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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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The Hell he’s been through;

The Knights have no clue of the suffering Merlin has endured… until one day, they do.

TW: Scars, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD except they don’t have a word for that, non-graphic description of scars/injuries

Part 2(final part)

It was the height of summer, the bright blue sky was utterly free of clouds and the noon sun beat viciously down onto the training field.

Only the central six knights, their King, and Merlin braved the exhausting heat, the other knights had chosen to train later in the day, when it was cooler, so the field was empty of anyone else. Merlin was sat cross-legged in the shade of a tree, jacket and neckerchief removed (not that Arth- anyone noticed. Definitely not.), though his sleeves were still pulled low over his wrists and his tunic was fastened high up his neck. Despite that, the lack of an extra layer definitely displayed Merlin’s surprisingly broad shoulders more than normal (another thing that Ar-no one noticed).

The knights were shirtless, despite Merlin’s warning of sunburn, sparring semi-playfully with wooden dummy swords, the type squires train with, and no armour.

Merlin rubs absent-mindedly at the dull, almost gone ache in his ribs, just below his armpit, as he rolls his shoulder. The injury, if it could even be called that, had never been serious and hadn’t even hurt that much when he’d gotten it on the last patrol (a stray mace swing from a bandit just clipped him), at least, not compared to other injuries he’s sustained over the years, but it was an annoyance that made his shoulder stiff on occasion.

Unfortunately, the movement caught Arthur’s eye, and the King frowns, stopping his observation of Elyan and Mordred’s spar to lay a crudely hidden concerned gaze upon his manservant.

He’d fussed endlessly when he found that Merlin had bandaged his own torso after the fight, demanding that he let someone help next time; Merlin just rolled his eyes at that. The other knights had wisely chosen not to comment, knowing that the attack, and Merlin’s subsequent injury, had already put Arthur in a bad enough mood; though admittedly, the only thing stopping Gwaine from ruthlessly taking the piss out of Arthur’s mother-hen tendencies all the way home was Percival harshly clamping a hand over his mouth and pushing him away.

Merlin looks up to see Arthur staring at him, and the King quickly covers his concern with a look of annoyance when the manservant raises an eyebrow:

“If you’re not going to do anything useful Merlin, get up here, you clearly can’t be trusted to even cower effectively, so you’re going to have to learn to defend yourself.”

Merlin’s eyebrow just rises higher as the rest of the knights’ attention is drawn to the conversation. Lancelot and Mordred hide knowing smiles, well aware than Merlin was more than capable of defending himself, if he really needed to. Gwaine went to open his mouth with teasing grin, though quickly pouts when Percival punches him on the shoulder, and Leon and Elyan smirk at each other before moving their amused gazes to Arthur.

When Merlin doesn’t move, just stares at him disbelievingly, Arthur rolls his eyes and gestures at the half-empty rack of wooden swords:

“Come on, Merlin, up on your feet, grab a sword.”

Merlin just snorts in amusement and shakes his head, settling back against the tree trunk even more:

“Absolutely not. I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.”

The knights (bar Lancelot and Mordred of course) raise their own eyebrows. Gwaine snorts out loud, stepping up next to Arthur and dropping an overly-friendly hand on his shoulder, much to The King’s displeasure:

“I know you can hold your own in a tavern brawl Merls, but that’s not the same thing as facing bandits and assassins and shit. Princess is right, it might be worth it for you to at least know how to use a sword.”

Arthur turns an accusing gaze on Gwaine, shrugging his hand off as he says:

“And I presume all the tavern brawls Merlin has apparently been getting into are your fault?”

Gwaine grimaces slightly before shrugging with a smirk, and Merlin hides his laughter with a cough before inserting:

“Entirely his fault. Gwaine starts the fights, promptly passes out, and I have to finish them.”

Arthur laughs incredulously; Mordred has to hide the angry clench of his jaw and Lancelot has to hide his sorrow when Arthur replies in a taunting tone:

“I’m meant to believe that you are regularly winning Gwaine’s unfinished fights, am I?”

Merlin shrugs in mock defeat, a grin on his face:

“Believe what you want, Sire, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing, I don’t need training.”

Arthur resists the urge to smirk at the appealing way Merlin manages to make his title sound insulting, and he instead raises his eyebrows:

“You’re not getting out of this, Merlin. I can’t have you bruising yourself every time we leave the city.”

Merlin takes in a deep breath, settling a disconcertingly assessing gaze on The King for a few moments before he sighs and stands up, walking towards the equipment and picking up a sword before turning back to Arthur:

“I suppose you’re right, I doubt any of the other servants would be willing to put up with you if I got too injured. Who would you like me to spar, My Lord?”

Arthur scoffs and shakes his head as the others step back, looking upon the whole scene with fond amusement, bar, once again, Lancelot and Mordred, who are looking an odd mix between concerned and proud. They know that Merlin is capable of more than he lets on, even with a wooden blade.

“You can’t spar with any of us, Merlin, that would be far too dangerous. We’ll start with some basic moves, and then maybe we can move on to a slow, choreographed spar.”

Merlin twirls the sword expertly in his hand, and he’s vaguely away of Gwaine nodding approvingly and Leon raising an eyebrow out the corner of his eye, though he pays them no mind, raising an eyebrow of his own at Arthur:

“Surely starting with a simple spar will tell you my exact skill levels so you can tailor the lessons? You need to know how crap I am before we start.”

Lancelot hides a snort behind a hand, knowing full well that Merlin is just trying to goad Arthur into letting the servant show off his skills without too much effort beforehand. Or without giving Arthur the satisfaction of thinking that he was the one who taught Merlin how to fight. Thankfully, Arthur takes Lance’s snort as a teasing one aimed at Merlin, as opposed to what it really is, so waves him into the ring with a smirk.

Merlin just rolls his eyes, moving to stand opposite his best friend and muttering, just loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Fine, but I’m not taking my shirt off, I’m not as arrogant as you lot.”

Lancelot widens his eyes as Arthur freezes, dread growing in his stomach at the knowledge that The King would take that as a challenge. Arthur turns slowly, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lancelot grimaces as Arthur claps his hands together:

“Right! I wasn’t going to mention it, but you do have a point, Merlin, if you are to train, you must train as one of us. Come on, tunic off.”

Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine just laugh, but Leon rolls his eyes exasperatedly, and Mordred and Lancelot frown in concern. Neither of them have seen Merlin’s scars in their entirety before, but knowing about the servant’s secret second life had definitely made them more observant than the others, and they had seen hints of old injuries here and there. That’s not even mentioning the times he’s shown up in their chambers, bloody and bruised and in need of treatment, but not wanting to worry Gaius.

Merlin just flushed and stared at him indignantly and Arthur’s teasing grin grew:

“Don’t be shy, Merlin, I’m sure whatever horrific mole or ugly birth mark you’re ashamed of isn’t that bad.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, stepping away from Arthur when he moves towards him. The demand to de-robe, even partially, had immediately put him on edge, and he had gone from playfully annoyed to genuinely irate in a split second. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively when Arthur gestures at him demandingly:

“I don’t have a weird mole, Arthur, you Clotpole, but unlike you lot, I’m not all that keen to show off my old scars.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Merlin was hoping that mentioning his scars in passing would appeal to the knights’ warrior sides, would make them sympathetic to his… shy-ness. It did not. It just made them laugh, even Leon, and they all began to point out various scars they had on their chests and back, remarking that he couldn’t have worse than them.

Gwaine twisted to the side, patting a pink, jagged circle halfway down his back, a grin on his face:

“This beauty is from when I propositioned a lovely fella who was, apparently, already taken. Man’s wife smashed her bottle on the counter and damn near took my eye out with it.”

Elyan cackles at Gwaine’s story, pointing to a perfectly square burn on his shoulder-blade:

“Yeah, well at least you didn’t fall back into a red hot brand at the ripe old age of fifteen because a girl smiled at you.”

Merlin’s back-up plan, which was sneakily sulking off whilst the knights compared their most embarrassing scars, was cut short basically immediately when he heard Arthur yell out:

“Absolutely not, Merlin, I’ve already told you that you’re not getting out of this. Tunic off, spar Lancelot.”

Merlin huffs, annoyed, feeling rather like he was backed into a corner, and Mordred walks forward, to be between him and The King, quietly saying:

“You don’t have to Merlin, just fight with it on.”

Arthur narrows his eyes in suspicion, but before he can say anything, Merlin squares his shoulders and looks at him defiantly, dropping his sword to the floor as he begins unlacing his tunic, his words coming out harshly, his tone dark:

“No, no it’s fine. The King wants to see my scars, and we all know that The King gets whatever he wants.”

The smiles melt rather quickly off the knights’ faces as Merlin speaks, and Arthur flinches slightly at his tone, starting to realise with just a little guilt that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore. He opens his mouth to take it back, to tell Merlin that he was only teasing and he could keep the tunic on if he really wanted to, but before any words come out, Merlin is gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head swiftly and screwing it up before tossing it to the side, not once breaking his stare on the now pale King.

Arthur lets out a sharp breath at the patchwork of scars that cover Merlin’s chest, and he’s vaguely aware of the various low cries and gasps of outrage coming from the knights behind him. There are so many, some are large and some are small, some look to be from clumsiness, but others look like they should have been fatal. Arthur’s eyes can’t focus on just one, he’s barely taking in each scar before his gaze is drawn to another, and then another, and then another; it’s a little overwhelming, and it’s only when he starts to feel a little woozy that he remembers to breath.

When he finally comes to the conclusion that his brain isn’t going to able to process this for a while, he looks up to Merlin’s face, instead taking in his resolute expression and hard eyes:

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

Merlin raises a slow, mocking eyebrow before breaking his statue-like stillness and picking his sword up again, turning to face a distraught looking Lancelot. This movement only reveals the second mosaic of scars covering his back, but he speaks over the next round of gasps and muffled curses, his tone still unbearably dark as he gestures Lance to get into position:

“I told you, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing.”

The knights are so distracted by the myriad of scars covering Merlin’s torso that it takes the servant’s first harsh, well-aimed blow with his sword to break them out of their stupor. They watch the ensuing spar with morbid fascination, finding that not only can Merlin hold his own, he’s winning. Lancelot loses his breath and rhythm much quicker than Merlin does, and the fast-paced spar only lasts around three minutes before Merlin lands a strong punch to the centre of Lance’s chest and the knight stumbles back in shock, lowering his sword just enough for Merlin to step forward and trip him up.

The scarred servant’s chest rises and falls deeply, but not too rapidly as he lowers his sword and offers a hand down to the beaten knight. Lancelot takes it with a slightly shocked smile, patting Merlin on the shoulder as he stands. Merlin flinches away from the touch, no one misses it, clearly not too fond of people touching his bare skin, and Lance drops his hand rapidly, frowning only briefly before he smiles again:

“Bloody hell, Merlin. I knew you were good, but not that good.”

Merlin gives him a strained smile, grateful for the distraction. Everyone sees the moment Merlin’s mask goes up again; he gives Lance a smug grin and twirls his sword once again as he shrugs mockingly:

“I’ve been watching you lot train for ten years, and I’ve been in a few sword fights in my time. I picked up a few things.”

Arthur finally reacts, scoffing as he shakes his head in disbelief, scars momentarily forgotten:

“There’s no way that you can- that was a fluke.-”

He looks smug as he says it, like he’s figured out some great secret, and Mordred lets out a low, annoyed growl; no one notices thankfully, but Merlin shoots him a quick frustrated line across their mental link:

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

Mordred looks to him, keeping his face blank as he nods almost imperceptibly. Lancelot and Gwaine look openly disapproving of Arthur’s assertion, but Leon, Percival, and Elyan look almost convinced. Arthur nods decisively, picking up his sword once again and waving it in Merlin’s direction:

“-My turn. And once I’ve beaten you, you’re going to tell us about all of… that.”

Merlin’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly as he holds a placating hand out in Lancelot’s direction when it becomes obvious that his best friend is going to start trying to defend him.

Arthur takes Lancelot’s place in the ring and Merlin grips his sword tightly, his shoulders tense and his face showing only mild annoyance, despite the anger that Lancelot and Mordred were sure was simmering under his façade. At Arthur’s nod, Leon reluctantly counts them in, and the match begins.

This one is somehow even more fast-paced, though no one is surprised. The last ten minutes had caught Arthur extremely off-guard. An off-guard Arthur is a grumpy Arthur, and a grumpy Arthur is, unfortunately, still the type to take his frustrations out on others. Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, meaning the disturbing mix of horror, guilt, and anger at Merlin’s scars, slight… shock, (because he refuses to call it anything else) at his deceptively strong physique, and surprise that apparently his servant can take out one of his best knights without all that much effort, all together have The King bursting with adrenaline.

He throws blow after blow, but Merlin’s defence is incredibly strong, and Arthur has yet to land a hit anywhere other than the opposing sword. After a couple of minutes, Merlin switches styles, and Arthur almost trips when he realises his servant has, in the space of a second, gone from fighting like Arthur, to fighting like Leon. The knights notice it as well; Gwaine lets out a low whistle and Elyan smacks Leon on the shoulder, pointing incredulously at a sequence of complicated footwork that usually only the First Knight can manage so gracefully. Apparently Merlin can do it too.

Arthur adapts to this quickly; Leon was his sparring partner most often, meaning that he was accustomed to switching between their styles, and they were the most similar fighters in all the group.

Another minute passes, and the pair still don’t slow, seemingly unbothered by their dumbfounded audience and the sweltering heat, and this time Merlin suddenly starts fighting more like Gwaine. Instead of staying on the defensive and trying to trip Arthur up, he goes on the attack, landing heavier and heavier hits as The King barely manages to defend himself in time.

Merlin is quickly growing tired, his stamina not nearly as good as Arthur’s, but The King grows complacent, even with the vicious pace, certain that he just has to wait Merlin out. He was wrong. Arthur finally gets an attack of his own in but Merlin dives to the side instead of blocking it, rolling and coming up to Arthur’s left before the blonde has time to regain his balance and turn around. He freezes in place when Merlin touches his wooden sword to the side of Arthur’s neck. He can feel it shaking, but it’s undoubtedly a killing blow, and when Merlin drops the sword to the floor in favour of bending over, one hand on his knee and the other on his side again as he pants, Arthur turns around faster than he thinks he’s ever moved before:

“How the fuck did you do that?”

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights all clapping and shouting encouragement at him, but he doesn’t look up, just waves dismissively in Arthur’s direction:

“I told you, I’ve been watching you lot train for years. It’s easy to imitate you after a little practice.”

Arthur just stares at him in disbelief, but Leon hands the servant a water-skin, ripping his gaze from the whip marks on his back with clenched teeth before schooling his tone and face into something more friendly:

“Merlin, you switched styles twice in as many minutes… you beat the best swordsman in the Kingdom after already being tired from another spar, that’s… that’s incredible.”

Merlin drinks the entire skin as Leon speaks, looking up with another playful mask on his face:

“Well believe me, I’m so sore I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again.”

Merlin’s smile drops when he realises everyone is back to staring at him, more specifically, his scars. He steps away from the curly-haired knight, who furrows his brows in concern and resists the urge to reach a comforting hand out to him. Merlin crosses his arms over his chest defensively, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as he frowns at the floor.

Lancelot quickly throws his tunic to him, and Merlin scrambles to pull it on as quickly as possible, but before he can even get his arms through the right holes, Arthur snatches it away, a stern, angry look on his face. Though every one of then can see the badly hidden concern as well:

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

Merlin makes a move for his tunic, but Arthur jumps out of his reach. The servant huffs, annoyed and close to tears all of a sudden as he petulantly replies:

“Actually, you said once you beat me, I had to tell you. I won.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

“I’m happy to go another round if you are, Merlin?”

Merlin glares at him angrily for another few moments before completely sagging, staring at the floor with sad, tired eyes as his arms drop to dangle at his sides. Arthur and the knights are completely taken aback at Merlin’s sudden change of disposition, though it heartbreakingly strikes them as less of a change and more of a... reveal. A reveal of some kind of sadness that’s been there all along. How did they not notice this??

Arthur’s breath hitches and his tight clutch on Merlin’s tunic loosens slightly as he all but whispers:

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

Merlin finally looks up at him, letting out a humourless chuckle as he rakes a hand through his sweat-dampened hair roughly:

“Does it matter? Most of them are dead, I-”

His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. The knights hear it nonetheless:

“... I made sure of that .”

Arthur lets out a huff of frustration, not bothering to hide the desperation in his eyes as he pleads:

“Please, Merlin, you’re my... subject, you’re meant to be under my protection. And don’t lie, none of these are more than eleven or twelve years old at most and you got here ten years ago, so they happened in Camelot, under my watch. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin sighs, walking towards the tree’s shade once again. For a moment Arthur panics, thinking he’d pushed Merlin too far as he turned away, knowing that if this conversation wasn’t had now, their relationship would never be the same. But before The King can say anything, the servant slumps back into place against the tree trunk, sitting cross-legged again and biting his lip as he looks at Arthur expectantly.

Before anyone else can move, Mordred and Lancelot take the places either side of Merlin, sitting protectively close. Lance gives Mordred a pointed look, to which the younger knight nods before settling a blank expression on the side of Merlin’s head. Merlin doesn’t look back at him, but pats the knight’s knee as the corner of his mouth turns up briefly in a barely-there smile.

Arthur narrows his eyes, but stores that odd exchange in the back of his mind to deal with at a later date before sitting across from Merlin; the other knights look to each other, worried, before settling in the empty spaces to complete the circle. The group is silent for a while, all staring at a statue-still Merlin who in turn is staring at the grass in front of him; he doesn’t move even when Lancelot brings his hand into his lap, stroking his thumb over the servant’s knuckles absent-mindedly.

It’s Percival that finally breaks the silence, asking in a quiet voice:

“What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin looks up suddenly, as if he had forgotten he had company, taking in a deep breath and tightening his grip on Lance’s hand. He gulps before once again running his free hand through his hair, shrugging slightly as he mutters:

“I don’t recall all of them in perfect detail, just ask about... whatever catches your eye I guess, and we’ll see what I can remember.”

The knights all nod, looking to each other expectantly, no one really wanting to go first. Eventually Leon clears his throat, his voice gentle:

“Why don’t we start with the whip marks on your back?”

Merlin nods, grateful that they were at least starting off with the non-magical injuries. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he speaks, his voice croaky and quiet:

“The newer ones are from Cenred, from a few years ago. He wanted information and I spat at his feet and told him to fuck off. He... he didn’t take too kindly to that.”

Gwaine lets out a quiet curse, and Arthur sits up straight, saying in a crackingly authoritative voice:

“Merlin, if anyone ever tries to extract information from you again, you give them anything. Everything. We’ll deal with the fall-out afterwards, it is not your job to withstand torture.”

The other knights nod approvingly but Merlin just looks up at The King with a raised eyebrow:

“Like hell. I can put up with a remarkable amount, I’d never sell Camelot, or you, out. Never, Arthur.”

Arthur huffs and resolutely ignores the tears gathering in his eyes, but Elyan beats him to the mark:

“That’s not... you shouldn’t have to put up with anything Merlin, it’s not necessary. You just... keep yourself safe. We’ll worry about everything else.”

The other knights nod again, but Merlin scowls and tenses even further, even as Lancelot squeezes his hand comfortingly:

“I’ve been through literal hell, multiple times, in order to protect my home and the people that are important to me. I’m not going to stop that just because it makes you lot uncomfortable, and you have no right to tell me to it’s not my place.”

Everyone looks desperate to argue, but they can’t deny that, after what they’ve seen today, in the last half a candle-mark only, Merlin is evidently a lot stronger than they’ve ever given him credit for. Both physically and mentally. Leon just gives Merlin a small smile and nods; he’s the only one here who has known Merlin just as long as Arthur, and he may not be as close to the younger man as The King or Lance or Gwaine or Mordred, but he’s seen his loyalty in action several times over the years:

“You said the newer ones were from Cenred. You’ve been flogged more than once?”

Merlin nods at the knight, grateful for his understanding and change of subject, even if said change of subject was back to his scars. His expression turns slightly guilty as his gaze moves to Arthur, and The King has a feeling he’s going to feel incredibly terrible at whatever it is Merlin is about to say:

“The others are from... uh.... Uther.-”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath as the tears he had just about managed to get under control gather again. The other knights just look angry, bar Leon, who, though miserable, looks as though he sort of expected it:

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

“When? Merlin, when and why did my father have you flogged, and how did I not know about it?”

Merlin tenses his jaw, going from guilty to angry in a split second, snapping his response:

“Why do you think?!-”

Arthur recoils and Merlin closes his eyes briefly as he takes a deep breath, looking back to Arthur with a blank mask and speaking in a monotone voice:

“What did you think he would do every time I took the blame for you missing a meeting or a meal or a training session because you were entertaining a woman or pissing about with your knights? I had to walk into the council room and apologise for your absence because I slept in or I forgot to tell you or I sent you on a hunt on the wrong day. Uther was in the habit of burning people and chopping off an alarming number of heads, did you really think I would get away with it punishment free??

Arthur goes pale as a sheet and his hands tremble with the understanding. He shakes his head slightly as he looks to his lap, ignoring the tears on his cheeks as he murmurs:

“Merlin I am so sorry, I didn’t... I didn’t think... if I had known I would have duelled him in the damn town square to protect you.-”

Arthur looks up sharply, wiping his face clean as he settles an assessing gaze on his servant, ignoring Gwaine’s murderous glare as he slowly continues:

“-... which is exactly why you never told me, isn’t it?”

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

“You may never admit it, Arthur, but you were protective of me, even then.”

Arthur flushes slightly, before frowning again and shaking his head:

“You should have told me, it’s my job to protect you.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

Arthur huffs and narrows his eyes again, good-naturedly this time, and Merlin just rolls his eyes before seeming to sag again, speaking quietly:

“Come on, next one.”

Elyan raises his hand slightly before pointing to the centre of Merlin’s chest:

“How the hell did you get a burn like that?”

Merlin tenses, rubbing a hand over the roughly circular, pink and white scar in the centre of his chest. The flesh looked melted in places, white scar tissue spider-webbing out from his sternum, beginning to fade just before it stretched around his sides, and stopping a few inches above his naval:

“Witch threw a fireball at me. Hurt like hell, but there was quite a lot of adrenaline at the time so I didn’t really notice the pain until later.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, evidently trying to control his anger as he asks, in a shaking, though forceful, voice:

“And what were you doing fighting a witch powerful enough to throw fire around?”

Merlin stops rubbing at the scar when Lancelot tugs his hand and Mordred mutters “You’re going to hurt yourself, Merlin.” in his head, curling his hand tightly in his lap instead and speaking slowly, as if he were choosing each word individually:

“Only Leon and Arthur were in Camelot for that. Arthur was dying from the Questing Beast bite, I... went to the Isle of the Blessed to speak to the followers of the Old Religion. There was said to be someone there who had power over life and death and I... Arthur was dying, I had to try.-”

Arthur’s eyes widened at Merlin’s words, mostly the mention of such a power, but stays silent, nodding at him to continue:

“-But the Old Religion requires balance, a life for a life,-”

Leon releases a deep breath, looking to the floor at the implication with his eyes closed, and Arthur lets out a whispered whimper, knowing the depths of Merlin’s loyalty:

“-I offered my own in exchange for Arthur’s. She, Nimueh, that is, accepted,-”

Arthur opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but before he can yell about Merlin’s self preservation, he notices the darkness on his dearest friend’s face and his voice catches in his throat. Merlin stares at the floor, his face drawn and angry and his voice stormy and clipped:

“-but she tried to trick me. I didn’t appreciate that, we fought, she died. Her life for Arthur’s: the deal was done.”

An audible gasp goes up around the circle, and Percival, who is (other than Merlin and Mordred of course) the most well versed in Magic Info, responds breathlessly:

“Merlin... Nimueh is a High Priestess, The master over Life and Death, she’s very very powerful.”

Merlin looks up at the gentle giant sharply, his gaze unforgiving and his tone harsh:

“Yeah, and she’s also very very dead, because she pissed me off.”

Percival gulps and lowers his gaze, but Arthur seems to have missed everything the two of them just said as he stares blankly at his servant:

“You’d barely known me a year, and I’ll admit that I was an arse back then, and you tried to give your life for mine. Why?”

Merlin looks at him curiously, not responding for a few moments as his anger dies down and his pride grows:

“I had it on good authority that you would become a Great King one day. It only took a little squinting to see it, you were a good man, a man I was, and still am, prepared to sacrifice myself for. You were an arse, yes, you still sort of are, but I have faith in you, always have, always will.”

Lancelot and Mordred smile fondly at him as the other knights stare dumbfounded, but Arthur clenches his jaw, ignoring the shaking in his voice as he says:

“Well, I... I forbid it. You are officially forbidden from sacrificing yourself for me, legally.”

Gwaine perks up slightly:

“Out of curiosity, do we all get the same-”

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

“Shut up, Gwaine. And no, you’re a knight, your entire job description is to jump head first into danger so I don’t have to. I have every faith that you’ll die for me one day.”

Everyone lets out quiet snorts at that, bar Gwaine of course, who looks jokingly affronted before he nods and shrugs, quietly muttering “Yeah, fair enough,-”, the rest of his sentence (”especially considering you’re in love with him but not any of us.”) goes unheard and unchallenged.

Merlin chooses not to respond to Arthur’s demand, but everyone knows that’s his way of not committing to anything, knowing full well that Merlin had never listened to Arthur’s orders before, and sure as shit wasn’t going to start now.

“Next one.”

Merlin’s face had fallen slightly, knowing he wasn’t going to get away with explaining only two sets of scars, and Gwaine asks next, his eyes being drawn to Merlin’s gesturing hand:

“The red bands around your wrists and neck. They look like burns, but not very deep ones. How did they scar if they weren’t deep?”

Merlin looks down at the scars on his wrists, resisting the urge to absent-mindedly claw at the one he knows sits low on his neck. They’re about two inches wide, pale pink and almost impossible to see in the dark but impossible not to see in the light of the noon sun, even sat in the shade. The edges were clean cut and perfectly straight, and Merlin winced slightly at the memory of his magic being contained in such a way.

He looks around the circle, speaking easily. Though it was painful, it was no where near the worst Merlin has ever had, and even if he couldn’t tell the full truth, it felt sort of nice not to have to hide these ones:

“Some sort of enchanted chains, they drained my energy, made me sick and tired, but the magic in the metal sort of... stung, I guess. I don’t really know. I’d been captured by Morgause (is Morgana not mentioned in this entire fic but still Good? Yes.) again and I suppose she didn’t want to take any chances.”

Everyone looks shocked at his casual admission, and Leon is the first to break the tense silence:

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

“Again. You said again. Merlin, how many times have you been kidnapped by Morgause without anyone realising? How many times have you been kidnapped in general?!”

Merlin winces slightly, speaking in a slightly defensive tone as he stares at Arthur as though the answer is obvious:

“Arthur... I’m The King’s personal manservant. I have the power to overrule the Steward and the Housekeeper if I wanted to; as far as servant’s go, I have the most authority, even more than some low level nobles, especially when it comes to running the citadel. I’m sort of... a big deal. I have access to pretty much any information I could want, even more than this lot-”

He gestures to the knights around the circle. Mordred and Lancelot look a little proud once again, Leon is staring at Arthur, shocked that The King didn’t know this, and everyone else stares at Merlin, only just realising that... Merlin was right. None of them have considered it before, but he practically runs the castle.

“-most of the time, and I’m the only one who knows every single state secret, simply from my proximity to you and your council and your paperwork. That is rather... desirable to people like Morgause, people who want to attack Camelot.”

Merlin purses his lips awkwardly as everyone stares at him blankly, but Gwaine is the first to break the silence:

“... and we’ve just been letting you walk around, unprotected.”

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

“I think we’ve already established I don’t need protection.”

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

“Well you obviously do, if you’re getting kidnapped so often. When even was this?? You haven’t disappeared for a while, and we haven’t had any trouble from Morgause in months.”

Merlin’s face falls, and the knights are taken aback at the reappearance of the... cruel darkness in his expression:

“Believe me, I know. She... won’t be bothering us any longer, I wasn’t fond of her repeated attempts to kill me or you so I... took care of it.”

The knights go pale at Merlin’s casual admittance of killing yet another High Priestess of the Old Religion. He smirks into his lap briefly until Lance once again squeezes his hand, as if reminding him of the mask he should be wearing. Arthur stares at his servant and long time friend, struggling to reconcile the clumsy ideal he has in his head with this... hardened, tortured protector:

“How? Nimueh and Morgause... just... how??”

Merlin’s eyes slowly move up to meet Arthur’s gaze, and The King gulps at the assessing way the servant tilts his head:

“Playing the role of clumsy rural idiot can be a little demeaning sometimes, but it also means that people tend to underestimate me. They think I’m an easy target, and by the time they realise I’ve played them, it’s too late.”

Arthur recoils slightly, and Merlin once again changes dispositions, shrugging casually and smiling easily, his tone light:

“You can get away with a remarkable amount when people think you’re stupid.”

The circle lets out an in-sync breath. All of them knew that Merlin wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn’t realise just how smart he is. None of them would admit it, but Elyan, Leon, Percival, Arthur, and even Gwaine on some level, still subconsciously considered Merlin “just a servant” in the back of their minds. At least... they did.

(Not that that old thought process made them think any less of him, they just didn’t think of him as complicated, as a warrior.)

Merlin takes a deep breath, knowing that his friends would never see him in the same way, but sort of hoping that that was a good thing, gesturing vaguely to the circle once again. Arthur asks the next question, touching his hand to the back of his own neck softly:

“There’s a cut on the back of your neck. It looks deep, like it was reopened over and over, what is it?”

Merlin grimaces slightly, wiping his free hand over his face in exhaustion as Lancelot squeezes his other hand, and Mordred pats his knee comfortingly:

“That one was a few years ago, courtesy of Morgause again. She put something called a Fomorrah in me-”

Percival gasped slightly, harshly whispering “Gods.” under his breath. Arthur spares him a quick glance, making a mental note to question how his knight seems to know so much about sorcery at a later date:

“-so she could try to make me kill Arthur; it sort of... controls you. Makes you only able to focus on whatever instruction you’re given when it’s first put in you. Gaius kept having to cut it out of me, it wouldn’t stop re-growing until we killed the rest of it’s body, and that was with Morgause somewhere out of the city.”

Arthur looked a little outraged, hiding the worry of “I now know that Merlin could kill me without any trouble at all so how the fuck am I alive?”. Apparently he doesn’t hide it well; Merlin gives him a comforting smile and shrugs his shoulders slightly:

“I fought the compulsion pretty well, kept coming up with increasingly complicated assassination plans instead of just... stabbing you in your sleep or something.”

Arthur goes to respond, but he’s interrupted by Leon loudly cursing, his eyes wide as he stares at Merlin with flushed cheeks:

“I just... gave you a crossbow!! You said you were going to kill Arthur and I thought you were joking and I let you walk out the armoury with a crossbow and a handful of bolts!!”

Merlin chuckles, a blush of his own rising as he responds, rubbing the back of his neck again:

“Yeah... I don’t really remember it, but Gaius and Gwen filled me in on what had happened. To be fair, it’s kind of flattering that you never considered that I was the assassin, despite the repeated attempts being made on Arthur’s life and the fact that I admitted it to your face.”

Leon stares at the floor with wide eyes, seemingly trying to process the fact that he had pointed a would be assassin in the right direction, muttering something along the lines of “oh my Gods oh my Gods oh my Gods” over and over until Elyan awkwardly patted him on the back, breaking him from his embarrassed horror.

Arthur clears his throat, staring at Merlin with an almost unreadable expression:

“I did wonder why the attempts just... stopped?”

Merlin understands the question in his tone and nods slightly before replying:

“Hmm. Gaius and Gwen figured out it was me, found a way to paralyse the thing in my neck until I managed to get back to Morgause’s little lair and kill the main body.”

Arthur nods distractedly. How many times had this happened? “This” being something entirely ridiculous and/or incredibly dangerous right under his nose.

Percival clears his throat and Merlin looks to the nervous man, nodding at him to ask whatever it was that was on his mind, despite his growing discomfort:

“There’s... on your back, it looks like a stab wound but... worse. The veins around it are black and it looks painful despite it’s obvious age and... well... it looks like a Serket Sting, but it... it can’t be, right?”

Merlin tenses, back to looking as exhausted and scared and as ready to bolt as he had at the beginning of the conversation. Lancelot squeezes his hand again, tightly this time, and Mordred takes his other to stop him from clenching it too harshly, murmuring:

“You don’t have to, Merlin, not this one.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at the knowledge that two of his knights had known about this. Had known the collage of agony on Merlin’s body, had known what he’d been through and done nothing. Hadn’t prevented it, hadn’t brought it to Arthur, hadn’t protected him. But equally, with how protective and loyal and secretive Merlin is, and how heartbroken the two of them had looked when Merlin first took his tunic off, they likely hadn’t known the full extent of damage.

Merlin just sighs and shakes his head, sensing the curious stares of the others before rising to his knees and turning around, running a shaking hand over the scar briefly before dropping his hand to his side again. The others stare, astounded. They’d only caught brief glimpses of it before, but now they could see it properly it was undoubtedly a Serket Sting.

The deep puncture mark on his lower back had closed up, but the skin was still sunken in slightly, red and angry looking with hints of purple towards the middle. Percival was right: dark veins, as if permanently poisoned, stretched out from the centre of the wound, dipping below the waistband of his trousers and fading about halfway up his back.

After a few moments, Merlin turns around again and sits back down, placing his still shaking hand back in Lance’s lap without prompting. Arthur’s one-word question is whispered and cracked, and no one judges him for the tears in his eyes; most of them have tears of their own gathering and falling at their friend’s pain:

“How?”

Merlin gulps, not looking up as he leans slightly into Mordred’s shoulder. The young knight presses back, knowing how fond the servant is of warm pressure, not minding the sticky sweatiness of their still uncovered torsos in the noon heat:

“Morgause again. She got annoyed with me always ruining her plans, getting in the way. Left me chained up in the middle of a nest of... in the middle of a nest.”

Leon takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes harshly and sniffing before asking, his voice strong despite the slight waver:

“How did you survive that? I’ve... I’ve seen men get stung by serkets and it’s not... nice.”

Merlin breathes shakily, his mouth open slightly as he stares at the floor, memories flashing through his mind and the scar on his back twinging uncomfortably. Again, Percival was right, despite it’s age, it did still hurt. He takes one last deep breath, clenching his eyes shut tightly before looking up at the curly-haired knight, not quite making eye-contact:

“I uh... a lot of screaming, and the help of an... old friend. I was out of Camelot for a few days whilst I recovered, my friend didn’t fancy being executed for helping me, for just existing.”

Arthur furrows his brows but the others, bar Leon, nod in understanding, looking only slightly guilty and not looking to The King as he asks:

“What do you mean? If someone has found a way to cure a Serket sting then they most definitely wouldn’t be executed for it.”

Elyan snorts and Mordred and Lancelot frown at the floor as Merlin stares at Arthur with poorly concealed contempt:

“Arthur... the cure for a Serket sting has been around for centuries, it just involves very strong, very complicated magic. I didn’t fancy dying in absolute agony, and my friend didn’t fancy being executed for the act of saving my life so we stayed away from the city whilst he treated me.”

Arthur looks at his servant, dumbfounded and confused, and the knights stay silent in their awkwardness. Leon, a lifelong citizen of Camelot, is the only other person to look surprised at Merlin’s explanation, though he nods after a few moments, conceding that it... makes sense. Of course it does.

Mordred frowns when he notices Merlin’s knee begin to bounce up and down slightly, but it’s the way he gulps and tightens his grip on Lance’s hand that has the two knights begin to properly worry. They share a quick look, obviously agreeing on something, before Mordred takes Merlin’s other hand and settles a soft touch on his vibrating knee whilst Lancelot looks to Arthur:

“I think we’re done for the day. This has been... a lot.”

Merlin is getting paler by the second and Mordred can sense the man’s distress, shooting Lance a desperate look before subtly trying to shuffle closer to Merlin, who leans even further into his touch. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, looking annoyed at Lancelot’s assertion and rolling his eyes before moving his gaze back to Merlin’s quivering form:

“No, Merlin’s suffered and I need to know why. There are mace wounds on both your shoulders, I remember one, but not the-”

Arthur is interrupted by a low whine from the back of Merlin’s throat as he thumps his head back against the tree, eyes still shut tightly. His words out come quietly and broken, as if it were a struggle to breathe, let alone speak:

“Can we please stop now?”

Mordred ignores Arthur, moving to kneel in front of the servant whilst Lancelot glares at The King. Arthur just huffs slightly, though he obviously completely underestimates the distress his friend is in, looking concerned, but not letting up:

“Merlin, we’ve barely gone through a third of them, we can’t stop-”

Lancelot lets out a low growl, letting go of Merlin’s hand and moving towards Arthur, glaring as he says:

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

The young King looks taken aback, though the argument is stopped in his throat when Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him:

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

He peers around the young knight as best he can, but Lance’s still vicious glare stops him from moving too close. Mordred brings one of Merlin’s hands up, pressing it against his chest and continuing his soft instructions:

“-Copy my breathing, alright? Can you tell me where you are right now, Merlin?”

The knights all stare on in horror at Merlin’s pale skin and ragged breathing, staying still in their places when Lancelot gestures at them firmly. It’s Merlin’s next word, cracked and whispered, that trigger another round of tears to gather in their eyes:

“C...cave.”

Mordred shakes his head slowly and Lancelot curses under his breath, kneeling back next to Mordred and retaking Merlin’s other hand, holding it between his own securely. Mordred’s soft voice floats in the wind, and if the knights weren’t so distracted by their friend’s pain, they would think it sounds almost magical:

“No, you’re safe, Merlin. Think, listen, feel. Can you try to tell me where you are again?

Merlin shakes his head roughly, his still-shut eyes not stopping the tears from squeezing out as he flinches, strikes of lightening-like agony shooting out from the scar on his lower back. Lance worries his lip between his teeth, rubbing one of his hands up and down Merlin’s shivering arm; a nod from Mordred has Lance speak, his words soft and low despite the waver in his voice:

“Merlin, you know where you are, and me and Mordred are right here with you. You need to open your eyes buddy, tell us where we are.”

Merlin’s breathing instantly seems to calm a little at Lancelot’s voice, and he cracks his bloodshot eyes open, immediately sighing when his blurry gaze lands on the canopy above him, whispering:

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

The others can see Mordred let out a relieved sigh, and they force themselves to relax slightly. Merlin’s body sags again and Lance frowns, but the young servant’s stuttering words as he stares blankly up into the tree interrupt any reassurance he could have offered:

“Please, I can’t... I don’t... please don’t make me-”

Lance stills his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else as he replies:

“No one’s going to make you, Merlin, we can carry on another day-”

Arthur’s interrupted “But-” is quickly shut down when Lance turns around to glare at him, a sharp “-I said we’re done for the day.” sent his way.

Merlin flinches again, the pain in his back getting worse and worse and making it harder to keep a grasp on reality, so damning the consequences, Mordred presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and he mouths the words to a sleeping spell as quietly as he can. Thankfully, everyone’s attention is on the glaring contest between Lancelot and The King, so no one immediately notices the way Merlin falls forwards into Mordred’s arms, not until he nudges Lance in the leg and mutters:

“He passed out. We should get him to Gaius, he needs proper rest and pain medication.”

Lancelot nods his head firmly, back to ignoring Arthur and the others as he moves to Merlin’s side, pulling his arm over his shoulder as Mordred does the same on the servant’s other side. Mordred’s eyes scan over the knights, searching for whoever looks the most likely to help without question; his gaze stills on a terribly worried looking Gwaine:

“Gwaine, run ahead to warn Gaius, tell him that Merlin had a really bad episode and then passed out.”

Gwaine gulps but nods, gathering his tunic in quick hands and putting it on haphazardly as he sprints back to the castle. Mordred and Lancelot adjust their grips, standing and bringing Merlin up with them as they turn in the direction Gwaine had ran and begin the careful journey back to the citadel. The knights follow behind them closely, hastily dressing themselves and desperate to ask questions, but knowing that now was not the time. Elyan jogs ahead of them to open doors and clear a path, and Percival had grabbed Merlin, Lancelot, and Mordred’s tunics as Leon put all of the swords away before catching up.

Thankfully they don’t come across many people, though Lance and Mordred still do their best to conceal Merlin between them, knowing that he would be distraught if anyone else saw his scars. They make good time to Gaius’ chambers, and they find the Physician preparing a few strong pain potions and sleeping draughts as Gwaine paced.

Gaius looks incredibly worried, but unsurprised, and Lance and Mordred carry Merlin up to his room without prompting; the sick feeling in Arthur’s stomach tells him that they’re practiced at this. The King goes to follow them, but they kick the door shut behind them so they can have at least a little privacy whilst they settle their friend in his bed. They leave the covers off, knowing that he’d just overheat or kick them off in the nightmares that they know are coming. Lance nods knowingly at Mordred, and the younger of the two moves swiftly back into the main room, shutting the door behind him again softly, avoiding eye contact with anyone bar Gaius, even as Percival hands him his tunic.

The elderly Physician raises an eyebrow, and Mordred answers the wordless question quietly, though not quiet enough for the other knights to not hear him:

“Not yet, but soon, he’ll definitely need a sleeping draught to get him through it. It was his back, so he’ll need the strongest pain one you’ve got.”

Gaius nods, picking up two of the many concoctions he had prepared, not reacting to Arthur’s desperate questions, leaving the conversation to Mordred:

“What are you talking about? Get through what??”

Mordred sighs and frowns slightly, unable to get over all of his anger at the King for pushing Merlin so far:

“The nightmares. He always gets them, especially after an episode that bad.”

Arthur recoils, just a little horrified, but Gwaine beats him to the mark, asking in a shaking voice:

“Episode??”

Mordred moves his gaze to the worried knight, a little more sympathetic to the man he knew was more loyal to Merlin than he was to The King:

“Flashbacks, panic attacks. Merlin has been through... a lot. Chronic pain or difficult conversations sometimes trigger a sort of... breakdown, he struggles to differentiate between memories and reality. Normally he can just wait it out with a little help. When it’s really bad we put him to sleep, it’s the only way to stop him from hurting himself accidentally.”

Everyone looks horrified at that, their focus on Mordred rather than Gaius, who was stealthily ascending the steps to Merlin’s room, potions in hand. Arthur is the first to break the tense silence:

“How long? How long as he been getting these episodes, and why the hell did no one think to tell me?!”

Mordred moves his harsh gaze back to The angry King, glaring at him when his voice rose:

“With all due respect, My Lord, lower your voice. Merlin needs rest, he needs to not be disturbed.”

Arthur looks annoyed, though still heartbroken, but nods slightly, almost whispering as he responds:

“You didn’t answer my questions. How long, and why wasn’t I told?”

Mordred sighs, looking to the floor briefly as he crosses his arms over his chest . After a few moments of considering his answer, he finally looks up again, suddenly appearing exhausted and resigned as he replies softly:

“I don’t really know. He didn’t tell us, we just... found out. It took us a while to convince him to explain it properly and let us help. He didn’t want anyone worrying or treating him like glass; it doesn’t happen very often at all, and this is... this is the worst one I’ve ever seen.”

Arthur frowns and shakes his head slightly, but it’s Leon that speaks next:

“Why not tell us, at least? What if something had happened and you weren’t with us? We wouldn’t have known what was wrong.”

Mordred takes a deep breath and shrugs, nodding slightly, obviously aware that he couldn’t tell them about his and Merlin’s mental link:

“We tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t have it. We were maybe one more conversation away from convincing him to tell Gwaine or Guinevere, but I guess that’s not necessary anymore.”

Arthur pushes down the twinge of jealousy that Merlin had never even considered telling him, but it obviously shows on his face; Mordred scowls slightly, clenching his hands to try and cover his annoyance. Before either men can say anything, Lancelot comes back down from Merlin’s room, leaving Gaius with the young servant:

“It’s starting, Mordred we need to go, everyone else, out.”

Percival throws Lance’s tunic to him as the knights move to the door, albeit reluctantly, but Arthur doesn’t move, glaring down at Mordred angrily when the younger man stops him from going into Merlin’s room:

“He’s my manservant, I want to be there when he wakes up.”

Mordred narrows his eyes, and Arthur kicks himself for never realising how much Merlin meant to him before now, but before the knight can say anything, Lancelot steps up next to him, answering in his stead:

“No, me and Mordred will be there, that’s all he needs. You need to go, My Lord.”

Arthur gears up to argue, to pull rank, squaring his shoulders and snarling slightly, but an angry Lancelot is something he’s never seen and never had to deal with before, so he’s far too surprised to say anything when the knight interrupts his posturing:

“I said no, Arthur. He has to pretend in front of you. You’ve already done this to him,-”

He gestures angrily to the door to Merlin’s room:

“-he needs to not tense up and stress out immediately upon waking up.”

Arthur steps back slightly, but clears his throat, pushing through the slight heartbreak and guilt to argue:

“Oh, and he doesn’t have to pretend in front of you two?”

Mordred rolls his eyes, giving Lancelot a pointed look before stalking up to Merlin’s room, leaving the older knight to deal with the angry King. Lance clenches his jaw and lets out a harsh breath, looking away briefly, as if trying to stop himself from saying anything cruel, before giving up and glaring back at Arthur:

“No. He doesn’t. Because we, and Gaius, are the only people who actually know the first thing about Merlin, and he trusts us. He needs space, and time to heal, and comfort, not the demanding presence of a King whose already pushed him too far, who treats him like shit and forces him to think he has to hide who he is. For God’s sake, Arthur, can you please, for once, think of anyone but yourself.”

Arthur widens his eyes, and though Lancelot looks a little like he regrets what he said, he doesn’t back down, nodding to the door behind Arthur and not moving away until The King steps back again. Arthur takes a deep breath, turning to exit the Physician’s chambers before the knight could see the guilt on his face and the tears in his eyes. He leaves without looking back, ignoring the gaggle of knights waiting worriedly in the hall and stalking straight to his chambers, only just managing to shut the door behind him before the tears finally started falling.

Back in Merlin’s room, the servant thrashes in his sleep, whimpering despite Mordred’s comforting whispers in his head, Gaius’ hand in his hair, and Lancelot’s soft lap as a pillow.

This... was going to be a tough one.

The End of part 1!!!

This was legit supposed to only be one part buuuuuuut we can all see how that went. Part two will follow on really quickly, but it was getting far too long to leave all as one 😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it, link to part 2(the final part) at the top!! :)

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tzuyuscloud · 2 years

Note

Winter x Fem Reader where they obviously like eachother but the reader is too chicken to ask her out and at the end Winter just asks the reader herself

Just ask already winter x fem reader

The crunchy orange leaves shook on the trees some falling in the process onto the dark green grass. Minjeong let out a deep sigh, white fog leaving her mouth in the process from the cold weather. The short haired girl stood beneath the large oak tree in her family's yard calling herself raking the leaves, but in all reality she wasn't getting anywhere. Her nose was a bright red same with her cheeks, her small frame was wrapped in a huge black coat, her black 'dead inside' beanie sat on top of her head doing everything she could to keep her warm while she battled the leaves.

After a while she successfully raked them in perfect pile before a gust of wind came blowing them all around. "Need help?" Minjeong turned around at the voice seeing y/n walk up to her.

"you don't have to" minjeong said. Y/n didn't take no for an answer opening the paper bag that laid against the tree and stated scooping leaves into her arms and throwing them in the bag.

"is this your chore or something?" Y/n asked. A blush immediately covered her face when Minjeong faced her. She noticed y/n blushing, but instead played it off like she didn't see it.

"yep I have to rake leaves or shovel snow. My father cuts the grass" Minjeong answered. "What brought you over here? Not saying you're not allowed to come over since we live next door from each other"

"I don't know I was just going to ask if you'd like to join me for lunch? ...Maybe? ...You don't have to because I see you are busy. Sorry for bothering you" y/n rambled, nervous sweat beads appeared on her forehead despite how cold it was.

Minjeong sensed the girl's nervous panic and in attempt to calm her down she placed her hand on y/n's shoulder gently, "of course I'll join you!" She smiled.

Y/n let out a breath of relief before throwing a shy smile at Minjeong. The bobbed hair girl dismissed herself from her chore, walking to y/n's house for lunch. "will your parents care?" Y/n asked.

"nah they probably saw on the camera that I'm at your house it's fine" Minjeong waved away with no care. They both sat down next to each other and snacked on the lunch that y/n's mom prepped beforehand.

Y/n struggled to keep a conversation going because she was internally fighting when to drop the question to Minjeong not wanting to sound ridiculous. Although Minjeong knew about y/n's crush and was giving y/n until the end of the day to tell her before she was gonna do it herself.

"what do you wanna do after lunch?" Y/n asked. "I kinda want to bake cookies" Minjeong suggested standing up to collect their dishes. Y/n stood up with her, "I can put my own dishes away you don't have to get them" y/n told the bob haired girl. "Its fine" Minjeong took the plates to the kitchen placing them in the sink before motioning for y/n.

"let's bake cookies!" Minjeong jumped up and down excitedly. Both girls rolled their sleeves up and washed their hands before gathering the ingredients it took to make the cookie dough.

"I also have pumpkin and leave shaped cookie cutters" y/n said as she opened the cabinet with all of the baking supplies pulling things out. Minjeong poured powders and mixtures into a giant bowl added her liquids and eggs before whisking it aggressively.

Y/n couldn't help but stare at Minjeong as her tongue poked out from concentration. "So pretty" she said out loud unintentionally. "Thank you" Minjeong responded causing y/n to blush out of embarrassment only after realizing what she did.

"place the dough on the flour that's on the surface and then we have to roll it out so we can shape them" y/n said. During the process Minjeong wasn't prepared for when y/n unexpectedly put a dot of flour on her nose. "Boop" she laughed.

"yahh!" Minjeong playfully shouted. She went to get the girl back only to be pinned against the wall. "No fair I have to get you back" the Korean girl tried wiggling out of y/n's grasp. Y/n let her go but Minjeong still didn't move looking y/n in the eyes studying her. Y/n went to lean in but chickened out and spun around and walking away at the sound of the oven beeping.

Minjeong poured ready to kiss y/n, but the girl chickened out again. Which sent her over the edge.

"do you like me?" Minjeong asked with no hesitation. The question cause y/n to drop the oven mitt on the ground and stare at the wall. "Y-yeah, but-" Minjeong didn't give y/n a chance to explain herself before pressing her lips against y/n's and pulling her close.

"wait wait...you like me too?" Y/n pulled away looking at Minjeong with soft eyes. "Yes silly" the other girl chuckled lightly. Y/n couldn't comprehend anything over the sound of her heart beating loudly and the constant beeping of the oven.

"will you be my girlfriend?" Y/n puffed out her chest. "Of course baby" Minjeong answered as she ran her hand through y/n's hair before playing with her ear.

They both finished baking the cookies enjoying them by cuddling together watching movies as they fed each other cookies.

#kim minjeong #winter aespa #aespa #æspa #æspa winter #f reader #kpop gg #aespa scenarios

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adorethedistance · 3 years

Text

READING MY BOYFRIEND’S FANFICTION?? - Owen Joyner x Influencer!Reader

JATP masterlist

Requested: OMGGG!! Could you do a an Owen fic based around his girlfriend being an armature youtuber/social media influencer (shes also an actress and they met on set and have been dating for a while) and it’s “reading/reacting to my boyfriend’s fanfiction” ? You can do whatever you want with the fanfic part it’s just a concept that has been running around in my head for a while. LOVE ALL YOUR WORK!!

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex, very mild

Words: 1460

A/N: A fic?? From Ace?? Hi. I’m off spring break officially and so my stress has dissipated immensely. School was becoming so much these last two weeks and I thought I’d be stressed or worried, but I’m actually fine? It’s weird lol so I decided I could be productive with my stress-free moment and post a little fic for y’all. I love this prompt, and before any of you writers panic, I’m using my own fics for the fanfictions because I wouldn’t want to put y’all on the spot like that. Also this is my 3000 post! thought that was cool lol

“Do you wanna do the intro?”

“I think I have to do the intro.”

“Okay, go for it.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out a heavy breath in exaggerated preparation for my (some would say lengthy) intro. “Hello, hi. Yes, okay, this is Y/n Y/l/n vlogs, welcome or welcome back to my channel!” Once Owen finishes his statement I’m so stunned I can’t generate any sort of response other than a slacked jaw semi smile.

“That was not even close. Do you know my intro?”

“I got the first part right!”

“You’ve lost intro privileges,” I turn back to the mess of lights and tripods in front of me and ignore the disaster of an intro Owen offered. “Oh, hello, hi! I am Y/n and this is: Reading My Boyfriend’s Fanfiction!”

“That’s basically what I did.”

“No, it is not! It’s ‘oh, hello, hi. I am ‘name’ and this is: ‘title of video’.”

“You don’t ‘welcome to my channel’?” Owen’s voice has dropped to a hushed volume as he genuinely inquires about the segments of my usual introduction.

“I do not.”

“Don’t use any of this,” he pleads when making direct eye contact with the camera. “Mister Sid. Editing Sid, please don’t embarrass me.” His pleas fall on deaf ears, knowing that I’ll be using the footage in full.

“Anyways. Butchered intro aside, I am Y/n and today I am here with my lovely “So Many Stars” costar and scene partner, Owen Joyner!”

“I’m also your boyfriend.”

“That too,” I give Owen’s pointed comment a soft place to land, “So, yesterday--it was actually like, two weeks ago, I don’t know why I said yesterday--a little while back, I came across a tweet telling me someone had written a fanfic about us-”

“Did you read it?”

“On Wattpad. Of course, I read it. There are only three chapters up right now and they’re all in the 2-3k range so it was a quick read.”

“2-3k?”

“Words,” I reply nonchalantly as I unlock my phone. I bookmarked a few one-shots beforehand for us to read, and I’m slightly cocky about my selections. Owen then responds with an outburst of shock.

“2-3 thousand words is a short read?” I merely give him a blank stare.

“Judging by that reaction, Owen hasn’t read any fanfics in his life.”

“Is that not long to you- That’s what she said.” Owen cuts me off with his own stupid joke and I briefly sigh before answering.

“No, that isn’t long. Baby, I’m here for that 130k slow burn enemies to lovers on AO3 with the ‘only one bed’ and ‘locked in a closet’ tropes.”

“The what?”

“Oh, we have so much to catch you up on.”

__________________________

“So I saved three fics, an angst, a fluff, and a smut. Which do you want to read?”

“Wait, what does that mean?”

“Oh my- okay. Angst is the sad shit, it’s what you read when you need your heartbroken and a good cry. Smut is pretty much in the name, it’s explicit content that will undoubtedly get this video demonetized, but that’s okay because we do have a sponsor. And fluff is the cute moments, domestic and sometimes mundane romance that makes you smile like an idiot and put the device down to screech into a pillow.” Throughout my whole explanation, I can tell Owen was becoming more and more lost, so I opt to give him a few moments to collect his thoughts.

“Let’s start with the fluff just to ease into things.”

“Smart choice. This fic I have saved is called ‘Baby Fever’ and the summary says ‘you and Owen spend a day at the zoo babysitting Baby Shada, and her presence sparks conversation about adding a new presence of your very own’.”

“That sounds so ominous.”

“Here, I’ll read the narration and reader’s POV, and then you’ll read your own dialogue.” Owen nods and leans over my right shoulder to read off of my computer screen.

“You actually start the fic.”

“‘You ready, little one?’” The instantaneous actor mode Owen slips into has me howling with laughter at which he looks at me confused. My gasping for air makes Owen laugh empathetically despite still being unsure as to what’s killing me at the moment.

“Why are you laughing?!” He yells, dramatically shaking my shoulder.

“Just the way you jumped into that, I wasn’t prepared for you to turn on the acting charm. Okay, uhhhh, ‘I bite back a laugh when I hear Owen’s voice coo from the back seat’.”

The two of us go back and forth between reading the narrative, bouts of laughter, commentary on the accuracy of Owen’s character, and we finally manage to finish the 2.5k fic in about forty minutes.

“‘When he looks up from CJ’s tiny body and recognizes the familiar ‘baby fever’ look in my eyes, he smiles and utters a simple-’.”

“‘I told you so.’”

“That was cute! I like the tie-in of having us watching over Baby Shada- or, sorry, you and ‘y/n’ watching over Baby Shada.”

“They wrote me kinda funny, I don’t think I’d ever fabricate a life to make conversation with a stranger due to baby fever.” My jaw drops slightly and before Owen can respond to my reaction, I cry,

“That is such a lie!”

“What?”

“You absolutely would do something like that, are you kidding me?!”

“No, I would not!” Owen punctuates every word with the utmost offense. He has the same look in his eye as when he was proving himself to be the cleanest phantom of the three on the Sunset Drive podcast.

“You literally told the guy at Home Depot yesterday that we were buying plants for our child’s nursery!”

“Okay, that’s different-”

“How is that different? That’s the exact same thing as fanfic you!” Owen’s furrowed brow and dropped jaw are a sight to be seen as he leans away from me, bending at the waist to stare at me with defiance. I raise my eyebrows pointedly as I await a response. Instead of actually producing a response, Owen lunges forward, grabbing my waist in his hands and squeezing gently. The feeling makes me screech and gasp of laughter from surprise and also being ticklish.

“Owen! Owe-STOP, I’m gonna drop my laptop!” I manage to say through my laughter and with one final grab, he releases me from his hold. It takes a minute for my laughter to settle but once I do, the two of us are simply breathing heavy and staring at one another with giddy smiles on our faces. In a moment’s clarity, I turn to look into the camera lens to talk directly to my editor,

“Sid, don’t use any of this. And please don’t cut to this after we finish reading to make it look like- things were happening.”

“Actually, I think you should, Sid. Just cut to right there and make the world think we-”

“OKAY, thanks for watching, bye!” I quickly stop the recording before Owen says something we’re unable to recover from. I hear him laugh gently behind me as I set my laptop down on the coffee table behind the tripod. Coming back to the couch, I move to plop down but before landing successfully on the cushion next to my phone, Owen grabs my body and moves me to sit on top of him.

“You are crazy, you know that?”

“Hmm. Crazy for you, maybe.” His cheesy line makes me scoff but smile nonetheless. I reach my right hand up to caress the side of his face as we sit cheek to cheek.

“Remind me to never film with you again.” The gesture is sweet and the sentiment is not which makes Owen laugh and he presses a soft kiss to my cheek. I lean back into him so my back is pressed flush with his chest as he lazily wraps both arms around me.

“You say that now but you’ll regret it when you wanna do a ‘boyfriend does my makeup’ challenge video.”

“Nah. I’ll just call Charlie to-” Without allowing me to finish my sentence, Owen is digging his fingertips back into the tissue of my sides and I squeal with laughter once more. This time the torment is short-lived and Owen releases me after a sweet, reconciling kiss. “Do you have baby fever now?”

“It was cute and all, but not really, no.”

“That’s too bad,” I stand up from my spot on his lap to grab my computer and hold it to my chest, “I was gonna say we could practice some baby-making.”

And with that, I turned on the balls of my feet, heading for my bedroom when I heard Owen stand up eagerly, quick to follow.

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayennefertyrell@n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki@vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics @ghostlygreenbean @juliefromaustralia @merceret @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading @dmcfarland1@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer @sunsetcurvej @warmnesss0ul

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detectivesofty · 3 years

Text

like fine wine | j.h.

Summary: your first meeting with Jay’s team didn’t go down as you had it expected it to go.

Pairing: Jay Halstead x younger!Reader (this might get more parts (as in a series), if you guys like it)

Song I listened to while writing: Pump It by the Black Eyed Peas

Author’s Note: I legit have no clue how old Jay is (and believe me, I was doing some intense research) so let’s just say he’s in his early thirties (aka 31) for the sake of this fic, okay? Okay. Happy reading!

Warnings: cursing, unusual age gap (??)

Word Count: 2,2k

Requested: yessir

Anonymous asked: Can you write an imagine about the reader being quite a lot younger than jay and the reader overhearing the unit talking about her

“Okay, you can do this,” you muttered to yourself, nervously running a hand through your hair before you walked the rest of the way to Jay’s district, careful not to jostle the baked goods in your hand. The moment you stepped inside the building, you realized that you couldn’t have picked a worse day to visit him though. The station was packed with police officers, civilians and in the middle of the room was the infamous Sergeant Platt, whom you’ve heard a lot about. Intimidated, you approached the desk, smiling shyly at the older woman.

“Hi, I am here for Jay Halstead, my name’s Y/N Y/L/N,” you said but Sergeant Platt barely looked at you as she rifled through a stack of papers.

“Detective Halstead is on a case right now, if you’re here to give a statement, I can redirect you to one of my officers. Officer Elliot!” she called but your eyes widened and you quickly shook your head.

“Oh, no! No, no! I am not here to give a statement,” you quickly said, “Uh, I am Jay’s girlfriend?”

Sergeant Platt paused at that and for the first time she looked you in the face with raised eyebrows. “Oh! Oh. I see, I see.” She eyed you very distinctly, before she cleared her throat, putting the paper stack down. “I’ll check upstairs and see if he’s busy right now. Please just… Wait here?”

You nodded and Sergeant Platt came out of behind the desk and made her way upstairs slowly, while looking back at you several at times. With a sigh, you leaned against the desk, startling when you heard your name being called.

“Y/N!”

“Kim, hey!”

Kim Burgess came up to you with a surprised smile, wrapping an arm around you. “It’s so good to see you! What are you doing here?”

“I know how important the team is to Jay and he always tells me he wants to introduce me, so I thought I’d come by and bring you some bribes,” you answered, bashfully showcasing the baked goods in your arms. “But I probably should have checked in beforehand, Sergeant Platt seemed really irritated at the intrusion.”

With laughter, Kim shook her head. “Nonsense! Don’t mind Platt, she’s always like that. And we always appreciate treats. Come on,” she said, inclining her head. “I’ll bring you up.”

Despite Kim’s reassurance, you felt incredibly nervous walking upstairs to the Intelligence unit. Kim pushed you forward gently, pushing you to introduce yourself, but the team seemed to be deep in a conversation, standing around a desk. Jay was nowhere to be found.

“Y/N Y/L/N, 22. English major at the University of Chicago, trying to live my best life?” a bearded man, sitting at a desk, read out. “I mean, Jay’s not on any of her socials, so there’s no proof of them dating.”

“Guys,” Kim said, trying to make them aware of your arrival, but they were far too deep. Were they looking you up on the internet? This was going to be fun.

“Ha ha Sergeant. Good joke. There’s no way Jay has a girlfriend, least of all her. She is way out of his league. She even has a tattoo.”

“Oh my god.”

“Get it together, Ruzek,” a Latin woman snorted. “You’re still on probation with Kim.”

So that must be Adam, Kim’s on-and-off, currently on, boyfriend.

Sergeant Platt put her hands at her waist, shaking her head. “I am telling you. She introduced herself as Jay’s girlfriend. Why would she lie about that?”

“Maybe she isn’t lying,” a dark skinned man said, shrugging his shoulders. “Jay has been quite secretive recently. Maybe he has a new girlfriend.”

“To be fair, if I were Jay and had a 22 year old girlfriend, I wouldn’t have told me either,” Adam said, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah because you’re an idiot.” A new voice popped up and Jay suddenly appeared next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Guys, this is my girlfriend Y/N. Babe, this is Adam, Kevin, Hailey, Vanessa, Sergeant Platt and you already know Kim of course.”

“Hey guys,” you said, waving at them with a huge grin and Adam promptly toppled out of his chair, cursing.

“Fuck.”

With a roll of her eyes, Sergeant Platt gave you a acknowledging nod before she went back downstairs. The rest of the team greeted you warm heartedly with hugs, immediately feasting on the food you’ve brought while Hailey held you at an arm’s length, nodding appreciatively at you. “I do not know how you pulled her Jay. She is way out of your league, I stand by my words.”

“Yeah Jay, where’d you guys meet? Was she one of the volunteers at your nursing home?” Adam cackled, which earned him a slap up the head by Kim.

“Told you,” Vanessa mused and Adam only glared at her.

With a laugh, you leaned into Jay. “We met at a coffee shop,” you said, keeping the story short on purpose, but your boyfriend immediately pounced on a chance to tell the story of how you met.

“She poured coffee down my lap!” he added and everyone laughed, while your cheeks tinged pink.

“I didn’t pour coffee down your lap. I knocked a coffee cup into your lap, that’s different.”

Jay rolled his eyes fondly at you. “Semantics,” he said, before launching into the story.

Yawning, you read through the last page of an article and you dotted down some notes before you closed the tab of the article, stretching your arms. You’ve been at the coffee shop for a couple of hours now, trying to catch up with some work. For some reason, you worked the best in a coffee shop. At home, there were too many distractions and the library was just… Too quiet.

A coffee shop was the perfect balance of quiet and loud.

You opened up a new document, feeling ready to begin writing. Grabbing your coffee cup, you realized with a grimace that it was empty. Another coffee then. With your wallet in hand, you walked over to the counter, Clarissa already giving you a smile.

“Another cappuccino?”

“Yes please,” you chuckled. “And perhaps a blueberry muffin?”

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks Clarissa,” you said with a smile, paying before you moved over to the bar stools to wait for your order. You allowed yourself to check out social media, looking up when Clarissa called your name. In a haste, you stuck your phone into your pocket, reaching over the counter to grab the plate, but in the hurry, your hand knocked over a coffee mug and the liquid spilled directly into the lap of a man next to you. The lap of a very gorgeous man.

“Oh crap, I am so sorry,” you quickly apologized as the man jumped up, hissing as the coffee seeped into his jeans.

“It’s fine,” he ground out but judged by the look on his face, it wasn’t fine at all. You grabbed a stack of napkins and started patting down the wet patches on his jeans in a panic, until two large hands wrapped around your wrists, stopping you.

“Would you stop patting down my crotch?” he asked with a hint of a smile and your cheeks got even redder, which you thought was impossible.

“I am so sorry,” you said, straightening back up when you saw the badge around his neck, your eyes widening. He was a cop. Oh god, he wasn’t going to arrest you for touching him inappropriately, was he?

“I am not going to arrest you.”

Fuck, did you just say that outloud?

“Yes,” he answered and you willed the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Meanwhile the cop looked amused and he let go of your hands, taking the remaining napkins to dry himself off. “You know,” he said. “I usually take women out for dinner before we go to second base, but I guess there’s a first for everything.”

You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Please stop, this is already embarrassing enough for me.”

Tossing the used napkins in a nearby trash can, he gave you a smile. He was really hot. You just wished you hadn’t just made a fool out of yourself in front of him.

“I’m Jay. Halstead.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Officer Halstead…?” You guessed but Jay shook his head with a laugh.

“Detective actually.”

“Damn it,” you muttered, shaking your head. “That’s even worse. You’re probably a part of some fancy task force, too, aren’t you?”

“Have to disappoint you there, I am in Intelligence with the CPD,” he told you and you sighed.

“Perfect, you handle all the hardcore cases, right?”

Jay shrugged, tilting his head. “Eh, you could say that.”

“I am an idiot.”

“You’re not. Let me buy you a coffee?”

“Absolutely not!” you exclaimed, frowning deeply before you turned to Clarissa. “One cappuccino and one of whatever he was drinking please.”

“One cappuccino and one black coffee, got it.”

You gave Jay a look. ‘Black coffee, really?’ you mouthed and he just shrugged with a grin, handing Clarissa his card, which you nearly slapped away.

“Clarissa, don’t you dare let him pay,” you told her and the both of you offered your cards to the barista.

Clarissa luckily took your card and shrugged at Jay’s look of affront. “Sorry, seniority rules.”

Jay raised an eyebrow at that and took his defeat, turning to face you. “So how old are you?” he asked, somewhat curious but at the same time, really nonchalant. You were sure that Jay knew that you were younger than him. But you didn’t want to read too much into it.

“22.”

You weren’t sure if you had imagined the flash of disappointment that crossed his face but he quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression.

“So not really seniority then?” he joked and you huffed in exasperation. Your conversation was cut short by Clarissa calling your name.

“A cappuccino and a black coffee.”

Along with the two coffees, Clarissa handed you your long forgotten muffin with a conspiratorial grin, to which you rolled your eyes. You then stood in the middle of the coffee shop with Jay, coffee mug and muffin in hand.

“So, you’re studying here, huh?” Jay asked, nodding towards your made-shift study space in the booth.

“Mhm,” you hummed, cracking a smile. “For some reason I can focus really well here.”

Jay smiled at you before rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, uh so… I gotta go. Lots of bad guys out there to catch.”

“I am sure there are,” you mused and he gave you one last smile before he turned to leave. You bit your lip and as he reached out to push the door open, you called out.

“Wait!”

He turned back to look at you with a raised eyebrow.

“How about that dinner?”

“That is hilarious,” Adam snorted and the rest of the unit laughed in agreement. You huffed, turning so you could hide your face in his arm. Every time Jay told that story, he got the same reaction.

“I hate it when you’re telling the story of how we met,” you mumbled and you felt the vibrations in his body when he chuckled.

“I know you do, but I love it.”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re slumming it with old Jay,” Vanessa said and you snorted out a laugh.

“Are you kidding? Jay is hot, have you seen his arms?” You asked, wrapping your hands around his bicep. “Besides, everyone knows that men are like wine. You gotta give them time to mature.”

Now it was Jay’s turn to flush and the entire unit ooh-ed simultaneously. Kevin nodded with a grin.

“Never let go of that one, Jay.”

The group was suddenly broken up when an older man came into the room. “What’s going on in here?” he asked with a husky voice. So this must be the infamous Sergeant Hank Voight.

“Sarge, this is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Jay said and you smiled at Voight, holding out your hand.

“Pleasure to meet you sir.”

Voight raised an eyebrow at you, shaking your hand gently. “Pleasure’s all mine. How old are you, kid?”

“22, sir.”

“I could be your dad.”

Jay scoffed, rolling his eyes and squeezed your hand. “You could be my dad, Sarge.”

“Fair enough,” Voight grunted with a laugh. “Alright we got a case.” He motioned for the rest of the team to follow him while Jay turned to you with a smile.

“Thanks for coming. I know I always told you that I’d introduce you to the team but never did it. Figures you’d take it in your own hands, huh?” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and you grinned at him, shrugging with your shoulders.

“Thought it couldn’t hurt.”

“‘course you did. Listen, I gotta go, but how about I’ll take you out for drinks tonight and we’ll hang out with the guys? Properly?”

“Sounds like a great plan,” you nodded and Jay grinned at you, kissing you softly.

“Awesome. I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Can’t wait.”

🏷️list: @itsdesiree86 // @anotherfan07 // @its-laur-laur // @life-treatments // @rebel-without-care // @hylandsedits

Bolded means I can’t tag you. Please message me so we can figure out the problem!

#like fine wine #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead fanfic #jay halstead fic #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead imagines #chicago pd #chicago pd fic #jesse lee soffer

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whump-me-all-night-long · 3 years

Text

The Jewelry Box: Amber’s Beginning pt. 3

Okay, so it is going to be at least four parts because Sapphire doesn’t know how to shut up. I’m also working on several other pieces, but I’m trying to get these first parts out before posting any of those!

Taglist: @newbornwhumperfly @unicornscotty @itsleighlove @whump-scribbles @getyourwhumphere @skunkandgrenade @penny-for-your-whump @lektric-whump @just-a-whump-lover @thelazywitchphotographer @restrainthenmaime @angstyachesplus @lilbitwhumpy @leaderofthebeanarmy @aquard-skaii @whumprincess @thatgaysnail @bluewhalewaffles @finaldreams1106 @reveriedeludesme let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: intimate whumper, creepy whumper, collared, multiple whumpees, lady whump/whumpees, referenced death, referenced brainwashing, long-term captivity, dehumanization, slight victim blaming, panic attack, referenced branding, cursing because Amber and Sapphire, let me know if I missed anything!

Masterlist

---

Jess banged lightly on the glass wall-door thing. “Hey!” they called. “You asshole! Come back!”

They groaned softly, resting their head against the glass as the world spun around them. They did their best to quell the panic threatening to overwhelm them. They didn’t know when the Jeweler would be back or who any of these other people were.

“Didn’t take the pill?” A low, kind voice asked.

Jess glanced up in surprise. “What?” they said, not registering the question or who spoke.

The large dark kind man in one of the cells diagonal from them smiled. “When he offered you the pill earlier, you didn’t take it, did you?” he repeated, sympathetic.

Jess made a noise of disgust. “Hell no,” they snapped. “Who knows what that was. I’m not taking a shady ass pill from a guy who, who fucking abducted me!”

In the cell next to theirs, the angry blue one from earlier laughed. “So we finally got someone with a brain, huh?” he said, voice dripping sarcasm. “Well, not smart enough to avoid getting kidnapped.”

Jess craned their head and met the guy’s steely gaze. “Says you,” they bit back. “How long have you been here?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Seven years. How long do you think you’re going to last? I doubt you’ll even get to see your one year anniversary.” He sneered. “A pretty thing like you will get sold in no time. That’s if the Jeweler doesn’t kill you first.”

“Sapphire,” the kind one warned.

Jess had met Sapphire’s type before and expected him to ignore the other one, but to their surprise, he backed off. “Fine,” he muttered, taking a couple steps back, out of Jess’ sight.

The purple haired woman in the cell across from Jess’ sighed dramatically. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re still crying over your little friend,” she mocked in a surprisingly high voice.

Jess jumped as Sapphire surged forward and banged on the glass so hard it rattled. “Shut the fuck up!” he snarled. “I will fucking kill you if you even mention him again!” Jess felt a cold sliver of fear curl up in their stomach at the pure murder in Sapphire’s tone.

The woman was about to snap back when the red head a couple cells down from Jess pleaded in a sweet, low voice, “Guys, come on. Can we please not do this again?”

The green-eyed and -haired one smiled appreciatively at her. “Ruby’s right. It’s hard enough without you two at each other’s throats. Plus we have someone new.” He looked back at Jess. “What’s your name?”

Jess scowled. “Like I told crazy before, it’s-”

“No,” Sapphire quickly cut them off. “Not your real name. What’s the name the Jeweler gave you?”

Jess glared at him. “I don’t- uh, Amber, I think. But my name is-”

“-irrelevant,” Sapphire interjected once again. “That name isn’t going to help you here. You have to learn to play the game, you understand? Forget your old name, bury your memories so far down the Jeweler can’t find them. Those just, they just make it harder.”

Jess huffed out a breath. “Well, I don’t exactly plan on staying here for very long.”

Sapphire laughed coldly. “None of us do.” He pointed at each of the other Jewels. “Ruby and Amethyst have been here for four years, Emerald’s been here for eight, and I’ve been here for seven. You think any of us just woke up one day and decided ‘hey, let’s get abducted by some rando and completely lose our old life?’ No, we didn’t.”

Jess glanced at the one he hadn’t mentioned, the pale one who had smiled earlier. “What about them?” they asked with a point of their chin.

Sapphire didn’t blink. “Diamond’s been here longer than any of us, nearly eleven years. But they’re different.” Sapphire’s scowl caused Jess to swallow hard. “They like it.” Enough contempt filled their voice that Jess didn’t pry further.

They glanced around at the others. “And none of you have, what? Ever tried to escape? Come on, you can’t just be okay with this.”

“Of course we aren’t,” the dark one, Emerald, said. “But we’ve all been here long enough to know that it’s better to fight silently than constantly try to go head to head with the Jeweler.” He tilted his head, amending, “Well, except for Sapphire, but the Jeweler likes for him to fight back.”

Jess shivered, feeling panic creeping in. “No, this is- this is crazy. This cannot possibly be happening right now. You all- you’re insane. You’ve been brainwashed into- into believing this shitfest.”

Sapphire snorted. “Of course we have. You don’t go years in captivity without a little brainwashing.” He smirked, eyeing Jess. “Don’t worry, it’ll happen to you, soon enough. Then this gets a hell of a lot easier.”

“Sapphire,” Emerald said, a warning in his voice.

Sapphire glanced at him. “What? It’s not like they won’t know soon. The Jeweler will be back for them any minute.”

Jess tried to remember how to breathe. “Wait, what’s about to happen? What the hell is going on?”

Sapphire turned his gaze back to Jess. “Just this,” he said, ignoring Emerald’s sigh and flashing the inside of his wrist towards Jess.

Jess leaned forwards, horror filling them. “Oh my god,” they breathed. “What is that?”

The skin on the inside of Sapphire’s wrist was red and scarred. It was in the shape of a gemstone, with the letters JB inside of it. It looked years old and yet still very painful. Jess rubbed the inside of their wrist and, as they glanced around at the others, they saw similar - no, identical - wounds marking them all.

“They’re brands,” the purple one, Amethyst said, voice flat. “It’s how the Jeweler marks us as his property. As property of the Jewelry Box.”

“God,” Jess mumbled, backing up. They stumbled into the edge of the bed and nearly fell over it. “This- this can’t be happening. Oh god what did I have last night? This, this has got to be the craziest dream, or, or trip that I’ve ever had.” Their breaths sped up and they clutched their stomach, feeling nauseous.

Sapphire snorted from beyond their sight. “Good luck, kid.”

“Sapphire,” Emerald said reproachfully. “You shouldn’t have told them. I know you’re still grieving, trust me, we all are, but you know it doesn’t help for them to know ahead of time.”

“You know nothing about how I’m feeling!” Sapphire snapped back, voice distorted, as if it was coming from a long ways away.

Jess moved away from the glass until their back hit the cold wall. Then, they slowly slid down, hands clutching their head. “This can’t be happening,” they whispered, squeezing their eyes shut. “This-this isn’t real.”

It was as if there was some heavy weight on their chest, making it impossible for them to fill their lungs. Their fingers pulled at their hair until tears of pain welled up in their eyes. They bit down on their lip, trying to stay silent as their face quickly became wet. They gasped for air, fingers tightening on their scalp as they rocked slightly.

They knew they were going to get in trouble one day, Jules had always told them that. Everyone had always told them that. But they hadn’t expected it to get this fucked up. They hadn’t expected to end up in the clutches of a psychotic murderer. This was the sort of stuff people made horror movies about, not stuff that happened in real life.

Jess didn’t know how long they stayed like that, taking one short, shallow breath after another, feeling their head spinning as they tried to make themself as small as possible, but they were suddenly aware of the silence that had fallen over the room. Where Sapphire, Emerald, and Amethyst had been arguing, now there was only the faint blowing of the air conditioning.

“Amber,” a too-gentle, too-familiar voice called softly, causing them to look up.

They saw the Jeweler standing in front of their cell, key in hand. He smiled when their eyes met.

“It’s time for the rest of your initiation, dear,” he said, unlocking the glass door and sliding it open. Jess rose shakily to their feet, roughly scrubbing at their cheeks and scowling, all too conscious of the others staring at them. They shuffled their feet, not going any closer to the Jeweler.

“No,” they said in a low, hoarse voice.

The Jeweler’s smile widened. “What was that?”

“No,” Jess repeated, voice stronger. “I- I’m not going with you.”

The Jeweler tilted his head slightly. “And why is that?”

Jess shifted on their feet. “I- I know what you’re going to do to me. And I don’t want to, to be branded like some sort of animal!” They glared at the Jeweler, who just sighed and turned his gaze towards Sapphire.

“Really?” he asked. “You know telling them beforehand always makes it worse.”

Sapphire replied in a deadpan voice, “Oops.”

The Jeweler turned his attention back to Jess, smiling again. “Now, my dear, you’re going to be coming out of that cell sooner or later. I’d much rather make this as pleasant as possible for the both of us, but I’m not afraid to make this uncomfortable for you.”

Jess just scowled. “Make me,” they bit back.

The Jeweler shrugged, fiddling with something in his hand. Then, all of a sudden, there was lightning bolting down Jess’ spine, fracturing along every nerve. It felt as if they were on fire, every inch lighting up with pain.

Then it was all over, and they were panting, palms stinging slightly from where they had fallen to their hands and knees on the ground, and the Jeweler was standing over them, that smile still on his face.

“You bastard,” Jess growled, still breathless, unable to fight back as the Jeweler attached a pair of cuffs to Jess’ wrists and ankles. “Is- is this some sort of shock collar?” Their voice was incredulous as they couldn’t believe it.

The Jeweler just patted their head, pulling them to their feet and steering them out of the cell. “I wouldn’t have had to do that if you had just cooperated in the first place,” he said cheerfully.

Jess shrunk down, head pounding and legs shaking underneath their weight, as they glanced at the others, but nobody seemed particularly surprised or inclined to step in. Emerald gave them an encouraging smile, but Sapphire shrugged like ‘I told you so.’

“Now, then,” the Jeweler said, pushing them onward. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

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teacup-set · 3 years

Text

Domesticities

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

The sun was high in the sky as Uchiha Sasuke stood in front of an old, beaten wooden door and fished out a key from the nin pouch on his hip. With his one hand, he turned the key in the lock, and with a little push, the door groaned in resistance but gave way into the small apartment. Sasuke entered the flat and frowned at its stillness. He hadn't given any notice of his homecoming beforehand, but surely the creaking door would have announced his arrival to the apartment's ANBU captain, head medic, neo-sannin occupant. He looked for chakra signatures to see if the house was empty, and found a familiar but more erratic than usual ebb emanating from inside the house. In a few quick steps (perhaps more hurried than usual) he crossed the living room and entered the only bedroom in the house. The lights in the room were off, but the harsh fluorescence of tube lights spilled into the room from the open door of the attached bathroom.

Lifting his poncho over his head, he tossed it on the bed and walked to the bathroom. Standing in the door frame, he observed with surprise as the pink haired kunoichi hunched over the vanity, frowning at the mirror, with one hand holding a kunai and the other weaved in her hair. He frowned.

"Sakura."

In an instant she was jerked back to reality from her reverie and whipped around to the sound of his voice. Green eyes wide with alarm and confusion landed on his form, but the panic dissipated as realization set in.

"Sasuke-kun! You're back." It was a question and statement rolled into one.

"Aa." He said, and nothing more, but Sakura was quick to catch on to his questioning stare. Her wide eyes from before suddenly became much more somber as she set down the kunai on the sink counter and detangled her fingers from her hair. She looked at the floor and sighed, and Sasuke's eyes followed hers to look at the sheet of old newspapers spread across the bathroom floor, peppered with strands of pink hair.

They look up from the floor and their eyes meet. Sakura smiled softly.

"My hair has gotten longer," she explained, "I was thinking it's time for a trim."

She looked back at the mirror, and ran her fingers through the length of her hair. Her eyebrows scrunched as she turned her head in different directions while keeping her eyes glued in front to see the different angles of her hair, aware of Sasuke’s eyes on her.

"I usually just do it myself," she spoke while still looking into the mirror, and Sasuke wondered if she wasn’t looking at him on purpose, "I've gotten a lot better at it, but it's still difficult to do the back. It just always comes out a bit...jagged."

"Hn." Sasuke grunted in response, and Sakura turned away from her reflection to look at him. Her lips parted and her gaze grew tense and worried- Sasuke frowned in response. She averted her eyes again, this time fixing them on the sink.

"I, uh…" she started and then faltered. Sasuke felt her Chakra grow even more turbulent than before, and her tensed shoulders betrayed the war going on in her mind. She bit her lip and continued, "Ever since the Chuunin exams, I, um, I guess I haven’t felt comfortable letting someone stand behind me and hold my hair. It feels like…" she closed her eyes and let out a puff of air. Turning her whole body to face Sasuke this time, she leaned her weight against the counter.

"It's silly, isn't it?" She smiled sadly. "I should be over it by now."

His gaze remained heavy on her, and Sasuke thought he had some idea of the words she left unsaid. Most ninjas struggle with hypervigilance too much to be comfortable with baring the back of their neck to a stranger, which is why many choose to get their hair cut by their partners or teammates. But for Sakura, it is much more than that. Her hair has been a symbol of her evolution. The chuunin exams represent a bridge between her old self and new self, between her role as the protected to the protector. The action of having to cut her hair by herself is a stark reminder of her absent teammates.

This time, Sasuke averted his eyes to stare at the floor, finding it hard to face the ghosts of his past.

A few tense moments passed before he spoke, "I also cut my own hair, I know how to."

When he looks back up, Sakura is looking at him with wide eyes, her lips parted in surprise, and he knows she understands the silent offer he is extending. Her eyes searched his face looking for something as she pondered over his words. The moments ticked by slowly till she pursed her lips back together and swallowed.

"Okay." She said.

Sasuke nodded slowly. Turning around, he moved back into the bedroom, and walked towards the bed. He could feel Sakura's eyes on him as she followed him out into the bedroom with small, hesitant steps.

Sasuke sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled out his own kunai from his pouch. He looked up at her standing in front of him and watched her face grow more bewildered, as though she could hear his thoughts. Swallowing, she moved closer to him, turned around, and sat down on the floor between his legs.

Sasuke stared at the back of her head and felt his throat go dry. Slowly, he brought his fingers up to her hair to comb through it, eliciting a small gasp from the pinkette below. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he brought the kunai up to her hair and started working, small strands of pink floating down to the floor she sat on.

They sat in silence as Sasuke continued to smooth her hair, pondering over the gravity of the situation. They certainly weren't strangers to being intimate- their relationship had progressed a lot over the years. It started with repairing a friendship that had cracks from bearing the burden of betrayals and treacherous time in the aftermath of the war. They learned and unlearned each other through exchanging letters during his travels. Next thing he knew, he was popping by the village ever so often, and whenever she had a mission outside Konoha, he would mysteriously end up nearby. They kissed for the first time on her twentieth birthday. At twenty one, tired, bloodied and sweaty in the aftermath of a joint mission, they had sex for the first time (and it became a fairly common occurance soon after). By twenty three, he was already spending each hour back in the village with her, so they officially moved in together. And now, at twenty five, he could only manage a month away from Konoha at best before her gravitational attraction pulled him from his orbit and brought him right back to their small shared apartment, his only home in the world.

But this was something different than kisses and searing hot touches. A task so domestic and mundane that it felt out of place in their action packed lives, yet burdened with so much history and meaning that only they could understand. Sakura's stillness under his touch let him know that the same thoughts were running through her mind.

Surprisingly, he was the one to break the silence.

"My…" he paused to clear his throat, "My mom used to cut my hair when I was young."

He didn't miss Sakura's sharp intake of breath.

"Itachi had long hair. I wanted to be like him in every way, but I could never say no to my mom when she asked to cut my hair." He said.

He could hear the smile in Sakura's soft voice, "Is that how you learned to cut hair?"

"Aa. After she...died...I learned to cut mine on my own. But I couldn't get the back either."

He was taken aback as Sakura whipped her head around to face him, "Is that why it sticks out the back?" She asked excitedly, eyes full of mirth.

Despite himself, Sasuke had to chuckle.

"Aa."

Sasuke watched her toothy smile grow brighter than the sun, as he smiled and angled her head to face forwards again. A few short moments later he announced, "Done."

Sakura's hands rose from her sides to touch her hair. She got up from her spot on the floor and walked back towards their bathroom, followed closely by Sasuke. Turning to look in the mirror, she gasped.

She ran her hands through her smoothed out hair once more, mouth parted in surprise. Her wide eyes darted from her own reflection to Sasuke's, to find him staring intently at her with curious eyes.

Looking back at herself, she swallowed. "This looks really nice Sasuke-kun. Thank you."

"Aa" he said and she could hear the relief in his voice though his expression remained unchanged. She looked at her reflection a few seconds longer, allowing herself a brief moment of vanity to admire the way her hair fell gracefully in a soft wave, before turning around to look at him. His eyes, too, left the mirror and turned to her.

"Do you like it too?" She smiled cheekily, her hands folded behind her. With a smirk, Sasuke brought his hands and combed through the strands framing her face. Sakura knew it meant yes.

The excitement in her eyes was replaced with a gentle tenderness as she smiled softly at him. Hesitantly, she spoke.

"Ne, Sasuke-kun, maybe, uh, later I can help you cut your hair?"

Sasuke paused his fingers running through her hair and looked into her nervous eyes. He detangled his hand from her pink strands and brushed her hair away from her face. Smiling softly, he kissed her forehead.

"Aa."

Fin.

#back from the dead #please tell me what you think!#sasusaku #ss fic #ss fanfiction #ss

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champhangman · 4 years

Text

No Other

Title: No Other Characters: Nick Jackson x OFC Part: Two of ? Summary: I don’t know the loneliness you’ve known. I don’t hear the frosty words echo inside. Word Count: 4,868 Warnings: n/a A/N: I honestly didn’t expect the reaction to the first part of this. Y’all blew me away. Thanks for all the asks/messages/comments!

Tagging: @adampage / @cowboyshit / @baysexuality / @lilmisswhiskeygypsy / @bigpixiefoot / @mindofasagittaruis / @kalliravenne / @sadlittlecountess / @baronsbelleevangeline / @brie-mode-activated / @xbreezymeadowsx / @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch / @allizoneme / @heelsamizayn / @what-does-mine-say / @waywardwrestlewritingwaif / @drewshoneybadger / @merchfreak / @markostuntthesehoes / @mysteryoflovve / @knnyomega /

Two

"You haven't been to the ring?!"

Nick tried to choke back his laughter. But it began to escape as a giggle and only worsened when Jasmine huffed with annoyance. She shot him an irritated look, which made his giggles increase in volume. Next to him, Matt was beginning to cackle, too. Of the four of them, only Jasmine and Brandon weren't laughing. Brandon still looked incredulous that she hadn't been out to the ring since she'd started working for them two weeks before. And Jasmine was obviously annoyed by his and Matt's laughter.

"I don't wrestle. There's no need for me to go to the ring," she said carefully.

"Yes, there is," Brandon insisted.

"What reason would I have to go out there? I've popped out into the arena a couple of times to get crowd shots, I don't need—" Jasmine cut off with a groan when Brandon began to shake his head. "Now what?"

"Come on." He held out a hand. "I'm taking you to the ring and giving you a tour."

"It's a square with ropes, I think I can skip a tour—"

"You can tell your niece all about it," Nick attempted to entice after his laughter subsided.

She turned to him, still ignoring Brandon's hand. "What?"

"You said she loves to watch now," he explained. She probably didn't remember that conversation, the one they'd had at the end of her first week. When she'd said her niece had wanted to stay up way too late watching episodes of Dynamite and asking a million questions. "You can take a video of the ring to show her."

"I could," she murmured, biting her lip. "Okay, fine, I'll go check out the ring. But I'm not getting in it."

Nick shook his head and looked to his friend. "Brandon?"

Their friend's grin was wide and conspiring. "Don't worry."

"Oh god, what are you gonna do?" Jasmine muttered as Brandon led her away.

Matt turned to Nick. "Aren't you going?"

"Why would I?" Nick asked, eyes still on Jasmine and Brandon.

"To give her a tour of the ring."

Nick made a face and finally looked to his brother. "It's a square with ropes, Matt, hardly a museum. Besides, Bran can give her a tour just as well as I could."

"Oh. Okay. I see. We're still pretending you don't have a boner for her." Matt nodded manically. "My bad."

"I really hate you sometimes," Nick sighed.

"Where are you going?"

He hadn't noticed he'd started walking away. Stopping, he heaved a sigh. "To the ring?"

The grin on Matt's face was gleeful. "Really?"

"You're such a prick."

"You love me."

"I don't like you much."

"Be sure and give her a thorough tour!" Matt called after him.

He turned to throw up both middle fingers, but his brother was already going in the opposite direction. Smug laughter echoed behind him and, with a sigh, Nick headed out to the ring.

Jasmine was standing ringside with Brandon, laughing at something Sammy said from inside the ring. She shook her head, ponytail swinging, when Brandon gestured to the steps. "No, no, I couldn't," she said when Nick reached the ring. "One of you might decide to make me your new practice dummy."

"I would never," Sammy protested, throwing up his hands. "Hey, Nick – Nick, tell her to come on and get in the ring."

"I already did," he said with a shrug. "She won't."

"But why?" Sammy asked, confusion etched in his face as he turned to Jasmine. "Don't you like wrestling?"

"It's… Well, I can definitely see the appeal," she said diplomatically.

"The answer would be no, then." Brandon shook his head. "And I thought we would be friends."

"I do like it. I'll admit I didn't start watching until a few weeks ago, but I've become a fan. And—"

"Yeah? Who's your favorite?" Sammy asked, leaning against the ropes.

"Yeah, Jasmine, who's your favorite?" Brandon folded his arms.

"Leave her alone guys," Nick groaned, hating the brief look of panic that flashed across her face. "It's obviously neither of you two idiots."

"He's such a supportive friend," Brandon snorted.

Jasmine's laugh echoed around them. "I couldn't pick a favorite. Everyone I've seen I like for different reasons. Some just have an intensity that has me holding my breath. And then there are the ones who are just so powerful it blows me away."

Nick smiled. She was still being diplomatic, but he liked knowing that she was enjoying the product. Her eyes swiveled to him and he saw her lips curve into a smile.

"And there are a couple that just have so much energy and their passion is obvious. I guess they're my favorites, really, because they take my breath away and have me holding my breath at the same time." She looked away, ducking her head for a brief moment. When she raised it, her cheeks were lightly tinged with pink. "But I refuse to inflate your egos and say you're my favorites when I enjoy everyone equally."

"You should be in politics," Sammy groaned, ducking between the ropes and hopping to the floor. "It's okay, Jazz, I know I'm your fave."

Jasmine rolled her eyes. "If it makes you sleep better at night, sure."

"Come on," Brandon said, chuckling. "Up the steps."

"But—"

"You can't do a video of the ring for your niece from outside," Nick told her, boosting himself onto the apron and rolling into the ring. "And I promise, nobody's gonna use you as a dummy."

With a sigh, she approached the steps and mounted them. Stepping onto the apron, she hesitated.

"C'mon." Nick sat on the middle rope and held the top rope up so she could easily step through. Once she was in the ring he jumped to his feet, reaching to steady her when she wavered.

"I didn't know it would be so bouncy," she murmured.

"You get used to it."

"Easy for you to say."

Leaning against the turnbuckle, Nick looked on as she slowly walked across the ring. She didn't like it, he could tell. Whether it was because she felt like she was the center of attention, or because of the way the ring dipped slightly with each step, he wasn't sure. After a moment, though, he could see her unease start to slip away, and when she turned she was smiling again.

"My niece would love it," she said softly, slipping her phone from her pocket. "She's already trying to flip off the back of the couch after watching some episodes."

"Her parents must hate that."

"Yeah, her mom is always diving to catch her." Jasmine raised her phone. "Is it alright if I show you in the video?"

"Sure." He grabbed the ropes and jumped to sit on the top turnbuckle.

"Matt wants me to film something backstage," Brandon announced. When Nick looked over to him, he saw his friend was giving him an odd smile. "See you later."

"What's he need to film?" Nick asked. Hadn't they gotten all the scenes they were going to get that day?

"He didn't say."

Confused, Nick watched his friend jog around the ramp and disappear behind one of the curtains. About to reach for his phone to find out from Matt what they'd forgotten to film, he stopped when he turned and saw Jasmine pointing her phone at him.

"That's Nick, one of my bosses. He made me get in the ring," she said, a giggle escaping as Nick waved enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I really twisted your arm," he scoffed.

"He did," she insisted. "But he's my boss, so I've got to do what he says."

Nick tilted his head and squinted at her, enjoying watching her cheeks tinge pink before she turned to film the arena. She pointed out the commentary booth, and the area she usually stood to film bits to post on social media. Shaking his head, he jumped down and approached her, laughing when she teetered. "Here," he said, reaching around her to lightly grasp her wrist. "You're gonna make her sick if you don't keep your arm steady."

"I'm not good at filming," she pointed out.

"Obviously. Don't move so fast. It makes the video blurry and shaky."

"So I've got to start over?" she asked softly.

"Nah, I'll cut and edit it for you."

She twisted slightly to look at him. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Sure. Just shoot it to my email and I'll do it before the show."

"Thanks." Her smile was bright, and when she turned to face forward, he caught a faint whiff of floral perfume.

Keeping his hand on her wrist, he watched the screen of the phone, gently guiding her to turn slowly to redo what she'd done. With each breath he got another hint of her perfume. It was faintly exotic, subtly sweet, and he had a sudden urge to dip his head to breathe it in deeper. Steeling himself, he gave his head a small shake and focused on helping her film the short video for her niece.

After they had finished, after she had thanked him profusely, after he had gone backstage to see what Matt had needed to film, he could still smell her perfume.

***

She was really getting the hang of it. Traveling for work was still nerve-wracking, but each week was a little easier. After the first week the number of things she packed lessened dramatically.

Everyone she met was nice. Some seemed to go out of their way to make her feel welcome, stopping to chat with her and ask how she was doing. Others were polite but obviously didn't want to become best friends, which didn't hurt her feelings. After two weeks her phone had three times as many numbers saved as it ever had before, and she was in so many group chats she couldn't keep up.

Jasmine loved it. The work portion of her job was relatively easy. She would be assigned tasks to complete during and after the show and learned she was able to do quite a few beforehand and schedule them for posting, giving her free time to slip out into the arena to catch some of the show. She appreciated that she wasn't expected to sit hunched in front of a computer for the duration.

On her second week, she had an idea that would generate more content and interaction. After getting Dylan's okay, she was told it was up to her to approach Cody, Matt, Nick, Kenny, or Tony with the idea.

Tony? She couldn't. He was the most likable man in the world but she was still a little overwhelmed whenever she spoke to him. The man talked constantly. And she had the feeling that her simple request would turn into a forty-five-minute conversation.

She decided to leave it up to fate and approached the room that the Elite were using as their office and locker room. Cody was in a separate room that he was using with his wife, and she saw the door was closed. Although he was approachable and friendly, she didn't want to disturb him and went to the room down the hallway. She hoped that Nick was there and receptive to her idea. Out of all of them, he was the most approachable. The others were friendly, and Matt tended to crack jokes that made her snort, but Nick was one of the few in the company that went out of his way to make her feel welcome and included.

She had thought that would fade with time, but each week it seemed he sought her out. To make sure she had settled into her role comfortably. To show her his edit of the little video she had done of the ring. To give her a bag with various shirts and jackets bearing the company logo. He'd even included shirts for her niece. She kept telling herself that he was just being nice. Even when he walked her to her car at the end of the night. He would have done the same for anyone. Wouldn't he?

Seeing that the door was ajar, she drew in a breath. She could hear the men talking inside and directed her gaze to the floor as she rapped, just in case they were changing.

"Yeah, come on in." The door pulled open and Kenny smiled down at her. "Jazzy, good to see you."

"Hi," she greeted, stepping just inside the door. Seeing Brandon across the room, camera in hand, she hesitated. "I'm not interrupting filming, am I?"

"No, no, we just finished." This from Matt, who was drying his hands on a towel.

She glanced around and saw that Nick wasn't there. Swallowing her disappointment, she returned Adam's nod of greeting. She wasn't there to get an eyeful of the man. She was there to propose her idea. Feeling slightly unnerved by four pairs of eyes on her, she cleared her throat. "I had an idea for social media and was told I have to run it by y'all."

"Hold on, we need Nick so the vote can be fair," Matt said. "Nick! Hurry up!"

"No rush!" she added.

"He's in the shower," Matt told her. "Go on and have a seat."

She hadn't needed to know he was showering. Moving to sit on the couch next to Adam, she slipped her phone from her pocket so she could have her informal proposal at the ready. Although she'd learned that ideas were tossed out and accepted regularly without anything being written down, she'd typed up her ideas and included a lengthy list of pros and even a few cons, as well as the logistics of how and when.

"Since I don't have a vote, what's the idea?" Adam asked, turning to face her when Kenny and Matt began discussing whatever they had just filmed.

"Oh, live question-and-answer sessions with wrestlers. We announce it ahead of time then I pull questions and ask them live on Instagram, and post clips on Twitter." She smiled hopefully. "Would that be something you'd do?"

He pondered, head tilting from one side to the other before he began to nod. "Yeah, that could be cool. How long would it be?"

"Not long. Fifteen, twenty minutes tops."

"And you'd field the questions?"

"Unless they want someone else to do it." She hoped they wouldn't. She had enough vanity to want it to be her to see her idea through. She didn't care for the spotlight, but she didn't think anyone else could do it the way she imagined it going in her head.

"You're the social media lady, though," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm not an interviewer." She shrugged lightly. "It hasn't been approved yet, anyway."

"That your proposal?" he asked. "Lemme see."

Sighing, she handed over her phone.

"You misspelled 'session' twice," he told her.

"I did not—"

"What's the rush? We've got plenty of time until – Oh."

Jasmine turned her head to see Nick walking from the shower room. As soon as her eyes landed on him, she caught the wave of humid air that carried with it the scent of shampoo and soap. She'd never seen him with his hair wet. Damp with sweat after a match, but never wet. Her gaze instinctively dipped to the towel he held at his waist. Spotting a drop of water trickling over his abdomen, she slowly raised her eyes to his face. She felt overheated and couldn't understand why. She regularly saw good looking men showing more skin than he was now.

"It's me, I'm the rush," she said, needing to fill the silence.

Next to her, Adam snorted. She fought the urge to slam her elbow into him and pulled her phone from his hand.

"What's up?" Nick asked.

She watched him rake his hand through his wet hair and bit her tongue when droplets of water rained down his chest. Would it have killed the man to get all the water out before leaving the shower? His eyebrows lifted briefly and she let out a tiny sigh when he reached to adjust the towel.

"Jazzy," Matt called, and she was reminded that she was there for a purpose other than staring at Nick. "What was your idea?"

"Oh. Right. Um." She pressed her lips together and looked at her phone. "Sorry. Give me a second to get my thoughts straight."

She sensed Adam moving and glanced over to see him shaking. With laughter. The bastard. Why was he even there? Didn't he have his own locker room?

"Jasmine?"

Jasmine. He always called her Jasmine. Never Jazz or Jazzy. Adam was Hangy. Kenny was Ken. Brandon was Bran. Tony was Tone. Everyone, it seemed, was either a nickname or a shortened version of their name. Everyone except her. And though she loved the sound of her name coming from his lips, it hurt a little that she wasn't worthy of a nickname.

Forcing her lips into a smile, she launched into her idea. Halfway through, she could tell they were agreeable, and rattled off the generalities of the specifics. "I know it's very similar to the BTE Mailbag you do, and that sometimes you even have a live Q-and-A on YouTube, but I think if the fans know ahead of time who's going to be answering, they'll have more specific questions."

"Would you do it live?"

"I'd like to," she said, looking to Kenny.

He nodded. "I don't see a problem with it."

"Me either," Matt said. "Nick?"

"Sounds great to me." He smiled.

Jasmine smiled in return. He really did have a sweet smile. It lit up his face, and his eyes. "Thanks so much."

"Anything else?" Matt asked.

"Nope. I'm gone, unless you've got more questions?" She was already getting to her feet. She didn't want to linger. Didn't want to be a pest.

"When you want to start?" Adam asked.

"Next week. That will be more than enough time to get the word out." Jasmine looked to him hopefully. "Would you like to be the first?"

"Shit," he muttered, and the other men began to laugh. "Yeah, fine, I'll be the guinea pig."

***

You're still at the arena? What the hell?

Sighing, Nick tapped out a vague answer to his brother's text, then pushed his phone into his pocket after hitting send. The show had ended over two hours before. Crew was still loading out, arena staff was finishing up cleaning the concession areas, and all but one or two of the wrestlers were gone. The signs and directions backstage had been taken down, the production staff had left, and the halls echoed with closing doors and the banging of crates.

All production staff except one.

Turning the corner, he saw the sign was still taped by the open door. Approaching, he could just see inside the room. Jasmine sat at a table, laptop and tablet in front of her. The first thing he noticed was that she'd changed into one of the AEW tank tops he'd given her earlier. A video played on the tablet and as he hesitated in the doorway he noted she was watching the main event from the show. He lifted his hand to knock, not wanting to startle her, when she turned her head.

"I'm finishing up," she promised, closing the laptop and leaning to unplug it. "I was just posting a few more highlights."

"No problem. It's just…" Nick entered the room and picked up her bag, carrying it to the table. "Getting late, you know?"

"I know, I know, but I was doing some polls on Twitter. About the Q-and-A thing?" She began winding the cord. "I just wanted an idea of who the fans would want to see featured."

"Yeah? Who do they want?" he asked, leaning against the table. Picking up the laptop, he handed it over after she stuffed the cord into the bag.

"Thanks. They want Adam and Kenny, and there were quite a few requests for some of the backstage people. Like Stella and a couple of the refs. Oh, and you, of course."

"Me?"

"I listed you with Matt. The Young Bucks, right?" She shook her head. "Got quite a few replies saying you should be done separately. Well, when I redid it, you got the most votes."

"No way," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Yes way," she promised. "I've already got Adam scheduled for next week, but can I do you the week after?"

Nick lifted his eyebrows. "Do me, huh?"

"You know what I mean." Her cheeks darkened slightly as she bent to pick up an empty water bottle.

"Sorry." He hadn't meant to embarrass her. Reminding himself that he was, effectively, her boss, he picked up her tablet and stopped the video. "Yeah, I guess I can do it."

"Great!" She was smiling again, and when she leaned to take her tablet he caught a hint of her perfume.

"Can I ask a personal question?"

Her smile faltered. "It depends on how personal the question is."

"I was just wondering. I mean, you don't have to answer."

"Go on." She turned off the tablet and slid it into her bag, then straightened and looked at him. Waiting.

He opened his mouth, fully prepared to ask the personal question that had been bouncing around his head for days. But he caught sight of the lanyard around her neck and knew he couldn't. "What kind of perfume is that you're wearing?"

Her eyes widened a little, and it occurred to him that it was a random question. A little personal, yes, but probably one that she was asked a lot. She lifted one arm and gave her wrist a small sniff. "I'm surprised you can still smell it… It's Chanel."

"Fancy," he murmured.

"Hardly. It was a Christmas gift from my mother. She's fancy."

"I like it. On you. I mean, I like the way it smells on you." He was fumbling. He hated it when he began to fumble. "I mean…"

"Thank you, Nick," she said softly.

"You're welcome," he sighed.

"I'm heading out now. I'll see you next week?"

"I'll walk you out," he offered, pushing away from the table.

"I'm a big girl, Nick, I can handle walking to the car," she laughed, even as she let him take the heavy bag from her hand.

"It's late, Jasmine," he reminded her, tossing his hoodie over his shoulder. The parking lot was well lit, he knew. But she was parked far from the door. And though he doubted anything would happen to her, he would never forgive himself if something did. He was well aware that he could get someone from security to see her to her car. But… he needed to do it himself.

"I know." Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she took a step forward, then stopped and looked at him skeptically. "Why are you still here, anyway?"

"Ah…" He cleared his throat and motioned for her to keep walking. "EVP stuff."

"But Matt, Kenny, and Cody left almost as soon as the show was over," she pointed out.

"Oh, y'know… One of us tries to hang around and make sure loading out goes smoothly." It wasn't a complete lie. Many times he and Matt had stuck around, helping reload merchandise onto the truck or pitching in with taking down the ring.

She seemed to ponder that for a few seconds, then shrugged. "And do you walk all employees to their cars, too?"

"Only the ones who stay as late as me."

They stepped out into the night. The production trucks were running, their heavy idling making it impossible to speak until they'd gone halfway across the lot. Next to him, she hugged herself, hands rubbing her bare arms. Without a second thought, he tugged the hoodie from his shoulder and reached to drape it around her shoulders. They stopped walking at the same time and she turned to face him, eyes bright with surprise.

"Can't have my favorite employee getting a chill," he murmured, smiling when she pushed her hands through the sleeves.

"Favorite employee, huh?" she said.

"My favorite social media lady?"

"I'm the only social media lady," she snorted.

"That's why you're my favorite."

"Charmer." She brought the front of the hoodie together in the front and began to walk again.

When they neared her car she reached for the bag hanging from his shoulder, pulling her keys from one of the side pockets. The lights flashed as she unlocked the doors, and he reached to open the driver's side door for her. "Still no Lamborghini?"

Her laugh filled him with warmth. "On my salary? Not a chance."

He handed over her bag, propping his arm on the top of the door while she leaned to place it in the passenger seat. He glanced at the interior and saw that nothing had changed in the week since he'd last walked her out. Her niece's car seat was still in the back. A couple of stuffed animals were tucked into it, and there was a green blanket neatly folded on the seat.

"Thanks for walking me out," she said after starting the engine.

"Anytime."

She straightened, and the light breeze sent her perfume his way again. Smiling, she began to shrug out of the hoodie but stopped when he shook his head.

"Keep it."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"I'll give it back next week."

"You don't have to," he murmured.

"Good night, Nick," she said softly.

"Good night, Jasmine."

When she made no move to get into the car, he waited. Feeling her hand brush against his, he glanced down and saw her wrapping the hoodie tighter around her. His lungs ached. He wished he were better at this. He wished he could be smooth and easily charming like Adam or Kenny. Or, god forbid, even a little like Matt, who knew just what to say to have a woman not want to leave his presence.

But he held none of those qualities. He was just him. A little reserved, a little shy, and when a beautiful woman was in front of him, more than a little fumbling and awkward. It had never been this bad, though. He always had a ready quip, a quick smile, to break the tension, because laughter was easier than this.

This, the anxious feeling that he would say or do the wrong thing. The ache in his chest because he couldn't catch his breath. The nerves jumbling like butterflies in his stomach. The inability to come up with anything witty or sarcastic to say to break the tension rising between them.

She moved. Lifted her head. Tossed her hair back. It sent a wave of perfume in his direction and he breathed it in, slowly raising his head to find her leaning up. Her hand landed gently on his chest and he felt her breath fan over his jaw. Felt the velvet of her cheek against his. Her lips brushed where her cheek had, and he instinctively reached to rest his hand at her waist. He turned his head as she began to pull back. She froze, and her breath stuttered over his lips.

Then her lips were on his. Gentle, softer than her cheek, they soothed the butterflies and caused the ache in his chest to spread. He brought his hands up, cupping her cheeks, felt her hands clasp at the back of his neck. Their lips parted on a gasp. Though he knew he should let her make any further moves, he couldn't resist taking a tentative taste.

And tasted sunshine.

His ears began to ring. A jangling, like an old-time phone. Feeling her start to pull away he lowered his hands to her shoulders, breaking the kiss with a sigh of regret.

"Your phone," she gasped.

It was then he felt it vibrating in his pocket and realized the ringing in his ears wasn't from the kiss. Leaning back, he pulled it out and squinted at the screen, frowning at the sight of his brother's name. "It's not important—"

"I should go," she blurted. She looked panicked. Horrified.

"Jasmine, I'm sorry—"

"No, no, I'm sorry. I should never have—" She gulped. "I have to go."

Frowning, he stepped back, hating the chill that swirled between them. "Jasmine."

"I'm fine," she promised. "I'll see you next week."

"Drive safe," he said out of habit, watching as she climbed into the car.

"Yeah. Good night."

"Night," he murmured, taking another step back while she closed the door. His frown deepened when he saw her cover her face with her hands, and he almost reached out to tap on the window. Was stretching out his hand to do so because he wanted to know what was wrong. She wasn't fine.

But she was already backing out of the parking space.

His phone began to ring again and this time he accepted the call, watching Jasmine's car speed out of the parking lot. "Yeah?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Matt asked.

Nick sighed and turned to walk back to the building. "I don't have a clue."

#nick jackson fanfiction #aew fanfiction #my fics #multipart:NO

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emberfrostlovesloki · 3 years

Text

Unsettled - Part 2

Category: comfort/ angst

Explanation: Part two of my Aaron Hotchner series; currently under the name unsettled, but I plan on changing it sometime. Link to part one is here (link)

Word Count: 4K

Content warning: Case related content including, assault, and body mutilation

List with all Stories

y/n = your name

y/l/n = your last name

f/c = your favorite color

It was 5 AM and the sound of a phone ringing pulled _y/n_ out of her sleep. She felt around for her phone, but stopped grouping around in the dark for the object when she heard Hotch’s voice saying, “Agent Hotchner… Yes, I understand. The team will be there in twenty minutes.” _Y/n_ had forgotten that she was in the same room as her superior. His voice had frightened her, until she got over her grogginess and remembered their current room situation. Aaron turned on the light by the bed and _y/n_ asked, “What’s happened Hotch?” The older man pulled his hand through his hair and replied, “They found the fourth victim, alive.” At hearing this the young woman’s eyes went wide. She asked hesitantly, “Do we know if she’s alright?” Aaron shook his head no but said, “We’ll know more when we get to the police station.” Both of the agents moved to get up and changed. _Y/n_ had her clothes and moved into the bathroom to change. She quickly brushed her teeth and pulled a brush through her hair. Before she stepped out of the room she knocked on the door and called out, “Are you decent.” Hotch replied “Yes.” She walked back into the room as Aaron was finishing tying his tie. Within five minutes the team was assembled in the lobby of the motel. After they had all been updated on the situation they moved toward the vans.

In the precinct Aaron talked to chief Waylon for a moment and turned to the BAU members. He called Spencer and _y/n_ forward and said, “I need you two to go to the University of Michigan hospital. Katty Henderson is awake. If you can interview her that would be very helpful. However, I realize that she’s been through a traumatic experience, if she isn’t willing to talk don’t press her. Just get physical indicators. There’s a patrol car ready to take you to the hospital outside.” Reid and y/l/n_ nodded and went outside. In the glaring light of the hospital the two agents waited to be admitted to Ms. Henderson’s room. A kind nurse walked toward them and asked, “Are you agent Reid and _y/l/n_” Spencer needed and _y/n_ said, “Yes ma’am.” The nurse, whose name tag read Mrs. Thome replied “I know you were here to interview Ms. Henderson, but I should make you aware that she can’t speak. You know this coming in, correct?” _Y/n_ and Spencer took a second to look at each other, the realization hitting them both at the same time. Agent y/l/n_ quietly said, “Her tongue was removed.” Mrs. Thome’s face turned grime at the statement but nodded. Reid quickly said, “Yes, we knew this coming in. Even if we can’t verbally communicate with Ms. Henderson we can still pick up non verbal cues.” The nurse did not look convinced, but led them toward the back of the hospital anyway. The two members of the BAU in fact did not know Katy’s condition when they arrived at the hospital, but they shouldn’t have ruled the idea out; it was the unsubs MO afterall. _Y/n_ just wished that Hotch had told them beforehand. She thought to herself, ‘Maybe he didn’t know either.’ The woman’s internal dialogue was cut short when they reached Katy’s room.

Both agents entered the room. Katy looked up at them and _y/n_ pulled out her badge and said, “Hello Katy. I’m FBI agent _y/l/n_ and this is agent Reid.” Spencer also clearly showed his badge to the woman lying down. Spencer said, “We wanted to ask you a few questions. Would that be alright?” Katy hesitantly nodded her head yes. Spencer continued, “We’ll start with just yes or no questions.” While Spencer was saying this _y/n_ pulled up a chair beside Katy’s bed and continued the conversation with, “If at any point you want us to repeat a question, or take a minute for you to think, or stop altogether, just tap my hand” At saying this _y/n_ placed her hand on the rail of Katy’s bed within her reach. Spencer nodded approval at the move of his coworker and started out by asking an opening question of, “The day before you were taken, were you in your house?” Katy nodded her head yes. After a few minutes of some basic details of Katy’s location and how she had been abducted _y/n_ pulled out a notepad and pen. She smiled at the woman lying on the bed and said, “You’ve been really brave so far Katy. I’m going to ask you some more detailed questions. Would you be comfortable writing down some answers for us?” Spencer also added, “We need to ask you these questions sooner rather than later because it’s shown that memory perception of traumatic events can degrade rapidly after the first five hours.” Katy looked up to Spencer and back to _y/n_ and tapped her hand. The female agent nodded and turned around to look at Spencer who was still standing behind her and said, “Spencer, would you give us a few minutes alone?” Reid furrowed his eyebrows for a second and said, “Of course. I’ll be right outside.” The lanky agent stepped back into the hall and leaned against the wall. He was reading over the notes that he had gotten so far and was making connections to the previous cases, creating a better profile. The young genius jumped when someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was _y/n_. She said, “Did you even realize you had been standing out here for half an hour?” Spencer replied, “What?” But looked up to the clock on the wall that now read 7:00 AM. “I guess I just got caught up in my notes. Did you get anything more from Katy?” To this _y/n_ held up the notepad, the page she was showing was completely full of writing. She handed him the notepad to read and started moving down the hall saying, “Let’s get out of here. We should get back to the precinct and give Hotch the new information.”

When the agents got back to the police station only Aaron and J.J. were there. The rest of the team was out in the field following leads. When _y/n_ and Spencer came in he walked toward them saying, “Did Katy Henderson tell you anything?” _Y/n_ who had been looking at her superior moved her gaze down and didn’t reply. Thankful the silence was broken by Spencer who said, “Hotch, Katy’s tongue was removed like the other victims.” AT hearing this _y/n_ turned and walked down toward the restrooms, not wandering to hear Reid describe the meeting in great detail. Because she left the two men she missed Aaron’s angered expression. The older man brushed past Reid and into Chief Waylon’s office. J.J. could hear her boss raise his voice at the officer saying, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that the fourth victim had their tongue cut out? You didn’t think that was important information for my agents to know?” Reid, who was now standing by J.J. gave her a knowing look. The police chief would never make a mistake like that again. The volume of the conversation in the office went down after that, and after another five minutes Hotch emerged from the office looking slightly less angry than when he had entered it. At seeing him Spencer stood up and gave the man all of the notes they had collected. Before the unit chief could move to the central table and start looking over the information Spencer said, “Hotch, you should know that _y/n_ stayed in the room with Katy for another half hour. It was because of her that we have any written information from the victim.” Hotch nodded that he understood and said, “Thanks for letting me know.” The dark haired agent moved toward the conference table and set the new information by his seat. Instead of sitting and reading it immediately he moved down the hall looking for _y/n_. He found her at the coffee station. She had just come out of the ladies room five minutes before. She had hidden the fact that she had had a panic attack in said bathroom very well with her neutral expression. Aaron walked up to her and grabbed a styrofoam cup for his own coffee. As _y/n_ moved away from the carafe and toward the milk Hotch said, “Spencer told me that you got a lot of useful information from Katy by yourself.” _y/l/n_ looked up at him, not really needing to acknowledge the statement. Hotch knew it was true. She did raise an eyebrow at the statement, wondering why her superior had made it. Hotch cleared his throat and rephrased the statement as, “What I mean to say was are you doing okay?” For a moment _y/n_ let out a breath, her shoulders dropped and she looked small and beaten down. She looked up at Hotch’s brown eyes and said, “I’m tired. This morning with Katy, it just took it out of me.” Aaron nodded and said, “You should take a thirty minute break. You can sleep on the couch over there. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.” Hotch pointed to a sofa on the other side of the breakroom. _Y/n_ shook her no saying, ‘I think I’ve had enough sleeping on couches for one day. I’ll just sit in the conference room. Drink this coffee and take a mental break for a few minutes.” Hotchner shifted his weight from one foot to the other, he thought that she really should get some rest. He knew that interviews like the one she had this morning could be emotionally and physically draining. He did not however, belabor the point. Instead he just replied, “Okay.” The two of them slowly move back to the conference room.

After about fifteen minutes of sitting cross from Aaron at the conference table _y/n_ said, “they all had experienced car troubles during the week that they were kidnapped.” Hotch looked over to her and asked, “How do you know that?” Agent _y/l/n_ stood and flipped to the third page of the notes from Katy Henderson. She pointed to the question, did you do anything outside of your regular weekly routine the week of September 9th? Hotch read the answer that Katy had written down aloutd, “My car had been failing to start and I took it to a repair shop. The man said there was a problem with the alternator which he fixed.” Hotch asked, “How do you know about the other two victims?” _Y/n_ relied, “Molly Greg had a new car at her home when we went and checked out her home yesterday. She had a temporary license on her car. The date was from two weeks ago. She must have seen someone to look at her old car before she went and bought a new one.” Hotch nodded along with the train of thought and said, “And the first victim had to have her tire replaced because it was slashed three weeks ago. The papers from the repair shop were on her counter.” Y/n_ stood up and called Garcia asking for a background check on the local garages. After twenty minutes the data analyst called back. Hotch answered. Garcia said, “The man you’re looking for is Tracy Pen. He’s got multiple assault charges and a few counts of assault and battery.” Aaron asked for the location of the repair shop.

Within a few minutes _Y/n_, Hotch, J.J. and Morgan and Gideon were rushing to the small garage in the west side of town. Aaron, Morgan and y/n_ took the administration building, while J.J. and Gideon took the car port. Y/l/n_ headed toward the back of the building. She kicked in the door to the office. The dark room was illuminated when the agent turned on the over head. She called out “clear,” and lowered her gun. It only took a second for the woman to notice the puddle of blood near the back side of the desk. _Y/n_ pulled her gun out again and rushed to look behind the desk. The body of a young woman caused the agent to put her hand over her mouth and drop to the floor. _Y/n_ shouted, “Aaron come here and call the paramedics!” _Y/n_ was checking for a pulse, unfortunately there was none to be found. Hotch found his subordinate hunched over yet another body of a victim. The new body had her head tilted back, eyes lifelessly looking out, mouth open to reveal that her tongue had been removed, just like the other victims. Hotch knelt down next to _y/n_. He put a reassuring hand on _y/n_’s back He Wanted her to know that he was here with her now. She had seen enough disturbing images today. He stated clearly, but softly, “Let’s move out of the room until the paramedics arrive. We don’t want to contaminate the scene. Hotch got up. _Y/n_ followed his movements. She made her way to the door. Before she could get there a wave of dizziness overcame her. She felt her body sway against her own will. She thought that she was going to hit the ground, but instead found herself supported by Aaron. Hotch could see that agent _y/l/n_ was not doing well. She seemed dazed. Even as she moved to move the room her feet dragged on the floor and eyes not focusing on the door she was headed to. Once the woman’s knees gave out he quickly moved to her side. He supported her for a moment and then moved them out of the room. They both needed to be out of that place. After getting out of the room _y/n_ took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She didn’t want to leave Hotch’s strong touch, but this was a case, and they had a job to do. She also told herself, ‘There is a dead woman in the next room. We don’t even know her name, and all you can think about is how you want your supervisor to keep holding you?’ This thought was enough for the agent to step away from Aaron and say, “I’m fine now. I guess I’m more tired than I thought. Thanks for catching me back there.” Hotch nodded and said, “Right. You can always take a step back if you need _y/n_” Hotchner knew that she wouldn’t, but he wanted to put the option on the table. As he expected his agent denied the offer, but did decide to take a few breaths outside. The atmosphere of death hung heavy in the small space.

After the coroner had left with the body of the fourth victim, agent Hotchner signaled for Morgan to go back into the administration building with him. Morgan walked beside Hotch and asked, “Is _y/n_ alright? She looked really shaken up a few minutes ago. What happened in there?” Hotch looked at Derek as he held the door open for the agent, and responded, “I’m not sure. She’s a newer agent, and it's always shocking to find a body like that. Later in the evening the team was evaluating a message that the unsub had left, taped to the dash of the last victim's car. _Y/n_ had found it. The note read, “You’re onto my game. Because you’ve put up a good chase so far. I like games, I’ve been playing them for some time. Because I am a sportsman I will give you 48 hours before I find another girl to make my own. Good luck.” The team had been pondering the situation for hours. The head of the unit was starting to get a headache. It was already 9:00 PM. It was for his well being this evening that the team went back to the motel. When He and _y/n_got to the room she set her bag on the couch. She turned to Hotch who was taking off his shoes. She asked, “Can I, um use the bathroom to shower.” Hotch looked up from the laces on his left foot and said, “Yes of course. I’m going to get some food. Is there anything you like? She was already a foot inside the bathroom when she relied, “I’m not really hungry. I’ll just get whatever you like.” With that she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, locking it behind her. She didn’t mean to sound dismissive to Hotch, she was just having a hard time breathing at the moment. She turned on the shower and stipped, stepping under the shower head even before the water turned warm. The sharp sting of the cold water brought her breathing under control. After a minute the heat started to come in one the water. The woman leaned against the shower wall and just stood there. Hotch who was completely unaware of what was happening in the next room finished taking off his left shoe. He heard the water turned on, and he took a moment to not let his mind go to the person in the shower. Instead he stood and looked at the brochure that most motels and hotels had of local restaurants. He found a simple and cheap looking pasta place. It certainly wasn't healthy food, but the man didn’t really care, he just wanted something that was going to make him feel better, feel warm.

Just as the food arrived _y/n_ came out of the bathroom. She was in a black tank and green shorts. She walked over to the food that Aaron was pulling out of a plastic bag. Hotch was placing the food on the bed. He pulled out another carton of food and held it out to _y/n_ she took it and opened the box to find pasta and tomato sauce. _Y/n_ sat down and said, “Thanks Hotch.” At this point Aaron was sitting down and eating his own cheesy pasta. He finished his bite and said, “_y/n_ are you sure you’re doing alright? Finding Yolonda [the latest victim] must have been upsetting. You know you can talk to me about anything” _Y/n_ looked up from her pasta. Aaron thought for a moment that she might have tears in her eyes. Or at least that her eyes look very sad. _Y/n_ could feel her facade slipping, so she looked in the other direction before turning her gaze back to Hotch saying, “It wasn’t fun I can say that. I wanted to be doing good in the FBI, look what I’ve done for these women so far.” Hotch nodded and said, “This line of work can make you myopic. So far you’ve led us to the unsub, and found a note that has told us that the unsub may give us time to find him before he kills again. You’ve done a lot for this case so far. And, professionally speaking, you complement the team.” Hotch could see her eyes lighten up a little. The man had finished his food, and he put the styrofoam container back into the plastic bag which he set on the small vanity. He then grabbed his clothes from his suitcase. Before he went to shower he asked if _y/n_ needed to use the restroom, which she refused. Aaron had to stop himself from placing a hand on _y/n_’s shoulder. He had had an honest reason to guide _y/n_ out of the building earlier today, now, not so much. But he knew this line of thought wasn’t appropriate. When _y/n_ heard the water turn on she closed her food and put it in the bag with Hotch’s trash. She grabbed her phone and lay down. She meant to text her sister. Instead she was remembering how she had called for Hotchner as Aaron when she really needed him. It was a nagging feeling. She knew she wanted to continue calling him Aaron, the closeness that first names brought meant something deeper. She knew it was wrong to want to be closer to Hotch, and she was doing her best to keep her feeling hidden, but it was currently difficult with everything that was on her mind. Before she could think about it more _y/n_ felt her eyes drooping, and before she knew it she was asleep.

When Hotch got out of the shower he noticed that _y/n_ was asleep. He checked and found that her food had hardly been touched. He next moved to turn off the main light in the room, and switched on a lamp by his bed. Lastly, he pulled the blanked off of the ground and spread it over her sleeping body. He wasn’t surprised that she was asleep, she had been working very hard on the case. He noticed her phone had slipped down by her pillow. Hotch carefully slipped his hand past her face and grabbed the cell. He didn’t look at the screen to respect her privacy. Instead he set the phone down on the nightstand by the bed. The agent then decided that he also needed sleep. He moved under the sheets as quietly as he could. He switched off the light, and unlike last night he actually fell asleep quickly. It was a few hours later that Aaron woke up to something unusual. He thought he was imagining it for a second until he heard it a second time. It was _y/n_. She was making a pained sound in her sleep. A small groan in the back of her throat. In another minute he heard her say quietly in her sleep, “please, please stop” He didn’t really know what to do. For a moment Hotch sat up in the bed. It wasn’t until he heard _y/n_ say, “I said no, please stop, stop, no.” Aaron couldn’t stand to hear the desperation in her voice anymore, even if it was just a dream.” The man knelt next to the couch and shook _y/n_’s shoulder. He called out, “_Y/n_ wake up.” After another shoulder shake and the female agent stiffened Hotch’s hand on her shoulder. She shot up from her horizontal position. She pushed Hotch’s arm away. She was hyperventilating and could feel bile rising in her throat. As she tasted the vomit in her mouth she bolted out of the couch toward the bathroom. Aaron followed her in time to see her throw up into the toilet. The woman dry heaved twice more before wiping her hand over her mouth. _Y/n_ shifted her weight from her thighs to where her left hip rested on the floor. Aaron didn’t know exactly what to do. He didn’t want to touch her, because that hadn’t worked well for him the first time. After a moment of deliberation Hotch said, “_Y?n_ you were having a bad dream, you’re safe here. I won’t touch you again. What can I do to help you?” _Y/n_ closed the lid of the toilet and pulled herself up the sink. She washed out her mouth and tears started to stream down her face. Through her tears _y/n_ turned and asked, “Aaron call Dr. Alicia Greene on my phone, please.” At the request Hotch moved quickly to the nightstand. Finding _y/l/n’s_ phone unlocked he went to the contacts and dialed Dr. Greene. After two beeps a tired sounding female voice said, “_Y/n_, is something the matter?” Aaron cleared his throat and replied, “This is Aaron Hotchner, I’m going to put _y/n_ on the phone now, she asked to speak to you.” Hotch moved back to the bathroom. _Y/n_ was sitting against the wall. Hotch handed the phone down to her. She took it and placed the phone near her ear saying, “Dr. Greene?” There was a pause and then she continued, “I can’t do this anymore, not now. I can't eat, can’t sleep, can’t do my job.” Again there was silence. Hotch stood at the doorway again. He was waiting for a sign from _y/n_ for him to leave, but she never gave it. Instead she simply continued to listen to the other person on the phone. She was restating some of the things Alicia was saying like “Deep breaths,” and “focus on something in the room.” When she repeated this line _y/n_ instantly focused on Hotch. She was looking at the collar of Aaron’s shirt, where it sat on his collar bone, how the seam was surged neatly. After a few more minutes she said, “I’m doing better now. The techniques worked.” Silence, “Yes, yes. I’ll call again if I have another incident.” With that she hung up the phone and set it on the ground. She spent another five minutes taking controlled breaths and focusing on various objects in the room like Aaron’s bottle of shampoo in the shower, and her towel.

#aaron hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron x reader #hotchner x reader #hotchner x y/n #spencer reid #penelope garcia #j.j.#emily prentiss #jason gideon #david rosi #criminal minds #cm #reader insert

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megalony · 4 years

Text

Free to go

This is another murderer! Ben imagine that I hope you will all enjoy and feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg

Murderer! Ben masterlist

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) have just had a baby when Ben gets arrested in their home but he reassures (Y/n) that he’ll be home soon. He knows Gwilym doesn’t have enough evidence to convict him.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You like that one?"

Following the sound of the rather mellow yet still gruff tone of voice, (Y/n) padded down the hall until she was leaning against the doorway to Owen's room. Her eyes found the source of the voice that she never normally heard in a soft and calming tone until recently. That voice was always abrasive, hard, cold and scratchy, it was never soft and mellow and calm like the sea gentle lapping at the sand.

It didn't take much guessing to see why his voice had that softer, smoother edge to it. He could hardly speak in his usual uncaring tone of voice to the newborn in his arms, that wouldn't be the best start if he let his son see him as cold and uncaring from day one.

A smile flowed onto (Y/n)'s otherwise tired features as she stayed in the doorway, watching the scene unfold in front of her. Ben was leaning his hips against the crib behind him wearing trousers and socks but no shirt. He had Owen resting on his right arm making the baby look so much smaller and fragile and when he tensed his arm Owen almost disappeared from sight.

The baby boy had his eyes half open and his tiny hand pressed on Ben's chest like he was patting his new tattoo.

Ben now had one tattoo on his chest compared to the rest of his body, he had one on the back of his neck, one on each knuckle on both hands, one on his upper right arm near his shoulder, one on his left upper thigh and a rather large, extensive tattoo spreading from between his shoulder blades right down near his hips. He for some reason didn't have any tattoos on his chest until now and it had confused (Y/n) why he would keep his chest clear when he went so far as to have the rest of his body lathered in ink.

Sometimes she did wonder if his chest was clear of ink because he had been cut and stabbed there a few times. He had a scar on his lower stomach on the right side from being stabbed a few years back and he had small slash marks from fights he'd had in the past. It made (Y/n) wonder if he didn't have tattoos there in case someone stabbed or cut or even shot him and ended up damaging any tattoos he may have.

Ben had Owen's date of birth on the upper left side of his chest along with his footprints taken when he was born.

Despite the tattoo being new and the skin all around it being as red as a tomato, Ben didn't flinch or look phased when Owen touched it or even when (Y/n) had touched it before. (Y/n) had been with Ben when he got that tattoo and it amazed her how he didn't flinch, pull away, grit his teeth or even tense. He didn't swear either, he looked like he could feel no pain at all and it made (Y/n) curious as to how Ben would have reacted when he got the tattoo on his back.

"Is he okay?" (Y/n) watched Ben glance up at her with a smile before he turned around to lay Owen back down since he was practically asleep in his arms now.

"He's fine." The words barely passed through Ben's lips before he found (Y/n) suddenly standing in front of him, her arms wrapping around his torso so she could burrow into his chest. She knew well enough now to know that she could lean on or brush against any new tattoo Ben got and he wouldn't flinch or make a comment about it.

"I think that one's my favourite." (Y/n) mumbled quietly, moving her head so she could kiss the latest edition to Ben's growing ink collection. Her eyes briefly looked over at the newborn beside them before she looked back up at Ben who looked very amused.

"Where shall I get your name?" Ben leaned back in order to look over tilt his chin down, his eyes scanning over himself as a shark-tooth grin flooded his face.

Ben had pleaded with (Y/n) for the past six months to let him get her name tattooed somewhere but (Y/n) was very against the idea. It was sweet and she knew it would make Ben happy, he wanted her name because now they had a baby together but she couldn't let him do that. If they broke up Ben wouldn't be very pleased to have her name inked on his skin as a permanent reminder of her. Ben insisted they wouldn't break up and that even if they did, he wouldn't mind still having her name on his skin because she was the mother of his child. She wouldn't exactly be out of his life if they did break up.

"No."

"Baby please, you know you'd secretly love it-"

"Not if we break up I wouldn't and neither would you." (Y/n) pressed her chin into Ben's chest so she could look up at him. He looked a mix between devilish and disgruntled at the response he didn't want.

"What if I did it anyways? I think your name would look good on my wrist." Ben removed one arm from (Y/n)'s waist to show her his wrist. He wasn't giving up, he was having her name tattooed somewhere eventually, he just had to wear her down first to get her approval. He knew it wouldn't be in his best interest if he did it anyway when she told him not to.

"Maybe in a year or two." (Y/n) could already guess that she would wear down and give in just to stop him from pestering her eventually.

"That's my girl, come on, let's leave him to sleep."

(Y/n) didn't quarrel, she followed Ben out of the room and downstairs until they were heading into the living room. She slowly sat down on the sofa before turning to lay out instead, leaning her head on the pillow resting against the arm of the sofa as she felt like she was sinking into the cushions until she was engulfed and disappeared. Towards the end of the pregnancy with Owen, (Y/n) had made a den of sorts on the sofa where she had spent most of her time and she kept the pillows and cushions here since her back was still sore, as was her stomach.

(Y/n) opened her eyes when she felt Ben lifting her legs so he could sit down with her, resting her legs over his lap and she could see he had shrugged one a shirt. Small shivers ran up and down her legs when Ben's hands absentmindedly ran up and down her exposed legs and up to her thighs.

They had only been home from the hospital with Owen for roughly a week now and since they weren't going out anywhere or having visitors round, (Y/n) didn't see any reason to dress up or dress properly. For the past few days she had either been wearing her pyjamas or like she was now, wearing one of Ben's oversized shirts and some shorts.

Owen was a surprise, he wasn't planned for either of them and it had worried (Y/n) in the beginning that Owen wouldn't be part of Ben's plan. He truly didn't seem like the type of person who would want kids, he worked a lot, he got into fights and he blackmailed, killed and terrorised people. Children didn't seem like they would fit into that plan of life but to (Y/n)'s utter surprise, Ben had been happy about this.

Despite the work he did and his cold exterior and heart and the seven years difference between him and (Y/n), he was happy and fine with this. They moved in together a few months into the pregnancy and (Y/n) slowly got to know how Ben worked and his different way of life.

(Y/n) didn't know how long she'd been asleep for or when she fell asleep but when she tiredly opened her eyes and looked around, the tv was on but Ben was no longer sitting next to her. A small sense of panic started to dwell in her chest until she realised she could hear him clattering about in the kitchen, most likely getting a cup from the cupboard to make a drink.

Waking up and finding Ben wasn't there was always a panic signal to (Y/n), it made her wonder if he had slipped out quickly for an emergency at work or if he wasn't there at night she had the sudden fear that someone had broken in and he was trying to sort it out. (Y/n) wasn't sure why, but waking up or coming home to find Ben wasn't there scared her. He was her safety net, she felt safe and secure when he was there and she couldn't even try to go to sleep unless he was there too.

Rubbing at her tired eyes, (Y/n) tried to wake herself up a bit more as she moved into a sitting position. She needed to get herself a drink and then see what time it was in case it was time to give Owen a bottle, unless she had been asleep for a while and Ben had already fed him by now.

Listening to the tv worked wonders in bringing (Y/n) back around and shaking off the sleep from her system. Once she felt properly awake and had regained all her thoughts and senses, (Y/n) pushed herself up to her feet just as the she heard someone knocking rather hurriedly at the front door.

"I got it." She called out to Ben, trying to keep the tiredness from her voice as she slowly headed out into the hall.

(Y/n) ran her fingers through her hair, catching her nails on a few of the knots and tangles as she tried to make her hair seem less of a bird's nest on her head. Her brows furrowed the closer she got to the dark oak brown door when she realised just how harshly someone was banging on the door to be let in.

The first month of living with Ben sent (Y/n) into numerous panic attacks when he had his workers turning up out of the blue and during the night, it was hard to get used to so many people coming round but at least Ben gave her some kind of warning beforehand now.

Reaching the door, (Y/n) twisted the key that was already situated in the lock but before she even pulled the handle down all the way, the door was suddenly pushed with so much force that the sharp edge of the door rammed into (Y/n)'s chest and stomach and just grazed the bottom of her chin from how close she had been standing to the door.

(Y/n) choked on a shriek as her knees caved in the moment she pushed her weight onto the door so it closed in whoever's face was on the other side. Her knees pushed against the wood, as did her forehead that was pulsing and had she been in a cartoon, stars would have been swirling over her head. A ragged breath pushed through (Y/n)'s nose as she tried to blink away the dizziness and breathe through the pain swelling in her chest and stomach that was already tender as it was.

When the words 'Open up' and 'police' hit her ears, (Y/n) had the urge to lock the door and keep them out but with the force they used to try and get in, she knew they weren't likely to simply go away.

Forcing herself to stand up properly on shaking legs, (Y/n) coiled forward just a little to relieve the pain in her chest and stomach.

"Baby, what the fuck?" Ben's eyes were wild with confusion and worry when he left the kitchen, freezing for a moment when he noticed the way (Y/n) was almost collapsing in front of the door and the scream she just let out that almost made him burn his hand from shock.

Ben didn't receive a response as (Y/n) moved just enough to let the police barge the door open all the way, sending her stumbling backwards. Her free hand quickly reached out for the shoe rack next to her to steady herself as her other hand pressed to her stomach that was burning like she'd been stabbed. Not wanting to be trampled down, (Y/n) pushed her uncoordinated feet to trip over one another to move forwards past the stairs and into the hall.

(Y/n) was grateful when Ben reached out and held onto her to stop her from falling flat on her face. His hands slipped easily around her waist and pulled her over to him until she was leaning into his chest and she could feel his lips pressing into her hair.

But as soon as Ben's arms were around her, (Y/n) could feel hands roughly pulling and grabbing at her arms and waist, trying to tear her away from him. (Y/n) kept her eyes tightly closed and her nails scraped against Ben's arm that she was clinging to but it did no good as she was still torn away from him and when her back collided with the wall she slumped down to her knees, blacking out if only for two seconds.

She could feel her stomach churning like she was going to be sick, all of the blood was now rushing to her head that felt like it was being squeezed until it was about to burst like a grape. She could hear Ben's dark, violent tone warning whoever just pushed her into the wall not to do it again and (Y/n) knew Ben would have launched himself at the policeman if there were no other officers here. He couldn't take down all four officers at once and someone would radio for backup if he tried. Ben could assault, bully, threaten, blackmail and kill anyone he liked but when it came to the police it was tricky.

They were here to arrest him and he couldn't harm them when he was being arrested or they had reason to caution and charge him. He couldn't give them evidence to use against him, they struggled as it was to find anything to pin on Ben and that was how he needed it to stay.

When (Y/n) tried to stand up, a pair of large, rough hands grabbed her upper arms and hauled her to her feet. When the man's hand caught on the oversized shirt she was wearing and made it ride up at the side, (Y/n) was thankful she decided to wear pyjama bottoms with Ben's shirt rather than just her underwear.

Her eyes managed to focus enough for her to see Ben ramming his elbow into an officer's stomach, giving himself the chance to pull away from the banister he had been pushed up against so that they could try and arrest him. He wasn't going to make a break for it or resist arrest but he wasn't being pushed into the banister for that. They were barging in here because they knew he was dangerous and a killer but they should know from previous experience that Ben always let them arrest him, he came willingly with them. They had no need to be violent with him or (Y/n).

"Go check upstairs, make sure it's clear." The officer standing next to the door ordered to a man who was hanging around the stairs like he was observing the scene, not knowing where to chip in.

(Y/n)'s frantic eyes locked with Ben's for a split second before he nodded and tipped his head in the direction of the stairs. He held his arm out in front of the officer standing next to her, preventing him from grabbing at (Y/n) when she stumbled over to the stairs and swung round, losing her energy as panic took over when she tried to hurry and clamber up the stairs.

"Get off me!" (Y/n)'s voice wasn't as firm or demanding as she willed it to be but there was a firm, growling tone to her voice when the officer grabbed at her legs to try and stop her since she was practically crawling up on her hands and knees.

"Get the fuck off her, she's going to get the baby." Ben managed to squeeze his arm through the gaps between the poles of the banister and he roughly grabbed the young man's wrist, yanking his arm away from (Y/n) so she could carry on up the stairs.

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she got to the top of the stairs and she didn't have the will to push them away.

(Y/n) had never had the police turn up to her home before, then again she'd never lived with Ben until a few months ago. The thought of police turning up at their home was unrealistic in (Y/n)'s mind considering how Ben was always telling her he was going to keep his work separate from home life, especially now that they had Owen. All his dealings happened at the club and she knew he'd been arrested there once before, it was a natural assumption that any arrests or dealings with the police would happen at the club, not at home.

A big part of (Y/n) didn't want to venture back downstairs to the chaos, she just wanted to sit in Owen's room and cradle her baby boy to her chest, trying to imagine all of this as some fiction of her imagination or a nightmare. But she knew she had to go down, she had to see Ben and find out what he wanted her to do.

Holding Owen against her chest and stomach made (Y/n) whimper in pain but she couldn't hold him loosely, she needed him pressed against her to reassure herself he was okay and to make sure none of the officer's downstairs would try and take him off her. She cuddled the frightened newborn against her chest with his head leaning on her shoulder and his blanket wrapped neatly around his very small, fragile frame.

Her legs were trembling when she shakily walked back down the stairs, pulling away from the officer waiting at the bottom who tried to reach out for her. (Y/n) leaned against the banister, her frightened eyes watching as Ben held his hands out in front of him with a face like thunder as he silently allowed them to arrest him. He knew there was no gain in trying to resist.

Ben yanked his arm out of the officer's hold, he didn't need to be held like a toddler to walk and he was hardly going to run away with his hands cuffed in front of him. It would be a big giveaway that he was resisting arrest if he went out into the street like this and he wouldn't get very far.

When he reached (Y/n), Ben very slowly lifted his cuffed hands up until he could loop them over (Y/n)'s head, tangling his hands into the back of her hair with his arms resting on her shoulders. He stood as close as he could get to her without squashing Owen between them who was shrieking and wailing like it was the end of the world but then again, he didn't know or understand what was going on. Ben pressed his lips to the side of (Y/n)'s head for a moment, feeling her hiccuping through silent cries and she was shaking against him. He darted his eyes around before he lowered his head and turned until his lips were pressed to her ear, he didn't want anyone hearing what he was about to tell her.

"Call Joe tell him what's happened, he'll get my lawyer to brief you on the phone and the guys will hang around, make sure no one's watching or coming here. They can't arrest or talk to you at all so don't let any other police in. Call your sister, don't stay here alone. I love you, I won't be long." Ben pressed a deep kiss to her lips before he moved his arms and took a step back, waiting for (Y/n) to nod that she understood before he made any move to walk out of the house.

He needed his lawyer to talk to (Y/n) so if the police tried to ask her anything, she knew the best answers to give that would keep her totally out of this and he needed the boys to know what was happening so they could stay close to the house and make sure nothing happened to (Y/n) or Owen.

And Ben didn't want (Y/n) staying here on her own if he was held overnight because he could be gone for up to twenty four hours in custody and she wasn't well. He couldn't have her on her own, hurt and shaken up and needing to care for Owen. Ben also knew how (Y/n) was when it came to sleeping, his way of life heightened her anxiety and if he was out late and came home past midnight, she would be waiting up for him.

(Y/n)'s sister despised Ben and would try to get (Y/n) to leave but Ben would rather have Clare try and do that than have (Y/n) left on her own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Am I free to go yet?" There was something so snide and bitter about Ben's tone that caused Gwilym to look at him in surprise when he walked into the interview room. He was expecting to look over and see voids in Ben's pupils that were alight with a fire of anger, he thought he would be met with snarling lips and bared teeth and clenched hands slamming down on the desk.

But all he could see was someone who looked like they were playing cards and had a royal flush hidden in their deck. Ben had one brow raised, his head bent to the side at an odd angle and a smile that was so unnerving, Gwilym had to stop himself from shivering.

This was the fourth time he had been able to both arrest and bring Ben into custody for questioning and he was determined not to let him slip through his grasp this time. Everyone knew all the crimes Ben committed and Ben knew they knew, but they never had the evidence or witnesses to gain enough grounds to arrest him for good. They could only bring him in for questioning and watch as he wriggled free and walked away. Sometimes he went straight out and committed another crime they couldn't pin on him, sometimes he laid low for a while and other times he disappeared off the radar and moved away.

Gwilym couldn't let him go again.

"Afraid not, Mr Hardy. We need to ask you some questions about a murder, but you already know that."

"The officer did mention something like that. I've been here for five hours, if you could ask me quickly so I can go home that would be nice." The way Ben smiled looked so genuine yet so fake that it was almost confusing, he looked like he was being genuine yet he wanted Gwilym to see he was being fake to rattle him.

Ben leaned back in his seat and straightened his spine, letting it click back into place before he sat up straight and rested his arms on the table, linking his hands together.

"Do you know this man?" Gwilym pulled out a brown paper file and took out three different pictures, placing them neatly on the table in front of his suspect who they both knew was guilty beyond belief. One picture was a mugshot of the victim, and the other two pictures were taken from the crime scene where he had been beaten to a pulp before being shot.

It unnerved and angered Gwilym how Ben pulled the pictures closer to take a proper look like he was wracking his brain as if he were a witness helping them with their crime instead of the murderer trying to get away with it. He even glanced over to his lawyer sat beside him before he looked back over at Gwilym.

"Yes, he's called Robert, he was a member of my gym." Ben could see his answer startled Gwilym. This was the first time he had ever admitted he knew someone they brought him in to question about. He had no reason to say he knew them because he already knew there was no evidence to tie him to his own crime but he thought he would toy with them for a bit.

"Was?"

"I don't think he'll be coming back, do you?" Ben pointed at the middle photo that showed the bullet hole in his forehead.

"He was seen going into your gym on the day he died. No one saw him leave and at some point in the evening he was murdered and his body was dumped not too far from your place of work."

"When was that?" Ben folded his arms over his chest, looking rather bored now like he was done playing a game and wanted to move onto something else now. Gwilym was trying to catch him out, make him give himself an alibi without them giving him enough information but Ben wasn't stupid enough to fall into their little traps.

"Two weeks ago, Tuesday nineteenth. We have a witness come forward who says they saw you leaving the scene where we found him."

"Did they identify me by you giving them a picture, did they describe me or did they give you my name?" Ben hardly looked phased about a witness placing him at a murder scene and it was really getting under Gwilym's skin now.

Ben knew that there were officers who would stoop so low as to find someone and show them a picture of Ben and prompt them to say they saw him there. But if someone just described him it wasn't definite proof he was there and if they gave his name it was more unreliable because a lot of people knew him and wanted him in prison.

"The witness described you, then identified a picture of you."

Gwilym pulled another piece of paper from his file and placed it in front of Ben, allowing him to see the description that was given by their so called witness. They gave a description of Ben's hair, a vague description of his face, approximate height and clothes.

"They saw a man walking the street at ten o'clock at night in a black coat and trousers. They didn't stop and talk to whoever they saw and they were on the other side of the road. Your witness hasn't described my client's various tattoos that could have been seen and they didn't get close enough to see his face. This isn't definite proof my client was there."

Ben's lawyer handed the paper back to Ben, sounding like he was ending the discussion there and Ben couldn't help the grin that took over his face. It could have been anyone, the fact that it actually was him made no difference because Gwilym couldn't definitely prove it in a court of law. They would see the time, know how dark it would have been and the distance the witness was from Ben and know they were only guessing.

"We found shoe prints at the scene and cigarette stubs at the scene."

When more pieces of paper were placed in front of Ben, he spared them a glance, focusing more on the sticky notes attached to them giving information about the shoe size, the type of shoe and the type of cigarettes they found.

"Sadly, I can't fit into a size ten converse, I take eleven and a half size and converse aren't my thing. Plus, I only smoke menthol cigarettes."

Ben had to admit Gwilym had managed to find some actual evidence at this crime scene, but sadly for him, none of it linked Ben to the scene. He was careful that if he was the one who did the killing, nothing was left behind that linked him there. No one saw him do it, no fingerprints, DNA, pieces of clothing or traces were left behind. He wouldn't be so stupid to leave his actual cigarettes at the scene, they must have been from Adam who was along with Ben when they killed Robert.

"Do you have any tangible evidence that links my client to the scene?"

"Does your client have an alibi for that day?" Gwilym countered, trying not to show that this was his last resort. If Ben didn't have a watertight alibi Gwilym would tear it apart and keep him here for as long as he could. He was going to do everything he could to pin this one to him.

"I was home with my girlfriend."

"All day?"

"She was nine months pregnant, do you really think I'd leave her alone during the evening to go kill someone when she could go into labour at any moment?" It was a good enough excuse and alibi, (Y/n) had been very close to her due date and Ben hadn't been in the club for over two weeks so he could be home with her. Things got out of hand at the club so he left for one hour to sort Robert out, but Gwilym wasn't to know that.

"So if we talk to her, she'll confirm you never left the house that day? And the day before and the day after, what about then?"

"The day before we didn't leave the house, Tuesday we didn't go anywhere because she felt ill and if you ask our midwife, she'll confirm I called her at two in the morning on Wednesday because (Y/n)'s water broke. We were in hospital for the next five days."

Ben had one of the best alibi's going for this murder, he had (Y/n).

He left the house on Tuesday at five in the afternoon to sort Robert out, let his men move and dispose of the body later and after that Owen was born. There was no way Gwilym could pin this one on Ben, he had no evidence leading to Ben and he had a watertight alibi and no proper witnesses to place him at the scene. Their only witness didn't even see Ben because he didn't move Robert's body from the club. He was in the clear.

"Right... bear with me whilst I go and get that confirmed by your girlfriend." Gwilym pushed his chair back but he didn't have time to stand up before Ben's lawyer was speaking.

"I've already got the midwife's contact details and I think talking to miss (Y/l/n) should be done by a different officer once I've had chance to speak to her."

"Why do you think that?"

"From what my client tells me, when you forced entry into his home miss (Y/l/n) was injured and detained without cause. I need to talk with her and see if she's pressing charges before any officer questions her in a case she isn't involved with."

There was no way that Ben was letting Gwilym or his officers get away with how they had barged into his home and hurt (Y/n), even if they didn't intend to. They ought to realise by now that Ben let them arrest him, he let them put him in custody because he always knew he would get out, just like he was today. They had no reason to barge in like that and then to try and detain (Y/n) when she did nothing wrong. Ben wasn't letting that drop, he was making sure Gwilym thought twice before he even dared to come to Ben's home again, let alone try and arrest him in that manner.

When Gwilym looked over at Ben sitting across from him, the shit-eating grin on Ben's face said it all.

He was walking away free this time too.

#ben hardy #ben x reader #ben hardy imagine #imagine #BoRhap #gwilym lee #gwilym imagine #murderer! ben

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arsyeong · 4 years

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make me fall for you first | ijb. (7)

o n e / t w o / t h r e e / f o u r / f i v e / s i x

summary: you’ve caught the eye of the campus fuck boy and you could only think of one way to get out of it. word count: 2,310

a/n: and after a month, here’s another part of mmffyf! sorry it had taken so long. even in quarantine, i’ve been in a writing slump (stump?). i hope everyone has been well though! the comeback has come and gone; it was a great time. i changed how the story would go a few days ago and i’ll try to finish it within this month, at least. though this chapter seems like a filler to me? i hope you all still enjoy it! :D

Saturday morning.

And someone was groaning beside you.

The first thing you try is face burying into your pillow, and when that doesn't work, you turn to face the wall; but all your efforts couldn't block out the pitiful yet irritating sounds spilling from the man on your pull-out bed.

"Would you knock it off?" This was far from what you had imagined waking up to Jaebeom would be like.

"Bad morning to you too, sweetheart," he grumbles, and you hoist yourself out of bed to look for something to give him. "You're being too loud," you hear him groan.

You walk to and crouch beside him, aspirin in one hand and a half-full glass of water in the other. He gives the items a lazy look before noisily heaving himself to a sitting position and taking them. "Thanks," he mutters afterward and you go to wash the glass.

"Any plans for today?" you call out, sparing him a glance and immediately telling him not to lie back down.

He sighs. "My plan? It's to be with you."

"That's not a plan."

"It is now."

You hold his gaze for a while but pull away eventually, setting the glass on the dryer. "I liked you better when you informed me of your plans beforehand."

With a teasing smile, he goes, "Oh, so you like me?"

"That wasn't my point."

"It is now."

"It is too early to deal with you, Jaebeom," you groan, leaning on the counter to face him.

"It's never too early for you, babe." He winks and checks his phone. "Besides, it's 10:45." He stands up a bit too eager for someone who had just been whining over a hangover. "Let's have brunch. I know a place."

"That didn't sound like a question."

"It wasn't." You watch him fold the blanket you had given him the night before. "I want to pay you back," he explains, handing the neatly folded cloth to you then pushing the pull-out back in, "and I have to win you over too. So, while I go home to change," he looks you up and down and smirks, "you get ready."

"Hopefully you shower before changing," you comment in a defensive tone, trying not to blush from the way he had looked at you.

"If that's what you wish, my lady." He bows to complete the act then turns to take his jacket off the chair you had hung it on last night. Already heading toward the door, he calls to you, "I'll text you."

The moment the door clicks shut, you walk over to lock it.

And then you panic.

You don't even know what time it is.

Shower? Check. But do you smell good enough? You hope. Your clothes are a mess on your bed, your purse on the table, and you're trying your best at applying make-up; but all your movements cease the moment your phone notifies you of a text message.

Now, it is time.

When you walk out, you find Jaebeom waiting for you by his car, eyebrows furrowed from the sunlight only until he sees you; and then his eyes were as wide as they could be. "Good morning," he greets, eyebrows raised as he takes you in.

"I thought it was a bad morning though?"

He scoffs at your teasing and shakes his head, a smile gracing his lips, then he walks to the driver's seat. "Get in."

Jaebeom takes you to a quaint Japanese restaurant, claiming he needed their food and their food only. "The boys and I eat here a lot when we're hangover," he tells you while parking, "It's a special place for us so don't be surprised if you see some familiar faces."

"You were with them last night?"

"Of course."

"Then why did you leave them?"

"Because I was thinking of you."

For the second time today, you resist the urge to blush. "And what do I have to do with anything?"

"Everything." He stops the car and looks at you with fascination, as if it's obvious what he means and he's in disbelief of you not catching onto it. You frown at him and he just laughs it off, getting out of the car and rushing to open your door. He holds out his hand and you take it gratefully, then the two of you are inside.

The woman at the counter gives him a welcoming smile first but it changes into a teasing one upon seeing you. "Is this your girlfriend?"

"Not yet," he chuckles, smirking at you, and you're too awkward around strangers to elbow him in front of her. "Any of the boys here?"

"Bambam and Jackson came by a while ago," she replies, "Too bad you didn't catch them. Only the three of you last night?"

"Mark and Youngjae too, so watch out for them."

"And the other two?"

"Jinyoung said he had a lot of academics to deal with over the weekend and Yugyeom's been working on a new choreography."

"You boys always do go hard on anything you do." She smiles fondly and turns to you. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to take your time."

"It's fine!" you chime immediately, not wanting her to feel bad. "I was going over the menu anyway."

"We'll give it to you at 50% today," she says, "After all, you're the first lady Jaebeom has brought here for a long time."

You practically snap your neck to look at him. "I am?"

"I'll have my usual," he says and he asks you for your order as if you weren't staring at him with wide eyes. You tell him in a shocked mumble and he leads you away from the counter after then.

"You heard her, sweetheart," he goes, "We go hard in everything we do. Myself included." He wears a smug look on his face and you give him a disgusted look.

"I haven't even eaten and I already feel like throwing up."

"I don't think you would have said that last night."

"Nothing even happened last night!" You try not to sound disappointed as you take your seats but he's still playing with you. "You were the one who told us to stop," you huff, leaning back on the chair and crossing your arms.

"Answer me this," his arms are on the table and he's looking you in the eye, "Have you fallen for me already?"

You stare at him with your eyebrows knit together, realizing you didn't know what to say. Just when you've decided on 'no,' though, he continues, "See? So my mission isn't over yet, and I'm not taking short cuts."

"Would you do that for any other girl?" you ask, "Not take short cuts to get between their legs, I mean."

"Unless that any other girl proposes I make her fall for me first in the proper way?" He looks up when he pauses. "No."

He leans back and the two of you are quiet again, staring out through the window beside your table. And then: "It's true." You raise your eyebrows at him and he directs his gaze to you. "You're the second girl I've brought here."

"That's nice." Indifferent.

"The first one was my ex. First love and high school sweetheart," he continues and you don't want to seem to care too much but you're eager to know, "She moved away after graduation and we tried LDR but it didn't work out."

"Did you cheat?" you ask before you could even think and his eyes darkened in seconds.

"I didn't," he said coldly and you're about to apologize when he says, "but she did."

"Sorry." Sheepish. "Was she the one you were talking about before?"

He nods. "She was the start of it all, you know?" He looks down at his hands. "My fuck boy ways."

"You didn't want to feel alone in your bed, knowing she had shared hers with someone else," you say, recalling the day he had walked you to your dorm; the day you had kissed him for the first time.

"So do you still hate me for being like this?" His voice was heavy and as if he wants to cry, and you're ashamed to have asked something insensitive in the first place. Jaebeom catches on to your guilt, though, and smiles. "I wanted to tell you anyway.”

"It must be difficult to talk about."

"It is," he agrees, "but it would've been harder for me if you didn't know. You can't fall in love with a stranger."

"But you're not a stranger anymore," you say, "And I don't hate you."

"That's enough for me." Before he could speak even more, though, your food arrives. You thank the waiter for the meal and begin to eat in silence; and when you talk to each other again, it's just like your other lunch times, as if you hadn't just had a serious conversation, as if he hadn't just engraved himself even more in your heart.

You convinced him to buy groceries with you.

"You have a car anyway," you chatter as he rounds a corner to the store, "If you want to take me somewhere else, we can leave what we buy in the trunk."

"Baby girl, I would love to take you," he mutters, spared from a hit because he was driving.

"You know what I mean." You settle to narrow your eyes at him and he's suppressing a smile.

"Of course I do." An almost too long pause and then he adds, "Princess."

Because of that, you assigned him to push the cart as you fill it with your needs, vigilant to return anything he would put of his own. At one point, he had even said he was paying anyway, to which you replied: "I'm glad to have your word for it but that doesn't change a thing. Buy your groceries some time else." Despite your restrictions for him, though, the word 'domestic' had crossed your mind more than once throughout your time and your cheeks would heat every time it did.

You like being with him, you really do, but you can't help to fear too. When this game of yours ends and his mission is complete, what would be of the two of you?

You realize you had set yourself up for heartbreak, only asking for you to fall for him and not ensuring he should also for you. You had foolishly thought loving him would be enough; you didn't expect that, when you do start to love him, you would want him to love you back.

As you watch him pay for what you have bought, you realize you don't want your time together to end. You want him to love you back; you want him.

And that means…

"I hope you help carry these at least."

He pushes the cart toward you, all items placed neatly inside two of your eco bags and two plastics. You don't feel confident enough to look at him. "Is there something wrong?" he asks, concern evident, "Are you not feeling well? Should I carry them all instead?"

You shake your head and take a deep breath. "I'm fine," you bluff, meeting his eyes and smiling at him so he wouldn't worry, "I was just thinking."

"Of what?" The two of you start walking back to the parking lot.

"Our dinner." You don't say you just don't want to end the day yet but you hope he'll get the message. You know what would happen before you say goodbye. You know what you'll say and you know what you'll do; but you're afraid of the aftermath.

He brings the cart along as far as the shop would let him and you take two bags each to the car. "Would you like to eat out?"

You end up in your dorm once more, your groceries in his hands and a paper bag of your microwaveable dinner in one of yours.

"Whew," he whistles with his eyebrows raised. "Did a typhoon hit this room while I was away?"

His eyes are trained on your bed, where most of your wardrobe is haphazardly scattered on, and you just let the heat rise to your cheeks then, tired of fighting it down. "Ready the food and I'll ready the room?" you offer sheepishly and, to your relief, he just nods.

The two of you get to business - he sets the groceries on the counter while you clear your bed, and he puts out glasses and utensils as you wait for the food to heat. You work well as a pair, and you wish he sees that too.

When the two of you finish, you eat in silence, and you think he had caught on to the change in your actions and mood. You try to compose a speech in your head but you can't even gather all your thoughts.

What should you say?

You're glad he doesn't leave as soon as you've finished eating because you're tidying up and still nothing has come to mind. Should you just tell him that he had won? Or should you kiss him and get things over with? Do you prompt him for the conversation? Or do -

"(Y/N)?" The voice has you setting down the glass too fast and turning to him, finding him standing beside you. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," you say, looking away to finish washing the other glass. "Just -"

"Thinking?" he finishes and you hum, nodding your head. "Well, I was just thinking too."

You don't say anything in response, exerting all your focus in your task. It's when you've put everything in the dryer that he calls out your name once more. “(Y/N)." His voice is lower, less concerned and more serious, and you meet his gaze.

"I love you."

p r e v i o u s / n e x t

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mysmedrabbles · 5 years

Text

Last Push [Zen]

requested: by anonymous

a/n: i’d like to apologize beforehand :’) enjoy!!~

warnings: angst, cheating, nsfw mention,

like angst? support me breaking you heart by buying me a coffee!

-angsty mod alex

-you couldn't remember how you ended up on jumin hans door, flanked by guards on both sides as jumin opened the door, surprised to see RFA’s party planner and Zens manager standing there, shaking and crying, puffy eyes framed by sopping wet hair that fell messily around your face.

-you couldn’t get the image out of your head, seeing Zen naked with another woman. Not just any woman, but his coworker, the one the media always put together with Zen.

-Their writhing bodies as her hands roamed his bare chest, his hair loosely tied up, strands of silky white spilling onto her breast as he kissed her, a kiss so intense and passionate you wondered if they were really in love.

-Jumin looked up at the guards, giving them a nod to leave the two of you as he pulled you in for an albeit confused hug, only slightly disgruntled at the fact that his previously pristine striped button up was now getting wet from your tears, your fingers clutching desperately at the material on his back, needing some sort of support, a reminder that you were still alive... but were you?

-you were vaguely aware of Jumin pulling you past the doorway and leading you to the couch, sitting you down as he went back to get you a blanket. The world felt numb, the ominous sound of nothing still muffled by the ringing in your ears and the rain outside, a sign of what your life had become. Empty and indistinct

-in that moment, you didn’t feel anything. not your heart breaking, not rage just... emptiness. closing the door, you went back into the living room, barely processing what had happened. Zen hadn’t even noticed you there, watching his shameless infidelity.

-The feeling of your jacket being slowly peeled off brought you back to attention, back to Jumins penthouse where everything was,, simply too bright; too bright for the dull existence you were living.

-Closing your eyes again, you were lost in a sea of blackness, letting it envelop you in momentary relief, cutting away the pain, the dull achey feeling in your chest.

-Screams echoed through the apartment, accusations flung about as you begged him for a reason, anything as to why he’d cheat on you. Were you not good enough? What did you do wrong to deserve this?

-and he yelled back, a desperate plea for you to not turn your back on him, but every time you looked at him you just remembered seeing Her on him, digging her fingers into his back, moans filling your shared room. Her on the bed that you slept in. Together.

-Apologies fell deaf on your ears, a million excuses falling from Zens lips, how he’d done it for you, how no one would bother them again if he just hooked up with his coworker.

-The more he talked the further you fell into despair, his aggressive tone finally bringing you over the edge, tears making their way down your cheeks

- “Did you even think about me, when you were having sex with her?” you screamed, letting the cries rip the words from your throat

-The silence was deafening, Zens own look of panic turning into the first real glimmer of shame you’d seen on him all day.

-He looked away, unable to meet your eyes as you stood there, defeated and unresponsive, “No. You can’t do this. Dont you dare shut me out, not after everything we’ve been through!”

-That is when it happened, your heart breaking into a million pieces. His look said it all, an angry resignation as his eyes flitted guiltily across your face, crushing your chest, making you unable to breathe. “oh,” was all you said, letting a few more tears fall before running out of the apartment and onto the cold Seoul streets

-You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, eyes painfully shut as Jumin simply sat next to you, letting you take your time before speaking. When you finally opened your eyes he was still there, still looking worried as he studied your shoulders and arms for any bruises, anything to point that someone might have hurt you

- “Who... did this to you,” he asked in a low voice, almost tenderly as his hand reached out to squeeze yours, and although his voice reflected quiet logic, a methodical approach, you could tell he was angry. Not at you, but at the person you both knew had brought you here in the middle of the night.

- “Zen,” you whispered, almost afraid that if you said his name any louder you might cry again

-upon seeing your expression, Jumin nodded, not pressing for any more questions as he stood up, calling in a bodyguard. You remained still on the couch, staring into nothing as the events of the night replayed in your head, threatening to make the tears spill.

-you could hear Jumin whispering to the man, something about not letting Zen into the building, even if it meant using force to keep him away

-a part of you felt bad, that Zen might get hurt by Jumins orders, then you felt even worse for feeling bad. Jumin would protect you, you knew this, and he’d do it well, besides, nothing was worse than the pain Zen had inflicted, for there was no physical wound to heal, only the memories and insecurities that lay before you

-barely able to function, you laid down on the couch, only slightly aware of a blanket being placed on top of you as you fell into a restless sleep.

-you awoke to two men arguing, one of which you immediately recognized as Zen. The other man was tall, dressed in some sort of bulletproof vest under a tight fitting suit jacket. He was warning Zen of something, of what? You weren’t sure, but Zen’s eyes kept flitting back and forth between your supposedly resting figure and the man, who you assumed was Jumins bodyguard.

-as you started falling into consciousness, you rose from the couch, groggily rubbing your eyes as you tried to make sense of what was happening before you.

-Zen looked exhausted, hair disheveled and wild, dark circles under his eyes, mirroring the look of guilt. Upon seeing you stir, he practically lunged in your direction, desperation in his every step, only to be met with the solid body of another bodyguard.

- “Damnit; y/n, Y/N!” he called out, bringing you down to harsh reality, “please, give me a second chance.”

- “I-no..”

-With that simple word he crumbled, tears prickling his dull amber colored eyes, threatening with a display of emotion

- “Please,” he choked out, “come back, I love you so much.”

- “Funny, thats not how you generally treat the woman you love is it? Cheating on her?” Jumin stepped out of his room, full suit already on as he walked over, adjusting his cufflinks as he glared at Zen, letting you hide behind him.

- “i will have someone come get her stuff in the afternoon,” he uttered coldly, “she will be in residence with me now.”

-Zens pleading expression was replaced with rage yet again, “I thought you were against a man and a woman living together,” he spat

- “Better a man and a woman than a woman with a monster,” he said cooly, taking your hand behind his back, gently squeezing it as reassurance.

- At this, Zen’s eyes went back to your half hidden figure. “Y/n. I’ll go only if you tell me to go,” his eyes tearing up yet again, taking an alarming step forward, holding his stance in the middle of the living room.

-A silent “go” slipped out of your mouth, your hand increasingly holding on tighter to Jumins for safety, the only lifeline you had at the moment

-Yet this wasn’t the answer he wanted, the one he needed from you. “Y/n, please.. Look me in the eyes and tell me you dont love me anymore.”

-This was the voice of a broken man, the voice of someone who took something too far and couldn’t live with the consequences, the voice of someone who had lost everything in the short span of 24 hours.

-But you couldn't. You couldn't look him in the eyes and tell him you hated him, that every time you looked at him you saw her again, replaying last night in your head over and over again until your lungs and heart felt so heavy that you couldn’t breathe, let alone love him

-but you couldn't say that, because after everything there was still a part of you that clung onto hope that this was all a bad dream, that you’d wake up in Zen's arms safe and sound, his kisses trailing from your jaw to your collarbones, a sleepy good morning on his lips as he kissed you awake, like he did every morning since the two of you had started dating.

-The silence rung through the penthouse, even the fish in the corner and Elly were silent, holding their breath and waiting for the ultimatum, but it never came.

-Jumin sensed your pain behind him, and with an aching feeling, the need to protect you, he let go of your hand, making a step forward to match Zen’s stance. “I think it’s time for you to go Hyun Ryu.” he delivered coldly, “Guards, please escort this man out.”

-The last thing you saw of him before being dragged out was his ponytail, swaying with each step, and the mark, of his lovers lipstick, on his coat

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archonssun · 4 years

Text

Fleeting Beauty Ending 1

I really didn't feel like writing two completely different chapters for the first and second ending, so they’ll have the same build up for the most part but will split off in different directions pretty early on. Also, I’m modelling Prompto’s anxiety attack off of what I’ve experienced in the past, just so ya know...

ya should probably read this beforehand, so ya know what going on...

Ending 1

WC: 1580

TW: angst, character death, panic attacks

Waiting for the sun to rise the next morning was utter torture for the blond. He couldn’t help but beat himself up over the fact that one of his best friends had disappeared without him noticing.

Maybe if I hadn’t been so busy trying to impress Cindy, then--

Prompto’s thoughts were cut short when he was blinded by the sun creeping over the horizon. He hadn’t slept at all that night, his mind not once shutting off. It was like it was trying to make the blond marksman feel guilty about the past few weeks. After all, he had been the one to beg with Noctis and the king to let (Y/n) join them on their journey.

As soon as the sun hit his eyes, Prompto was jumping to his feet, going to wake the others.

“Iggy, come on! Wake up!” he ordered, shaking the tactician by the shoulders. It didn’t take too much to wake him -- he was a light sleeper -- but it still felt too slow to Prompto. He wanted -- no, needed -- to find (Y/n), and the quicker the better.

Ignis said nothing as he rose, then promptly went to wake Noctis while Prompto woke Gladio. After what felt like hours -- Ignis insisted that they all eat something before they leave on their search -- the group of four trekked across the deserts of Leide. Their first stop -- the Bandersnatch behind Hammerhead.

***

Prompto was moving with a speed the others had never seen before, not even in training. It was heartbreaking, really; the blond had been so preoccupied with his own interests that he hadn’t realized just how much (Y/n) meant to him until it was possibly too late. All of the boys had seen the way she looked at him, except for him. And their hearts felt for the young woman.

Noctis, while also being in love with someone, didn’t have to worry about said person not feeling the same way. He and Luna had held feelings for one another way before this arranged marriage.

Gladio, well... He would recognize the look in (Y/n)’s eyes even if he was blind: it wasn’t one of familial love, like what he shared with Iris, and the love the small girl held for Prompto went far beyond that of a caring friend. Fuck, Gladio had felt that same kind of love a few times before, back when he was a teenager.

And Ignis? He made it a point to keep an eye on all of his comrades, so it was rare that anything slipped past him. He had been the first to notice the longing in (Y/n)’s gaze when she would watch her best friend, and his suspicions had only been confirmed when she had put herself between Prompto and an MT instead of going to protect Noctis, who had been indisposed. But he could never hold it against her; she was Prompto’s childhood friend, after all, and she hadn’t made an oath to protect the prince with her life like the others had. And besides, he and Gladio had gone to protect Noctis in her stead.

And now, as they followed after Prompto, just barely keeping up with him in his frenzied state, all they felt was a sense of dread. As they crested the ridge, their eyes were met with a horrific scene.

The bandersnatch lay in the small water source in the crater, the water turned red with blood. It was unsure whether it was the creatures or (Y/n)’s, and that sent Prompto into a panic once more. The blond jumped into the crater, his legs carrying him across the desolate earth until he came to a stop at the monster’s body. Eyes wide, he whipped his head around, searching for any sign of the girl. When he saw nothing, his mind went into overdrive.

Prompto’s surroundings became brighter and it became harder to stand on his own. His limbs tingled with a feeling he hadn’t felt in years -- and he hated it. He sank to the hard-packed ground, fingers curling inward unconsciously as the numb feeling spread throughout his body. His limbs felt like lead, and he wouldn’t have been able to move if he tried. He tried to speak, but found that -- like with his limbs -- the muscle had turned to lead. Fuck, he couldn’t even feel it against the inside of his cheek anymore. Unknown to him, his teeth had started to work on his cheek, and he only realized it when the coppery taste of blood landed on his numb tongue.

Prompto sat frozen as he gradually lost control over his body, and he couldn’t help but think:

Is this what it’s like to die? Being unable to move even a single finger? Being unable to speak even a single word?

“Prompto,” Noct’s voice pulled the blond from his musings, and he found that he could now move just a bit. Turning his head towards the prince, the blond couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his lips.

“She- she’s not--” His voice crackled and his tongue felt heavy once again. Noctis could only watch on helplessly as his first friend broke down in front of him. Prompto had always been so vibrant, so happy when they were in high school, so seeing him this disheartened was a new feeling for the prince -- and he didn’t like it.

“I know, Prompto,” Noct whispered, a hand coming to clasp his friend's shoulder. His fingers dug into the material of the blond’s vest as a pained expression flitted across his face. What am I supposed to--

“Prompto, if she is not here, then that doesn’t mean she isn’t alive,” Ignis interrupted, and the blond’s head whipped up and blue eyes met green. “We must continue on with the search. She might need our help.”

Unable to speak, Prompto only nodded, and Gladio helped him stand, pulling him up by the arm.

“You good, kid?” the shield inquired, his hand not once leaving the marksman’s upper arm. Gladio would never admit it to the others, but he was afraid that the blond would fall again if he were to let go. Again, Prompto nodded. For a few seconds, his eyes were trained on the ground as his teeth pulled at his bottom lip.

“Alright, let’s go.”

***

If they had thought the Bandersnatch had been mutilated beyond recognition, then the behemoth was no more than shredded paper once (Y/n) had finished it off. Ribbons of flesh were strewn around the area and dangled from the building's ruins like streamers at a party. Blood splattered the walls and ground surrounding the dead beast, and the first thing Prompto was able to focus on was (Y/n)’s dagger sticking out of the behemoth’s left eye. Unlike he and the others, she wasn’t able to summon her weapons from the Armiger, so she always had various projectiles on her -- like that dagger.

Prompto stood in front of the beast’s head before he even realized he had moved, a gloved hand coming to caress the intricate dagger. Even now, encased to the hilt in an eye, it gleamed in the early morning sun. It was as if it were mocking him, punishing him for taking his eyes off of her. Fingers touched the cool metal, and when Prompto drew his hand back, they were stained red.

Panic set in shortly after, to the point where he almost had another panic attack. It was only due to the efforts of Ignis and Gladio that he didn’t collapse for a second time that morning, and instead he chose to survey the area.

“She-she’s gotta be here!” he ground out, eyes wide and hands shaking. Blue orbs scanned the battlefield until they landed on a small path of red leading away from the behemoth. Without a second’s hesitation, Prompto kicked off the ground, following after the trail until he came to a hidden corner of a destroyed building. Straining, his eyes barely picked up on the small body nestled snugly against the wall. He approached the prone figure, but as he drew closer he felt his heart leap into his throat.

“(Y/n)!”

(Y/n) sat huddled against the wall, the hand pressed to her right side stained red with blood. A pained smile was etched onto her face. He crouched next to the girl, his hand coming in contact with her cheek. He hissed and recoiled; her skin was ice cold. Just how long has she been out here?! Shaking his head, Prompto pulled (Y/n) into his lap, hands rubbing up and down her arms in a feeble attempt to warm her up.

His cry had drawn in the other three, and their breaths collectively stopped at the sight that met their eyes. (Y/n) was situated in Prompto’s lap, the blond trying desperately to keep her alive, a look of pure pain decorating his face.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he chanted, hands gripping her forearms when she didn’t respond. The longer she was silent, the more Prompto’s heart broke until finally it was completely shattered. His upper body came to wrap protectively around hers, breath hitching when he didn’t feel hers on his cheek. The tears that had threatened to spill since last night finally fell, landing on her pale cheeks.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n). I’m so, so sorry…

“I love you, chickadee. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you…”

#prompto #prompto argentum #prompto x reader #prompto argentum x reader #ffxv #Angst angst angst #angst is my jam

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cncoh-damn · 5 years

Text

Cupcakes

Summary: Babysitting wasn’t as hard as you thought it was.

Word count: 2,850

Tags: @richukisbb

Wanna join the taglist?

When Richard told you he had a break from touring, you were ecstatic. One, you’d get to see your crush best friend again after Lord knows how many months. Two, with Richard coming back, it meant seeing Aaliyah again. While he and Yocelyn were on good terms (they had to be, if only for Aaliyah’s sake), you weren’t necessarily close with her. Civil, but not close enough to get to see Aaliyah often. At this point, you weren’t sure who you’re more excited to see: Richuki or little Aaliyah. But really, you didn’t care; they were two of your favorite people on the planet, even if Richard did get on your nerves sometimes.

But before you could get ahead of yourself, you remembered him mentioning there was still some last-minute stuff to do. Thankfully it’d probably only last a day or so, but still. You wanted to see your best friend and his adorable little daughter, goddamnit. Then again, you suppose you should be thankful for this. With a little extra time, you’d be able to pull together a little surprise for him, preferably something that didn’t involve a club, despite you two meeting at one.

And that’s why you’re bustling around your kitchen at nine in the morning, your speakers playing one of the many podcasts related to your course that you subscribed to. Eggs, flour, and other baking essentials lay on the counter as you look for the new piping tips you’d just gotten a few days ago, having watched one too many YouTube videos of other bakers trying Russian piping tips. Yeah, probably not the best idea to try them out so soon, especially as part of your surprise for your best friend and his little princesa. You poked your head into one of the cupboards, rummaging through it because you swear you put those piping tips somewhere in a cupboard. Your fingers brush against a plastic bag, and you cheer upon seeing that it held your new piping tips.

That feeling of triumph was short-lived, however, when a knock resounded on your apartment’s door causes you to hit your head on the counter above. Ow.

With a few curses tumbling from your lips, you make your way over to the door, one hand rubbing your head as you try and school your features into something that won’t scare off whoever decided it was a good idea to knock on your door at 9 am. Settling for a somewhat-fake smile, you open the door, a polite greeting already on the tip of your tongue. Said greeting promptly dies when you make eye contact with an apologetic Richard and Aaliyah hugs your leg.

“Richuki?” He gives you a tiny smile as you bend down to pick Aaliyah up, giving her a squeeze in greeting.

“Hey shawty,” he says, and only then do you notice the bag he has with him.

“What happened?”

“Something came up with Yocelyn at the last minute, so…” He trails off, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why the two were here.

“I’m on babysitting duty?” You set Aaliyah down with a grin, watching her pad off to the kitchen, no doubt looking for any sweets you might’ve baked beforehand. Once you’re sure she can’t hear you, you turn back to Richard with a spark of panic in your eyes. “Dude, you know I don’t do well with kids.”

“I know, and it’s really on short notice, but c’mon, you love spending time with Aaliyah.” He gives you that look, the one that always convinces you to go along with whatever he’s got planned. It never failed him before, and it certainly didn’t fail now. The two of you hold eye contact for five seconds longer, if only for you to preserve your pride, before you look away with a sigh.

“Fine, fine,” you relent. “But–” Richard cuts you off with a hug before you could even finish your sentence, and butterflies suddenly explode in your stomach. Sure, you’ve hugged before, but it’s different now. It’s been months since you last saw each other, months since you realized that your feelings for him crossed the line of friendship, and this first affectionate gesture between the two of you wasn’t helping.

“I’ll see you two later okay?” Still dazed, you nodded, hoping that you weren’t visibly blushing.

“Yeah. Bye, Richuki.” He says goodbye to Aaliyah, who already found your Russian piping tips before giving you the bag you knew to be filled with several of his daughter’s things. Taking a deep breath, you shift the bag onto your shoulder before facing Aaliyah with a grin.

“Tia (Y/N)!” She has a piping tip clutched in one hand, and you kneel down to look at her.

“What is it, preciosa?” There’s a spark of curiosity in her eyes that’s eerily similar to Richard’s own, especially when you have something new in your arsenal of baking supplies, and you feel as if you know exactly where this is going.

“Que son estos?” Aaliyah holds up the piping tip for emphasis, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“They’re for making flowers, flores, on cupcakes,” you explain, taking it from her and showing the pattern of the holes on it. “See, you can make rosas with this one.” Her eyes widen, and goddamn if it didn’t remind you of your best friend.

“Can we try them, Tia? Por favor?” A chuckle slips past your lips as you shake your head, standing up and taking her hand before leading her to the kitchen.

“It’s still early, preciosa. Maybe later in the afternoon, si?” She pouts at that, but it disappears when you pick her up and set her down on one of the stools by your kitchen island. “For now, do you want breakfast?”

“Si! What are you making, Tia?” You watch her take in the array of baking supplies spread out on the counter, setting the piping tip down by the others as you grab a bowl and a whisk.

“I was thinking pancakes,” you tell her, and there’s no missing how she practically beams at the thought of it. One previous experience with your pastry and sweets skills had her completely in love, and Richard swears you’re trying to steal his daughter by bribing her with food.

(”You know I can’t grill worth shit, right?”

“Does it look like that matters to her? She loves sweets!”

“Richuki, you’re her dad. Even if she did love the desserts I make, she loves you more, you dramatic ass bitch.”)

The day passes by fairly quickly; you and Aaliyah having spent a good chunk of it in the kitchen. Breakfast turned into brunch after you two decided to have bacon alongside the pancakes, something you two would keep to yourselves. Yocelyn trusted you enough to let you hang out with her daughter, and Richard was so sure that you’d be a good babysitter that he actually left her with you. You, the one who’s had only one (horrific) experience babysitting a couple of your hellish cousins; you, the one who repeatedly swears up, down, left, and right that you’re not good with children, that you’d only be able to look after a child for three, maybe four hours, tops. And now that you’re slowly proving yourself wrong, you’re not keen on losing that trust that he put in you.

Not that you could, but it’s not like you knew that.

“Tia? Can we make cupcakes now?” Now it’s nearing 3:45 in the afternoon, and after you two poked the butter from all sides, you deemed it soft enough for both the cupcakes and the buttercream frosting you planned to test the new piping tips with.

“Si. Now c’mon preciosa, can’t have your clothes getting dirty or your Papa would never forgive me.” As it turns out, Aaliyah loved being in the kitchen, especially when you or Richard were making something. She also loved helping out, even if it meant getting messy, something all toddlers inevitably ended up as, no matter how much or how little they helped in the cooking/baking process. Of course, Richard loved to spoil her (who wouldn’t?) so he bought her a little apron to wear whenever she wanted to help.

Once both of you had your aprons on, you set her on the stool again, grabbing a mixing bowl, a wooden spoon, and a sifter for the dry ingredients. The stand mixer had been plugged in at least an hour or so ago, so really, it was mostly combining the ingredients that needed to be done.

Forty minutes and several clumps of spilled flour later, the cupcakes were finally in the oven. Normally it takes you half that time to finish the batter and scoop it into the lined muffin tins, but you and Aaliyah might have had a little too much fun messing with the flour as you were sifting it. You set the timer before picking Aaliyah up and carrying her to the bathroom, where you two spent a good five minutes wiping the flour off your faces and butter from your fingers. With that done, the two of you migrated to the living room, settling in front of your TV as you pull up Netflix and let her choose something to watch. Halfway through the episode–gracias a Dios that she didn’t pick something like Peppa Pig–, you realize that it’s time to make the frosting.

“Aaliyah, Tia’s going to go back and check on the cupcakes, okay? Wouldn’t want to burn them by accident, now would we?” Aaliyah nods, though you’re pretty sure most of her attention is on the TV, and you slip back to the kitchen to start on the frosting. The tell-tale ding from the oven comes just as you begin to mix the butter and vanilla together, and you grab a pair of oven mitts before pulling the tin out.

The smell of chocolate fills the air, and if not for the fact that the cupcakes literally just got out of the oven, you would’ve bitten into one, a mistake you made fun of Richard for making several years ago. Ah, memories. But now’s not the time to lose focus; you still had frosting to make after all.

With the cupcakes cooling in the tin, you turn back to the mixer, adding the powdered sugar before you grab the piping tips, some food coloring, and a couple of your pastry bags. Honestly, it doesn’t take long before the buttercream is firm enough for you to pipe it, so you get a spatula and shovel it into the bag.

“Aaliyah! C’mon preciosa, it’s time to frost!” But before that, you lay out a sheet of parchment paper so you could practice using the new piping tips. You made two different colors for the frosting: pink, because you know your goddaughter would love it, and green for the leaves. Yes. Frosting leaves for frosting flowers. Of course, you set aside some uncolored frosting to put on the cupcakes before you piped the rest on, so you hand Aaliyah a mini spatula of her own and show her how to spread the frosting on top. Once that was done, you pick up one of the bags–the one with the rose-like tip–and start piping, showing Aaliyah the flower that came out.

“Tia, it’s so pretty!” Her eyes sparkle and you smile, piping more flowers around it before grabbing the green frosting to make the leaves. Time passes by fairly quickly, and before you realize it, Richard already let himself in with the keys you hid behind the funny little owl clock in the hallway.

“Daddy!” Aaliyah’s the first to notice him, and you nearly drop the cupcake you were frosting when she yells. Nearly being the keyword here; you’d have a private mini breakdown if you actually did drop it. Richard’s quick to make his way to the two of you, ditching his jacket on your couch as a smile lights up his face.

“What are you two doing?” He asks, and you hold up both hands to show him the cupcake and the frosting as Aaliyah told him about your day. Soon, you realize that they left to go into the living room, probably some time after you began to really focus on the little details that you added onto the cupcakes. Too bad you ran out of edible gold-leaf; it would’ve made them stunning. Oh well, they’re beautiful enough as they are though. The layer of plain buttercream you and Aaliyah set down really made the colored frosting pop, and you smile as you arrange them on a plate.

“Cupcakes are done!” You call out, wiping your hands on your apron before snapping a picture with your phone. Ah, those are definitely going on Instagram. Hell, you might even tag Chris and Erick just to see their reactions; those two loved your desserts almost as much as Aaliyah did.

“Damn, (Y/N), these look good.” You nearly jump out of your skin when he speaks, and you shoot him a scowl, whispering that he should watch his language, even if his daughter was too busy staring at the cupcakes.

“I’m hoping they taste better than they look,” you quip back, gesturing to your flour-covered apron. “Aaliyah and I didn’t get to taste the batter before we baked them, isn’t that right, preciosa?” Sure you may have broken one of the cardinal rules of cooking and baking (taste everything, even the batter), but you weren’t going to risk little Aaliyah eating more batter than you would’ve allowed.

“Then we should have a taste to see if they are, right baby?” You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t melt every time Richard and Aaliyah interacted with each other, and you’d be the biggest liar if you claimed not to think that this was way too domestic for two best friends. To an outsider, it would definitely look like you two were dating, but... You’re not. As much as it pains you to acknowledge it, it’s the truth. You and Richard were just friends, and nothing more.

But he’s a good friend, possibly the best you’ve ever had, and he notices when your face falls a little, sees that tiny crease between your brows that always appears when you think of something that wasn’t really positive. And as your friend, he’s quick to drag your mind away from such thoughts, pushing a cupcake up to your lips. When you blink in surprise, he snickers, smearing buttercream all over your lips before taking a bite of the cupcake. There’s a minute scowl on your face at his actions (the audacity to use your own creation against you, honestly), but it disappears as you lick your lips. It’s the same recipe as you’ve always used, but damn if it doesn’t taste a little better now.

Meanwhile, Richard almost moans at how good both the cupcake and the frosting are. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t had your desserts in months or maybe because they really are better than most of the restaurants he’s been to, but there was something about them that tasted so much better than before. Dare he say it, dare he think it, but the cupcake, this little moment with you and his daughter in your messy kitchen as a children’s show plays in the background, this almost feels like home. A sharp poke to his side shatters his reverie, though he can’t help but look at you in a new light when you grin at him.

“Come on, Richuki. Comamos mientras vemos la TV, yeah? Aaliyah quiere terminar el espectáculo.” You don’t wait for him to reply, helping Aaliyah off the stool with one hand as you balance the plate of cupcakes with the other. He’s quick to follow, snagging a cupcake or two off the plate for him and Aaliyah to eat as you set it down on the coffee table.

Over the course of a dozen and a half cupcakes, the three of you watch the show that Aaliyah picked out, and one of you two would turn to her to ask for some context behind it. There wasn’t much of an answer from her though, she always shushed you both before you could finish asking. And as the orange light from the late afternoon sun turned dimmer and dimmer until night fell, you felt nothing but a quiet contentment, spending time with your best friend and your goddaughter.

Maybe this wasn’t how you planned to spend the day, but it was infinitely better than what you originally intended. Who knew cupcakes would make everything so much sweeter?

#cnco imagine #cnco imagines #cnco headcanon #cnco headcanons #cnco fanfiction #cnco fanfic #cnco reader insert #cnco x reader #richard camacho imagine #richard camacho #christopher velez (mentioned)#erick brian colon (mentioned)

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starbuck09256 · 5 years

Text

A Howl in the Moonlight

@xfilesfanficexchange @mulder-even-if @today-in-fic

I got the awesome Christina who wanted a Season One fic with Howling as the key word, she left it up in the air for some fluff, smut, goodness and I sure hope I delivered that. Sorry for the delay. It’s 11:12 pst so sort of made it?

NSFW

Fictober day whatever... lol

She feels the crunch of the leaves beneath her boots as she runs through the dark forest. The night noise resonating in her ears with the burning of her lungs. She can barely make out Mulders long frame in the distance he stops suddenly and that’s when she hears it, howling into the night. Her eyes go wide as she searches for the animal that made it. Trees and dense forest along with the dark shadows cause her to pull her hands up with her gun, shining it into the moonlight. She sees Mulder his hands outstretched like hers, gun at the ready as a large animal leaps towards him. She screams and fires hoping like hell she doesn’t hit her partner.

There is so much blood, she can’t tell if it’s the large dog she hit or Mulders, he isn’t responding to her screaming his name. Tears sting her eyes as she tries to push the 100 pound canine off of him.

“Mulder… Mulder” she mutters into the full moon as blood seeps into her clothes.

“Scully” he stuppers and she gasps in relief.

“You ok Scully?” she pushes hard at the back of the dog, trying to free her partner.

“Yea, you?”

The dog whimpers. Mulders voices laced with fear

“he… he bit me,” in that moment she sees for the first time, his panic face.

2 hours later

She’s sitting on his motel bed, freshly showered and dressed in some loose fitting fbi sweats and shirt. She waits as she hears the shower finally shut off. She swallows hard, worries about the animal being infected with Rabies. Worries that her partner a man whom has changed her whole life in just the last year will fall victim to horrible infection and never solve his sister's disappearance. Her anxiety is rising while she goes through his medical records. He’s not the best at willingly going to the doctor. Their frequent hospital trips make it hard to shift through if he ever had any vaccinations for the virus. She pinches the bridge of her nose sliding her glasses off and swipes at her face. She thinks about Bear in Alaska, how those tiny worms brought down a 180 pound man in mere hours. Her lips quiver and she bites it to try and stop herself from crying. He opens the door, a white hotel towel wrapped loosely around his hips. His brown locks sticking up in all directions. His muscular chest gleams in the harsh fluorescent lights scratches down the front red and angry cause her to gasp. He starts to remove the blood soaked bandage from his arm, so she can redressed it for him. The ticking of the clock cuts through the silence like a knife.

“I can’t seem to find out if you had a recent rabies shot.. I thought maybe after the Arctic incident we both..” but her voice fades off as he shakes his head.

“I don’t think I did, I wanted to get back up there so badly that I uh.. Just told them I would do it later.”

Her eyes capture his.

“They are still waiting on the blood tests from the dog.”

“You mean werewolf”

“That animal was not a werewolf Mulder,” she scoffs.

He could be dying from a preventable disease and he wants to argue with her about werewolves.

“Scully I saw it change it was a man running towards me and then it ...shifted.. And that's when it howled and attacked me, I’m infected. You have to lock me up so I don’t attack you when I change.”

She stands up in pure anger, files fall to the ground and the fact that she isn’t wearing any shoes makes him chuckle at her small frame.

“You aren’t going to change into anything!! You are going to get headaches, muscles spasms, hallucinations and then you are going to DIE!”

“There is another full moon tonight Scully, we have to figure out a way to keep you safe when I shift.”

She grabs her medical bag and pulls him back into the bathroom. She hops up on the sink, pulling him between her legs so she can clean his wounds on his back. She tries to work efficiently cleaning each area firstly, ripping open packaging with her teeth. He says nothing, save for a small gasp when the coldness of her fingers brush against his back. She tries to keep her composure as she finishes his back wrapping it in bandages. She touches his shoulder gently to turn around, her eyes face his broad chest and the deep red marks across his stomach. She applies liberal amounts of the ointment hoping that if he doesn’t die from Rabies at least he won’t die from some other infection.

“These look really bad Mulder,” she mutters.

She wants to cry with how much he frustrates her, he is more concerned about shifting into a mythical creature than the fact that only 10% of people survive once infected. She hasn’t known him long, but recent events have made her question her feelings about him. He is stubborn, and so very smart. He is caring and kind, compassionate and fierce, all the things she has always admired in men. He isn’t like her other lovers he questions her, challenges her in ways that make her mind race in excitement. Now though now all that can be torn away. She might never get to know if they could have been more. He sees it then, her anger, her fear. He reaches down, to this incredible woman, who makes him work for everything. He wraps his arms around her as she shuffles a sob into his chest. He strokes her back to comfort her, even though he is getting as much comfort from this as she is. He kisses her hair lets her hands roam across his back as the large scratches sting a little. She pulls back looks up at him a sad smile on his lips and he can’t help himself. He leans down and kisses her, she tastes wonderful. Her lips are like mini pillows full and soft his tongue searches for hers. His fingers dance through her hair as his lips linger on hers. She sighs when he pulls back as her leans down to rest his forehead against hers.

“You won’t let me die Scully.” he strokes her cheek with thumb as she lets out a deep sob.

The phone rings his hand trails down her arm as she hops off the counter to answer it. The light of the morning dawn seeps through the blinds and the countdown til dusk begins.

12 hours later

They’ve been through the evidence over and over. He is still convinced that he will turn tonight, he’s made a trip to the army supply store. After the local sheriff refused his request to lock him up in a cell so they could document his transformation. Scully sits uneasily on his motel bed, the extra handcuffs, rope along with a video camera are set up. If he is going to spend his days howling in the night as a rugged animal he wants full documentation for science. Scully hasn’t said much since the confirmation of Rabies came back on the dog. She has tried to argue with him, let him know that the chances of his survival are dismal. She’s even requested another round of blood tests for him but the results won’t be ready until tomorrow at the earliest as they had to send them out to another lab. She wanted to take them herself, but Mulder wanted her to stay with him.

“Come on Scully, I’m dying you want to deny me my last wish of you documenting me changing into a werewolf?”

She of course scoffed at his request and post marked everything to send immediately. His symptoms wouldn’t manifest for a few days anyway and there was nothing she could do to save him. Rabies is preventable beforehand but not after. They had little option than to wait and make him comfortable as his body fought the disease. So now here she sat with a video camera and a half naked Mulder who was working on tying ropes together to secure him to a hotel bed post.

“Is it really necessary for you to be in just your boxers Mulder?”

“Ah Scully I thought I’d give you free looks before I’m gone that way when I haunt you in your dreams you will have accurate details.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes even though all she wants to really do is roll her hips against his. His kiss was sweet but short and now she is craving it, like he craves sunflower seeds.

“Ok Scully, I need you to help me tie my hands together with the cuffs at the top.”

“Mulder this is pointless if you shift into a werewolf clearly you wouldn’t have a thumb to make the cuffs even effective!”

Mulder looks at her with the same deadpanned look she gives him.

“Humor me, alright?” she throws her hands up and climbs on the bed next to him where he is outstretched his feet spread apart and his arms stretch out above.

“Mulder, it's hard to reach around…” she can’t reach the other part of the cuff. She turns and her face is inches from his. He leans up again and kisses her.

“Mu..”

His lips suck on hers and she opens her mouth to let his tongue slide in. She can’t help the moan that escapes as his hand still with half of a cuff on it pressed into her hair to keep her kissing him. As if she needed more reason. She knows this is a bad idea, knows that she shouldn’t get involved with her partner, but now he is scared like her and for some dumb reason they have chosen this path to numb the anxiety. He pulls away and her lips chase after his, he smiles wide and kisses her again as his fingers press down her side to her thin waist. His other hand grabs her hip and she gets the hint and straddles him leaning down to keep kissing him as her lips now linger on his stubble caressing his skin as he reaches up to cup her face.

“Oh.. umm sorry…” she stammers and starts to move her leg.

“I uh.. Can reach now.”

“I kissed you Scully, and I’d like to keep kissing you until the day I die.” his smile is smug.

She slaps him on the arm.

“It’s not funny Mulder! This whole thing is not funny!” he laughs.

“Mulder I’m serious you have no idea how this disease is going to affect you.”

“Scully I’m going to shift into a werewolf before any of that happens and you need to be ready to shoot me.”

“I’m not going to SHOOT YOU!” she practically sobs.

True to form though she locks the cuffs around his wrists to the board. She swallows hard.

“Kiss me” he says and she does, kisses him for all he’s worth and he shifts his hips up to bump her against him. She pulls back her lips red and swollen.

“You have to tie up my feet too.”

She shimmies her body down his to the rope he’s tied at the end. She secures the knots. Her father taught her all the nautical knots when she was a child. Mulder grins at her as the streetlights outside come on and the sun disappears beneath the earth. She sits in the chair the video camera pointed at Mulder, her loaded gun in her lap. An hour passes and Mulder is still there strapped onto the bed. He’s spent the last 20 minutes reciting all the facts he knows about werewolves to her. If he does change soon, she might end up suffocating him anyway.

“Mulder, please can we just sit here and not think about the horrible things you are convinced are going to happen?”

“Scully once I turn into a werewolf I won’t be able to communicate and I will attack you. Surely you want to memorize my voice too?”

“Why don’t we turn on the tv?” she suggests. “Maybe your werewolf self likes Star Trek.”

“I think the problem is you have to open the blinds.”

“Ah, so you can’t change unless you are in the moonlight?”

“Just you know open the blinds so the moon can get in.”

“Shouldn’t we try to not change you into a werewolf if it’s a possibility?”

“Scully this is for science.” She scoffs opens the curtains wide letting the darkened sky shiny onto his skin.

2 Hours Later

Scully is sitting in a chair looking at Mulder filing her nails.

“I think Fido is appropriate or Spock! That would be a great werewolf name.”

She turns to Mulder who squirms with the restraints he is unamused.

“The moonlight has been shining on you for almost 2 hours. Can you please just admit that this is ridiculous, Mulder?”

“Maybe I just really wanted you to tie me up Scully.” he mutters the hint of defeat evident in his voice.

“Maybe we should save the kinky stuff for a little later in our relationship.”

She comes to his right foot to untie him. Just then he flinches and starts to struggle. She jumps back as his body shakes and withers.

“Mulder!” she screams. Then she hears him laughing.

“I’m sorry Scully, I had too. I’m sorry.”

“I can leave you like this you know! Let the Rabies take your body and mind while you lay on this crappy bed.” he laughs some more.

“I really had you,” she goes to untie his foot

“you had nothing.” she mumbles.

She crawls towards the top straddling him and uncuff his hands.

“You are beautiful when you are angry you know.”

She stares down at him. “I must be breathtaking now then.”

She finishes uncuffing his hands sitting on his stomach painfully.

“Scully, I’m sorry, really.”

“You could die from that bite you understand that right?”

He pulls her into a hug. His lips find her pulse points. Softly kissing up to her ear.

“Scully I think I had a rabies shot not too long ago. Really”

''That’s not what your records say Mulder.”

“You yourself said I was missing several hospital records.”

He cups her face giving her soft kisses.

“I’m like 99% positive,”

“Well Mulder what do you want to do now? Since you aren’t a werewolf or dying.”

He grins as he trails kissing down her neck. His hands find the bottom of her top fingers trace lightly against her stomach. He lifts her shirt off, the moonlight shines against her pale skin and soft pink bra. He follows it’s path kissing every part of her he can. She moves her hands up and down his skin careful of his scratches. His mouth finds her again and he is consumed by her deep kisses. He moves so that she can lay beneath him as he pulls at her pants and panties. Her fingers hook his boxers and slide them down. As he moves his head between her legs. Just as she pulls his head up and they kiss again her fingers grasping his cock at her entrance they hear a howling in the moonlight.

#fictober19 #msr #xfiles #mulder and scully #xficexchange #myfic #s1 #smut #fluff

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