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yeoldontknow · 4 years

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Ciperion: 1/2

Author: @yeoldontknow as part of the Anchors & Arrows collaboration with @imdifferentshadesofpurple Pairing: Jaebeom x Reader (oc; female) Genre: fantasy!au; shipwreck au; jaebeom is a fisherman; romance; angst; elements of horror; ghosts; eventual smut Summary: Everyone on the Isle Indolon knows the story of Ciperon, though none believe it is true. Over centuries, the tale of the long lost ghost ship on the high seas has become little more than urban legend. In his youth, Jaebeom always thought the story was heartbreaking, and he did his best to avoid it - the same way he avoids the missionaries that have taken occupation on the island. On the anniversary of Ciperion’s ill-fated port date, you wash up on sea, and only you have the answers he’s always been seeking. If only you could remember who you are. Rating (this part): PG-13 Warnings (this part): angst; shipwrecks; references to head trauma; jaebeom does CPR; jaebeom rescuing an unconcious woman; allusions to sexual assault but it didnt happen, he just is protective and misinterprets everything; anxiety; ptsd; vomiting; ghost stories; graphic depictions of violence; mentions of blood; non-major character death; themes of horror; lots of grief; memory loss; jb doesnt really know what to do with himself; mentions of becoming a widow; it sounds really sad but i promise its not that bad; tbh oc is a really great sport Word Count: 17.5K

Three hundred miles off the emerald coast of Isle Indolon, Second Mate Ansil Green looks up at the shimmering night of the dark sky and feels a chill of apprehension burrow deep within his bones.

There are only three days left to their journey, and for five months he has charted each with meticulous accuracy. It is easy to rely on the stars, he thinks. Their steadfast illumination and the reassurance found in their seasonal rotation have brought him immeasurable comfort throughout his life, and not once, not even on nights when storms threaten to eat their way through the ship’s bowsprit, have they ever led him astray.

In the berthing hull, the missionaries say their prayers with tightly clasped hands, while others read their scrolls in preparation for new lectures once they reach the shore. Back in Indolon, Ansil’s wife and two children anxiously await his triumphant return, and everyone, every crew member and stow away rat, is eager to breach land. Even now, he can see it clearly - his wife’s pretty eyes as she laughs, small crescent moons that remind him of the night sky; the youthful, almost violent laughter of his sons as they play in the fields; the creaking if their iron bed frame as he rocks between her thighs, not unlike the ship as she rocks against the sea.

Tonight, he wonders if these simple treasures have fallen too far out of reach, if they have slipped, imperceptibly, out of his grasp.

Because tonight, the stars are wrong.

Gripping the mahogany banister, he leans against the side and cranes his neck, angling his view slightly to the right in the hopes of correcting the pattern. Something about this is terribly wrong, wrong enough that the deepening doubt bites at him, heating his skin like a fever. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he does his best to swallow this worry, attempts, rather meekly, to focus on the light flapping of the mainsail above him, on its rhythmic and soothing white noise that often helps him drift, hazily, through sleepless nights. Now, it offers him little comfort, the wind that moves the ship rustling through his hair, stroking against the shell of his ear, carrying whispers of splintered wood and rocky shores blackened by sea water mixing with spilled blood.

Heavy footsteps make their approach from behind, the purposeful strides and confident gait of Captain Grier L’Allante causing the heels of his boots to shatter the false sense of peace. Ansil does not move to greet his Captain, and while this would be considered an insult on any other crew ship, he supposes Grier has become used to his flippant and yet focused attitude when the stars are out, decades of manning ships alongside one another having reduced the rules of propriety almost entirely non-existent. Keeping his gaze on the sky, he feels Grier come to stand beside him, the heat of his closeness full of pride and awe; admiring the vastness of the sea before him, he exudes an energy that puts a sour taste in the back of Ansil’s throat.

How he hates to ruin the evening.

‘We’re going in the wrong direction,’ he announces, feeling Grier stiffen rather than deflate entirely.

His captain hums in consideration, never one to give over to fear or uncertainty. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Look at the stars.’ Ansil corrects his posture and regards his friend with pleading eyes. It is, perhaps, the first time he has ever shown signs of fear with his captain, but Grier maintains his composure and presses his lips into a thin line. ‘They’re at the wrong angle by about twenty-six degrees,’ he continues to explain.

Pointing up at the constellation Cassiopeia, he gestures a long straight line back behind him, back towards the foresail, in the direction of Hydra. Turning once again to look at Grier, he waits for some kind of flicker of emotion to pass over his features, and when nothing comes, he simply sighs, pressing his friend for more.

‘This distance shouldn’t be this wide,’ he offers grimly, straightening his posture to stand at his full height. ‘Did we turn?’

‘No.’ Grier barks his reply with forceful authority, though, behind his eyes there is a storm brewing, a brief flash of concern that placates Ansil. ‘I helm this ship myself, and you know in your heart we haven’t turned. You said straight on until dawn, and the wind is steady at four knots to the South-West. We’re still on course.’

In unison, they turn back to the sky, and Ansil tightens his grip on the railing. ‘There’s something bad about this. I can feel it.’

Grier chuckles amicably. ‘What you’re feeling is five months staring at the same bloody lights in the sky.’ His gaze falls on Ansil’s profile, and he can feel him regarding his features with probing scrutiny. ‘You didn’t even take a woman at the last port,’ he states, nudging his shoulder with a force that makes Ansil lean to the side.

‘They’re not precisely the same,’ he admonishes with a laugh. Grier regards him expectantly, but all Ansil can manage is a sigh of longing. He’d love to laugh at this kind of crude joke, and normally he would, but three days is somehow longer than five insurmountable months, the ability to count them transmuting the number into something brutal. ‘And you know I’d never do that to Mala.’

Taking off his hat, Grier runs a hand through the greasy black strands of his hair, grimacing through his laugh. ‘Too loyal for your own good.’

This is something Ansil can tease him about, and he offers his friend an impish grin, taking his own opportunity to nudge Greir’s shoulder roughly, revealing his hidden strength. ‘And your prick is too slippery for your health.’

It’s childish, the way they punch their fists into one another’s arms, the jovial nature of this making him feel as though they are teenagers once again. At once, he is nineteen and Grier has just convinced him to come out to sea, to stow away on his father’s vessel, and they are laughing at the reckless foolishness of this idea. But they are smiling, already hungry for the adventure, already wanting the spray from the waves and the salt that shall never leave their skin. They are young and they are hopeful, and now, even after the bloodshed and the violence and the horror they have seen among the ocean, he thinks they have never been quite as dangerous as they were then.

‘You need rest, mate,’ Grier advises once they’ve settled back against the railing. They look out over the ocean, the water as black as the night it reflects, light of the moon illuminating the peaks of waves and casting shadows behind them as long as the sea is wide. Releasing a deep sigh through the flare of his nostrils, he suddenly becomes alarmingly serious. ‘Otherwise, it’s scurvy.’

A beat of silence passes between them, a pregnant pause in which neither one of them breathes, the word hanging heavily between them both, unwilling to be touched. Until, they erupt into laughter, Ansil leaning against the railing to steady himself atop the wet baseboards. A wave hits the side of the ship and sprays gently against his cheeks, cooling his skin and for a moment, he is grounded in the happiness of this. For a moment, the sky is clear and he can see Grier’s warm, too kind smile; can see the way the ship is heading home, steadfast and unyielding in her journey.

For a moment, there is peace.

Calming his breath, he runs a hand over his face and nods. ‘What I would give for a peach.’

Ansil waits for the inevitable hum of commiseration, a sound of companionship in the memory of the juicy ripeness of Indolon peaches - the yellow of their fruit so moist it would leave their hands sticky for days. He can almost taste the burst of flavor in his mouth, tongue wet in desperation for something other than the salt and brine of oysters and trout, and finds the only consolation for this hunger is that they shall arrive in time for the peak season.

Ansil waits for Grier, but the sound never comes, his captain watching the waves beyond the ship with lips parted in pale shock. Knotting his brow, Ansil takes his time turning to look where Grier’s focus rests, the tendrils of dread rising once more within his belly. The fear in him feels almost inhuman, taking full control of his joints as they stiffen, keeping him rigid and held firmly in place. Grier continues looking out to sea, blood rushing away from his cheeks, likely retreating within to service more important pieces in preparation of survival.

When Ansil finally gathers his strength, he swallows thickly, and looks out to the water. He has lived through war - a great many battles on Naval ships both larger and smaller than this. He has seen dying men beg for both life and death, the fear in their eyes making it unclear which they crave more. He has seen waves rise taller than the ships he crews, seeking an immortal companion for her enduring loneliness.

But he has never seen fog overtake the earth quite like this, or with such wrath.

It comes from nowhere and everywhere all at once, swallowing both sea and sky as it crawls across the horizon. From its center, an ethereal light seems to glow, a beacon to herald the nothingness that surrounds them, but even this light too is a half formed shadow, the core of its rays smeared across miles as it spreads within the clouds. The blood in his ears in unrelenting, the rush of his blood to his thunderous heart making his head begin to hurt as he watches it spread. Has anything ever been so fast?

The fog works quickly to cover everything in sight, racing towards the ship at a speed he simply cannot comprehend. When he was young, and newly appointed to Third Mate Naval Officer, he sailed aboard the Cygnus, the fastest ship Indolon had ever produced - reaching a record breaking thirteen knots in the correct wind conditions. Somehow, this fog is so much faster, ravenous for absolutely everything it touches as the waves begin to still beneath its touch.

The wind ceases.

The waves still, cannibalised by the fog.

And as he looks to Grier, their eyes mirroring the horror they find in each other, he realizes the ship has come to a full stop.

It is when the fog touches the boat that he hears it, the anguished screaming of men beneath their feet. Even at war, he has never heard such terror as this. The sound is born from men suddenly learning that they will die, this death an ambush to the unsuspecting and therefore all the more gruesome in its wake. He regards his feet with a disgust that taints his numbness, the abjection of this noise releasing a myriad of feelings within his veins - the urge to run, the urge to scream, a tightness in his throat so painful he fears he may suffocate on the size of it, and the overwhelming desire to cry. Yet, it seems his body cannot decide upon any of these, and so settles on none, rendering him absolutely and completely silent.

They stand above the berthing hull, listening to the missionaries burst to life for one extraordinary moment before their echoes die one by one, their last breath a wail of anguish. As Ansil takes in a long, slow inhale to steady his growing panic, he can smell the acrid stench of blood and piss wafting up between the boards, bile rising to the back of his throat. The silence that befalls them in the aftermath is threatening, an eerie calm that raises gooseflesh along his skin. Bones brittle and mouth dry, he simply stares at Grier and takes in every detail he can, unfailingly certain this is the last time they will see one another.

In the distant horizon a tall mast looms beyond the mist, the main mast taller than that of their vessel. The crow’s nest is empty, and if he focuses long enough he has the passing sensation he could look right through the wood into an empty, eternal void.

‘It can’t be,’ he whispers, reminding himself it is just a legend and that legends are buried in the past.

They are buried.

His voice carries no echo, the atmosphere around them tight enough his voice lives and dies before him, reaching nowhere else but his own ears. Grier does not even react, does not make any movement at all, save for the shifting of his attention to the world behind Ansil, eyes trained on something that makes his adam’s apple bob in the effort of swallowing his trepidation.

A bead of sweat glides down Ansil’s spine, and he can feel an angry shadow looming behind him. Burning like hellfire, he waits for the scent of his own flesh bubbling beneath his chemise to reach his nose, readying for immolation. Death comes slowly for people like him, he supposes. It likes to take its time weighing the worth of his soul and the value of his existence. He has made love and he has made life, but he has taken far more than he has created, and so he suspects this slow conquering of his person is deserved - retribution for the bloodstains etched into his palms.

‘Ciperion,’ Grier says, eyes widening in sudden, terrible realization.

It is the last thing Ansil sees and hears before cold hands wrap around his jaw, pressing fingers into his mouth and pulling until the pain in his bones, his skin, his muscles is so great the world turns black.

Standing on the old oak dock behind his home, Jaebeom stares out at the open sea and knows that, today, the water is ruthless.

He can feel the rage beneath her waves, the violent and unforgiving aggression of the current guiding the water as it rolls up against the edge of the dock, shaking its legs as if testing the foundation’s strength. The first light of morning is unable to penetrate the intense cloud cover along the horizon, their peaks and valleys tinged with red shadows behind the murky green and black. Awake far too early to begin his descent to the jetty, he balls his fists in the pockets of his linen coat and eyes the gathering storm with suspicion.

Once again, he’s been brought out.

Pulled from his feather bed by some unseen force, it has become a habit for him to spend his early hours on the dock, overtaken by a profound sense of longing. Rooting himself to the wood, he has grown used to the passage of time that drifts beyond him, and finds that he is unencumbered by these lost moments. It’s been happening more often as late, his sleep interrupted by the desire to see and to know, an endless stream of questions burning at the back of his mind that chase the sleep from his limbs. But, always, the words are garbled, the thoughts unclear.

It is worse today - somehow, he knows this with all of his being. Even as he stands, completely alone and unseen, he feels naked all the way down to his nerves. Narrowing his eyes, he peers at the water, unblinking, taking hold of the ache within his chest. Something is missing, has been lost. Or, perhaps, it was taken from him, the intense longing in his chest delivering him a nostalgia too great to be expressed or understood. If he looks long enough, he can almost envision it emerging from the horizon, precariously balanced as though hanging on a thread.

But the image never fully forms, never reveals its nature, and he is left bereft, hissing a sigh of frustration between his teeth.

Gulls pass overhead, making way for the Southern shore. Their calls are the music of the morning, a siren song that only serves to mire him deep within his thoughts, and he blinks several times as he rolls his shoulders back, trying, and failing, to collect himself. The current sends a rough breeze through the thin fabric of his chemise, the uncharacteristically cool summer air nipping at his skin, and he bristles though he does not shiver. Digging his nails into his palm, he struggles to gather the will to leave, every bone in his body telling him he must wait.

Each morning Jaebeom finds himself in this position, looking out to the open water and waiting - wanting to write love letters, wanting to write odes, often wanting to simply cry or curse the tide for what it has taken, but he remains mute, dumbfounded, lingering expectantly for an answer that will not come. And he is angry, muttering to himself that he must leave, that there is no purpose here, but the thought of missing it only serves to aggravate his insistence on keeping still, on looking and looking harder.

‘Come on,’ he mumbles, as if willing a response from the sea.

When nothing comes, the muscles in his arms and thighs tense as he presses himself into the dock. ‘Show me,’ he hisses, emphatically.

Immediately he feels terribly silly, not even certain to whom he is speaking. It is not the first time he has made these demands, not the first time he has called out to the sea as if it would even deign to reply. The answering silence and empty air should neither surprise nor disappoint him, but as his posture curls and his chest deflates, he finds both of these things happen in quick succession. Something is out there, something beyond the place the light touches, and he thinks what frustrates him most is the endless unknowing.

Voices along the shore break his concentration, a group of missionaries walking side by side, barefoot in the warm sand as they talk, sometimes laugh, amongst one another. The sound of their chatter breaks the magic of this hour, an unwelcome interruption to the morning solitude. At once he returns to himself, hands in his pockets relaxing out of the fists he’s been holding, and suddenly he feels rather neutral about his position on the dock, about the ocean, and the thick clouds overhead.

The town has started to wake, the missionaries commencing their morning walk a sign that he is late - terribly late, and the time it will take him to prepare his sails and his nets will likely cause him to miss the golden fishing hour. Closing his eyes, he hangs his head and sighs, certain he will lose the best crabs of the day.

Briskly walking along the shore to the jetty, he keeps a wide berth from the missionaries as he passes. Jaebeom keeps his eyes trained on the rocky jut of the shoreline, keeping his posture rigid in the effort of not being overtaken by the staggering sense of unease that gradually drops his feet to his stomach with each step he takes. He’s certain they must feel this, must feel the crushing weight of his discomfort, and he furrows his brow, swallows thickly, and grits his teeth as he prepares for conversation.

‘Good day,’ they chime in unison, bowing their heads in greeting. The steely chill in their voices makes him shiver. ‘May Deus keep you.’

Jaebeom simply nods politely, but says nothing, finding no solace in their words. On instinct, his attention diverts to the slotted diamond shaped symbols on their rosaries, a sense of nausea rising in his stomach. Lifting his gaze to their faces, he focuses on their features - their eyes, their well practiced smiles, their royal blue square hats - but all the while, he battles against himself, soul willing him with all its might to look, once more, at the rosaries.

Quickening his steps, he hurries past them, releasing a breath he did not know he had been holding. Running a hand through his hair, he chastises himself sheepishly for his disrespectful behavior. He’s old enough now, nearly thirty and well past the age of childish anxiety, to know they are harmless, it is harmless, but still he feels a rattle in his bones even after they have disappeared from view. He remembers the monthly service ceremony - his mother, her pleading eyes, and his frightened distress as she brought him along. Long into the night, he would be plagued with the memory of their long faces and their empty expressions, the fear and hatred in him making him feel sick with fever.

Eventually, he grew out of this level of anguish but still his maturity and his logical reasoning do not serve as a comfort. In the numerous missionaries that occupy Indolon, he finds no refuge, no joy, somehow more sure now, in his old age, than ever of their wrongness.

His schrooning boat is docked at the base of the rocky cliff side, just below the lighthouse and pushed far away from the crowded wharf. As he makes his approach, he feels the eyes of other fishermen bore into his spine, their judgement of him, his lack of a First Mate, a crew, and his placement of his boat always deeply felt at this hour of the morning. But he does not mind.

Since he was small, Jaebeom’s understanding of the sea, of her nature and her cruelty, has kept him at a great distance from his peers. As a child, he preferred to listen - to listen to the ocean and to watch it change, finding a deep affinity in her tumultuous loneliness. This kind of loving relationship, he thinks, has developed into a skill that keeps his family well paid, a roof over his head, and the bellies of many full. Maintaining a crew would simply distract him, his mind less on the water and more on the work of his members.

And while he, too, might have agreed the placement of his boat against the rocks is reckless at best, it is placed where he would catch crabs as a child with his father - the best location to spot their lavender and purple shells as they eat the moss along the stones. And just below, the bright vermillion of the king crabs glittering as they sink to the ocean floor.

Stepping onto his boat, he sheds his linen jacket and cranes his head back to observe the large mast, its mainsail tied neatly at the base with a strong sailor’s knot. Rolling up his sleeves, he lets the sea breeze kiss his warm skin, heated and dewy with moisture from his walk, and watches light behind the clouds do its best to illuminate the land below. The rains will likely start soon, the hours left in the day for adequate fishing conditions dwindling, and so he hoists himself up on the shroud, untying the sail in quick, easy motions.

Climbing up the iron ladder connected to the mast, he reaches for the rope at the center of the sail and latches his fingers, giving one large tug to set the sail free. It flaps loosely in the wind, releasing itself to its full length, and as he makes his way down in the cover of its shadow, he looks out to the lighthouse, admiring the way the tall grass is somehow more viridescent beneath the grey skies as it reaches upwards, asking for rain. Autumn is nestled in the branches of the trees, the peak summer season soon to give way to the burning gold of autumn, but as he regards the lighthouse field he finds it difficult to imagine the world any other way than this. It’s as though the earth has always been green, always been bright, too alive to ever fully be witnessed.

As he takes in the splendor of the earth, letting pleasure root itself against his ribs, he notices, rather curiously, a pile of cloth discarded amongst the rocks. Strewn carelessly across the sharp incline, the ivory cloth has been yellowed and torn, resting long forgotten in the shallows. Narrowing his eyes, he steps off the shroud and leans over the edge of his boat, glad that it is still tied to the fender and not drifting away with the sudden displacement of his weight. As he continues to look, the ivory gives way to the vitality of flesh and long limbs, and his mouth runs dry.

‘By Deus,’ he whispers, the dread in his veins restricting the volume of his voice. ‘It’s a person.’

Limbs moving of their own accord, Jaebeom is carried back to the dock, hands working quickly to remove his boots. Gaze unwavering, he keeps his eyes on the body, transfixed and horrified, afraid of letting his eyes wander for fear of it disappearing altogether. His heart beats like thunder against his sternum, warring with too many emotions and unable to allow any one a victor. Behind the worry, the confusion, the terror, a curious sense of relief is building, a calm that would almost have him believe he is not in the process of coming undone.

If he focuses on it, he gets the sense that this is what he has been waiting for - not just in the morning before the dawn breaks, not just in the crash of waves against his boat and their icy waters demanding his spirit, but for always. In this moment, the hollowed sensation in his heart, the sense of something long absent, is scabbing over with each breath he takes.

Barefoot, he moves at a slow run, something like grief and hope mixing in his blood and putting a swell in the joints of his fingers. Jaebeom stifles these feelings, grounds himself in the reality that someone might be hurt, might be in need, and reminds himself, dutifully, that it is not the time to be carried away with his emotions. Still, there is a tingle at the base of his neck, an urgency that goes beyond humanitarianism, pushing him forward with exhilaration.

'Help.'

A female voice is carried on the wind, musical in its cadence and pleasurable in the way it sings its request. The ocean spray delivers it to him at the same moment the water bursts over the rocks, the sea mist rising up against his cheeks before retreating through the crevices in the earth, cooling the flush beneath his skin. Inside him, it burrows, reaching down and deep to nestle in the long empty caverns of his heart. As he moves over the rocks, carefully placing his feet to maintain his balance, he strains to hear it once more, certain it is a woman he is racing to help and she is begging to be saved.

'Help heal.'

'I'm coming,' he calls out, voice as shaky as his legs and echoing over the ocean’s roar.

He does his best not to cut his toes on the angular shards that have been eroded over years of rough sea water, but with each step he takes the water rises over the rocks with an aggression bordering on feral, demanding all of him within its foam. With each rush of water, he has the feeling it is reaching for his ankles, hands desperate to clutch at his person and drag him down, and down.

Yet, the closer he gets, the more he feels as though he could weep - from joy, from desperation, from loss - and this alone is enough to make him want to rush, pushing through the erratic rhythm of his heart and beyond the lump in his chest that makes each inhale ache. Now, with a clear vision of the body, it is as though you have been spit from the ocean’s mouth, cast out for your transgressions and all the corrupted ways you have disappointed the ocean. There is tragedy in the way you are draped over the rocks, body poised at woeful angles for having displeased the gods. Now, you have been forced to greet the horror of your retribution.

Only a few rocks away, Jaebeom allows himself a brief pause and takes you in, letting his eyes take their time in their discovery of your person. Hugging himself, he suddenly feels conflicted, as though he is learning your shapes while still becoming reacquainted with something long missed. This state of being is a paradox, and in the full emptiness of it, he has the passing sensation that he is learning the essence of love, and little else.

Shaking himself free from his idle reverence, he takes a few steps closer and notices the silk of your dress is ruined, perhaps permanently. His jaw drops slightly at the still gleaming shine of the fabric, the most expensive silk he has ever seen. It clings to your skin, dampened and tarnished, fraying at the ripped edges but still doing its best to hold you delicately, clinging to you in the effort of keeping you safe. Something about the cut of the dress triggers a memory he cannot quite reach, a familiarity in its lines and shapes that make him recall there was a purpose behind this outfit, a reason that it is both extraordinary and unforgettable, but it vanishes from him as quickly as it came. The fog in his mind is heavy, muddling his thoughts and pulling at the edges of his concentration and he knits his brow together to keep himself grounded.

In the aftermath of this brief recollection, he bites a whine of longing burning at the back of his throat, a pathetic sound of loss, regret, mourning. Your hair spills over the rocks, eyes closed and skin bruised though not scraped to bleeding. Flickers of recognition press at him, mind racing around the image of your soft lips, the high angle of your cheekbones, and the delicate elegance found in your wrists. Struggling to recall your name, Jaebeom approaches gently, coming to a kneel at your side, unsure what to say at all.

Pressing two fingers to the pulse point in your neck, he feels a dull, yet ever present, throb of life beneath your skin and releases a breath he did not know he had been holding. Alive, though just barely and unconscious, lungs likely full of sea water. Everything about you is soft, the warmth of life fading quickly beneath his fingers and rendering you terribly fragile, and he retracts his hand for fear of his touch giving bloom to more marks along your flesh.

Glancing around the cliff face, he looks for signs of wood, other bodies, ripped sails or bent iron, but finds nothing. No signs of shipwreck, no signs of a waiting party to receive you. You are alone in this torment, rejected by land and sea, and forced to exist within the limbo of life and death.

Before he can stop himself, he lifts you to his chest, cradling you close as he rises to a stand. If you were awake, you would be shivering, would tremble in the chill that means to overtake your very bones, and he hurries as best he can back to his boat and the woolen blankets he keeps in case of cold summer rains. Moving quickly over the shore, he stumbles slightly, feet tripping over themselves in surprise as he feels you burrow into him, seeking warmth with a low moan, and brow furrowed in what he hopes is simply the effort of healing.

Finally aboard once more, he takes you into the small cabin beneath the helm and tucks you into the straw bed he keeps for nights when the winds are threatening and violent, remaining on the boat in case the waves should do their best to reclaim the wood. Draping several blankets over you, he crawls close enough the heat from his chest could radiate into your skin, encouraging a rush of blood in your veins. His fingers twitch, wanting to brush stray strands of hair out of your eyes, but he presses the flat of his hand into the bed, resisting his urges.

The medic will need to be informed. This realization hits him with a bitterness that speaks of separation, chest restricting and tightening against the air in his lungs until it hurts to breathe. Against his bones, his muscles battle the urge to hold you close and he shuts his eyes with a grimace as a headache blooms at the base of his skull. Yet, as he strains to focus in the quiet of the cabin, he is acutely aware there are no traces of your breath, no labored wheeze no even inhalation, and so he resolutely declares that he will ferry your oxygen, coming to sit up on his knees as he plugs your nose and presses his lips to yours, opening them slightly.

Cradling your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Jaebeom exhales deeply, letting the strength of his breath travel into the limit of your lungs. Squeezing his eyes closed, he exhales for as long as he can manage, giving everything within himself to you before, all at once and all over again, he feels as though he has stepped out of himself.

Once more, voices materialize at the back of his mind, these new sounds more like echoes that erupt from nowhere and no when, fingerprints of a bygone era carried to him on wings. Their words are a garbled mess of sounds, undeterminable cadences lacking diction or emphasis, but he hears the sound of a man, low and gentle and wondrously tender.

He hears a man, and the man is unmistakably, unfailingly, him.

Opening his eyes, he drinks you in, and surrenders to the notion he is being conquered by the mere sight of you. One word from you, and it would be as violent as a new beginning, a great shattering of all the comforts he knows of the world. And he would welcome it, knows, as if by magic, that he has given over to it before, would give over to it again, the power in you so great only ritual could contain it.

Blinking several times to clear the shock from his mind, he quickly moves his hands to your chest and presses against your sternum in the rhythmic way his sister taught him when he announced he wanted to be a fisherman, just like their father. Her eyes had glazed over then with the memory of loss and strife, and so she laid him on the floor and promptly taught him how to save a life should the sea threaten to claim a man as her own. The muscles in his harms strains as he continues pressing, and he thinks maybe he will need to press his lips to yours once more, bracing, instinctively, for more voices to fill his head, but a rush of water bursts from between your lips and he quickly moves back, turning you to your side to let it drain completely.

Falling back on your side, you release a cough but you do not wake, the small puddle of water between you both at once threatening and sacred, a reminder that everything Jaebeom has seen and felt is real, tethered to this moment. Tethered to you.

‘Who are you?’ he murmurs, but even as he says it, even as the words leave his mouth, he knows this is not the right question.

In the oncoming silence, the correct words swell on his tongue, nearly tumble from his lips, but, instead, he chews the inside of his cheek, aware that the right question will insight a riot in him he is unprepared to endure.

When Jaebeom carries you into his home, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, overtaken by the staggering weight of deja-vu.

He’s been in this position before, holding you against him in the center of his small kitchen as the elasticity of his emotions stretches outward for an eternity. There is an awakening occurring at the very center of his soul, bursting like a new star as its white heat slithers down his spine. Glancing down at you, your soft lips, your closed eyes, and your limp frame, held so closely to him, he feels the earth move beneath his feet, the shifting tectonics of his life all leading to this single moment.

Shaking his head, he releases himself from this, moving to his bedroom with focused steps as he places you in his bed. Igniting the oil lamps, he works quickly to bathe you in warm light, covering you with his down comforter before moving to the furnace tucked in the corner of the room. In summer, he keeps little coal and kindling but he uses the last of the brush wood he’s saved from the recent winter to ignite a small fire that burns red and gold behind the latched closing.

He regards your still form with a frown, running a hand through his hair in distress and grits his teeth. The last several days have been almost unbearably hot, but it seems August’s heatwave has been broken by the cool wind of the day, the overall gloom breaking the humidity and blocking the sun from her usual path. Of all days, it pains him that this would be the day the sea released you from her clutches, sent you from the cold depths of her darkness back to the shore where the sun refused to keep you.

From his kitchen, he takes a small linen cloth, inspecting it for cleanliness, and folds it into a long rectangle. Warming it in front of the furnace, he rotates it in circles before he feels it is sufficiently heated, just enough to ease tension in your muscles and restore heat where you need it most. It warms his hands, palms already swollen and grown clammy, room becoming relatively stuffy as he slides the cloth beneath your neck while you sleep. Already, a pink flush has begun to settle within your cheeks, the relief in him not unlike a rapture.

What will you say when you wake, he wonders. How will you sound when you look him in the eye, unsure of where you are? More importantly, he worries if you will wake at all, if perhaps the rush of blood beneath your skin is the last tour it will take before it stills altogether, heart too sluggish to keep a steady flow. The thought sends a tremor of heartbreak into the base of his spine, and a pained gasp tumbles through his lips, scorning the very notion of the thought.

He needs an occupation to distract, needs a purpose to feel as though there is progress being made, and so he turns on his heel and grabs his coat, supposing that when you do wake, he should at least be ready.

The walk to his sister’s cottage is not long, one that he usually relishes in the spring when the path is lined with blossom trees and the foxes play around their dens, their ruddy tails bouncing amongst the high grasses. Today, his strides are long but the journey feels endless, the path reaching well beyond the limits of the land, his mind thinking only of arrival rather than enjoying the view.

Another group of missionaries passes him along the dirt road, and he crosses to the other side to give himself space, freedom, liberation from their watchful eyes. Offering them sidelong glances, he studies the way they regard him conspicuously, whispering to one another as though he cannot hear the faint sounds of their voices, the conviction of their stares a judgement he feels with all of his body. Do they somehow know that he has found and kept a woman? Have they heard the voices too, the echoes he is resurrecting just by being near you?

He finds he cares little for the answers to these questions, deeming their existence as something infinitely less important or significant in the light of resolute purpose.

Byeol answers the door after three hard knocks, her face a picture of confusion that still does nothing to mar her beauty. She stands just shy of his height, one hand on the door and the other on her hip, the laugh lines along her cheeks carrying a secret smile within them.

‘Jaebie,’ she announces, more a question than a statement. Arching a single brow, her brown eyes bore into his with the chastising admonishment only an older sibling could manage. ‘Shouldn’t you be fishing?’

Jaebeom nods, a noncommittal gesture of affirmation, and presses his way through the doorway, past her slight frame. He wastes no time slipping off his boots as he fumbles for an explanation.

‘Sorry for the unexpected arrival,’ he mumbles, only partially apologetic. ‘Something’s…’ his voice drifts away, eyes looking everywhere but her face as he searches for the right words. To tell the truth means he must tell the whole truth, unable to hide anything from her, and so he settles for one single, vague word. ‘Happened,’ he says, finally.

Immediately, he regrets it.

Byeol’s eyes widen, hands raising to gently cup his face in her palms. Satisfied he is whole, they run down his shoulders to his arms, searching. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No, no.’ He pulls himself from her grasp, hands raised in surrender, offering her a sheepish smile of amiable regret. ‘Nothing like that. I, uh, need to borrow some of your clothes.’

She takes a single step back, brow knit together in bewilderment. A myriad of emotions pass over her face, and Jaebeom does his best to count them all, the youth of her features rising and falling between her fear, her amusement, her apprehension. Eventually, she settles on curiosity as her eyes rake him up and down, one hand resting on her chest, perplexed yet surprised.

Rolling his eyes, he turns away from her and moves through her home, heading towards the wooden staircase. ‘They’re not for me.’

Byeol follows close behind, hot on his heels. ‘You’re telling me you…’

There’s too much excitement in her voice, the sound and volume of it making him close his eyes as if bracing for a storm. In one fluid motion, she rounds in front of him to block his path, eyes wide in delight as she makes an inappropriate gesture with her hands.

‘No!’ he scolds, though he finds he must swallow the early threads of a laugh. ‘Not that either.’

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he feels a slight flush creep into his cheeks as she giggles in childish glee. Gently easing her to the side, he continues up the stairs with heavy thuds of his feet. It always amazes him how easily, and how quickly, Byeol can manipulate the atmosphere in the room, her energy always barely contained and always terribly infectious. Questions are burning at the back of her throat, and she follows closely behind, the bounce in her step echoing around the house behind him.

Just like their mother, she will not let this go until she is satisfied, will not let him leave until she has received at least one answer, and so he releases a silent sigh as he reaches the landing, turning down the hall towards her room. He should be commended, he thinks, for the bravery he must assume to endure her interrogation.

‘There’s a woman -’ he begins slowly, only to be cut off.

‘You bastard!’ she exclaims delightedly, slapping his shoulder blade with enough force to make him stumble.

She takes his slight hesitation as an opportunity to run ahead of his once more, the glee in her eyes wild and bright, a look he once found vindictive in their youth. Spreading her arms wide, she presses her hands into the frames of her bedroom doorway, full of impish joy as she stares him down. The love he feels for her blurs together with his frustration, the affection in him rising like a tide.

‘Would you stop?’ he pleads, though now he does not bother to stop his laugh. ‘I just need some stays. A chemise and some trousers, too, if you have them.’

Standing to her full height, she raises her head elegantly, full of self-importance and authority, swallowing her smile for a serious expression of warning. ‘You can borrow them on the grounds that you give me her name.’

Exasperated, he looks away, letting his gaze move to the side and into the small rectangle that is Sun Hee’s room. It’s messy, the bed unmade and several books piled onto their mother’s antique rocking chair. Atop the books, her stuffed crochet kitten rests, presiding over the chaos like a queen. Along the walls, sepia portraits of his mother and father hang beside cross-stitch pieces his sister did while pregnant: one a rabbit, another a bundle of wild flowers, one a vestige of the sea. In the center of the wall, above her small wrought iron bed, a portrait of her father is framed and hung, the frame a silver gilded edge that catches all the light, even when the clouds threaten to block the sun.

When he looks once more at his sister, he sees how his silence and avoidance has riled her further, her wry grin returned once more with all its damning inquisitiveness.

‘Do I know her?’ she presses, narrowing her eyes.

He shakes his head, and offers a small shrug of his shoulders. ‘No,’ he explains, ‘I actually don’t know it.’

Jaw dropping, she reaches forward once more and slaps his arm. ‘Jaebie!’

Dropping his head, he presses his fingers into his eyes and wishes, with all of him, that her assumptions of his perpetual loneliness and solitude were not such a concern. Wishes, more than anything in this moment, that Sun Hee did not frequently ask for an auntie to play with, her lack of a father rendering her wishes for a sibling obsolete. For any other man on Indolon, a woman in his home, let alone his bed, would hardly be news, would hardly warrant any discussion at all, but Byeol has watched him try, and fail, over the years to find a woman who loves as ardently, as openly, as intensely as he does.

She has watched him resort to his life by the sea, watched him spend days alone on his boat, returning at sunset and smelling of brine and salt. All her life she has watched and she has worried, alluding to the full weight of her concern only in jest.

‘Can I please just have them?’ he groans weakly.

Lowering her arms from the doorway, she steps to the side and welcomes him through. ‘Yes,’ she acquiesces. ‘Take what you need from the closet, but this isn’t over. And be quick, I’m on my way out.’

Jaebeom tosses her a silent expression of gratitude over his shoulder, moving through her room with quick steps. ‘Where are you going?’ he asks, sliding open her wardrobe and taking things he knows she keeps but does not often wear, certain she will not miss them. ‘Isn’t Sun-hee already at school.’

Byeol moves behind him, gathering her headscarf from atop her bed and tying it with a hum of confirmation. ‘I’m going to Mala Green’s. Her husband’s ship was meant to port two days ago. It never made it.’

Jaebeom stills, clothes draped haphazardly over his arm as he turns to greet her eyes. Together, they regard one another in silence, a cold chill seeming to overtake the room. He remembers the look he sees in her eyes now, remembers the bone deep anxiety and the way she did not sleep for weeks, not even months. In a single moment, it is four years ago and they are both bereft.

‘The Pyxis?’ he murmurs, remembering how he and his sister and his niece, and all the town had watched it sail away from port eight months ago, waving until it disappeared from the horizon.

She nods minutely, a small motion almost imperceptible had he not been watching her intently, looking down at her hands where she nervously picks at her fingernails. ‘She is thinking the worst.’

Dropping the clothes to the bed, Jaebeom takes a few strides and comes to stand before his sister. Letting his hands rest on her shoulders, his thumbs press idle, reassuring circles into her muscles, hoping his expression looks hopeful, at least. ‘It could just be delayed.’

Taking in a shaking breath, Byeol nods but does not lift her eyes to his, gaze trained instead on the unsteady motions of her hands.‘We always like to think that, but…’ Falling quiet, she glances towards her vanity, a distant expression of longing painting her features. He knows she is looking at her wedding photo, but he does not mention it. ‘A woman always knows, doesn’t she?’ she finishes, finally looking at him with an empty smile.

And just like that, in the length of the shallow stretch of her lips, they fall back in time to Port Vela. She clutched his hand as the Aquila departed, the strength in her grip enough to turn both their knuckles white. The intensity of this touching reminded him that to love is to open the heart to grieving, that to love means to welcome the notion of losing, and so he pressed his fingers against hers with the same force, joining her in solidarity.

Even before the missionaries declared him dead, she knew he was lost. The tears she shed in childbirth were not those of bodily trauma but those of heartbreak, once more holding his hand and begging for him to tell her why Dong Hyun wasn’t there with her, why the missionaries were forcing her to believe he was still alive. She said it hurt to know they were teasing with the heart of a widow, that moment perhaps the last time he ever feigned trust in the gods and their mortal vessels.

Dong Hyun had left to deliver a group of missionaries from a nearby port, and they were angry for weeks at their failed return, citing a growing population that needed more help. Jaebeom never knew why they didn’t come to the funeral, his sister and his newborn niece crying in unison against an empty coffin while he pressed his feet into the wet grass. He wanted them to see what their selfishness had done, the rage in him putting a sheen of sweat on his neck, the most angry he had ever been.

‘He’ll be okay,’ he states, pulling them both out of the darkness of their thoughts. ‘They will all be okay.’

It’s a nice thing to say, he thinks, something that sounds reassuring and optimistic, but he wonders, quietly in the back of his mind, to whom he is offering this confidence.

Byeol startles slightly, eyes glassy and slightly glazed over with memory as she takes him in. ‘Yes, well,’ she begins, stepping out his hold to gather her things. ‘It will be good to be there for her.’

Jaebeom watches her move towards the door, hands balled into fists and pressing his nails into his palms. It’s more visceral now, somehow more tangible than ever, the unease he feels when he thinks about their blue cloaks - their endless, royal blue.

‘Launder those when you’re done please,’ she says, coming to a halt and pointing her long index finger at the clothes piled on the bed. ‘I don’t want to be wearing any of your remains -’

Jaebeom’s eyes widen, the spell of his thoughts broken by Byeol’s teasing giggle. ‘Byeol!’

She simply steps into the hallway and moves down the stairs, her laughter carrying through the house as though the sadness had never been let in.

It was only when you said you were leaving, announcing the date of your expected departure with wild eyes and ink stained hands, that he thought maybe, horribly, he had not told you he loved you enough.

You showed him the boarding papers, the crew notes, the bonds list and you were laughing, disbelieving that good fortune could shine on the persistent. Years of work had culminated in this opportunity, and you could not tear your eyes away from the King’s signature, it’s black script so formal you pressed your fingers to your lips to hide the ferocity of your smile. He loved you most then, burning in silence and struggling to find the right way, the best way, to tell you that his love for you demanded he become monstrous, too many hearts in his chest to contain the totality of this wanting.

‘It will be the longest we’ve ever been apart,’ you said, chancing a look at him, and the briefest flickers of grief walked across your face. In an instant, you tucked them away, smoothed your smile over and put the light back in your eyes, hiding from him the very thing that could bring him to his knees.

‘I’ll send a hawk to woo you,’ he offered, the smile tugging at his lips only half genuine, only half true.

He was certain you knew it, too, but you simply chuckled, arched one perfect brow and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

‘You’ve already done that.’

He only had a week to show you that he loved you beyond reason, beyond the human capacity for emotion. One week, and you would be gone, drifting away from him at sea, and he would be waiting, always waiting.

‘Then I’ll do it again.’

Again and again he would do his best to win you over, holding you tightly against his chest and reminding you there was nowhere as safe, nowhere as sacred as against his skin, against his heart. You leaned up to kiss him, always eager and impatient for the things you wanted most, but he breathed against your lips, let your twin exhales unify your heartbeats and reminded himself that you were still here.

He could feel you. You were still there.

Jaebeom wakes with a start, hairline dampened with warmth, stress, and confusion.

The dawn breaks through the sheer curtains of his bedroom window, the heat in the room oppressive and stifling as the embers within the furnace strain to match the gleam of the sun. Curled in a ball atop the lambskin carpet at the foot of his bed, the joints of his knees and elbows are aching, having been forced into one position too long. Tentatively, he stretches his limbs with a low groan, elongating his back against the floor and does his best to remain quiet in his relief.

When he’d returned home, you were still sleeping. Unchanged and in the exact position he had left you, a brief anxiety overtook him at the sight of your too relaxed face and the weakness in your limbs. There was a fragility in you that frightened him, a treacherous sort of quiet that promised great annihilation consuming the room and reaching down, deep within his ribs, compressing his lungs. He would have shed tears for you, would have unleashed an expression of grief so holy and so silent it would have broken worlds - but you moaned, almost regal in your suffering, and, for a moment, he was weightless.

In the tense tranquility that followed he slumped into the reading chair beside his bookcase, head buried in his hands, and sighed. With his eyes closed, he could pretend things had not changed, that he was still himself, that he still belonged to himself. It was as though there were two of him, battling within his blood - the one that knew nothing, that craved the assurance and predictable simplicity inherent in the life he had built for himself.

But the other is violent, a torrent against his bones reminding him this life is not his, that you are his life, and the passion in him is pushed into madness at the notion of not being able to follow where you have gone.

‘All this?’ he lamented into the rough skin of his palm. ‘All this over the desire to be loved?’

The moon was midway through its journey across the sky when he fell asleep, nestling into the rug at the foot of your bed - at your feet, though still giving you the distance, giving himself the distance. And all night he had seen you, felt you, let his whole world become enamored with you.

Pressing the base of his palms into his eyes, he groans, letting the dark become coloured with reds, whites, and purples under the pressure. Rustling from somewhere in the room makes his heart stutter in its rhythm, motions still and muscles tense with the effort of not moving, simply listening. His is not the only breath in the room, and when he takes his hands away from his eyes, his vision adjusts to see you - your face framed by your hair as you lean over the bed, regarding him curiously.

Startled, Jaebeom sits up, head dizzy with the sudden movement, and he presses a hand to his temple though he does not close his eyes, fearing he might still be dreaming. A dark night lives in your irises, hungry for everything that comprises his very being, and even as he lets his vision focus, lets himself recline into the intensity of your stare, he feels as though you are burning inside him, tearing your way through his sinew, the most voracious thing he’s ever seen. You regard him, unblinking, studying every detail and nuance of his features with tension in your brow and parted lips.

Briefly, he wonders how long it has been since someone looked at him like this, looked at him as though he is both the universe’s greatest secret and its most coveted answer.

‘You’re awake,’ he manages, throat dry and voice constricting beneath such coveted attention.

Instantly, he curses himself for such a simple and obvious statement. All night he had imagined hundreds of first conversations with you, knowing his first words with you would ultimately be the most important, and already he has betrayed himself. You’ve taken all the power from him, left him in such a state of shock, he supposes his words have withered, nothing in the world as sacred as your eyes on him.

But the smile you offer him at the sound of his voice could combat the sun, the world brightening around the fullness of your cheeks and the pleasure you keep at the corner of your lips, like a secret. A blush burns at the tips of his ears, and he is glad it does not immediately live in his cheeks, pleased he has learned, somehow, to not give himself away all at once.

‘I am,’ you nod in affirmation. A chill walks down Jaebeom’s spine, the sound of your voice an echo of his dreams, exactly as he heard it all night long. ‘You found me.’

Seconds stretch between your bodies, an infinite eternity between your last syllable and his first breath, his eyes on yours like a pledge of loyalty.

‘Were you looking for me?’

Hope invades his words without his permission, helpless against their desire to be the thing you sought most, to be lucky enough to be your prize. His fingers press into the soft strands of the carpet beneath him, and he watches as you fall back against your legs, shoulders slumped as you look around the room. All at once, emptiness overtakes you, the light in your eyes dimming as you search within yourself for an answer.

‘I don’t know,’ is your whispered reply. Looking at him once more, he feels as though you are rooting within his soul, continuing the expedition within him. But still, you are lost, voice adrift and lost at sea. ‘I can’t remember.’

He smiles encouragingly, wanting you to know, more than anything, that it is okay. For himself, he reminds you both that everything is okay.

Inching along the carpet, he clears his throat as he rests his arms on the bed, gazing up at you as though he is making wishes on the moon. He wants to be close to you - more than he’s ever wanted anything, Jaebeom wants to be in your orbit, close enough he could taste the salt that still lingers on your skin. Biting his tongue, he swallows all his rushed, messy emotions and clears his throat, choosing instead the words of logic, the words of practicality.

‘What is your name?’

Little by little, your smile slowly fades, burned by this simple question. Still, you remain calm, perplexed and unsure of how much of you has truly been misplaced. ‘I don’t know.’

‘That’s okay,’ he reassures you gently. ‘My name is Jaebeom.’ In saying his name, he waits for a flicker of recognition, a response that would confirm all he has spent the night feeling, but you simply regard him blankly, glad for the conversation. Shaking his head, he sighs. ‘How did you get here?’ he tries, keeping his voice calm so you find no reason to panic or run.

Now, your smile disappears completely and all that is left behind is you, your sadness, and the way it clings to your body like a shadow. The smallness of you in this moment puts an ache in his chest that feels like an inheritance - something he has been owed, that you owed one another having vanished in the completeness of your unknowing, and, together, you grieve. With a slow shake of your head, you confirm there is a void surrounding the nature of your being and the reason for your arrival, and the longer he looks the more he sees how this torments the deep desire that quakes inside you.

He knows nothing of you, knows only that you are here and you are tangible and you are emptied, but still he can sense you are a wild, impossible beast of a woman. The storm in you could tear the world asunder, and so he tries a different tactic, choosing to ask what is felt rather than what can be recalled, wanting to hold onto as much of you as he possibly can.

‘Are you hurt?’

For a long moment, you consider his question, as if thinking through the concept of hurt, the very notion of it, rather than the truth of it. Running his eyes over your frame, he notices that some bruises on your arms have already faded, as if the midnight sky was your healer. You are far healthier and far more whole than the person he found yesterday, but there is a strangeness to the way you look at him, to the way you think through his questions that gives him the passing sensation that you are not there at all.

He fears, all the way down to his marrow, that if he were to look away, you would disappear completely.

‘It does hurt, yes,’ you admit finally. Offering him a small nod of confirmation, your eyes grow wide as though you yourself are surprised by the experience, the ability to truly hurt a clandestine experience.

Jaebeom had feared this. Always, the most lethal of wounds are the ones not worn on the skin. ‘Where?’

Slowly, you lift a hand to your chest, right above your heart. Pain etches itself on your face, the turmoil of bewilderment and confusion, the misery of things long lost, making a home of your soft features. He watches your brow knit together as you regard him, a slight downturned frown tugging at your lips as you silently beg him for answers.

Reaching a hand forward, his fingertips nearly graze the smooth skin of your knee, exposed between the ripped threads of your silk dress. When he’s close enough he can feel the warmth from your skin, he remembers himself, retreating back to curl his hand into a fist.

‘Did a man hurt you?’

He hates the way the words taste, sour and acrid on his tongue, but he supposes this dress is your wedding gown and he’s seen more than his fair share of broken hearts around town. This, of course, would be the worst he has ever seen, but he chooses not to worry you further, keeping his voice soothing and calm.

‘No,’ you shake your head, looking beyond him into a distance that is both contained within and expanding outward. ‘Not one,’ you continue with a dark whisper. ‘Many.’

Jaebeom does not think himself a man prone to violence or aggression but, in a single moment, he feels his heart is a weapon. His spine straightens as he rears back slowly, relying entirely on the support of the floor beneath him. His hands are no longer his own, knuckles taught with the desire to tear his way through flesh and sinew. There is no limit to the monstrous creatures he would face standing up for you; he’s burning, fully ablaze alongside you, and it surprises him how quickly kindness can burn away.

‘We can report it when you are well enough,’ he announces, clearing his throat in the effort of remembering himself. As much as he would go to battle for you, he similarly does not want to frighten you. ‘When you remember the details we can report it. They won’t get away with it.’

Shoulders relaxing, your hand falls away from your chest as you find comfort in his words, and a small sense of pride prickles at his ears and neck. With anyone else, he’d be sheepish that he is giving himself and his emotions away so quickly with you, but he can’t help it, he thinks. Not when you look at him like this, like he’s the part of summer you’ve been anticipating most and are pleased by the mere sight of him. People don’t look at him like this, especially the people he wishes would look at him and want to continue the mere act of seeing him. You make him feel like someone, and he is more with you than he ever has been on his own.

Keeping your eyes on his, you shift so you rest on your hands and knees, crawling across the bed towards him. Jaebeom leans back, pushes himself away from the bed and it is only when the heat from the still burning furnace threatens to sear his chemise that he pauses, looking over his shoulder to pout at the proximity. Your hand presses against his foot, stopping his movements and he returns his focus to you once more, all breath and blood flow halted in his veins.

You’ve climbed off the bed, settled on the floor with your hand on him and a glimmer behind your eyes that says you know he has longed to be touched. Has he been real before this moment? Has he truly existed until the moment you placed your hand on his skin, a paradoxically cold warmth that sends a chill up his legs and into his groin. Until this moment, he has been afflicted with the strangest sense of object permanence, but only of himself - himself and his relation to you, the only thing that has ever truly mattered.

‘You won’t come close to me,’ you explain, sounding terribly sad.

Deflating, he leans forward and places his hand on yours, finally, running his thumb along your knuckles. The salt from the sea has turned your skin into the softest thing he’s ever touched, and he applies just enough pressure to remind himself you are tangible, real, present.

There’s something familiar and, simultaneously, ephemeral about the way his hand moves over yours. He finds it impossible to look away as he explains, ‘I wanted to give you space.’

‘I’ve had enough,’ you counter, and the sharpness in your words has him taking in your lips, your cheeks, your face in wonder. You are every bit the tempest he knew you would be, and he smiles, amused and gladdened by your confident vehemence.

Pulling your hand out from under his, you raise it to the side of his face, tucking strands of hair behind his ear and letting your fingers glide along his cheekbone. The intimacy leads him, momentarily, to believe that he is completely naked, exposed to you in all the ways that could truly break him. Once more, he feels you searching within him for something you can almost grasp. Words live and die on his tongue, answers he too craves fading before he has the chance to truly process them.

You are unified in this complex looking, the act of remembering both a mysterious and a fact.

‘You’re familiar to me.’ Cocking your head to the side as you speak, the childlike curiosity you exude has him pressing his hands into the carpet, reminding himself it is still too early to take hold of you, too early to hold you against his heart as he had done in his dream.

‘Have we met before?’ he offers gently.

Excitement colours you, has you straightening as you pull your hand from his skin. ‘Do you know me?’

It’s his turn to shake his head, his turn to smother hope with little disappointments. ‘No.’

‘Then I suppose not.’

With a slight shrug, you return your hand once more to the side of his face, palm cupping his cheek to trace the contour of the bone. Little by little, your eyes soften and a silent yearning overtakes your features. Jaebeom wants to tell you everything when you look at him like that. Things he’d never breathe to another person, things he had long since forgotten rise up in his throat and he nearly chokes on them, wanting you to have absolutely everything.

Running your thumb over his bottom lip, a blissful sigh escapes from the center of your chest, eyes slightly glazed as you luxuriate in the texture of his skin beneath your finger. ‘I don’t mind, though. I like looking at you.’

How like a child he feels when he is with you - suddenly restless and impatient and young, the boundaries and the calculated logic he has spent years cultivating in his adulthood dissolving the moment he learns you are pleased with him. In his dream, he somehow knew your kisses were a hurricane, all raindrops and wild winds that made his skin feel electric. The way you seem to tear through him now is a confirmation he was correct, the summer in you so immaculate he thinks it is always the bloom of July in your soul.

Were he to look elsewhere in the room, he is certain it would be a betrayal - the treachery of looking away from the gods’ sky. Jaebeom is calmed by the sight of you, the anxious itch in the back of his mind dormant simply because you have decided he is worthy of being adored. He wonders where he has been looking all this time, if he has truly seen anything at all until this moment, the colours of the world infinitely more rich because of how you choose to wear them.

Clearing his throat, he looks briefly at your hand where it holds his foot like a cross and trembles. ‘I like looking at you, too.’ It feels so silly and unimpressive, repeating your words back like a parrot, but he means it - there is more conviction in those small words than any other promise he has ever made and, when he looks at you again, he hopes you can feel it.

Your answering smile is so rich and full, he finds his thoughts are rendered unintelligible, and so he lowers his gaze to the ripped dress that does its best to maintain the echo of its former shape.

Clearing his throat, he slowly pulls his foot out from your grip, skin tingling from the loss of contact. The warmth from your hand still lingers, and he frowns, regretting his decision even through his commitment to the choice. Pressing his hands to the floor, he rises to stand and brushes off his trousers, looking for ways to keep his hands busy.

‘Can you stand?’ You look up at him, expectant and congenial. ‘Are your legs strong enough?’

Copying his earlier movements, you press your hands into the floor and, unsteadily, lift yourself to a stand. For a moment your knees wobble, but you keep your eyes on his, shoulders rolling back as you take in a slow inhale. Finding your balance takes focus, brow knotted together with the effort of standing on weakened muscles, but you keep your feet planted, hands spread at your sides to aid in maintaining your center of gravity. And when you stand, stable and sure, at your full height, you nod proudly, delighted you have surprised yourself.

‘Good.’ The most natural thing in the world, he finds, is praising you; a long dormant habit awakening once more ‘I’m actually not sure what I’d done if you couldn’t,’ he admits sheepishly.

Amidst your infectious giggle, Jaebeom finally has an opportunity to truly take in the state of your clothes. He wonders what torment you have seen, what hell you’ve walked through that has torn the silk and chiffon down to the essence of their threads. The bodice hugs your waist, but the whalebone corset is torn at the ribs, threatening to expose your skin. There will be no saving the sleeves that hang limply off your shoulders, falling behind your back like a ragged cape. Sea water has stained the silk to a tarnished, bleak yellow, the sand of the seabed nestled deep within the folds of your skirts.

Still, too much of your skin is visible to him. The skirts have pulled away from the bodice and a large portion of your thigh remains bare, the other leg free of clothing from the ankle to just above your knee. Standing before him, he sees you as a survivor of a slaughter that bore no claws, and he aches to pull you close, to keep you safe, to remind you that you are whole.

Perhaps, he thinks, the reminder is mostly for himself.

‘I brought you some clothes,’ he announces gently. Gesturing vaguely to the wardrobe in the opposite corner, his nerves get the better of him, words becoming bashful. ‘You look like the size of my sister, so they should fit.’ Running a hand through his hair and gripping the strands to alleviate the tension in his wrists, he pulls himself out of your orbit and heads toward the wardrobe. ‘We need to go into town anyway to see the medic, so I can get you some if these don’t fit properly. I just…’

Opening the doors, he pulls out the clothes he borrowed from his sister- stays for night time, two pairs of trousers, a woolen skirt he remembers buying for his sister one solstice that she has never worn, and three chemises he hopes will fit you. He lays them out delicately on the bed, arranging them into outfits he hopes you find comfortable. Fixating on the trousers, he looks at them too long as his stomach drops. Indolon is one of the few islands where women wear trousers, their propensity for skirts just as enthusiastic and common. He hops the sight of them will not offend you.

‘Thank you.’ Approaching the bed with light, careful steps, the smallness of your voice does little to mask your immense gratitude, hands coming to graze the myriad of fabrics he has selected.

Something about the feel of them between your fingers astounds you, a stunned silence turning adding a weight to the room that did not previously exist.

‘These are beautiful.’ Your hand moves to the skirt, the difference in its texture putting a glee in your eyes that makes his heart swell. ‘Thank you for caring for me,’ you finish, finally looking up at him once more.

Time bleeds past him as he falls into you, falls beyond himself and into a love that consumes him. Around your body, light seems to vibrate, uncertain how to hold you and so it holds all of you, and none of you, at once, bending around your back until he wonders if the very nature of this conversation is merely an illusion. Should he look away, he worries you would vanish, that he might forget, and so he steps near enough that he might touch you.

Keeping his hands forced at his sides, he drowns momentarily in his wanting before he speaks. ‘Anyone would do it.’

Lowering the skirt, you reach up to cup his face, forcing him to look at you. A shiver walks down his spine, followed swiftly by an unfamiliar heat in his blood as you speak. ‘I don’t remember much of the world, but I do remember that is not true. Not everyone would do as you have done.’ You lean into him, close enough your breaths touch between your bodies, his entire existence narrowing to this single moment. ‘I’m grateful for you.’

All of him craves giving in to the boundless lust that rages within his chest, memories of his dream resurfacing to haunt his bones. There were other memories within that dream, memories of your body wrapped beneath his, memories of your lips and the way you always pressed hard against his mouth, ensuring he would feel you long after you had departed. Jaebeom wants to live in those memories now, wants to force them into his reality so badly his hands and his sides start to shake.

But in those memories, lives the texture of your skin and the way his fingers have mapped every node of your spine. And it is only when he recalls the distant blur of this experience, so foreign to him it is as though it belongs to someone else, that he remembers there is nowhere in his home for you to undress.

When he had selected this house by the sea, he had assumed his life would contain the dawn, the dusk, the ocean, and little else in between. His home is merely one large square, the kitchen bleeding into his open bedroom and the sitting area tucked into corners he felt would be comfortable. There is, fundamentally, no element of privacy, and this is the only thing, he thinks, that gives him the strength to pull away - the desire to keep you comfortable and to be polite his only saving grace.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles, taking one small step back. It is enough for his head to become clear, enough for the sadness in your eyes at the separation to not sting like a bullet. ‘I can leave you to change.’

He moves around you, not really certain what he would say should you inform him you will need assistance with your bodice and corset. They are torn enough and ruined enough he imagines they will not be a problem, but the mere idea of his fingers accidentally caressing the smooth expanse of your back puts a tightness in his chest the magnitude of which has him both frightened and bewildered.

Jaebeom does not want people like this, certainly does not want them this badly and with this much conviction, and so he walks through the bedroom and into the kitchen, the cool metal of the doorknob a balm against his skin. And it is only when he is outside, eyes closed as he lets the breeze overtake his heart, his spirit, his soul, does he feel like himself once more.

It is only when he is in an entirely different location, far enough away from you he cannot feel you, that he remembers to breathe.

The walk to town, by your side, is among the most eventful experiences of his life.

Having roamed the island roads all his life, he has grown used to the view, the unchanging scenery resulting in him finding it to be rather dull and grey. He cannot remember the last time he saw this world with fresh eyes, the last time he took in the trees, the slope of the land and felt joy - the last time this world brought him pleasure. You however, combat the very essence of his ennui with your inherent enthusiasm, taking in every sight and every sound as if it is, not the first time you have witnessed them but, the first time you have reunited with them after many years away.

In you, a language of reconciliation is being cultivated - one that only you will be able to understand, and one that makes Jaebeom cast you curious side long glances as you press your hands together in consternation. Your scrutiny of each detail slows the walk considerably, your presence somewhat distant and hollow as you struggle to define the essence of familiarity within you. Each time, it fades miserably and quickly, leaving you momentarily disheartened only for new wonder to replace the frustration once more.

Through you, he begins to see the town as something eternal, something so long lasting and sacred that, even if it is forgotten, it is still unchanged and important enough to be missed. Selfishly, he ponders what place he held in your old life, if he held any place at all, aware that, sometimes, you look at him with this same questioning fixation. In his own life experiences, you appear missing, but the way you look at him and touch him assures a small, needy piece of his heart that he is remembered, and therefore not ephemeral.

Still, he is certain you have been here, on Indolon, that this is your home and nowhere else. Having decided to forgo the shoes he had taken from his sister in favor of your bare feet, claiming it felt more natural to feel the earth beneath your toes, your steps are confident as you walk. Your eyes take everything in with too much intensity, but your steps are sure, certain of the placement and used to the cracks and the gravel that line the journey. When you are not focused on a building, a face, a view, you do not follow behind him. Instead, you are perhaps just a hair’s breadth ahead of him, relaxed in your inherent certainty.

‘Is any of this triggering your memory?’ he quietly tries, hoping he does not completely disrupt your train of thought.

‘Yes, but at the same time no.’ Your lips continue moving even as your voice dies, murmuring mysteriously to yourself as you look around. ‘It’s like I’ve seen this before in a dream, but then anything can look like anything if you want it to badly enough.’ Offering him a sly smirk, you peer up at him through your eyelashes. ‘I still like looking at you the most, though.'

Heat paints pink smears along his cheeks, and he glances down to his feet momentarily to smile at himself, flattered and, helplessly, twitter-patted. With you beside him, so close, his fingers dig into the pockets of his coat, gripping the cloth in the effort of stifling the desire to reach for your hand.

'Thank you,' he begins, his smile unwilling to fade. Still, he does his best to warp his features into a serious expression. 'I'm glad I'm more interesting than trees and brick.'

The music of your laugh is an eruption, the juicy fullness of it breaking over his tongue and filling his mouth with unprecedented gladness. You are unshy with your laughter, endearingly liberal and letting it echo through the air, demanding everyone hear your pleasure. Jaebeom swallows thickly, feeling almost as though he can taste you on the wind, in his mouth, and he holds his breath wanting to keep you inside him just a moment longer.

'I'm serious,' you tease, nudging into his side

Passing the field of pink and blue wildflowers, you become transfixed by a group of small children playing amongst the grass. Holding hands, they jump and dance in a circle, their laughter interrupting the song they are singing in broken unison. He recognizes the nursery rhyme of Ciperion immediately, remembering how his sister and some of the older children would make him play this game with them, dancing in a circle until the song ended and they had to remain completely still. Always, one of his sister's older friends, usually the boy she had a crush on, would play Ciperion, choosing a victim to steal away from the group. Only then would the circle continue dancing over and over until only one player remained and they had to outrun Ciperion to win.

He chuckles at the memory, how petulant he always felt at being the first one out - always, and without fail. Now, he realizes it was merely because of his strong reaction to being taken that made it more entertaining for his sister's friends, his cries and yells something they would tease him about for days.

‘What are they singing?’ you ask softly, interrupting his thoughts.

Jaebeom hears your voice and looks to his side, finding you are no longer with him. Turning, he finds you have come to a halt alongside the edge of the field, watching the children with a dark fascination that runs a chill down his spine.

He approaches you slowly, looking between the children and you, finding the tether of your fixation to be unbreakable. ‘The song of Ciperion,' he explains gently.

When you look at him again, your inquisitive expression is marred by such a sincere sense of aloneness his throat runs dry. Your prying eyes demand more from him, demand explanations and answers, so greedy and so painfully hopeful he wonders what the word wounded in you.

‘It’s an old urban legend on the island,’ he begins, looking back at the children who have now stilled, a little girl roaming behind the group with her hands raised like claws. ‘Everyone knows it, primarily because we grow up hearing it from friends or parents. It’s really just a ghost story. Parents tell it to make sure their children don’t go too far near the shore if they can’t see them, and kids tell it amongst friends just to see who is the most brave.’

Mystified, you keep your eyes on the group of children. ‘And it’s a song?’

He shakes his head, meeting your eyes on the raised arms and laughing faces of the children, hoping this contact of just your twin gazes is a comfort. ‘Not really, no. It’s a story, but it’s so old it’s become a nursery rhyme.’

‘Tell me.’

Jaebeom hums, trying to remember the way his mother told him this story when he was small. ‘Centuries ago, there was a ship called Ciperion that was meant to arrive at Port Vela.’

At the word Ciperion, you bristle, eyes widening slightly, though if in terror or recognition he cannot tell.

‘It was commissioned by the King, back when there were Kings,’ he continues, watching your reactions in the corner of his eye. ‘In those days, it was the fastest ship ever created, and had been assigned one of the largest crews - they called it the jewel of the sea. The crew was composed of experts in every field - cartography, cosmology, anthropology - and the ship’s sole mission was exploration.’

When you finally look at him, the heat from your gaze puts a fire in his veins, the sheer fervor and earnestness of your attention making him shudder. Swallowing thickly, he continues.

‘Legend says that they reached an island and saw how corrupt the Indolon King had been, how far reaching his power and torment really was.’ In the field, a little boy is taken by a young Ciperion, his scream of surprise mingling with the relieved laughter of the other children. ‘They rushed home to stop him from destroying their land, but the ship never made it. No one knew where the ship had gone, especially because the waters had been calm the night of their intended arrival.’

‘So they all perished?’ Even as the words leave your mouth, your focus turning back to the children, he knows this question is not meant to be answered, a small voice in the back of his mind advising him you already know this answer. Its rhetorical nature is anguished, lost, full of a yearning he presumes no language could ever express.

Coughing to clear his throat, Jaebeom nods knowing you cannot see him, and continues. ‘The lighthouse stayed on for weeks, even on clear nights. But still, Ciperion never came back.’

The silence in you is a sea, and once more he presses his fingers in the fabric of his jacket, warring within himself to keep his hand still. Your own hands look lonely, hanging limply at your sides as though you have been defeated by something much larger, and much more complex, than just your lack of memory. As he studies your changing expression, he counts the emotions that swim over your features - anger, fury, loss, grief, and, strangely, happiness - before you settle on none of these, choosing instead to remain empty.

But the magnitude of this choice renders you disheartened, tears pooling in your eyes, and he watches you swallow, fighting them back to the depths within your heart.

‘There’s never been any proof that Ciperion was real,’ he offers, hoping this will aid in bringing you comfort. It was never real, he supposes, and so there is no need to mourn the loss of made up things.

Yet, this consolation does not help, only serves to insight frustration, hands at your side curling into small fists as your eyes narrow.

Looking back at the children, Jaebeom combats the ever creeping flush at his neck and ears with the rest of the story. ‘Some say that every twenty years, on the anniversary of its port date, you can see the ghost ship Ciperion sailing along the horizon, looking for ways to dock. Only if the night is clear, that is.’

‘And if it isn’t?’ you question, a bitterness biting at your words that takes him aback.

‘If it’s cloudy,’ he offers delicately, ‘the fog along the water is so thick it blocks the lighthouse altogether. It moves up from the water onto the shore, looking for ways into houses or into town as if it has a mind of its own. And if it touches land, you can hear screams in the clouds themselves.’

As if they never happened at all, as if, all along, you nothing of this story had touched a bleeding wound within you, the tears in your eyes seem to dissolve. Your hands unfurl from their fists, and a touch of pink warms your cheeks. There is contentedness all over you, and you turn to face, a pleasant smile tugging at your lips.

‘That’s a nice story,’ you say, simply, blinking up at him in genuine interest.

A laugh bursts from his chest, one that comes from nowhere at all and instead is a bark of surprise rather than a logical expression of amusement. Furrowing his brow, he laughs to himself through the fear and the confusion, waiting for your earlier expression of grief to overtake you once more. But when it does not come, when you giggle along with him merely because it is something to share rather than an honest or sincere experience of humor, he silences himself with a low grumble and kicks the stones at his feet.

‘Yes,’ he agrees quietly. ‘It’s just something we grow up hearing, but nothing ever comes of it.’

‘Is it the anniversary, then?’ You smile up at him, seeming happy to be included in a story, happy, too, to be sharing his company, and you press your bare feet into the stones, making little shapes with your toes. ‘They’re singing with so much fervor.’

‘Yeah,’ he hums in confirmation, watching you draw circles into the earth. ‘Actually, I think it’s tomorrow.’

‘And will you look for the ship?’

Cocking his head to the side questioningly, he studies your face as he speaks. ‘Would you like to?’

‘Are you asking me?’ you press, tilting your head to the same angle as his. The sight of you makes his breath catch, your beauty always somehow the most arresting, the most bewitching, but watching you mirror his position creates an uncanny sense of unease in his belly. ‘I’m not sure what I would be looking for,’ you finish, uncertainty lacing your tone.

‘I’m not either,’ he laments, furrowing his brow as he takes you in. There are so many things he’d like to say to you, only to you, so many things he’d like to ask, but starting feels painful, complicated, as though he’s attempting to speak a language he does not yet understand, so he swallows, drawing the same circles as you with his shoe. ‘I haven’t gone looking for it since I was a kid.’ Your circles are so clean, while his are oblong, and he is unsure why this matters, but he is excited, fundamentally, that there is so much he can learn from you. ‘The last time it was here, I was eight, and even then we didn’t see anything.’

Nodding in understanding you hum, knitting your brow together in consideration of his words. ‘It would be...fun?’

‘If you want to, we can,’ he chuckles, peering at you through his lashes, still waiting for another response of sadness, of melancholic heartbreak to rise up in you again. The legend of Ciperion stirred something in you, touched pieces of your spirit denying access to all else, and he thinks, perhaps, it is the tragedy of lost life and torn wood that triggers memories of spilled blood. Anyone would weep at the horror of this, and so he clears his throat, remembering true horrors are the ones humanity can touch.

‘But,’ he begins, loud enough the children in the field turn to look at them, worrying their play will be halted before continuing to sing once more, ‘you washed up on the rocks.’ Looking at you fully, he feels his chest tighten, remembering the shredded silk and the way your hair wound over the rocks, latching into deep crevices just to keep you safe. ‘People don’t just come from the sea. If there’s a shipwreck somewhere, we’d have to tell the medic and the council. That’s a more pressing ship to be looking for.’

Biting your lip, your eyes grow distant and glassy as you retreat inward, mind racing towards shadowed images that render your voice small and soft. ‘I don’t remember where I was before this.’

‘Sometimes that can happen with trauma,’ Jaebeom advises, and it strikes him that your admission does not bring despair, only annoyance at your failing memory.

Through all of this, not once have you expressed fear at the notion of death, unafraid for your own mortality even after the very essence of it has been threatened and challenged. It hits him now that the only time you have ever been afraid is when confronted with the notion of others experiencing a fate meant for you. One tale of a shipwreck, and so soon were you unmade into a dark beast, woven together by sorrow.

Kicking the stones away from his feet, he tilts his head encouragingly, wordlessly advising that you continue alongside him. ‘The medic is one of my old school friends,’ he explains with a small grin, readying for Stefan’s loud laugh and teasing sarcasm. ‘He’ll be able to tell you more once he can run a few tests. You’ll like him. He’s quite funny.’

Walking beside him, there is a bounce to your step. ‘I remember that I like funny people,’ you announce, tossing him a playful smirk. ‘Maybe I will like looking at him as much as I like looking at you.’

Jealousy tightens itself around his ribs, the selfish desire for him to be the only thing that brings you pleasure rising in his throat like bile. It is an entirely new experience for him, the notion of love that one must remember its fragility, the sacredness of a lover's admiration more divine than the gods. Already, every breath he takes is heavy with you, body and soul hypnotized by your existence, and, in the effort of appearing aloof and affable, he grits his teeth through a humorless laugh.

‘Better not,’ he teases, though the jovial nature of it is almost nonexistent. As soon as he says it, he becomes upset with himself, the statement alone so preposterous and out of his character he shivers to shake the sound of it off his skin.

You, however, do not seem to notice, nudging into his shoulder once more as you continue on the journey.

Jaebeom has not seen the entirety of Isle Indolon, his ability to travel limited by his small income and the availability of everything he needs being centered to the town. However, he has never truly felt the need to explore, their small city of Sunridge Keep the capital of the island and therefore so full and bustling with activity he finds it impossible to muster the desire to leave. Orange red brick buildings decorated with limestone columns line the road, the gravel and dirt of the path turning into smooth cobblestone, warmed by the light of the blazing sun.

Hissing slightly as your toes touch the warm stones, you pull your foot back in surprise, only to place it back down with careful movements, mind racing once more as you take tentative steps forward. Immediately, your eyes are everywhere, touching everything all at once. You are hungry for absolutely everything, reading names of shops, studying faces of strangers as they pass, watching the florist hand out daffodils from her wicker basket as though nothing has ever been so marvelous. The bread maker offers you a warm sticky bun, and you look instead to the man’s face, not to the pastry held in his large palm, studying him as though his name might arrive on your tongue.

Jaebeom guides you away, offering the vendor a dismissive wave of his hand, only to find your eyes latched onto something else. He grows light headed watching the trajectory of your focus, your wild discontent and ravenous hunger gnawing you into a frenzied state of almost savage inquisitiveness. There is not a single thing your gaze does not touch, and occasionally you stop in front of shop windows to look in, eyes searching ever deeper for something familiar.

The center of town always smells the sweetest to Jaebeom, and so he leads you in this direction, hoping that the star shaped expanse and its wide angles will ease some of your tension. Childishly, he plans to acquire some roasted chestnuts, certain their candied deliciousness will provide you comfort even if it does not inspire remembrance. The throng of people eases as he approaches town center, the citadel bell chiming the late early hour, and you pause, looking up into the sky in awe. He’d always loved the bell tower - even if he did not trust the missionaries, even if he made himself believe it was deception that lurked behind their irises and not concern, he always appreciated their music.

Leading you to the large fountain directly in the center of the star, he settles on the warm marble and gestures for you to sit beside him. The rushing water calms his erratic heartbeat, and, yet again, with his eyes closed he can pretend he is small, little more than a boy who belongs completely to himself and to his mother, the whim of his will the only thing that stirs his reason.

‘We have a bit of time to rest here,’ he says, leaning back and closing his eyes as the sun cascades over his skin. It warms him from within, the magic of his childhood returning on the breadth of a sunbeam. ‘I always like to sit here a while before I run my errands. One can never deny music, can they?’

Jaebeom awaits your response, what feels like his very spirit existing in anticipation of you. But when it does not come, his skin begins to tighten amidst another wave of unease, and he opens his eyes to find you have retreated so far within yourself the shock of it lives on your features.

Hands in your lap, your back is rigid and straight, gaze flicking between the citadel tower and the people mingling at its base - up and down and back again, rushing between each as though you will never have your fill, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek. Your fingernails pick at your skin before pressing crescent shapes into your palms, adrenaline putting you in a state of anxiety so severe he finds he, too, is sitting up straight and watching the crowd for familiar faces.

‘Do you recognize something?’ It takes work to keep his voice calm and soothing, doing his best not to startle you.

‘There’s something wrong with this,’ is all you whisper, and Jaebeom scours the crowd for a sign of injury, panic, even an out of place cart, but he comes up empty, finding nothing untoward in the surroundings.

Once more, he studies every face that passes, every horse drawn carriage that moves past, wondering which of these is the culprit for your turmoil. It is only when your hand moves to his thigh, gripping tightly enough he comes to see your grip as a vice, that he notices what it is that has you so undone.

At the base of the citadel, the crowd has started to dissipate, the smiling faces of mothers and their children departing after receiving their blessings. A group of four missionaries stands, handing out pamphlets and greeting passerby with neutral, unreadable expressions. Their royal blue cloaks catch the late morning sun, the velvet of the fabric gleaming in all their expensive glory, putting cerulean shadows on the limestone behind them. In this way, they are glowing, ephemeral visions that at once are otherworldly and oppressive, the sort of power in their light that would bring one to their knees.

As always, he shivers at the sight of them, but your grip on his leg tightens and when he looks at you again you are murmuring to yourself and he feels his jaw go slack.

‘Murderers,’ you hiss, softly enough that only he can hear but you say the word over and over, voice rising in pitch until your voice dies altogether.

You watch them, unblinking and repulsed, the fear and loathing in you so great he sees you now as a mere apparition of the woman you once were. A great tremor has started to creep through your limbs, body rocking back and forth as though you are at sea, your center of gravity warped as you continue to look and look.

Running his hand up and down your back in an effort to calm you, Jaebeom feels his own voice start to waver. ‘What is it?’

You say nothing, merely shake your head, unwilling to speak for fear that they may hear you. All his question manages to do is inspire another round of mumbling, calling them murderers only to yourself and only to Jaebeom, simply because he is close enough for your voice to reach. His eyes scour the crowd for a discreet way to remove you from the fountain, looking in the direction of Stefan’s practice only to drop to a disappointed frown. In front of the pathway, at his end of the star,a group of people have gathered to inspect a vendor of Veruvian silk.

‘Murderers,’ you say again, and this time it is loud enough that a young boy passing by hears your voice, his eyes widening in surprise.

Jaebeom grimaces apologetically, waving the boy along as he pulls you into his side, holding you close. Even in his state of panic, his heart breaks that this should be the first time he holds to him, the first time you would be able to remember, the comfort his arms reduced to merely a time and a place, and not a feeling. The trembling in your muscles is palpable, tangible enough his hands feel as though they are gripping something monstrous, something absolute in its knowledge and power. In a single moment, you have become something Other, shaking against his ribs with enough violence he fears you may tear the marble of the fountain asunder. Your hand leaves his thigh and comes to grip your seat, fingers pressing against the stone until your knuckles turn white.

He’s certain the missionaries must see you, certain this will turn into something holy and something wholly unwelcome, but they seem to pay you both no mind, their attention devoted instead to the good and to the whole.

And just when he thinks he may be able to ease words out of you, the noise of you reduced to slow, deep inhales between your parted lips and the shaking in your muscles coming abruptly to a halt, you bed over, eyes wide in shock, as you vomit sea water, seaweed, and, most horribly of all, blood at your feet.

Author’s Note: lord god, im telling you i thought this was going to be a very short story but here i am...all this with so much more to go. im just really in love with this world and actually really proud of it? ive never done anything like this and ive been in love with fisherman!jb ever since the dye preview pics came out. ive had this in my mind since i messaged @imdifferentshadesofpurple in may about it and im just so glad it lives. did i make an entire story out of that one promo pic and the oyster dress by alexander mcqueen? sure bet but you cannot blame me.

tag list: @red-exo @heatofmyexoheart @majci @yehet-me-up @lamichellee @ahgishaman @softly-savage-mint-yoongi

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amerrierworld · 4 years

Text

Curtain. (i)

Carol (2015) fanfiction

Summary: An on-and-off job as photographer can only pay so much, so Therese Belivet has taken a job at an elementary school's art program to help pay the bills. One of her last jobs before the school year begins is photographing a preview night of a successful play where she meets the well-known artistic director of the show, Carol Ross. She forgets about their meeting until September rolls around and she starts teaching an inquisitive young six-year old by the name of Rindy.

Characters: Carol x Therese

Word Count: 1,491

Warnings: none yet!

June.

Therese was staring intensely at her laptop, watching as all the little photo icons from her camera began transferring over to her drive. Rain tapped gently against her windows and a can of Coke sat on her desk, half-empty. She had shut all the windows to avoid any light or outdoor distractions as she tended to daydream while looking out in the distance, but this time Therese was determined to get this job finished.

As she waited for the files to continue transferring, the brunette arched her back, yawning as her body creaked and popped from sitting for so long.

It had been three days since her lucky photography gig at the Hudson Theatre. Thinking about it still made her limbs jittery. It was a smaller theatre, but being the oldest theatre in the city and having hosted many successful shows, it was still a landmark. Therese had been overjoyed at the prospect of working inside the theatre for once and seeing all the ins and outs of the show she had been asked to document.

Her phone pinged from where she had haphazardly tossed it on her bed. She stood up and shuffled over, stretching again and giving her legs a shake as she opened a message from Dannie.

preview done. again.

how was it?

tbh a little messier than when u were there, richard kept missing his mark

of course he did.

yeah ross wasn't too pleased with him...

At the mention of the director's name, Therese's stomach lurched a bit, though she couldn't tell why. They had only exchanged a few words during the preview when she'd been there.

...anyways, manager wants to know how ur doing with those photos

workin on em right now actually

tsk that's too bad

why? did she need them now? i thought i had until next week

nah i was just gonna ask if u wanted to get some food and then get plastered w me and phil

Therese snorted and looked back at her laptop, which lit up, indicating all the files had been successfully imported. Temporarily forgetting about her conversation she hurried to glance through them, immediately noticing the faulty pics that she knew she wouldn't be able to use.

Her phone rang and she picked up.

"Is that a no?" Dannie asked from the other end. Therese rolled her eyes.

"Dannie, not responding in 30 seconds does not automatically mean no. But yeah, I don't know if getting drunk right now is such a good idea, I have a lot to go through. Plus, don't you have to work tomorrow?"

"Preview isn't until the afternoon, Belivet. I have all morning to sober up."

Sighing, Therese flicked through a few photos, stilling as she found one of the director whose back was to the camera as she directed Gen, the lead actress, who stood off to the far side of the stage.

"Therese?"

"Hm? Yeah, for sure. I'll come for food, but I'm going home afterwards, I really don't want to be hungover. I've had three cans of Coke already, alcohol and caffeine don't mix well for me."

"Alright, sounds good."

"When do you wanna head out?"

"...now?"

At that, the intercom buzzed at Therese's front door, indicating someone was in front of the apartment building.

"Jesus, Dannie, really?"

"I know you're always hungry, Therese. Plus, getting off the subway from work at your place is so much closer than mine. Forgive me?"

"Ugh fine, give me 20 minutes to get ready though. I don't care if you're stuck in the rain outside. That's what happens when you constantly drag me out for last minute plans."

"Yeah, yeah, Belivet, just hurry your ass up. We're not going anywhere fancy cause God knows I don't get paid enough to afford anything like that."

"Is Richard coming?" Therese asked, brow furrowing in a split second of worry.

"Him? Nah. I actually think he somehow managed to lure Gen into a date tonight. I saw them talking after the show."

"Oof, poor girl."

"Yeah, maybe I should warn her, y'know. Get her out while she still can."

"Terrible idea, McElroy. You know how actresses are with stage hands."

Dannie barked out a laugh. "Shut the fuck up, Belivet. You're one to talk, considering you were ogling the director the entire night."

"I was not."

"Yeah you were. Now get going, or I'm gonna melt in this downpour."

Therese smiled and ended the call, closing her laptop and hurrying to put on some decent clothes before meeting Dannie outside.

"C'mon Terry, not even one shot? As a celebratory drink for this job and the next."

"No, Phil," Therese laughed. "I already told Dannie, I have work to do later."

"Alright, suit yourself, but that means I'm gonna drink extra just to make up for you!"

After having grabbed a bite at a cheap Thai restaurant, the McElroy brothers had dragged Therese to their usual bar even though she was still determined to stay sober.

"Do you even know how to deal with kids, Therese? Elementary school can be vicious, y'know," Dannie said, sipping his beer as he ignored Phil stumbling from his seat to order another drink.

"It's only part-time, Dan," Therese shrugged. "Plus, what kid doesn't like art? If one of them throws a temper, I'll just let him go ham on a canvas with some paint, no big deal. It's therapeutic that way."

"How'd you manage to get a job there anyway?"

"Well, their usual art teacher had to take a break for a year 'cause of an injury, so I'm just filling in for the younger grades. They were desperate for more staff for their programs."

"Jeez, is that allowed? You've barely worked with kids until now."

"I dunno. I did a full police check and stuff, besides I'm not hired for the school, just the programs afterwards so I'm not technically a teacher. But it's a small school with a shit ton of younger kids that often need an after-school program. Chances are they won't even need me in the New Year if the other teacher comes back."

"So they just really need extra hands on deck?" Dannie concluded and Therese nodded. Phil came staggering back with a glass of water, grouchy and mumbling something about the bartender not letting him have another.

"Yeah. What about you though? What's happening after Woolf?"

Danni sighed and slumped back in his seat. "Who knows at this point? Ross is taking a break too, from being artistic director-,"

"Wait, really? She's not retiring is she?"

Dannie smirked at Therese but ignored her sudden eagerness in the conversation.

"Nah, just something about needing to be home with her family. She's worked her butt off for the theatre more than anyone, so it makes sense she wants a break for a little while after this show's done. But she'll probably be back in no time, cause she's like that. In the mean time, Gerhard is taking over. I don't know what she has up her sleeve yet, but I'm thinking a typical Christmas show is coming up."

"Any idea what it might be?"

"Nope. Everyone's talking and wanting to do A Christmas Carol but it's been so overdone, and Abby's always doing unexpected things."

"Damn, I wonder what it could be," Therese chewed her lip in thought.

"You sure you're not just upset at the idea of Ross not working there anymore?" Dannie teased. Therese smacked his arm.

"Dannie," she scolded.

"What! Even a blind person could see she's literal eye candy, though she can be a tough boss. I'm not blaming you for liking her, but I am telling you that she's not as sweet as she looks."

"Hmph, whatever. She's probably got someone anyways, if she's taking a break with family."

"I dunno, Belivet, I've never noticed a wedding ring." He winked at her.

"God, you're the worst y'know?" Therese sighed, though her eyes were twinkling. "I never should have come out to you when all you do is tease me about every girl who I just happen to find kinda cute."

Dannie grinned. "That's what you get for being besties with the McElroys, Belivet. Besides, since Phil doesn't like girls, who am I supposed to go to when I get lady problems?"

Therese shook her head and chuckled before checking her watch.

"Damn, it's getting late. Alright boys, I'm going home. I really need to work on those photos. Don't drink yourselves to death, please?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Belivet!"

She grabbed her purse before going to hail a cab as Phil and Dannie waved goodbye, her mind whirling with thoughts of the intriguing blonde director. Therese wondered who she was, besides the 'literal eye candy' that she'd managed to capture on camera. Sighing, Therese shook her from her mind during the brief cab ride home, deciding it was best to leave her daydreaming behind for the rest of the night.

A/N: heh... hi. here's my take on carol/therese because i can’t get enough of them honestly. Let me know what you think; this’ll be a pretty packed series so enjoy :3

I’ve also been posting my stuff on AO3 if any of you use that as well so you can find this and my other stories there too! <3

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cinnbar-bun · 4 years

Text

Undead Chaos (Vampire!Beelzebub x Reader)

Vampire! Au

Summary: Beelzebub had escaped from Pandemonium, but found that he can’t properly sustain himself as he once could in the dark hellhole. Needing a new way to continue existing with his new powers, he decides to test some theories. How unfortunate you were one of the pests he decided to choose.

Warning: Contains possible spoilers, as well as lots of things based off on theories since cygames never really talked about Bubs did. Possible triggering content such as kidnapping and stalking. Please take caution before reading. Slightly spicy stuff happens. Reader is also GN

Note: this is a short one tbh. It’s not much. It’s not that romantic. It’s just you for you bubs fans who get off to being called worthless humans. I respect your dedication.

He licked his lips as he peered out of the dark alleyway. His red eyes flickered from person to person. Unlike a certain fallen angel, he knew to stay hidden. He hated to admit it, but he wasn’t at full strength yet. He had much to do before he could fully showcase himself as king to these worthless insects.

A young woman. Cute, he supposed. However, he stopped when he saw she embraced a young man and laughed with him. They were together, he assumed. She was not an optimal victim.

A large man. He was bulky and ripped, and Beelzebub wondered just how much blood was in his body. If he could just-

He spat. He was losing control. He needed relief soon. The man was carrying a young kid on his shoulders and Beelzebub felt himself growing more faint and impatient.

There had to be someone.

Someone alone.

Someone who others wouldn’t notice would be missing. He bit his nail and watched as a person he hadn’t seen before in his stay on this island. They did not talk to anyone. They did not do anything but walk quietly, a bouquet of flowers in their hands.

No one said anything to this person. Their eyes were sullen and they looked as if they had not slept in days. It wasn’t the most ripe of meals, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He smirked and slunk back into the alley, following them in the deeper parts of the island until they made their way to a graveyard.

Ah... so they are grieving a lost relative.

He refrained from laughing at how pathetic they were. How unlucky they were to look so helpless in front of him at such a time.

Truly, they were the most cursed being here to be seen like this when he was starving.

He scoured the entrance to the graveyard. No one else seemed to be there, minus his next victim. They walked far into it, so he followed behind closely, careful to not make a sound and reveal his presence.

At last, they stopped in front of two graves, placing the flowers in the middle of them.

He was too far away to read the names on the graves, and he wondered about their relationship to his meal.

“Father, mother...I am here.” They quietly spoke, their voice rasping, as if it hadn’t been used in a while.

Their parents. He mused. He inched closer.

“I...I uh...I brought your favorite flowers. I know you two liked when I grew them.”

Pointless. They die anyways. Humans waste time on the dumbest tasks.

“Ah...how long has it been since you two have been gone? I kinda lost track of time.”

He could smell them now.

Closer, closer, closer.

“I forget to take care of myself. I can hardly eat or sleep.”

Closer, closer, closer.

“I...I wish I was taken too...I can’t handle this loneliness...”

Closer, closer, closer.

“I hate existing! It’s unfair! I hate this!” They cried. He couldn’t control his ragged breaths. The crying, the screaming, the hunger. It all blended in his mind until he leaned over and extended his claws towards them.

I’ll eat you alive, pathetic human.

With a simple swipe he had covered the mouth of his victim and watched as they struggled helplessly in his arms.

“Sh. You said you wanted to cease existing. Allow me to grant you your wish.” He smirked as they looked at him with fearful eyes. It only spurred him on further. They were shaking, frozen as he revealed his fangs at them. “I like when my meals are afraid. I think you’ll taste good enough.”

Their face paled before they passed out in his arms.

“Tch.” He sneered. “Pathetic.”

He leaned down and examined their neck, feeling the hunger in him rise to its peak as he barred his fangs to finally get the chance for a meal. As his fangs grazed the surface of their skin, he smelled another presence nearby.

“Hey! What are you doing?” A man yelled. Beelzebub glared and quickly huddled the person under his cape, before he dramatically swiped it and used his magic to teleport.

It would drain a lot, but since he had a guaranteed meal, it wasn’t so bad. He couldn’t risk causing much of a scene yet with the village. He needed to lay low.

The figure in his arms was still passed out, sleeping peacefully as he eyed their face. They were tired, and if what they said was true, they hadn’t done much to care for themselves.

As much as he hated doing so, he was going to have to freshen his meal up.

You awoke in a dark and musty room, one that smelled of mold and rotting wood. You coughed at the dust surrounding you as you attempted to look at where you were.

This wasn’t home. In fact, what happened before you-

Before you could think about your day, you stared back into glowing red eyes. Those eyes... those were the last things you remember seeing before you passed out.

Your heart raced as you backed up to the furthest corner of the bed.

“S-stand back! Stay back! Don’t touch me!” You yelled.

He let out a sound of disgust and stepped closer.

“Don’t be full of yourself. I’m not here to touch a worthless roach like you right now.” He snapped. “Know your place, mortal.”

“M-mortal? What do you mean?”

“Do you not have a brain? It means you are beneath me.” He replied sharply. He tossed an apple at you. “Go. Eat.”

“W-what, I-“

“I said eat.” You nervously took a bite of the apple and he watched you with an intense frown.

You awkwardly chewed the fruit and tried to eat it as fast as you could for fear of how he’d react. He tapped his foot impatiently and watched you, and you felt yourself shaking under his gaze.

You finished the apple and within an instant he slammed a glass of water in front of you.

“Drink. I need you to be hydrated.” Due to the anxiety and nervousness, you chugged the class of water. Despite the situation you were in, you exhaled in relief as your body felt rejuvenated.

“Thank you.” You quietly said.

“Should you really be thanking me?” He sneered. “I’m not doing this out of kindness.”

You knew that. And yet, despite all that, you couldn’t care.

“So, are you gonna kill me now?” You said.

“So ready to die? Do you accept your fate so easily.”

“It’s just like you said earlier. I can’t fight you. I can’t possibly escape from you.”

“You’re not gonna even struggle?” He chuckled. “Giving is so easily?”

“I guess.” You sighed.

“Enough chatter. I’ve wasted enough time.” He said.

“What are you-“

You couldn’t speak before he quickly pinned you down with one hand, and the reality of it all rushed over you. He bared his fangs at you, the sharp canines glistening and his mouth practically drooling.

You knew what you said before.

But why did you suddenly care now?

You bit your lip and whimpered pathetically as he grinned maniacally at your now panicked expression.

“Do you now understand the situation you’re in? Do you truly get what I’m about to do to you?” He cackled.

“W-Wait-“

“I’ve waited long enough.”

“But! Wait! Why me?” You yelled. At the very least, if you were to die here and now, you would at least know why you were the one chosen.

“‘Why me’, you ask? Why you? Easy. Because you’re nobody.” His words cut deep into you like a knife. “You’re a nobody. You have no one. You’re pathetic, you’re all alone and no one cares for your existence.”

“But I know someone will! Someone will-“

“Who’s going to come for you? You were practically catatonic before I decided to take you. Do you think a waste of life like that is useful? Do you think you’re special? Do you think you offered me something of value besides being my next meal? Don’t think too highly of yourself, fool. You are nothing more than a blood bag. You are nothing to me.” He stated.

You could only stare back at him. What was there to say? He was right. You weren’t special. Moments ago you had professed you didn’t care about your own life. You closed your eyes and leaned your head to the side, giving him more access to your neck.

“Oh? What’s this? Have you already lost your will to live?”

“No. I’m afraid. I’m... really afraid. So I... I wanna offer you a deal.”

“A deal? Do you really think now you should be bargaining?”

“I got nothing else to lose.”

“Hmph, go on.” He raised an eyebrow. “You have a few moments.”

“How many other people have you done this to?”

“You’re supposed to make a deal, not ask a question.”

“I want to know.”

“Fine. I can entertain your dumb thoughts for a bit. I have done this to about... seven other people.”

“And what happened to them all?”

“I drained them of life. They’re all dead, probably feeding the termites below.”

“Then allow me to remain as your sole blood donor.”

“And why should I agree to that? What makes you so special that I should keep you alive?”

“People are going to get suspicious after a while. You killed seven people already. And I’ll be a constant meal for you, so you have me whenever you wish. It should be simple for you to get.” You don’t know where that last sentence came from, but you were determined to not roll over and die.

“Hmph. And you’re willing to remain here on the offhand chance I don’t drain you?” He asked.

“Yes. And I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t wanna die by your hands like this so... I’ll do what it takes to live.” You stated. The newfound acceptance for life made you want to clench to that feeling forever. “So, do you accept my deal? You don’t kill me, and I’ll stay here for you to feed on.”

He hated the fact you were right. It was an obvious choice, really. He couldn’t continue snatching more people up. Having a constant supply versus hunting at the last minute would perhaps heal him faster. He pursed his lips.

“Fine. But don’t think I’ll go gentle on you.” He leaned down and you felt him press his fangs into the flesh of your neck. The teeth broke your skin, and you covered your mouth with your hands to refrain from crying in pain.

He hissed as he tasted the blood from the wound he punctured on you. It’s been so long. And he was so damn hungry.

He placed his lips around the mark and sucked the blood inside. You bit your lip at the odd sensation. The pain had melted away and was quickly replaced with a euphoric pleasure, one that you were incapable of describing.

You’ve never felt this relieved, scared, enthusiastic, and excited as you did now. All your emotions swirled in you as he continued to lap at your blood with his tongue. You couldn’t think straight, merely acknowledging the feeling of him on top of you and the desire for more.

More of what? You couldn’t tell. Only that you wanted more of this euphoria, this pleasure, and this feeling that was so much more special than anything you had ever experienced in your entire life.

You dug your nails into his shoulder blades, and he didn’t seem to feel it as he continued drinking from you.

“Please-“ you struggled out. Your breath was uneven as you threw your head back, giving him more space for him to access.

“Shh... you make too much noise...” he mumbled before he continued.

It was quiet, all except for your ragged breaths and the sound of his mouth on your neck. You felt the high of this new feeling before he pulled back and left you struggling to catch your breath on the mattress. You almost missed when he was sucking your blood, funnily enough.

Beelzebub seemed to have a hard containing himself too, given his heavy breathing as he wiped his mouth of whatever excess blood there was.

“Is that... what it’s supposed to feel like?” You stammered.

“Apparently so. My victims had all responded positively to the bite. I guess it has a sort of euphoric reaction to you humans. I should test that more with you soon.”

You nodded yet flustered at how embarrassing that was. This man kidnapped you yet you were lying helplessly asking, begging, craving more.

Foolish. This was absolutely foolish.

You placed a hand where he bit you and winced at the slight burn you felt. It would probably take a while to heal.

“Now, mortal-“

“I have a name.” You cut him off. He glared.

“Don’t get cocky with me. You’re lucky I spared your life.”

“I’m just saying, since we’re gonna do this for a while, the least you could do is call me by my name.”

“Insolent... then what is your name?”

“It’s (Y/n). And what is yours?”

“Beelzebub. Beelzebub of the Astral High Council.” He stated.

“Huh? An astral? I thought you guys were gone...” your eyes widened in shock.

“Did you really think you pathetic humans could rid of us so easily? How amusing.”

He stood up and walked over to the door, his massive back facing you as he paused when he gripped the handle.

“Night is upon us. Rest now. I will have you in the morning before I sleep. You are not allowed to leave unless you have my express permission. And if you dare reveal the truth about me or our deal, I will kill you and everyone else on this pathetic island. Don’t test me. I don’t have the patience to deal with a good-for-nothing pest.” He threatened. He opened the door and slammed it behind him as he walked away.

You processed his words and were reminded that once again, you were not in your old home. This was your new home, one where you would be under his command. You feared the future, yet strangely were looking forward to a visit from him. Perhaps your once dreadful life could have some use and purpose again.

The thought relaxed you as you closed your eyes and huddled closer to yourself in the bed. Whatever you were getting into, it wasn’t going to be easy.

#gbf #gbf imagines #gbf imagines x reader #granblue fantasy imagines #granblue fantasy x reader #granblue fantasy #beelzebub x reader #beelzebub #vampire au #slighty spicy #kinda spicy

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rainandhotchocolate · 4 years

Text

Triwizard Champion

A/N HELLO this is a bit of a random one tbh, it’s based on HP second task of finding the one you value most, but a lil different in set up, also Sirius x reader cause lel ENJOY xx

"Four turns should do it" said a familiar deep voice. Y/N blinked herself more awake, focusing in on Dumbledore who was currently speaking.

She was standing in the Great Hall surrounded by the two other champions, Ministry officials and Dumbledore who was smiling widely. He handed out time turners to each champion, the gold necklace cold in Y/N’s hand.

"Someone of value has been taken from each of you and it is your task to go and rescue them from where-ever they may be. You will have four hours to find them and take them back here, but beware- there will be traps set up everywhere and remember, the only person who can see you in this time is your person of value"

Y/N grimaced, He couldn't have just told everyone in the castle we were doing a challenge?

"Your person could be anywhere in the castle excluding common rooms and our precious teachers’ offices. You will also be given a small clue to try and help you find them." Dumbledore gave a sweeping glance to the champions to see if they had understood. "Fantastic, now let's get started, shall we? Now if everyone would line up over here"

Dumbledore guided them over to three brightly marked spots in the ground, each the colour of the three schools.

Y/N ran her hand over the cool surface of the time turner, careful not to turn it. One of the officers handed out some white slip of paper to each contestant. Y/N opened it curiously and read the small riddle printed on it.

'In the castle where everything is hidden.

If you have to ask you will never know, if you know, you need only ask'

"There is one minute left until the cannon sounds, at that time you will turn your time turners 4 times and remember when you are done, come back here to your original spots" he smiled widely, " and Good l-"

But he was cut off by the loud 'Bang!' from the cannon. Y/N quickly turned the time turner back four times and felt the world spinning around me.

Y/N shut her eyes, feeling dizzy and only reopened them when her feet stable the cold, hard ground. Y/N stumbled backwards in surprise before composing herself.

Y/N slipped quickly through the door to the Great Hall, closing it slowly to stop it from making any noise. The corridor was pitch black and as much as Y/N loved the idea of tripping on something and dying or getting seen, Y/N cast 'Lumos'.

A soft light shone from her wand, forcing her to walk slowly, paranoid that someone was going to swing around the every corner she reached.

Y/N crept up towards her, failing miserably at concealing the sound of her footsteps hitting the cold floor. The moon was shining in lightly from the window above, creating an eerie glow on the corridor. Y/N automatically checked it for a full moon- it was only half. She paused momentarily, realising the hadn’t actually given any thought to her clue.

Where is everything hidden? Was it one of the secret passageways? But Sirius said only they knew most of them. if you know, you need only ask… only ask.

“Fuck, of course,” Y/N swore a little too loudly, sprinting down the corridor. She slid too fast around a corner, hitting her shoulder against the cold bricks but continued on, swearing internally as sharp pain shot down her arm. Finally she reached it, taking in a hurried breath before standing in front the large wall.

Y/N closed her eyes for a second before pacing up and down in front of it, thinking the same thing over and over.

'I am looking for the one I value most, I am looking for the one I value most'

There was suddenly a breaking sound coming from the wall in front of her and a door appeared, pushing through the walls barriers, twisting into a large black gated door. Y/N sighed in relief, pushing it open with some effort, struggling to close it quietly.

The moon light trickled in from the windows, lighting up portions of the room and making large ominous shadows across the rest.

Y/N moved slowly across the concrete floors. The room was covered in an array of things; forgotten toys, books, a large ornamental chandelier and even a few plants, forming a maze across the huge room. Her footsteps became louder as she moved faster, wondering how on earth she was meant to find anything in here.

"Y/N...?" Y/N heard a slightly scared and amazingly familiar voice call out, "is that you?"

Y/N’s heart sunk. She hadn’t thought it would be him. Lily maybe, or Remus, possibly James… but… fuck.

"I'm over by the stack of fairy tale books and the small tree... like... thing..."

“I’m coming!” Y/N called back, moving through the maze towards the sound of his voice.

Y/N saw the small tree and started jogging towards it, Sirius slowly coming into sight as she turned a corner.

"Well hello there" he attempted to grin but was clearly still groggy from whatever spell they had put on him. His eyes were tired, ropes tying up his hands and legs to a metal pole sticking up from the ground. Y/N reached over to his hands and untied them from the pole before crouching down and untying his ankles. He stepped forwards just before Y/N came up came tumbling down towards her, arms out too break his fall.

“Shit, sorry Y/N,” Sirius gasped, breathing out a sigh of relief when they landed with nothing sounding like a break. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how close his face was from her own, his breath sending a small shiver across her shoulders. His hands were placed either side of her head, legs were on top of her own. Y/N stared back at him, looking at how his grey eyes showed mixes of blues and greens hinted through the light.

"Um... would you mind getting up?" Y/N said pointedly, clearing her throat as he rolled off.

He stuttered an apology before helping Y/N up.

"So, I was your person of value, huh?" He raised an eyebrow at her, a smirk curling on his lip.

"We-" Y/N started but cut herself off, staring suddenly past Sirius and at their surroundings. Sirius noticed her looking and he turned, only to jump back slightly and gasp.

In the time that it took for them to get off each other, the entire room had grown, literally. From the books to the plants and toys, everything loomed above us, blocking all the exits to the maze.

"Well, shit" Y/N muttered.

Y/N stood silently, eyes wide at the unfortunate scene in front of her.

“Let’s destroy the Room of Requirement shall we?” Sirius turned to Y/N and grinned.

“Sounds good.” Y/N pulled out her wand, holding it out and nodding for Sirius to follow behind her, ignoring his slight giggle.

The moon was blocked from the items surrounding them, and even the small burst of light from Y/N’s wand was merely creating more ominous shadows that seemed to almost dance around them.

There was a small path between the lost things, but Y/N could already see the end of it being blocked by a giant wooden box. It was a dark mahogany and seemingly somewhat chewed apart by something.

Y/N stopped suddenly, making Sirius crash into her back.

"What th-" but she glared and shushed Sirius quickly.

"I swear on merlin's grave that the box just moved," Y/N said cautiously, her voice wavering slightly.

"So... what do you think is in there?"

"I have no idea," Sirius replied. The box gave a definite jolt and both Y/N and Sirius jumped back in surprise.

"Something big," Sirius said on second thought, looking for a way around it. Y/N, however, stepped forward, wand out and smoothly unlocked the box.

The door creaked open very slowly. There was a whirl of wind in front of them and Y/N heard Sirius gasp as they both realised what was inside.

Sirius, being the heroic idiot, jumped in front of Y/N, swinging his arms in front of her like a barricade. The woman suddenly became that whirlwind once more, reshaping and becoming closer to the floor as it did so.

Sirius audibly gulped when it changed. A duplicate Y/N had appeared covered in scars and wounds, distorting her, making it almost impossible to recognise. Her clothes were stained in blood and both arms pushed awkwardly up and above her head.

Y/N felt her breathing hitch when she saw what it was. Sirius had frozen, and Y/N was sure she could hear his heart beat clanging from his back.

“Ridiculous!” Sirius yelled suddenly, grabbing Y/N’s wand from her hand and pointing it aggressively at the boggart.

There was another whirlwind and without giving it a second thought Sirius whipped Y/N’s wand again, this time yelling Bombarda.

The box exploded, the boggart getting sucked into the explosion along with it, though Y/N was very unsure if that was exactly the best way to get rid of a boggart. Or, if it was still there.

“Shit,” Sirius swore. The objects around the room had begun to grow larger, closing in around them. Obviously exploding their way out wasn’t the answer. A large set of books landed on the back Y/N’s leg, a cry coming out from her as she fell forwards, landing hard on her foot.

Sirius pulled her up and was about to ask if she was ok but she grabbed his hand and pulled him down the pathway.

"Let’s go!” Y/N yelled, desperate to make distance between them and whatever remnants of the boggart they’d left. a little.

Y/N suddenly stopped, Sirius slamming into her back. She rolled her eyes at his frustrated expression.

"Don't you ever pay attention to your surroundings?" She pointed sideways towards a giant cabinet. Leaning against it were 4 broomsticks.

Y/N kicked off the floor, narrowly avoiding a large double bed crashing into them, the edge scraping into Y/N’s face. It was almost as much of a maze in the air as it was on the floor. They seemed to be dodging objects every second, Y/N could see blood dripping from multiple points of Sirius’ body and was sure there was the same on her.

Y/N swerved past a tennis racket that had just been flung at her face as Sirius nearly did a 360 on his broom to avoid a small bedside table trying to tousle his hair.

Sirius jerked upwards suddenly as two pillows came crashing towards either side of him, causing them to crash into each other and Y/N to swerve sideways dangerously.

Suddenly, Y/N spotted the grey, spiralling concrete double doors that would lead them back into the castle and away from this mess.

"Sirius!" She shouted over to him, his expression more focused than she’d ever seen it. "This way!"

He followed her gaze and nodded. They sped off towards the door, speeding up as fast as the brooms could take them.

'Alohomora!' Y/N pointed her wand at the door, sighing in relief as the doors swung open and the two of them fell through them, pushing the doors shut as quick as they possibly could.

We sat there for a few minutes just breathing heavily. Y/N clothes were torn, her heart pounding into her throat.

"So... Do you have a place to be or something?" Sirius wondered out loud, turning towards Y/N, also panting heavily.

"Shit,” Y/N gasped out a breath, checking her watch and swearing loudly, the sound echoing across the corridor. She was ten minutes late.

"We may need to hurry," Y/N groaned, picking herself up and grabbing the broomstick and pulling her leg over it once more. “Ready to dive?”

Sirius nodded, his lip curling into a mischievous smile. At least the one thing Y/N could count on was Sirius’ always being willing to do the stupidest of ideas. They pushed off the ground, Y/N’s foot giving a very uncomfortable twinge as she put her weight on it, and began zooming down the corridor and towards the staircase.

“Here we go!” Sirius called out as they saw the dive. Y/N steeled herself, taking in a deep breath and dipping her broom. The staircases were moving constantly, Y/N moving her broom alongside them, dodging the bannisters as they moved close and closer to the ground floor. Sirius flicked his wand and the front doors to the castle boomed open with enough room for them to slip through and zoom into the grounds.

There was a large tent standing in the middle of the grounds, large groups of people cheering loudly in a set of stands beside it. They flew towards the tent, braking suddenly as they reached it, wanting to avoid potentially injuring anyone. Y/N saw the circle she started in and moved over towards it, placing a hand in it. It shone brightly as she put it there and she heaved a sigh of relief.

Only Simon, from Beauxbatons was there already, sitting on his bed and chatting intensely to his headmistress. Y/N realised she had gripped a tight hand around Sirius’ and quickly let go, her cheeks blushing furiously.

Thankfully Dumbledore arrived seconds after, clasping his hands together when he saw them.

"Well, well! Our second champion has arrived!" He smiled broadly at me, his bright blue eyes twinkling. "Firstly, you need to get checked out by the nurse- yes you too Mr Black- and then come back here before we announce the scores to the rest of the school."

Sirius and Y/N nodded once before retreating back to where they came from and heading over to Madame Pomfrey’s tent about fifty metres away.

Y/N smiled when she walked in and Pomfrey gave a tight smile in return before giving her a once over and tutting softly. She then turned to Sirius and did the same thing.

"Ah Miss, I know I look perfect" he smirked, his dirty face saying otherwise.

"Mr Black, I would appreciate it if you let me do my job as I will not hesitate to take away one of your arms. And Y/N, come over here, you've just got a few cuts and bruises, your ankle looks a little swollen..."

Y/N let Madame Pomfrey lead her over to a bed and began to feel the adrenaline that was coursing through her began to fade and the aches across her body began to pound. Madame Pomfrey dabbed at her face and bandage legs as Y/N counted the number of bars across the ceiling.

"Y/N, we can go," Y/N jolted up suddenly and Sirius chuckled at her shocked expression. She swung her legs over the bed to stand up.

"Holy mother of Me-" Y/N started, grasping onto the edge of the bed as sharp pain shot up the side of her right leg. Y/N took a deep breath and took all of her weight off it, feeling like she was about to hop.

"Yeah, Madame Pomfrey mentioned something about your ankle... I think the tendon has torn she put some cream on it so it isn't swollen but she said something about one of the champions having a gash in the side of their stomach..." he trailed off, smiling sheepishly at Y/N’s glare.

"And you couldn't have told me that about a second before I got up!?" Y/N hissed at him, causing the few people that were in the tent look over at them curiously.

“I was about too but you were too fast... look just use these, we have to get back to the champions tent." He handed Y/N a pair of crutches and she silently cursed Madame Pomfrey for not just healing the damn thing as she leaned over them and felt her back hunch uncomfortably.

Y/N followed Sirius out of the medical tent and into the champions. There was now a small crowd, including the four other champions and hostages, the judges and teachers from the different schools. Dumbledore greeted them when they returned.

"Good to see our Hogwarts champion in good form. We are just about to announce results!" Dumbledore smiled at her, clapping her on the back a little hard.

"Yeah, ok," Y/N replied half-heartedly, her heart starting to race again. Y/N wasn't sure if she really wanted to hear the results.

"You'll do fine" Sirius whispered to her, following behind as they started the short trek up to the castle. Y/N gave him a small smile.

"Hey Sirius, a question?"

"Anything,” He kept his eyes forward, walking slowly alongside her awkward crutching.

"What are you most scared of?" Y/N questioned him. He looked at her with an odd expression, his deep grey eyes staring into hers.

"The ones I love dying," he replied, suddenly looking down. Her heart skipped a beat.

Y/N’s brain flashed back to the fresh memory of Sirius tensing at the sight of what the boggart had taken form.

Y/N’s blood-soaked body.

Without giving it another thought, Y/N grabbed Sirius’ wrist and spun him towards her, kissing him square on the mouth, her crutches falling to the side and making her lift her leg awkwardly. He seemed to freeze momentarily before kissing her back, pulling her in towards him with such fervour Y/N forgot she was standing in front of many teachers.

They pulled apart, breathless and grinning at each other, Y/N leaning on his side. He sniggered as she jumped sideways, but picked up her crutches for her, slipping them under her arms softly. He stayed close to Y/N momentarily, watching her.

“Glad to know it’s not just my boggart.” He said finally, standing upright.

“Oh, mine is actually a giant snake.” Y/N teased, grinning at him as the call for the results came through the speakers surrounding them.

“Shut up, Y/L/N.” Sirius rolled his eyes but went back to her side, helping her up to the judges. He slipped a hand along Y/N’s waist and held it against the small in her back.

Taglist: @averytruerayofsunshine @siriuslyjanhvi @blushingskywalker @blackpinkdolan @thebabblingbookworm @cherrie511 @imlukesnirvana @avengersassemblee @maraudersandco @sly-vixen-up2nogood @katbernoulli @sirius-lysad @evyiione @minerva26love @aikeia @gollyderek @greatwombatblaze @songforhema @your-typical-giggle @myownviperroom @hermionie-is-my-queen @demiwitch527

#rainandhotchocolate #sirius x reader #sirius x you #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius imagine #sirius black imagine

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venusofthehardsells · 4 years

Text

Dreamgirl [part 4]

ReaderxBucky Barnes [part 3] Summary: Bucky tries to adjust to his new life in the Avengers compound. One day he meets a girl who might be everything he needs in order to move on, but is his past really that far away? Warnings for this chapter: typical self-hate, not much else this time tbh, (general series warnings include noncon, violence, mental illness, feels probably) A/N: I can’t believe I let you wait this long for a chapter with this little content. Ungh. Like I already said, I have nothing to say for myself. My writing process is about as fast the plot. I’ll try harder to update more, and if you’re still following this story, just know it really means a lot to me!

When Bucky wakes up it’s three am and Steve is still there, fast asleep next to him. Steve’s arm is resting protectively over Bucky and both of Bucky’s hands are holding onto Steve’s T-shirt, the fabric close to ripping in his unyielding grip. He soften his hold a little and looks up to study Steve’s face.

Despite the serum keeping him young, there are a few lines adorning the face of America’s golden boy that weren’t there during the war. They’re faint and few but this close there’s no doubt. The worry has managed to leave its mark on him and Bucky feels his stomach clench itself into a hard little ball. How many of those fine lines have he caused?

Then again, how many lines separate this weary ghost from the bright young man he used to be?

Steve’s presence has had a good influence on him. The last few hours of sleep have been quiet and heavy. He can’t remember the last time he slept so soundly, but he’s sure it was one of those other rare occasions when he was so far gone in his nightmares, Steve had slept in his bed too.

Bucky is pried from his sleep-heavy thoughts when his stomach growls painfully and he vaguely realises he hasn’t eaten anything the entire day. Well, he’s paying for it now.

A headache is forming behind his eyes and his chest feels as though it’s going to implode into the void of his empty stomach if he doesn’t get some food in him fast. The way his throat is beginning to constrict is almost nauseating. He’s always had a healthy appetite and has often gone hungry, both in his youth and during HYDRA missions, but whatever Dr Zola did to him made him less affected by such things as hunger when he was the Asset. It was as if his mind didn’t fully acknowledge the needs of his body.

Now, however, the combination of his enhanced biology and not being brainwashed makes the hunger close to crippling.

It feels safe and nice to lie with both of Steve’s arms around him, Bucky realises when he shifts a little, and he almost doesn’t want to leave the bed. Steve mumbles something in his sleep and manages to hug Bucky closer so he’s flush with Steve’s entire body, face squashed against his chest.

“Ftoovh,” he tries and rolls his eyes at the muffled sound that’s all he’s capable of producing without chewing on Steve’s shirt. With a bit more determination, he gets his arms in between them and pushes Steve in the chest, harder than he would a normal person, but not hard enough to hurt.

Apparently, the push is still more powerful than he calculated.

With a yelp, Steve rolls off the bed and crashes into the nightstand that goes tumbling towards the opposite wall. Bucky winces, but is on his feet in a second to get Steve up from the floor.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry, Steve,” he mumbles, feeling his cheeks burn. Steve thankfully looks more shocked than hurt and there’s a redness spreading along his cheekbones, too.

“No, it’s… I’m fine, it’s… everything’s fine, yeah.” He nods as if to accentuate the point and it calms Bucky a bit. Then Steve frowns ever so slightly. “Are you okay?”

Bucky shrugs.

“Just hungry,” he says, trying to sound casual. His stomach betrays him by practically groaning just then and the corners of Steve’s lips twitch. Bucky scoffs. “Fine, starving. Do you think there’s anything left of that dinner I slept through?”

Thinking back on the nightmare, he wishes he had gone down to eat instead. Maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad then. It’s wishful thinking of course, but it helps. Admitting that the nightmares are beyond his control is still too grim a reality.

“Oh, there’s plenty we can reheat. Come on.”

Not long after, they’re both sitting in the empty compound kitchen, steaming dishes of a spicy casserole in front of them. It’s the best thing Bucky can remember eating in a long time and he’s through his second helping by the time Steve finishes up his first, significantly smaller one.

“This is real damn delicious,” Bucky comments, gulping down a glass of water like it’s going out of fashion. He’s only just starting to feel better now that he’s got at least two meals’ worth of warm food in him. “Stark hire a cook or something?”

“No,” Steve smiles and scoops another portion onto Bucky’s plate. “Wanda made it. Traditional Sokovian stew, spent forever on it. She put a ton of spices in I’ve never even heard of, but you gotta admit she knew what she was doing.”

“Sure did.” Bucky is a little hesitant about the next bite. There’s something in the taste that he can’t quite place. A warmth, a lingering feeling of… something.

The spices remind him of when he was on the run, of the place he had settled at in Europe before Steve and that SWAT team had torn it apart. Many times during the evenings, the hot smells of food had drifted through the floor and walls from the other flats around him and made him think of the almost forgotten joy of a home cooked meal.

Homely, he realises. This kind of food tastes of a home, something safe and familiar that he hasn’t had in a very long time.

“It would mean a lot to her if you told her you liked it.” Steve looks intently at him as he says it and Bucky looks down out of reflex. Can’t look Steve in the eyes when he talks like that.

“Okay,” he mumbles with a light shrug of his shoulders, but Steve isn’t done.

“She says you’re avoiding her,” he begins carefully and Bucky sighs, which makes him pause. “What?”

“I’m kinda avoiding everyone in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” Bucky is staring at him now. Steve’s face is turning slightly pink, but he goes on. “Might be good for you to talk to someone other than me. Not everyone hates you, you know.”

The words feel like a punch to the gut and it takes a second for Bucky to figure out why.

It’s the non-sugar coated truth and Steve hasn’t softened his voice the way he sometimes tend to do when it comes to touchy subjects, hell, the way he did a second ago.

It’s also a surprise.

He has tried over and over to appeal to his logical self with the reasonable assumption that even if Stark and Fury and very likely also Natasha hate him, the others have no reason to. Yet somehow, he realises that he didn’t actually believe it until now. Steve’s words make a splinter of hope ache in his chest.

“You sure?,” he murmurs, raising an eyebrow at his friend who just hums affirmatively and takes another bite of stew.

“Of course I’m sure. There’s still a person behind all that brooding and scowling somewhere. The others know it too. They know it wasn’t your fault.”

“What?”

“Everything that happened to you.” Instead of sending him a pitying look, Steve just shrugs and for a second, Bucky is sure his friend has lost his mind. “Just think about it. I’m not saying you should invite Tony for a fishing trip, just maybe, I don’t know, show up for dinner. Compliment the chef, even if it’s Clint. You know, engage a little more.”

Bucky grinds his teeth behind closed lips.

He engaged with the pretty girl in the coffee shop and now he’s already having bad dreams about her dying. It’s not that he doesn’t want a little more human contact, really. But he wonders if Steve would have suggested it if he knew how many times he had starred in one of Bucky’s bloodcurdling nightmares.

“I’ll try,” he gets out, poking at the remains of stew on his plate with his fork.

“Good.” Steve doesn’t push him further and he’s grateful for it. They finish the meal in silence.

When they get up to put the dishes away and head back to sleep, the soft light of the predawn is beginning to settle outside. Bucky figures he can squeeze in a few hours before heading out for his daily run. He hopes the food and the talk with Steve will make the nightmares stay away for a while.

Otherwise, there’s always the park, and the coffee shop, and the girl…

He finds himself halfway tempted to ask Steve if he wants to go with him for his morning run. They always spar and work out together at nine, but until now, running has been Bucky’s own thing, the only routine he performs in solitude that doesn’t make him feel, well, alone. When he runs, he just exists. No pressure.

Bucky never gets to ask. Steve’s SHIELD pager pings and just like that, the strained tension between them is as thick as it was in the afternoon.

Steve looks at the little device and groans.

“Jesus, Fury…,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes that have already begun to droop a little again. “Four in the fucking morning.”

“Mission?,” Bucky asks without looking at him.

“Must be. Better be fucking important.” Steve always swears more when he’s tired, slurs the curses into his other words so they’re a part of a sentence-long word and almost not there at all. Bucky hasn’t been on any missions or to any publicity events with Steve since the forties, but he imagines it’s very far from the image everyone is trying to pin on him. It occurs to him not for the first time that his friend is struggling to hold onto his identity just as much as Bucky is. It’s no mean feat considering all the world’s eyes are always on Captain America, the glorified ideal, but hardly ever considers Steve Rogers, the real person wearing the uniform.

“Hey. Watch yourself out there,” Bucky cautions just when Steve is about to leave. He sends a half smile with the warning to make it sound more casual. Steve grins wearily.

“I will. Careful with the sentiment though, people might start to think you care.”

Bucky scuffs and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry, pal, I think everyone knows by now I only care about you.” He shrugs and pats Steve on the shoulder. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

He turns and leaves before Steve can come up with some well-meant words of concern to make Bucky feel like even more of a burden than he already does and trudges back to his room.

It takes him a while of tossing and turning to realise that he's not going to get any more sleep now that Steve is gone. The bed doesn't feel comfortable at all, just vast and empty. He tries to fold the scarcely used duvet into a sort of substitute for another body for him to hold onto, but it still doesn't feel right.

Annoyed with himself, he finally gets up and automatically puts on a pair of black sweatpants from his stack of identical black sweatpants, along with a grey T-shirt and a hoodie. Bucky swallows when he looks at himself in the mirror and realises that this has become as much of a uniform as all his heavy tactical HYDRA gear used to be. Dark sweatpants, dark T-shirt, dark hoodie. Nothing to make him stand out in a crowd or mark him as an individual.

It suddenly occurs to him that he has been wearing a uniform practically his entire life. He struggles to recall what it was like to wake up and putting thought into what to wear. He must have done it at some point, he knows that much at least. Back in the thirties, even if his family hadn't had two nickels to rub together on a good day, much less anything near the frankly insane amount of clothes people these days seemed to own, he knows there was at least something vaguely resembling choices. There had been a pair of pants, he remembers after wringing his brain, a pair that had been slightly nicer than his everyday ones and which he only wore on Sundays or when he was taking out a girl. They had belonged to his father before he died and Bucky had naturally inherited them, along with some shirts and a tie he rarely had reason to wear. None of it had been made for him, so his mother had had to adjust the clothes the best she could. The pants had still been a little too tight around his thighs, but they meant he didn't have to wear his often dirty work slacks on dates.

It wasn't much, but it had been different. Hell, everything had been different.

He glances down at his black sweatpants now and bites his lip. He'll have to do something about this feeling somehow. The longer he contemplates this new, unintentional uniform, the clearer the Asset appears in his mind. For a second, he almost swears his dark metal hand looks silver again. Then he blinks and the vibranium fingers are back to normal.

Good lord, he can't wait to get that coffee today.

He runs his usual route in the infant daylight, still trying to shake off the nightmare. It doesn’t feel as bad as it has on other mornings, the food and sleep and the talk with Steve has helped. The coffee will definitely help. And moving his legs, albeit mindlessly, that is helping right now, but what Bucky really wants is to see her. Just to make sure she is okay.

The coffee shop is still closed when he reaches it, so he turns back to do another round in the park. Even though it isn’t physically taxing for him, his heart is thundering a hundred miles a minute. What if she isn’t going to be there?, a little, unwelcome voice whispers in the back of his mind. What if you really killed her?

Bucky almost scoffs at himself. There is no way. It was just a nightmare. One of the worst ones he’s had in a while, yes, but still… If he had somehow brought her into the compound, everyone would know. Steve, Stark, Fury, the entire government probably gets daily reports on what he does. Same thing if he had left to go somewhere else. Besides, he never went anywhere or did anything yesterday after getting back, he’s sure of it. He wasn’t anywhere near her, it was just a dream.

Even so, he can’t stop overthinking every single impossible scenario in which he might have hurt her without being aware of it and his heart is sure as hell not slowing down no matter how many calming breaths he tries to take. He needs to see her.

With his bottom lip caught beneath his teeth, he shoots his watch a look and groans when he realises he's still nearly half an hour early. It's going to be some of the longest minutes of his life. Bucky quickly decides he hasn't got that kind of patience, not with how his stupid heart is trying to beat him into a panic anyway. Instead of waiting, he goes back to the place he first saw her, the park entrance. From there, he tries to remember which direction she came from. If he can just see her on her way to work, he knows he'll feel better.

It doesn't take him long to scour the surrounding streets and eliminate the ones that lead to business and shopping districts. It's a guess, but if she had the money to fund one of the few apartments there, she wouldn't have to work in a café. She must live further away.

For a minute, Bucky considers all the tactical and strategic training he's gone through in his days in captivity with HYDRA, but absolutely nothing that can help him out comes to mind. The park is surrounded by too many tall buildings for him to properly see the streets if he were to seek higher ground and he doesn't have any sort of tech except his phone which won't do him any good.

All he really can do is to keep running and try not to get stuck inside his head. Like yesterday, Bucky tries to focus on the movements of his body and the feeling of muscles clenching and unclenching in his legs with every stride. It's something his therapist has told him to do when he needs to calm down, trying to create more awareness of his body and thereby divert his thoughts from any upsetting or stressful factor. Normally, it's good advice, but right now, his body is a part of the problem.

Before his sweaty palms and too shallow breaths end up filling too much in his mind, Bucky forces himself to observe some other detail, any detail.

He settles for the great, big nothing in front of him.

The air.

It’s not the crisp, crystal clear air he loved about the Wakandan sunrises where he would be the only one up and awake to enjoy the quiet, one deep, fresh breath at a time. But it’s still nicer in here, in the park, than outside on the streets. Bucky is not overly fond of the polluted city. He used to be a city boy, sure enough, but that was a long time ago. Whenever he dares imagine himself somewhere else than the compound these days, it’s almost always some version of the hut he had in Wakanda. Most times, it’s the same hut all the way down to the straw roof and spotted goats. Other times, he imagines a small cabin in the woods next to a lake or a faraway little stone cottage surrounded by grassy hills and sheep.

No matter where he sees himself settle though, it’s always somewhere remote with unspoiled air. Sometimes, Steve is with him, and they both look as if the war never happened, but this morning, it isn’t Steve sitting next to him in front of his little imaginary hut.

It's her.

And she's not wearing her work uniform, but a bright yellow dress that matches her nail polish. She has bare, dirty feet and wild flowers in her hair. She smiles when he approaches. He sits down next to her and kisses her cheek. She offers him a strawberry from the basket next to her, freshly picked from their little garden. He prefers to lick the taste from her lips and mouth instead. It's just the two of them there.

His heart soars at the dreamscape for a moment, but plummets just as far when he involuntarily remembers his nightmare again and suddenly, the scene runs red with blood.

Bucky wills himself back to reality and casts another desperate look at his watch.

Less than three minutes.

He wills himself to take the last part of his route at a slow jog despite every fibre in him screaming that he run like hell. When he once again stands in front of the coffee shop, he's about ready to kick down the doors, but right then, the lock clicks, the handle turns and there she stands. Exactly as beautiful as yesterday, if not more.

She looks up at him in surprise, then a smile spreads on her face.

"James," she says happily and Bucky's heartbeat melts into a rhythm of steady calm.

Tags will be added in reblog

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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gamerwoo · 5 years

Text

Taeyong: Dominant

@neverknewgrey2016 asked: Okay, I know NCT requests aren’t open rn, BUT, in case you open them later while I’m asleep, (b/c i have to get to bed for school) you know what to do. Taeyong. I’ll let you choose his mate (b/c if I was gonna pick it was gonna be a female either human or other alpha, but I don’t want anyone to be upset it’s another female so if you had one set in mind, i give you reins) ANYWAY, I am just hyped for it... not the point, i love you and i am going to sleep now ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Characters: Taeyong x female reader (featuring NCT)

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, kinda enemies to lovers???, angst, very slight crack at the beginning, smut (dom/sub themes, slight degradation, mirror sex, kind of hate fucking tbh lmao, sub!Taeyong)

Word count: 4,768

Summary: You’re a werewolf hunter. You’re ruthless, cold, and trained to kill. Taeyong is the alpha of one of the largest werewolf packs. He’s quick, smart, and incredibly strong. Despite all that, he can’t help that he imprints on the one person trained to kill him, and you can’t help that you can’t deny the feeling, either -- but it doesn’t mean you won’t have a little fun with it.

a/n: Star came up with this idea completely and it made me w e a k

Renjun stared down at their captive, a puzzled look on his face as he considered where to go from here. He couldn’t just let a werewolf hunter kill one of his brothers -- even if Jaemin was incredibly oblivious to it -- but he also couldn’t kill you because he just couldn’t bring himself to kill anybody. But he had to figure something out before Winwin got home -- Jeno would probably help if he found out, but the less people that knew, the better.

So far, the only people in the pack that were aware of the captive hunter were Renjun, Jaemin, Haechan, and Hendery. The four werewolves were there when everything happened, and they all helped in tying up the hunter and bringing them to Renjun’s apartment that he shared with Jaemin, Jeno, and Winwin. But they couldn’t keep the hunter there forever, so they were trying to come up with a new plan.

“Well,” Haechan began with a soft sigh, tilting his head to one side as he looked at the angry and thrashing hunter on the floor, “I know Mark’s home, but if we can sneak her past him, nobody will ever know.”

“We have to be positive that Mark won’t see, because he’s absolutely going to tell somebody,” Jaemin nodded.

“Maybe we should tell somebody...” Hendery shrugged, his voice quiet. “It’s not like we did anything wrong.”

“We literally took a werewolf hunter captive,” Renjun reminded him, as if the angry noises around the gag in the hunter’s mouth wasn’t enough. “Do you know what that means?”

“More hunters will come looking,” Jaemin said with a sigh, looking away from the hunter on the floor to his brothers. “Which means we really have to figure out what to do -- fast.”

“That’s why we should tell somebody,” Hendery insisted. “Taeyong-hyung will know what to do -- or Kun at the very least!”

“Both of them will have all our asses,” Renjun stated sharply. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought of what to do next before he was calling orders like an alpha. “Jaemin and Hendery, help me with her. Donghyuk, do you think you can make sure there’s no way Mark will see us come in?”

Haechan’s smile was almost evil as walked toward the door, “I got it.”

All you could do was sit on the floor before the remaining three werewolves, thrashing against the hardwood floor.

With Mark out of the way (”how did you knock Mark out?” “I was told to take care of him, nobody told me how to do it.”), the three werewolves were free to move you from Renjun’s apartment, to Haechan’s. Making sure nobody heard them moving through the hall and up two floors was a little hard, but they managed.

“Johnny will be too worked up over Nina visiting in a few day to pay attention, and Yuta will assume somebody’s just in the bathroom if the door is locked,” Haechan smiled proudly once you were set in the bathtub. “We’ll be fine.”

“What do we do with...these?” Jaemin asked, holding up the box of weapons they’d gotten off of you.

Renjun groaned, “Who gave Jaemin the weapons?”

“Better than giving them to you,” Haechan scoffed as the four boys exited the bathroom, making sure to keep the door locked on their way out.

And that was when you started to try to escape.

Taeyong had been hearing the same weird noises all damn evening. Ever since he got home, all he could heard was banging and groaning -- and not the sexual kind. He was starting to think he should go in search of the source, but he wasn’t sure if it was one of the other occupants of the building that he wasn’t as familiar with.

Then again, it was his own pack that typically caused the odd shenanigans.

“What the fuck is coming from Johnny’s apartment?” Doyoung asked as he walked through the front door, closing it a little too hard with his annoyance.

Taeyong gave him a quizzical look, “How do you know it’s Johnny’s?”

“Oh, I thought Nina showed up early,” Jungwoo said with a shrug from where he was doing his homework at the coffee table.

“That doesn’t sound like Nina,” Doyoung told him.

Jungwoo only let out a little huff, “How am I supposed to remember what she sounds like? I only met her for five minutes last year.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Taeyong said, trying to stop the conversation before Doyoung and Jungwoo started bickering about Jungwoo’s lack of knowledge of Johnny’s mate. “I’ll go check it out, alright?”

So the alpha left the apartment, going up the stairs to where Johnny, Yuta, Haechan, and Mark all lived together. He was pretty much expecting the usual antics from them -- probably Haechan doing some dumb prank on Mark -- but as he got closer to the apartment, he had the urge to both rush into the room but also to retreat as far away as possible. Despite the hairs standing up on the back of his neck at whatever it was in there that he could sense, he also smelled the sweetest scent he’d ever smelled in his life.

Either way, he assumed it was best that he called in some backup.

After a quick text to the groupchat, Taeyong was being accompanied by Kun, Ten, Doyoung, Jungwoo, and Yangyang -- the latter just wanted to tag along. Unfortunately for the four that had found and captured you, none of them were paying attention to their phones to see that Taeyong intended on searching the apartment that you were stored away in.

Taeyong used the spare key to get in, looking around and sniffing cautiously. Even Yangyang who was the youngest among them whined at the odd sense of danger coming from the apartment.

“Should we split up?” Ten asked. “Some of us search the bedrooms, and the others search the kitchen, living room, and bathroom?”

Taeyong sniffed the air carefully, trying to follow the sweet smell in the air -- everybody else smelled a stranger, but they had all originally thought maybe it was somebody in a neighboring apartment that had visitors or something.

“No,” he shook his head as he started to make his way to the bathroom, “follow me.”

The group made their way to the bathroom door. Seeing the light on, Taeyong tried the door only to see that it was locked. Without hesitation, Taeyong got his ID card from his wallet and slid it into the door in an attempt to get the lock out. When he finally did get the door open, he froze where he was.

You stared at the six werewolves from where you were face-down on the bathroom floor, your hands still tied behind you and your ankles still taped together. You knew you were less than intimidating like this, and you knew you had no way to protect yourself if these new werewolves intended to attack.

All eyes suddenly shifted to red as low growls filled the room -- all except one. Taeyong just stared at you with his golden eyes, his mouth slightly agape as he tried to make sense of the storm of contradicting feelings inside of him. He knew he was supposed to fear you, and yet, he only wanted to get closer and help you. He had completely forgotten about his pack behind him until Ten suddenly lunged forward at you.

Taeyong grabbed him by the back of his shirt just in time, yanking him back.

“Take Yangyang and get him out of here,” Taeyong instructed. “Jungwoo, you bring him home.”

“Hyung, what’re you doing?” Ten wondered, not understanding how the alpha could not only be so calm, but didn’t suddenly get defensive in the presence of a werewolf hunter.

Taeyong just shook his head, “Just go do it. Yangyang might get hurt.”

It was partly a lie, but he was still worried about the youngest of their small group being around a werewolf hunter -- even if you were tied up and without any weapons.

As Jungwoo led Yangyang out of the apartment, Taeyong cautiously walked forward, hands up slightly to show his surrender. You watched him carefully, eyes narrowed as he took slow steps toward you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised, his tone soft. “I’m just going to help you off the floor, okay?”

Of course, you felt the pull as soon as he did. Immediately after your eyes landed on him, you felt what he did but at a lesser extent -- you still felt it, nonetheless. You knew what had happened, and you also knew it meant this pack probably wasn’t letting you go anytime soon. If you had the choice, you’d tell the wolf to fuck off and just let him die while you went back to your group. You’d already lost one of yours to a werewolf -- he’d imprinted on her, and she was still his mate to this day -- and you didn’t plan on having the same fate. Your group still resented her -- although, you weren’t too sure about Zuho’s feelings toward her anymore.

Where the werewolf’s hands touched you, it felt like tiny sparks of warmth coursing through you. You cursed your body for enjoying his touch when your brain kept telling you it was wrong.

Once you were upright, the wolf just seemed to stare at you, his hands still gripping your arms.

“Hyung?” one of them finally spoke up, clearing his throat. “What do we do with her?”

He didn’t even look back at them when he answered, his eyes never leaving you, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”

Of course it was the alpha. Why wouldn’t your mate be the fucking alpha, right?

This alpha didn’t come across as an alpha to you. You knew he was the alpha because even you could sense it, but honestly, you thought maybe the one with black hair that kept bickering with the innocent-looking should’ve been the alpha because he just had that aura about him. Then again, you figured there might’ve been more to the pack than just the ones that you met since they kept talking about so many people over the five days you were kept as captive.

Speaking of which, you didn’t feel like a captive -- at least, not when the alpha was around. You were constantly being watched in the apartment he lived in but he -- you remembered his name was Taeyong but you couldn’t really keep up with anybody else’s names -- seemed to treat you more like a guest than anything else. The rest of the pack that he had keep an eye on you clearly didn’t like you, but it made you feel smug more than anything else.

“Hey, Doyoung--”

“Bye.”

You watched with a smirk as Doyoung immediately pushed passed Taeyong as the alpha walked through the door, going straight out the way Taeyong came.

Taeyong spun around, watching Doyoung go, “What’s wrong?”

“She’s pissing me off!” he huffed before he slammed the door shut.

Taeyong turned back to look at you, but all you did was shrug and keep your cocky smirk on your face. You got bored so what else were you supposed to do? Annoying the werewolves might’ve become your new favorite thing to do.

But as much as you liked seeing the older wolves get pissed off -- the tiny, sassy one even almost slapped you once -- you needed a plan to get home. You had somewhat of an idea but you knew it was a long shot. But considering you were always being watched without any of your weapons, you didn’t think you could just get yourself free and climb out the window. Without your weapons, you had no surefire way to beat any of the wolves.

Taeyong let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He really had no idea what to do with you but he didn’t want to let you go. It wasn’t just because he was afraid you’d never come back to him, but he knew you’d be a threat to his pack. You’d probably come back with more hunters and he wasn’t going to let anybody in his pack get hurt -- even if that meant keeping you captive like a caged animal. He at least was making sure you were comfortable, and that was enough to ease his conscience -- mostly.

“C’mon,” he nodded his head toward the hallway where his bedroom was, “it’s bedtime.”

“It’s like, 7 o’clock,” you scoffed. “I’m not going to sleep.”

“You don’t have to sleep but you have to stay in my room with me,” he sighed as he walked over to get you. “You know this already so don’t act like--”

“Don’t touch me,” you growled as he reached his hand out to grip your upper arm.

He pulled his hand away, lifting his hands in the air in surrender, “_____...”

Something about the fact that Taeyong -- despite looking absolutely exhausted -- still wasn’t mad at you, was making you mad. Why didn’t he ever lash out? Why didn’t he yell at you or manhandle you despite your warnings? Why did he only show kindness and patience? What kind of alpha was this guy?

You opened your mouth, ready to tell Taeyong he could take his bedtime and shove it up his ass, but you didn’t even get a sound out before there was a knock at the door. Before Taeyong could even say anything, it was opened, the tiny one with a big mouth strolling in like he owned the place.

“So what did that demon lady do to Doyoung that made him so--” he stopped when he noticed you, blocked behind Taeyong’s body. “Oh, it’s here.”

You frowned, glaring over at the wolf, “Fuck off.”

“I’m not scared of you, princess,” he sneered. “I’ll kick your ass into last year.”

“Ten, that’s enough,” Taeyong scolded.

“I’d like to see you try,” you scoffed, ignoring the alpha.

“_____, you quit it, too,” he frowned.

Ten raised an eyebrow, “Don’t tempt me.”

Your selective hearing decided to only hear “tempt me” so you stood up on the couch, ready to lunge at Ten. But as soon as you were in the air, arms stretched out to claw at the wolf, you were caught by something solid, making you huff.

“I said to stop,” Taeyong stated, sounding like a stern father as he held you over his shoulder. “Ten, go home.”

“But she--”

“Go home!” he told him again, walking straight down the hallway toward his bedroom.

You were kicking and yelling the entire way to Taeyong’s bedroom. You demanded he put you down, punching his back as your legs kicked to get free. But Taeyong was much stronger than you and easily kept you in place with one arm, not putting you down until he’d shut and locked the door, keeping the key safely hidden away so you couldn’t get to it.

You huffed, flipping your hair out of your face once your feet were back on the floor, “I told you not to touch me!”

“You lunged at Ten,” was all he said, not really paying much attention as he took off his shirt to get ready to sleep.

And he still didn’t sound angry.

“How are you so calm?!” you finally burst.

Taeyong turned to look at you, his torso bare but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it as he chuckled, “What?”

“You haven’t got angry with me all fucking week and all I’ve done is try to make you hate me so you’ll leave me alone!” you exclaimed, tossing your hands in the air. “Why the fuck can’t you just hate me?”

He just shrugged, “Because I could never hate you.”

“I tried to kill somebody in your pack, I’ve harassed all of them, and I tried to fight one of them a second ago, and you don’t hate me?” you scoffed. “You’re the alpha, why can’t you act like one?!”

“I’ve kept you away from the younger ones and the irresponsible ones, and nobody’s died yet. I’d say that’s responsible of me.”

Your blood was boiling. He really just didn’t give a shit what you did to him or his pack, did he? But you wanted him angry. You wanted him to hate you so much that fate would just give up and assign him a new mate -- it probably didn’t work like that but damnit, you were still trying to be that awful.

You lifted your hand, wanting to see if just straight up slapping him would do anything, but he caught your wrist with ease. He wasn’t even looking at you anymore, his still brown eyes wandering around the room as he looked for his pajamas, humming softly to himself.

Furious was an understatement. You hated Taeyong. You hated that he was a werewolf and that he’d imprinted on you. You hated that despite all that, you still felt something in your heart because of the pull, and you hated that he was godlike as he stood in front of you shirtless.

Taeyong was well aware that you didn’t like him. He knew you were his enemy and he knew you were sticking by that despite the imprinting pull but he didn’t really mind. He figured with kindness, you’d come around overtime. He just had to practice patience with you, which he did pretty easily even though the rest of his pack clearly did not.

But because he knew you disliked him, he was surprised when he felt you grip his jaw and force his head toward you before pressing your lips hard against his.

But he also wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away from him.

He released your wrist, his hands going to your waist as your hands tangled in his hair. You’d backed him up until his back hit the door with a thud. He wasn’t sure why you were suddenly doing this but he couldn’t say he didn’t like it, especially when your hips started rolling into his. He let out a soft moan, your teeth tugging on his bottom lip.

“Maybe I should show you how to be an alpha,” you said in a low, sultry tone.

Your hands moved down to grip his shoulders. You spun the two of you around before you shoved him over to the bed. He landed on his back on the mattress, holding himself up with his forearms as you stalked over to him, taking off your shirt and shoving your tight pants as you went. His eyes raked down your body that was now only clad in a bra and your underwear as the brown began to melt away, being replaced by red.

You climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips before leaning down to hungrily kiss his lips again. Your hips ground down into him, your thin panties not doing much as a barrier between the erection growing in his jeans and your center. His hands were moving all over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake that you didn’t even want to feel so it only fueled your anger-induced arousal even further.

Taeyong’s fingers easily unclipped your bra, sliding it down your arms and tossing it wherever. His hands massaged your breasts, feeling a sense of pride when he managed to pull a quiet moan from your lips. He tried to make it louder, thrusting up into you suddenly.

Your hands went to his hips, pinning them down, “No, you’re listening to me right now. Got it?”

Despite his instincts to be the dominant one, he nodded. There was no way he was going to mess this up, even if it meant having to keep his instincts in check. Plus, being dominated by you sounded pretty nice to him.

It wasn’t long until you were both completely naked, articles of clothing scattered across the floor. You had sat up with your hands on Taeyong’s chest, your nails digging into his skin and pulling growls from his chest as you teased his cock by rutting against it, letting the shaft move through your folds but not actually putting it inside you like he so desperately wanted. Still, he held onto your hips and moaned out your name, his head falling back.

“Look at you,” you breathed out, your own skin covered in a thin layer of sweat already, “submitting to your enemy. What kind of werewolf are you? Let alone an alpha.”

All Taeyong could manage was a whimper of “please” in response.

You smirked, slowing down the already slow pace of your hips, “Please what? You can’t even use your words properly?”

“Please ride me, _____,” he groaned.

You scoffed, raising your hips away from him and making him let out a whine.

“Any other alpha wouldn’t ask,” you told him, “they’d just take it. You really are too soft, aren’t you?”

But Taeyong didn’t want to just take it. He wanted you to want to give it to him -- even if it meant begging all night.

You pointed to the head of the bed, “Sit up against the headboard.”

Taeyong did as told immediately, scrambling backwards. He let his back rest against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him. You glanced over your shoulder at the two panels of the closet door that were made up of mirrors, smirking at your idea.

“If you want me to ride you so badly,” you began as you crawled over to him, straddling him again but this time, facing away from him and looking at the mirrors, “then you’re going to watch it all happen. And if you take your eyes off that mirror, you won’t like the consequences. Got it, wolf?”

Taeyong nodded obediently, his hands finding your waist.

You held the base of his cock, lining it up with your center before you slowly slid down, letting out an involuntary moan at the feeling. You’d had sex before but somehow none of that felt as good as this simple action, and that only made you more angry that this stupid alpha wolf was just so perfect. But he only seemed so perfect to you because you were literally made for him.

Fate really hated you.

Taeyong let out a whimper, his fingers gripping your skin harder. You could feel his thighs tremble when you’d finally gone all the way down on him as he tried to resist the urge to buck up into you.

You placed your hands on his thighs and slowly lifted yourself up before going back down. Taeyong let out a strangled moan, his eyes locked on the mirror like you told him. From the way his eyes cast downward, you knew he was looking at where he disappeared inside you. You could feel the growl from his chest vibrating against your back.

You set a steady pace with Taeyong letting you do whatever you wanted. He kept his hands on your hips -- he’d tried to let them wander but you sharply told him to keep them there or you’d stop -- and let out moans and growls.

You clenched around him when you’d angled yourself to hit a new spot, causing Taeyong to whimper your name.

“Not such a big bad wolf now, are you?” you smirked, continuing to bounce on his length.

“You feel so good,” he moaned, his head falling back into the headboard.

You reached around his neck, gripping the hair on the back of his head and forcing him to look up again, glaring at him in the mirror, “What did I tell you? Watch.”

You leaned back to give him a better view of his length disappearing inside of you. Even you were biting your lip as you watched, soft moans falling from your lips. Your other hand traveled down your body to rub your clit, chasing the high that was quickly building.

“For an alpha,” you began in a breathy tone between moans and curses, “you sure take orders pretty well. You sure you’re not a beta, wolf?”

Taeyong’s eyes flashed up to the reflection of yours, letting out a low, warning growl.

You smirked, eyebrows raising, “Oh, not so shy and submissive now? What’re you gonna do about it?”

Not wanting to risk you suddenly stopping when he was so close, Taeyong averted his eyes from yours. You exhaled in what was some sort of half-assed laugh, moving your hips quicker.

“That’s what I thought.”

Taeyong whined, his claws scratching pink marks into your skin, “P-please...”

“Please what?” you asked in a teasing tone. “Do you want to cum?”

He nodded, another moan leaving his throat.

“Too bad. You have to wait until I do.”

Taeyong groaned. Every instinct inside him was screaming to flip you over and fuck you into the mattress but he was doing his best to resist. But if he had to be teased like this any longer, he was pretty sure he was going to snap.

He was too caught up in trying to hold himself back that he didn’t realize you were cumming until you clenched around him and dropped your head back onto his shoulder. He shuddered at the feeling of your walls closing in on him, biting his lip to hold himself back as you continued to bounce on him and ride out your orgasm. While your eyes were closed, he took the time to appreciate your blissed-out face and how beautiful you looked with your features scrunched up in pleasure.

Normally, you would’ve gotten off of Taeyong and just had him finish himself off -- that was your original idea. But you were on cloud nine in that moment and all you could think about was Taeyong -- fuck, you even moaned out his name as you came. So all you said was, “Fuck, cum for me,” and he did.

Taeyong came with a high moan of your name, filling you with his warm release. He disregarded every rule of yours, fucking up into you until he was empty and until tears were pricking your eyes from overstimulation. But you let him because -- now that you were back to your sound mindset -- you knew this would be over soon.

Once he came down from his high, you lifted yourself off of him. Taeyong reached out for you, thinking that you’d be okay with him cuddling you. You went to protest until you realized he was laying you down and covering you up with him without restraining you. If he cuddled you, he didn’t feel the need to keep you restrained in case you escaped, so you let him do it, deciding to go to bed as quickly as you could.

“Goodnight, _____,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your bare shoulder.

“Night,” you replied simply, closing your eyes but making sure not to fall asleep.

Taeyong awoke to sunlight peeking through the windows, yawning with a groan. He sat up and stretched his arms above his head before he looked to his right to wake you.

He froze.

Not only were you not in bed, but your clothes were gone from the floor. He didn’t even sense you in the apartment anymore.

Quickly, he threw on some sweatpants and went out to the living room where his roommates were eating breakfast together -- along with Renjun and Xiaojun who were sitting on the floor behind the coffee table.

“Morning, hyung,” Jungwoo smiled warmly.

“Have any of you seen _____?” Taeyong asked breathlessly.

All eyes snapped to him, two pairs looking very angry.

“You let her go?” Taeil demanded.

“No!”

“So you lost her?” Doyoung asked.

“No!”

“Then what happened?” Taeil quizzed, raising his eyebrows as he waited for the answer.

But as Taeyong thought about it, he realized that you had tricked him. It was your plan to distract him and then get out, and he’d fallen for it. But he was too embarrassed to tell them that.

Still, all he could do was smile and chuckle, shaking his head. Nobody understood why he reacted that way, and he didn’t explain as he walked back to his room. He didn’t care if he’d have to find you again. The chase would be half the fun. And when he caught you, he’d make sure to get back at you and never let you go.

365 notes · View notes

amehanaaa · 5 years

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How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days

The Nalu fluff makes my heart squeeze. This has gotta be my favorite chapter just because of that reason tbh.

Thank you to everyone who has been reading this story! You mean more to me than you’ll ever know. (Also can be read here.)

Chapter 7 – Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 Words: 4713 Summary: Lucy and Natsu are determined to take the necessary steps to fulfill their lifetime dreams. Little do they know, they have both given themselves 10 days to achieve it.

Lucy nearly forgets where she is the next morning. Her eyes open to a spinning ceiling fan as she lies on her back. Because of the weight next to her, she is caught in the middle of the bed.

She wants to stretch her arms in the air but is pressed down on the firm mattress. She hears sleep-induced mumbles beside her. While she turns her head to the sound, she has to suppress her yelp.

Natsu’s face is centimeters away, securely trapping her with a protective arm draped over her waist. She isn’t sure if it’s worth moving since it’d probably wake him up. However, the urge to empty her bladder is too much to ignore.

Little by little, she attempts to shift to the side of the bed. If she is careful enough, his arm should slide off her waist. Her leg loosely dangles off the bed when she hears him stir. She freezes and sneaks a glance at him, but it’s too late.

“Running away?” Natsu asks, his deep voice soaked in seven hours of sleep. He sets her free by using his hands to rub his eyes. Once he’s finished, he sends her a gentle smile.

Lucy’s heart has never softened faster. Although he has the worst bedhead she has ever seen, his sweet smile is enough to make up for it.

“Your eyes are lighter in the morning,” she says with her voice also rougher than usual.

“Yours are, too.” He reaches over and pokes her forehead, causing her to giggle.

“I don’t remember the last time I didn’t wake up to an alarm,” she admits.

“Same, actually,” he agrees. “Should we look at the time?”

Lucy lifts her head to look over Natsu and at the clock. As her eyes read the time, she presses her lips together and shakes her head.

“Do I want to know?” he asks.

“You don’t,” she responds. Now that her bladder is about to burst, she sits up and stretches her arms above her head.

Natsu watches her, noticing how the sunlight sparkles across her skin. He feels the desire to reach out and touch her but doesn’t get the chance due to her scampering away.

By the time she is back from the bathroom, he has already made the bed. After taking his own look at the clock and reading that it’s almost eleven, he didn’t want to waste any more time.

“Oh, thanks,” she says after seeing the bed.

“No problem.” He holds onto a stack of his clothes. “You can get dressed in here. Once we’re ready, we can get breakfast somewhere.”

“More like lunch,” she comments.

Natsu chuckles. “Yeah, that sounds better, anyway.”

After he closes the door, Lucy reaches for her phone to check for the weather. However, as she turns on her phone, she is met with a flood of text messages from Levy, emails from Erza, and social media notifications.

“It’s going fine,” Lucy texts Levy back. “I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”

She ignores Levy’s immediate responses while getting dressed. She wants to remind Levy that it was her idea for them to have quality time without distractions, but she decides to not reply.

“You can come in,” Lucy calls out once Natsu knocks on the door.

Once he enters the room, the two stare at one another for a few seconds. They simultaneously release a laugh.

“How did we end up matching?” he asks with amusement.

She shrugs with her own entertained smile. Lucy wears a baby blue blouse while Natsu wears a baby blue t-shirt. They also both wear dark pants; they look more like a couple than ever before.

“We can leave now.” He beckons her to follow him downstairs.

“Wait, Natsu,” she stops him. “Do you think we could leave our phones here?”

She isn’t sure how he’s going to react as he pauses. Her eyes follow him as he takes his phone out of his pocket and tosses it on the bed. She grins and does the same.

“As long as one of us has a watch, we’ll be fine,” Natsu says as they go downstairs.

The air feels fresh on their skin when they step outside. Even though they’re still in Magnolia, the weather here is much cooler.

“We’re not far from the beach,” Natsu explains, answering her thoughts.

“I’ve never been on this side of Magnolia,” Lucy admits.

“You’re in for a treat, then,” he responds as he hops on the bike. “I haven’t been around in a while, so some parts will be new to me, too.”

Joining him on the bike, they move at a much more relaxed speed. Natsu does it on purpose, so they can take in their surroundings as they drive. It’s not long until they enter a parking lot to a diner.

“You love diners, don’t you?” she points out as he parks.

“I’m old-fashioned, remember? This diner is the reason why it’s my favorite.”

Lucy’s expectations instantly increase as they open the door to the diner. The entrance bell has only rung twice when Natsu is recognized by the workers.

“Welcome back, Natsu,” a waitress approaches them with a warm smile. “Who is this you have with you?”

“Hey, Mirajane. This is Lucy.”

Lucy mindlessly blinks as she connect gazes with the waitress. She is blown away by how stunning she is.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Lucy eventually returns to her senses. She gives Mirajane a handshake, glancing at Natsu to already find him nodding.

“Go ahead.” He waves her off. “Ask her all the questions you have. I’ll get us a table.”

“Thanks.” Lucy can’t hold back her excitement. “How long have you been working here, Mirajane?”

“Almost ten years now,” she responds, reflecting on the number as she speaks. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The number also catches Lucy by surprise. “How old are you?” she blurts out.

“I turn 28 at the end of this year,” Mirajane answers. “I started working here as soon as I graduated high school. I needed to look after my siblings instead of going to college.”

“How many siblings do you have?” Lucy asks.

“I have a younger brother and sister.” Mirajane’s eyes light up as she mentions them. “They’ve already finished school, but I decided to just stay and work here. Lisanna lives with me, anyway.”

Lucy pauses, recognizing the name from a few days ago. She searches her memories until she remembers that it was Gray who said that name—she is the one who Natsu broke up with in college. At the time, Lucy didn’t care too much. But now, she can’t help but wonder about his past life.

“Do you want to do anything else?” Lucy questions before her mind wanders too far away.

Mirajane hums, tapping her cheek in thought. “That’d be nice. I haven’t thought much about it, since I love Lisanna too much to move away.”

“There’s plenty of work in Magnolia,” Lucy tells her. “Would you ever want to do modeling?”

“I’ve considered that, actually,” Mirajane nods. “How did you know that? Did Natsu tell you?”

“No, I just thought it’d suit you,” Lucy assures. “I’m sure an opportunity for you to model will come up if it’s meant to be.”

“I receive that!” Mirajane proclaims. “I should look into it. Thank you for taking the time to get to know me, Lucy. I need to go back to working now.”

“Thank you for letting me ask you questions.” Lucy sends her a smile. With a wave, she joins Natsu at the table.

“I’ll never understand your interest in strangers,” he scoffs as she slides into the booth.

“There’s too much to not be interested in,” she shoots back.

She directs her eyes to read the single menu that they share. Although the words for Natsu are upside down, he doesn’t mind. He already knows exactly what he wants.

“The sandwiches here are better than the other diner we went to,” he mentions, hesitating before he finishes. “All of them have meat in them, though.”

“I want to try them,” she responds, causing him to lift a brow.

“You don’t have to—”

“I don’t care if it messes with my digestion,” she interrupts him. “I want to try them.”

Natsu nods in understanding. Lucy looks up to send him an assuring smile, stopping for just a second. As the sunlight pours through the windows diner and illuminates his features, her heart squeezes. He’s beautiful.

She clenches her fists under the table. If there’s anything that she wants to do right now, it is to come clean with everything—from white lies to blatant lies. She wants to tell him that this is the real her. The girl who cares for others, wants to try everything, and isn’t as self-centered as he has seen her to be.

But most of all, she wants to apologize for everything she has put him through.

However, she forces herself to swallow back her apologies. It would be best to tell him once the ten days are over. That way, there wouldn’t be a reason to see each other again. With that in mind, Lucy decides it would be best to cherish these next three days.

Soon enough, Mirajane sets two plates on the table. Natsu and Lucy send her a grateful smile before digging in.

“Wow,” Lucy gasps as soon as she takes her first bite. “This chicken sandwich is amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he says in between bites. “I used to come here all the time in college.”

“With Lisanna?” she asks before she can stop herself.

Natsu pauses mid-chew. He slowly begins to nod. “Yeah, it was our weekly thing to do together. Mirajane would give us discounts after a certain time.”

Lucy takes another bite of her sandwich. It’s easy to slip into jealousy, but she prevents herself from doing so. She wants to not only know Natsu’s past, but also understand it—just like she would with anyone else.

“Did you always get the Italian?” she asks.

“I used to get something different every night,” Natsu answers. “But once I met the Italian, I couldn’t go back.”

A laugh escapes Lucy’s lips. “It’s definitely one of the best.”

There’s a beat of silence between them as they eat their sandwiches.

“How do you always do that?” Natsu asks randomly.

“Do what?” Lucy tilts her head curiously.

“When you ask questions, you never judge the person’s answers.” Natsu’s eyes swirl with admiration as he speaks. “You always make the person feel accepted by your follow up responses.”

Heat crawl up her neck at the affirmation. “I-I’m just curious about everyone.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Natsu guarantees. “I really appreciate that of you.”

Lucy can’t help but avert her gaze back to her sandwich. She raises her eyes when he speaks up again.

“How about we check out the pier after this?”

“Let’s do it. When was the last time you went?”

“At least three years ago. I’m sure a lot has changed.”

Both of them are eager to head towards the pier, so they speed up their eating. Once they have finished their meal, Lucy makes sure to leave a generous tip on the table for Mirajane.

As they cruise to the pier, they can feel the breeze of the ocean. Even better, the pier is only occupied by a handful of middle-aged women out on early afternoon walks. This gives Natsu and Lucy plenty of space to drive around.

They eventually stop at a bench that faces the water. Setting the bike on park, the two sit and gaze at the water.

“I feel like I can stare at the water for hours,” Natsu reveals, his eyes settled on the waves crashing against nearby rocks.

“It’s so refreshing,” Lucy breathes out. “I can hardly believe we’re still in Magnolia.”

They continue to view the soothing ocean, basking in a comfortable silence. They’re both relieved neither of them brought their phones.

Knowing herself, Lucy would want to take plenty of pictures. Knowing himself, Natsu would ask a question about the ocean that would cause him to search up some facts.

Without their phones, they have no choice but to focus on the present moment in front of them. Neither of them can remember what it was like to simply be like this.

“Hey,” Lucy speaks up after a while. “Why don’t you teach me how to ride your motorcycle?”

Natsu laughs before he can stop himself. “You think you could?”

“It’s like riding a bike, right?” she remarks, standing up from the bench and examining the bike.

“That’s your first mistake.” He places his hands on his hips and stares at her mindless pokes at parts of the bike. “It took me months until I got the rhythm of riding it.”

“Because of your motion sickness?” Lucy cracks a grin.

Natsu gapes at her. “Who told you—Oh, wait. How do you even remember someone told you that at the station?”

She sends him an oblivious shrug. “Well, I don’t have any problems with motion sickness. And I’m open to new experiences. Let’s try it!”

“No one will ever understand,” Natsu grumbles while patting the bike seat. “Let’s just practice sitting on it. I’ll go behind you.”

Lucy swings her right leg over the bike and wraps her hands around the handlebars. Now that it’s in front of her, she feels intimidated. But what makes her feel safe is Natsu’s chest behind her.

“The clutch is on your left and the brake is on your right,” he explains by pointing at each handlebar.

Lucy concentrates as best as she can as Natsu continues explaining the rest of the motorcycle. She didn’t think it was going to be this detailed, but she decides to take this as a learning moment.

“Do you think you understand?” He double-checks. “I can re-explain everything if you need me to.”

“No, I think I got it,” she assures him. “The shifting gears part seems difficult, but we’ll give it a try.”

“I trust you, Luce,” he responds.

The nickname causes Lucy to turn over her shoulder with a smile. Hearing it for the second time sounds just as sweet as the first. His encouragement is also enough to make her more at ease.

Natsu returns her smile with a nod. “Try it now.”

Lucy takes a deep, steady breath to return her focus on the bike. She moves slowly, mentally reciting all of his directions. The bike rumbles beneath them as she turns on the engine.

She isn’t sure if it’s going to end up in a disaster, but she gently releases the clutch and lets the bike roll forward. She holds her breath as they begin to move.

“You’re a natural!” Natsu encourages her, the wind skimming across their skin.

“I’ve always wanted to do this!” Lucy proclaims in delight.

She drives from one side of the pier to the other, but she suddenly realizes she doesn’t know how to turn. Before she creates the disaster that she fears, she calmly brings the bike to a stop.

“Why did you stop?” he asks.

“I don’t know how to turn.” She tries to hide her disappointment. She is sure that Natsu won’t want to continue teaching her.

“Well, we have all day for you to learn.”

Natsu’s words cause the edges of Lucy’s lips to rise into a grin. She doesn’t know if she has ever taken a day with someone to simply spend their time together. It’s more freeing than she thought it could be.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, the two focus on getting comfortable enough on the bike to coast around. Surprisingly, Lucy is a natural. She learns fast enough to even bring them to a nearby ice cream stand.

“Ready for your next challenge?” Natsu offers as they finish their waffle cones.

Lucy raises a brow. “What?”

“Drive us back home.”

Her eyes widen, but she catches the keys that he flings to her. Normally, she wouldn’t feel ready to drive a vehicle that she just learned how to maneuver. However, the power of spontaneity is too strong to resist.

Just like that, she is driving them back. It’s golden hour, which allows their skin to shimmer with the evening sky. It isn’t long until Lucy rolls into the driveway and smoothly parks the bike.

“Looks like you’ll be driving us back to central Magnolia tomorrow,” Natsu teases her as he hops off.

“That’s definitely not happening!” she exclaims.

The two can already feel their flushed skin as they enter the home. The comforting smell envelops Lucy again, but she has enough control to push back her tears. They find Grandeeny in the living room playing with Wendy.

“Did you two have a good day?” Grandeeny asks, noticing their permanent smiles.

“Natsu taught me how to ride his motorcycle,” Lucy replies.

“And she’s a natural,” Natsu adds. “I was totally surprised!”

Lucy playfully jabs her elbow into his chest, both of them softly laughing.

“Well, why don’t you freshen up before dinner?” Grandeeny suggests.

Natsu and Lucy don’t need to be asked twice. Spending the last several hours at the pier, both of them received enough sun for them to notice their crisp skin.

“You can shower first,” Lucy tells him, staying in the living room.

“Thanks,” Natsu says while hiking up the stairs.

“You know,” Grandeeny begins. She stands up and approaches Lucy to gently hug her. “Natsu has never looked so happy with someone before.”

Lucy can feel warmth and love and kindness radiating from Grandeeny. In response, she remains still with her arms limp by her sides; it takes everything in her to return the hug. As they separate, she gives Grandeeny a tight smile.

“I’m going to go upstairs.” Lucy’s voice comes out like a whisper. “Excuse me.”

Closing the bedroom door and kicking off her shoes, she sits on the edge of the bed. A multitude of feelings swell inside of her—regret for putting herself in this situation, sadness for what she will do to Natsu’s family, and desire for all of this to be real.

She can sense these feelings are going to explode, so she quickly pulls out her journal to express all of her emotions. In the back of her mind, she knows she can use these notes for the article. But in reality, her notes sound mediocre at this point.

Lucy doesn’t realize how frantically she is writing until Natsu comes in and tilts his head at her. She looks up at him, noticing his slightly damp hair. Before she admires him too much, she lets out a sigh and shuts her journal.

“What’s up?” he asks while joining at the edge of the bed.

She presses her lips together, collecting her thoughts. She said yesterday it wasn’t time yet, but she realizes now that she doesn’t even know what that meant in the first place. Quite frankly, she still has no idea what time it is currently.

“I love everything about this home,” she says softly. “The way it smells, your family, the way we get to eat dinner together… It’s so sweet. And you know what? Grandeeny hugged me just now. And she really hugged me.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Natsu remarks. “Why aren’t smiling about it? Try and smile.”

Lucy shakes her head. “It won’t be genuine if I smile.”

He pokes her cheek several times. “Try it.”

She turns to him, forcing a smile that clearly isn’t convincing. The expression causes Natsu to tilt his head back, releasing a honeyed laugh.

“Yeah, that could have been better.”

Lucy can’t help but join his laughter. Once they become quiet, they gaze at one another for a few moments.

She notices that his cheeks are still pink from the sun. Natsu notices that she earned some new freckles. A familiar sense of electricity ignites between them. The bed creaks at Natsu’s weight as he leans forward.

Time is at a standstill as their lips seem to melt into each other’s. Lucy feels flutters in her stomach. Natsu’s heart pounds in his throat.

It’s a kiss that seems to make up for lost time. Perhaps from the time they met, or after the first night, or the third night, or all of the nights since then. Right now, this is a real kiss.

Before they can get too far, a round of knocks sound on the door. They jerk apart, which causes Natsu to almost fall off the bed. Lucy giggles as he stands up to open the door.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Igneel says. He peeks his head in, noticing their tinted cheeks. “Were you two starting to—”

“No!” Natsu and Lucy shout at the same time. This doesn’t help plead their case as Igneel’s lips form a smirk.

“Well, make it quick,” Igneel waves them off and goes back downstairs.

Natsu scoffs, looking over at his shoulder at Lucy. As they connect gazes, they can’t stop themselves from smiling.

“I’ll tell them you’re showering,” he assures her. “Come down when you’re ready.”

“Okay, thanks.” She sends him a thankful nod.

With that, Natsu closes the door behind him. In response, Lucy rubs her cheeks for a moment. Before she bursts with joy, she quickly grabs her clothes and makes her way to the shower.

After showering and drying her hair, she goes downstairs to find the family still eating at the table outside.

“Strawberries,” Natsu says simply as she sits down next to him.

“Thank you for the meal,” Lucy tells Igneel.

“Anytime,” Igneel responds with a wide grin.

Warmth settles inside of Lucy’s chest as they eat together. As she listens to the kids talk about their school days, Igneel and Grandeeny about their days, and her day told by Natsu, she feels completely fulfilled by their love.

“I have a question,” Lucy mentions after a while, directing her focus to Igneel and Grandeeny. “How did you two meet?”

“Oh, here we go,” Natsu nearly groans. “I’m going to get some water.”

“Igneel was known throughout our small town for being the biggest womanizer of all time,” Grandeeny starts.

Lucy’s eyes light up, knowing that the story will be just as special as she imagined. She hangs off Grandeeny’s every word, occasionally hearing Igneel’s side of the story. Throughout the time they tell the story, Lucy notices Natsu go inside several times to heat up a bowl of instant yakisoba and bring it back outside.

By the time Grandeeny and Igneel have finished their love story, three empty bowls are stacked on the table, the kids have been put to bed, and Natsu is almost snoring in his seat.

“Incredible,” Lucy breathes out in awe.

“It’s as amazing as a mundane life can get,” Igneel shrugs.

“That’s why it’s amazing,” Lucy insists. “The simplicity of your relationship is what makes it so special.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Grandeeny replies with an appreciative smile. “It is pretty special, then.”

Lucy nods, leaning over to run a hand through Natsu’s hair. He opens his eyes at the feeling and locks eyes with her. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough to miss the whole story,” she responds.

“He has heard it more times than we’ve told it, I’m sure,” Igneel remarks while standing up from his seat. “Well, Lucy, it was great having this talk with you. We need to head to bed now, though.”

“Thank you for taking the time to tell me,” Lucy says with as much sincerity as she can offer. “It really means a lot.”

“Let’s do it again sometime,” Grandeeny assures.

The four stand up from their chairs and return inside. They turn off the lights as they go, exchanging a few goodnights before entering their bedrooms.

Since it’s late, Lucy is expecting Natsu to go straight to sleep after they brush their teeth. She is surprised to find him awake and sitting against the bedframe.

“What was life like for you when you were younger?” he asks.

Lucy pauses at the question before joining him on the bed. She sits crisscrossed, also leaning against the bedframe. “Why do you ask?”

“I feel like you should be asked some questions every once in a while.”

Another wave of warmth scatters across her skin. It’s rare for anyone to intentionally ask her questions since she’s usually the one asking. Now that Natsu wants to return the gesture, she feels incredibly loved.

“I grew up with two incredible parents,” she begins. “We used to do everything together. They were my rock until I was 15. They passed away on a plane crash for a business trip.

“After that, I moved in with my best friend. We used to read books all the time, but I felt like they started to get similar after a while. That’s why I began to write, because I had too many ideas that weren’t being written.”

“Have you always had an interest in people?” Natsu asks.

“I’m not sure, actually,” she replies with a hum. “It just came natural to me to ask other people questions. It’s important to me that everyone understands each other. I don’t like the idea of having a grudge against someone.”

“Forgiveness,” Natsu mentions.

Lucy smiles as she nods. “It’s a difficult process, but it’s possible.”

“How have your past relationships been like?”

The question causes Lucy to pause again, although she isn’t sure why. Not that she’s ashamed, but she wants to commit to being honest with Natsu for the rest of their time together.

“I’ve never had a relationship longer than a year,” Lucy reveals. “I was too focused on my studies in college, so I didn’t make time for one. But even then, I wanted to feel like I belonged to someone’s heart.”

“Wow,” he replies, almost dumbfounded.

“I’ve never shared a bed with a guy before,” she admits. “I’ve never met my boyfriend’s parents, either.”

Lucy doesn’t realize that she said boyfriend, but Natsu catches it as soon as it leaves her lips. Since she isn’t aware of it, he decides to not bring it up.

“You’re really brave for coming here,” he tells her.

“We’re determined to work things out, remember?” she reminds him. “If that means being uncomfortable, then I’m okay with that.”

Natsu reaches over to hold her hand. Their hands are warm as they intertwine, settling in her lap.

“I want to kiss you,” he mumbles.

“Then kiss me,” she whispers back.

The bed creaks again as they both lean forward. It starts as a delicate, butterfly kiss. Heads titled, Natsu can feel her heated body underneath him. Lucy can feel his protective body hovering over her. It is slow and soft, comforting in ways that words could never be.

This isn’t the moment and place for the passion that dwells within them. They both know that, so they eventually pull away, stealing a few chaste kisses before actually separating. They shyly peek at one another.

“I think that was the sweetest kiss I’ve ever had,” Natsu blurts out.

A laugh escapes her tingling lips. It is almost as if they are inexperienced teenagers who are out late together. It’s refreshing.

“We should probably go to sleep so we can say goodbye to Igneel and Grandeeny in the morning,” Lucy says.

Natsu checks the time, finding that it’s already past midnight. He knows that he could have endless conversations with her, but he keeps them to himself for now. With that, he reaches for the lamp.

Although it’s dark, they can still make out their eyes in the moonlight. Just for a moment, they quietly breathe before slowly inching closer to each other in the middle of the bed. Lucy is surprised at how comfortably they cuddle.

“Even if you did share a bed with someone before,” Natsu mentions. “Their body wouldn’t overheat like mine.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a valid assumption,” she replies, allowing her eyes to close. “Goodnight, Natsu.”

“Goodnight, Luce.”

With the ghost of his lips pressing against her forehead, they drift into dreams that somehow feel less real than their experiences from today.

#fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #nalu #nalu fanfiction #my writing #woohoo #we're doing it!

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rather-impertinent · 6 years

Text

The Girl Next Door: Chapter 1

A/N: Hello friends! Here is my newest Carolight AU, as promised. This is just an introduction, I pinky promise it gets better, I’ve kind of wrote this AU backwards tbh hahaha! It will also feature lots of other familar characters and pairings down the line, so stay tuned! I hope you like it xo

It had been fifteen long hours since Doctor Dwight Enys had seen the exterior of his flat building. He welcomed the sight of the somewhat overly-aggressive modern building with the familiar fondness of home. He began the usual dissection of his large collection of keys as he searched for the one that unlocks the outside door to apartment Block C. He really needed to colour code these damn keys. Honestly, one would think he were a janitor or a soccer mom with too many hobbies as opposed to a single surgeon, who ironically held no particular talents where tidiness and cleanliness were concerned, nor did he have any children to speak of.

Once the damn door had finally been unlocked, he groaned as he opened it into the warm building, thinking of the three flights of stairs he would have to now climb to get to his bed. But that would spur him on: the thought of his bed. His lovely, cosy double bed; his dearest friend; his one true companion in this life. Dwight had also just this morning remembered to wash his bedsheets, and so luxurious, fresh comfort awaited him just a mere sixty steps away. Rejuvenated by his thoughts of rest, Dwight made for the stairway. He climbed the first one, smiling, the thought of peace and quiet appealing to exhausted mind when-

Thump, thump, thump.

He stopped short on the fourth step and sighed. So, the Hunters have fallen out again, he thought. He really did not have time for this. It was after ten in the evening and he had stitched so many wounds back together that his fingers physically ached. If either one of the sweet, yet clearly drug fuelled, middle aged couple tried to drag him into whatever ridiculous argument they were having, he would just have to jump headfirst out of the nearest window and die. He took the next few steps two at a time, holding his breath as he got to the second landing, anticipating either Joan or Robert Hunter standing in the small, carpeted space, shouting profanities and very nearly kicking their door in. He was amazed to find it empty until he realised, to his horror, that the banging was coming from above him: his landing. He took the next few steps three at a time and was met by the silhouette of a woman he had never seen before.

She had not noticed his presence and continued to bang incessantly and shout for someone named Horace. Normally, Dwight was not one to intervene in the lives of his neighbours, except to help with the odd shopping bag or carrying a pram down the stairs, but the young woman seemed so genuinely distressed that he felt it would bother his conscience if he just silently slipped into his own flat.

He tapped her shoulder gently and she started, almost comically so. “Um, hi, are you okay?”

The woman turned to face Dwight and, despite the long black trails of mascara down her face, she was very beautiful. Ridiculously so. She sniffed fiercely, “No, I – I went to go to the shop a while ago and I realised I had left my keys inside,” Dwight closed his eyes briefly in sympathy: the doors locked automatically when closed – a usually useful modern feature of the building, “it’s been a long day,” she tried to explain, “but the thing is, my darling Horace is now stuck inside!” She began to cry softly again.

Dwight stared at her, trying to wrack his brains as to how to help the poor woman. “Ok. It’s alright.” Even he winced at his pitiful attempt to comfort her. Jesus, you twat it’s clearly not alright. He knew that they would probably have to call the fire station or the police soon if they couldn’t figure out a way in, which would no doubt be mortifying for the young mother standing in front of him. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” He hoped she wouldn’t take this to mean he was copping out of assisting her, he just felt that if he had accidentally left his child in his flat, he would appreciate some familiar company.

The woman shook her head slowly and tried the door handle again, as if it would magically unlock itself.

He chewed his lip as he watched her fruitless attempts to move the stubborn door. Think, Enys, think. You’re a fucking surgeon. Use your brain. He made a slight eureka sound as he fully took in her form. He pointed at her hair bun and snapped his fingers, an idea forming in his head. “Your hair!” She looked at him with a quizzical expression and smoothed her hair slightly – worried it was a mess. Dwight chuckled mutely, “No, I mean, do you have any hairpins?”

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Yes. Why?” She continued to stare blankly at him, not fully understanding his meaning.

“I think I can help you out, can you give me two of them?”

She nodded quickly at the handsome stranger and pulled all the pins out of her blonde hair, which then tumbled down her back like a golden waterfall. She offered him the small cluster of pins and he chose two from the pile, quickly biting off the small circular ends. The blonde nymph was about to protest at the destruction of her property before he straightened the black pins and began to pick at the lock. She simply gawped at him, wondering what the fuck he was doing and if she had somehow moved in next to James Bond. She didn’t see how it could even be possible for James Bond to unlock a door with only two small hair grips.

After a minute, he sighed in frustration and squinted his gaze at the light above them in landing, as if scolding it for not being bright enough.

The young woman quickly fished out her phone from the pocket of her dark jeans and wordlessly shined the torch feature at the lock, so he could see better. He offered her a small smile in thanks before trying again – this time with a new pin. She eyed him with keen interest. “You don’t seem like the type of guy who would know how to pick a lock,” she commented, her blue eyes curious. How could a guy who looks like he volunteers at an old folks’ home for fun know how to break into someone’s house?

The corners of his lips tilted upwards as he continued to pry at metal slit. “A good friend of mine had a dodgy phase while at uni and he taught me how – only for emergencies, like this, of course.”

“Oh.” Is all she can say.

Dwight curses and encourages the pins as he pushes anticlockwise on them with all his might.

Click.

“Yes!” He exhaled, and before the breath had fully left his body, the woman had shoved past him and bolted into the flat. Dwight stood in the doorway and decided to take a couple of steps inside to ensure the woman was alright. She stood with her back to him, staring out of the window at the city lights in the distance, soothing a bundle of blankets. Dwight smiled and was just about to leave as she turned around, her bright blue eyes wide with appreciation and relief. Dwight’s breath caught in his throat and he felt a strange desire to laugh.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!”

He stared at her, dumbstruck, wondering if he was being Punk’d or something. Did they even still make that tv show? He blinked at the sight before him several times before he found his voice, “Horace... is... your dog?” She was still sniffing slightly, but looked at him as though he were the dumbest person in the world. “Yes, of course,” she told him, as though it were a detail she had already mentioned, and even if she hadn’t, that it should have been completely obvious.

They continued their awkward, confused stare off until the young woman looked at the beige pug in unmistakable alarm. “Oh, God. He’s breathing weird. Something’s wrong!” Fresh tears began to well in her eyes again.

Dwight had a good mind to leave, he had worked a fourteen-hour shift today and would repeat the torture in about ten hours’ time. Why was he wasting his time on some blonde ditz, who – judging by the lavishly decorated flat – could very well afford to pay a private vet for his or her services? Still, the expression on her face was one of such genuine distress and desperation, he felt like he would be failing in his duty as a doctor, as well as human being, to leave her by herself. “Let me see him,” he instructed in his best professional voice, stretching out his arms.

Her brows creased above her cloudy eyes and she held the dog even tighter to her chest. “What?”

His famed patience was growing thin. “I’m a doctor,” he explained, “and an aunt of mine used to have a pug, it had a lot of breathing problems, too. I might be able to help.”

The young woman took a seat on the sofa, with the pug firmly in her lap, and tapped the space next to her, encouraging Dwight to sit down. He did so, and then gently took the pug from her arms and placed it on his own lap. Despite its laboured breathing, it managed a decent growl in Dwight’s direction, which caused the woman beside him to chuckle. She watched with concern as Dwight poked and prodded the small creature.

He met her worried gaze and inhaled slowly. “His pulse is steady, and he doesn’t have a fever. But he’s had a fit, which are common in pugs,” he adds hastily as the woman sitting opposite him looks fit to burst into tears again.

She stroked the animal soothingly, obviously very fond of it. “Is there anything I can do?” Her tone was somewhat timid yet assuredly determined.

Dwight bit the inside of his cheek in hesitation before replying, anticipating a verbal or literal thrashing, “Yes. He is – uh – he’s too fat,” he stated plainly, and almost laughs when the girl gasped and covered the pug’s ears from the harsh truth of the matter, “but it can be easily remedied: take him for frequent walks, feed him less rich food, that sort of thing.”

She narrowed her eyes at Dwight and he winced almost imperceivably, but she then began to nod slowly. “Well, I suppose you are a doctor,” she conceded, watching him very closely, “and so I should listen to you.” Dwight did not know why but for some reason he felt like she was mocking him.

“He’ll be much less prone to fits if he loses some weight, it helped my aunt’s pug.” Dwight nodded politely and rose to leave, seeking the warm comfort of his bed at last.

She watched him go, somewhat annoyed that her first conversation of the day was coming to an end. “Did it, really?” She smiled as the doctor stopped in his tracks. “What was your aunt’s pug called?”

He turned back around to face the woman and Horace. “It did,” he confirmed. He chuckled then, fond childhood memories coming back to him. “My aunt Jane’s pug was called Doug. Doug the pug, you could never guess she’s a poet, eh?”

The siren laughed at his joke and smiled widely, her musical laughter ringing in his ears. He found himself unable to resist joining in, too. Once their laughter had faded and only an almost tense atmosphere remained, he coughed awkwardly, stood up to leave and walked several paces towards the door before stopping in his tracks once again, a thought occurring to him. “Your shopping. Or lack, thereof. Do you need to borrow anything? Like some milk or something?”

She shook her head and continued to stroke the pug on her lap. “No, it’s OK, thank you. I think after that experience I’d sooner have a shot of alcohol than of a cup of tea!”

“Now, that, I can definitely understand.” With a final smile, he turned his back and reached for the door handle.

“Wait!” she demanded in a light tone. His hand paused on the rectangular metal grip and he glanced at her over his shoulder, an expectant expression on his face. She pursed her lips, smirking slightly. “What is your name?”

#carolight #poldark fanfic #girl next door au

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verdigrisprowl · 6 years

Text

Mar 21 Blurr’s Horror Stream - The Shape Of Water

Hook and Bonecrusher attended. They were pleased to see that Rumble was present and Soundwave wasn’t. They assume that Elita is an extremely powerful Decepticon commander, based on nothing but her paint and bearing.

They booed at all the sex scenes. And implied-sex scenes.

Bonecrusher was very disapproving of the color symbolism, which he thinks was too heavy-handed.

Neither of them could tell that the monster wasn’t a human. It made the movie unnecessarily confusing.

ItsyBitsySpyers: ((is it supposed to be offline still)) B l u r r: ( yeah im fixing something. ) B l u r r: ( It's up now. ) B l u r r: / Right, Here he is in all his new armor design glory. / ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble will pause to get a solid look at it before heading for what's usually the Boss' seat. That's the thing about unexpectedly taking time off. Gotta make up the time a different day.* ItsyBitsySpyers: //What's with the new plates?// B l u r r: Hnnnh? Well, I figured I should look more... monstrous, you know? K-Kyeheheheh. B l u r r: Mechs are usually diturbed by appearances alone. It only takes some paint and designs to make something look... how is it? /wiggles claw/ Spooky. B l u r r: *disturbed. Elita One: *How Elita got news about this place, we'll never know, but here she is, in all her bright *** pank glory looking ready to take on the room* ItsyBitsySpyers: //Look like ya'd fit in a Pit all right.// *Flop.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *And there's Elita.* //Whatever it is, Frenzy did it!// B l u r r: / Smirks/ Well, thanks mech. Elita One: *laughs and wiggles her claws at him* Sweet of you to give him all the credit. BoneAndHook: *and we have two Constructicons, ready to mock the slag outta whatever they're gonna watch.* B l u r r: / flickers optic. Tilts helm and makes a slight face. / Never seen you before... B l u r r: / wiggles claws at the two dorks / Elita One: Now you have, sweetspark. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Sup, you two.// ItsyBitsySpyers: *Makes "subtle" gagging motion at her calling Blurr Sweetspark* B l u r r: / gags in general / Don'tcall me that. B l u r r: Eugh, no. No thank you. I'm good. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Since when?// *Snicker* BoneAndHook: B: Sup, punchy-arms. Elita One: Guess I'm just a good influence. B l u r r: Since when what? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble obliges them by transforming his arm into a piledriver. Offers it up for a fist punch hello?* Elita One: *takes a free seat big enough for her to sink into* B l u r r: / Still thinks it's gross. Grabs snack and heads to couch/ ItsyBitsySpyers: //Since when're you good?// BoneAndHook: *Bonecrusher eagerly fist-punches* ItsyBitsySpyers: *BAM* BoneAndHook: Fffr--! *He's going to be shaking out that hand for a while.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Cheeky smirk. He'll get back to his seat.* BoneAndHook: *Anyway, the Constructicons choose to (mis)interpret that as an invitation. They're gonna follow Rumble to his seat and claim the free space.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *He's not gonna stop 'em. Means Elita can't come bother him. Ha!* B l u r r: [[ just lemme know when you guys are ready. ]] ItsyBitsySpyers: *She can go sit with her sweet~spark~* ItsyBitsySpyers: ((ready)) BoneAndHook: ((ready!)) B l u r r: / eW / B l u r r: [ kay, i'll set it up ] Elita One: *She's happy just where she is, Rumble. Bless your spark for thinking of her, though.* B l u r r: [ anyway im sORRY you guys have to consistently put up with my stupid coco soundtrackssdbfjkda. I've been working to it all day. ] B l u r r: [ anyway if everyone is ready, we can go now ] B l u r r: [ captions are still on, I believe ] ItsyBitsySpyers: ((...is the sound working for anyone else or is my headphones being stupid)) B l u r r: (( wait someone tell me if sound isn't working dbhjsfs )) BoneAndHook: ((it's working here)) Elita One: ((Working fine here ItsyBitsySpyers: ((i rebooted chrome, got sound now)) B l u r r: [[ yay! ]] BoneAndHook: *okay, the movie's already boring, they're now busy peering at the person they haven't seen here before.* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Hey, I didn't know the Boss got a movie.]] ItsyBitsySpyers: ((oops // marks)) BoneAndHook: ((soundwave the ventriloquist, speaking through his deployers)) BoneAndHook: *Hook leans over to mumble at Rumble* H: Hey, what's with Commander Painted-In-The-Blood-Of-His-Enemies over there? BoneAndHook: B: Yeah, looks like the kinda guy you give a Warworld to. He important? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble doesn't bother leaning up because other people can come down to his height.* //Who, Elita?// *Frown.* //She's kinda the whole boss of a city, so... yeah?// ItsyBitsySpyers: //Hey, this some kinda singin' 'n dancin' movie?// B l u r r: / chewing on a snack idly / Don't know. B l u r r: Though, I assume if it was, we would have seen something already. BoneAndHook: H: Borin'. B l u r r: You're always bored. BoneAndHook: *he would have said that no matter what they'd seen so far, honestly.* BoneAndHook: H: Humans are always borin'! BoneAndHook: 'Cept when they're dyin'. B l u r r: Humans aren't boring. They're entertaining because you CAN make them run and panic for a little while. BoneAndHook: B: REAL humans are fun to make panic. And crush. And cook. But they're borin' when they're... doin' human things. B l u r r: We played Risk with an entire planet for the longest time. Elita One: If this is a singing and dancing movie than Prowl should have come, not me. *sinks into her seat a little more and starts examining her claws* BoneAndHook: *ZOOP over to Elita* ItsyBitsySpyers: //MONSTER// B l u r r: / instantly interested / BoneAndHook: H: Hey, ya know Prowl, too? B l u r r: Ah... good. I hope it kills people. BoneAndHook: B: He into music where you are? Elita One: *arches an optic ridge at them both* I do and she is. ItsyBitsySpyers: //That looks gross as fra-- what's he doin', startin' his own pie store?// B l u r r: Probably doesn't even like them himself ItsyBitsySpyers: //'N if she's into music how come she ain't never been to the Boss' club.// BoneAndHook: *Prowl's a she in Elita's universe. does that mean he's a she in THEIR universe? have they had it wrong ALL THIS TIME?* BoneAndHook: *they have a hurried whispered debate on the subject.* BoneAndHook: *"we'll ask when we get home" somehow doesn't occur to them.* Elita One: Hasn't she started going recently? B l u r r: .... Eugh. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Not for movies, ya big pink mudflap. For the club part.// ItsyBitsySpyers: *Hmphs. Rude, human.* B l u r r: ... Oh, it DOES kill people! /grins/ BoneAndHook: B: Is he dyin'?! B l u r r: / claps claws together / Elita One: *shrugs* I couldn't tell you. B l u r r: ... Wait, he was only missing two fingers. How is there that much blood? BoneAndHook: B: Aw, he only lost a couple fingers? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Points* //They ain't missin' no more.// B l u r r: Well, there you have it. B l u r r: Now, show me that monster. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Whoa.// Elita One: Oh vicious little beasty. B l u r r: Aaah... /wiggles claws/ BoneAndHook: B: That ain't nothin'. Losin' a couple fingers is just a good night. B l u r r: A simple fun time. Elita One: At least it wasn't an arm~ BoneAndHook: H: How would you know, YOU ain't the one that loses them. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Can't believe you're still sore Ravage took it.// ItsyBitsySpyers: //Ain't like it was on you no more.// BoneAndHook: B: Ravage got his whole arm?! Haw! Lucky fragger. BoneAndHook: ((oh no wait, i misread that as coming from blurr)) BoneAndHook: ((i was like WHEN DID BLURR LOSE AN ARM, BUT IM NOT SURPRISED)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((lmao)) B l u r r: [[ i mean he has a few times tbh. ]] ItsyBitsySpyers: //Oh, yeah. Chewed on it for months.// Elita One: Oh, I'm hardly sore about it. Gave me a chance to get an upgrade. *smirks and flexes said arm* BoneAndHook: B: Pff. I could finish it off in a couple nights. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Yeah, well, you're way the frag bigger 'n us. Probably you coulda popped a whole hand in your mouth.// BoneAndHook: H: He ain't allowed to do a whole hand at once no more, it messes up his fuel tank. B l u r r: .... He's /perfect/ ItsyBitsySpyers: //'N listen, you want another arm upgrade, Ravage's your mech.// BoneAndHook: B: Gross, you into organics? B l u r r: Me? No. B l u r r: I like monsters. BoneAndHook: *they both look blankly at the screen.* BoneAndHook: H: ......... What monster? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble leans toward the screen and squints.* //His fingers is all... pale.// B l u r r: Oh for pits sake. B l u r r: The monster in the water. BoneAndHook: B: ...... What monster in the water? B l u r r: ... You put it in a cage, of course it doesn't like you. BoneAndHook: ((he's such a shitbag)) B l u r r: [[ he is ] ItsyBitsySpyers: ((so much so)) ItsyBitsySpyers: //That monster.// ItsyBitsySpyers: //The one talkin' eggs.// BoneAndHook: H: ... What monster? B l u r r: He's not gonna get it. BoneAndHook: B: What, the human that's swimmin' around? B l u r r: Neither one of them have the processing power to figure it ou. B l u r r: *out. ItsyBitsySpyers: *SNORT LAUGH* ItsyBitsySpyers: //Yeah, the - the human.// BoneAndHook: ((I wonder how well that line played in Baltimore)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((god this is so awkward)) B l u r r: [[ fdjskfnd ]] BoneAndHook: *LOUD BOOING* BoneAndHook: *the booing cointinues even though the sex is gone* ItsyBitsySpyers: //Guess I owe Frenzy a new grenade.// Elita One: I'd have bitten his fingers off again if I were her. BoneAndHook: H: How come they keep one human in a tank like that? ItsyBitsySpyers: //"Human scary movies gotta have borin' scrap like people fraggin'," he said. "C'mon, not all of 'em," I said. Puh.// BoneAndHook: B: I saw one with nobody fraggin'. ItsyBitsySpyers: //'N probably cause he likes water. Like Seaspray.// Elita One: This is supposed to be a scary movie? ItsyBitsySpyers: //'Course it is. Bit some fragger's fingers off, ain't he? Even if the conjunx lady don't.// BoneAndHook: B: Oh, yeah, I knew some guys like that. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Yeah? Who?// B l u r r: It's not scary per say. B l u r r: But, I rather like movies about monsters- we deserve more than what we get, you know. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Pffft. Where's your scales 'n scrap?// B l u r r: Not all monsters have scales. BoneAndHook: B: Uh... there's... Hey Hook, who was that guy who hangs out with the guy that sounds like Megatron? Looked like candy, turns into a beast. Elita One: It's a bit dull so far. BoneAndHook: H: Overbite? B l u r r: I think it's fantastic... BoneAndHook: B: Yeah, him. He's one. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Huh. Never heard of 'im.// ItsyBitsySpyers: //Primus.// BoneAndHook: B: He's alright. Got good taste. B l u r r: Ohh, I hope he kills that stupid, disgusting human. ItsyBitsySpyers: //...Like, bitin' fingers taste, or taste in stuff?// BoneAndHook: B: Yeah. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Oh. That answers that.* ItsyBitsySpyers: //Ssssssso I'm thinkin' fraggin' off gods ain't a good idea.// BoneAndHook: H: Huh. That ain't no god. Humans don't got gods. They might think they do, but they don't. ItsyBitsySpyers: //How d'you know?// B l u r r: ... Honestly, the entire human race slags me off. Elita One: Unpleasant little man, isn't he? BoneAndHook: H: Cuz I've squashed enough of them to know they ain't got no souls. If they had gods, they'd've given them souls. BoneAndHook: H: Organics ain't nothin' but self-propelled chemical reactions. B l u r r: ... / wow. that's... so fuckiing sappy / ItsyBitsySpyers: //....Oh. Ohhhhhh. I get it. Heh.// BoneAndHook: B: Oh gross, she's into the guy in the tank. BoneAndHook: *HUMAN AFFECTION. NASTY.* ItsyBitsySpyers: //Duh.// B l u r r: / That's so sweet / Elita One: What an excellent way of communicating. BoneAndHook: B: They gonna start fraggin'? ItsyBitsySpyers: //...Why the frag they gonna come back he don't let 'em sit down in all them seats. Dumb aft.// Elita One: Guess not. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Thinks Elita has a point about the hand language, though. Maybe he'll tell the Boss to watch this.* BoneAndHook: H: ... Okay, so. They're talkin' about the guy in the tank like he ain't a human. How come? BoneAndHook: H: I mean—OBVIOUSLY he's a human. B l u r r: Because he's not. BoneAndHook: H: We lookin' at the same movie? It's obviously a human. Looks just like the others. Elita One: He certainly looks like one. BoneAndHook: H: What, did they get lazy with the costumin'? B l u r r: / scrubs faceplate / B l u r r: If you combined both of your processors, you would have less than half. ItsyBitsySpyers: //He's got them weird... things.// *Wiggles his fingers around his neck and cheeks* ItsyBitsySpyers: //That's how come.// BoneAndHook: B: Hey! You shut the frag up. We ain't stupid. *jerks thumb at Hook.* He's the best medic on Cybertron. B l u r r: / outright cackles / Elita One: Do you think Cybertronians only look a certain way or they're monsters? ItsyBitsySpyers: //Who?// Elita One: Our host. B l u r r: It depends on your definition of monster, you see. There's the literal defenition, and there's the figurative one. BoneAndHook: H: Is that it? He ain't human cuz he got weird frills? I seen lots of humans with weird fat jiggly jaws, though. Was they not humans too? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble opens his mouth to answer that before realizing he doesn't know.* B l u r r: Cybertronians vary on looks depending on the verse. That is not what I consider a monster. B l u r r: You can look like a monster any way you like. / wiggles claws / I choose to look more like a monster than a Cybertronian because I prefer to be a monster. BoneAndHook: B: ... They gonna frag? Elita One: I hope not. BoneAndHook: B: I hope none of them frag. ItsyBitsySpyers: //...I mean, I ain't seen no jiggly human necks do the... the flappin' thing. Y'know, the... BLAAAAARGH// *wiggles fingers* BoneAndHook: H: ... I bet if they shouted loud enough. ItsyBitsySpyers: ((oh my god hook)) ItsyBitsySpyers: //I don't get it. How come he's helpin'?// Elita One: He's a scientist. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Don't he wanna take it himself?// BoneAndHook: H: He said how come. He don't wanna see it die. BoneAndHook: H: 'N' his bosses won't agree to rescue it. B l u r r: Who cares? ItsyBitsySpyers: //He could keep it his own self. He knows how.// *Pointing at instructions on screen* B l u r r: To pit with his bosses. BoneAndHook: H: He does. Ain't you followin' the plot? Or you only got half a processor. B l u r r: ... / leans forward and sneers at / He does care, but he put science above that. Elita One: He'd be foolish to keep him safe after so strongly objecting to them dissecting him. BoneAndHook: H: Obviously he don't put science above that, or else he wouldn't be doin' this. B l u r r: Look, I don't care about that human. B l u r r: I care about the monster in the fraggin' cart. BoneAndHook: H: Then why you askin' about him? Watch the fraggin' movie. B l u r r: /I/ didn't ask anything. BoneAndHook: You asked who cares, ya moron. B l u r r: That's rhetorical, you dimwitted scrap heap. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Well, he ain't got a job no more.// Elita One: *she still thinks the asset looks human* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble's pretty sure it's not, because the movie says it isn't, but now he doesn't know why.* BoneAndHook: H: Well then don't get involved in an ongoin' conversation if ya don't wanna participate in it, ya idiot. B l u r r: Listen, you twit. You can't even figure out what a monster is. ItsyBitsySpyers: //What's the salt do?// ItsyBitsySpyers: //It like medicine or somethin'?// B l u r r: Scientist said something about it heling him. BoneAndHook: H: You can't recognize a human when ya see one. Elita One: The human with the missing fingers is the monster. We all saw the way he's behaved so far. B l u r r: I've killed plenty of humans. I can recognize them. BoneAndHook: H: He was wheezin' and all. Must make it easier to breathe. ItsyBitsySpyers: //The way he's behaved. Y'mean shockin' the water fleshie 'n stuff?// Elita One: And toward the mute human. Elisa? BoneAndHook: H: I 'unno, he shocked him to get back at him for bitin' off his fingers, yeah? B l u r r: He was shocking him before. BoneAndHook: H: Didn't see him shockin' him before. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble scratches his chin.* B l u r r: He had the shock weapon in the bathroom. BoneAndHook: H: We dunno who started it. B l u r r: With blood on it already. ItsyBitsySpyers: //I'm thinkin' he did. He got that stick - yeah.// BoneAndHook: H: We dunno if the water guy started it first, though. They both seem like mean fraggers. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Said he took the water fleshie outta his house 'n dragged him up.// B l u r r: The human took him out of his habitat. B l u r r: That stupid slagger started it. BoneAndHook: H: Yeah, well, he was gettin' worshipped like a god, right? People what get worshipped have huge egoes. Rude to everybody, ya know? He probably deserved it. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Looks to Elita and Blurr.* //He got a point.// B l u r r: Does he look like he's capable of being rude ? He can't speak. BoneAndHook: H: Ya don't think bitin' someone's fingers off is rude? ItsyBitsySpyers: //Can too. He been sayin' egg 'n scrap.// B l u r r: He attacked the human because the human attacked him first. Humans are fickle, simple ceatures. B l u r r: Anything that's different... they don't like it. They wanna pick it apart piece by piece. B l u r r: [[ yikes I forgot about the animal death in this movie my B. ]] B l u r r: a WARNING yes ]] Elita One: *chuckles lowly at Elisa daring to stand up to him like that* BoneAndHook: H: *points* Yeah, see? His neck does the thing when he's loud enough.* ItsyBitsySpyers: ((i'll be back in like five.)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((oh god i didn't realize you could still see the cat body in teh background)) ItsyBitsySpyers: //He's all glowy.// BoneAndHook: B: Weirdo. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Who's weird?// BoneAndHook: B: The water guy. BoneAndHook: *BOTH START BOOING* ItsyBitsySpyers: //For glowin'? What's wrong with that?// B l u r r: Similar to biolights, aren't they? BoneAndHook: *oh it's already over* B l u r r: [[ I love their friendship. So much. ]] BoneAndHook: *BOOING RETURNS* B l u r r: [[ i love how suppORTIVE SHE IS OMFG ]] BoneAndHook: *they learned way too much about alien genitalia today.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble laughs into his hands. That is definitely a joke he's been in the multiverse long enough to get.* BoneAndHook: B: Yeah, it is like biolights. S'why it's weird. S'a, what's it called. B l u r r: [[ I'm the bodyguard eating food, tbfh ]] BoneAndHook: B: Uncanny valley. If somethin' looks nothin' like you, it's okay. if it looks exactly like you, it's okay. If it looks like you but it's a little bit wrong, it's fraggin' weird. BoneAndHook: B: It's shaped like a mech, it's glowin' like a mech, but it's made of meat. It's weird. B l u r r: I think it's fantastic. Elita One: ((nopestf out ItsyBitsySpyers: //I dunno. It's kinda neat. Wonder if they work like -- uh.// BoneAndHook: ((sssscreamsnfsgklj)) B l u r r: [[ sORRY ] ItsyBitsySpyers: //...Frag is wrong with his hand.// B l u r r: [[ I keep forgetting to write specific warnings ]] BoneAndHook: ((we've seen it, we know. it's still NOPE)) Elita One: What in the name of Solus Prime was that? BoneAndHook: *Hook's just staring at Bonecrusher wondering when tf Bonecrusher learned what an uncanny valley is.* BoneAndHook: *BOOING RESUMES* ItsyBitsySpyers: //Hey, he got more fur.// Elita One: Oh well then. BoneAndHook: *BOOING INTENSIFIES* ItsyBitsySpyers: //Rude. If the door's a leakin', don't come a-peekin'.// BoneAndHook: *THEY TRY TO KEEP BOOIng but now they're laughing thanks rumble* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Welcome.* Elita One: *laughs* ItsyBitsySpyers: //...They're threatenin' to disappear him?// BoneAndHook: H: Sound like it. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Not for nothin', but he just got warnin' to go runnin'.// ItsyBitsySpyers: //Hey, she's singin'.// BoneAndHook: H: He fix her vocalizer? B l u r r: I'm pretty sure this is in her mind? ItsyBitsySpyers: //I don't remember seein' it...// ItsyBitsySpyers: //Ohhh.// BoneAndHook: B: Naw, it's a—fraggin'—metaphor, thing. BoneAndHook: H: ... This scene happened before humans invented color. ItsyBitsySpyers: //...Heard about that, huh.// Elita One: Before humans did what? BoneAndHook: *dumb constructichuckles. they SURE DID.* ItsyBitsySpyers: //Ew, he's flakin'.// BoneAndHook: *OH. OH. SHE DIDN'T HEAR.* BoneAndHook: H: Oh, yeah, Earth didn't always have colors. They had t' invent 'em. In the last, I 'unno, fifty years or so. BoneAndHook: B: Yeah! Heh. Yeah. If you watch their old movies, they was made before colors were. Elita One: *the most disbelieving of stares* BoneAndHook: H: S'true. Watch their old movies. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Resisting the urge to facepalm, if only to see if Elita will buy it* ItsyBitsySpyers: //Holy frag?!// ItsyBitsySpyers: *It'd be like Soundwave shooting him half to death on pickup?? Why???? OH--* BoneAndHook: B: That looks painful. I gotta remember that. Elita One: I'd sooner believe Earth was flat and I'd never believe that. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Knows what he's doin', I guess.// BoneAndHook: *disappointed groans.* H: Guess you ain't as dumb as Smokescreen. Elita One: Smokescreen thinks Optimus Prime was one of the original Thirteen. Of course I'm not that dumb. BoneAndHook: B: Original thirteen what? Elita One: Primes. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Aw, frag, don't talk about that dumb book. I jus' finished forgettin' it.// Elita One: He got a few things right but most of it was nonsense. BoneAndHook: ... *Bonecrusher counts on his fingers.* B: There ain't been thirteen. There's been five. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Yeah, well. Even Optimus said -- Primus below.// BoneAndHook: H: Six. Rodimus counts. ItsyBitsySpyers: //He jus' - cracked his fingers off??? Why in the Pit--?// ItsyBitsySpyers: //Squealer.// B l u r r: Rat. BoneAndHook: B: It's symbolism. ItsyBitsySpyers: //He didn't even take his fingers with him.// B l u r r: Rude. BoneAndHook: B: There's a lotta symbolism. It's real obvious slag. Elita One: Hmm, I suppose things must be different in your universe. How to explain this? ItsyBitsySpyers: //Well, yeah, fingers is columns 'n slag. But symbolschism don't mean he gotta leave 'em there when he's done talkin'.// B l u r r: [[ he's so cute im dead ]] BoneAndHook: B: Naw, not that. Show's he's corrodin'. He's been dyin' since he took the guy in the water, see. He's just been refusin' to admit it. Elita One: *taps her chin thoughtfully* Smokescreen thinks Optimus Prime is a direct descendant of Primus and that he's been on Cybertron since before there even were Cybertronians. ItsyBitsySpyers: //...THAT'S why his fingers was goin' weird colors?// ItsyBitsySpyers: //'N Smokescreen's fulla slag.// BoneAndHook: Them corrodin' all the way an' fallin' off is him realizin' he's gonna die and not holdin' on to them no more. See. S' a memento merry. Elita One: Rotting from the inside out. ItsyBitsySpyers: //So his fingers was, like. Rustin'. I got it now.// *Pause.* //I ain't gonna mourn that fleshy.// B l u r r: No one should. B l u r r: He deserves it. BoneAndHook: *Hook squints at Elita.* ... Ain't everybody a direct descendant of Primus? Why's he think Optimus is so old? Elita One: Probably so he doesn't feel so old. Elita One: ((LS, you literally decided to stop working at the very end of the movie why? ItsyBitsySpyers: //Neck wigglers!// B l u r r: [[ did it? ] ItsyBitsySpyers: ((mine works)) BoneAndHook: ((it's working here)) Elita One: ((I think it's my laptop being an assbutt B l u r r: [[ ruudde ]] ItsyBitsySpyers: *Poem? Rumble perks.* Elita One: ((The network adaptor has some kind of issue I think because it's the source of my horrid audio glitch B l u r r: [[ Awww. ]] ItsyBitsySpyers: *...That didn't tug his spark a little, no. Shut up.* B l u r r: [[ God i love. This movie so much . ]] Elita One: ((Such a great soundtrack B l u r r: ... /oh it sure tugged his / B l u r r: / The monster stayed alive. And was allowed to liVE A LIFE / Elita One: *isn't enough of a romantic but she did enjoy Elisa and the Asset beating that overbearing rust bucket of a human* ItsyBitsySpyers: //...She's gonna get all weird 'n wrinkly though.// Elita One: Maybe she'll grow scales? ItsyBitsySpyers: //Humans in water do that. Seen it. 'S kinda gross.// ItsyBitsySpyers: //She got a lotta scales t'grow.// ItsyBitsySpyers: *Streeeeeetch.* //Guess it ain't a bad movie. Think the Boss'd like it way more'n me. Her not talkin' 'n all the music stuff.// B l u r r: Well, I thought it was fantastic. B l u r r: The monster got to live in the end ItsyBitsySpyers: //Me, I kinda wanted more punchin'.// BoneAndHook: B: The color symbolism was laid on too thick. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Yeah, livin's a good endin'.// *He turns to look at Bonecrusher.* //...I'mma stay long enough to ask whatch amean.// ItsyBitsySpyers: *He's getting the sense Bonecrusher has been hiding that he knows a bunch of neat scrap and is 100% willing to learn.* BoneAndHook: *Hook sighs and slouches down. you had to ask the art critic about colors.* BoneAndHook: B: So. Everythin' in the movie is blue or green. 'Cept for the parts that are yellow. 'N' if it's blue-green that don't mean nothin'. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Don't mind Rumble. Just gonna get comfy and listen with his chin on his fist.* BoneAndHook: B: If it's blue it's about the main characters. Her room is blue, he's blue, water things are blue—both of them are all watery 'n' blue. BoneAndHook: B: Her room's the only one that's blue, everyone else's homes are yellow. That makes her a weirdo, see? The guy with the humans, his home is REALLY yellow. BoneAndHook: B: If it's green it's new technology—new to humans, anyhow. There was a store with TVs at the start all glowin'. If it's got electricity involved it's green. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble squints.* //That how come the wiggly fuel stuff's green?// ItsyBitsySpyers: //Bein' new?// BoneAndHook: B: The one from the restaurant with the guy with the fake accent? Yeah. They keep it fridgerated. So it's electric. BoneAndHook: B: When the guy with the fingers got his car everyone kept callin' it green even though it looked blue cuz that made it consistent with the symbolism, but they was too lazy to actually paint it green. BoneAndHook: B: Which is dumb. Can't be that hard to find a green car for a movie. BoneAndHook: B: Anyhow it was way too obvious. ItsyBitsySpyers: //...I'mma go home 'n watch it again. For the color stuff. Even if they ain't got money for car paint.// ItsyBitsySpyers: //Where'dja learn all this stuff anyway?// BoneAndHook: *points at the screen* B: I just watched it. BoneAndHook: B: It got real obvious when they started talkin' about the car like it was a different color than it was. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Naw, not that. I mean 'bout... ah, never mind. Next time.// ItsyBitsySpyers: *Maybe he can borrow it, or listen to whoever it was, or something.* //I don't get back soon 'n Frenzy's gonna stick holes in my berth. See ya 'round, huh?// BoneAndHook: B: Yeah, see ya. *holds out hand for another fist bump, like a moron who didn't learn the first time.* BoneAndHook: *because that's what he is.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Is SO TEMPTED to give him a second one... but learned something cool, so Bonecrusher gets an actual proper one.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Hook gets a half-assed salute, Elita and Blurr nods, and OFF he runs* BoneAndHook: *and back home they go.*

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max-is-tired · 4 years

Text

So Much For Not Causing A Ruckus

Fandom: Avengers

Pairing: established Bucky/OC

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Nick Fury, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, OC

Words: 4.840

Warnings: making out, fighting, explosions, blood, swearing, I think that’s it?

Notes: This is a commission I wrote for @asrasdarling -it was so much fun to write, her OC Jenna is amazing and tbh I never quite realized how fun it is writing these characters. Thank you so much for commissioning me, it was an amazing experience, and sorry for taking so long to actually post it!!

Commission me!! Buy me a coffee!! Join my Discord server!!

It all started as a normal Sunday in the Avengers Tower.

Steve was cooking breakfast, moving swiftly around the kitchen as soft notes flowed through the air from the little radio perched in a corner of the counter -no matter how many times Tony pointed out how old and surpassed that thing was, Steve was quite fond of it and because of that it stayed, even if it elicited a half-hearted grumble from Tony every time it played tunes in the same room as him.

Natasha was mostly lounging on a chair, keeping Steve company with light chatter and occasionally flicking a knife through the air as Clint repeatedly tried -and spectacularly failed- to snag something to eat from the vents. Beside her, Rhodey sipped his coffee and idly wondered if he was the only sane person in this godforsaken tower.

(His answer arrived in the form of Sam screeching bloody murder from the living room, followed swiftly by a muffled thump and Clint's all-too-familiar cackle -it appeared the archer had lost interest in trying to steal food from Steve and had decided to go wreak havoc somewhere else. Rhodey simply sighed and downed what was left of his scalding coffee in one large gulp, barely acknowledging Natasha patting his shoulder in sympathy. He really needed a vacation).

As for Jenna and Bucky, they had since claimed one of the training rooms for themselves, slowly working up from light stretches and doing their own thing to a sparring match on the mattress situated in the middle of the room -Bucky's idea, obviously.

Jenna was very much aware that one of the main reasons Bucky had proposed it -like every other time he did- was because her close-fighting abilities were the weakest out of all of their team -which put her in more danger if her hideout were to ever be compromised during a mission than, let's say, Clint. She found it sweet and somewhat endearing, that her boyfriend worried so much about her. That still didn't make her muscles hurt any less after their sparring sessions, which yeah, sucked ass, but what can you do?

Jenna stepped to the side, jerking out of her thoughts just in time to barely avoid one of Bucky's kicks. Maybe she should leave her musings to after getting her butt kicked by her boyfriend.

("That's hot though," pointed out a little voice in her head.

"Shut up," answered Jenna, pushing said little voice back in the dark hole it crawled out from.)

"You know-" she said conversationally, trying desperately to change the subject as she ducked down to avoid a punch directed at her face -getting a direct hit from Bucky's metal arm hurt like a bitch and a half, she knew it all too well and was not interested in a repeat of that experience thank you very much- "I'm starting to think that these training sessions are actually just a cover to have me all for yourself for a couple of hours."

"Shut up and keep that guard up," Bucky grunted, trying to sound stern even as the shadow of a smile danced at the corner of his lips despite his best efforts to keep it down, "you may be an archer, but being good at self-defense has never hurt anyone before."

"My aching muscles would like to have a word with you about that," Jenna grumbled, skipping a few feet backward to put some distance between them.

Bucky let out a snort, mirth dancing in his eyes, and lunged.

They kept sparring and exchanging quips for another good fifteen minutes -a new record for Jenna, who was barely fighting down a proud smile at her own progress- before Bucky managed to block one of her punches and grab her arm, twisting it behind her back and throwing her on the mattress, effectively pinning her down.

"Aaand you're dead," Bucky said, grinning down at her.

"Kinky," Jenna, quipped back, waggling her eyebrows.

Bucky threw his head back and laughed, pushing himself up with a smile.

"You know-" he chuckled, extending a hand towards Jenna to help her get up- "you're getting better at this. One day I might be the one pinned down to the mattress, who knows."

Jenna's smirk as she took the offered hand was the only warning Bucky got before finding himself thrown on the ground, back pressed firmly to the mattress as his girlfriend towered over him, smugness written all over her features.

"Oh honey, you just have to ask," she drawled before leaning down to kiss him.

+++

They got out of the training room an hour later, grinning and exchanging the occasional quip as they made their way towards their room to take a well-needed shower.

“I’m more than ready to just pass out on the nearest horizontal surface and sleep until tomorrow the earliest,” Jenna groaned, stretching her arms upwards, “I’ve got muscles aching that I never knew I had.”

“Oh, hush,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes, “you say that every time we train.”

“Okay but, and hear me out here-” she countered- “it’s Sunday. Why exactly did we have to train on a fucking Sunday? It should be illegal, honestly.”

“Because Hydra waits for no one, Jen,” Bucky answered, wit a hint of seriousness in his tone.

“I know, I know,” Jenna sighed, moving to kiss his cheek, “I’m still tired, though.”

“A shower and then you’ll be as good as new,” Bucky hummed, opening their bedroom door and motioning for Jenna to get in, “I’d let you sleep in a little, but we got breakfast with the others today.”

Jenna groaned, flopping herself on the bed. “Fuck Sunday breakfast. Whose idea was it anyway?” she grumbled, voice muffled.

“Steve’s,” Bucky chuckled, “and you know he’s not above dragging us down there by force -he’s done that before.”

Jenna muttered something to herself, rolling on her back. At the time it had felt like a cute idea, having a day where they all had their meals together in the tower’s common room -to bond as a team, Steve often said. Give me my coffee already or they'll never find your body, Tony often answered, sleep-deprivation and his overall not being a morning person making it very difficult for him to deal with that very chaotic bunch of superheroes without wanting to break out his iron man gauntlets.

It was during Sundays like this one that Jenna found herself agreeing with Tony on the matter. Sadly, Steve was also a very good cook and the mere thought of his homemade pancakes was making Jenna’s stomach grumble like nothing else -much to her very obvious annoyance and Bucky’s not very concealed amusement.

“Shut up,” she muttered, grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it into Bucky’s general direction.

“Alright, alright,” said Bucky, throwing his hands up in surrender as he easily sidestepped the flying object, “come on, go take a shower and then we can go be social with the others.”

“Ew, socialization.”

“Jenna, get your ass off that bed and go shower,” Bucky huffed, taking off his shirt and throwing it into the laundry basket.

Jenna hummed, making no move to get off the bed as she let her head hang from one side of it. She smirked, looking at Bucky upside-down as she gave him a full once-over.

“I don’t know, I might need an incentive,” she drawled, waggling her eyebrows, “fancy taking that shower with me? We can save time like that and who knows, I might need some help.”

“You’ll make us incredibly late,” Bucky huffed.

“Who, me?” Jenna batted her eyebrows, putting on her best angelic expression as she made grabby hands at her boyfriend, “what did I ever do to make you think that?”

Bucky shook his head, fighting down a smile as he walked to the bed and swiftly picked Jenna up, bridal style. “You’re impossible, you know that right?”

“But you love me for it!” she chirped, wrapping her arms around his neck as she let herself be carried into the bathroom.

+++

They ended up arriving late for breakfast, of course.

(“Fashionably late, you mean,” Jenna corrected when one of the others pointed it out, grinning devilishly from behind her coffee. Bucky simply rolled his eyes with a smile, grabbing another pancake.)

The meal was surprisingly calm -or as calm as it could be with a bunch of superheroes all sitting around the same table with large amounts of coffee available- and proceeded with next to no hiccups.

If Jenna had to identify some highlights from the meal, she’d probably choose Peter appeared at the kitchen’s entrance halfway through, looking dead on his feet as he shuffled forward -even just cracking his eyes open appeared to be too much of an effort for the boy, who seemed to be relying more on his enhanced senses than anything else.

Of course, walking around with his eyes closed proved to be trickier than Peter probably thought it would be, because he didn’t even have the time to actually enter the room that he promptly smacked his head on the doorway, falling to the ground in mess of limbs and barely concealed curses.

“Language!” Steve called, not even looking up from the newspaper in his hands. Beside him, Clint tumbled down his chair, merrily cackling his lungs out and consequently ending up choking on his own breakfast -turns out that wheezing on the floor with food still in your mouth is not a good activity for you if you would like to not risk asphyxiation via vengeful, half-chewed pancake pieces.

“Don’t you dare die here, you know how much paperwork that would be?” Tony said from his spot at the table, smirking into his coffee as a very disgruntled Peter threw himself on the chair beside him.

Jenna simply chuckled at the scene, gaining a half-hearted glare from Clint to which she answered with her best angelic smile. Beside her, she could see Bucky fighting down a smirk, their pinkies interlaced under the table as they shared an amused glance.

All in all, it was just a normal Sunday in the Avengers Tower.

So, of course, it could only be Fury the one to step out of the elevator with a grim expression on his face and a tablet in his hands.

“We have a problem,” he said as a way of greeting, immediately causing the atmosphere to become somber.

“I haven’t had enough coffee for this,” Tony grumbled under his breath, standing up and moving towards the kitchen to refill his cup.

Staring at her own cup, Jenna found herself begrudgingly agreeing with him for the second time in the span of one morning.

That was never a good sign.

+++

“So,” Jenna said, taking her seat beside Bucky as everyone entered the conference room, “whose ass are we gonna kick on this fine Sunday morning?”

“This is a serious issue, agent,” Fury reprimanded her, throwing a scolding glare in her general direction.

Jenna simply raised an eyebrow, shrugging.

“Yes, I know, crime never sleeps, always gotta be ready, the whole nine yards,” she quipped, leaning back on her chair, “that doesn’t change the fact that it’s still fucking Sunday and I have every right to be salty about it.”

That drew some snorts and smirks all around the room, plus a half-hearted “preach” from Sam and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from Clint.

Fury -who had been working with this specific group of people for years now and was, to his dismay, more or less used to their antics by now- simply grumbled some expletives under his breath, choosing to ignore the bunch of snickering idiots -minus Steve, who was starting to look like a very tired grandfather- and activated the holographic display.

“Everyone-” he started once he was sure he had everyone’s attention- “meet our newest target.”

Silence fell as the presents took in the projection of one of the most intricate underground building most of them had never laid their eyes on, a seemingly infinite number of corridors, passages and crevices unraveling for miles and miles.

“Is that… a Hydra base?” Bucky asked.

Fury nodded.

“I thought we had taken them all out months ago,” Steve said, frowning.

“So did we,” Fury answered, “somehow, this specific base managed to stay undetected until not too long ago. There were rumors going around, passing mentions in confiscated documents that never amounted to anything important, but we never quite managed to locate it until now.”

“What changed?” Natasha asked.

“We think there was a leak of some sort -we found documents that confirmed the base’s existence and location, together with some encrypted files our best technicians are working on right now.”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. ”Well, that doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

“She’s right,” Rhodey pointed out, “how can we be sure this is not a trap?”

“We can’t,” Fury admitted, “but we can’t ignore the threat this base poses either -there has to be a reason why Hydra made sure we wouldn’t be able to locate it.”

“Well,” Tony said, a grin on his face as he watched the hologram slowly rotate in front of him, “only one way to find out, right?”

+++

They left for the Nevada desert a few hours later.

“Okay, we’re officially en route!” Clint called out from the front of the quinjet, activating the auto-pilot mode, “we’re set to arrive in a few hours, FRIDAY will activate the invisibility cloak once we’re near the objective.”

“You know that’s not its real name, right?”

Clint waved Tony off with a grin, spinning his chair around. “Do I know? yes. Do I care? Not really, no.”

Jenna snickered, watching Tony pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Beside her, Bucky rolled his eyes, giving her arm a playful pinch. “Play nice.”

“Who, me?” Jenna said, batting her eyelashes in faux-innocence as she leaned in to leave a peck on Bucky’s lips, “I’m always nice.”

“No making out in the quinjet!” Tony called out.

“You’re not the boss of me!” Jenna called right back.

“Okay, kids, calm-down time,” Natasha said, stepping between the two as her mouth twitched upwards, “how about we concentrate on the task at hand, hm?”

They both grumbled something under their breath, but otherwise stayed silent. Natasha nodded approvingly and then moved back to her seat.

Of course, as soon as her back was turned, Jenna stuck her tongue out at Tony, who stuck his own right back. Beside him, Peter tried very hard not to snicker, hiding his grin behind his holographic pad.

“Do you guys think Steve is still pouting, back at the tower?” Clint asked suddenly, spinning on his chair over and over.

“Probably,” Tony shrugged, “and if you end up puking all over the floor I will throw you out of the jet.”

“Last I heard from Rhodey and Sam, he’s taken over the kitchen and doesn’t seem intent on leaving it anytime soon,” Natasha said, “at least we’ll have something ready to eat for when we get back.”

“Well, it’s not like we could bring him with us -the mission is to infiltrate the base, not destroy it while fighting everyone in it.” Jenna shrugged.

“We still brought Bucky,” Tony pointed out.

“At least he knows what “stealth” means,” Jenna quipped back.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “I know I should feel bad for Steve, but you are absolutely right.”

“Okay, do we want to go over the plan one more time before we get there?” Tony asked.

“We split into teams, get in, grab the information we need and get out without making too much of a ruckus,” Clint dutifully recited, “I’ve got my doubts on the last point, I have to admit, but I think we all know what we need to do by now.”

“Get the information and try not to get killed in the process?”

“Exactly.”

Bucky sighed. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that, alright?”

+++

Of course, it absolutely came to that.

Jenna ducked behind another corner, barely avoiding being detected by the two guards sprinting down the corridor. She sighed in relief when their footsteps disappeared, taking a moment to breathe as she tuned into her headpiece.

“Three more incoming on your right!” Clint’s voice rang into her ear, followed by what sounded like Natasha grunting in effort. They seemed to be holding their own alright -same thing for Bucky and the others, it seemed, which made her sigh in relief as she worked out her next step.

“Tony,” she called into her earpiece, waiting for him to answer before going forward, “do you have my position?”

“That I do, sweetcheeks.”

The line gave a crackle, followed by Bucky’s voice. “Stark, don’t flirt with my girlfriend.”

Jenna shook her head, fighting down a smile. “Is there some sort of control room near where I am?”

“Let me check,” silence followed as Tony checked his map, “yeah, two corridors down to the left -it should be signed on your map.”

Jenna tapped her wrist, watching as her suit projected a miniature map in the air -and there it was, a tiny red dot blinking on and off to indicate her destination.

“Perfect,” she grinned, taking off.

Reaching the control room was relatively easy, most of the guards being currently occupied fighting the rest of the group on the other side of the base -no one had spotted her just yet, and she was very intent on keeping it that way.

She made quick work of the two guys stationed into the room, taking them down before they could even register her presence. Then, she moved towards one of the computers near the back, quickly turning it on.

“Okay guys, I have access,” she called into her comm.

“Nice work,” came Tony’s voice, “just plug in the drive I gave you and let FRIDAY do the rest.”

“Aye aye captain,” Jenna answered, grabbing the aforementioned drive from one of her suit’s pockets.

“Okay Fri, work your magic,” she muttered, plugging it in. Immediately, a loading icon appeared on the screen, advancing quickly to 20%.

“Come on,” she hissed, watching as it reached 50% and then 80% -she knew full well anyone could come into the room at any moment and discover the bodies of the two guards, and she wasn’t keen on being present when that happened.

Of course, luck didn’t seem to be on her side today.

“Shit, on your fifth!”

“Quick, someone stop him before-”

Suddenly, an explosion went off, the shockwave hitting the entire base. Fighting to keep her balance, Jenna rolled under one of the tables, hoping the entire room wouldn’t crash down on her. In her ear, her comm crackled with her teammates’ shouts and swears, and then silence.

It took a few minutes for the shaking to die down, and a few more for Jenna to feel safe getting out from under the table. She quickly turned towards the computer, sighing in relief when she saw it was still intact and functioning. The charging icon indicated 100% complete, and Jenna didn’t lose any time grabbing the flash drive and hiding it in her suit again.

There was no way she was losing it after all the effort it took to grab all of the information.

“Guys?” she called, tapping her comm, “guys, do you receive me?”

Crackling static was her only answer.

“Shit,” she swore -the explosion had probably disrupted the line. She just hoped everyone was alright.

Jenna turned, intent on getting out of there as soon as she could -she needed to let the others know the mission was complete.

However, before she could sneak out, the door got kicked open, four fully-armed guards charging into the room with their guns trained on her.

“I would stay very still if I were you, doll,” one of them sneered.

Well, fuck, was all Jenna could think before all hell broke loose.

+++

“Is everyone okay?” Tony called out, pushing some debris off.

“We’re okay!”, called Bucky from somewhere to his right, followed by another affirmative from Natasha and a displeased grunt from Clint.

“Does anyone have any news from the Spider kid and Jenna?”

Clint tapped his ear before shaking his head. “The comms are down.”

“Last we heard they were in completely different sectors from the one that blew up,” Natasha pointed out, “they’re probably okay.”

“They better be,” Bucky grunted, sitting up, “where’s the asshole?”

“Knocked out from his own explosion,” Tony answered, pointing to the slumped floor a few feet away from them, “he probably hit his head when the shockwave hit.”

“I hope he got a concussion, the fucker,” Clint grumbled, dusting his arm.

“Come on, let’s get out of here and find the others,” Tony said.

But before they could move, someone else entered the room.

“There is no need for that, Stark.”

Everyone in the room immediately trained their weapon on the man standing in front of the doorway -Dr. Weisser, Bucky’s mind supplied, recognizing the man from one of the files Fury had given them.

“I think you guys might want to rethink that approach,” the man said, grinning, “that is, if you know what’s best for you.”

“Try again, pal,” Clint barked, “it’s four against one, you’re not in the position to give any orders.”

“Oh, really?” Dr. Weisser cocked his head to the side, “and what about your friends?”

The four stiffened.

“My men found your lovely archer in one of the control rooms a few minutes ago,” he kept going, “and it’s only a matter of time before we find your other agent -a single spider can’t do much against a whole platoon of highly-trained soldiers, can it?”

He walked forward, grin never faltering even as his chest touched the tip of Clint’s arrow. “So I highly suggest you all cooperate, or your lovely girl might just in a rather unfortunate situation.”

“You bastard,” Bucky seethed, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Takes one to know one, doesn’t it?” Dr. Weisser shot back, “now, how about you all put down your weapons? I need to inform my superiors I have half of the Avengers under my control -I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hear such surprising news don’t you agree? Maybe they’ll even give me a promotion, who knows.”

Dr. Weisser reached into his pocket, grabbing what seemed to be a communicator. But before he could even try and turn it on, a white web came out of nowhere, snatching the device out of the man’s grip and attaching it to one of the walls at the far end of the room.

“What-!” was all the doctor managed to exclaim before another string of white fluid surrounded his body and reduced him to a ball of hard-as-steel, wiggling webbing.

“You know,” Spiderman called out from the ceiling, scratching his chin as he hanged upside-down, “this situation couldn’t be more cliché if you tried -a villain getting stopped because he lost too much time monologuing? Come on, dude.”

“You little shit,” seethed Dr. Weisser, “now the girl is gonna get it -guards!”

Peter shrugged, jumping to the ground. “If you’re talking about the guys in the control room, you can stop yelling -I think they’re taking a nap right now.”

“You bastard!” the man roared, struggling against Peter’s webbing, “how dare you-”

Natasha kicked him in the back of his head, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“What?” she shrugged when the others turned to look at her, “his yelling was starting to get annoying.”

“We better get out of here fast, anyway,” Peter said, “I’m pretty sure they called for reinforcements, and I don’t know about you guys, but I really don’t want to be here when they storm the place.”

“Wait, what about Jenna?” Bucky asked.

“She’s okay, don’t worry,” Peter assured, smiling under his mask as he watched Bucky’s shoulders sag in relief, “she’s waiting for us at the jet, we split up so I could find you guys.”

“Great job, kid,” Tony said, grinning proudly, “come on team, let’s get out of here.”

“God, you’re such a dad,” Clint snickered, shouldering his bow.

“Keep being a little shit and I’m leaving you here!”

+++

Jenna sighed as she entered the quinjet, quickly closing the hangar door behind her and moving towards the pilot’s seat.

“FRIDAY, get the engines on standby,” she called watching as the console lit up as she spoke, “as soon as the others arrive we’re getting out of here.”

Then, when everything was set up and ready for departure, she finally allowed herself to relax, slumping on her seat as she took off her glasses and dragged a hand down her face.

“Well, fuck,” was all Jenna could think before all hell broke loose.

A white web shot out from above and grabbed two of the guards’ weapons, snatching them out of their hands before they could even react.

Taking advantage of the men’s shock, Jenna quickly dove behind the nearest table, throwing it to the ground and using it as a makeshift shield.

“Wow, you guys are very bad at this!” a very familiar voice called from the ceiling, Spiderman’s suit appearing in front of everyone’s eyes.

Jenna grinned, grabbing her bow and knocking in two arrows. Then, as quick as lightning, she jumped out of her hiding spot, releasing the string and taking down two other guards.

“I’ve never been happier to see a spider before!” she called out, grabbing another arrow and hitting another target with deadly accuracy.

Peter laughed in response, swinging from side to side -he was way too quick for the guards to properly aim at him, and the tide was quickly but steadily turning in their favor.

Not even ten minutes later, Jenna and Peter were the only two left standing in the room.

“Since when you can become invisible?” Jenna asked, shouldering her bow.

“You liked it?” Peter asked, obviously proud, “I added the feature myself! I wanted to show it to Mr. Stark after breakfast, but then, well, you know what happened.”

“Kid, you’re a fucking godsend,” she grinned, smacking him on the back, “I’m pretty sure you just saved my life back there.”

“Oh! Um,” Peter stammered -Jenna was ready to bet all of her money the kid was blushing under his mask, “you’re welcome?”

Jenna laughed. “Come on, I’ve got the info we need -now we just need to find the others.”

“It won’t be easy,” Peter frowned, looking back towards the door, “the corridors are full of guards the more you go towards the center of the building -and I’m pretty sure that’s where Mr. Stark and the others are.”

Jenna hummed, pondering their options.

“Okay, new plan,” she finally said, giving Peter a mischievous grin, “how do you feel about putting that neat invisibility feature of yours a little more?”

If she has to be honest, Jenna is just glad Peter had appeared when he did -if he hadn’t she was pretty sure things would have gone south really fast for her.

“I’m never gonna complain about Stark bringing a teenager to our missions again,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Mr. Stark is on his way,” came FRIDAY’s voice, startling Jenna out of her thoughts.

She straightened up and adjusted her glasses, glancing out of the cockpit to see her teammates’ figures quickly approaching the jet.

“Open the hangar door and get ready for take-off,” she instructed.

A few seconds later, everyone quickly filed in, the door quickly closing as soon as everyone was accounted for.

“Let’s scram before anyone else decides to join the party.” Tony said, “FRIDAY, get us out of here.”

Jenna spun her chair around as the jet took off, grinning at her teammates. “So, what was what Fury said? Do not make a ruckus?”

Clint snorted, shaking his head as Natasha gave a small, amused smile.

As for Bucky, well, he simply stalked to Jenna’s chair and gently grabbed her, taking her into his arms with a relieved sigh.

Confused, Jenna put her arms around him, hugging him back. “Not that I’m complaining, but… are you okay? Did something happen?��

“Some douchebag threatened to hurt you if we didn’t cooperate,” Clint explained, “Thankfully, he made the most cliché error ever.”

Jenna raised an eyebrow, leaning her head on Bucky’s shoulder. “Let me guess- evil monologue?”

“Evil monologue,” Clint nodded.

Jenna snorted, shoulders shaking in laughter. She looked up at her boyfriend, giving him a reassuring smile.

“I’m okay,” she murmured, pecking him on the lips, “Peter saved my ass before things got too bad.”

“Guess we all gotta thank him today, then,” Bucky hummed, leaning down to give her a proper kiss.

“Hey, no making out in the jet!” called Tony from behind them, “there are kids present!”

Jenna flipped him off, smiling into the kiss.

And as the jet brought them home, a hidden Hydra base in the middle of the desert blew up into tiny pieces.

So much for not causing a ruckus.

#avengers #marvel #bucky x oc #bucky barnes #oc #steve rogers #tony stark #natasha romanov #clint barton #peter parker #james rhodes #nick fury #sam wilson #fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #maxiswriting

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