel the tears rising in his throat. He should say something, a thank you or a good job, offer them a fucking chicken curry or something – anything to express his gratitude right now, but he can't bring himself to talk. He turns, buries his head in Lupin's neck. Lupin laughs heartily, clapping a hand to Sirius's shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you so much.”

“You should know, however,” Dumbledore begins, and Sirius stiffens, doesn't lift his head, “that their magic has been drained.”

Sirius looks up. “What?”

Dumbledore sighs and steps forward. Sirius takes a step back.

“What the fuck do you mean their magic has been drained?”

“Sirius-”

“What the fuck do you mean!”

“Y/N was dying because they suppressed their magic for too long,” Dumbledore replies, and the calmness to his tone makes Sirius see red. Only Lupin's hand on his arm keeps him from jumping forward, ripping the heads off the creepy bastards standing like palace guards behind Dumbledore. “It was eating them from the inside out. The way to cure that was to drain them of magic completely.”

Sirius's stomach twists. You promised never to use magic ever again. It was pointless having it, and he knows that, he can understand that, but a wizard is what you are, what you have always been. In use or not, magic was once who you were; what person can hear that part of themselves has been ripped out of them without feeling heartbreak?

“They might be a little shaken,” Dumbledore continues. “Most people who wake from this procedure take a few hours to fully come back around.”

“What did you actually do?” Sirius whispers. “I want the truth, Albus, or so help me-”

“Sirius.”

He closes his eyes, inhales deeply, tries to keep himself sane. It's getting more and more difficult these days. He isn't sure he wants to keep trying.

“You can go and see them right away if you like,” Dumbledore continues. “Just be wary.” He glances over his shoulder at his comrades. “Thank you, fellows. I'll lead you out.”

And then he walks away.

As soon as he's out of sight, Sirius breaks free of Lupin's grip and dashes into the infirmary.

There you are, sweat dribbling down your forehead, skin peaked, hands trembling. Your eyes are cold, but you're not sleeping, just resting, just gathering your wits.

Sirius drops to his knees by your bed, whispering words even he doesn't understand. You flinch.

“Please don't whisper. Please speak up.”

Sirius brushes your hair from your face, tangled in sweat. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should never have left.”

“Where's my magic?” you ask, eyes still closed, a hint of desperation in your voice. “Why do I feel so light?”

Sirius closes his eyes. “They took it. They drained you. They – they said it was the only way to keep you alive.”

“It hurt. It really, really hurt.”

“You were asleep, love. They put you under-”

“I was asleep, but I felt everything.” You open your eyes, bloodshot, dark, haunted. “Am I going to live now?”

And that's just it, isn't it? That's what you came here for, and that's what you were given, no matter how you acquired it. A life for. . . .well, a life, because that's what magic is. Life. A way of life. A different way of life.

Sirius leans forward, forehead brushing your palm. Your fingers twitch, uncertain for only a moment before you raise your trembling arm and brush them through his hair. When he glances up, you're smiling softly.

“Am I going to live now, Sirius?” you repeat.

He nods, tears springing to his eyes. “Yes, my love. You're going to live.”

----

“I never thought you'd end up with a Muggle,” Ron says to Sirius. “Bet your great-great grandfather or whatever is turning in his bloody grave.”

You throw a can at him, hitting him in the forehead. “Don't call me a Muggle.”

“I believe the definition of Muggle is defined by 'non-magic folk.” Ron pops a grape in his mouth. “Which is essentially what you are.”

“Shut up, ginger,” says Sirius. They are all sat at the table this evening, Lupin, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Sirius and yourself. The moon has risen, and Sirius declared it was time for a game of cards. As of yet, no cards have been served, and all that has gone down is arguing.

“Will your kids be magic folk, then?” Harry asks, and he seems genuinely interested; Harry always seems genuinely interested when it comes to things about the wizard world, like he wants to absorb as much information as he can, make up for those eleven years he spent with the Dursleys.

Sirius shoots you a glance over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “Would you prefer magic kids or non-magic kids?”

You smirk, looking right back at him. “Let's worry about kids when you're not the most wanted man on the planet.”

Sirius pouts, standing up and waltzing over to you. Behind him, the four at the table get into a conversation of their own, though you have the tiniest suspicion that none of them are awfully interested in what the other has to say now that they have the chance to peek you and Sirius being affectionate. It's still so new to them, besides Lupin, who only cares because he feels half-responsible for the fact you and Sirius are currently engaged.

You're leant against the counter when Sirius reaches you. He wraps his arms around your waist, tugs you forward until your hip bones clip with his own, chests nearly touching. You look up at him and grin, tongue peaking from behind your teeth. Sirius beams right back.

“Do you wanna leave these lot to clean up on their own?” he asks, voice low, probably not low enough.

You chuckle. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would be mean. Half them cans are yours, anyway.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, pushing his forehead into yours. “But we gave them a place to stay. The least they can do is throw my cans away whilst I take my beautiful fiancée to bed.”

“What are you implying, Sirius Black?”

“That I am very exhausted, and I kind of wanted to spend the night with you before these brats decided to ruin it.”

“Oi!” Harry exclaims. “We can still hear you!”

Sirius flicks his wand. The kitchen door slams shut, making you jump at the volume. Sirius pulls you back into him and nuzzles his head in your neck, black curls scratching your cheek. Even after everything that's happened, pressing your hand to his chest still lets you feel the magic thrumming through his body, so familiar as you once held it yourself.

It's gone, but you don't mind. In fact, you find yourself happier, doing things you used to love now that your body isn't attacking you from every angle.

“Are you seriously not going to come upstairs with me?” Sirius mumbles against your neck. “I got you to sneak into the boys dormitory back at school, I can get you to come upstairs to our shared bed.”

“You can't make me do anything.”

“You've never been able to resist when I ask nicely.”

You roll your eyes, slapping the back of his neck so he pulls away, pouting. “You're such an idiot; I'll go upstairs with you, but you have to explain where we disappeared to.”

Sirius grins, already dragging you towards the staircase before your sentence is even finished. “That's fine. That's perfectly fine. I can do that.”

“I'm sure they know anyway,” you mumble.

“Yes, we do!” Lupin calls. “Have fun, you two!”

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter x reader #hp #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp fic #hp x reader #sirius black #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black x reader

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sethrine-writes · 4 years

Text

Devil-sitter May Cry, Ch. 7

Pairing: Dante x F!Reader, Vergil x F!Reader (Undecided)

Words: 2071

Warning: Vergil being Vergil

Story Summary: Low on cash and desperate for a job, you reply to a flyer for a babysitting position. Little did you know that the opportunity to watch over two special boys would bring your life so much mayhem and adventure…and, perhaps, a chance at a family of your own.

A/N: Whew, what a hot minute it’s been for this bad boy! I’ve not forgotten, just merely had a bad case of the “wtf should I do next?” But I got it figured out! Let’s get into the thick of it, shall we?

------

Chapter 7 - Not Necessarily Needed

Finding things that both V and Nero could eat together had become somewhat of a challenge for you.

Nero was the child every parent hoped for - nonplussed by veggies or fruits or temperatures, and cleared his plate every time with absolutely no fuss. V was the complete opposite, finding issues with flavors and textures at nearly every meal time and only eating small portions, though you could hardly blame that last part on taste and more on his underlying medical conditions.

Since taking up babysitting them, you felt you were starting to learn how V operated, taking careful consideration of the things he wouldn't eat and asking what it was he didn't like about the foods he ignored. It was quite the conundrum, but you were more than willing to learn how to incorporate things in a way that would be more enjoyable for him during mealtime.

So, you had promised to make the boys a special dinner that they would both enjoy, keeping exactly what it was a secret, much to the lament of two curious minds. Another evening scheduled for babysitting meant you would be in charge of dinner for the boys, so it was the perfect time to try it out.

Luckily for you, the little grocery store on your way to Devil May Cry wasn't terribly crowded. The inside was much bigger than you anticipated, however, longer rows of nicely lined canned goods and sections for both a tiny little meat market in the back and a nicely stacked produce section immediately to your right.

Despite yourself, you were immediately drawn to the stack of packaged strawberries on display, their sweet scent enticing you into grabbing a carton, and then a second one, for good measure. They would make a great snack later into the evening, and both Nero and V seemed to love them, much to your relief.

You smiled at the thought of the two boys, remembering what you had set out to get in the first place and beginning your trek through the store to find the ingredients you would need.

Peering down the aisles, you scanned the shelves slowly and with purpose, almost missing the pair of familiar faces at the end of one aisle and having to do a double-take when your mind caught back up with you.

It was rather odd seeing Vergil, of all people, in a grocery store rather than at the shop. It was almost just as strange seeing him dressed down from his usual get-up, though the nice slacks and collared shirt looked very becoming on him. He also seemed a bit more relaxed, though you weren't completely sure if it was because of the different environment, the clothing, or that he simply felt more comfortable-

You were staring, you realized rather abruptly, blinking a few times as you reorganized your thoughts, almost wanting to laugh at how easily your train of thought had derailed.

With an amused huff, you moved towards the pair, catching V's attention as you got closer. His eyes lit up considerably, and you were sure he was smiling excitedly, though it was thoroughly hidden behind the simple cloth mask shielding his face from his cute little nose downward. It was a necessary precaution, you knew, but it still felt like a crime to hide his sweet smile from the world.

"Papa, look!" he exclaimed excitedly while tugging at his father's hand, breaking away seconds later to excitedly wrap his thin arms around your legs.

Vergil didn't appear too worried that V had wandered away, and part of you had a feeling that the demon hunter already knew you were approaching almost as soon as you stepped foot in the same aisle.

"Hey there, V," you greeted with a chuckle, carding your fingers through his hair as he pulled back to look up at you with happy eyes. "I was just on my way to the shop, but I had to stop to get a few things. Looks like you and your dad had the same idea, hm?"

"We don't have anymore soup," V lamented, leaning a bit heavier against you in a feigned show of dismay.

"Truly a tragedy," you answered with a mocked tone of seriousness, smiling and winking at V when he peeked up at you. His following giggles were too precious for words.

"Where's your partner in crime, huh? Surprised I haven't seen him yet."

"Nero stayed home with uncle Dante," V explained, his voice lowering to that of a not-really-at-all whisper as he added, "they're working on something secret."

"Vitale," Vergil spoke suddenly, his tone baring a light warning. V gasped and popped his little hands over his mask-covered mouth as he moved back to his father's side. His eyes still held a giddiness to them when he looked back up at you, however, so he wasn't in trouble, just being reminded to keep the secret, whatever it may have been.

You looked up at Vergil, then, who seemed to still be focused on the selection of canned soups before him, seemingly deep in consideration, though you knew better than to doubt how very much aware he truly was of his surroundings.

"I'm surprised to see you without your, ah, katana," you spoke as a means of small talk, hoping you had remembered the style of his sword correctly.

"It tends to frighten the public without need of it," he replied matter-of-factly, eyes darting to you for a fraction of a second. "Why are you here?"

The question caught you off-guard, and for a moment, you felt as if you were being reprimanded for something you didn't know you had done.

"I...well, I had an idea for a dinner the boys would both like," you explained while looking down at V and smiling, "or, well, I hope they do, at least. I just needed to pick up a few things before-"

"You're not needed, tonight."

The statement alone shouldn't have made you feel any sort of way, really, but Vergil's intimidating self made it feel like a jab in the chest. It was just the way he was, succinct to the point of almost too harsh, too serious at times, but it still hurt for reasons you could not explain.

You were well and truly confused.

"Dante said you both had a job-?"

"It was canceled this morning," he answered. "Dante tried calling you, though claims you did not answer."

Your brows furrowed in further confusion before realization dawned on you.

With a quiet, barely muttered curse under your breath, you reached for your cell phone in your pocket, flipping it open to find you had three missed calls and a voicemail from the shop, of which you had labeled DMC in your contacts. From the time stamps, he must have tried to get a hold of you right after you left for the bus.

“This stupid thing,” you groused, frustrated and just on the side of embarrassed for basically having left the house for no reason.

“I’m so sorry,” you started aloud as you pocketed your phone once more, “I should have looked before I left the house. Stupid ringer hasn’t been working properly...oh, but that’s no excuse. I guess...I guess just give me a call on my home number the next time you guys need me.”

An apologetic smile crossed your lips as you looked down at V, who seemed to understand that you wouldn’t be visiting that day and held a particular kind of disappointment in his gaze.

“I’ll see you in a day or two, okay, kiddo? Say hello to Nero for me.”

You then looked back up at Vergil.

“Sorry, again. I’ll be more mindful to check my phone before I leave the house, just in case this happens again.”

Unsure how else to end the conversation, you gave a curt nod and turned around, mumbling about how stupid you were for not having checked your phone, of all the days to forget, c’mon, it really had to be today?

As you began your walk of shame down the aisle, you were unaware of the way V looked at his father imploringly, tugging lightly at his wrist to gain his attention. You missed the way Vergil caught on to the look his son was providing, missed how the usually stoic man’s intense stare followed you for a short moment, how his calculating gaze actually softened just a fraction...

"We don't have plans."

You paused in your retreat, turning back around to fix yet another confused stare on Vergil, who looked rather stiff all of a sudden despite having done nothing but intently look over the cans of soup before him.

"I'm sorry?"

"For dinner, that is," he clarified, gaze cutting over to you briefly, purposefully. "Nothing set in stone, though knowing Dante, he'll want to order in, as usual. It's quite tiresome, eating from the same three places everyone can agree on."

There was a moment of silence as you ruminated on what was said, feeling as if, perhaps, you were missing something. You may not have known Vergil very well, just yet, but you knew enough to figure that he wasn't much for saying things without intent, and it definitely felt like there was some intent hiding somewhere in his words.

Vergil's eyes cutting over to you once more had you jumping into action at their piercing intensity, stepping closer subconsciously and speaking nearly without thinking.

"W-well, uh, I did have plans for dinner...for the boys, of course," you stammered through, hoping you had caught on correctly to what was being implied behind his words, "and it'll be another hour or so before the next bus comes around. I'd be more than happy to cook for everyone, if you don't mind me waiting around."

You could see the line of Vergil's shoulders visibly relax, his posture not as stiff as it had been before, and it took you a moment longer to realize that the seemingly apathetic man had actually been nervous over what you would say. The knowledge alone was nearly jarring.

There was no way a man like him would be nervous over a woman like you. What a silly notion!

"I've no doubt no one would object to your presence, or your cooking, if the praises of young minds are anything to go by," Vergil responded coolly, "though for your recipe, do keep in mind how voracious the two at home can be."

"I've seen how much Nero puts away," you mused with a chuckle, "so I can only imagine what Dante is like. I'll make sure to double everything."

"If cost is any concern," Vergil spoke up suddenly, finally meeting you head-on for the first time during your impromptu meeting, "I'm prepared to cover anything you hadn't anticipated in your budget."

The sincerity behind his words was...actually rather sweet, if you thought about it. Granted, you hadn't anticipated needing to double the recipe, but you were certain you had enough to cover everything you needed. Still, that he had offered to pay the extra was actually very kind of him.

"I should be able to cover it," you answered with a smile. "Dinner's on me, tonight. You can cook for me, next time."

You meant it as a joke, following up your nonchalant words with a light chuckle. It was a moment too late that you realized your joke could have been misinterpreted or in poor taste, however, and you nearly spluttered in your haste to rectify yourself.

"Oh, I-I didn't mean it like- what I meant was-"

"It would only be fair," Vergil cut in, his icy gaze having moved back to the canned goods as he finally selected something from the shelf and placed it in his hand-held basket.

"Right, yes," you agreed in a rush of breath, mentally hitting yourself for being so damnably awkward in that moment.

You were a trainwreck, truly. And it wasn't even a Monday!

"I'll just...go grab everything, then. I'll, uh, meet you at the strawberries when I'm done?"

You were met with an affirmative hum, followed by V's excited little gasp as he looked up at Vergil, speaking for the first time since you had addressed his father with a much more chipper outlook.

"Ooh, strawberries?! Papa, can we get some?"

Perhaps you would only need one carton of the fruit, after all.

------

Tag List: @v-vic, @astridstark13

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc dante #dmc vergil #dmc nero #dmc v #dmc au #kid nero #kid v #reader #reader-insert #female reader #babysitter au

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booksalves · 4 years

Text

The Sound of Murakami

Try reading an excerpt from The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle to my curated playlist!

June and July 1984

Tuesday's Wind-Up Bird

Six Fingers and Four Breasts

When the phone rang I was in the kitchen, boiling a potful of spaghetti and whistling along with an FM broadcast of the overture to Rossini's The Thieving Magpie, which has to be the perfect music for cooking pasta.

I wanted to ignore the phone, not only because the spaghetti was nearly done, but because Claudio Abbado was bringing the London Symphony to its musical climax. Finally, though, I had to give in. It could have been somebody with news of a job opening. I lowered the flame, went to the living room, and picked up the receiver.

"Ten minutes, please," said a woman on the other end.

I'm good at recognizing people's voices, but this was not one I knew.

"Excuse me? To whom did you wish to speak?"

"To you, of course. Ten minutes, please. That's all we need to understand each other." Her voice was low and soft but otherwise nondescript.

"Understand each other?"

"Each other's feelings."

I leaned over and peeked through the kitchen door. The spaghetti pot was steaming nicely, and Claudio Abbado was still conducting The Thieving Magpie.

"Sorry, but you caught me in the middle of making spaghetti. Can I ask you to call back later?"

"Spaghetti!? What are you doing cooking spaghetti at ten-thirty in the morning?"

"That's none of your business," I said. "I decide what I eat and when I eat it."

"True enough. I'll call back," she said, her voice now flat and expressionless. A little change in mood can do amazing things to the tone of a person's voice.

"Hold on a minute," I said before she could hang up. "If this is some new sales gimmick, you can forget it. I'm out of work. I'm not in the market for anything."

"Don't worry. I know."

"You know? You know what?"

"That you're out of work. I know about that. So go cook your precious spaghetti."

"Who the hell-"

She cut the connection.

With no outlet for my feelings, I stared at the phone in my hand until I remembered the spaghetti. Back in the kitchen, I turned off the gas and poured the contents of the pot into a colander. Thanks to the phone call, the spaghetti was a little softer than al dente, but it had not been dealt a mortal blow. I started eating - and thinking.

Understand each other? Understand each other's feelings in ten minutes? What was she talking about? Maybe it was just a prank call. Or some new sales pitch. In any case, it had nothing to do with me.

After lunch, I went back to my library novel on the living room sofa, glancing every now and then at the telephone. What were we supposed to understand about each other in ten minutes? What can two people understand about each other in ten minutes? Come to think of it, she seemed awfully sure about those ten minutes: it was the first thing out of her mouth. As if nine minutes would be too short or eleven minutes too long. Like cooking spaghetti al dente.

I couldn't read anymore. I decided to iron shirts instead. Which is what I always do when I'm upset. It's an old habit. I divide the job into twelve precise stages, beginning with the collar (outer surface) and ending with the left-hand cuff. The order is always the same, and I count off each stage to myself. Otherwise, it won't come out right.

I ironed three shirts, checking them over for wrinkles and putting them on hangers. Once I had switched off the iron and put it away with the ironing board in the hall closet, my mind felt a good deal clearer.

I was on my way to the kitchen for a glass of water when the phone rang again. I hesitated for a second but decided to answer it. If it was the same woman, I'd tell her I was ironing and hang up.

This time it was Kumiko. The wall clock said eleven-thirty. "How are you?" she asked.

"Fine," I said, relieved to hear my wife's voice.

"What are you doing?"

"Just finished ironing."

"What's wrong?" There was a note of tension in her voice. She knew what it meant for me to be ironing.

"Nothing. I was just ironing some shirts." I sat down and shifted the receiver from my left hand to my right. "What's up?"

"Can you write poetry?" she asked.

"Poetry!?" Poetry? Did she mean . . . poetry?

"I know the publisher of a story magazine for girls. They're looking for somebody to pick and revise poems submitted by readers. And they want the person to write a short poem every month for the frontispiece. Pay's not bad for an easy job. Of course, it's part-time. But they might add some editorial work if the person-"

"Easy work?" I broke in. "Hey, wait a minute. I'm looking for something in law, not poetry."

"I thought you did some writing in high school."

"Yeah, sure, for the school newspaper: which team won the soccer championship or how the physics teacher fell down the stairs and ended up in the hospital - that kind of stuff. Not poetry. I can't write poetry."

"Sure, but I'm not talking about great poetry, just something for high school girls. It doesn't have to find a place in literary history. You could do it with your eyes closed. Don't you see?"

"Look, I just can't write poetry - eyes open or closed. I've never done it, and I'm not going to start now."

"All right," said Kumiko, with a hint of regret. "But it's hard to find legal work."

"I know. That's why I've got so many feelers out. I should be hearing something this week. If it's no go, I'll think about doing something else."

"Well, I suppose that's that. By the way, what's today? What day of the week?"

I thought a moment and said, "Tuesday."

"Then will you go to the bank and pay the gas and telephone?"

"Sure. I was just about to go shopping for dinner anyway."

"What are you planning to make?"

"I don't know yet. I'll decide when I'm shopping."

She paused. "Come to think of it," she said, with a new seriousness, "there's no great hurry about your finding a job."

This took me off guard. "Why's that?" I asked. Had the women of the world chosen today to surprise me on the telephone? "My unemployment's going to run out sooner or later. I can't keep hanging around forever."

"True, but with my raise and occasional side jobs and our savings, we can get by OK if we're careful. There's no real emergency. Do you hate staying at home like this and doing housework? I mean, is this life so wrong for you?"

"I don't know," I answered honestly. I really didn't know.

"Well, take your time and give it some thought," she said. "Anyhow, has the cat come back?"

The cat. I hadn't thought about the cat all morning. "No," I said.

"Not yet."

"Can you please have a look around the neighborhood? It's been gone over a week now."

I gave a noncommittal grunt and shifted the receiver back to my left hand. She went on:

"I'm almost certain it's hanging around the empty house at the other end of the alley. The one with the bird statue in the yard. I've seen it in there several times."

"The alley? Since when have you been going to the alley? You've never said anything-"

"Oops! Got to run. Lots of work to do. Don't forget about the cat."

She hung up. I found myself staring at the receiver again. Then I set it down in its cradle.

I wondered what had brought Kumiko to the alley. To get there from our house, you had to climb over the cinder-block wall. And once you'd made the effort, there was no point in being there.

I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, then out to the veranda to look at the cat's dish. The mound of sardines was untouched from last night. No, the cat had not come back. I stood there looking at our small garden, with the early-summer sunshine streaming into it. Not that ours was the kind of garden that gives you spiritual solace to look at. The sun managed to find its way in there for the smallest fraction of each day, so the earth was always black and moist, and all we had by way of garden plants were a few drab hydrangeas in one corner - and I don't like hydrangeas. There was a small stand of trees nearby, and from it you could hear the mechanical cry of a bird that sounded as if it were winding a spring. We called it the wind-up bird. Kumiko gave it the name. We didn't know what it was really called or what it looked like, but that didn't bother the wind-up bird. Every day it would come to the stand of trees in our neighborhood and wind the spring of our quiet little world.

So now I had to go cat hunting. I had always liked cats. And I liked this particular cat. But cats have their own way of living. They're not stupid. If a cat stopped living where you happened to be, that meant it had decided to go somewhere else. If it got tired and hungry, it would come back. Finally, though, to keep Kumiko happy, I would have to go looking for our cat. I had nothing better to do.

I had quit my job at the beginning of April - the law job I had had since graduation. Not that I had quit for any special reason. I didn't dislike the work. It wasn't thrilling, but the pay was all right and the office atmosphere was friendly.

My role at the firm was - not to put too fine a point on it - that of professional gofer. And I was good at it. I might say I have a real talent for the execution of such practical duties. I'm a quick study, efficient, I never complain, and I'm realistic. Which is why, when I said I wanted to quit, the senior partner (the father in this father-and-son law firm) went so far as to offer me a small raise.

But I quit just the same. Not that quitting would help me realize any particular hopes or prospects. The last thing I wanted to do, for example, was shut myself up in the house and study for the bar exam. I was surer than ever that I didn't want to become a lawyer. I knew, too, that I didn't want to stay where I was and continue with the job I had. If I was going to quit, now was the time to do it. If I stayed with the firm any longer, I'd be there for the rest of my life. I was thirty years old, after all.

I had told Kumiko at the dinner table that I was thinking of quitting my job. Her only response had been, "I see." I didn't know what she meant by that, but for a while she said nothing more.

I kept silent too, until she added, "If you want to quit, you should quit. It's your life, and you should live it the way you want to." Having said this much, she then became involved in picking out fish bones with her chopsticks and moving them to the edge of her plate.

Kumiko earned pretty good pay as editor of a health food magazine, and she would occasionally take on illustration assignments from editor friends at other magazines to earn substantial additional income. (She had studied design in college and had hoped to be a freelance illustrator.) In addition, if I quit I would have my own income for a while from unemployment insurance. Which meant that even if I stayed home and took care of the house, we would still have enough for extras such as eating out and paying the cleaning bill, and our lifestyle would hardly change.

And so I had quit my job.

I was loading groceries into the refrigerator when the phone rang. The ringing seemed to have an impatient edge to it this time. I had just ripped open a plastic pack of tofu, which I set down carefully on the kitchen table to keep the water from spilling out. I went to the living room and picked up the phone.

"You must have finished your spaghetti by now," said the woman.

"You're right. But now I have to go look for the cat."

"That can wait for ten minutes, I'm sure. It's not like cooking spaghetti."

For some reason, I couldn't just hang up on her. There was something about her voice that commanded my attention. "OK, but no more than ten minutes."

"Now we'll be able to understand each other," she said with quiet certainty. I sensed her settling comfortably into a chair and crossing her legs.

"I wonder," I said. "What can you understand in ten minutes?"

"Ten minutes may be longer than you think," she said.

"Are you sure you know me?"

"Of course I do. We've met hundreds of times."

"Where? When?"

"Somewhere, sometime," she said. "But if I went into that, ten minutes would never be enough. What's important is the time we have now. The present. Don't you agree?"

"Maybe. But I'd like some proof that you know me."

"What kind of proof?"

"My age, say?"

"Thirty," she answered instantaneously. "Thirty and two months. Good enough?"

That shut me up. She obviously did know me, but I had absolutely no memory of her voice.

"Now it's your turn," she said, her voice seductive. "Try picturing me. From my voice. Imagine what I'm like. My age. Where I am. How I'm dressed. Go ahead."

"I have no idea," I said.

"Oh, come on," she said. "Try."

I looked at my watch. Only a minute and five seconds had gone by. "I have no idea," I said again.

"Then let me help you," she said. "I'm in bed. I just got out of the shower, and I'm not wearing a thing."

Oh, great. Telephone sex.

"Or would you prefer me with something on? Something lacy. Or stockings. Would that work better for you?"

"I don't give a damn. Do what you like," I said. "Put something on if you want to. Stay naked if you want to. Sorry, but I'm not interested in telephone games like this. I've got a lot of things I have to-"

"Ten minutes," she said. "Ten minutes won't kill you. It won't put a hole in your life. Just answer my question. Do you want me naked or with something on? I've got all kinds of things I could put on. Black lace panties . . ."

"Naked is fine."

"Well, good. You want me naked."

"Yes. Naked. Good."

Four minutes.

"My pubic hair is still wet," she said. "I didn't dry myself very well. Oh, I'm so wet! Warm and moist. And soft. Wonderfully soft and black. Touch me."

"Look, I'm sorry, but-"

"And down below too. All the way down. It's so warm down there, like butter cream. So warm. Mmm. And my legs. What position do you think my legs are in? My right knee is up, and my left leg is open just enough. Say, ten-oh-five on the clock."

I could tell from her voice that she was not faking it. She really did have her legs open to ten-oh-five, her sex warm and moist.

"Touch the lips," she said. "Slooowly. Now open them. That's it. Slowly, slowly. Let your fingers caress them. Oh so slowly. Now, with your other hand, touch my left breast. Play with it. Caress it. Upward. And give the nipple a little squeeze. Do it again. And again. And again. Until I'm just about to come."

Without a word, I put the receiver down. Stretching out on the sofa, I stared at the clock and released a long, deep sigh. I had spoken with her for close to six minutes.

The phone rang again ten minutes later, but I left it on the hook. It rang fifteen times. And when it stopped, a deep, cold silence descended upon the room.

Just before two, I climbed over the cinder-block wall and down into the alley - or what we called the alley. It was not an "alley" in the proper sense of the word, but then, there was probably no word for what it was. It wasn't a "road" or a "path" or even a "way." Properly speaking, a "way" should be a pathway or channel with an entrance and an exit, which takes you somewhere if you follow it. But our "alley" had neither entrance nor exit. You couldn't call it a cul-de-sac, either: a cul-de-sac has at least one open end. The alley had not one dead end but two. The people of the neighborhood called it "the alley" strictly as an expedient. It was some two hundred yards in length and threaded its way between the back gardens of the houses that lined either side. Barely over three feet in width, it had several spots at which you had to edge through sideways because of fences sticking out into the path or things that people had left in the way.

About this alley, the story was - the story I heard from my uncle, who rented us our house for next to nothing - that it used to have both an entrance and an exit and actually served the purpose of providing a shortcut between two streets. But with the rapid economic growth of the mid-fifties, rows of new houses came to fill the empty lots on either side of the road, squeezing it down until it was little more than a narrow path. People didn't like strangers passing so close to their houses and yards, so before long, one end of the path was blocked off - or, rather, screened off - with an unassertive fence. Then one local citizen decided to enlarge his yard and completely sealed off his end of the alley with a cinder-block wall. As if in response, a barbed-wire barrier went up at the other end, preventing even dogs from getting through. None of the neighbors complained, because none of them used the alley as a passageway, and they were just as happy to have this extra protection against crime. As a result, the alley remained like some kind of abandoned canal, unused, serving as little more than a buffer zone between two rows of houses. Spiders spread their sticky webs in the overgrowth.

Why had Kumiko been frequenting such a place? I myself had walked down that "alley" no more than twice, and Kumiko was afraid of spiders at the best of times. Oh, what the hell - if Kumiko said I should go to the alley and look for the cat, I'd go to the alley and look for the cat. What came later I could think about later. Walking outside like this was far better than sitting in the house waiting for the phone to ring.

The sharp sunshine of early summer dappled the surface of the alley with the hard shadows of the branches that stretched overhead. Without wind to move the branches, the shadows looked like permanent stains, destined to remain imprinted on the pavement forever. No sounds of any kind seemed to penetrate this place. I could almost hear the blades of grass breathing in the sunlight. A few small clouds floated in the sky, their shapes clear and precise, like the clouds in medieval engravings. I saw everything with such terrific clarity that my own body felt vague and boundless and flowing . . . and hot!

I wore a T-shirt, thin cotton pants, and tennis shoes, but walking in the summer sun, I could feel a light film of sweat forming under my arms and in the hollow of my chest. The T-shirt and pants had been packed away in a box crammed with summer clothing until I pulled them out that morning, the sharp smell of mothballs penetrating my nostrils.

The houses that lined the alley fell into two distinct categories: older houses and those built more recently. As a group, the newer ones were smaller, with smaller yards to match. Their clothes-drying poles often protruded into the alley, making it necessary for me to thread my way through the occasional screen of towels and sheets and undershirts. Over some back walls came the clear sound of television sets and flushing toilets, and the smell of curry cooking.

The older houses, by contrast, gave hardly any sense of life. These were screened off by well-placed shrubs and hedges, between which I caught glimpses of manicured gardens.

An old, brown, withered Christmas tree stood in the corner of one garden. Another had become the dumping ground for every toy known to man, the apparent leavings of several childhoods. There were tricycles and toss rings and plastic swords and rubber balls and tortoise dolls and little baseball bats. One garden had a basketball hoop, and another had fine lawn chairs surrounding a ceramic table. The white chairs were caked in dirt, as if they had not been used for some months or even years. The tabletop was coated with lavender magnolia petals, beaten down by the rain.

I had a clear view of one living room through an aluminum storm door. It had a matching leather sofa and chairs, a large TV, a sideboard (atop which sat a tropical-fish tank and two trophies of some kind), and a decorative floor lamp. The room looked like the set of a TV drama. A huge doghouse occupied a large part of another garden, but there was no sign of the dog itself, and the house's door stood open. The screen of the doghouse door bulged outward, as if someone had been leaning against it for months at a time.

The vacant house that Kumiko had told me about lay just beyond the place with the huge doghouse. One glance was all I needed to see that it was empty - and had been for some time. It was a fairly new two-story house, yet its wooden storm shutters showed signs of severe aging, and the railings outside the second-story windows were caked with rust. The house had a cozy little garden, in which, to be sure, a stone statue of a bird stood. The statue rested on a base that came to chest height and was surrounded by a thick growth of weeds. Tall fronds of goldenrod were almost touching the bird's feet. The bird - I had no idea what kind of bird it was supposed to be - had its wings open as if it wanted to escape from this unpleasant place as soon as possible. Aside from the statue, the garden had no decorative features. A pile of aging plastic lawn chairs stood against the house, and beside them an azalea bush displayed its bright-red blossoms, their color strangely unreal. Weeds made up the rest.

I leaned against the chest-high chain-link fence for a while, contemplating the garden. It should have been a paradise for cats, but there was no sign of cats here now. Perched on the roof's TV antenna, a single pigeon lent its monotonous cries to the scene. The stone bird's shadow fell on the surrounding undergrowth, breaking apart.

I took a lemon drop from my pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth. I had taken my resignation from the firm as an opportunity to quit smoking, but now I was never without a pack of lemon drops. Kumiko said I was addicted to them and warned me that I'd soon have a mouthful of cavities, but I had to have my lemon drops. While I stood there looking at the garden, the pigeon on the TV antenna kept up its regular cooing, like some clerk stamping numbers on a sheaf of bills. I don't know how long I stayed there, leaning against the fence, but I remember spitting my lemon drop on the ground when, half melted, it filled my mouth with its sticky sweetness. I had just shifted my gaze to the shadow of the stone bird when I sensed that someone was calling to me from behind.

I turned, to see a girl standing in the garden on the other side of the alley. She was small and had her hair in a ponytail. She wore dark sunglasses with amber frames, and a light-blue sleeveless T-shirt. The rainy season had barely ended, and yet she had already managed to give her slender arms a nice, smooth tan. She had one hand jammed into the pocket of her short pants. The other rested on a waist-high bamboo gate, which could not have been providing much support. Only three feet - maybe four - separated us.

"Hot," she said to me.

"Yeah, right," I answered.

After this brief exchange of views, she stood there looking at me. Then she took a box of Hope regulars from her pants pocket, drew out a cigarette, and put it between her lips. She had a small mouth, the upper lip turned slightly upward. She struck a match and lit her cigarette. When she inclined her head to one side, her hair swung away to reveal a beautifully shaped ear, smooth as if freshly made, its edge aglow with a downy fringe.

She flicked her match away and exhaled smoke through pursed lips. Then she looked up at me as if she had forgotten that I was there. I couldn't see her eyes through the dark, reflective lenses of her sunglasses.

"You live around here?" she asked.

"Uh-huh." I wanted to motion toward our house, but I had turned so many odd angles to get here that I no longer knew exactly where it was. I ended up pointing at random.

"I'm looking for my cat," I explained, wiping a sweaty palm on my pants. "It's been gone for a week. Somebody saw it around here somewhere."

"What kind of cat?"

"A big tom. Brown stripes. Tip of the tail a little bent."

"Name?"

"Noboru. Noboru Wataya."

"No, not your name. The cat's."

"That is my cat's name."

"Oh! Very impressive!"

"Well, actually, it's my brother-in-law's name. The cat sort of reminds us of him. We gave the cat his name, just for fun."

"How does the cat remind you of him?"

"I don't know. Just in general. The way it walks. And it has this blank stare."

She smiled now for the first time, which made her look a lot more childlike than she had seemed at first. She couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen. With its slight curl, her upper lip pointed up at a strange angle. I seemed to hear a voice saying "Touch me" - the voice of the woman on the phone. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

"A brown-striped cat with a bent tail," said the girl. "Hmm. Does it have a collar or something?"

"A black flea collar."

She stood there thinking for ten or fifteen seconds, her hand still resting on the gate. Then she dropped what was left of her cigarette and crushed it under her sandal.

"Maybe I did see a cat like that," she said. "I don't know about the bent tail, but it was a brown tiger cat, big, and I think it had a collar."

"When did you see it?"

"When did I see it? Hmm. No more than three or four days ago. Our yard is a kind of highway for the neighborhood cats. They all cut across here from the Takitanis' to the Miyawakis'."

She pointed toward the vacant house, where the stone bird still spread its wings, the tall goldenrod still caught the early-summer sun, and the pigeon went on with its monotonous cooing atop the TV antenna.

"I've got an idea," she said. "Why don't you wait here? All the cats eventually pass through our place on their way to the Miyawakis'. And somebody's bound to call the cops if they see you hanging around like that. It wouldn't be the first time."

I hesitated.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm the only one here. The two of us can sit in the sun and wait for the cat to show up. I'll help. I've got twenty-twenty vision."

I looked at my watch. Two twenty-six. All I had to do today before it got dark was take in the laundry and fix dinner.

I went in through the gate and followed the girl across the lawn. She dragged her right leg slightly. She took a few steps, stopped, and turned to face me.

"I got thrown from the back of a motorcycle," she said, as if it hardly mattered.

A large oak tree stood at the point where the yard's lawn gave out. Under the tree sat two canvas deck chairs, one draped with a blue beach towel. Scattered on the other were a new box of Hope regulars, an ashtray and lighter, a magazine, and an oversize boom box. The boom box was playing hard-rock music at low volume. She turned the music off and took all the stuff out of the chair for me, dropping it on the grass. From the chair, I could see into the yard of the vacant house - the stone bird, the goldenrod, the chain-link fence. The girl had probably been watching me the whole time I was there.

The yard of this house was very large. It had a broad, sloping lawn dotted with clumps of trees. To the left of the deck chairs was a rather large concrete-lined pond, its empty bottom exposed to the sun. Judging from its greenish tinge, it had been without water for some time. We sat with our backs to the house, which was visible through a screen of trees. The house was neither large nor lavish in its construction. Only the yard gave an impression of large size, and it was well manicured.

"What a big yard," I said, looking around. "It must be a pain to take care of."

"Must be."

"I used to work for a lawn-mowing company when I was a kid."

"Oh?" She was obviously not interested in lawns.

"Are you always here alone?" I asked.

"Yeah. Always. Except a maid comes mornings and evenings. During the day it's just me. Alone. Want a cold drink? We've got beer."

"No, thanks."

"Really? Don't be shy."

I shook my head. "Don't you go to school?"

"Don't you go to work?"

"No work to go to."

"Lost your job?"

"Sort of. I quit a few weeks ago."

"What kind of job?"

"I was a lawyer's gofer. I'd go to different government offices to pick up documents, put materials in order, check on legal precedents, handle court procedures - that kind of stuff."

"But you quit."

"Yeah."

"Does your wife have a job?"

"She does."

The pigeon across the way must have stopped its cooing and gone off somewhere. I suddenly realized that a deep silence lay all around me.

"Right over there is where the cats go through," she said, pointing toward the far side of the lawn. "See the incinerator in the Takitanis' yard? They come under the fence at that point, cut across the grass, and go out under the gate to the yard across the way. They always follow exactly the same route."

She perched her sunglasses on her forehead, squinted at the yard, and lowered her glasses again, exhaling a cloud of smoke. In the interval, I saw that she had a two-inch cut next to her left eye - the kind of cut that would probably leave a scar the rest of her life. The dark sunglasses were probably meant to hide the wound. The girl's face was not a particularly beautiful one, but there was something attractive about it, probably the lively eyes or the unusual shape of the lips.

"Do you know about the Miyawakis?" she asked.

"Not a thing," I said.

"They're the ones who lived in the vacant house. A very proper family. They had two daughters, both in a private girls' school. Mr. Miyawaki owned a few family restaurants."

"Why'd they leave?"

"Maybe he was in debt. It was like they ran away - just cleared out one night. About a year ago, I think. Left the place to rot and breed cats. My mother's always complaining."

"Are there so many cats in there?"

Cigarette in her lips, the girl looked up at the sky.

"All kinds of cats. Some losing their fur, some with one eye . . . and where the other eye used to be, a lump of raw flesh. Yuck!"

I nodded.

"I've got a relative with six fingers on each hand. She's just a little older than me. Next to her pinkie she's got this extra finger, like a baby's finger. She knows how to keep it folded up so most people don't notice. She's really pretty."

I nodded again.

"You think it's in the family? What do you call it . . . part of the bloodline?"

"I don't know much about heredity."

She stopped talking. I sucked on my lemon drop and looked hard at the cat path. Not one cat had shown itself so far.

"Sure you don't want something to drink?" she asked. "I'm going to have a Coke."

I said I didn't need a drink.

She left her deck chair and disappeared through the trees, dragging her bad leg slightly. I picked up her magazine from the grass and leafed through it. Much to my surprise, it turned out to be a men's magazine, one of the glossy monthlies. The woman in the foldout wore thin panties that showed her slit and pubic hair. She sat on a stool with her legs spread out at weird angles. With a sigh, I put the magazine back, folded my hands on my chest, and focused on the cat path again.

A very long time went by before the girl came back, with a Coke in her hand. The heat was getting to me. Sitting under the sun, I felt my brain fogging over. The last thing I wanted to do was think.

"Tell me," she said, picking up her earlier conversation. "If you were in love with a girl and she turned out to have six fingers, what would you do?"

"Sell her to the circus," I answered.

"Really?"

"No, of course not," I said. "I'm kidding. I don't think it would bother me."

"Even if your kids might inherit it?"

I took a moment to think about that.

"No, I really don't think it would bother me. What harm would an extra finger do?"

"What if she had four breasts?"

I thought about that too.

"I don't know."

Four breasts? This kind of thing could go on forever. I decided to change the subject.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Sixteen," she said. "Just had my birthday. First year in high school."

"Have you been out of school long?"

"My leg hurts if I walk too much. And I've got this scar near my eye. My school's very strict. They'd probably start bugging me if they found out I hurt myself falling off a motorcycle. So I'm out 'sick.' I could take a year off. I'm not in any hurry to go up a grade."

"No, I guess not," I said.

"Anyhow, what you were saying before, that you wouldn't mind marrying a girl with six fingers but not four breasts . . ."

"I didn't say that. I said I didn't know."

"Why don't you know?"

"I don't know - it's hard to imagine such a thing."

"Can you imagine someone with six fingers?"

"Sure, I guess so."

"So why not four breasts? What's the difference?"

I took another moment to think it over, but I couldn't find an answer.

"Do I ask too many questions?"

"Do people tell you that?"

"Yeah, sometimes."

I turned toward the cat path again. What the hell was I doing here? Not one cat had showed itself the whole time. Hands still folded on my chest, I closed my eyes for maybe thirty seconds. I could feel the sweat forming on different parts of my body. The sun poured into me with a strange heaviness. Whenever the girl moved her glass, the ice clinked inside it like a cowbell.

"Go to sleep if you want," she whispered. "I'll wake you if a cat shows up."

Eyes closed, I nodded in silence.

The air was still. There were no sounds of any kind. The pigeon had long since disappeared. I kept thinking about the woman on the telephone. Did I really know her? There had been nothing remotely familiar about her voice or her manner of speaking. But she definitely knew me. I could have been looking at a De Chirico scene: the woman's long shadow cutting across an empty street and stretching toward me, but she herself in a place far removed from the bounds of my consciousness. A bell went on ringing and ringing next to my ear.

"Are you asleep?" the girl asked, in a voice so tiny I could not be sure I was hearing it.

"No, I'm not sleeping," I said.

"Can I get closer? It'll be . . . easier if I keep my voice low."

"Fine with me," I said, eyes still closed.

She moved her chair until it struck mine with a dry, wooden clack.

Strange, the girl's voice sounded completely different, depending on whether my eyes were open or closed.

"Can I talk? I'll keep real quiet, and you don't have to answer. You can even fall asleep. I don't mind."

"OK," I said.

"When people die, it's so neat."

Her mouth was next to my ear now, so the words worked their way inside me along with her warm, moist breath.

"Why's that?" I asked.

She put a finger on my lips as if to seal them.

"No questions," she said. "And don't open your eyes. OK?"

My nod was as small as her voice.

She took her finger from my lips and placed it on my wrist.

"I wish I had a scalpel. I'd cut it open and look inside. Not the corpse . . . the lump of death. I'm sure there must be something like that. Something round and squishy, like a softball, with a hard little core of dead nerves. I want to take it out of a dead person and cut it open and look inside. I always wonder what it's like. Maybe it's all hard, like toothpaste dried up inside the tube. That's it, don't you think? No, don't answer. It's squishy on the outside, and the deeper you go inside, the harder it gets. I want to cut open the skin and take out the squishy stuff, use a scalpel and some kind of spatula to get through it, and the closer you get to the center, the harder the squishy stuff gets, until you reach this tiny core. It's sooo tiny, like a tiny ball bearing, and really hard. It must be like that, don't you think?"

She cleared her throat a few times.

"That's all I think about these days. Must be because I have so much time to kill every day. When you don't have anything to do, your thoughts get really, really far out - so far out you can't follow them all the way to the end."

She took the finger from my wrist and drank down the rest of her cola. I knew the glass was empty from the sound of the ice.

"Don't worry about the cat - I'm watching for it. I'll let you know if Noboru Wataya shows up. Keep your eyes closed. I'm sure Noboru Wataya is walking around here someplace. He'll be here any minute now. He's coming. I know he's coming-through the grass, under the fence, stopping to sniff the flowers along the way, little by little Noboru Wataya is coming closer. Picture him that way, get his image in mind."

I tried to picture the image of the cat, but the best I could do was a blurry, backlighted photo. The sunlight penetrating my eyelids destabilized and diffused my inner darkness, making it impossible for me to bring up a precise image of the cat. Instead, what I imagined was a failed portrait, a strange, distorted picture, certain distinguishing features bearing some resemblance to the original but the most important parts missing. I couldn't even recall how the cat looked when it walked.

The girl put her finger on my wrist again, using the tip to draw an odd diagram of uncertain shape. As if in response, a new kind of darkness - different in quality from the darkness I had been experiencing until that moment - began to burrow into my consciousness. I was probably falling asleep. I didn't want this to happen, but there was no way I could resist it. My body felt like a corpse - someone else's corpse - sinking into the canvas deck chair.

In the darkness, I saw the four legs of Noboru Wataya, four silent brown legs atop four soft paws with swelling, rubberlike pads, legs that were soundlessly treading the earth somewhere.

But where?

"Ten minutes is all it will take," said the woman on the phone. No, she had to be wrong. Sometimes ten minutes is not ten minutes. It can stretch and shrink. That was something I did know for sure.

When I woke up, I was alone. The girl had disappeared from the deck chair, which was still touching mine. The towel and cigarettes and magazine were there, but not the glass or the boom box.

The sun had begun to sink in the west, and the shadow of an oak branch had crept across my knees. My watch said it was four-fifteen. I sat up and looked around. Broad lawn, dry pond, fence, stone bird, goldenrod, TV antenna. Still no sign of the cat. Or of the girl.

I glanced at the cat path and waited for the girl to come back. Ten minutes went by, and neither cat nor girl showed up. Nothing moved. I felt as if I had aged tremendously while I slept.

I stood and glanced toward the house, where there was no sign of a human presence. The bay window reflected the glare of the western sun. I gave up waiting and crossed the lawn to the alley, returning home. I hadn't found the cat, but I had tried my best.

At home, I took in the wash and made preparations for a simple dinner. The phone rang twelve times at five-thirty, but I didn't answer it. Even after the ringing stopped, the sound of the bell lingered in the indoor evening gloom like dust floating in the air. With the tips of its hard claws, the table clock tapped at a transparent board floating in space.

Why not write a poem about the wind-up bird? The idea struck me, but the first line would not come. How could high school girls possibly enjoy a poem about a wind-up bird?

Kumiko came home at seven-thirty. She had been arriving later and later over the past month. It was not unusual for her to return after eight, and sometimes even after ten. Now that I was at home preparing dinner, she no longer had to hurry back. They were understaffed, in any case, and lately one of her colleagues had been out sick.

"Sorry," she said. "The work just wouldn't end, and that part-time girl is useless."

I went to the kitchen and cooked: fish sautéed in butter, salad, and miso soup. Kumiko sat at the kitchen table and vegged out.

"Where were you at five-thirty?" she asked. "I tried to call to say I'd be late."

"The butter ran out. I went to the store," I lied.

"Did you go to the bank?"

"Sure."

"And the cat?"

"Couldn't find it. I went to the vacant house, like you said, but there was no trace of it. I bet it went farther away than that."

She said nothing.

When I finished bathing after dinner, Kumiko was sitting in the living room with the lights out. Hunched down in the dark with her gray shirt on, she looked like a piece of luggage that had been left in the wrong place.

Drying my hair with a bath towel, I sat on the sofa opposite Kumiko.

In a voice I could barely catch, she said, "I'm sure the cat's dead."

"Don't be silly," I replied. "I'm sure it's having a grand old time somewhere. It'll get hungry and come home soon. The same thing happened once before, remember? When we lived in Koenji . . ."

"This time's different," she said. "This time you're wrong. I know it. The cat's dead. It's rotting in a clump of grass. Did you look in the grass in the vacant house?"

"No, I didn't. The house may be vacant, but it does belong to somebody. I can't just go barging in there."

"Then where did you look for the cat? I'll bet you didn't even try. That's why you didn't find it."

I sighed and wiped my hair again with the towel. I started to speak but gave up when I realized that Kumiko was crying. It was understandable: Kumiko loved the cat. It had been with us since shortly after our wedding. I threw my towel in the bathroom hamper and went to the kitchen for a cold beer. What a stupid day it had been: a stupid day of a stupid month of a stupid year.

Noboru Wataya, where are you? Did the wind-up bird forget to wind your spring?

The words came to me like lines of poetry.

Noboru Wataya, Where are you? Did the wind-up bird Forget to wind your spring?

When I was halfway through my beer, the phone started to ring.

"Get it, will you?" I shouted into the darkness of the living room.

"Not me," she said. "You get it."

"I don't want to."

The phone kept on ringing, stirring up the dust that floated in the darkness. Neither of us said a word. I drank my beer, and Kumiko went on crying soundlessly. I counted twenty rings and gave up. There was no point in counting forever.

#haruki murakami #books #book music

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tarithenurse · 5 years

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All is fair in Love & War - 16

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Probably a lot of spelling/writing errors as my brain doesn’t work, but I still wanted to post. And then the usual like pining, angsting, caring, scheming, wanting revenge, bad eating manners (nothing detailed), daring stunts, maybe cursing, death. Might have forgotten something. A/N: I’ve taken the liberty of tagging people who seem to follow, but if you do/don’t want a tag pls let me know. Tags at bottom of post.

16. In the dark of the night

As the columns loom above you, stretching toward a grey sky as they hold up a triangular façade decorated with scenes of the miracles attributed to that faith. It is not the religion that was practiced in the village you grew up. There, the focus was on very practical faith in the sense that prayers were sent to any deity willing to grant a good harvest or protect the miners from accidents. The temple in which darkness is shattered by candles and colourful fabrics is a place for big miracles which explains the steady stream of people coming and going. You recognize the tired expression on their faces, the desperate hunger in their eyes. It is not the first place you visit, and each holy sight held the same subdued sadness. Hopelessness.

“Lady [Y/N],” someone addresses you softly, “what brings you here?”

It is a temple priest, wrapped in the faded blue signaling his position within the order. The skin is lined as a result of caring for too many too long, and the hair on the part of his skull that has not been shaven is greying, making you think of plants withering in dead soil – too stubborn to die, yet malnourished. Most importantly, however, is the kindness radiating from him as if it could heat the air and welcoming anyone wishing to approach him like you do know.

Röskva is trailing behind you, keeping an appropriate distance to maintain the role as handmaid and mistress, but you know she is listening in on every word. Why should she not? No one in Midgard knows that she speaks their language.

“Father…?” You hesitate, feigning uncertainty in how to address the man, and he nods in approval. “What would a visit to a foreign culture be if the guest did not learn of every aspect.” Again, the slight not urges you on. “The holy houses of my homelands are of importance to us…yet I dare say not even the biggest temples see such a traffic as this.”

Sighing heavily, the father beckons you to follow. “Our people is…despite what you may hear at the palace…” As if tasting the words carefully before spitting them out, he chews on his tongue and lips for a moment. “The people suffers. War brings losses and casualty, that’s the nature of strife…but as oth-other problems are added and there’s no relief…where else can they turn to than the gods?”

“Hope, guidance and solidarity is food for the soul.” Take the hint.

He scans the corner of the temple aula where he has brought you. “What we need’s real food though. Clothes. Medicine to treat the illnesses that come with deprivation and poverty.” A fear flickers in his gentle eyes. “This war’s claimed to be for the people…the people win nothing, and the enemy’s false!”

“So…it is as I feared…” You do not have to act sad although it is a struggle to hide the victorious feeling surging through in the veins at the priest’s words. “If only someone could restore peace and care for the people…”

Leaning in conspiratorially, there is no hope in his face. “Several people have been deemed fit for the latter…the problem lies in the former part of the challenge.”

…

The tiny bottle gleams in the candlelight, the liquid within seemingly absorbing any light passing thorough the tinted glass which makes it appear like the Void itself. You have to handle it with care, never once removing the thin leather gloves that have been treated with wax. Just a few drops. The contents could kill everyone in the palace if mixed into the wine, but no…such a tactic is too risky because sometimes the servants enjoy a sip in secrecy. Thankfully, there are safer ways.

… LOKI’s PoV …

A new snowstorm rages, keeping the brothers inside the sheltering walls of Utgard. While Thor is enjoying the steamy bath facility and mulled wine while joking with all the servants, Loki has retreated to a painfully familiar room. This far from the kitchens, the keep is quiet. No voices or (because of the Asgardian brother) warbled singing is chasing away the winds’ howling or the echoes of memories, conversations spoken when the mood was bolder.

There is an uneasiness that has taken root in Loki’s heart the last hours, a restless worry that distracts his actions and guides every thought to the south where he knows he cannot go. Hands fold and unfold the grey shawl that used to hold the soothing scent of his little mortal but now smells of nothing else than wool. Maybe a bit of pine needles. Looking to the dresser, he sees that new twigs have been placed in a jug of water without his command – the servants have found their own ways of honouring [Y/N]’s memory and one of them is to not abandon the room as if it were out of use. This will not be her chambers when she returns. When. It is a small word that somehow has become incredibly powerful, causing Loki to cling to it because it is the only bastion against the dreaded “if”.

… READER’s PoV …

It has taken some planning and sweettalking to arrange for all of the Vanir in your company to be occupied elsewhere tonight. None of them are without at least three Midgardian witnesses. Although Röskva was visibly distressed at the knowledge of why it is necessary, she still went peacefully with a few of the maids under the pretence of teaching them how you want your meal the next day. Likewise, the men have gone to train in the barracks where it is certain that plenty of the castle’s soldiers will see them.

In other words: you are on your own.

Black clothing, soft leather shoes, the belt with tools of your new trade. All of it is fitting snuggly, giving you a sense of comfort as you sneak through the empty paths within the castle walls. Up and up you go, the directions memorized and tested several times to minimize the risk of mistakes, the time it takes to get from one place to the other…and to ensure you know how to hide from any possible pursuers. Crouching behind the shift in the wall, you fight down an eager to hurry. Take the time needed…wait for the snoring.

By the time you slip out from behind the pink and white panel to land silently on the marble floor, it once again makes sense to you why the king and queen of Midgard sleep in separate chambers: that woman is noisier than a rockslide! Still, the racket she produces now is nothing compared to her shrieks when she found out the servants took the discarded food and distributed it among the poor on their way home. Apparently, the queen would have preferred the waste to be burned or left to rot while the rats gorged themselves than see the hungry fed in the dead of the winter. The thought alone makes your fingers itch and shake with anger as you slip on the gloves.

There hinges on the door are perfectly oiled, granting you a silent entry to the bedroom where a single oil lamp is turned down low under the mother-of-pearl cap, illuminating the canopy. A cocoon of silk obscuring the target until you pull it aside slowly, carefully. And there lies the queen in her “peaceful” slumber. Ha! There lies the wicked witch…but even that analogy does little to steel your nerves as you pull out the vial and twist the cork out with shaking hands.

… LOKI’s PoV …

None of the food or drinks are tasteful to the host although Thor thoroughly is enjoying the feast. One would think that being a prince, raised in the Asgardian court, would provide a strict set of table manners…in fact Loki knows that it is not for the lack of Frigga’s patience that the older brother still eats as though he has starved for days. Normally it would bother the Jotun king immensely. Not tonight.

I should have left right away. Of course, the winter weather is not a deterrent for a Jotun, but it is for a mount. Traversing half the country (or what feels like it) on foot will take longer than waiting for the storm to pass and then ride. If only Heimdal…angrily pushing the thought aside, Loki drains his glass while considering half-heartedly what curses to cast upon the Keeper of the Bridge, his brother, his mother, anyone who has a hand in creating the distance between him and [Y/N].

Who would have thought that a simple mortal could gain such power over him? Hundreds of years have passed where he answered to no one and nothing but his own (sometimes questionable) conscience, where he did as he pleased without concern for the days to come. Much of that had already changed when Loki learned the truth of his origins, causing him to seek revenge on slights be they imagined or real, but that too is naught but a shadow compared to the responsibility and the connection he feels with this unassuming woman. The love and joy she has brought him is far too precious to lose.

Love is a wicked game. And still…Loki never plays a game that he does not intent to win.

… READER’s PoV …

The rattling sigh is still echoing in your ears as a ghost’s clamouring accusation when you reach a narrow window at the end of a darkened passage. The air is cold and crisp, caressing your face as you lean out to spot the balcony above that has been reduced to a black silhouette against a starry sky. Like icy crystals. For a few seconds, it is possible to imagine that you are watching the winter night from a different window, and it calms your thumping heart a fraction.

Rough rope skitters through your gloved hand. Upwards in a steep arch until the distant clink sounds, causing you to freeze with the stomach in a knot and pricking in down the back of the legs from fear that someone will have heard and come running. But nothing happens, and the delicate task of securing a grip with the tri-hook can commence.

It takes far too long, it seems, before you swing your legs over the balcony railing and allow yourself to lie flat on the cold stones. Sweat cools on contact, sending shivers through your leaden limbs. Or is the shaking from the exertion? It hardly matters right now, and either way it is a blessed distraction as your mind has somewhat quieted while you were dangling over an impenetrable darkness. Down below is the moat, dug to allow the nearby lake’s waters run around the castle’s perimeter as an extra fortification, but the water may as well have been a world away, invisible and only present in the mind. A sigh whispers by your years. Just the wind, nothing else.

It is time to focus on the task at hand and you push yourself onto your weak knees and from there to your feet although in a crouch. The metal of slender lockpicks tick against each other as you set to work, and a surge of pride warms you moments later when the lock clicks, allowing your access to king Gorm’s private chambers.

Hidden between the drapes, you take in the surroundings for the first time and are pleased to see how accurate the servants’ descriptions have been. A wardrobe with painted carvings and bigger than any single piece of furniture you have ever seen, the chaise lounge full of fluffy pillows all of which is standing next to an actual glass table with golden legs! And that is not even the half of it…but by then your eyes are glued to the shape partially visible through the velvet canopy’s crooked drapes. Already the little vial with the dark poison is resting in your palm.

There is no raging battle in your heart this time. Maybe there should be. Perhaps you have grown evil, becoming one of these individuals that you have taken upon yourself to rid the world of and shying no means to reach whichever goal you deem appropriate. This isn’t for my sake. It is a weak argument and you know it. Standing here is a direct result of the life you have lived and the sufferings you have seen. Of course, you could have decided to remain safe and sound in Utgard while pretending all is good…but then you would have had to live with a lie and a burdened conscience. If I was still here, I’d want someone to save us from the tyrant. So is that it? Are you a saviour?

Frustrated, you push the thoughts away. I’m pass the point of no return. Instead you call forth the hard memories of losses and pain, of hunger and suffering, of the carelessness with which Gorm and his noble fellows spend the lives of the people as if they are cattle for slaughter. And now there is no doubt. Stowing the tiny bottle in its padded pouch, your fingers curl around the handle of the long, slender knife. Dying in his sleep is far too kind for the man sleeping in the bed across the room.

The soft padding of feet is swallowed by a plush carpet. No reaction to the rustle of the curtains can be seen or heard as you study the king’s face with its content little smile and the speckle of drool at the corner of the mouth.

A leather-gloved hand clamps over his mouth the second you plunge the blade in between his ribs. Startled, bloodshot eyes meet yours. The exact moment realization hits the king is obvious, and now the little smile is on your lips, your face hot with rage and pride.

“Before you die,” you whisper to his face, causing him to pause his struggles at the difference in your voice, “know that I once fought for you – now I know better.”

...

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apotatomashedbybts · 5 years

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I'll Be Your Knight

[GENRE: fluff, slight angst

Pairing: Jimin×reader, Taegi

Soulmate!Taehyung , BestFriend!Yoongi

Word Count: 3.6k+]

[Summary: When Y/n met Jimin she knew that it was a love at first sight. But she didn't expect the consequences that came with loving him. After their unwilling separation will Y/n be able to do what it takes to get him back?

A story of love, loss, fight, dreams and friendship...]

CHAPTER VIII : An Unexpected Turn

Waking up at dawn I saw that Yoongs was already up! Waking Tae up as much silently as we could we went to the park for our daily routine. Returning after three hours we saw that they were still sleeping. I didn't know what I did to get such best friends but they were really the most precious ones one could get and also the most evil ones too. Tae and Yoongs picked Hobi up by his arms and legs and took him outside of my room, Hobi was still ducking sleeping. While going out the room Tae mouthed, "Enjoy your moment." and winked at me. I sighed at their helpfulness and turned my head to look at Jimin. He was just as beautiful as he was last night. I sat by his side and contemplated how to wake him up. I felt a rush in my heart to pet his hair. I stretched out my hand to touch his hair. My fingers were just about a few inches away when he suddenly woke up and looked directly at me. I became startled. Not knowing what to do I stuttered nervously after taking away my hand, "Y-you weren't up yet so I c-came here to wake you up. O-others are waiting for you downstairs. I am going too. Come q-quickly." I waved a nervous "bye" and somehow ran away from there.

Coming out of the room I saw that Tae was standing there waiting for me with crossed arms. "You are the stupidest human being I ever came across. How many times do I have to create opportunities for you? You are a complete embarrassment!" Tae whispered curtly. I smacked him and said, "Look who is talking! Let's go! He'll be out any moment!"

After eating breakfast we all headed for university. We had early classes so we finished our classes early too. The classes went pretty normal today too and that's a relief. I hummed happily after coming out of the university main gate and looked around for everyone else. When I saw them approaching I skipped towards them.

"Let's go to arcade games today! We are all free now anyways!" I beamed happily at them.

"Umm! Actually y/n/n I have to go home early today, so I won't be able to come with you guys. You have fun!" Hobi said smiling and went away to the bus stop after waving at us.

"What's up with him?" I asked confusedly looking at Hobi's walking figure. Turning towards Jimin I asked, "You don't have to return home quickly, do you?"

Smacking my neck Tae said, "We are not going to arcade today!"

"Ow! Why?" I looked at Tae.

"How could you forget? You don't love your unni at all! I'll tell her for sure to only love me, not you!" Tae hmphed.

"Oh no! Really, how could I forget? Unni is arriving today. We have to go help her unpacking! Shit!" I frantically looked at my watch and realised that we were late already. I turned my head towards Jimin and said, "Sorry Jimin we have to go! Oh wait, we can give you a lift till the neighborhood's main crossing!"

After dropping Jimin off we turned our car to go to Central Seoul.

"May be we should have brought him with us! Don't you think?" Tae said after we crossed two blocks.

"Why?" I asked Tae looking outside the window.

"Because you are sad, that's why! I think he likes you too! Then where's the problem? Just confess to him already." Tae said trying to make me understand.

I looked at him and to avoid the subject I asked, "What about you? Won't you tell Yoongs about your feelings either? If I would be in a relationship then you have to be too." I said, happy with my answer because that's how I felt.

I had made the mistake once, I won't do it again. If I get into a relationship Tae would be left all alone and that'd be painful for both of us.

As if reading my mind, Tae replied, "I won't feel lonely, don't worry!"

I knew he was trying to convince me by lying but as much as he cared about me, I did too. I just smiled at him saying, "I know."

"Noona! You have to treat us a buffet because your apartment is so big and luxurious that we had to be really careful and detailed. And it's also tiring, moving everything from here to there and again from there to here. It's so tiresome you know! Oh! And also the bathroom.."

Unni stopped Tae midsentence as he was rambling on nonstop after sorting everything and said, "Okay, okay! Now stop Mr. Tae Tae. You don't have to give so much excuse for a buffet! I'll treat you anyway. It's almost midnight and look at y/n! She is drooling while snoozing on the couch! I'll take her to bed and you sleep in that room."

"Noooo!" Tae extended the negative reply dramatically and said, "I have to go back home otherwise my mom and dad will think that I am dead!" Saying this he put his folded fingers in his mouth and started fake crying.

"You have an Overwatch match, don't you?" Unni asked narrowing her eyes at Tae. He giggled sheepishly and said, "I guess I got caught! He he!"

Everyone knew Tae really well, he was that predictable and everybody loves him for that. Unni patted his head and said, "Then hurry and wake y/n/n up! Your home is really far! Now I don't want your parents to think that I killed you two! Ha ha!" and both of them started laughing hysterically. Their laugh woke me up and I said sleepily, "Laughing without me? Not fair at all." And then I went back to sleep again. Tae hurriedly came over to me and said, "No no y/n/n wake up! We have to go!! We have to return home!"

I whined saying, "I don't wanna."

But Tae was not going to have any of my protest in his account. Saying "But we have to!" he picked me up with all his power on his back and walked towards the door. I began to kick my legs and hands in protest as Tae tried his best to balance himself! Throwing my hands in the air I whined loudly, "I don't want a piggyback ride!"

"Ah! You are driving me crazy! Y/n/n please let's go. I don't wanna miss my overwatch match and plus if you don't come with me now then I'll come here alone on Sunday for the barbecue party!" Tae said after putting me down with a huff. At the sound of the BBQ party my sleep blowed a kiss to me saying, "See you later!"

I smiled at him and said, "Why are you getting so angry Tae? I was just joking! Let's go home quickly!" And then turning to unni I said, "Bye unni! See you on Sunday!"

Coming out of the building I was wide awake and hungry too. So Tae bought me two chicken sticks as a kind of compensation. "You sure know how to treat a lady. Yoongi is lucky though he is not a lady!" I said while munching on the chicken pieces. Tae blushed and replied, "I know but you know what I would be more lucky if he ever loves me back!"

"I know Tae and believe me he does!" I replied reassuringly.

It was almost 1am when we were a little over halfway and stopped at a red signal. I was looking outside the window unmindfully when suddenly I noticed a familiar figure in the semi darkened alley at the side of the road. Because of the darkness it was difficult at first to recognise the person but at that time a huge truck passed by lighting the whole area and in that fraction of second I saw Mr. Moon taking a briefcase quite suspiciously from an even more suspicious looking man. Before I could call Tae and show him what I saw the signal turned green and the car began to move.

"What happened y/n/n? Why are you so on edge?" Tae asked without looking at me after we crossed the signal.

"I just saw Mr. Moon!" I exclaimed and told him what I saw earlier. "Mr. Moon at this hour doing such things, don't you think it's quite suspicious Tae? What if he is doing something illegal?" I thoughtfully asked him.

"Hmm! You are right. But we can't do anything or suspect anything without any solid proof! Let's keep our eyes and ears open!" Tae too replied thoughtfully.

"What about nose?" I looked at Tae pulling off a pig face and pretended to smell.

"That you can do. But I doubt if you can smell anything other than shit with that nose of yours." Tae replied laughing.

"Yeah! Like I can only smell you right now!" I replied laughing out loud.

"No! There's no way I am going to do it!" I denied shaking my head vigorously.

"Come on y/n/n! Why are you being like this? I thought you'd jump on your feet but here you are ruining all my precious expectations!" Tae huffed and turned his back at me crossing his arms.

"I won't! And that's final!" I turned my back at Tae and crossed my arms huffing.

"You two started again?" Mom entered my room while saying that and after seeing us she said laughing, "Wow you two look like mirror reflection except one is boy and another one is an adamant girl. By the way what are you two fighting for?"

"Aunt! You know that today is Yoongi hyung's day, right? So earlier today he asked me to help him pick his outfit because he is really excited about his performance today as some really big names of hip hop industry are visiting today. That's why I am telling her to go pick Jimin up from his house. But she isn't listening!" Tae pouted after giving an explanation to my mom.

"Mom! I don't wanna!" I pouted too.

Mom then asked pulling off a confused face, "Why isn't Jimin coming on his own? He knows our house right?"

"Yeah aunt! But his dad doesn't allow him to go out alone after evening. We don't know why but in this case his dad is really strict." Tae gave her the reason she needed.

Mom sighed loudly, "Solve your own problems. I am outta here. But listen, I don't want to see anyone of your faces in this house after 7! Got it?" After threatening us she waved her hands and left the room leaving us open mouthed.

I looked at my watch and it was already 6:55 pm so I rushed Tae out of home and said, "Okay! This is one last time I am listening to you! I just hope I don't regret it."

When I was almost near the castle I heard a really sweet singing sound coming from somewhere. While wondering about the voice I reached in front of the castle and the voice became really clear. I looked up and saw Jimin's silhouette in first floor balcony window. I almost lost my balance hearing him singing. It flooded in my ears like siren's song, so soulful and full of melancholy. I didn't know when I walked into the park and sat down on the swing. From the swing I could see and listen to him perfectly. I was so lost in his voice that I couldn't even keep track of time. Suddenly in the midst of that beautiful melody another sound came to my ears which I didn't like at all. As if to stop that sound I waved my hands near my ear and realised that the sound was coming from my phone, Tae was calling me. I picked up the call and said almost whispering, "You go ahead with Yoongs. I'll join you with Jimin later. Don't worry. Just leave your car keys in the garage window. Ok bye! Oh and thank you Tae. I don't regret coming here."

After about an hour Jimin finished his singing and I went in to take him with me. His dad though quite concerned about letting him go at this late hour let us go with a smile. Seeing his face it felt like Jimin had already told him about me and that's why he was somewhat relieved.

Though we reached late we were on time and Yoongs' performance was about to begin within five minutes. As always it was beyond expectations and everyone screamed their lungs out along with us. After the end of the performance as Yoongs was coming our way a stuff called him to go with him so he gestured at us to wait and went with the stuff. Yoongs came back after about thirty to forty five minutes with one of the biggest smiles on his face. When he reached us we bombarded him with questions. And he answered all of them at once, "The stuff took me to this secret chamber that I didn't know existed in this club! There were all the special guests waiting for me! Agh! I felt like a VIP when I heard that they all were waiting for me! Then they all said how much they liked my performance and looked forward to my next performances. So they are going to be keeping a track of my performances and I don't know may be I will be able to make it big in the music industry after all!" While saying this his eyes glistened at the thought of future possibilities and we all hugged each other forming a circle and cried together. I looked at Jimin and his teary face made me feel that he was now a part of this family.

It had been almost two months since we met and as each day had passed by Jimin felt closer and I fell in love with him more. The more I got to know him the more amazing he seemed. And as I fell more in love with him the more difficult it became to confess. It felt more convenient if someone confessed on my behalf and told him that he lived in my stupid heart. After the day of finding out him singing that swing at the park became like a evening home for me. Not a single day passed by not hearing him singing. Only Tae and Yoongs knew about this. Though they complained sometimes and teased mostly but I knew that they are more desperate than me to let Jimin know and to bring us together. But my head and heart were constantly on a fight! And I couldn't ignore that. And besides some other things bothered me too. Most important of them was Tae and Yoongs! As much as they were frustrated with me, I was too! They needed to confess but they won't until I did. And another one was Mr. Moon. After that day Tae and I began to keep an eye on him inside the campus but other than staring at Jimin weirdly he didn't do anything else. But his stares at Jimin made me more worried and my protective instincts were always on edge whenever Mr. Moon was near him. Another small thing that was trying to bother me was Hobi's early disappearance on every Friday. On that day how much you try you can't make Hobi stay and can't be with him. It had been like that since second year started as Tae told me and even he didn't know about Hobi's whereabouts on that specific day. We decided not to think about it much because it must be his personal preference and we should respect it. The university life here was so full of events that UK seemed boring. Who would have known that I would find Jimin here. All my evenings turned into night in front of his home at the swing. If he ever looked at me with slight fondness, that became the source of immense happiness for me that can drive me for the whole day. It was not like that I hadn't tried at all to tell him about my feelings. I tried, may be thousand times or more but I failed terribly every time. Every single time I tried to I just got speechless looking at him and forgot everything that I was going to say. Those feelings trapped inside me wasn't doing any good. They kept me wide awake at nights and forced me think about ways and he was also the reason that made me struggle to go to sleep. His face, his eyes, his smile, his everything were literally making me go insane and I was a loser who couldn't even handle situations on her own.

"Don't you think y/n/n that Tae and Yoongi hyung should already confess to each other and go out?" Hobi asked one afternoon after we finished our classes. That afternoon when we came out of the university we saw that Yoongs was waiting for us outside to pick us up for his performance. Seeing each other both Tae and Yoongs blushed terribly and though nervous Tae skipped towards him happily. Seeing that Hobi asked me about them going out as we were left behind. I looked at Jimin with my side eyes and then faintly smiling at Hobi I replied, "Yeah. They should!" Jimin chimed in, "I think so too! I wonder what's stopping them!"

After that I couldn't not think of them. It was me who was the main obstacle in the way of their relationship. I must had been out of the world lucky to have such best friends in my life. They had done so much for me and here I was sitting being the glitch that they didn't even deserve. Sitting in my room I was pulling out my hair as my thoughts were bugging me constantly. It felt like as if a big mosquito was buzzing near my ear constantly and no matter how hard I tried it wasn't dying. At about 2 am that night I decided that tomorrow morning I would go to his house and confess everything. I also wanted to know whether or not he felt the same and now confessing my feelings to him seemed the only way to solve all the problems at once. Though it bugged me a little but I made up my mind thinking it was for the best. I became quite happy with my decision and called Tae.

Tae: It's 2:30 in the morning! Geez! Will I ever be able to sleep peacefully?

Me: Shut up! Listen to me Tae! I have decided to confess. Tomorrow morning I'll go to his house and tell him everything.

Tae: .... Oh the almighty and benevolent God! You have finally decided to shower your blessings on us! I am so happy.

Me: (rolling my eyes) stop being dramatic Tae! I am scared! I don't know what will happen tomorrow...

Tae: Everything is going to be fine! Don't worry. I am happy for you y/n/n. Now go to sleep! I don't want a dark circle eyed y/n/n go to a castle to propose the Prince! I will inform Yoongi hyung too! Bye.

Me: Bye Tae..

When I opened my eyes it was still dawn. Thinking what I was going to do today I couldn't keep still. I went to the bathroom and didn't know for how long I brushed my teeth. Was I expecting a kiss? May be I was. May be I had gone crazy thinking directly about kissing those perfectly plush lips. I slapped my head out of the daydream and got dressed up quickly after showering. I sat on my bed and looked at my phone and tapped my feet anxiously wishing for the time to pass quickly and yet not. When the clock rung the alarm at 8 I sprang up from my bed and sprinted out from my house taking the cycle. I felt like the heroines from romantic movies. I was cycling as fast as I could as the wind sped past my ears blowing my hair. Though it was a small distance I was still breathless when I reached the gate. I kept my cycle leaning on the wall and looked at my dress if it was alright and entered through the gate. As I reached at the main door of the castle the old guard stopped me and asked, "Wait miss! Who do you want?" I replied him with Jimin's name. He looked at me for a while and said, "They left yesterday, more precisely today at 2 in the morning. You can't meet him."

"What? Where did they go?" I asked thinking that I must had heard wrong.

"I don't know. Sir told us that if anyone came asking for them then just tell that they had left the castle. They may never come back and will probably sell this castle too. Sorry I was of no help. I think you should leave now." The guard replied with a sorry face.

For the first time in my life I felt like there was nothing under my feet and I was falling down. I didn't know how I walked out of the castle. Everything around me seemed blanked and my vision blurred and I felt a terrible pain inside my chest. Clenching my hands over my chest where the heart was I blacked out.

Other chapters

A/n: Long time no see! I am glad to continue this story! Thank you all for reading. Please do like and share. And let me know about your opinions. I hope all of you are healthy and happy! Love you all 💜💜💜

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annathewitch · 6 years

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The Golden Bird: Prologue & Chapter 1

Summary: Eomer X Reader. Fairytale AU. As a gardener’s daughter in Edoras, your life is expected to be simple and dull, but you get caught up in a quest to find a mysterious Golden Bird which might be the key to breaking a curse on the Rohirrim.

Words: 4,000

Warnings: None! Not even swearing.

A/N: Based on the Grimm Brothers fairytale, the Golden Bird, for @thefanficfaerie’s Flip The Script Fairytale Challenge. Hoping to post the whole fic within the next week or so! This bit is largely scene setting and the adventure really begins in the next part. I have taken some liberties with the geography of Middle Earth. Not canon LOTR compliant.

...

Prologue

Once upon a time in Edoras, the once great city of the horselords, there lived a King. Theoden King was not one of the great Kings of Rohan, not a warrior like Eorl, or full of the wisdom of Brego, but he was kind and fair and under his rule the Rohirrim lived in relative peace and prosperity. He doted on his beautiful wife Elfhild, and for her happiness he created the gardens of the palace Meduseld. In the centre of the gardens, Elfhild planted the most beautiful apple tree, which bore the sweetest tasting fruit with delicate skin of gold. The King and Queen were happy, and the tree flourished.

But tragedy befell Theoden King. Elfhild bore him a strong son, but sickened with childbed fever and when Prince Theodred was scarcely a week old she died. His grief was great for his lost love, and though he sought joy in his son and heir, his heart did not recover. In short order his sister and brother were also cruelly taken from him, and Theoden King vowed in his grief to care for their children, Éomer and Éowyn as if they were his own. The King did his best to raise the three children, and to serve the people of Rohan, but without the counsel of his beloved and his family, he succumbed to a deep melancholy.

Around this time, a man from the North who came to be known as the Wormtongue, wheedled and connived his way into the court at Edoras, dripping honeyed words into the ear of the King until he became a most trusted advisor and the most powerful man in Rohan next to Theoden. There were whispers that he was in league with woodland elves, or a great wizard, but none spoke openly, for those who challenged him met with unfortunate fates. As the children grew they saw Wormtongue for the parasite he was, and he began to see the children as a threat to his power and influence.

When the children were full grown, Theodred and Éomer were sent to defend the borders of Rohan from Dunlendings and Orcs, and though the Prince was a strong and clever warrior and the finest horseman, he was felled from his horse while crossing the River Isen and killed. Eomer grew suspicious for the fatal blow struck his cousin from behind, but he kept his own counsel until he could return to Edoras and speak with his Uncle.

Eomer laid his discovery bare, but Wormtongue’s influence had grown too deep, and Theoden refused to listen to his tale. Afterwards, those who witnessed the scene whispered that the King had been mad with grief and his nephew incandescent with rage. So when one night Eomer and his sister disappeared and Eomer’s horse went missing from the stables, it was easy to believe the Wormtongue’s rumours that they had run away. And, despite a search the length and breadth of Rohan, they were not seen or heard from again.

Where once Theoden King had been kind and just, he grew bitter and cold at the loss of everything he had held dear. And as the years passed, Wormtongue led him to apathy and greed, and the Rohirrim suffered. As the harvests failed, and the horse herds dwindled, and Edoras fell into disrepair, so too the tree that bore the precious golden apples began to sicken and wither until it produced but a handful of fruit.

The only faint and almost forgotten hope of a people in despair was the prophecy of the wise man Mithrandir who had foretold that in time a shieldmaiden would ride into Edoras on a Mearas stallion, bearing the sword of a son of Eorl, and she would restore Rohan to prosperity. But there had been no shieldmaidens for many ages, and none likely to appear soon.

...

Chapter 1

You were content with your lot in life, really you were. As the daughter of Meduseld’s gardener, even in these difficult times your family never went without enough food to eat or a roof over your head. And when you saw so many others in need on the streets of Edoras, it would be foolish and ungrateful for you to hope for something more than keeping your father’s house and waiting on your older brothers.

Still you dreamed of adventure. Hanging the linens to dry in the little yard of the cottage high up on the hill above the city, you could see for many leagues the stretch of the plains of Rohan and the forests beyond, and you would imagine what wonders lay out there. Imagine a world where the childhood tales of an age of shieldmaidens performing great deeds, were still true.

But of course, your life went on in the same old routine of cooking and cleaning and helping your father in the gardens, and the best you could reasonably expect was to catch the eye of a young rider, or a tradesman and exchange your father’s house for a husband’s.

The same old routine, that was, until your father burst into the cottage one day, breathless and ashen, as if he had seen the ghost of one of his forefathers. He slumped down at the table head in his hands.

“Father, what is the matter?” you asked pressing a cup of mead into his hands.

“Y/N! We are ruined, and you shall likely be cast out of our home and made to beg on the streets.” At your shocked expression he continued. “I was summoned before the Wormtongue today, and accused of stealing golden apples from the King’s tree. They are now so rare that the King has set a man to count them every day. Two have disappeared over the last two nights. Unless I can prove that I am not the culprit by three days hence, I shall be branded a thief and my life shall be forfeit. What am I to do?”

“Oh father!” Your mind whirled as you tried to think. “We may only prove your innocence by catching the true thief. We must set a watch tonight and see if he returns to catch him in the act.”

“Aye, my clever girl, you are right. But I am too old and too weary. Your brother Elfric must sit guard.”

“Father, may I not do it? I would be watchful and careful, and I am good with my bow” you pleaded. For as much as he was your oldest brother, you knew Elfric tended to laziness and would hesitate to trust such an important task to him.

However, your father was not to be swayed. “No child, your brother shall do this. It may be dangerous to catch a brazen thief in the act. It is a task for a grown man.”

So Elfric, though unhappy at the responsibility and the discomfort of spending a night on the ground, was sent to watch in the gardens. At midnight an unbearable sleepiness overwhelmed him, and when the morning came and you went to find out what he had seen you found him asleep beneath the apple tree and another of the fruit was gone.

Your father was sick with worry, and despite your pleas to be allowed to keep watch, the next night he set your next brother Wulfric to the task. But Wulfric was little better than his brother. Again, the midnight hour approached and he too could not resist the temptation to close his eyes. In the morning he lay sprawled asleep amongst the roots of the sickening tree, and a fourth apple had been taken from under his nose.

There was just one last chance to catch the thief before your father would be taken for the crime. You pleaded and cajoled with him to permit you to sit in wait that night, certain that you would not fail at the task. Resigned to his fate, your father eventually relented, and so on the third night your wore your warmest woollen dress and taking up your bow you wrapped yourself in a big dark cloak and settled under the canopy of the apple tree in the shadows of the trunk.

The hours passed. Resolved as you were to stay awake, you played games to pass the time. As the stars in the sky brightened, you listed each of the constellations your mother had taught you, until eventually you searched out the mighty Leona, lion of Rohan just as the midnight bell tolled.

All at once, from the north came a whisper of wind through the branches, which shook the leaves and seemed to murmur a lullaby in your ear. Your eyes grew heavy and your mind began to drift as you could feel yourself relax against the trunk of the great tree. But the fate of your brothers the previous nights had made you cautious and you were prepared to struggle against the feeling of overwhelming weariness. Gripping a sharp stone you dug it into your palm, and with the flare of pain the fogginess seemed to flee.

Alert again now, you could hear a rustling from high up in the branches and, quietly as you could, you drew your bow, notched an arrow, and shifted to try and catch a glimpse of what you presumed was the thief in the tree. It was hard to discern in the dark, but there was certainly something on one of the high branches where apples still grew. Then all at once, the leaves parted and the moonlight glinted off a golden wing. A bird!

Swiftly you drew your bowstring, aimed, and in the space between heartbeats you let the arrow fly. You were a fair shot, more naturally skilled than your brothers, who preferred a sword or spear and you were gratified to hear a squawk. But perhaps the branch had bounced or the wind had blown a fraction harder, and you saw the bird take flight, flashes of light as its wings beat, carrying it back towards the north.

For a second you cursed your luck, for without the creature, you would not be able to prove it was the culprit. Then the branches shifted again, and a single feather of the most delicate gold floated to ground in front of you. You scooped it up and tucked it in the pocket of your cloak, and resumed your watch. For though you knew in your heart that the bird was the thief, you could not take a chance that another would not try their luck to take a precious apple from the tree.

As dawn broke, you ran shivering back to your father’s cottage where he waited huddled by the banked hearth, and showed him your precious evidence.

“My clever child! Wake your brothers, for we must take this to the great hall at once.”

With much complaint they were removed from their beds, and jealous looks passed between them at your success, but at length you arrived at the doors of Meduseld to request an audience. Eventually your father was called to the dais, where Theoden King sat pale and slack in his throne, and the Wormtongue stood like a skinny crow at his right side.

The King did not speak, rather the Wormtongue spoke for him. “Master Gardener, what proof have you of your innocence in the matter of the theft of the King’s apples? Three days have passed.”

“My daughter discovered the thief last night. It was a b-bird my Lord,” your father stammered, offering the feather up. Wormtongue took it between slender fingers which could have been made from bone, and twirled it thoughtfully.

“Your daughter you say? How odd. Bring her forth, for the King wishes to look at her.”

You didn’t like the tone in the advisor’s voice, and you wondered how he knew the King’s wishes when Theoden had not spoken a word, but you stepped forward beside your father and dipped an awkward curtsey. Wormtongue descended the steps from the dais, and looked you up and down through beady black eyes. You suppressed a shiver.

“How did you come by the feather girl?” He crooned the question, twirling the feather all the while, so the light glinted off it, and you felt a strange sensation in the back of your mind.

Shaking your head you answered. “I shot at the bird. It flew away, but left this feather behind. No other came near the apple tree all night.”

“Indeed? And are you skilled with a bow?” Somehow it felt like the question held more weight than a simple enquiry about your prowess.

“I am a fair shot, but there are many better than I,” you demurred, avoiding his unsettling gaze. It seemed to satisfy him, for with one last sweeping glance, he ascended to stand beside the King once more.

“This feather is a rare and precious thing. It is the King’s wish that the bird be found and brought to him, that it might adorn the coffers of Rohan, and its golden feathers compensate for the loss of the apples. Gardener, as the apples were lost under your watch, the crown charges you with this task. There will be great reward should the bird be brought to him.”

You stared openmouthed at the Wormtongue, and then looked to your father who could scarcely manage to pay the customary respects to his King, before the two of you were ushered to the doors again, where your brothers waited.

In the safety of the cottage, your father bemoaned his fate.

“I am to bring back the golden bird, but how am I even to find it? I am too old and frail to venture far from the city,” he wailed, and you tried to soothe him.

“One of us must set out to find it in your place, father,” you offered.

“My clever girl! Of course my children will help me in my hour of need. But which of you is equal to the task? It will surely be dangerous to go adventuring in such times as orcs and Dunlendings roam the plains and forests.”

How desperate you were to volunteer, for you longed to see the world beyond Edoras, to scoff at the fate that was laid at your feet to be a wife and mother, and instead walk in the footsteps of the Shieldmaidens of old. But you knew that you father would not willingly let you go. As you wrestled with your desire and your duty, you were surprised when your oldest brother spoke up.

“Y/N may very well have stayed awake all night, and shot at a bird, for that is nothing really. Nothing to the bravery required for such a venture as this. As the oldest I should go, for I am entitled to claim the reward before my brother and sister. It is the task of a full grown man.” At this he puffed up his chest.

You bit your tongue, for you had done better than him to stay awake, but knew that it would be futile to protest. Your father doted on his sons, and could never see the idleness and dissipation as anything more than youthful spirits.

“Very well, Elfric my son. You shall be the one to find the bird and bring it back.”

And so within a few days, your oldest brother rode out of the gates of Edoras laden with supplies and a purse of silver and headed north towards Helm’s Deep. On the second day of his journey, he forded the Isen, crossing the border of Rohan heading for the Fangorn Forest, for surely if a magical creature were to live anywhere it would be in the forest.

Wisps of smoke on the horizon indicated some kind of settlement and Elfric picked up his pace a little. He had spent the previous night camped at the roadside, and, unused to the hard uncomfortable ground, had vowed to find a proper bed and perhaps some willing company for the second night. The life of an adventurer did not need to be a dull one after all. Full of pleasant anticipation he did not notice the creature that sat in the road ahead of him, until a soft growl startled his horse, which shied away from the sound.

It was a large mountain lion with a tawny golden fur that crouched alert and watchful, blocking the path between two large rocks. Elfric fumbled his spear out of the loop on his saddle and aimed it at the animal, which got to its feet.

“I do not wish to harm you traveller,” the lion spoke with a deep, rough voice. “I know of your quest to seek the Golden Bird, and I can give you good counsel. You will reach a village tonight with an inn, but do not stop there. Continue into the Fangorn Forest and make camp for the night and I will help you.”

Elfric, considered the animal, which was lean and had a raw-looking gash on its rear haunch. What could such a creature know of my business, your brother thought. And without further consideration he hurled his spear. The lion moved with surprising swiftness and his shot merely grazed it, but the creature was gone, disappeared into the forest without another word.

Your oldest brother continued on, and at nightfall reached the village the lion had described, and a cheerful, well-kept inn with brightly lit windows beckoned to him. A wench with a pretty smile and ample charms waited ready to welcome him at the threshold. The words the lion had spoken to him were barely even recalled as Elfric’s appetites drove him to the door. He entered the place and took his fill of all the delights that were offered, forgetting the Golden Bird and the quest and his duty to his family and King.

A month passed back in Edoras, with no word from your oldest sibling, and your father grew sick with grief and worry that something terrible had befallen him. The Wormtongue summoned him back to Meduseld. Again the advisor called you into his presence and looked you up and down appraisingly, twirling the golden feather so that the light bouncing off its delicate fronds began to mesmerise you. He did not address you, but his intent stare was unnerving, and you were glad when your father was dismissed with a reminder of his duty to his King to bring the Golden Bird to him.

Though this time you begged your father to be allowed to follow Elfric and take up the quest, he merely patted your hand and told you that your place was in Edoras, keeping house for him. Instead your less than eager brother Wulfric was sent out with a purse of silver, to ride north and seek the Golden Bird, and you played the part of the devoted sister watching him ride away over the plains as your heart longed for adventure.

At length, Wulfric forded the Isen and headed for Fangorn Forest. And he too was waylaid by the mountain lion who gave the same advice he had imparted to your oldest brother many weeks before. Now he possessed a little less arrogance than his brother, and listened gravely to the words of the lion with every intention of heeding them. But though his intentions were true, poor Wulfric was gifted with very little of his own initiative and as he rode through the pretty little village and passed the inn that the lion had spoken about, he saw his brother Elfric waving to him from the doorway.

What harm can it do for me to stop and say hello to my brother, to take one drink and find out if he is well, Wulfric thought to himself. And so, being so easily swayed, he was persuaded to enter the inn and after his first drink persuaded to take another, and a third, and before long he had forgotten the Golden Bird and his family, just as Elfric had.

Again time passed in Edoras, and you continued in your dull routine. There were whisperings that Theoden King grew sicker and more frail and, though no one dared to speak it aloud, the Rohirrim feared that the Wormtongue would be named Theoden’s heir. One month became two. No word was heard from either of your brothers, and your father’s heart broke, for surely they must have met with a terrible fate on their quest.

He was summoned once more to Meduseld, to appear before the King and his most trusted advisor to answer for the failure to bring back the Golden Bird. And again after you father had stammered his apologies and excuses, the Wormtongue beckoned you forward, spinning the golden feather between slender white fingers.

This time he spoke to you in his strange soft whisper. “Your father has one last chance to produce the Golden Bird. If he does not, we shall have to come to some arrangement to settle the debt.”

His icy gaze swept up and down your body, sending a shiver down your spine and with the light sparkling from the feather, his words seemed to echo in the back of your mind. He leaned in closer.

“You are a biddable girl, I look forward to your submission.” His tongue darted from between thin cracked lips. Though your mind screamed to be away from this creature, you found your feet locked to the floor and your voice lodged in your throat. The Wormtongue smiled, and stepped away, hiding the feather from view, and you found yourself able to move again.

“The Golden Bird may yet be found, my Lord,” you said as you took your father’s shaking arm. And as you departed from the Great Hall, the echo of the Wormtongue’s broken laughter followed you.

In the relative safety of the cottage, your father slumped once again at the table while you ministered to him.

“Your brothers are gone, and I am too old and too frail to seek the Golden Bird, and now I must hand you over to such a man! Oh what are we to do Y/N?”

You placed a cup of mead down in front of him and turned to the little window in the kitchen which looked out over all of Edoras and the plains beyond. You wrapped your arms around yourself to try and warm the chill in your heart. It was scant comfort but likely the only you would get. There was only one answer in your mind.

“I must follow my brothers and seek the Golden Bird myself.”

Your father sputtered a mouthful of mead. “But you cannot! It is too difficult and dangerous and you may never return. You cannot hope to succeed where your brothers have failed. If you go to the Wormtongue, you will be safe in Edoras and I will not be alone. He will be kind to you if you please him I am sure!”

“I would rather die at the hands of robbers or orcs than hand myself over to that man. I am just as brave as my brothers, and sharper to be sure. And I am quicker with my bow.”

“But we have no horses left! How will you travel? No no, you must stay here with me as a dutiful daughter would.”

“I will walk then, father!” you cried out in frustration, before dropping to your knees beside him. “I cannot stay here and wait idly for my fate to suffocate me.”

He sat silent and unmoving, staring into the hearth, and eventually you rose to your feet and left him. You worked swiftly to put together your pack, for you were set on your course with or without your father’s blessing. When it was done, you set about your household chores as usual, and retired to bed at your usual hour, though you exchanged scarcely a word with your father.

At first light you woke, and dressed in some of Wulfric’s old clothes, they were a little large but they hid your shape and it was better to travel as a youth than a lone woman. You braided your hair back from your face as you had done for your brothers many times before. In the kitchen, you packed some supplies for the road and scribbled a note for your father. You pulled on stout boots, wrapped yourself in your warmest cloak and hefted the pack onto your shoulders.

As you opened the door, your father cleared his throat behind you. You turned to him and he held out something in his hands, a hunting knife.

“I have failed as a father if I cannot protect you. Perhaps you can protect yourself with this.”

You took the hilt of the knife and secured it in your boot. It was a blessing of sorts and you acknowledged it with a nod.

“I will do my best to come back to you father. Fare thee well.”

“Fare thee well my clever girl.”

And with that you stepped out into the misty first light, not looking back at the little cottage as you wound your way down the path into Edoras, instead looking out at the ghostly plains and the shadows of mountains and forests in the far distance.

...

Tagging some people who might be interested: @musikat18 @yallneedtrek @bkwrm523 @bookcaseninja @queenmismatched @fearofdeathkeepsusalive @outside-the-government @goingknowherewastaken @thefanficfaerie @theodwyns

#flipthescriptfairytalechallenge #eomer x reader #eomer #lotr fanfiction #eomer reader insert #fairytale au

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huntertales · 6 years

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Part Four: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished. (Appointment in Samarra S06E11)

Episode Summary: The reader and Dean seek out Death to help get Sam’s soul back from the cage. Death tells the reader he will help Sam if the reader will agree to act as Death for twenty-four hours. When Sam hears of the plan to retrieve his soul, the younger Winchester decides he doesn’t want his soul back anymore. Sam goes far as enlisting the help of a new enemy to cast a spell to keep his soul out of his body. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 2,645.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

You sat on the third to last basement steps after Bobby and Dean dragged the unconscious Sam into the panic room and handcuffed him to the cot, knowing all of you couldn’t take the chance of letting him loose. It was the same set up you had to do when the younger Winchester was under the detox for demon blood. Instead this time it wasn't for his protection, but for all of yours. You stared at the ring you had been wearing for the past twenty or so hours. Until you removed it not to long ago in order to fix a problem that you caused.

It should have been so easy to do what you were told. Hillary had been sick since she was first born. She needed to be put to rest in order for her suffering to end. And it wasn't like she was going to be facing an afterlife of misery and pain. People like her got a happily ever after that would last more than just a lifetime. Who knew. Perhaps she was in Heaven right now with her mother in that little cafe, being told stories about how her parents met. The thought made a fraction of a smile cross your lips. It didn’t last long for more than a few seconds.

In the past few years since you came back from Hell with Dean, you conditioned yourself to fight harder than you ever had before. Fight the natural order, fight who the universe wanted you to be. Fight to save the world and try to keep some of that free will you thought you had. And you did. There was rules and structure for a reason. Tessa was right about how everything you and the boys did, from the dying and selling souls, was exactly what the universe wanted. All of you had nine lives, but it didn't mean that others were that lucky. Sometimes you had to follow the rules in order to save them as well.

Nobody came out a winner tonight. You failed at the one chance of getting Sam's soul back from the cage. Dean and Bobby were foolish to think that Sam would behaved himself. Your fingers wrapped around the ring as you clenched your fist. For the first time you felt helpless. There was really no other options at your disposal anymore. Crowley was dead. Cas was up in Heaven, fighting what sounded like a losing battle. And you couldn't keep a damn ring on your finger. You could feel your breathing become more shallower when you wondered if you would be stick with that soulless man that you once called your best friend.

“I can’t keep doing this, Bobby.” Dean’s voice traveled from the other side of the basement. He peered into the panic room to observe his little brother who was chained up like an animal. Sam hadn’t woken up yet from the blow to the head he took when you whacked him out cold with the baseball bat. If you hadn’t acted when you did or showed up, Bobby might have been dead. He didn’t like how the night was coming along. You wondered if he was upset at what you couldn’t do. “What, am I gonna tie him up every time he tries to kill someone? That’s not gonna hold him. He’s--”

“Capable of anything.” Bobby mumbled, knowing exactly what the older Winchester was trying to say. The both of them had witnessed a side to Sam they never saw before. You were sure they hoped they never would have to ever again. No thanks to you, Soulless Sam was staying around for a lot longer than any of you wanted.

Dean fell silent for a few seconds. You heard his footsteps echo off the walls as he paced around back and forth ever so slowly. Your gaze fell to the ground when you heard the question the older Winchester asked himself. "What am I supposed to do here?" Because at the end of the day, no matter how much you tried to help carry the heavy burden that Dean carried on his shoulders since he was four years old, it was his little brother. It was his only remaining blood family that he could try and protect. And, once again, you screwed it all to hell.

You pushed yourself to your feet and began walking up the basement steps, suddenly feeling a parchment in your throat that only a beer could quench. You opened up the door and headed back to the house. Bobby and Dean needed some time to reflect on tonight's events, your lingering presence wasn't helping. You let out a sigh and began walking to the kitchen, happy to think that you were alone. As you turned your direction to walk into the kitchen,you stopped straight in your tracks, quickly noticing a familiar face you didn't think would be back so soon.

“Y/N.” Death sat at Bobby’s table with a friendly smile. You looked at him with a funny sort of expression when you noticed that he was eating a late dinner, the kind that made your empty stomach turn over with a wave of nausea. He stretched out a hand for you to join him. You went far as to the table, you stood next to the chair he gestured to. “Brought you one. From a little stand in Los Angeles known for their bacon dogs.”

"No thanks. I'm trying out this new thing where I don't eat things that have to be killed." You said. The only thing that didn’t change about you was your snarky responses. You stared at Death for a moment until you listened to his command. You pulled out the chair and sat next to him. You sniffed the food that he was happily enjoying. While it smelled rather good, you weren't’ the least bit intimidated by him. “Wow, what’s with you and cheap food?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Thought I’d have a treat before I put the ring back on.” Death said. You almost forgot that you were holding onto the precious thing. You opened your palm to stare at the damn that had only caused you misery. And that was only for one day. You couldn’t imagine being chained to a job like that for century after century. “Sometimes you just want the thing off. But you know that.”

You looked at the man from the corner of your eye from the way he was speaking. You ignored his question about not being hungry. You placed the ring on the table for Death to claim as his own once more. The both of you knew that he was better at it than you ever could. “Look, I think you know that I flunked. So there.” You said, admitting to your mistakes before he could try and rub your face into it. “Oh, and by the way, I sucked at being you. I screwed up the whole natural order thing, but I’m pretty sure you knew about that, too.’’

“So if you could go back, would you simply kill the little girl?” Death asked the most important question of all. “No fuss, no stomping your feet?”

“Knowing what I know now? Yeah.” You admitted, nodding your head slowly.

“I’m surprised to hear that. Surprised and glad." Death said. You huffed out a quiet breath and shook your head from your previous actions. It was just one life that you could have saved. You still had to kill the little girl in order to do your job. "I think it's a little more than what you're leading on. Today you got a hard look behind the curtain. Wrecking the natural order is not quite such fun when you have to mop of the mess. Is it? This is hard for you, Y/N. You throw your life away because you've come to assume that it'll bounce back in your lap. The human soul is not a rubber ball. It’s vulnerable, impermanent, but stronger than you know, and more valuable than you can imagine.”

Death's words hit you in a spot inside of you that not even you realized about yourself. You sold your soul, sacrifice yourself for the greater good because you thought it was the right thing to do. In reality, it was the part of the universe's list of things to accomplish. And you checked off every box. When you were left bleeding in that cemetery with Dean back when Sam threw himself into the cage, you had selfishly thought that you would be fine. That somehow you could become human and live your life. You might have died, but you came back. Because the universe wanted one more thing out of you. One more deed before you finally kicked the bucket.

“Do you want to know what I think? I think you knew that I wouldn’t last a day.” You said. Death tried to pretend and act like he had no idea what you were talking about. But the dumb act didn't suit him at all. "At least have the guts to admit that it was rigged from the jump. You knew I wouldn't harm a head on that little girl. All because you didn't want to fetch Sam's soul."

“Most people speak to me with more respect.” Death said. It seemed he found your tone of voice a bit out of the ordinary, you scoffed at his passive threat.

“If you want respect, old you old bag of bones, you got to earn it.” You leaned over the table and stared at him directly in the eye. You showed him that you weren't scared of him. You had died so many different times in the past six years, all of it was a blur. “We’re done here. Aren’t we?”

"It's been lovely. Nice to see that you're adjusting well without that little piece of your soul. I’ve got to cut our little banter shorter than I hoped.” Death said. You could feel the arrogant smirk on your lips began to slowly fade at what you heard. “I have to go to hell to get your friend's soul."

You had a feeling the attitude you gave him wasn’t what changed his mind. You failed at the deal he made with you. But for some reason, he was being the kind one here and throwing you a bone of mercy. “Why would you do that for me?”

“I wouldn’t do it for you. You and your little friends keep coming back. You’re an affront to the balance of the universe and you cause disruption on a global scale.” Death said. He walked forward to you until he was now standing next to you, hovering over your body. You swallowed as you apologized for whatever sort of problems you may have caused. “But you and those Winchesters have use. Especially you, Y/N. Right now, you’re digging at something. The intrepid detective. I want you to keep digging, Y/N.”

"Okay..." You raised your brow from what you were hearing, and having no clue what any of it meant. "So are you just gonna be cryptic, or--"

"It's about the souls." Death explained. You looked at him with an even more confused expression, still not having the slightest idea what he meant by that. A wiped memory could do that to a human. He reached for his ring and looked at you, knowing that with that little piece of your missing soul, the lost time would come back to haunt you. "You'll understand when you need to."

"Wait." You stopped the man from slipping the ring back on his finger. You wanted to know from all the effort you were putting into this, it was going to at least amount to something. "With Sam, and my little contribution...is this thing really gonna work?"

“Call it seventy-five percent.” Death answered you.

You watched as Death slipped his ring back onto his finger, all before disappearing from your sight again. What you heard was sort of...uplifting. Death put more hope into this plan that you had originally thought. You subconsciously placed a hand against your chest, wondering for a moment what the consequences were going to be for you in order for Sam to get better. Whatever it was, you would face them eventually. Right now, you knew what was about to unfold was going to be painful than anything you'd have to witness. It might even open a few old wounds that you tried to hide since coming back from the cage. But all of it would be worth it if Sam was okay.

You pushed yourself up to your feet and bolted for the basement door again. From the speed that you were going, you were surprised that you didn't go tumbling down the stairs. Your stomping caused Dean and Bobby to break away from their somber mood of lingering around the basement, trying to figure out what to do. For the first time in a long time, you might have just saved the day.

"Guys?" You called out for their attention, jumping down the last three steps and landing feet first on the concrete. You quickly turned the corner when you heard Sam's panicked voice echo from the panic room. Bobby looked at you with a worried expression, wondering what was going on. "Open the door. Now!"

Bobby did as he was told. The man headed over to the panic room and opened up the heavy iron door. You pushed between the two men to see that Sam was staring at Death himself, who was carrying something the man tried so hard to fight. You could feel your chest tighten in guilt as Death ignored the young man's pleads and took a seat down on the cot. He placed down the briefcase that he was carrying after his journey to the cage and opened it up, a burst of light illuminated from the special content inside.

"Now, Sam. I'm gonna put a barrier inside your mind. It might feel a little itchy. Do me a favor. Don't scratch at the wall." Death warned the younger Winchester. "Because, trust me, you're not gonna like what happens."

Sam tried his hardest to try and fight his way out of this one, but he was cornered, with nowhere to go but down. You could feel yourself overcome with fear at the sight of him. You’d only seen the man like this once, down in the cage, where the both of you were stricken with the worst kind of torture that even shook you to this very day. You were only down there for a hot second. Sam’s soul had been down there for over a year and a half. You could feel your bottom lip starting to quiver at the sight of him.

You opened your mouth to tell Death to stop, the memories of the cage and reality seemed to be clashing together. But you reminded yourself that this was reality. This was what you had to do. Dean must have sensed the emotions you were being put through. You found yourself cowering away in fear as Sam's soul finally began to enter his body again after being parted away. You tried your hardest to block out the noises of Sam's cries of pain as you buried your face in Dean’s chest.

You shut your eyes in an attempt to drift off to a better place. Instead you found yourself back in that wretched cage, with Lucifer himself staring at you. While he wasn't alone, it wasn't Michael by his side, it was a familiar face that you saw every day when you looked in the mirror. She blinked, revealing black eyes and a wicked smile to match her rotten soul.

[Next Part]

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imsarabum · 7 years

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{PART 19} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; Not knowing whether to stay and fight, or run and protect you; Jungkook gets thrown into a world of fear and panic. Meanwhile, Yoongi and Serrena battle for victory in the silent game of war they play;

“How dreadful...to be caught up in a game and have no idea of the rules.”

I update this series every Tuesday evening, 9pm-10pm (UK Time)

{Part 1} // {Part 18} {Part 19} {Part 20}

You were frozen solid to the chair as you maintained eye-contact with the person whom you knew murdered your parents all those years ago. Your mind raced with the images of the countless drawings your brother had given you; and they matched him almost to perfection. What was more disturbing however, was the fact that he was staring straight back at you – as if you were the only other person in the room. You couldn’t force your gaze away from his intense, dark orbs; and it was almost like he was reaching into your soul with the half-crazed look in his eye.

Jungkook quickly looked back over his shoulder – observing the four figures shifting their weight at the top of the steps; before to his horror, they began slowly descending the staircase, as bold as brass.

“Jungkook” Serrena stood up suddenly – fully aware that your heart was beating way too fast, but not knowing exactly as to why. Every single Vampire in the room could practically taste the fear that resided within you, but you weren’t the only one that was stricken with such terror.

“Jimin – my darling, what’s wrong?!” Taehyung whisper-shouted to Jimin upon seeing him behaving in a much similar fashion to you – his breathing erratic and his eyes full of fright as he clutched on to Taehyung’s grasp.

“It’s him...the one who bit me – I can feel it now, he’s the one” Jimin was barely able to talk as his eyes darted between Taehyung and the same figure that was staring directly at you. Serrena and Jeonju heard his words loud and clear, while Taehyung felt like someone had just single-handedly ripped his guts out with a cold, steel knife. “He...he bit him...and left him for dead? My own brother...” Taehyung could have fallen apart right then and there.

“Jungkook, Taehyung – get them both out of here...right now” Serrena spoke sharply as her eyes took a deathly serious form. “I will keep them here for as long as I can. Go to the Manor and stay there – we will join you as soon as possible” she added, with the rest of Jungkook’s family instantly sitting up in their seats as they all took a defensive stance. The Jeon family knew that they couldn’t just get up and secure Yoongi where he stood; for humans were in their presence as well. Everything had to be done in secret – to avoid any drama or scandal that could be printed about the event.

Without any further need to hesitate, Jungkook’s fight or flight mode kicked in. He knew that he had to protect you at all costs – and as much as he wanted to face the monster that turned your life upside down and shattered your world into a million different pieces, he knew that getting you out of harm’s way and into a safe place was his number one priority.

“(Y/N), we need to go – now” he spoke firmly, grabbing you from underneath your shoulders before almost pulling you like a ragdoll into his chest. Before you even had time to realise what was happening, Jungkook was quickly guiding you in the direction of the fire-escape hallway at the back of the event room – with Taehyung doing the same to Jimin as they both never looked back once.

“Jungkook – I...I can’t breathe I...I –“ you began, but you couldn’t even find the strength to finish as you felt overcome with dizzy-sickness.

“Hold on (Y/N), just hold on to me and I –“ Jungkook cut his own sentence off upon swinging open the heavy fire-escape doors, feeling your heartbeat dangerously pound in behind your rib-cage. After you both managed to step out into the hallway that lead to the back door of the building, he observed huge droplets of sweat on your forehead, running down your face and cascading over your neck. “If she doesn’t calm down, she’s going to have a damn heart-attack”

Jungkook then took it upon himself to sweep you up into his arms in a bridal-style, knowing that your legs wouldn’t be able to carry your weight for much longer. But as he did – he felt you slip from your own consciousness; and you had truly passed out due to so much shock.

“Is she –“

“She’s fine” Jungkook cut a worried Taehyung off. “It’s better this way – her body will relax and we can move quicker” he seethed through his teeth. “What’s wrong with Jimin?” Jungkook asked – all three Vampires now running down the hallway at lightning speed with you passed out and oblivious in Jungkook’s arms, before Taehyung made the doors in front of them burst open with his own telekinetic powers, and all four of you being engulfed by the cool, night air.

“Jungkook...he bit Jimin. He’s the one who turned him” Taehyung muttered almost breathlessly, hardly able to collect his thoughts as he held on to Jimin’s hand even tighter.

“God damn him...fuck!” Jungkook spat angrily into the night, as they made their way to the valet service cubicle to collect their keys.

A few moments later, Jungkook had gently placed you in the passenger’s seat of his car, before securing the seatbelt around you and getting into the driver’s side and locking all the doors.

“Follow me to the Manor – and stay on my tail. Don’t stop for anything...we have to get there as quickly as possible. Mother will hold them for as long as she can, but let’s not take any chances. Do you understand me?” Jungkook ordered his cousin after letting his window down to converse with Taehyung who was currently with Jimin in his black, BMW X5 land-rover series.

“Yes my Prince – we’ll talk again at the Manor” Taehyung replied quickly, before Jungkook nodded at him, both Vampires exchanging unspoken words of confusion and fear to each other with their eyes. Jungkook took one final look at the poor sight you in the seat beside him– listening carefully to your heartbeat and observing your vitals with his Vampiric prowess, which let him know that you were stabilising at long last. And with that, Jungkook sped off in his BMW i8 – the tires screeching on the ground in wake of his haste to get away, as Taehyung proceeded to follow hot on his heels; both Vampires trying to protect the precious cargo that each of their vehicles held - the ones they loved the most.

“I swear I’ll protect you, (Y/N). Until my dying breath, I’ll defend you with my entire existence”

Yoongi, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin observed you, Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin making a break for the back door – and seconds later, Yoongi felt all of your presences vacate the building.

“...why are they leaving?” Namjoon spoke up as they all reached the bottom of the steps – the chatter in the room becoming livelier again, but every single Vampire had their sights set on them.

“Fucked if I know” Yoongi replied with spite in his voice. “...why did she have that look on her face? She’s never seen me before...does she know who I am?” he battled inside his head.

“If we move quickly, Jin and I can go back out the way we came and cut them off – you and Joon can run after them and –“

“Don’t be so fucking stupid! We...we can’t do that now” Yoongi raised his voice a fraction, glaring at Hoseok with burning eyes. “God damn you, Jungkook” Yoongi cursed his younger cousin for completely ruining his half-assed plan to confront both you and him at the ball – as he knew that now, he had Serrena to deal with. And; as if right on cue, Serrena slinked her body around the table, motioning at Yoongi to come forward to her from across the room.

“Yoongi! My darling – what a surprise it is to see you! And a relief as well! Come, come to aunty Serrena...I’ve been so...worried about you!” her grand voice beckoned him as Yoongi let a scowl unfold on his features. “And bring your little friends over too – it’d be so nice to have a chat with you all! Come...now” her voice took a slight menacing tone as her eyes glistened with a certain wickedness.

“Fuck” Yoongi screamed internally, knowing that he had no other choice but to comply with the wishes of his Queen. It was no secret – even to natum lamia’s, that female Vampires were the stronger and more formidable of their entire species, compared with their male Vampire counterparts. As much as he hated the Jeon’s and as much as he despised the Queen...Yoongi knew that he was essentially sailing up shit-creak without a paddle. For – if Serrena so wished, she could wipe him off the face of the earth without so much as having to lift a finger.

“Are we really going over there, Master?” Namjoon whispered as Yoongi began boldly walking forward – with Seokjin and Hoseok following close behind.

“We don’t have a choice. Keep your mouth shut, all of you. Let me do the taking.” Yoongi growled as they approached the table – an uncomfortable atmosphere settling in the air as the Jeon’s came face to face with the four, rogue Vampires that stood before them.

“Serrena~” Yoongi tilted his head ever-so-slightly – his voice donning a more than sarcastic tone as he let a fake smile plaster its way across his handsome, yet exhausted features. Even though he was practically dying to chase you and Jungkook down, he knew that he had to stay and play along with Serrena’s game; and she was notorious for playing such games extremely well.

“Come my dear, take a seat and have some merlot~ I’m sure your friends are parched as well” Serrena pointed to the four vacant chairs that you had all left behind. Hoseok, Seokjin and Namjoon all looked to Yoongi for direction, before seeing him roll his eyes a little and motion them with his head to take a seat.

“Actually, we’re just after having a bite to eat. We couldn’t possibly eat or drink another morsel” Yoongi grinned wickedly with perverse double meaning as the three other rogues pulled up the empty chairs beside Yoongi – who was now sitting in the chair you had previously sat on. Serrena chuckled impishly as she swapped chairs with her husband – who never took his eyes off all four of them.

Serrena sat down, waving her hand in the air at one of the Vampire bar-tenders who already knew what she wanted with the way she stuck all five of her fingers to the ceiling. “You will sit and enjoy a glass of the finest merlot with me; understood?” her voice dropped ominously, but her face stayed perfectly angelic as the bar tender came over with five glasses of merlot that had all been heavily diluted with the Jeon’s own manufactured blood for all the Vampires there that night to enjoy.

Yoongi knew what she was doing – filling him and his lackeys up so they weren’t bloodthirsty or otherwise; essentially being a thorn in his side by making him overeat more than his fill. Part of the reason that every Vampire in the same room knew of his presence was the smell; the smell of consumed human blood that reeked to the high heavens from all four of them.

“If you insist~” Yoongi purred, taking a sip of the merlot as Namjoon, Seokjin and Hoseok followed his lead.

“I believe your friends haven’t yet introduced themselves to me!” Serrena smiled warmly at them, obviously waiting for them to speak up and address her directly.

“Uh – that’s Hoseok, that one’s –“ Yoongi began mumbling, but was soon cut off quite sharply.

“My dear, are they not capable of speaking themselves? Or do you keep your reigns around their throats so tightly that they have lost the use of their voices?” Serrena’s voice was sickly sweet as she passed a knowing glance to her husband – who then waved his hand in the air before clicking his fingers thrice to attract some unknown attention. Yoongi scoffed, letting an airy chuckle escape him, before raising his eyebrows and looking over to the other three who all sat to his right – letting them know they had his permission to talk while the others at the table sat in silence, almost glaring at all four of them.

“I’m Jin”

“Uh...I’m Hoseok”

“Your highness, it’s both a pleasure and an honour to make your acquaintance. My name is Namjoon” Namjoon’s soft, well spoken voice made Yoongi almost want to regurgitate the entire contents of his stomach, as Namjoon politely inclined his head towards the Queen. To say that Serrena was more than a little taken aback by his respectful behaviour would have been somewhat understated; yet, it made her feel an ounce of sadness for Namjoon in turn.

“Oh my, what a mannerly gentleman you are. The pleasure is all mine” she nodded and smiled back at him. “Such a shame” she added as she took a sip of her wine.

“I’m sorry dear aunt, what’s such a shame?” Yoongi challenged her on her added words – thinking that she would try to make a successful transition at quickly changing the subject.

“I said – ‘such a shame’ my pet. As in, it’s such a shame that a boy made from apparent good stock reports to you. But I guess we can’t help who our friends are sometimes, right Namjoon?” Serrena directly challenged Yoongi back, yet again exceeding his expectations. “You always know how to be such a fucking bitch, Serrena” he continued to stew in his pot.

“So! Tell me Yoongi, what have you been up to as of late? Everyone has been...so worried about you and how you would fare out in the real world. I’m so glad you decided to join us tonight. Why – I haven’t seen you in aeons! How long has it been – ten years? Twelve?” Serrena knew exactly how long he had been locked away for committing unthinkable acts, yet she decided to toy with him further.

“Thirteen, actually” Yoongi smiled at her. To any human on the outside looking in, it would have appeared that Serrena and Yoongi were just two people have a normal, friendly chat with each other – but their chat was far from friendly and normal. Serrena and Yoongi were engaging in a battle of wits; who could get the most eloquent jabs in, who held the best poker-face, and whoever could put the other into checkmate would be the one to be crowned the champion. Serrena knew she had the upper hand playing the role of Queen, for she knew that Yoongi was much like the Knight on a chessboard; cocky and overconfident with his recklessness to go over anyone’s head without a second thought. Yoongi, however, liked to think of himself as a King; which in turn, only added to his self-defeating, inflated ego.

“Actually – I came here in the hopes of being able to have a chat with Jungkook and (Y/N); but it appears they had matters to attend to – along with my brother and his...his plaything” Yoongi so valiantly chuckled; before suddenly realising, he had just given his entire position away at letting your name roll off his tongue and ultimately leaving him wide open for the Queen to close in on him.

“Now...do enlighten me, Yoongi” Serrena licked her lips kittenishly, gazing into Yoongi’s eyes as her face inched forward towards his a fraction. “How is it that, that child’s name came to be in your mouth...hm?” Serrena knew absolutely nothing of Yoongi’s intentions, but she made it seem like she did with the playful tone laced in her tender voice. Essentially; she wished to call his bluff.

Yoongi laughed through his nose as he finished the last of his merlot in one swig. “Oh Serrena – you’re really so out of the loop today, aren’t you? Poor thing~” he uttered most disrespectfully, causing Jeonju to tighten his fists underneath the table as he wanted nothing more than to lay him to rest for good.

Serrena smiled in defeat, tracing the top of her wine glass with her ring finger that produced a gentle humming sound. “Well – no matter, I’m sure you have your ways. Her name is common knowledge now, after all...seeing as she is...promised to my only son~”

Namjoon knew in that moment that Serena had just put Yoongi into the check position from the way his face lost all composure – his eyebrows furiously knitting themselves together as Namjoon donned a blank look on his face. Meanwhile, the other two sat looking around them at the faces of other Vampires glaring at them constantly; leaving an uncomfortable feeling that lingered around them. Yet – at the same time, Namjoon, Seokjin and Hoseok found themselves rather enjoying the comforting, securing sensation that the merlot mixed with manufactured blood brought them.

“Oh – you didn’t know? Jungkook is very much in love with (Y/N)! And it’s more than apparent she harbours those same ardent feelings towards him. Quite a delightful creature she is – she’ll make a fine addition to our long lineage, don’t you agree?”

Yoongi clicked his tongue in pure annoyance. “She’s lying – she has to be...Jungkook wouldn’t fuck a human...would he? Why is Serrena so happy about this?” he scowled to himself, as he wanted to be the one to get to you first; and conquer you for his own gain, completely. Yoongi knew that Jungkook may have possibly been enamoured by your mysterious touch; but he wasn’t counting on him actually developing real feelings for you and mating with you. Yoongi also knew that Jungkook was regium – from Royal blood; and he had been firmly under the impression that the Prince would never even think about a real future with you. With Jungkook being the Prince of the Eternal Kingdom, it was written in Vampiric tradition that he would marry another Royal Vampire to keep the line pure; leaving Yoongi totally and utterly enraged and perplexed at such a notion. “You’ve made my life even harder once again Jungkook, but I can assure you – you haven’t completely fucked my plans up...”

“Congrats to the new couple then” he collected himself, speaking rather obnoxiously as he spread his legs in his seat. “Must be disappointing for you though, my Queen. Your only son wedding and bedding a mere human? I didn’t think you’d agree to such atrocities. Such a shame~” Yoongi could have cackled with glee as he regained the feeling of being one step ahead of Serrena by reusing her previous words she so challenged him with.

Serrena smiled brightly as her two daughters passed uneasy glances between each other – practically able to feel their own mothers rage rise inside of her. “Oh Yoongi, there are a few disappointments in our family...but thankfully – Jungkook is not one of them”

Yoongi felt petty anger spread through him like wildfire, absolutely hating the fact that he wasn’t able to elude Serrena in any way possible. “Oh – that’s right. I suppose my brother and his natum lamia are bigger disappointments. Can you believe it? How dare my own brother bring such filth to your grand ball!”

“Oh my dear – yet another piece of information you’re lacking!” Serrena gave him a believable shocked face – leaving all four rogues completely confused at her words. “Your dear brother’s beloved Jimin is no longer natum lamia~ He’s already a fully fledged Vampire! Isn’t that wonderful?” she paused, watching ten levels of absolute pandemonium habituate Yoongi’s soft, yet cross features, before adding “Well, I suppose – how could you know? Had you not bitten him and left him for dead...had you kept that line of control, like you did with your three friends here; maybe you wouldn’t be the one so – how did you put it? Out of the loop, today?”

“Checkmate” Namjoon almost let an impressed smirk cross his lips.

In that moment, Yoongi wanted nothing more than to stand up, flip the table that all the Jeon’s were sat at and lunge for Serrena. Everything about her made him so enraged – her senses that let her know that he was the one who bit Jimin, her words that dripped with the heaviest form of artificially sweetened sarcasm and the way that no matter how hard he ever tried; Serrena – the Queen of the Eternal Kingdom always had the ability to make him feel like nothing more than a complete, dispensable pawn on a chess board.

“Damn...she’s good” Namjoon thought quietly to himself, watching Yoongi almost come undone from being so filled with spite and vexation.

“It’s not possible! I bit him two weeks ago...he should STILL be natum lamia. How is this happening? Why is this happening? Did Serrena do something? What could she have done?” Yoongi couldn’t form proper words to try and retaliate and refute Serrena’s claims as he continued to become more and more confused by the entire events of the evening.

“Oh my love, it appears you’ve become...rather upset” Serrena clicked her tongue in a patronising manner as she looked down to her dainty platinum wrist watch, observing the time while her husband waved his hand in the air to attract the attention of three, very large male Vampires who stood against the back wall. “No matter” she paused briefly as the three Vampires approached them all, standing behind the four rogues. It was at that moment that Hyeja and Chaewon, along with their husbands, stood up and began walking in the direction that you, Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin had went before.

“Yoongi, your parents have been going out of their minds – sick with worry for you! So, on that note, I’ll have my security escort you back to your mansion to deliver you all safe and sound to your mother and father. Do make sure to send them my regards! Tell your mother that I’ll be in contact soon~ It was so lovely to talk with you again Yoongi; I dearly missed our little chats” Serrena stood up gracefully, looking down upon Yoongi as he sat staring up at her with the same scornful look he had been wearing for the past twenty minutes of their conversation.

Yoongi stood up – with Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin following suit as the three Vampires behind them stood side by side, almost ready to pull them all out by their ears. “I guess we’ll be seeing each other soon then, dear aunt” Yoongi snarled as Serrena held her hand out for Yoongi to perform the traditional Vampiric custom of kissing her royal hand upon departing her presence. He glared at her as if he wished she would burst into a fiery ball of flames, before unwillingly taking her hand in his to lower his head to her knuckles. But before he could get his lips anywhere near her skin, Serrena forcefully pulled him close into her – so close that her own lips were almost right against his ear.

“If you so much as put a toe outside your parent’s mansion again, I will break every single bone in your body and I will smite you where you stand. Do you understand me?” she whispered viciously in his ear – her voice being enough to send a chill through Yoongi’s entire body as he felt himself quiver in response. However – he smirked, pulling himself away from her.

“We’ll see” he cocked his left eyebrow as he hummed his reply in a lowly fashion, before turning around to begin walking towards the main exit. Seokjin and Hoseok immediately shadowed his movements – along with their three escorts; however, Namjoon stayed still, his eyes still transfixed on the Queen as he once again bowed his head respectively.

Serrena flicked her fiery eyes to him, her demeanour becoming slightly soft as she wore a faint smile in the wake of his actions – before extending her regal hand to him. Without a moment of indecision, Namjoon gently took her hand and pressed his plump lips flush with her skin; letting them linger for a moment, before standing back up once again to look her in the eye.

“Namjoon” Serrena spoke, still holding his hand in hers and never taking her gaze off him as the other three began climbing the stairs across the room. “Listen to me when I tell you...whatever he has planned; I can assure you now that, whatever he has promised you? He won’t stay true to it” her voice was low and calm – yet an element of fear resided in it as she genuinely worried for Namjoon’s fate when Yoongi finally achieved whatever he had hoped to accomplish. Serrena knew that Yoongi didn’t have friends. Rather, he had foot-soldiers that were merely just a means to an end.

“...I know” Namjoon barely let out an audible whisper as he cast his eyes to the floor – knowing all too well that he meant absolutely nothing to Yoongi in the grand scheme of things. Namjoon knew, without any shadow of doubt in his intelligent mind that Yoongi would dispose of him the moment he became useless or unwanted; but he also knew that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Since Yoongi was the one who bit him and made him his own...he belonged to him. In short; Namjoon didn’t have a choice.

Serrena let out a regret-filled sigh as she smiled thinly to Namjoon, her eyes which were previously filled with terrifying aggravation; now filled with empathy and sorrow. “If there comes a time your master were to...accidentally loosen the ropes he has you bound to; you are always welcome to run into my embrace. Remember my words well, child” she squeezed his hand with a touch of motherly tenderness that struck even Namjoon’s tormented heart.

Namjoon swallowed hard, feeling like his soul was being pulled apart in two different directions – before inclining his head once more and retrieving his hand from Serrena’s grasp. And with that, he turned around silently – sprinting slightly to catch up with Yoongi and the others before they reached the top of the steps.

Serrena watched Yoongi as he never even glanced back at her – the three security Vampires ushering all four of them outside to escort them back to Yoongi’s parent’s mansion.

“(Y/N) called him ‘Dracula’...” she thought back to your troublesome words when you first laid your eyes on Yoongi that night – throwing her into a deep state of lament as the doors closed behind him.

“My love – I requested for the Hawk to be ready as soon as they all sat down. It’s ready and waiting for take-off. Hyeja and Chaewon are already on the roof with the boys” Jeonju stood up beside his wife, explaining how earlier when he clicked his fingers three times; it was codeword for “Get the Hawk ready.”

Serrena turned to him, producing an exasperated sigh as if to try and let the stress inside her free into the air around them. “Very well darling – we’d better get a move on, then” she smiled at him as he held his arm out for her to latch on to. They walked towards the back doors at what would be considered a leisurely pace as to not attract any unwanted attention from the others in the room – as it would only hinder their need to get back to Jungkook’s Manor.

No sooner had they stepped out into the hallway, Serrena hiked her stunning white dress up to her calves, before both the King and the Queen made a left turn to begin scaling up the building stairwell at an inhuman speed. They could have, of course, taken the elevator up; as the top floor was twenty-three stories high. Alas, being the King and Queen meant that they could make it to the rooftop far quicker than any elevator could ever hope to.

Serrena and Jeonju burst through the rooftop door – being met by the familiar sound of the Jeon’s custom made BlackHawk helicopter; much smaller in comparison to the usual military models, but it still could fly at the same velocity and hold a substantially heavy weight on-board. Serrena had already deducted that by now – given the top speed of Jungkook’s car which was around 155mph, that he would already be home with you, Taehyung and Jimin; all of you safe and sound. It was a calm, windless night – which meant that the BlackHawk could make the 38 mile journey back to the Manor in approximately fifteen minutes.

“Up you go my dear, mind your head” Jeonju placed his hand to the small of his wife’s back as she lifted the bottom of her dress to allow her to climb the small steps up and into the helicopter.

“Mother – he’s gone now, yes?” Hyeja, who was sat beside her husband, shouted over the sound of the whirring blades of the helicopter upon Serrena and Jeonju climbing inside – the crew of assisting Vampires around them making the necessary preparations for take-off.

“Yes! They just left!” Serrena shouted back upon placing the noise cancelling headphones over her ears to communicate through the radio system to her family.

“What was that all about? Why was (Y/N) about to have a bloody heart attack? And Taehyung’s boyfriend too? What’s with (Y/N)’s skin – why did it make me feel so odd? Why was that good for nothing –“ Chaewon began firing question after question to her mother.

“Enough, Chaewon!” Jeonju interrupted her, hardly being able to think straight with all that had happened in one night; knowing that it certainly wasn’t about to be over any time soon.

“Everything will be explained when we get to the Manor. (Y/N) needs to know what she is...she needs to know what we are. And I need to find out how she knows Yoongi and why she was so...terrified of him” Serrena shook her head in frustration as she gazed out the window, looking down at the city lights below the building. Amidst looks of worry, confusion and complete disbelief, Serrena was taken out of her moments trance by the sound of the pilot’s voice through her headphones.

“Jeon Tower, Hawk is ready for take-off – requesting permission” the pilot’s voice paused, waiting for confirmation from the Jeon’s own radio, air and weather tower to begin their flight. “Cleared take-off Helipad 3201, Hawk over and out” his voice vanished as the helicopter doors slid closed – locking in position and securing all Vampire souls on board.

As the helicopter lifted off the helipad and began ascending in the air – all that was going through Serrena’s mind was confusion mixed with turmoil.

“Does Yoongi know what she is? If so – how? Does...does he plan to use her in...in that way?” was all that she could think about, as the helicopter began gliding through the air - making its quick flight to Jungkook’s Manor. Serrena knew you would be completely safe in the Manor for it was physically impossible for Yoongi to step foot behind it’s gates without being permitted to enter. She felt secure in the thought that she knew Jungkook would wait until she arrived to begin explaining everything to you. But ultimately, Serrena knew that you would be ignorantly waiting their arrival; while being completely unaware of the dire evil that was threatening your very existence.

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