MASTERLIST she/her⎮ ceo of procrastinating ⎮ marvel ⎮ harry potter | lotr | own stories | star wars | literally anything ⎮ 20 | no regular updates since i’m a student!
YOUR OC STORIES SHOULD NOT BE TAGGED X READER. OH MY GOD. NO ONES GONNA SHAME YOU FOR HAVING IT AS X OC. If the "reader" has a first name or physical descriptions ITS AN OC UNLESS ITS MADE FOR A SPECIFIC RACE OF PEOPLE. NO EXCEPTIONS BESIDES THAT. This should not be an issue, tag your fics right, PLEASE.
No one is complaining about OC fics existing, only the fact you guys are tagging them wrong and putting them in the x reader groups and hogging the space where it's hard to find a REAL X READER.
as someone with a speech impediment, all of the people saying that only one type of stuttering is valid are wrong.
stuttering CAN look like this: "t-this is a-an example s-s-sentence"
OR this: "this-this is an example sen-sentence."
OR this: "t-t-t-th-..t-ttttthis is an example sentence."
OR this: "this is, uhm, an example, uh, sentence."
OR this: "this is an example sssssss-sentence."
OR this: "this is an examp-...this an example sentence."
sometimes the sentence won't even come out of your mouth at all.
there are probably many examples i'm forgetting, but that's the point! it usually is a mix of a few of these, but some people do one of them more often than others! some people with speech impediments have certain sounds that they almost consistently have trouble with (for me it's "st").
people with speech impediments also rarely-if ever-stutter whilst they're singing or whispering.
most importantly!!!! people with speech impediments are capable of saying a sentence without stuttering!! it can just be a gamble sometimes.
and if more people could portray the frustration that comes with stuttering and not being able to get words out, i'd be a very happy girl.
(fun fact: sometimes when my mouth won't let me say what i want to say, i get so annoyed that i just yell or grumble out "WORDS.")
Genre: Some angst, a lot of flashbacks but in general rather fluffy
Warnings: I don't think there are any BUT broken instruments. Some anxiety but not more I guess. Correct me please if I'm wrong.
Wordcount: 4812 words
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Summary: You study music abroad, didn't expect to get access to an exchange program in South Korea. Moving there wasn't easy, settling wasn't easy. But you had that violin you kept close to your heart. Until someone destroys that and Min Yoongi kind of help you out with it.
Author's Note: Hellooooo y'all. I swear, I wanted to write this as one but I'm currently experiencing a bad, bad writers block. So I decided to give this to you a little earlier, promising you a second (and third?) part? I hope you like it.
Reposts and likes are highly appreciated. <3
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You grew fond of this wooden thing, after all. So fond that it was almost the unfairest thing that could ever happen to you.
Especially to you.
Maybe it was the universe that decided to work against you today or it simply was the rain – even though you normally liked rain.
But hurrying though the streets of Seoul was unpleasing, no matter the weather. You clutched the case of your so fragile instrument tightly, hoping to shield it from any harm, whether it was the rain or the amount of people that seemingly tried to knock you down.
The jacket you wore clung to your soaked sweater and your skin by now, despite the fabric being Gore-Tex or something, you don’t really remember. You could’ve sworn that you caught a glimpse of lightning from the corner of your right eye. The music you were listening to luckily deafened out the noise from the street but that also meant that, if it was a lightning, the thunder rolling with it would go unnoticed by you.
The reflections of the grey sky on the street made you depressed enough, you decided. And in that exact moment someone pushed you back. It wasn’t just a simple push as if someone miscalculated the distance, it was forceful.
The fact that your behind met the cold, wet pavement didn’t matter to you. What really caught your attention was the dark blue case that slipped out of your grasp and out onto the already slippery ground, tossed between feet that hurried to get away from the scene, controlled by people that didn’t even spare a second glance what was going on down there.
You cursed the Korean mindset of minding their own businesses.
And you cursed out loud, paired with the raw sound of despair.
“Shit, no, fuck!”
You ached to get back on your feet to get to your violin but something blocked your view – no, someone.
A tall man dressed in a black suit stood at your feet, his broad frame shielding what was happening behind him. You saw feet hurrying down the street but that didn’t matter to you. Your eyes flicked from the (now destroyed) case of your instrument to the man that stood in front of you.
He was the one that pushed you over.
And usually, you were a very peaceful person, your friends would even describe you as weirdly calm but rage bubbled inside you. Your throat felt tight as you decided to at least make this man aware of what he did.
Swallowing the lump that was forming, you got up, took a deep breath and started screaming at the man, who looked dangerously similar to a bodyguard.
“How could you!”, was the first thing that came to your mind as you made your way – this time forcefully and eager – to the broken case, picked it up and shoved in the dark-haired male’s face.
Who didn’t even spare you a glance.
He looked straight through you.
Why would someone do this? Why would someone be so heartless to destroy a students’ instrument and then ignore them like all of this didn’t happen?
What were you supposed to do now? You were on your way to a rehearsal with your favourite professor, excited to show him the improvement on your piece. How your intonation got cleaner, a little crispier and how you weren’t focused on the theoretical part anymore.
And you were already running late but showing up without an instrument would even disappoint Mr. Kim. And you didn’t come to Seoul to fuck it all up and disappoint people.
Even now, tears brimming in your eyes, the man didn’t react. Didn’t say a single word. As if he was made of stone, he didn’t move a single muscle. You could feel the tears roll down your cheeks and mix with the rain that fell down from the sky.
It simply wasn’t fair. How could you even afford a new instrument?
No, you didn’t even want a new instrument. It wouldn’t sound the same plus it wouldn’t hold the memories yours did.
How your grandpa smiled at you when giving it to you.
You were just a child, freshly fourteen years old and since your grandfather wasn’t able to play his violin anymore, he passed it on to you. He trusted you with the one thing he had and kept him sane the moment you were born. Every time he and grandma had no idea how to stop your cries, he got out his violin and started playing lullabies. And each time you were wrapped in a cosy blanket and away from your mum, you had a good reason to cry.
As you got older, he played less and less, finding it harder and harder to bring up the strength to play. One day you sat in his armchair, listening to grandma and grandpa cook something in the kitchen, the words that made your grandpa promise you something, came out of your mouth.
“Grandpa, I want to play the violin too.”
He was so excited when telling your parents about this that afternoon and he was even more excited when you were old enough that his own would fit you.
Tears prickled down your face as you held the almost broken instrument in your hands, not even wanting to imagine how disappointed your granddad would’ve been.
That’s when he noticed you.
For everyone else it would’ve been hard to differentiate if you were crying like a fan or if there was an issue but not for him. He knew exactly that his presence wasn’t the reason for your tears.
A pair of dark brown eyes shot you a glace – only for a second or two, but the person that was walking behind the ‘makes-poor-students-sad-and-wears-a-suit-man’ actually noticed you. And he apparently also noticed what was in your hands.
But that didn’t matter to you, you had things worse that were clouding your mind. Only when you snapped out of your trance, the person was gone. Not entirely, because he was passing something onto one of the bodyguards while entering a van.
After the men and apparently their bodyguards left, the excitement died down and all the fans left. But you stood there, the broken pieces of your memories in hand.
But one of the men that were shielding the group of people approached you. He made his way towards you with longs strides and held something in his hands for you to take. It was a small paper, a little scrambled.
Contemplation was one of your biggest habits. You weren’t so sure if the man was trustworthy but, after glancing down at the broken case, you shrugged and took the crumbled paper to save it from the ongoing rain.
Before you could ask what that was about, the man left. And you stood there, almost soaked, broken violin in hand a note in your hand. You kept it hidden in your hand because shoving it in your pocket would ruin too and that would have the same effect as spilling wine on a perfectly white shirt.
But your professor still welcomed you, when you reached the auditorium ten minutes before the class would end. He gave you a compassionate smile and gestured you to enter the room and sit. After every other of your fellow students left, Mr. Kim sat down next to you and opened the case, hissing after seeing the extent of your incident.
“No good day today, huh?”, he said and closed the case again, knowing it would just hurt you to look at that destroyed instrument for too long.
“Don’t worry about this class, please. I know you’re good, I won’t let you fail it because of such unlucky things. I will exempt you for the upcoming seminars.”
Mr. Kim was the most understanding teacher you met in your entire life. Despite you two met two weeks ago when you arrived in Seoul, he instantly knew music was your passion and you didn’t study it to impress your parents or someone else. The way you carried yourself in class and how you read sheet music like others read books, he saw himself in you. And it took him no time to admit that you were one of his favourite students.
He pushed you and showed you how good you really were. How others could only dream of having the capacity to make music like you did. But he never spilled his thoughts. He kept them, in case you needed them the most. And adapting and finding a new instrument is hard, especially for someone like you. He figured it would be about time when you found a way to play again.
Mr. Kim left the room shortly after to fetch some lunch and you didn’t realise your fist was still clenched around the note.
Some fine hangul and a phone number.
Since your Korean was terrible you decided to simply dial the number and see what would happen.
After a few seconds someone picked up the phone and a deep but warm voice spoke to you.
“Yun Seoul Instrument Repair, how can I help you?”, the man on the other side asked.
A bit perplexed you stared at the note, hoping to soon find out what was written on there.
“Hello?”, he asked, wondering who was calling him.
You snapped back, realising that you haven’t said a word so far.
“Uhm, hello, Mr.! I got your phone number from a friend and I had kind of… an accident with my violin.”, you stammered.
A knowing gasp came out of the phone speaker.
“Oh, yes! Your friend reached out to me. I’ll send you the address, come around if you’d like.”, he offered.
His declaration made your heart beat a little faster. Maybe there was a way of fixing that sweet broken soul of your instrument. And while your mind was unexpectantly pessimistic, your heart yearned for a way to fix it.
A minute later, your phone buzzed again. It was the number you called.
‘Wausan-ro 21-gil, Hongdae’
You grabbed your stuff and made the decision to use the metro, in case to prevent further damage and also to not get soaked again. Thankfully the route passed your flat so you were able to change into some dry clothes before following the route that your phone suggested.
When you reached the relatively small alleyway, the rain was almost gone and you were able to take in the different stores and building on your way there. Some cupboards filled with delicacies, others were plastered with advertisements and most were houses, accommodating families.
You didn’t expect to study abroad in Seoul and you didn’t even think of it for a second back home. Your life was exactly what you wanted, being a music major was all you’ve ever dreamt of. But that your professor back home registered you for a ‘Study Abroad’ program behind your back made you mad back then. And soon after you boarded a plane to South Korea, your destination was the Incheon Airport.
And let’s be real, leaving your hometown to live and study in a city you don’t even know sounds pretty crazy, so you decided on firstly staying three months only. You could still request an extension after all but you’d keep that opportunity for yourself.
Soon the wooden sign came into view, which was painted with pretty hangul letters.
You entered the small shop and the smell of aged wood and varnish filled your senses. A small bell rang, signalling the owner that a new customer arrived.
The store was filled with instruments, whether it was flutes or celli, but also some violins were displayed in their delicate boxes.
As you looked around, a dark-haired, probably middle-aged man hurried up the stairs from the basement and came to a halt, as he saw you.
He expected someone young, but he didn’t quite think of a student.
“Is this the Yun Seoul Repair Shop?”, you asked the man while looking over your shoulder.
Indeed, it was the same accent he heard on the phone a little earlier. And so he nodded , introduced himself as Mr. Yun and walks you to the small presentation-table in the centre of the room, gesturing you to show him the problem in your hands.
When you opened up the case, he gasped. And let me tell you, when you’re bringing your instrument in for repair and the luthier gasps, it’s worse than you thought.
But it wasn’t worse, it was exactly what you had expected.
“Oh, dear…”, he muttered, taking the many broken pieces in his hands.
You knew.
You were fucked.
And your violin too, in the worst way possible.
“This might take me some time.”, he offered with a sign.
The bell rang, signalling that someone entered the store. Through the reflection of one of the showcases you were able to faintly make out a person dressed in a black jacket, wearing a hat and a mask.
Since your knowledge of the Korean language was already limited, following a conversation was even harder.
But when you’re met with the exact same brown eyes as earlier today, your stomach twisted. He saw you and pulled his mask down to talk to the owner of the store properly now.
His skin was bright, exactly what all the skin care models wished for. A faint smile was tugging at his lips and his eyes had a fair hint of mischief in them. Only when his gaze fell to the case that was folded open on the desk, the expression on his face crumbled into something more distant, almost cold.
“Is this yours?”, he asked you, voice a little hushed but still almost a bit too firm.
You nodded as a confirmation, and he shook his head.
“So sorry about that.”, he said shortly and turned around to talk to the owner again.
If only you’d know that he was beating himself up for not preventing the incident with the bodyguard. His bodyguard. Well, technically he didn’t belong to Yoongi nor was he hired only for the purpose to protect him, but entirely BTS.
And it was a misery that he wasn’t able to fix what his fans destroyed but yet here he was, he at least wanted you to get it fixed.
Of course, he saw how you were shoved out of the way. Of course, he saw how the bodyguard sent the case of your instrument flying but no matter what he would’ve done, it probably would’ve just made it worse. And the idea of having one of the suited men hand you a simple note, no name, nothing else, eased his mind a little. And when he called the owner beforehand, Mr. Yun, the owner, promised to tell him if you’d call in.
He wouldn’t have known any other way that you’d be here right now and he was very grateful for knowing Mr. Yun closer.
Mr. Yun now shuffled around, until he saw a model that suit you and the probably very high expectations you had, judging by what you’ve played before.
He came back with a violin in his right hand, in the left he held a bow. Normal people would think your broken one and the one he held in hands were the exact same but to you they weren’t.
Firstly, the memories.
Secondly the colour. It was a little lighter, a little more reddish and when you took it into your hands, the wood wasn’t as light as the one you had before.
Thirdly, the sound. While the sound of Mr. Yuns violin was full and warm, you preferred edgy, spiralling sounds. You liked how violins could sound like singing saws or sirens, it made them mystical. But you also knew that if you’d keep looking for an instrument as close as possible to the now destroyed one, you’d leave the store without one.
Which wasn’t your plan.
And so you placed the delicate instrument between your jaw and your shoulder, reaching for the bow and brushing it over the strings.
And to be real, Yoongi knew what strings sounded like. He records them himself, after all. But to be fair, they were nothing but synthesizer-sounds. He knew very well that actually playing the violin was hard, at least he expected it to be hard.
But his head snapped towards you when you started playing something. Actually playing a piece. He didn’t recognise it but Mr. Yun did.
“Humoresque! What a beautiful piece.”, he said and pouted when you stopped playing and handing him the violin back. The man made his way back and made it his mission to find a violin that suited your wishes.
Yoongi was starstruck.
The strings he used for his songs sounded utterly different. Sometimes more of a soundscape, other times just to accentuate chords. But hearing that delicate instrument almost sing under your grip made the clouds in his mind disappear.
Music is a broad topic, you both knew. But it was unexpected for him. He had no exact reason to even not think you’d be good and yet he wasn’t quite sure what to make out of you when he first saw you. How you clenched your jaw when the bodyguard wasn’t looking at you.
To be honest, he thought you were a fan first. But when he saw your gaze flicking to the floor over and over, he looked too.
And as a man of the music, his heart clenched at the sight.
He deeply felt sorry, felt bad about how these men treated your passion. And usually he wasn’t one to pay too much attention to his surroundings when they were guided out of a building, but today something was off.
The way it ate him up, even when the van swiftly left the entire chaos behind. The way it gnawed on him.
Why did he let that happen?
But Mr. Yun interrupted his train of thoughts, rushing past him. Another instrument in hand, this one looked a little more delicate to him. And it definitely suited you, at least from the looks.
The wood was warm in your hands, light but sturdy. And you genuinely liked the colour too. It wasn’t as reddish as the one before and definitely the curves were delicately carved.
And the sound was your thing too. And Mr. Yun noticed as soon as you played the first note. Of course, he recognised the piece you played, the skilled musician he was. Pietro Locatelli was one of his all-time favourite composers after all.
The delicate sound of the picked violin echoed through the room and Yoongi felt as if he was floating. Usually, he was too oblivious to even recognise when he felt like this but this time he knew on what to blame it. Music was a way to get into his heart and – to be quite frankly – you seemed to have the mind of one.
How you intonate each note, how fragile some and others so sharp sounded. It was no mystery that he appreciated the art and what it brought, he was listening to music most of the time after all. And sometimes it didn’t even matter what played in his earphones – as long as it was surrounding him. As long as he could sit back and let his mind be engulfed by music.
And that’s what he did right now. He stood there, closed eyes, listening to the so lovely sound of your play. And he missed how such a delicate – almost as delicate as your instrument of choice – smile crept into your face.
But Mr. Yun didn’t miss it. He saw all of it. How you were a little unsure first, when you started playing, but the more and more you played of one of his favourite pieces, he saw how playing this filled your heart with joy. Playing this with his violin.
And you caught Min Yoongi off-guard, when you stopped playing and accidentally looking right over to him.
His eyes snapped open and the heat crept up his ears, which turned a sweet shade of pink.
He had to swallow once – twice – to prevent a lump forming in his throat.
Mr. Yun on the other side was amazed by you. He smiled widely, grabbing the case of the broken misery and bringing it in a staff room and made a mental note to further determine the reparation later.
You, on the hand, were standing in his small shop, expensive violin in hand and too flabbergasted to know what to do with it.
When the luthier came back with a new case and took the violin out of your hands to place it delicately in the velvety plush.
Yoongi, who was still frozen in place, now had at least an idea what to say to you.
“You play- beautifully.”, he muttered and scratched his neck.
Wow, great, Min Yoongi. The oh so famous rapper and producer Agust D and BTS’ Suga didn’t come up with more than this?!
It sent him elsewhere when you gave him that sheepish smile of yours and bowed to him with a ‘thank you so much!’.
Thank god he didn’t forget that you basically didn’t know any Korean. It would’ve been even more embarrassing for him. At least it seemed like you didn’t really were aware of who he was. But he didn’t get his hopes up. People always find out in the end.
“As long as your instrument is here with me, you’re free to take this one home. I know you’ll take care of it.”, Mr. Yun offered and when your jaw practically hit the floor, Yoongi couldn’t contain his snorting.
“Thank you, sir! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, you exclaimed, bowing exactly seven times to the man in front.
You were stunned.
You knew that your violin was a good one but the one he offered you was definitely worth more. That didn’t really matter to you, unless a strangers’ hands it to you, trusting you with it.
It’s an honour to you.
He asked for your name, that he could write it on a post-it for his employee, in case young Jihyun (that’s what he called him), wanted to reorganise his shop (again).
When you and Yoongi left the store together, he pulled his mask up again, hiding half of his face below it. Didn’t concern you so far, you sometimes wore a mask here too, pollution was one of the good reasons.
But when he put on some sunglasses, despite the sky still being clouded from the earlier rain, you got suspicious.
“Whether the sky nor I shine bright enough for sunglasses.”, you informed him while tilting your head and he mentally slapped himself for not thinking this through.
“It’s- uh-“, think, Min Yoongi, think.
But Min Yoongi was indeed not thinking. Well, not thinking of things that made sense apparently.
“My eyes are a little sensitive, UV lighting, you know.”, he said.
And you weren’t an intruder, you brushed it off.
“Where do you live?”, he asked, looking around.
It was just five minutes from here and Yoongi decided that a short walk wouldn’t hurt. But he indeed texted his driver where to pick him up and when.
You two walked to your flat in silence but you’d consider it as comfortable silence. When you reached the front door of the apartment complex your Airbnb was located in, you set the case down carefully.
“Mr. Yun told me on the phone that a friend of mine reached out to him.”, you started off and Yoongi gulped. He forgot about that part.
“I assume you were that friend, right?”
And he was lucky that he shoved his hands in his pockets a little earlier but if you’d see how he clenched his fists, you’d know your assumption was definitely right.
“Huh? No, I know Mr. Yun, he’s a friend of my mother.”, he said. And it wasn’t even a lie. The luthier was indeed a friend of his mother. That’s why Yoongi exactly knew who could help you.
Surprise flooded your features and you nodded along.
“What’s your name?”, you asked him now.
“Yoongs.”
The answer was simple and despite your lack of knowledge of Korean culture, suspicion settled in the pit of your stomach. But you decided to not ask him about it.
“It was nice meeting you, Yoongs. Thanks for taking me home.”, you started, his eyes softening.
He shrugged, an action that should resemble a ‘You’re welcome’. The decision was made, knowing he’d spill more if he kept talking. He’d actually reveal himself. And he didn’t want to.
He didn’t want you to like him because he was famous or because he was rich. Maybe he was afraid you’d like one of his hyungs more, like Jungkook. Tall, built Jungkook with the voice of an angel.
Or maybe Namjoon, the super smart man that would stand up for you any second, if you just squirmed.
But he wasn’t his hyungs and it was nagging him.
It was nagging him so much, that he was still thinking about it when his driver parked in front of him and your voice was gone behind the thick door to the stairs.
The drive back was silent. Yoongi didn’t speak to the people driving him most of the time. It was his time to think, after all. He sat back and there it was, the train of thoughts.
All that while you wrapped yourself in the blanket and sunk into the mattress. Today was awful enough.
Awful enough as in disgustingly awful. A day you’d rather spent in bed, not doing anything at all.
And then you snatched your phone off of the night stand and opened google.
‘Yoongs seoul south korea’, you typed into the search.
And there it was.
The answer was right in front of your eyes.
Thousands of pictures of so-called “Min Yoongi”.
And your instinct proved you right. He was suspicious, indeed. And it was definitely him, you’d recognise those eyes every single time.
But what shocked you even more was that he was a big deal everywhere. Not just in South Korea but worldwide.
You switched to Instagram, searching for his name and his profile popped up.
49M followers.
Oh, you felt sick to your stomach.
But instead of being disappointed, you were excited. Maybe it was the name, but Min Yoongi rolled of your tongue way better than Yoongs and you actually liked his name. It suits him.
And you couldn’t resist sending him a message.
‘So, Yoongs is your alias or something?’, you typed.
The moment Yoongi read the message, his smile dropped. She found out soon. Way too soon.
He wanted to apologise, to tell her why he lied to her but ended up typing something he’d cringe over later anyways.
‘Some kind of nickname’
‘Oh, really? You could’ve told me’
‘I’m sorry.’
And he was sorry. It felt like it all was going downhill and he clutched the phone in his hands so hard, his knuckles turned white.
‘It’s okay, don’t worry. Had to google you first anyways’
He chuckled. Did you really not know him? He already had his answer, you didn’t recognise you back in the store when he pulled his mask down, that could’ve been answer enough for his overthinking mind.
And then, in a blink another notification rolled in. And another.
‘y/nslifewithkeychanges followed you.’
‘Btw… My class is planning a concert. Now that I know you’re famous I feel ridiculous to ask you such boring things but-‘
‘Would you like to come?’
Silence. Yoongi sat on the couch in their living room, his hyungs somewhere around here. Well, Jungkook and Taehyung were also on the couch but controllers clutched in hands, mashing the buttons to fight a monster in that random multiplayer game they bought earlier today.
Lucky him that they were caught up with something so simple while he was squirming in his seat, determining if he should agree and come around for your concert or not.
Until Namjoon came home, threw his jacket on the rack and his bag in a random corner.
“Hey, boys, I’m home!”, he spoke and noticed Tae and Jungkook, but also Yoongi.
And Yoongi’s appearance?
Not normal.
His shoulders were slouched and the grasp on his phone was noticeable tight, while he was looking out the window, past Kook and Tae. His right leg was bouncing up and down, a great indicator for the anxiety rising within this young man.
‘Sure, when, where?’
You quickly texted him back, giving him all necessary information, adding the dress code.
It was a date, you’d see each other in four days. All dressed up, he’d even see you perform and it made you more than excited.
Summary: He got his hands on some plane tickets and shows you what you've been missing out on. Or: Jeon Jungkook, the man that uses discounts as a valid reason for spontaneous holidays. (They are, tho.)
Author's note: Good evening y'all! I'm kind of back. And back in my Kpop-era, thanks to Min Yoongi. I had the idea for this drabble/songfic on the train back home and for the first time in months I felt sun on my face. Of course this song started playing. It. Felt. So. Good. Depression? Cured. Hotel? Trivago. I hope you like it!
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“Look, they were on sale!”
Chimed the young man while ripping open an envelope that just arrived. He dropped his bag in the hallway, threw his shoes in the corner next to the front door and shuffled into the kitchen.
You were currently seated at your dining table and a mug with your favourite tea in front of you, same as your laptop.
You shot the dark-haired male a curious but annoyed look, warning him not to disturb you too much, you still had work to do.
But he flopped down opposite from you, slamming your laptop shut with a thud. You shot him a glance and you could swear you felt your eyebrows touch.
“Jungkook, what did you do this time?”, you asked, a hint of mistrust laced to your voice.
“Jagi, listen! I know you didn’t want me to but-“, he smiled and pulled two tickets out of the envelope, just to make the moment he placed them in front of you a little more dramatic.
It wasn’t some concert tickets to a band you fangirl about, how you thought. And it also wasn’t a ticket to your favourite museum in Seoul.
“What the actual fuck, Jungkook!”, you blurted out.
The way his smile formed into a pout and his usually very attentive eyes looked down, onto the tickets. But you weren’t let him slip. You weren’t mad, just surprised. But he was faster to react than you expected him.
“I-I’m sorry, Jagi… I thought you’d like to go.”, he muttered, trying to snatch the tickets away and out of your sight, but you caught his hand.
“Jungkook, what the fuck. No, I want to go and I’m so- so, so happy. It was blunt surprise. I really want to go with you.”, you explained and he stopped in his tracks. When he looked back up at you, you realised how glossy his eyes were.
He really was excited about this, huh?
He couldn’t even process what happened by how fast you stood up and made your way to his side to wrap him in a tight embrace. And the affectionate and cosy man he was, his head leaning against your chest, wrapped his arms around your waist.
You kissed the top of his head, caressing his temple and cheek while shaking your head.
“Thank you, Kook. I am so happy to have you by my side.”, you declared and pressed another kiss into his soft, and a little ruffled hair. That caused him to look up at you, this time a charming smile plastered on his face. The one you loved seeing on him.
And he was indeed the most adorable man you ever met.
Hell, he did everything for you, you name it.
He’d bring some food home if dance practice was taking longer. He’d take you into the studio when recording a new song just so that you’d hear the pre-edited version, he knew you loved those so much. He’d even beg your boss for more home office days or holidays when he was going on tour with the boys and wasn’t ready to leave without you.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
And that’s how you ended up in a short line for the business class entrance of the plane. And it felt real.
Next to you was the raven-haired male, a grin plastered on his face as he clutched his backpack and hectically searched for his passport.
The passport that was in your hand.
And for that exact same reason you never fully trusted him while traveling.
“(Y/N), have you seen my passpo-“, he asked and turned around to face you shortly after.
“Oh! There you are!” And with that he snatched it out of your arms and cradled it like a baby that’s been away from his mother for too long. And you simply shook your head, watching how Jungkook handed his passport to a flight attendant, almost dropped it and then got pointed at like a monkey in the zoo.
“You’re that kpop-dude, right?”, the woman asked and you had to scoff. ‘That kpop-dude’ was definitely a bit too funky sounding. You’d understand if she’d say ‘the goofball of BTS’, but she didn’t call him that.
And he just smiled at her, nodded and walked past her. That man’s mood was indestructible.
You quickly checked in after him, following him with fast steps to not lose him, because he suddenly chose to jump-walk through the bridge.
But once you settled, the seat was actually comfortable. And this time you didn’t feel terrified of flying, even if you usually did. Especially when flying with the rest of BTS. But that might be because their chaos and a plane? Never a good combination.
But Jungkook was almost immediately knocked out by exhaustion and got as comfortable as a starfish. His left arm on your head, his right arm on the armrest of his seat. He somehow managed to drag his long legs almost halfway below the two seats in front of him.
And there it was, Jungkook basically passed out.
You knew it would happen but that’s what he needs when traveling. Like a dog that was exhausted of wagging its tail too much.
The weather in Malibu was more than good, even better than your boyfriend expected it to be when booking those tickets.
You could’ve sworn that the sun burned your skin the second you stepped out of the air-conditioned airport. Being a skin care addict had its perks and one of them definitely was that you’d bring your sunscreen everywhere with you.
After a few moments of throwing things around in your bag, you finally found the minimalistic container of your favourite brand. The sunglasses pushed back into your hair, you started to apply a generous amount of the sunscreen on your face. And once you’re done, you handed your boyfriend the sunscreen and he gave you a look that said:
‘I am here to get a tan!’, featuring a playful smirk.
When you flicked his forehead, he pouted again and started applying the cream.
Avoid problem no.1: Sunburnt Jungkook, done
He called a cab and the driver rushed to get the suitcases into the trunk before you finally were finally making your way to the hotel Jungkook booked. And he even refused to tell you the name to check out the website.
The check-in was more than relaxed. Not a lot of people were in the lobby and you were able to make your way to the suite. And the bed – it was a dream. After more than eleven hours of traveling, you had enough for a day.
But Jungkook was still full of energy, pulling you off the bed and guiding you to your suitcase.
“Please, put on that pretty summer dress, (Y/N).”, he pleaded with his insufferable puppy eyes.
You knew that putting up a fight would not work out with Jungkook and so you signed in defeat and got into that dress he loved so much.
He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the suite, even out of the hotel. You barely registered where he was heading until the ocean came into view and you were able to hear the seagulls, hell, even the crashing waves clearer now. And once you reached the beach, he slipped out of your hand and ran towards the water. You walked a little further and sat down in the sand, watching him run back to you.
When he flopped down next to you, you were able to see the smile – the most beautiful one ever – displayed on his handsome face. His dark eyes were glistening and taking you in, sun shining in your face and making your skin glow.
God, he found you endearing every day but today? You looked far more ethereal than in the daily buzz back home.
“You never came to the beach, or stood by the ocean- you never sat by the shore under the sun with your feet in the sand.”
He took your hand in his again, but this time he pulled you closer. Despite the temperature he held you in his arms, overlooking the sea and sitting in the sand.
“But you brought me here and I'm happy that you did.”, you smiled, leaning into him a little more. Inhaling his deodorant - mixed with his perfume and the smell of himself – a little more this time.
Allowed it to flood your senses and feel his heartbeat.
He was here with you, sitting at the beach in Malibu and watching the sun go down.
You never thought it would happen because even coming to terms with his insane idol-schedule was hard. You had a job that didn’t require as much commitment as being a star required and you always told yourself that you’d be okay as long as he was, but you missed the couple time still.
He was the most loveable dork you ever met. Funny, charming, goofy, smart and effortlessly good looking. You could wake him in the middle of the night and he’d still be the most handsome man on the planet (ignoring his heavily dishevelled hair).
And he knew how much you wanted to spent a few days away from home, only him and you. How you never really experienced going to the beach or simply enjoying the deafening silence of the ocean. He remembered all of that, no matter how much time passed since you told him.
It was important to him, after all. If you’d ask him what he ate for lunch yesterday, he’d clutch his chest dramatically and say “I told you I have the memory of a gold fish.”
But he never forgot one of your quirks or your wishes. He knew them by heart. He promised himself to fulfil each and every one as long as he could, as long as you let him to. And that was all that mattered to him.
‘You two are just like the waves that flow back and forth,
Sometimes you feel like you’re drowning and he’s there to save you.’
You pulled back, enough to see his beautiful smile once again and how his curious gaze never left yours. It was so unreal but also so ungodly beautiful.
“And I wanna thank you with all of my heart.”, you muttered, brushing a strand of hair out of his face.
He could see his lip quiver for a slip second, before he pulled you in and kissed you, soft but desperate. Eager but longing.
You knew that this was the start of a new chapter in your book of love.
‘It’s a brand new start.’
‘A dream come true.’, you thought to yourself as his right hand crept up your cheek and gently caressed the delicate skin, his left hand finding its way to your waist, it’s second nature for him.
I might or might not got a story prepared for yall. And when I say it’s gonna be huge - i mean it. I wanted to split it firstly but i decided against it. I want to give you THE shit. I hope you’re excited cuz I am 😡😡
Ship: Verkwan (Vernon x Seungkwan)
Group: SEVENTEEN
Genre: Urban fantasy, fluff and a bit of angst
Warnings: anxiety, bad humour, unhealthy amount of iced coffees and fear of death (literally)
Badly explained: Imagine falling in love with death's son. Seungkwan can relate.
Wordcount: ~1500 words
- - -
This is fine. Totally fine. Seungkwan thought to himself while slowly sipping his third iced americano on this morning. He didn’t know whether he was trembling because of the caffeine or because of this date. Probably both.
If we think logically about it, nothing can go wrong, right? It’s not like we’re getting married instantly once I meet his parents and we have a contract that states that my soul will be his once I die, right?
Seungkwan sighed and looked around in hopes of getting distracted successfully. His thoughts were getting weird. Again. Something that happened way too often when he thought about his current relationship.
The café he was currently sitting in was rather quiet and empty, more like an aesthetic Instagram story area than a place you really wanted to spend more than ten minutes in, yet Seungkwan was too obsessed with the iced americano here. He knew his drinking habits weren’t something you’d normally call healthy but at the same time he was an adult with adult money and no one could stop him. At least I’m not doing drugs, he liked to justify his love for iced coffee.
Additionally, if his addiction, or as he liked to call it ‘healthy obsession’, helped out the local café in this city then so be it. Unlike most of his friends, he actually enjoyed being alone from time to time since his social battery seemed kind of broken lately. Well, that was the case until he met-
“V-vernon! Hi! Take a seat!”, Seungkwan exclaimed way too excited for his own taste and gulped before shakily pointing towards the empty seat in front of him. Vernon let out a quiet laugh before sitting down and taking off his leather jacket in a way too casual manner. Seungkwan was almost sad since he loved seeing Vernon with that blue-ish leather jacket.
“Kwannie, please. We’ve been on multiple dates and you’re still so nervous?”
“It’s the coffee, I swear.”
“That makes it worse.”
“I know.”
Vernon shook his head smiling while Seungkwan thought about digging a hole and vanishing with an unlimited amount of iced coffee. The young man still didn’t understand how someone so calm and handsome like Vernon could like someone like him. A nervous system without a real system. That’s what Seungkwan liked to call himself sometimes. Yet Vernon seemed to be really fond of that.
“You really don’t have to be that nervous. It’s not like you’re gonna die, you know?”, Vernon tried to calm him down. The young couple had gone through this talk multiple times but this didn’t stop Seungkwan to still be worried. Realistically speaking, who wouldn’t be nervous to meet their partner’s parents? Especially if the father was death himself?
“But what if-”
“What? He already knows who you are and that you’re the reason why I’m enjoying my existence here on earth, you know? Isn’t that already enough? And if not, then he’s gonna have a problem with me.”
“Vernon…”
“What? You think I’m not serious?”
Seungkwan gulped before looking away in shame and nibbling on his lowkey soggy paperstraw. “It’s not that…”, he tried to argue but didn’t know how to explain his fear. Wasn’t it normal to be scared of death? Especially if you were accidentally dating his son?
“You know, I… I really love you. Like- I know it’s more than a simple crush.” He took a deep breath, still avoiding Vernon’s dark eyes. “And I enjoy thinking that our love is real and that someday we can say cheesy stuff like ‘Till death do us part’ but-“ – “You mean till my dad finds out?” – “Vernon…” – “What?”
Seungkwan’s frustration was growing once again. He just didn’t know how to explain this without making a fool out of himself. “It’s not like I think your father’s a bad guy but… w-what if I do something wrong and he… w-well, you know- d-does his job?”
Silence. Well, if you ignored the mainstream pop music playing quietly in the background and the coffee maker making weird noises. “Seungkwan…” Vernon tried to find the right words. He didn’t like seeing Seungkwan so anxious, even if he could understand the reason for it.
“Kwannie, your dad works in finances, right?”
“Right…?”
“So will he try to get me into a horrible contract that makes me lose all my money when he does not seem to like me?”
“No- Vernon- That would be unnecessary work for him-“
“Exactly.”
Silence. Again. Vernon could clearly see how Seungkwan’s braincells seemed to connect slowly as he tried to understand what the heck Vernon was talking about. He even stopped nibbling on his straw for a moment.
“Oh.”
“So you finally understand?”
“I mean- I- Well, is it really just a job for your dad- I mean he’s not called death just because of a job, right?”
“Hm… while he does enjoy his job, he’s not so fond of unnecessary work. He also has kids and a man at home, you know?”
With furrowed eyebrows and doe-eyes Seungkwan looked at his partner, still not quite understanding that he would not die if he made even one mistake. Is he joking?
“And what about your other dad?”
“Huh? Ah, he works in a flower-shop right down the street.”
“Vernon- That’s not what I meant-“
“Well, what do you want to hear?”
This was getting embarrassing. A flower-shop? Really?
“So none of your dads are gonna kill me if I… I don’t know, make them mad on accident?”
“Seungkwan, my dear. The chances of that iced americano killing you are higher than everything else.”
Damn. Seungkwan didn’t need to get humbled that badly yet somehow this was exactly what he needed.
“Are you sure?”
“Yup.”
Seungkwan couldn’t help himself but break out into a little somewhat nervous and somewhat relieved laugh. This was so absurd. He was so scared of meeting Vernon’s parents yet there was nothing really to be scared about. At least according to Vernon. Well, he probably knows his parents better than I do…
“Gosh, sorry… I bet they’re nice people but it’s just-“
“It’s fine, Kwannie.”
There it was again. That damned smile that let Seungkwan melt every. single. time. Just a little smirk and he felt like he was becoming one with his coffee. Maybe someday Seungkwan would replace the melted caramel in his coffee.
“They’re actually quite excited to know you, you know? In a good way. They know that you’re making me the happiest I’ve ever been and they hope that you’ll be the reason for that in the future as well. So no death do us part stuff, okay?”
Seungkwan’s coffee seemed to get colder while his heart was slowly filled with warmth.
“Really?”
“Well, aren’t your parents happy about our relationship?” Vernon asked with a pout that let Seungkwan melt again.
“Of course they are!”
“Well, see? Just because I grew up a little bit… different doesn’t mean that my parents don’t want the best for me, Seungkwan.”
The coffee addic- lover needed a moment to think while slightly biting down on that soggy straw. He was still a nervous trainwreck but hearing Vernon’s words soothed him in a weird way. While Seungkwan took his moment to grasp the concept of not dying because of a little mistake, Vernon ordered black tea before looking back to his partner.
“What’s on your mind, hm?”
“That this straw tastes like shit.”
Vernon expected more concerns or even anxiety about not knowing what kind of flowers to gift his parents, yet moments like these reminded Vernon of why exactly he was so in love with this man.
Both looked at each other in silence before bursting out laughing.
“So… do you feel more comfortable with meeting my dads? I promise, they’re nice people. A little bit emo but… you know, they accept other colours as well.” Vernon asked carefully while trying to joke around a bit. Jokes calm down, right?
“Hmm…” Seungkwan thought out loud and his lips finally separated from that straw. Probably because his cup was empty. “I mean… I still feel like I’m gonna pass out by the thought of that but… as long as I wake up again?” – “You will.” – “Well then… I think I’m ready.”
Seungkwan smiled and Vernon simply smiled back while carefully stroking Seungkwan’s hand. That was easier than I originally anticipated, Vernon thought to himself while his black tea was being brought by an old lady. Maybe Seungkwan isn’t such a scaredy-cat…
The rest of the date seemed to continue in a calmer manner. An unholy amount of bad jokes and one or maybe two coffees later the couple left the little café while holding hands and enjoying the warmth of the sunlight. Vernon was so glad that Seungkwan didn’t seem too anxious anymore. He was already planning on how to really introduce him to his parents when Seungkwan’s grip suddenly tightened and he looked like he had seen a ghost.
“Are you okay, Kwannie?”
“What kind of flowers does your dad like? What if I buy the wrong type or ones that are too cheap or whack and-“
“Oh for god’s sake, Boo Seungkwan!”
a/n: here's a little ficlet no one asked for. i felt like writing it because i just did an extended edition marathon of the hobbit and lord of the rings :) it was also the first movies i ever wrote fanfics for 🤭
gif not mine
wc:375
You couldn’t help but let out your laughter as you watched Legolas and Gimli participate in their drinking game. Legolas looks unfazed by the drinks and Gimli is a drink away from sleeping on the floor in the Golden Hall tonight. You were nursing the pint of ale in your hand as you stand next to Éomer.
“Here, here. It’s the Dwarves that go swimming with little, hairy women” Gimli belches. Causing you to snort taking a drink to cover it up.
“I feel something. A slight tingle in my fingers. I think it’s affecting me” Legolas says admiring his fingers. You shake your head laughing.
“What did I say? He can’t hold his liquor” Gimli’s words a bit slurred before his eyes cross and he falls to the floor. Laughter roars around the table.
“Game over” Legolas says shrugging, you join his side wishing Éomer a good night if you don’t cross paths again tonight. You link arms with the inebriated Legolas heading outside to enjoy the crisp night air and the stars.
“Did you have fun mellon?”(friend) your ask as you let go of his arm. He catches your hand before your arm drops to your side.
“I did meleth nîn” (my love) he answered, the term of endearment throwing you off guard. You avert your eyes to the stars above instead of your entangled fingers. He gently calls to you to catch your attention. your eyes meet his piercing gaze. “You have such a pretty name, though meleth nîn suits you perfectly”
“So drinking games cause you to use endearments enril nîn?” (my prince) a smirk on your face as you question him getting over your bashfulness.
“The drinking game simply gave me the courage to use the endearment I’ve been waiting to call you for a long time” he says cupping your face with his free hand.
“For what it’s worth I think you have a pretty name as well. But I can always call you melethron”(masc.lover) you suggest closing the gap. you could feel the crisp air dance along your face, but you focused on how his steady breathing fanned your lips. glancing from your eyes to your lips one last time he pulled you in for an overdue kiss.
end note: if anyone reads this thank you :) if not thats fine too!
A.N: this was intended just to be a mini one-shot to get back into writing. although, I will admit I got carried away. oops. heh.
Pairing: Legolas X F!Reader
Song Inspo: Mountain Meditation by Chantress Seba
🌬️ I highly recommend listening while reading
Summary: Legolas senses a presence following the fellowship on their journey and it seems to be particularly fond of him.
Disclaimer: all mythology related to the reader was made up for plot purposes lol. not canon.
Word count: 5.6k (once again, idk why I’m like this)
Warnings: comfort, fluff, loneliness, flirting, suggested sexual innuendos, stalking sort of (yes, again, I know. you’re just gonna have to read it I can’t explain it)
Additional Content: moodboard linked here
MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD
When you are nothing but a breeze that passes through the travelers’ bending hair. When you are nothing but a tickle that brushes upon the vagabonds’ breaking skin. When you are nothing but a whisper that hisses upon the wanders’ deaf ear. When you are nothing but alone, you too are a voyager.
That’s what (Y/N) was, wasn’t she?
She sailed through the years, watching every war and every battle. She observed every lover as she observed every enemy. She attended to them all, from their start and to their end. She perceived them hunt—first for food and drink, the simplest things, then for more. She witnessed them build—smaller creations in the beginning, then large structures that reached deep into her sky. She gazed at them as they grew, in mind and body. They began as little screaming balls of flesh, then sprouted into large beings that walked and talked. They produced more of themselves. They multiplied. Families, they had called it. She saw each one of them go by, twisting with desire as they did with age. Each was sneaking to find something—riches, power, hope, love, safety—but it didn’t really matter. She just bore witness. She bore witness to the happiness and to the dread. Yet, even when it was dark and desperate, she did nothing. She was silent—as she was meant to be.
Cursed to ride the winds for all of her immortal years.
Cursed to guide them and bend them.
Cursed to behold them.
Cursed to be them.
Alone.
A Watcher of Wanderers.
She was unescorted, unattended, and unchaperoned. She was unaccompanied as she wove through the desolate lands of Arda. Through the oceans, through the deserts, through the mountains, she bent and bellowed. But (Y/N) didn’t need anyone to accompany her, for she simply didn’t exist—at least not in the way one would think.
But after so long in solidarity, watching and observing, (Y/N) wondered what it would feel like to be more than what she was. She wondered what it was to taste and touch, to smell and see, to live and breath.
She thought how pain must feel. How did it bring red to the surface of their skin? How did it bring tears to their eyes? How did it bring screams to their throats?
Still, she wandered more.
She thought how laughter must feel. How did it bubble in their chests? How did it bring water to their faces? How did it bring glee from their mouths?
Still, she wandered more.
She thought about how love must feel. How did it soften their gazes? How did it bring drops upon their cheeks? How did it bring proclamations to their lips? How did it feel to welcome in another soul? Was it safe—not that she would know what safety felt like.
Still, she wandered more.
As each day passed and each traveler followed, she continued to question, guess, inquire.
Some of these creatures were more in tune with the natural currents of the word. It was the immortal beings, distinguished by the pointy ears that lent them an air of otherworldly grace and their lightning-quick reflexes. They were not just any immortals, but those whose lineages stretched back to ancestors who had walked among the Valar themselves. At times, (Y/N) entertained the fantasizing notion that they possessed the rare ability to hear her, though she recognized that this belief was nothing more than wishful thinking. As a watcher of wanderers, she liked these ones best.
Yet that did not mean that others did not catch her eye, for she was curious of anything unusual from the regular patterns of life. And when nine—born of various blood—walked together, her curiosity peaked.
So, she followed them.
One was a Maiar, but not like her. He shared the same celestial origin, shaped as one of the spirits meant to aid the Valar in their worldbuilding endeavors. However, his form differed greatly from hers—a form (Y/N) yearned for. She had seen him many times before, puffing his pipe. He had many names, but most knew him as Gandalf.
Two more figures accompanied him, mortal beings aging like the rolling seasons. Burling and tumbling they went, with their countless heavy weapons. One emanated kindness, his heart a wellspring of warmth. She had seen him before too. But the other, he was….troubled.
Another was one of the immortal, graceful, pointy-eared race—elves, she recalled. He was fluid and elegantant. He was observant and evaluating. He was tranquil yet vigorous. (Y/N) liked this one. She always had liked the elves.
From the mountainous regions of unyielding stone came another companion—a burly and gruff figure. His anger resonated in the sharpness of his words and the boastry of his laughter. (Y/N) could feel his temperament through the earth's vibrations. It wasn't always pleasant
Next, matched four more. They were stompers and stumblers, in a clumsy sort of way; yet, it was evident that they held no desire to ravage the earth. If anything, they seemed to harbor deep affection for it. The sad one broke her heart, the kind one warmed her soul, and the last two made her giggle….and sometimes she thought the elf could hear it.
See that was the thing.
Initially, her fascination led her to accompany them, drawn by their sheer otherness—such a strange assembly of beings walking in unison. But as she ventured alongside them, she felt connected to them. She got to know them, and one seemed to know her….sorta.
The first time she noticed such a thing was when a sound of joy escaped her being.
The two silly ones, which she found out to be named Merry and Pippin, were cracking jokes at one another and performing a game of riddles. As they did so, they ended up breaking into an argument. The most ridiculous words they called each other: mushroom murderer, squash squisher, beet beater…..
She couldn’t help but release a whisper of amusement, and when she did, the elf—Legolas—abruptly halted. His eyes brimmed with uncertainty, and he swiveled his head, as though searching for someone.
But he couldn’t….
No…
He couldn’t have heard her….could he?
Of course, occasionally, all could hear her. In moments of anger, she would unleash her fury with deafening howls and piercing screams, causing gusts to bellow and trees to tremble. Her yell created a hollow sound as it funneled through the rest of the world—echoing upon mountains, bouncing off houses, riding along hills, drifting through the farmer’s mills. It took much frustration to create such a ruckus of vibrations. However, just a faint breath of joy? There was no way the elf could hear that….right?
…..
The second time that a strange encounter occurred was when the group stopped by a deep river. Legolas had wandered a little way away from the group where the trees were denser and the light was less, and oh of course (Y/N) followed.
There, the elf stripped off his clothing, letting the moonlight bend and dip upon his muscled form. The cool night air played gently against his bare skin as he ventured into the water, welcoming the invigorating sensation. With his hands, he meticulously scrubbed away any lingering grime, running his palms across his arms and fingers through his damp hair until no trace of dirt remained.
Gently, he laid upon his back, floating at the surface of the smooth river.
(Y/N) watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and repeatedly. Meditation, she recalled the elvish creatures of the world calling it.
Eager to draw nearer, (Y/N) gracefully glided closer, brushing ever so lightly upon the surface of the ripples. She circled him, her gaze drinking in every detail of his form slightly obstructed by the water—his elegant facial features, his sleek hair, his sculpted biceps, his toned abs, the sharp v-line of his lower abdomen, and, she couldn't help but notice his rather large…
A soft giggle escaped her lips, her warm breath brushing against his cheek.
Instantly, Legolas sprang upright, his feet finding a place upon the rocks beneath the now turbulent ripples. He swiftly pivoted, calling out, “Who’s there?!”
(Y/N) was still, shock and uncertainty shrouding her.
Legolas' cerulean eyes darted anxiously from side to side, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He moved with haste, continually spinning around in search of…..something.
“You…you can hear me?” (Y/N) whispered.
He did not respond and his state did not change. There was not an ounce of any recognition across his features.
…..
The third time that Legolas was startled by the curious enigma that appeared to be haunting him was when the fellowship had set up camp for the night.
Gandalf and Legolas were on watch, their attentive gazes shifting from the crackling fire to the perimeters of their camp. Mithanduil contentedly puffed on his pipe, releasing wisps of smoke that ascended into the night sky. Legolas was methodically sharpening the tips of his arrows, preparing for the inevitable fight. The ambiance was strangely peaceful, with the imminent dangers appearing to be held at bay, at least for the moment, even in the face of the dread.
However, this serene atmosphere suffered a sudden intrusion, initiated by (Y/N)'s ever-present curiosity.
She loved watching the creatures of Arda. It was her favorite pastime over the eons. Well, her only pastime. After all, she was a watcher of wanderers. For, as her shapeless form, there was nothing more she could do with her existence.
Therefore, when the elf began to draw whetstone upon the tops of his arrows, (Y/N) wanted to observe. She crept closer to him, becoming entranced by the rhythmic and tranquil nature of his movements. Drawn into the spectacle, she leaned in further and further until, unintentionally, she brushed lightly against his form.
His hand instinctively reached for his shoulder as his wide cerulean blues initiated their frequent and fervent scanning of the dim surroundings—a routine that seemed to be occurring with increasing regularity nowadays.
Gandalf’s gray eyes drifted upon the elf curiously, his bushy brows lifting in questions.
“I swore…” Legolas began, still peering about the campsite. “I swore I felt…something.”
The wizard’s inquiring gaze only deepened, imploring the elf to add more to his rather empty statement.
Noticing Gandalf's unspoken request for more information, Legolas continued, "My apologies, Mithranduil. Lately, I've been sensing a presence. Yet, when I search for it, I'm met with nothing but emptiness and confusion."
Gandalf huffed before pressing his lips to his pipe again, his gaze drifting away in a dismissal of danger. “It is probably just (Y/N).”
“(Y/N)?” He questioned, still puzzled.
Gandalf glanced at Legolas, and with a nonchalant hum, he spoke again. “The spirit of the wind. A Maiar with a form that knows no shape.” He rolled his eyes as he gruffed out an additional mumbling sentence. “She has a particular fondness for elves.”
Legolas, still flushed with adrenaline, only stared at him. “I—I do not understand.”
The wizard’s gray gaze drifted back to the elf, who was clearly seeking answers. “(Y/N) is one of the Maiar, tasked many ages ago by Manwë to help shape Arda. She still lingers in this realm, often stirring up her usual mischief as she follows wanderers on their adventures."
Legolas frowned. “If she wanders this earth, why can I see her not?”
Gandalf drew another puff from his pipe before responding, "She was cursed to be without form, unlike myself."
“Cursed? But why?”
The wizard raised his bushy brows once more. “Her mischief irked many—especially Manwë.”
“What sorts of mischief do you speak of?”
Gandalf shrugged. “Inconsequential pranks and harmless tricks. Quite frankly, an annoyance to us all, but not dangerous.”
At that very moment, a gust of wind swept in rather forcefully, causing the wizard's beard to billow and lifting his hat into the air, sending it spiraling down to land by his feet.
Legolas's lips parted in surprise as the wind subsided, and Gandalf let out a string of curses and grumbles.
"I believe you might have offended her," Legolas remarked, amusement dancing in his eyes.
The wizard snorted, his irritation obvious, as he picked his hat up and placed it atop his head once more.
….
As the weeks continued on, Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s subtle presence.
It seemed she was indeed traveling with them. On scorching hot days, a refreshing breeze would rise and caress them gently, offering some much-needed relief. As the autumn months settled in, that coolness transformed into a warm breath flowing through the air, comforting them. When they kindled fires, little gusts rushed forward, providing oxygen and nurturing the flames. If an item of clothing or a parcel were dropped, it would be delicately carried toward a hand ready to collect. It was as if the wind—(Y/N)—was assisting them along their quest.
It was particularly noticeable to Legolas that she often lingered in close proximity to him. Her presence seemed to envelop him frequently, becoming unmistakable and distinct.
When Legolas would be tasked to collect firewood, a gentle breeze would follow him. It would brush leaves out of the way to reveal dry wood and small sticks, perfect for kindling. The wind murmured songs among the soil, almost as if it were beckoning him to dance.
When Legolas would be hunting for food, a calm drift would search alongside him. It would twist through the brush, startling small prey to reveal them to him. The wind breathed wordless encouragement to him, as if challenging him to impress her.
When Legolas would be walking upon hard terrain, a playful gust would walk with him. It would blow his hair away from his face to reveal his features. The wind sent flirtatious laughter upon his elvish ear, chasing shivers along his nerves.
When Legolas would be changing out of mud or blood covered clothes, a devious wisk would linger behind him. It would push his tunic and undershirt upwards to reveal his muscled form then make his extra clothing scatter. The wind whispered sultry glee to him, teasing him in efforts to show more.
This mischievous presence that shrouded him seemed to flirt with him—challenge, play, and engage. Of course, Legolas recalled Gandalf's earlier assertion that the wind spirit held a particular fondness for elves, but the true depth of this fondness had only become apparent as her companionship persisted. He couldn't deny that their ongoing interaction held a certain allure, for he would be lying if he said their little game did not entertain him.
When the fellowship was in Moria, however, silence reigned. The usual gusts and breezes that had accompanied them were absent. It was as if the very air mourned with them. Yet, as soon as they exited, with grief heavy upon their soul, a quick adrenalized wind came to find them. It seemed to brush around the rocks, taking in the pain of the travelers and trying to process what it meant. Though, as the wind noticed one was no longer there, she took to sending warmth their way in hopes to soften the sorrow—shrouding Legolas for just a moment longer than the others.
When the fellowship was in Lothlorien, (Y/N) came too. Rustling up trouble among the elves with flirtatious gusts, lifting skirts and sweeping away cloaks, fostering much annoyance and embarrassment among the immortal elven folk. However, those brushes of wind often struck Legolas more than any other.
When the fellowship—or rather the three that remained—took to sprinting across Arda, the wind ran alongside them. It pushed them forward with encouragement, almost too eagerly and too persistent. It was as if she was whispering ‘hurry hurry’ in their ears—as if she possessed knowledge they did not. Though Legolas suspected neither Gimli nor Aragorn noticed the subtle guidance of the wind.
A watcher of wanderers indeed.
As the group arrived in Rohan, their hearts brimmed with renewed hope, for they had gained the knowledge of Merry and Pippin’s life and the presence of Gandalf.
Following Mithranduil's expulsion of the sorcery that had ensnared King Théoden, the weary travelers were ushered to various chambers where they could refresh themselves and find much-needed rest.
Legolas opted to bathe immediately, determined to liberate himself from the accumulated dirt and grime that had clung to his body through the arduous months of travel. He eased into the in-ground basin, the soothing warmth and enveloping steam creating a cocoon of comfort. He tended to his skin and hair with meticulous care until he finally felt rejuvenated. Elves did not like to linger in grime.
Emerging from the bath, he stepped into the adjacent bedroom, where his gaze was drawn to the open windows, allowing the cool breeze to waft in. The wind seemed to recognize him instantly, rushing forth with an almost mischievous enthusiasm. It nearly yanked his towel from his waist! It was only through his quick reflexes that he narrowly avoided a less than modest reveal.
Legolas ground his teeth. “(Y/N),” he mumbled in a chastising tone.
In response, the wind seemed to giggle, as if playfully toying with him.
He rewrapped the towel and hastened to close the windows, yearning for a night of undisturbed peace. Normally, he would tolerate (Y/N)'s whimsical outbursts, but on this night, his weary body and mind craved respite and tranquility.
Legolas changed into more comfortable attire and settled into his bed. He allowed his heavy eyelids to drift shut, for he craved sleep. But after a brief moment, they snapped open.
He watched as the curtains shifted ever so slightly, followed by the tapestry on the wall and the drapes above his bed. The blanket beside him rustled gently, and then, there was no movement in the room.
She hadn't left when he closed the windows.
She was still here.
Though he couldn't see her, he was acutely aware of her presence…right beside him.
The elf couldn't help but blush, a warm crimson hue creeping up upon his ears and cheeks. Oh, if his Ada knew he was flirting with the wind….
In an effort to divert his thoughts from such matters and avoid giving (Y/N) any indication that he was dwelling on them, the elf shifted onto his side, turning away from the playful Spirit whose home was the sky.
…..
Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s presence among the battles at Helms Deep and the Fields of Pelennor; although it wasn't until the latter that he knew for sure she was actively fighting alongside him.
Amidst the relentless chaos, the elf wielded his two silver blades, using them with deadly precision to cut the throat of one orc and immediately behead another. He swiftly pressed on, eliminating as many of the enemy forces as he could.
The men around him were growing weary, their energy dwindling, but Legolas continued to stand firm, even though he too felt the drain on his strength.It seemed the dark forces had taken notice of the relentless devastation he was causing among their ranks, as they began to single him out. Hordes of orcs began converging on him, and Sauron's archers took aim. However, the arrows meant for him didn't find their mark. They veered off course, curving with an unexpected gust of wind, plunging directly into three orcs nearby.
Legolas whipped his head around in astonishment, but it took only a moment for him to grasp the source of this unexpected intervention: (Y/N).
As he continued to take down orc after orc, she remained by his side, using her ethereal presence to force the creatures back into one another, granting Legolas a distinct advantage and a brief moment to catch his breath. She deflected arrows aimed at him and extended her helping hand when he faced the Oliphaunt. She even lifted him up with a gentle drift when his footing faltered. (Y/N) followed Legolas throughout the battlefield, her commitment unwavering, even after the war had drawn to a close.
Exhausted and burdened by grief and relief, the mortal, battle-weary soldiers sought solace and took to rest, heal, and eat.
Legolas volunteered to wander the battlefield in search of any survivors.
He tread carefully, his feet moving softly over the blood-soaked and red-stained earth. The ground seemed to bear witness to the agony, uncertainty, and hope that had marked their strenuous journey. Legolas had never anticipated surviving the trials that had befallen him, yet here he stood, alive and persevering against all odds.
With a heavy heart and the absence of survivors to be found, Legolas, fatigued and drained, decided to make his way back to his comrades who were attending to the wounded and offering peace to those in need.
In a sudden fierce gust of wind, Legolas found himself surrounded by an unexpected swirl. Swiftly, he whirled around, his keen elven senses alert, just in time to witness an orc raising an axe menacingly above his head, poised to strike.
However, Legolas was not met with such a gruesome fate. The wind seemed to rise against the approaching beast, as though an invisible force hindered its advance. However, that force began to no longer be invisible. A strange, translucent figure began to materialize into the opaque form of a woman. She stood, her back pressed against his chest and her front pushing firmly against the would-be assailant. With her arms raised high, she held the axe at bay, preventing the deadly blow from falling upon the elf.
Legolas' lips parted in astonishment, his eyes widening as he struggled to comprehend the event unfolding before him. But everything transpired too swiftly for him to intervene. The figure solidified, to the point that he could feel her against him, and the axe came down at an unusual angle, slicing into the woman's side.
A cry escaped her throat, and she collapsed to the ground, her pain echoing through the air.
Suddenly thrust back into the harsh reality of battle, Legolas swiftly grasped the knife strapped to his belt. In one fluid motion, he drove the blade into the orc's heart. The creature gurgled for a moment, blood pooling from its mouth, before finally collapsing lifeless.
Without hesitation, Legolas fell to the unconscious woman crumpled at his feet. His heart clenched with dread as he noticed the crimson stains spreading across the delicate, iridescent fabric that cloaked his form.
"No, no, no," he murmured, his hands pressing against the wound in a frantic attempt to stop the bleeding. Panic tinged his voice as he glanced at her face, his voice rising in desperation, " (Y/N), you foolish Maiar. Why did you intervene? Why did you put yourself in harm's way?" His bloodied hand gently cupped her cheek. "Wake up. Come on, wake up!"
She remained unresponsive.
Swiftly, Legolas gathered her into his arms, keeping one hand pressed against the bleeding wound, and hurried towards the makeshift infirmary.
Pushing the doors open, he called out in a voice laced with fear, "Aragorn!"
Immediately, the urgent tone drew the attention of those nearby, even in the midst of the ongoing chaos of the healing ward. The Ranger, alerted by the distress in his friend's voice, swiftly moved past the curious onlookers, with Gimli at his side and Gandalf following not too far behind.
“A-an ax to the side. She’s bleeding heavily,” he sputtered out. “Please.”
Pointing to a makeshift bed, Aragorn commanded. ‘Get her on that cot! Quickly now.”
Gimili, entirely bewildered by the unfolding events and his friend’s frantic behavior, called out, “Laddie, who is that?!”
Legolas, gently placing her form on the cot, didn't even bother to look at his dwarf companion as he replied. “(Y/N).”
The dwarf shook his head and raised his hands in confusion. “Who the fuck is (Y/N)?!”
The elf sent Gimli a quick, almost exasperated glance. "The wind!" he snapped back, a bit too sharply.
Gimli’s eyes drifted around the room, his confusion turning into concern for his friend’s well being. “The wind?” he questioned. “Did ya happen to get knocked in the head, tree boy?”
It was Gandalf that chimed in. “(Y/N), a Maiar, the spirit of the wind. She has been with us throughout our journey.”
Aragorn shot the wizard a brief look as he swiftly cut away the mysterious, translucent fabric cloaking the woman and began tending to the deep, bleeding wound.
“With us the entire time?!” Gimli bellowed. “Then why haven't I seen her once?"
Gandalf peered over Aragorn’s shoulder. “She doesn't have a corporal form. At least, she didn’t. I’m afraid this is the first time any of us are seeing her.”
Legolas ran his bloodied hands through his hair, his fingers trembling with anxiety as he stepped back. His chest felt constricted with worry while his eyes remained fixated on the woman as Aragorn worked. “Can you do it, Aragorn? Can you save her?” he implored, his voice quivering with a mixture of desperation and hope.
The man met Legolas' gaze. His determination to save her was unwavering, even in the face of this strange reveal of a profound connection between a force he didn't know existed and his dear friend. Seeing Legolas’ pain, he responded firmly, "I will try."
Gimli, moving to stand beside the wizard, watched the scene with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He couldn't help but murmur, "I've never seen him so frazzled before." His words were filled with a deep sense of empathy for his elven friend, for this had clearly shaken Legolas to his core.
Gandalf let his gaze shift from the elf to Gimli, offering the dwarf a knowing look in response.
The watcher of wanderers had now become a wonder to the wanderers themselves.
……
Legolas sat in a chair beside (Y/N). He was quiet and still as he watched her chest rise and fall steadily. Aragorn had successfully treated her wound, preventing infection, though she remained unconscious. She rested soundlessly, her expression peaceful—despite Legolas’ bloody handprint, now brown, dried, and cracking, that lingered upon her cheek. Her features were graceful and elegant. Each curve and bend of her face accentuated her beauty. He wasn't sure what he had expected her to look like, though how she appeared made sense with her temperament. He could see her flirtatious streak, her mischievous tone, and her protective aurora. She was exactly what wind would be: strong yet gentle, fierce yet calm, emotional yet stern.
He watched over her, just as she had watched over him. So intently, that he didn't notice one behind him until a hand pressed firmly upon his shoulder.
"Legolas," Aragorn began, his expression filled with gentle concern as he inquired, "How do you know this woman?"
Legolas sighed, keeping his gaze on her. "She has been traveling with us," he explained.
The sound of wood scraping against stone told the elf that the Ranger pulled a nearby chair over to sit next to him.
“So Gandalf said. Though I do not understand,” Aragorn admitted.
Legolas shifted. “I started to notice strange occurrences—unexplained events.”
Aragorn raised a brow, “Strange occurrences?”
Legolas felt his cheeks heat as he cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, but more importantly, I noticed something helping us. Consistently.” He paused, “I asked Mithranduil about it and he told me of her.” He shook his head. “He said she was cursed to watch us—us inhabitants of Arda—and not be able to walk among us.”
“Then how is she here now before us, like this.”
Legolas glanced at his hands, a hint of nervousness in his expression. “I asked Mithranduil that too,” he admitted. “He said her sacrifice must have ended her limbo.” He then let his eyes land on his friend and he spoke once more, his tone almost fearful and definitely shy—something Aragorn had never seen from the elf. “If she doesn't survive, because of me, will Arda have wind no longer? I haven't felt a single breeze since she fell.”
Aragorn sighed. “I do not know, my friend. I do not know.” He reached forward and placed his hand upon his shoulder. “Please go clean up and rest. You are no good to her like this. I will take care of her, I promise.”
Legolas hesitated, “But what if she wakes?”
The Ranger sighed again, “If she wakes, I will send someone to—”
He was interrupted by a soft groan escaping from the lips of the Wind Spirit.
Instantly, both Legolas and Aragorn turned to look at the woman.
Her eyelids lazily blinked open, and she gradually became aware of her surroundings. A frown creased her face as she emitted another groan. Her hand moved slowly, making its way down to her bandaged side.
"What... what is this feeling?" she murmured to herself, puzzled by the sensations.
To her astonishment, Legolas responded, “Pain.”
She scrambled to sit upright in bed, the pain surging through her body but the sheer force of adrenaline propelled her actions. “You–you can hear me?” she whispered, eyes wide.
Legolas moved closer, taking a seat on the edge of the cot. In a gentle tone, he answered, "I can hear you. I can see you." He tenderly raised his hand to her cheek, resting it on the dried bloody mark already there. "And I can feel you."
A hushed gasp escaped her lips as she reached up to touch his hand. "It's... it's warm," she remarked, her voice filled with surprise. "I didn't expect it to be warm."
The elf smiled gently in response.
A mischievous smirk then graced her lips, and her gaze, rather unmistakably, wandered down his figure and briefly settled upon his pants. “Is everything this warm?” she inquired with a teasing tone.
Taken aback by her words and her brazen gaze, he cleared his throat. A noticeable flush crept across his cheeks and ears as he broke eye contact. With that, Legolas turned to face Aragorn, who stood behind him with raised eyebrows and a playful grin forming at the corner of his mouth. “My apologies, Aragorn.” He glanced back at the Wind Spirit. “(Y/N), this is—”
She interrupted him, her eyes on the other man. “I know who he is,” she said with confidence. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn the second, also called Strider or Wingfoot, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and the Uncrowned King of Gondor.”
The expressions on both men's faces contorted, morphing to sheer astonishment—how did she know all that?
(Y/N) grinned sheepishly. "I am the wind," she confessed. "I see and hear a great deal."
…..
The Minas Tirith Castle was cloaked in the deep shroud of a late moonlit night as Legolas walked through its ancient halls. The soft flickering of torchlight painted wavering shadows on the weathered stone walls, lending an atmosphere that resonated with the weight of its history. His footsteps were silent as he moved, and his thoughts followed suit, meandering through the corridors of his mind.
However, up ahead, a figure bathed in a gentle glow caused Legolas to abruptly halt in his tracks, his thoughts instantly converging on the woman.
“(Y/N),” he called out, approaching her. “What are you doing away from the House of Healing? You shouldn't be out of bed. You should be resting!”
She let out an exasperated sigh, not appreciating his chastising tone. "I am a watcher of wanderers, Legolas. Therefore, I too am a voyager. It is not in my nature to stay still."
Legolas released a heated breath through his nose. “That may be true, but you now have a corporal form. No longer are you just a breeze.”
She rolled her eyes, shifting her feet to hide the persistent pain emanating from her side. “I may not be a breeze any longer, but I still control all the winds of Arda. I could knock you on your ass in seconds, injured or not.”
Legolas chuckled lightly. “I never would have gotten involved with the wind if I knew she was so temperamental,” he teased.
(Y/N), suppressing a grin, responded with a snarky retort. “Oh, so we are involved, are we?”
The elf sent her a look, trying to hide his expression of amusement. “I would be naive to think that all the times the wind flirted with me, it was just a ploy.”
“Maybe I enjoy a ploy from century to century, Legolas,” she replied.
He laughed lightly at her jest, then took a step closer, his demeanor shifting to one of seriousness. Gently, he pressed his hand to her bandaged side. “(Y/N),” he began softly. “Why did you do it? Why did you get in between that orc and I?”
She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with sincerity. “You know why.”
“Say it,” he commanded.
“Because,” she began, her tone becoming shy and soft. “Because, I—I love you.”
Instantly, Legolas wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her close to him. He pressed his lips fervently against hers. As their mouths met with equal intensity, he tasted the essence of the wind. And oh, it tasted of adventure, suffering, and joy. It tasted of warm bread from the north, bitter nuts from the east, clear water from the south, and fresh fruit from the west. It tasted of eons and eons of wandering, yet still, she tasted of home. Her hands found their way into his golden locks of hair, twisting and tugging it lightly. He allowed her to siphon off his heat, for the wind was often cold and bellowing. Though, he could tell she was taking more than just his warmth—she was taking his love; and oh, he gladly gave it to her.
Ok I'm sorry but if I see one more story labeled x reader and when I go to read it your fugly ass OC named 'nicole' or 'bridget' are in there IM GONNA LOSE MY FUCKING MIND! THAT IS NOT X READER! I know some of you could say "well just switch it out with your name"
NO I WILL NOT! ITS ABOUT THE PRINCIPLE OF FALSE ADVERTISING! STOP IT!
Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk
And if you are one of the people that does this... I will find you and it will not be pretty
No hate to you if your name is nicole or bridget those re just examples
Warnings: a slight bit of fear and the hint of a panic attack
Wordcount: 3410 words
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Summary: It's your sixth year in Hogwarts and your way to see art makes things a little different. How come that train of racing thoughts doesn't rush you over and swallows you? Or: A carriage ride with Draco, the boy who was the best painting and the sweetest melody you've ever heard.
Author's note: I don't even know how I did this, not gonna lie. It was planned different but just an hour ago I deleted more than half of what I wrote and decided to let my creativity take over. I hope you like it. If you do, please consider giving it a like or a reblog. Thank you so much, happy new years eve <3
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The crowd was full of people pushing you around and around, your destination was just ahead of you though. Somehow you even managed to lose your friends, the only thing you heard was them shouting your name at the top of their lungs, hoping to find you under these thousands of people rushing through King’s Cross.
Your alarm started ringing and you simply knocked the clock that was placed on your bedside table off of it. Soon enough the ring died down and you let out a groan, now fully awake. To your misery, you’re now not able to check out the time. Shaking your head, you stood up and grabbed the clock from the ground and placed it back onto the small wooden table.
It was 6:30am, you still had a good two hours left to get ready. Today wasn’t just another day of the holidays but rather the first day of your sixth year in Hogwarts. You agreed on meeting up with your friends in a coffeeshop close to King’s Cross before actually boarding the train and an underground-ride would still take you 45 minutes to actually get there.
Living in London had its perks but also some negative sides – like this. Your family bought a house a little out of the inner circle but that ‘little’ was still a lot. Getting around the centre of London was easy, to say the least, but not getting TO the centre from outside. But today was your lucky day.
“Yes?”, you offered the person that knocked on your room’s door to step inside and soon the door opened. Your mum stuck her head inside through the doorframe and smiled at you.
“Up, you are! Very good, I’ll make breakfast for you. Dad and I are coming with you to King’s Cross!”, she exclaimed happily.
Two years ago, you would’ve groaned again but now a smile appeared on your face.
“That’s so cool!”, you smiled and brushed your hair.
“I planned on meeting my friends there a little earlier, do you want to tag along? I guess Ron’s mum joins us too.”, You now explained for the brunette that was standing in the doorway.
“We would love to.”, was her answer and closed the door behind her, stepping down the stairs and calling your father for the news.
She was always very honest and back in the days you considered that as something very intrusive and annoying but you – well you didn’t learn to live with it – rather learned to love it. Whenever you brought someone home, she was always right about their first impression.
But not to understate your dad. He was the nicest man you knew and also your friends knew. He was smart, keen, very humorous and an excellent wizard. Even if your mother was a little more talented, they both are quite the magical couple, to say the least.
Luckily you weren’t lazy yesterday and packed everything up hastily to not be in a hurry today and you made a mental note on treating yourself for that later on.
When you stepped down into the dining room your dad was already loading your suitcases into the trunk of the car. He wished you a good morning and threw a “you look very pretty!” while stepping out the door with the cage and the black owl inside.
From the kitchen erupted the smell of fresh bread, bacon, tea and more delicious things and since you were hungry you followed that smell, seeing your mum frying some bacon on the stove. You took a seat at the table and your mum placed a mug with some green tea in front of you.
You gratefully took a sip from the only slightly hot drink and waited until your dad entered the room, gave your mum a little kiss and then sat down on the opposite of you. Esther, your mum, placed a plate filled with bacon and a basket full of bread rolls on the table and then sat down next to you, taking a sip from her freshly brewed coffee.
After breakfast you put on your coat (the non-stuffed one. It’s not even winter yet.) and made your way to the car, where your mum and dad already waited for you. Esther handed you the bag you got yesterday when shopping in the Diagon Alley and you stuffed it – to the other things – in the trunk. Your dad started the car and together you drove to King’s Cross.
“Good morning (Y/N)! Nice to see you, Esther! Where’s your husband?”, screeched Molly, the mother of Ron as soon as you and your mother stepped into the little coffeeshop and spotted them in one of the corners with the huge tables. Other than Molly were Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron already seated. Only Fred and George came from the back of the store as soon as your mum and you took a seat.
“Hello Molly, hi kids! Xavier is searching for a parking lot.”, your mother explained, smiled and ordered a Latte Macchiato. You ordered a simple hot chocolate and the waiter disappeared, probably to prepare the drinks. Fred, who was sitting next to you, started throwing pieces of bread at you, while Ron blew bubbles into his tea with the straw George gave him.
Ginny watched the scene with a horrified face, tugging on her mother’s sleeve. Hermione was busy shaking her head at the boys and your dad, who just arrived after a 20-minutes search for a parking lot, startled Fred by grabbing his shoulder and pretending to pull the ginger off of his chair. The boys and your dad broke out in laughter and even Molly smiled a little.
You had a chat and soon enough the clock showed that it was time to leave. Well, rather hurry. Your dad got the suitcases out of the car and you took one of them, so that you had the other hand for your owl, Houdini, and his cage. Your mother and your father both took one of the two suitcases that were left and rolled them, together with the Weasley’s and Harry, to some trolleys.
All of you ended up at platform 9 ¾ with Houdini sleeping in his cage. You always wondered how the owl was able to sleep in the most stressful moments.
After you boarded the train with the golden trio, Fred, George and Ginny, you found a cabin with enough space for everyone, well, if you squeezed in. After a few hours Fred and George left and ten minutes later they sneaked back into the cabin, looking right and left as if they got chased. When they sat down, they opened their hands and revealed round about two dozen of chocolate frogs that all of you shared.
Upon arrival at Hogwarts, everyone left their cabin and started chattering and as each year’s start, the train erupted into slight whisper. Harry and you did the same, sticking your heads together and talking about things that would happen in the coming year.
“I hope that the test that Professor Snape prepared won’t be too hard.”, he started while looking over to Hermione, who held a book in her hands.
‘Potions Grade 6’ was seemingly getting all of her attention until Ron whipped it out of her hands and shook his head at her.
“We’re not even there and you’re already learning? Bloody hell, Hermione!”, he screeched while walking down the train station of Hogsmeade, seeing Hagrid in the distance, seemingly waiting for them.
“I won’t fail that class this year, Ronald.”, explained the girl again and shoved the book back into her bag, rolling her eyes at you as if she wanted to say ‘Does Ron even ever think?’.
“Unlike you.”, you commented on Ron, who scoffed.
But suddenly a certain white-haired boy walked past the seven of you while snickering.
“If you’re scared just get back into the train, your ride home is calling!”, he called out while high-fiving Crabbe and Goyle.
Malfoy looked different this year. A little more worn out than usually, he left his slicked back hair in the past and made no extreme efforts into styling it anymore. Instead, his blonde strands were slightly covering his eyebrows. He even grew a little more and was now an entire head taller than you, could’ve also been more. He was wearing his usual robes; the emerald green and black robes were loosely draped over his shoulders.
You looked over your right shoulder and his eyes met yours while you shook your head at him. He cocked his head and turned on his heel to follow his two friends, even though he claims that they’re not his friends because – who would’ve guessed – a real Malfoy doesn’t need friends.
At least that’s what Lucius always taught his son. Your parents were very much different, even if most pure-bloods were thinking that way, your parents didn’t see themselves as superior. And Draco was becoming more and more a Malfoy. You never lied to yourself about anything and especially Draco was challenging your wits. It wasn’t like you both were friends either, let’s be honest we all know that no matter what kind of pureblood you were, Draco would always NOT hang out with you if you’re friends with at least one part of the golden trio.
That’s something you hated, really. You had that slight feeling in your gut, even if it wasn’t more than just a spark, you wished for Draco to be nice at least once. To give in to that feeling, proving your head and everyone’s mindset wrong.
“This Malfoy boy doesn’t need friends.”, a student once chimed when all of you enrolled Hogwarts and waited for the sorting hat to choose whether you’re a Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff, maybe a Ravenclaw or sometimes a Slytherin.
Of course, you overheard those words and a couple of minutes later that boy was sorted into Gryffindor. It didn’t make any sense to you at all. Someone who basically knows none of another student would be happy off if that student was left in Hogwarts without any friends.
Students were rushing to get past you while Hagrid was eagerly (and loudly) talking to some first years in the back. The lights of the Hogsmeade Station were warm and, paired with the lights of the train, made most students feel this once again magical and fuzzy feeling. The feeling of home, where you eat, sleep, learn and laugh with your friends. Full bellies after the biggest buffets in the Great Hall, the excitement when your owl was gliding right towards you, landing gracefully on the table in front of you, a letter in its claws.
The feeling of walking to the Defence Against the Dark Arts and chattering with your friends along the way. Sharing a conversation with the Nearly Headless Nick about something that happened earlier this day and you thought was overly funny. Sitting in your dorm while it was basking outside and scattering large drops of water against the windows, holding your favourite book in your hands.
Or how you wrapped your scarf tight around your neck to hopefully not freeze while waiting in the Viaduct Court for Hermione, Ron and Harry to leave to Hogsmeade, even if a fluffy, white blanket was spread over the entirety of the surrounding area. Forgetting your gloves and watching them come back to life while holding a big glass of butterbeer in your hands.
Hogwarts was everything but especially a second home.
What would’ve been if you were in Draco’s shoes? You’d be a child that wanted to make friends with Harry Potter badly, unaware of what a powerful wizard you’d be later in your life. You’d give everything to please your dear father, you’re the one with no real, actual friends.
Despite Pansy because right now you wouldn’t call her a true friend of Draco’s anyways.
“(Y/LN)!”, someone called out your name and snapped you out of your trance by pulling your arm away from the station. You squinted to make out the light hair of Draco, who’s grip was firm on your robe’s sleeve and dragged you out of the mass of people.
With a gulp you let out a long huff and then inhaled the clean and fresh air that was surrounding you. Your heartbeat steadied and you finally realised where you were.
Trees to your right, trees to your left. Behind you and in front of you. But in front of you was also that bleach-blonde coward with a smug smile on his face. It wasn’t something that happened usually, sometimes you had a flashback or two, maybe twice a month but it was the first time in what felt like forever where you drifted off and zoned out in a public place to chase those thoughts.
They were like waves, crashing into you and soaking you in cold water, dragging you down into the deep sea. They were luring you deeper and deeper, making sure you lose track of depth. And you couldn’t stop them. They were there.
Memories from years ago were still present in your mind as if they happened yesterday. You wanted to forget things but you simply couldn’t. You wanted to forget how you thought Harry, Hermione and Ron were staying in Hogwarts the entire holidays and that you informed your parents about your absence because you were afraid that your friends would be sad to see you leave. But you couldn’t forget how they changed their plans and were picked up by Molly Weasley. You wanted to forget how sad you were but you couldn’t stop crying once you reached the common room.
It was a timeless jump and run of being hurt and trying to overplay it. You simply didn’t think you could be like Harry. Everyone wanted to be his friend and almost everyone had at least some respect for him but you –
You were always just the girl they notice but nobody really knew your name, except for the trio and her close friends or family members. And you didn’t plan on letting anything slip but Molly eventually found out. Even if she just found out about the changed plans of the trio but when I tell you she scolded Ron for it, I’m understating.
Molly sent the three of them back after the holidays with some presents for you. Homemade toffee, a very fluffy and warm pullover she probably knitted herself and a dozen of other, pretty things. She even remembered what kind of treats Houdini loved, even if you only said it once when you two met at Kings Cross.
But in front of you was still standing Draco, behind him a carriage.
“Potter slows you down.”, he scoffs and you pursed your lips before climbing up into the carriage without retorting something. It was as clear as daylight that he’d use any opportunity to make others understand how displeased he was about Harry’s stay in Hogwarts.
He sat down opposite from you and leaned back against the backrest. His school uniform was - once again – brand new. The button up was a clean white and his tie was neatly done but not as tight, it left space for him to- actually breathe?
And of course, he noticed your analysing gaze on him. It puzzled him. It even made him cock his head. He was watching you. No words between the two of you, until you looked up at him, into his darting and stern grey eyes.
“What happened to your old uniform?”, you asked.
“Didn’t like the shirt. Got a new one.”, he simply informed you. But that was a lie and you could basically SMELL it. You scoffed.
“So, the new shirt came with a brand-new uniform? Cool! Like in a 2 for 1 package? Tell me the shop so I can stop by and get myself a new shirt AND new robes!”, you snickered and bit your lip before you realised what you said.
And it wasn’t your guilty conscience but rather the look on Draco’s face that made you realise you had actually said that out loud. How stupid can one be. He gulped and now looked to the neatly polished shoes on his feet, knowing that you knew things you usually couldn’t have known.
“My old one- It was part of a mishap.”, he once again said and you accepted his answer. You usually didn’t settle for only a hint of the plot but today you decided to let it slip by. Maybe it wasn’t his day either.
And then there was this deafening silence again, the one you’d be able to cut through with a knife. His face was turned to you but he was looking past you.
“Why were you standing there, at the station?”
The words fell from his lips and you immediately turned to look at him with a pretty neutral face. 10 points for Slytherin for a good poker face. There was a lump forming in your throat and you felt how it made it harder to breathe. But since he wasn’t telling the whole truth whatsoever, you’d simply do the same.
“I don’t like crowds. It overwhelms me.”, you offered him this excuse as if it was bait for a special fish you’d like to catch. He only nods as if he knew what you meant. How could he?
With the spare lighting of the moon and stars that lit the way and how he sat with you made him seem so mundane, so easy – almost harmless and calm. How the light bounced off his pale skin and his eyes looked so cold but yet so attentive.
You would never deny that Draco was pretty. But the kind of pretty where you’d watch from the distance and simply fawn for yourself. It wasn’t like a crush but rather just a wish to be a little closer. To tell him that he could do anything he wants and yet you’d sit here, enjoying the sight of him. Oh, and how you loved art.
Art didn’t mean drawing or music but that you could sit and watch for hours, no matter what is in front of you. It could be a simple flower, maybe even the moss on the ground at dawn or yes, paintings. It could be the sweetest and most delightful sound of a violine or even the Hogsmeade Station without students and lit in warm light in the early morning hours. But it could also be a certain pure-blood wizard that was sat right in front of you.
You hated him for being such a coward but once you saw the things nobody saw about him, like when he caught a butterfly in the Slytherin common room and gently set it outside. God, he was so perfect and yet so-
What even was he? He wasn’t bad, at least not as bad as you and your parents considered his father, Lucius Malfoy. But he also wasn’t the good one. But he was eager and that’s what fascinated you. He kept going no matter how many times he’d get stabbed in the back, it was something not a lot of people did. He believed in himself and even if it wasn’t in the most genuine way, self-confidence was a big deal in the world of wizards and witches. You won’t ever be a great wizard if you don’t believe in yourself.
“Draco, I like you.”, you said, after you jumped out of the carriage and looked into the direction of the castle ahead of you. You weren’t sure if he heard it but once he stepped next to you, taking the sight in, you knew he heard it.
It wasn’t that the look on his face was a different one, it was just a lot calmer and his eyes were a little glossy. He gulped again, not even facing you for a second. His fingers gently touched the back of your hand and then intertwined with yours. His fingers were warm, despite the light breeze that was blowing through the forest earlier. They were trembling a little.
“I know.”, he said, squeezing your hand. A light chuckle escaped from his lips and it somehow made you feel at ease. His thumb carefully brushed over the skin of your hand and a shiver ran down your neck.
Wordcount: 1800-ish. Sorry, I forgot the number TT
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Summary: You didn’t really engulf in hanging out with your neighbours, especially because most thought one of them was going bonkers, until you got a demonstration of it in form of a very big hole. Curious, as you were, you didn’t bother listening to their conversations. And to their surprise, you weren’t just the „little neighbourhood girl“, you were also bloody intelligent.
A/N: Here I am, able to finally announce my comeback with nothing greater than a good ol‘ Sherlock fanfic. Thanks to Prime for the given opportunity to re-binge-watch the show because it’s only available for 8 more days, I had to make a move and rewatch it. I was addicted to Sherlock a few years before I actually started writing fanfictions. And I’m going to Paris for the christmas holidays so there will be plenty of time for me to write. Don’t be shy, send me your favourite character and I’ll write a oneshot about them!
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Thank the heavens it was a normal morning ‘til now. You walked down the creaking stairs into the kitchen of your two-floors-flat. It wasn’t particularly early but your alarm didn’t ring yet, which means it should be around 8am.
You mentally thanked yourself for filling up the kettle yesterday evening as you turned it on and got one of the tea bags out of their little box.
A few birds were chirping outside and the sound of cars passing the house was a sign that the people of London started to wake. The sun beamed through your kitchen window that had little lace curtains on the sides and filled the kitchen with warm, cozy light.
The bottom of your favourite mug touched the countertop and the water in the kettle was bubbling uncontrollably. The sweet, slightly aromatic smell of the tea unfolded in the ground floor as soon as you poured the hot water into the cup and the dark brown colour took over the plain, transparent water.
The gunshots almost made you drop that favourite mug. It wasn’t like you weren’t used to disturbance caused by your - almost - lousy neighbours but things like this didn’t happen YET. And so you sighed, placed that mug back on the counter and walked up the stairs.
Right in your bedroom was a big, gaping hole in the wall.
‘Oh, come on, that’s not possible.’, you thought to yourself, brushed the hair out of your face and looked through that hole. The grey hair of your neighbour, Mr. Watson, came in sight.
He pointed right towards the hole and Mr. Holmes, his roommate, was standing a little further away from it.
“Now I will have to go wake (Y/N) and apologise for your temper.”, the doctor sighed and shook his head, pinching his nose bridge.
But before he could leave, you cleared your throat, cocking your head to the side and waving them through that hole.
“No need to.”, you said sarcastically.
He whipped his head around and his eyebrows shot up, almost meeting his hairline. He once again glanced at Sherlock, signalling him to apologise. Sherlock, who was holding the gun and seemed to be cause for this situation, just shrugged and walked away.
And now it wasn’t a normal morning anymore. Well, that day was a week ago and since then you ignored Sherlock for a good reason. The hole in the wall wasn’t fixed and yet the dark-haired consulting detective didn’t seem to make a move on fixing it. Of course, you told your landlady, Mrs. Hudson, about the inquiry but she didn’t have an effect on him either.
“What? How are you not able to crack that code? You said it’s simple!”, you overheard John exclaim as you came home one day.
“It’s not my fault. I’m not able to think.”, Sherlock bit back.
The feeling in your gut told you he was looking through that hole in the wall and so you, as quietly as possible, sneaking up the stairs to listen to their conversation.
“You’re unbelievable! What was the code again?”, now asked John.
You perked up, fiddling a small piece of paper out of the pocket of your coat and the small pen you brought back from your trip to Ikea yesterday.
“3C-5A-2E-7B. Locker.“, the detective read out loud.
You scribbled the combination of numbers and letters down on what you had in hand and quickly shuffled down the stairs, hoping they didn’t hear you. Usually you weren’t one to eavesdrop, but codes were something that genuinely interested you. And so you found yourself sitting in your bed almost every night, thinking about that code.
After a week and three days you asked a good friend if he was able to fix the hole in your bedroom wall and when he agreed, you were happy to finally sleep without hearing John and Sherlock talk. He fixed the wall and while doing that, Sherlock inspected him and probably deduced stuff.
‘One daughter, divorced. Very overworked, enthusiastic, has a dog, probably a German Shepherd. 31 years old, has a crush on you.’
The latter made the detective eye your friend up and down. He wasn’t ugly, instead a slightly handsome man. Short, blond hair and green eyes. Tall and knew how to work with his hands. And how the sight burned in his eyes.
Until it knocked on your door. It was your only day off this month and you planned on enjoying this with some self-care, ordering take-out and watching your favourite TV-shows.
Fiddlesticks.
John Watson was standing on your doorstep, still his finger on the doorbell when you opened the door. A puzzled look was plastered on your face as you asked the man to step inside since it was raining cats and dogs today. He gladly accepted your offer, tore his shoes off of his feet and placed them on the black mat you had prepared for soaked shoes. You took the wet coat out of his hand and hung it close to the heater so it at least had a slight chance of drying a little.
While he walked into the living room and took a seat in one of your beloved dark green arm chairs. You once again filled water into the kettle and prepared two cups of Darjeeling tea. You gently set the fine porcelain cup onto the coffee table and smiled at him.
“No sugar was that, right?”, you asked, to which he nodded with a little confusion.
It wasn’t like you were able to listen to each conversation John and Sherlock had in the past few days. Nah, that wasn’t the case. Your hearing was just extraordinary and you heard them talk through the wall… Sike.
You sat down in front of him in the other dark green arm chair. You had two of them. One without pillows and the other one had a pretty pillow with white ornamental flowers on it. It did fit to your interieur and also kind of to your personality, at least that was what John thought.
“I have a feeling I might know why you’re here.”, you told the man opposite of you. His brows shot up the same way when you peeked through that hole a few days ago.
“How come?”, he asked, sipping on the freshly brewed and still a little hot tea, finding it a little more aromatic than his own favourite brand. And he didn’t mind showing his admiration for a good cup of tea.
You nodded, got up once again and pulled a piece of paper out of the pretty little bookshelf that was standing next to your TV. Sitting down on the chair again, you placed the paper on the coffee table, written side up. John took a moment to read what you wrote down until he looked back up at you.
3C-5A-2E-7B. Locker.
A chessboard was drawn below the code, some of the squares were marked with a cross.
3C = 3. row , C column
5A = 5. row, A column
2E = 2. row, E column
7B = 7. row, B column
M-I-N-D
“Mind?”, John asked, even more confused than before.
How was that girl from their neighbourhood able to solve a code like this? What did that even mean? You just nodded. There was more than just the word.
John knew how he and Sherlock would solve that mystery. He immediately stood up, ran to the door, put on his clothes and called out for you to follow, something you usually don’t like but today you let it slip. Slipping into your coat and shoes you followed behind John, just to enter the building next door.
Mrs. Hudson was standing in the hallway, cleaning it sloppily with a worn out broom. She was very happy to see you but Watson dragged you further up the stairs, leaving the sweet elderly landlady behind without a conversation. You promised yourself to talk to her later today.
John knocked the door of Sherlock’s and his flat open and Sherlock, who was currently experimenting in the kitchen, didn’t bother turning around.
“Why did you bring this woman?”, he asked while inspecting something in the fridge.
“Because she decoded the message we got.”, explained John. Sherlock wasn’t interested in your presence before but suddenly he turned around and you were able to take in the man you were trying to avoid the past two weeks. He was wearing one of his suits and the same basic white button down as every day but it still looked sleek on him.
His dark locks were seemingly freshly washed and hung a little in his face while his piercing blue eyes scanned you, up and down. He wasn’t able to read you. Well, I mean he was able to but there were only a few things everyone would deduce.
Things like ‘Came back from work’ or ‘Looks a little tired’ were usually a little too inefficient for him. Why wasn’t there more?
“How can the girl, that needs someone else to fix a wall, decode something?”, he asked with a snicker and made you scoff.
“Firstly, it was your fault. You didn’t fix it. Secondly, I might be more than just ‘The girl that needs someone else’”, you answered and repeated his words, making eye contact with him.
He could see that you weren’t happy about his wording, especially about the wall incident. But he also wanted to know the answer to the code and so he, same as John does, raised his eyebrows. He wanted you to tell him what you found out.
And so you sat down and explained your theory of how each letter is on the chessboard and showed him the sketch you did. The only thing both Sherlock and John didn’t understand were the words MIND and locker in combination. Little did they know.
“Okay, now that we solved the code, what is that word going to tell me? Does the murderer want to tell me that he thinks I'm brilliant? I am, I know.”, Sherlock said and started walking up and down the living room.
“No, it’s the code to a locker.”, you revealed.
Holmes puzzled gaze was definitely something you’d savour for later, moments in which he’d tell you he’s the brilliant one.
“One of millions of lockers in London.”, John sighed and you added: “A locker in the British Library.”
Sherlock once again nodded, took his coat and grabbed your hand, kissing it.
“I love people with common sense.”, he said, chuckling. “See you in the library.”
And then he ran off, leaving you and John behind. Both of you called a cab to follow him but you weren’t in a rush, unlike your consulting detective.
HAI 👋🏾👋🏾 so um j was wondering if you were doing any parts of angle wing watching over her?? Cause I jus read part 1 and it was AMAZING 🤭
oh lawd, yes of course! i wrote that oneshot mainly for my girlfriend back then and we broke up so I had to take a step back from wlw oneshots. but there will be a part 2!
I am officially back. How are you people doing? I really want to write new One-Shots but lately I am stuck in this german TV show called In Aller Freundschaft - Die Jungen Ärzte. Any germans in here that would read some good old Ben Ahlbeck x Reader or sum?
Warnings: slightly mature language, a bit of kidnapping
Wordcount: 3011
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Summary: You decide to visit Wakanda and end up getting kidnapped by someone who tried to hack Griot but the badass bitch you are, you fight them off and teach T'Challa how to play a game. Shuri and you get closer.
A/n: this took me long enough ngl and I'm kinda happy but also kinda not but I still wanted to give you guys some content. Hope you enjoy it.
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„Don’t you think we need some help from one of the avengers?“ asked M‘Baku T‘Challa while they were looking over some plans.
„They don’t prioritise issues around Wakanda, sadly.“ T‘Challa said, shrugging.
But right in that moment, T‘Challas kimoyo beads started to vibrate. He picked up and saw the projection of your head.
„Hey T’Challa my brother, I had the feeling you guys need help?“ smiled the girl at him and made the king laugh.
„Indeed, sisi. Someone stole some of Shuri‘s plans for vibranium weapons from us and they’re trying to recreate them and hack Griot. So someone should be near to spy on us, you know?“ he answered your question and made Shuri and M‘Baku nod.
„Okay, that sounds like quite a big issue. I’ll tell Tony about it and then come see you as soon as possible, okay?“ was the answer while you were already assigning jobs and tasks to people.
„And by the way, how’s my favourite princess doing?“, you asked while handing an assistant some files and T‘Challa pulled Shuri into sight. She only laughed and waved at her friend.
„Good to see that she’s okay. Okay, I’ll have a quick talk to Tony and then message you, yeah T’Challa?“ He nodded and hung up, only to tease Shuri about what just happened.
„Sisi, you’re her favourite princess. I’d be tomato-red if I were yo- oh.“
He looked into her face and realised-
She was tomato-red.
„Does little Shuri miss her so much?“ teased M‘Baku and made her blush even more.
She didn’t answer, was too scared that it would be obvious for her brother and his friend.
After some time, you and your assistant arrived and were greeted by the king, the Dora Milaje, the eldest of the Jibari tribe and T'Challa's mother and queen Ramonda. When the heroine left the jet, she greeted the king with the typical wakandan greeting.
You even learned that for your friends, living in America usually has its effect on people.
Your assistant, Marc, did the same and then you two went to have a little talk to T‘Challa where he informed you about the fact that Shuri is in her lab, if you as an Avenger want to check up on Griot.
When you were walking down the hallways, you even received a light smile from the general of the Dora Milaje, Okoye.
„Good to see you, Y/n. Shuri is still down in her lab.“
„Thank you, Okoye, good to see you too. I hope we can have a talk later tonight.“
You smile at the Dora Milaje and go further your way until you reached the lab, connecting your phone to Griot.
„Princess-“ started the AI to announce but you silenced it just to pull the princess by her waist in a warm and loving hug.
Shuri was very surprised about that but swung her arms around you.
„Hey.“
You gave her a smile when you let her go to what she muttered a small ‚hi‘ back and got comfortable in your presence.
„Are you okay, my friend?“ Asked the older one while eyeing everything she was working on right now.
„It just been a little tough, I’m all good.“ She answered and smiled.
„I’m here for a reason. People want to hack Griot?“ you revealed your matter of concern to her.
„Yeah! Let me show you. I don’t know why I’m not able to fix it but it smells like a bug.“ She explained and showed you the codes on her phone.
„That code looks faulty.“ You explained and started writing new components inside it, same as she scanned the other codes for security breaches and fixed them.
„I think Griot should be safe from hackers from now on, but we still we should find out who tries to get to him from outside the palace.“ You offered.
The questioning look on Shuri’s face told you that the princess didn’t know about this.
„Okay, look. Do you see this code here?“
„Yes! And I didn’t write it. Faulty codes don’t exist for me.“
The way the princess furrowed her brows told the avenger that she really has no idea where it came from.
„I know, someone tries to connect to Griot with modified kimoyo beads. Did you gave some to someone else?“ You asked her while going through all the options possible how someone would hack into the AI but Shuri just shook her head.
„Okay, I will have to talk to Okoye if she‘d be kind enough to send some of the Dora Milaje with me.” While you told her this you stuffed your iPhone back into your pocket and smiled at her.
„You look stunning today, princess. As always.“
The black girl just smiled and some blush crept into her face as she went in for a hug. You took her acceptingly into your arms and caressed her back.
After looking at her kimoyo beads she once again spoke up. “Are you staying for dinner? My brother asked if you want to eat with us.” And when she received a nod from you, she laughed and let you go.
On your way to Okoye you met Aneka and also had a short talk with her, mostly about Ayo and her, how she was doing and if she’s seen her general.
You and Aneka were getting along very well since you did a first visit in Wakanda and she definitely was some kind of best friend you had here.
She was amazing. Showed you around the country, introduced you to amazing people and you had a lot of fun with each other. She was also the one to introduce you to Shuri.
When she opened up to you about her relationship with Ayo she was extremely happy to meet your excited face when you hugged her with the words “I’m so proud of you!”
Little did she know that you also took a liking to women but never mentioned it, people should still be interested in you because of the good things you do and not because of the gender you like.
A bit further in time, you found Okoye in the throne room together with Ramonda and king T’Challa himself, explaining your suspicion to them.
“Then I will join you to make sure you’re not alone.” T’Challa agreed and looked at his mother as if he was waiting for approval which he, after all, got.
Together you once again went down into the lab and started to suit yourself. T’Challa was getting his last upgrades for the suit and you were just mentally preparing yourself with some meditation before you actually suited up.
“Are you ready to go?” now asked the king and meant you to which you agreed.
“I’m totally ready” You laughed at him and took your weapon from one of Shuri’s desks and attached it to your leg.
T’Challa was waiting for you in the elevator while you said your goodbye to Shuri, who was now looking at you awaitingly.
You forgot the hug.
After a long time of searching around the city they decided to split up and look in the countryside, which wasn’t the best idea after all. Didn’t they both learn from what we see in horror movies?
I mean okay, T’Challa was safe with the Dora Milaje but the fact that you were alone because you insisted on them staying with their king was just hella stupid.
And you agreed to yourself.
“Stupid decision, Y/n, well done dumbass.” You said to yourself while kicking a rock into what it seemed to be bushes. You used your powers since no one was around to judge you except for the bush, that made a little pained noise.
“Eh- what the fuck, am I mental?”
The green scrub moved around and two red eyes focused you.
“Oh holy shit!” came a screech from you as you jumped away from hit. “What the fuck are you now?” It was more of an ironical question because the red eyes implied that the creature you accidentally awoke wasn’t really happy about exactly this. Grabbing a stick that lay next to you, you tried to “defend” yourself with this and waved it back and forth in front of its face.
But the bush’s reaction wasn’t what you thought would happen.
“And you call yourself an avenger? You don’t even recognise a villain when he’s standing right in front of you!”
The scales fell from your eyes. You and T’Challa were looking for someone who tried to hack Griot and was a little tech-genius but this creature looked nowhere like this.
All you could do was give the thing a questioning look and hold your stick up high but he slapped it away like nothing.
“You’re not scared? Good, because you’re coming with me.” The person or thing chuckled and pulled you into them with arms that were covered in leaves. The laugh echoed through your head when you tried to get free from the bush with arms and feet, throwing punches here and there and wiggling around like a worm but their hold was firm and strong.
You bet your screaming was heard miles away, loud cries for help when your kidnapper muffled them with some duct tape with which he glued your mouth shut and - as fast as he could - tied your hands together so you wouldn’t be able to use your powers.
You could’ve facepalmed yourself when you remembered that you actually had those powers but couldn’t really use them now. Why were you this clumsy that you forgot about this? It was a misery.
T’Challa was wearing his panther suit just as if it was his daily outfit and that’s what made him hear your scream, his super sensitive panther ears.
He shot up from his crouching position where he was investigating some footprints and looked alarmed around, especially to Okoye and Aneka. They heard the scream too and Okoye was the one to confirm that it was you. As soon as the king saw her nod, he started running, followed close behind by his guards and made his way to your position.
But you were gone.
The only hint he got were the leaves on the ground which they started following.
Your opponent definitely wasn’t afraid of your wiggle in their arms when he pulled his hood off, revealing a man with a beard and the same red eyes that shocked you the first time.
Another man joined him and they laughed before covering your eyes, exchanging a few whispered words that sounded like “I hope the king and princess come get their little special guardian.”
Good for you that your ears were still functioning perfectly but you whished that you could’ve warned Shuri and her brother before they’d fall into the trap just like you did.
And T’Challa wanted to help you but he simply couldn’t because there wasn’t anything expect for the trail of leaves that stopped right in front of him.
His hands brushed over his face and he signed.
“How am I going to tell Shuri?”
“Brother, where is Y/n?” The female spoke as he entered the lab without the avenger by his side and immediately feel guilt spring up in the pit of his stomach.
“I lost her, Sisi.” His head hung low and he didn’t look her in the eye because he was totally aware of the feelings the princess cherished for the other female but his instinct told him that she instantly was worried.
“Listen, Sisi, I’m so sorry. We need to find her.” He exclaimed and took a halt next to her to see if she was furrowing her brows, which she did.
But Shuri was a genius in every way, of course she gave you kimoyo beads. It was easy for her to locate them. She flicked switches and swished her hands up and down on the holographic screen until she stopped.
“The beads are in Tokyo, Japan.” She announced while checking a few stats like your health data and if you were conscious or not, which disappointed her, because you were not. She was worried, hell was she worried about you.
Ever since you came back to Wakanda you were all she could think of, every time she was working on something you came to her mind and she wasn’t able to focus anymore. It’s like a curse and she firstly didn’t know why she would feel this fuzzy and comfy inside every time she saw you but soon she realised, what it was.
The feelings got worse but she never took the chance to confess them to you, which might end to her dismay. All along, when she told her brother he wanted to encourage her about giving it a go and telling you about it but she always refused to, thinking you might not reciprocate and break her heart.
Shuri was always very reserved when it came to her feelings. She buried them deep inside her and she was sure that she wasn’t going to let them out soon but to be honest, T’Challa had her thinking about a confession more than usual. And right in this moment, she regretted not telling you.
Who knows if she’ll ever see you again?
But the amazing brother he was and the fact that he basically had to help you out made T’Challa light up and give out commands to the general.
“Sisi, I’ll find her, I promise.” His smile was wide and true when he opened his arms for his sister to hug him, which she gladly did while muttering a small “thank you.”
But little did he know that you were stronger than what he thought of you since he never worked with you, only met you on a couple of meetings. He didn’t see you in action and he also didn’t know that you were kind of a hot-headed person that would break everything in pieces if someone would enrage you.
Yes, that’s what he indeed saw when he arrived in Tokyo, exactly at the location where Shuri last saw your Kimoyo beads. But the fun thing was that the house you seemingly stayed in was simply blown up. There were bits and pieces of concrete, corpses laying around but T’Challa still hadn’t the slightest idea of what happened and felt a bit guilty.
But when you rounded the corner, wiping some dust off your shoulder, he laughed.
“Something in my face?”, you asked amused.
“Now I know why you’re a part of the Avengers.” He gave you the same smile Shuri saw just some time ago and took you into his arms.
“Glad you’re alright.”
“You shouldn’t worry about me, maybe worry about them.” A chuckle left your lips as you pointed to one of the (almost) dead guards and made him laugh even more.
“Let’s get back home, someone’s waiting for you in Wakanda.” He hinted and you basically assumed it to be Tony Stark, your “supervisor” or what he called himself. But he was just the guy that gave you one of his flats in exchange for you being an Avenger (but mostly because Fury requested it).
The flight was pretty calm and you taught the king how to play UNO!, which was one of your favourite games on long road trips in your childhood. He was fairly amused even though the fact that he wasn’t able to win against you and asked for more and more rounds. He was the brother you never had but always wished for.
The moment where he played his last card and won the game, he told you that you both had to talk about something rather important.
“Are you single?” His sheepish smile was a little anxious, as if he feared the answer the same way his sister did. But your nod made him sigh happily.
“What about Nakia, my king? I thought you still had that liking for her?” You asked, relatively unbothered by his personal question. “Nakia? Oh! No! It’s not for me, it’s for-“
‘Don’t pass on more than she needs to know, T’Challa, don’t.’ He thought to himself.
“-A friend. Yeah, a friend. They were wondering if you’re still on the market.”
And another nod made him the almost happiest man on the planet right now. His sister had an actual chance of courting you.
“Tell them I’m not single but not free, expensive girls, you know?” You smiled to show him appreciation and that he wasn’t too bold with the question.
Shuri had an chance.
And what of a chance she had.
The arrival was pretty common and usual for you, since coming back from missions mostly looked like the team greeting you and being happy about the succeed and even Ramonda took a liking to you so she had to hug you and show you how happy she was about your return.
Shuri was late again since she caught herself up into work as long as you weren’t around but when she got the message that you and her brother returned safely from the mission, she sped up and ran to the hangar, just to greet you.
You looked a little exhausted but still amazing and how she missed you, how she missed the feeling of your arms around her. She started to run into your arms just so that you could catch her and laugh.
While you were having your arms around her waist, she breathed your scent in and let it sink into her core. Here arms were dangling around your neck and her body was warm on yours.
‘This your “friend”?’ you mouthed to T’Challa who just shot you a little smile and left the scenery.
Yes, that’s his “friend”. And how proud he was of himself the entire day after he heard that you spent the night with Shuri-
You could’ve read it off of his face. He was so happy for his sister and knew that you’d take care of her.
