#mysterious reader

"Jeon Jungkook."

"Who?” I turn my eyes away from the alley to look at Namjoon. He’s inspecting the books, frowning at the blood on them. This was the first time he came closest to any clue and it comes from a local bookworm?

“He is the only other person in town nobody knows."

"How is that supposed to help?!”

“They arrived at the same time, it might mean nothing but it can also mean everything."

He was right. She appeared out of nowhere and two months later, she was by his side. Nobody knew why nobody knew how. He heard she didn’t arrive alone but until now he had no clue who she arrived with. Was he her brother? Lover? Boss? Why was he not at the palace?

It has been four years since the King took the throne. Four years of bloodshed and tyranny. And yet there is a seemingly innocent girl at the centre of it. He needed to find Jeon Jungkook.

"I am surprised you don’t know him."

"What do you mean?"

Namjoon has a little smirk on his face now, he moves his head towards the market street, "He’s the one who punched Jin because of you?"

"It wasn’t because of me."

"You pushed him"

"I was merely walking by!”

“You pushed him” I sigh knowing this was a dead end. This meant I had to talk to Jin again. Finding him was not an issue, bearing with his narcissism, on the other hand, was a challenge. But still, he needed him.

He looked towards the butcher who had his eyes at whatever poor animal he was cutting, not paying attention at first glance but that was not quite the truth. He was ruthless and he was always aware of his surroundings. The other person with access to the palace.

He knew they called him Mang, an apparent nickname from his son who disappeared when Agust took the throne. His eyes fell on the cutting station behind him, full of dead neatly prepped fish for sale.

“I need to talk to Jin”. He states out loud.

“He’ll be down the lake, fishing."

"Hm.” I nod and turn back to watch the alley.

“Do you know where it leads?” I ask suddenly and feel a visible tension in Namjoons shoulders.

“Pair of books full of blood is not enough for that.” He states and leaves as fast as he appeared. I turned around to spot Namjoon but he was gone.

With my last look to the alley and the butcher, I turn around and head down to the lake.

xxxxxxxx

You knew he was watching you, he was always watching you, just like the King. They looked exactly the same but their eyes were different, as were their scars. You couldn’t wrap your head around it, but you had no time to do so.

Back of your light cape in the king’s colours bellowed behind you as you walked fast down the alley towards the door at the end. You pushed the key inside but nothing happened. This was your fourth try and the door would not budge, would not react. Nothing could open them. You had ten keys left. With a sight you turned back, nobody dared to follow you here. The alley was long and dark, even during daylight. “Make a wrong turn and you could stay hidden or lost forever in the dark paths that lead behind the whole city.” Those were the words King whispered to your ear when he dragged you behind the secrets of this small town in the middle of the night. His body constantly pushed against yours, tight grip on both your wrists. His smirk was always present as he led you through the dark, voice mocking you, “Do you remember the way, little girl?” You shake your head to dispel the memory.

You hid the door behind the King’s seal on the drape again. The heavy black and violet drapes hang over the whole section of the wall. Nobody really knew where they came from, but they looked as if they were here for centuries.

As you walk back you make a turn to the left, walking further away from the palace, allowing yourself to move about the city unseen. Almost.

You reach the tiniest section of the alley consumed by the complete darkness. You walk through the alley further until you reach stairs leading below the city. As you step through the dark corridor you cannot stop thinking of the pair of eyes watching you at the market. His hat may have hidden most of his face but you saw him. You always see him. What does he want? You can feel goosebumps on your skin forming as you think about the King and the mysterious man in the market. You shake your head again and keep walking, picking up your pace.

As you reach the end of the stairs you look at the heavy door hidden in complete darkness, only given away by slight purple light emitting from the lamp above them. You push the door open to reveal a huge study. The Royal archives were long forgotten by its people apart from one. You could make his silhouette at the far end behind the library.

“It didn’t work.” You say right away.

“Nobody said it would be easy, Y/N.” His deep voice says as he turns around. Curly hair falling over his dark eyes, hiding them from the world. Sometimes you wondered if he could see you at all.

“You said we had a chance Taehyung.”

“I said we had a possibility, girl.” He answers in an annoyed tone. You knew this place was strange, you knew it right away. The man clearly younger than you had a posture of a man that was much wiser and much older than you. You didn’t question it. Questioning people in underground corridors people didn’t know about was not a way to survive and so you cast your eyes down and apologize.

“These four keys were easy to get.” He continues and turns back to his table.

“These four keys were at the palace!” You cannot help but answer back. It was not easy.

“Yes, but the rest is with him and those close to him.”

“The ministers?” You ask, completely confused. Nobody was close to the King. There was only you and his General.  

This time Taehyung turns to you with a sad smile and shakes his head slightly. He takes the lamp from the table and beckons you to follow him.

The Royal archives in the city once served the whole Kingdom. They were vast and full of knowledge. He stopped at a dark shelf and took a book from the top of it. Old, rare, its prices immeasurable.

“You need Kim Namjoon.” He says lightly.

“The bookseller?” When Taehyung nods you look at him confused.

“Under no circumstances can King find out you were there, do you understand?” He asks with a voice stoic and firm. “Yes, Sir.” You cannot help but answer. Amused he puts his hand on top of your head, “Good girl” . He hands you the book and walks back to the table, not paying you any more attention. And you know, you will not hear his voice until you come back again.

[My Marvel Masterlist]

A/N: I’m baaaack!! Before anybody mentions this, yes, I know that I haven’t finished the mini series with Cap. I ended up writing most of this story on the plane ride to and from Hong Kong, so I decided to finish up this plot and post it first. Once I get some inspiration for the ‘The Instructor’ story, I promise to quickly write the next part. Anyway, please let me know what you guys think of this fic! (There will not be a second part.) Word Count: 2697

The harsh, blinding bombardment of blinking lights and the incessant clattering of camera shutters has grown to be a normalcy in the world of fame and wealth. Reporters scramble across any physical and metaphorical obstacle, wringing any resources within their reach in order to steal a glimpse— even a single phrase uttered in passing is treasured— of the life bustling behind the thin, velvet rope that separates the common people from the elites; after all, their paycheck is relying on them.

Now, as the music blares from deep within the tower, crowds of paparazzi swarm around the entrance of Tony Stark’s tower as a seemingly endless train of limousines and high-end vehicles pull up to the red carpet rolled out before the opened doors of the building. Each photographer and journalist is armed with their recording materials, waiting for the perfect chance to shove a microphone or camera into the faces of the irked tycoons.

“Why are you here today,” a reporter inquires with a small recorder aimed directly at a billionaire, who peers down at the stout woman from his position closest to the velvet barrier. His date, a model no doubt upon first glance at her face heavily caked with makeup and the eccentric, revealing outfit wrapping around her excessively-slim figure, has her arm draped over him; she stares vexingly at the reporter while taking an occasional glimpse at her painted nails, a scowl on her face accurately portraying her desire to join the party inside.

“Well, you see,” the man explains plainly, “Mr. Stark is hosting a party to celebrate his new business partnerships.”

Normally, the tycoons would ignore the pestering crowds and make their escape into the shielding comforts of their destination, but tonight is different. Thanks to the deals Tony Stark has made with several businesses around the globe, party-goers are taking the opportunity to flaunt their new source of income— adding to their already startling wealth— and advertise to potential clients viewing the news.

“I don’t know what he’s working on exactly, but it’s definitely a big project,” boasts an older gentleman in brown sunglasses. A journalist nods excitedly at the statement, urging the man to elaborate as she jots down his words. He runs a hand over his greying, slicked-back hair, sighing as he shakes his head. “My guess is: he’s preparing for something. What is that something? I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine. All I will say, is that Tony Stark knows something.”

It takes some time for newcomers to acclimate themselves with such a life under the microscope. Those born into the lifestyle learn quickly to take it in stride, searching for every appropriate opportunity to promote their image.

A young entrepreneur exits a sports car with his wife, not bothering to spare a glance at his expensive vehicle while a valet snatches up the keys without a moment's notice. He has plenty of cars in his garage; a young, reckless attendant damaging just one of his cars has no effect on his wallet or massive collection. The couple waves to the crowds with warm smiles, greeting a select group of reporters. As the woman turns to leave the sidewalk and step onto the red carpet, a limousine pulls up to the curb, stopping with a harsh, jerking motion. The bumper of the sedan nearly collides into the couple.

Darting out from the driver’s side while clutching his hat, a chauffeur scrambles around the length of the car, hand wrenching the handle to open the door. A young woman steps out slowly, as if for dramatic effect, stretching out a single leg from the vehicle before fully standing up. Her scarlet gown, peppered with flakes of gold embroidery, draws attention; the bold colors contrast tastefully with her complexion.

“Hey,” the entrepreneur shouts angrily at the newcomer, fists curled in and waving in the air, “I demand that you apologize at once! Your driver could’ve killed my wife! She was inches away from being hit!”

The woman in the red dress does not reply. Her eyes shift over to the distressed wife for a brief second before hardening into a glare. A cold aura leaves the couple with shivers running down their spine when she struts past them, but the man refuses to back down.

“Hey! I was talking to you!”

“You best keep your mouth shut,” she advises in a monotone voice, her back still turned to the man. “Pests are not something I wish to deal with, and trust me, you do not want to cross paths with me ever. Especially not tonight.”

Without another word, she continues down the carpeted path, long legs allowing for her to reach the doors immediately, disappearing through the entrance as quickly as she arrived. The entrepreneur remains outside with his feet rooted to the ground, shock overcoming his mind. Never in his life would the man have believed that a strange woman would threaten him.

Thanks to the thundering intensity of the bass, party guests can feel the music shaking the floor as they mingle amongst each other; large crowds form at the center of the room, dancing energetically to the beat of the song. Bright spotlights roam in circular motions, their colors changing every few seconds.

In a corner by several large couches, the older gentleman with the brown sunglasses narrates an intricate story to the group of people who have congregated to listen to his tale. A chorus of gasps and laughter resonates throughout the room briefly before quickly being drowned out by the cacophonous music.

The sound of cheering draws attention to the vast staircase, and there, slowly sauntering down the steps, is Tony Stark. A pair of blue-tinted sunglasses rest at the bridge of his nose, allowing for the wealthy genius to peer above the lenses. His chocolate-brown eyes scan over the crowds, finally settling on a lone figure settled at the bar; he decides to introduce himself to her.

From behind the large counter, a dark-skinned man works as the bartender, serving drinks to the awaiting guests. Sitting at the far end of the bar, the woman in the red dress leans forward with her gaze fixated on the drink nestled in her hands. She plays with the thin straw resting at the edge of the glass, flicking the plastic with her fingers while being completely aware that Tony is approaching her.

“Good evening,” he greets. “I couldn’t help but notice that you look a bit sad and lonely. Those two things are not allowed here at my party, so I have come to remedy it.”

Without replying to Tony’s statement, the woman sends him a shy smile, tilting her head down as she looks up at the genius. She gestures for him to take a seat on the stool next to her, but is interrupted by the entrepreneur she encountered outside the tower. The man begins to shout, his face red with anger as he throws out insult after insult. Tony stands to the side in confusion as he watches the man disrespect another guest.

“Um, excuse me,” Tony retorts, “I don’t appreciate you talking to my guests that way. If you’re going to be rude, I’ll have no choice but to see to it that you leave.”

“My apologies, Mr. Stark, but this matter has nothing to do with you. This woman nearly killed my wife and had the audacity to threaten me for demanding an apology!”

“Like I said before: If you’re going to be rude, I’ll have no choice but to see to it that you leave. Since I feel like being nice, I’ll give you five minutes to leave before I have security escort you from the premises.”

Unfortunately, the young man does not take Tony’s ultimatum seriously and continues his brash verbal assault, resulting in a grumpy Happy Hogan stepping in; the head of security receives a quick “thank you” in passing as he ushers the entrepreneur off the property.

“Now, where were we? Oh, yes! I was about to ask you for your name.”

“I go by many names,” she remarks, her mind reflecting on the numerous aliases she owns, “but you can call me (Y/n).”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Though, I must say: you are much prettier than your name implies.”

“Always a charmer, Mr. Stark.”

“Please, call me Tony,” the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist insists. “All these business moguls are too professional. Right now, I’m here to relax and celebrate. No need for formalities, unless if you have some sort of weird reputation to uphold, in which case you can call me Mr. Stark.”

“Well, Tony,” (Y/n) says with a smile, “allow me to buy you a drink as a small thank you for dealing with the trouble I dragged you into.”

“Trouble? That little issue was no trouble at all. I deal with that sort of thing all the time, but since you offered, I’d be a fool to decline a drink from a lovely lady such as yourself.”

As (Y/n) calls over the bartender to order a drink, Tony’s cell phone rings. The caller ID shows Happy’s picture and number on the screen, so he excuses himself to take the call. (Y/n) nods to show her understanding, asking for his preferred drink before he walks off to a quiet area to converse with his head of security. She allows her mind to wander during the time the bartender mixes the drink. Memories, both good and bad ones, resurface from the dark depths she repressed them into. Despite wanting to remember them, (Y/n) chose to discard the memories long ago; the good ones are mixed with the terrible events from the past.

“Here you go, ma’am,” the bartender announces, interrupting her thoughts.

Seeing that Tony has yet to return from his conversation with Happy, (Y/n) grabs the newly-made drink and toys with the glass, tracing her index finger on the rim of the glass. She continues to fervently run the digit over the cup’s lip as she waits for the genius.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” apologizes the man in question, who smoothly slides into the neighboring seat while removing his glasses. “Though I am happy to report that you will no longer have to deal with that man in my tower.”

“Thank you,” (Y/n) replies as she passes the glass she had previously been stroking her finger over. “Here’s your drink.”

Flashing his signature smile, Tony accepts the drink, throwing his head back as the beverage rushes into his mouth. He sets the glass down with a sigh of satisfaction, smiling when he notices the grin on (Y/n)’s face. Nearly an hour flies by as the two engage in conversation over the man’s success as Iron Man and the effect of his presence on the world.Throughout the entire discussion, (Y/n) allows for Tony to do most of the talking, agreeing every once in awhile and nodding in response to his statements.

“Well, I’m afraid I have to leave, Mr. Stark,” (Y/n) interrupts Tony’s rant about the government’s views on his suit, a small smile tugging at her lips. “There is a matter I need to attend to at home.”

A pout forms on the genius’ lips. He tries to bargain with her, begging for (Y/n) to stay just a little while longer. No matter what he says, she insists that she must return home.

“Aww, c’mon,” he whines. His hand reaches out to grasp her wrist, but the man suddenly finds his vision growing fuzzy; objects and people within his field of vision seem to blur together like an unfocused photograph taken with a foggy camera lens.

No longer seated in his chair, Tony looks up while hunched over, searching for (Y/n). He spots the woman just in time to watch her walk away from him towards the exit. Tony tries to call out to the woman, but his tongue feels as if it weighs more than a hundred pounds, and the muscles in his mouth refuse to cooperate with him. Helplessly, Tony fumbles around for his phone to contact Happy, but his hands are shaking far too severely for the digits to type in the required passcode that unlocks the device— the music is too loud for JARVIS to hear his creator’s voice. A string of curses leaves the man’s mouth once black spots begin to swarm around his his eyesight. Every attempt he makes to attract someone’s attention is met with frustration when the person laughs at what they believe to be their host stumbling around in a drunken stupor. Several years ago, Tony would have accepted their response, since he was constantly drowning himself in alcohol, but now, he has learned to control the temptations.

“Plehshe,” he manages to slur out. “Shembahdy, helpf me…”

With the party reaching its peak, none of the other party guests notice the billionaire’s struggling, leaving him to feel a painful tightness growing in his throat as he watches the woman clad in red slowly disappearing.

“Tony?” Rounding the corner of the bar with his eyebrows raised in confusion, Happy heaves his boss up onto a barstool and proceeds to wave a hand in front of his face when he realizes the man is acting peculiarly. “What’s wrong?”

A string of incoherent mutters and groans tumble out of Tony’s lips. He sluggishly points to the limousine pulling away from the tower, shouting with his mouth closed. Happy tries his best to understand what the man is implying, his head shaking back and forth from the limo to Tony.

“What? The woman who just left?”

Tony nods his head slowly. He attempts to open his mouth, only to be met with a wave a nausea and dizziness. His head lolls onto Happy’s shoulder without warning, startling the head of security, who desperately slaps Tony’s cheek once he notices that the wealthy man’s eyes have rolled back. When he is unable to pull his boss out of an unconscious state, Happy dials for emergency services while checking for a pulse. There is a faint pulse, so there is a sliver of hope.

“Who is she,” Happy wonders, finding his gaze fixed at the entrance of Stark Tower. His carefree boss was not keen on preparing a guest list, so there is no way to filter out guests who have arrived from those who were unable to attend the event. All that is known for sure is that the party is only open to guests who can afford it, including those who are affiliated with Tony Stark’s newest business venture.

Paramedics rush into the building, startling Happy out of his thoughts. He quickly reports the few details he is knowledgeable of to the medical technicians before rushing off into the crowds. Despite wanting to accompany Tony to ensure his safety and recovery, Happy has a job to do right now, which is to clear out the building and confirm that any security threats are no longer present.

“Okay, everybody,” the man shouts upon shutting down the speakers. “Party’s over. I need all of you to please line up by the entrance in a single file and patiently wait as the security team checks you before leaving. Thank you.”

Tony is rushed to the hospital with Pepper informed of the unfortunate incident, leaving Happy to investigate. He returns to the spot where he found Tony and searches for any possible clues or evidence to explain the recent turn of events. Unfortunately, there is not much for Happy to examine. All that is left is an empty glass, which the man immediately picks up with a handkerchief that has been stowed away in his jacket. Carefully, to avoid touching the glass, Happy takes a large whiff, inhaling the stench of distilled liquor, but there is a faint scent lingering with the alcohol. A scent that Happy does not recognize, and a gut feeling tells him that the mysterious smell will provide some answers.