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violettduchess · 1 year

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Hello Violet🥺💖 This is my first time requesting to you, so I hope this is the right way

May I ask for Cyran + rainy days + 🌧? Thank you very much🥺💕 (feel free to ignore if this has been requested!)

A/N: here you are lovely @thewitchofbooks 💜

Cyran x reader, a continuation from his Kiss fic (Italics are excerpts from this fic)

WC: 682

The rain continues to fall, water droplets sliding down the window pane like fallen teardrops, obscuring the view outside of Cyran’s window. He sits at the wooden desk, in the small room above the armory that serves as his office. His red hair is still damp, despite the vigorous rubbing he gave it, the soft towel still hanging around his broad, bare shoulders. The candle on his desk does its best to fight the gray gloom, soft orange-yellow light falling across the parchment where the names of all new recruits are listed in his own neat handwriting. He should be organizing them into regiments, assigning them to the more experienced officers. It’s a task that should take hours, one that should keep him focused. But the thunderstorm in his mind, the one filled with the bright lightning of your kisses, the thunder of your sighs, will not quiet. Eventually he lays his silver-feathered quill down, his head now in his hands.

And then you’re running back towards him and his long legs are swallowing the distance between you until you meet like a clap of thunder, falling into one another’s arms.

He should have turned away, he should have torn his gaze away from the sight of you rushing towards him, surrender in your eyes. You are Belle, tasked with the important job of choosing the next ruler. You can afford no distractions. Especially not from the likes of him.

And yet he gave in, as unable to resist your pull as the ocean could the moon, and you fell into his arms like a star loosened from the sky, fit there so perfectly, felt so damn good.

A low groan escapes him as he reaches for the tumbler with its small volume of burnt amber liquid. The whiskey may be cheap but maybe...maybe it will get the job done. It burns as it goes down, but even if he were to walk through hellfire itself, he knows deep down nothing could burn away the memory of your kiss.

His kiss is devouring, determined to leave no part of you untasted. He steals your breath, swallows your gasps, drinks from your lips. Over and over he kisses you until your legs shake and your blood is a river of fire in your veins. Soon your mouth is not enough. He needs more. His lips scavenge your cheeks, your jawline, and then lower, following the line of your neck. Everywhere he kisses you burns and the raindrops that land there in his wake feel cold as ice.

The rain is forlorn as it continues to tap against the window, whispering at him that he is a fool. A fool for losing himself in your lips, the taste of your hot, slick skin mingled with cold rain. A fool for loving the rough pull of your fingers in his crimson hair, the restless feel of your hands over the wet linen of his tunic, the grip of your hand on his muscled arms.

A fool for leaving you there, dazed with the force of what just happened, your kiss-swollen lips parting as the word “Wait….” slipped past a throat tight with water-logged emotion.

That croaked word, that whisper on the wind, has buried itself in his heart, the points of it digging in like barbed wire, tearing at him just a little more every time it replays itself in his mind.

The tumbler is now empty. The rain endless. Cyran pushes himself away from his desk with a growl, knowing that any attempt to work will be a fruitless endeavor. Best to head back to his quarters where he knows a sleepless night is licking its chops, waiting for him.

He snatches up his sodden tunic, flings open the heavy wooden door with the strength of his frustration……

….only to find you there, cheeks damp with rain or tears or both, your hand raised, hovering in the air as if searching for the courage to actually knock.

His heart lurches in his chest…that foolish, hopeful creature with bloody wings.

Before he can move a muscle, before a word can even form, you have found your mettle.

“We need to talk.”

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri cyran #cyran rose #spring showers spring flowers ccc #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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cloudcountry · 10 months

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IKEMEN FRANCHISE MASTERLIST !!

unconventional otome game love interest traits each guy would have

ikemen vampire . . .

guessing their love languages (headcanons of the mansion residents. ~450 words.) — guessing their love language based on the very little information i have about them oops

yearning (isaac newton x reader. ~1k words.) — you fall asleep on isaac's shoulder while he's working.

lipstick marks (mozart, arthur, vincent, & isaac x reader. ~400 words) — you leave a lipstick mark on him, how scandalous!!!

an artist's dilemma (vincent x reader. ~500 words) — vincent sees a masterpiece in you.

painting with vincent (vincent x reader. ~300 words) — after a long day, you find solace in vincent.

lover of flowers (arthur & isaac x reader. ~1k words) — arthur is enamored with the reserved florist & isaac stumbles about her.

hair clips are my love language (ikevamp characters headcanons. ~800 words) — giving the suitors some of my hair accessories.

comte and a vampire hunter (comte de saint germain x reader. ~500 words) — you run into comte (or rather, he runs into you) after you kill a vampire.

mozart & the wire brooch (mozart x reader. ~250 words) — you give mozart a gift.

vlad and the florist (vlad x reader. ~250 words) — it seems you and the florist you met a long time ago have the same idea.

cooking with will (shakespeare x reader. ~300 words) — you teach will how to find his way around the one room in his villa he never uses: the kitchen.

bakery date with theo (theodorus x reader. ~300 words) — theo "takes you out for a walk." (read: takes you out on a date to a bakery.)

baking an apple pie (isaac newton x reader. ~450 words) — Isaac's been working hard lately, so you take Arthur's advice and make him a tasty treat!!

little things they love about you (suitors x reader. ~1,000 words) — the little things they love about you.

shakespearean serenades (shakespeare x reader. ~600 words) — theo yells at you to wrangle your lover. said lover is trying his best to serenade you.

ikemen prince . . .

self care (yves kloss x reader. ~1k words.) — you're supposed to be doing your skin care routine right now, but teasing yves sounds much more appealing.

small moments with rio (rio ortiz x reader. ~500 words.) — sweet moments with rio C:

guessing their love languages (headcanons of the ikepri characters. ~600 words.) — guessing their love language based on the very little information i have about them oops

dance with me (clavis lelouch x reader. ~400 words.) — you dance with clavis in the rain.

breakfast for you (clavis & yves x reader. ~300 words.) — yves is trying to make you breakfast, but clavis has other plans.

unusual protection (clavis lelouch x reader. ~350 words.) — clavis takes the fall for you, and you're left wondering why.

snowed in with clavis (clavis lelouch x reader. ~1,000 words.) — you get snowed in with clavis. shenanigans ensue.

christmas cookies to save kingdom! (gilbert von obsidian x reader. ~800 words.) — you and gilbert make christmas cookies together!!

sledding with cyran (cyran rose x reader. ~400 words.) — you go sledding with cyran.

ikemen revolution . . .

pet names (zero, edgar, kyle, & harr x reader. ~400 words.) — you call some of the ikerev suitors a pet name for the first time.

the winter itch (kyle ash x reader. ~300 words.) — you call on your favorite doctor to help you out with some chilly problems.

happy birthday (blanc & kyle x reader. ~400 words.) — blanc and kyle attend your after party. (a birthday gift for vivi!!)

soft kyle ash (kyle ash x reader. ~350 words.) — soft kyle ash, your favorite doctor.

the black army pines (black army x reader. ~350 words.) — some mildly embarrassing things that have happened to you while a certain black army member was pining for you.

baking with luka (luka clemence x reader. ~400 words.) — you decorate a gingerbread house with luka.

decorating with zero (zero x reader. ~500 words.) — you and zero put up holiday decorations in red army headquarters together.

love like a heart is no love at all (edgar bright x reader. ~2,000 words.) — edgar contemplates you.

over and over again (blanc lapin x reader. ~2,000 words.) — to blanc, you are the change he needed, and your pressing secret won't change that.

ikemen villains . . .

shopping with ellis (ellis twilight x reader. ~300 words.) — you ask ellis to come shopping with you, and he agrees.

ikemen sengoku . . .

hot springs (yoshimoto x reader. ~350 words.) — you visit the hot springs with yoshimoto.

you are the world (mitsunari x reader. ~1000 words.) — domestic bliss with your husband, mitsunari!!

mystic messenger . . .

snowball fight for love! (saeyoung choi x reader. ~500 words.) — you take saeyoung completely off guard with a snowball to the back of the head!

#🐙! blog things #masterlist #auburn talks ikevamp <3 #auburn talks ikepri <3 #auburn talks ikerev <3

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herbsnspices · 8 months

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Draco x Slytherin OC✨🐍

AN ~ not sure where this will go but I thought I’d put it out there, in my world Voldy does exist but he’s not coming back anytime soon. As for Death eaters, they are dying out along with blood supremacy and all that crap. Draco is still a Brat so prepare for angst but it should be worth it? Anyway enjoy <3

Part 1?

Sable, 16, daughter to Wysteria and Thorn Grimsbane, they make a small but high ranking family within the wizarding world. Thorn is the head of investigations within the ministry with Wysteria as his partner, they are truly a power couple. Sable had been studying abroad at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic up until the summer of her 16th birthday, when her parents demanded her return before enrolling her into Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.

Ignoring sable's plea's they never explained their actions, simply stating it was for the best and that they would handle everything. it broke her heart saying goodbye to her friends at Beauxbatons, especially to her boyfriend, Cyran, who she'd only been able to kiss once. feeling as if her world had come to an end she was anything but excited while shopping for supplies with her mother, even the idea of fresh books and stationary wasn't enough to cheer her up.

Unfortunately it didn't take long for the dreaded day to arrive, with all her trunks packed Sable stood on the platform with a frown. holding back her tears as she hugged her parents goodbye sable made her way onto the train, it was tight as she walked along looking for an empty compartment, releasing a sigh of relief when she came across one and slipped inside.

getting comfy with her copy of Hogwarts: A History sable prepared herself for what was to come, or at least tried to.

Draco's pov

it was the same old routine of cold goodbyes and empty hellos as I stepped onto the train, my parents not staying any longer then needed. I bumped into Blaise first, he greeted me with his usual smirk and a slap on the back.

"Draco, its good to see you. we've got a compartment just up ahead if you'd care to join? kindly grace us with your presence" he teased while rolling his eyes.

"I suppose I could" I replied with smirk, the two of us chuckling together as I followed him to the compartment. thankfully the corridor was empty of students as we walked down, the rooms on either side of us however were full of them. glancing into them as I passed one caught my eye, slowing me to a stop, this compartment empty compared to the rest.

she was pale, with smooth skin dotted with freckles. Her Black hair looked like silk as it draped around her in loose curls, her eyes a bright green as they concentrated on the book before her. she was dressed in smart attire and had an air of maturity about her as she sat with a straight back and her legs crossed, she looked like a Lady.

"Draco?"

looking up Blaise was stood a couple of compartments ahead, the door open and waiting. Risking one last glance I was surprised to see a pair of emeralds gazing back at me, a question clear within them. looking away I headed into the compartment and took a seat between the window and Theo, Blaise was opposite me with pansy next to him. the journey was usually long and tedious but it seemed to fly by as I gazed out the window, thoughts of the girl filling my mind.

We lived in confusing times, never knowing if Voldemort would return or not, but if I knew anything for certain, it was that i’d have her before the year was up.

Sable's pov

I had no idea who the blonde was but he was certainly easy on the eyes with his sharp features and lean but muscular build, the all black suit he wore was just the cherry on top. sadly he was gone as quick as he appeared but I'm sure I'll be seeing more of him, he looked to be about my age if not the year above.

finally taking a break from reading and checking my watch I noticed it wouldn't be long till we arrived at Hogwarts and I still needed to change, cursing myself I grabbed my small carry on case and headed out the compartment and to the toilet.

the uniform was plain black awaiting my house colours but the shirt, pleated skirt and robes were certainly different to the silk dress I was used to. Choosing to keep on my tights and long socks I dressed myself in the uniform, overall it wasn't so bad. After packing away my clothes and switching my shoes I quickly touched up my hair and make-up before swiftly exiting the cramped room, walking straight into someone's chest.

the strong scent of musk and cherry wafted over me as I looked up, two swirling pools of chocolate looking down at me.

"well hello there" his voice was deep and smooth, like velvet.

"hello" my reply was meek and breathy, my surprise evident.

"hmm no house colours, you've got to be the biggest first year I've ever seen" he spoke with a smirk and a teasing tone, he seemed like the mischievous type. glancing at his uniform the dark green suited him nicely, the snake emblem resting on his chest.

"sadly no, I'm transferring into sixth year. You're a Slytherin right?" I replied, nodding at his uniform.

"indeed I am, best house to be in. I'm also going into sixth year so ill be seeing more of you misss?" he asked while giving me a once over, a look of approval on his face.

"Sable" I said, my eyebrow quirking at his obvious staring.

"Im Blaise, its been a pleasure Sable but you should head back to your compartment, we'll be arriving soon. ill be seeing you" he greeted while placing a small kiss on the back of my hand, his goodbye ominous as he left with a wink.

heading back into my compartment I got my belongings together and watched anxiously as we came to a stop, students flooding off the train and towards carriages. merging into the flow I stepped off and over to a large friendly looking man holding a sign with my name scribbled on it.

"hello there, ye must be sable?" he asked with a large grin

"hello, yes" I replied with a smile, nodding my head.

"follow me, you'll ride and be sorted along with the first years" nodding along I climbed into the boat with him, watching in awe as we made our way over the water and towards the beautiful castle.

it felt strange standing amongst the first years, towering above them as they looked at me with curiosity. Entering the great hall was daunting due to the hundreds of eyes watching my every move, whispers erupting as I walked towards the front of the room. the headmaster Dumbledore explained that i would be joining the sixth year before calling me up.

"Sable Grimsbane"

holding my head high like I was taught I stepped up and sat on the stool, Professor McGonagall placing the sorting hat on my head.

"hmm a Grimsbane, we haven't had one of you in a while. You value wisdom over valour like Ravenclaw, and yet you're fearlessness befits a Gryffindor. you're cunning like a Slytherin but care like a Hufflepuff, where to put you...suppose it better be SLYTHERIN"

Taglist?

#fanfic #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #part 1 #romance #draco smut #draco x oc #oc

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closedcoffins · 1 year

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i actually don't have activity levels but people have asked me like, what muses i'm feeling for things like plotting before and idk how to explain it so i'm just going to make a list ( ← person who loves making lists )

keep in mind that i am always happy to plot with and write any of my muses!

muses i write often who i am always happy to write more

claire stanfield

melvi dormentaire

sham

ronny schiatto

isaac dian

mark twain

muses i don't write often who i would love to write more

maria barcelito

jacuzzi splot

nice holystone

luchino b. campanella

christopher shaldred

maiza avaro

jules upham

pamela mccall

lana sutton

sonja bake

rachel jones

kate gandor

laz smith

tick jefferson

elmer c. albatross

roger zelazny

camille renaudin

ice pick joe

yemevon

muses i don't write often because they are really super out there but i love them

graham specter

ladd russo

gabriel & juliano barsotti

victor talbot

cyran azerrad kapral

muses i don't write often because they deal with potentially difficult subjects but i'm still happy to write them

huey laforet

roy maddock

edith carmine

dallas genoard

rail

il dottore

muses i'm still not confident about, but the only way to get better is to write them more!

luck gandor

chane laforet

molsa martillo

keith gandor

berga gandor

kalia gandor

mark wilmens

nicola casetti

tock "tim" jefferson

yuri briar

#out of character

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cecils-dragons · 3 months

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I wanted to draw Donovan and Cyran really badly, so it has been done. I love these two so much ah! Just a silly guy and his son, trying their best.

#zunde is the one who gives him dumb shirts. given the chance he'll give anyone a dumb shirt. will he wear them himself? no #art #oc #fr gijinka #flight rising gijinka #fr art #flight rising art #flight rising #fr #c: donovan #c: cyran

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intoxthextrees-blog · 6 years

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@floweredchild liked for a starter

“ Alright... What did Elgara tell you? ” The question was heavy with dismay, though he wasn’t surprised to know his little sister probably already told the whole family and then some about their trip to Antiva and the friend Cyran had made. “ Probably some over-exaggerated theatrical pantomime, I’d wager. ”

#floweredchild #c: cyran

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clavissionary-position · 7 months

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Cyran: I quit.

Clavis: What.

Cyran: Can I put you down as a work reference?

Clavis: (tearfully hands over Cyran's resume) I already did.

—At Cyran's job interview—

Clavis with a fake mustache: It appears you come very highly recommended by a Monsieur C. Lelouch. Splendid, young man! Hired immediately, I say!

#ikemen prince #cyran rose #clavis lelouch #ikemen prince incorrect quotes

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ikeromantic · 1 year

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Seduction Starts with C

A Cyran and Clavis story because I am still not over this. It's a continuation(ish) of Trouble Starts with C . Approx. 4000 words.

Cyran kept a close eye on the tavern patrons. It was a standard mix for one of Lelouch’s favorite hangouts. A smattering of dissatisfied nobility, a handful of angry merchants, a few well-off farmers with a bone to pick, a couple of spies and foreign provocateurs pretending to be anything else, surrounded by a remainder of less savory types. Thieves, bankers, and landlords. Cyran supposed, he could have just named them all thieves and been done.

He wasn’t too worried about real trouble, but every so often someone would pickpocket someone else. Or a few drinks in, a gentleman might realize the only thing he has in common with his compatriots is a hatred of the crown and pick a fight about one of the many other topics on which they disagreed. Clavis never did anything to calm the tensions. He enjoyed the undercurrent of potential violence. The unspoken threat of this place and these people.

And into it, the prince had tossed his little rabbit. The unyielding Emma. Emma the Persistent. Emma the . . . beautiful, sweet, kind, funny, intelligent . . . Cyran cleared his throat as if that might halt the flood of words in his mind. His gaze landed on her, standing at Clavis’ elbow next to a group of aggrieved merchants. Their red faced exclamations clearly left her uncomfortable, but she gamely held to her smile.

Clavis was watching her too, reveling in the subtle signs of her distress. His intent was to push her until she broke. To see how far he could keep this toy, how long she would tag after him before she gave up entirely. He would break her to see what made her tick.

Cyran had never minded these games, never voiced more than a token complaint before now. But there’d never been a girl like Emma before. She wasn’t some grasping noblewoman, hoping to snare a prince. Nor a common girl hoping to become a kept mistress. She had no designs on Clavis, beyond her clear affection and her intent to serve as the best Belle she could be.

The soldier told himself this was why the game bothered him this time. Because Emma was genuine and her goals were noble. But he knew there was more to it, hiding as it did in the silence between his heartbeats. A feeling he would not name or express because the prince already laid his claim. He watched Clavis pull Emma closer to his side, his fingertips caressing her bare arm. Leaning toward her to whisper something naughty in her ear.

Cyran grabbed a drink from one of the serving trays and downed it without looking to see what it was. That was a mistake. Clavis liked to pepper the usual beverages with wilder things, and Cyran had pulled the lucky glass. The drink felt like he’d swallowed pure fire. It burned his lips and tongue, and the scent of it crept up the back of his nostrils to make his eyes water.

Emma happened to glance back as he wiped at his face. She said something to Clavis, who only half-turned his head to glance at his soldier. He grinned, well aware of what befell Cyran. The Belle hurried over, a worried twist to her delicate lips.

“Cyran. Are you alright? Did something happen?”

He coughed, trying to get his throat to work.

“Here,” Emma handed him a cup of water. “Drink slowly.”

The soldier took the glass and sipped it, silent until his throat stopped feeling like a bonfire. “Thanks.” His voice was still raspy and a little breathless. He coughed and tried again.

“Did your drink go down wrong? It looked like you were choking, but Clavis said not to worry.”

Cyran grinned. “Nothing to worry about, my lady. Just grabbed the wrong cup and got a taste of something I didn’t like.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “It must have been pretty bad. Which drink was it? So I can avoid it.”

“Best to avoid anything you didn’t see poured and handed straight to you.” He gestured toward the tavern servers, with their trays. “Anyone could drop anything into one of those cups. And since you’re here with Clavis, you’re a target.”

She looked surprised, but she nodded. “I didn’t think about that. Is . . . is that what happened to you? Did someone try to poison you?” Her voice dropped low and she leaned in to say the last bit.

Cyran tried not to think about how close she was, how he could feel the warm tickle of her breath across his neck, nor how much he liked the way she tilted her chin to look up at him so sweetly. He cleared his throat again. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Maybe we should go sit down or something? To make sure you’re alright?” She looked more worried now than she had hurrying over.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing so serious.” He laughed and tapped her on the nose. “Besides, I think the Prince is getting antsy for your return.”

Emma glanced back to see Clavis stick his tongue out at her. She huffed. “Well, he can just wait. Making sure you’re ok is more important.” She took Cyran’s arm and half-dragged him out onto the porch. There were several tables set out here for overflow from the common room, but it was cold so they were all empty.

He let her sit him down on one of the benches. Her determined little frown was adorable. “So, what now? How do we know I’m ok?”

“I . . . I’m not sure? What do you normally do for a poison?” She tapped her lips and then nodded. “We need to know what you drank!”

“Well . . . it made my throat burn.” Cyran watched her think about this, her brow furrowed, eyes downcast. He felt like he ought to tell her it was just some pepper extract but she was adorable in her intensity.

Emma nodded. “Alright. Anything else? Do you feel short of breath? Does your stomach hurt? Any numbness?”

“Hmm, no, no, and no.” Cyran nearly startled off the bench when she pressed her fingers to his throat. Her hands were cool and soft as silk, though he could feel the slight tips of her nails where she sought his pulse.

“Your heart’s racing,” she said softly, leaning close. “And your skin feels a little hot.”

“I feel fine.” He stood abruptly, pulling away from her. “We should get back to the prince. Otherwise he’ll pout and we really don’t want that.”

Emma looked up at him for a long moment and then nodded. “Alright. But if you start to feel worse, let me know.”

“I will.”

“Promise? I won’t believe you unless you promise.”

Cyran sighed. “I promise.” His fingers were crossed, but she didn’t know that. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be honest, but working for Clavis put certain restrictions on the truth. He might need to keep himself to himself even if he really did get poisoned or sick or stabbed. And it was for the best.

Clavis was waiting for them inside, wearing a big smile that seemed wider than usual. “There you are, my love. I can see you missed me!”

“I really didn’t,” she replied drily.

He ignored the comment completely, and took her arm. “There are some people I want to introduce you to.”

Emma sighed. “Alright. Let’s go. I know you’ll drag me over anywa-hey!”

The soldier watched them drift into the milieu. It was going to be a long night. He sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. That was when he found the note Clavis had slipped there when they came back inside. It took Cyran a moment to decode, not because of any clever cipher. Just Clavis’ usual terrible handwriting.

Upstairs. Door 3. Package delivery.

Cyran read it over twice. Some days, it was not great to work for a cryptic boss. He supposed it would make sense when he got there. The soldier slipped upstairs, making sure his absence was not noted. The instructions did not mention whether or not he could be seen, but with Clavis it was always better to be cautious.

Door 3 was closed tight and locked, but that was barely worth a pause. Cyran could pick a lock almost as well as the prince, and this tavern wasn’t exactly known for security. The room beyond was lit by a low-burning lamp. There wasn’t much to see.

The bed was bare, no sheets or blankets, a worn trunk, and a small, rickety table with a nicked bowl and pitcher atop it. And there were exactly zero packages. Cyran shrugged and began to look around. Nothing in the bowl, nothing in the pitcher. The trunk was empty. Nothing under the bed. Then he spotted it. A lump in the mattress.

Cyran flipped it over and found a cut on the bottom side. He reached his hand in, hoping to any god that the thing was free of lice and bed bugs. His reaching fingers brushed the bottom of something small, wrapped tightly in waxed paper. The soldier pulled it out and shook the clinging bits of hay from his hand.

The package was about as big as his palm, a little wider than a box of cards, and had no markings. Cyran shook it but nothing inside shifted. He sniffed it too, but there was only the smell of moldy hay and wax. He grinned. It was just like the prince to send him for something like this. The contents could be poison, an explosive, smuggled jewels, or a handful of naughty sketches. There was no way to know.

The soldier tucked the package into his coat, making sure the wax paper was well sealed before he did so. Then he put the mattress back into place and kicked the hay under the bed. With everything put to right, he went back downstairs.

Music was playing loudly and several people were dancing in a cleared-out space between the tavern tables. Cyran spotted the Belle being swung about by one of the bankers that frequented this place. A decent guy. For a banker. But there was no sign of Clavis.

He hated it when the prince disappeared like this, without telling him the plan ahead of time. But that was also pretty much just working for Clavis. He had his own complicated machinations and more often than not, Cyran just had to trust the outcome was worth the effort. It usually was, if not in the way he expected.

The problem now was, did he go looking for his boss or stay here to keep an eye on Emma? Clavis could get himself into all kinds of trouble on his own, and the prince was the guy he’d sworn to protect. But Emma was all alone in a room full of dangerous men.

Cyran spent at least an entire minute vacillating before he walked across the tavern and tapped the banker on the shoulder. “You mind if I cut in?”

The banker scowled. “You can wait for the next song.”

Emma giggled. “C-cyyyyyy . . . you want to dance with me?” Her grin was wide and her eyes looked slightly glazed.

“Miss, I think you might have had too much to drink,” the banker said, his voice solicitous, “let me take you out for some air. We can go for a walk until your head clears.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Cyran told him, smiling his very polite and not at all intimidating smile. He reached for Emma’s arm, but the banker pushed her behind him.

Emma swayed and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I do feel a li- a li - dizzy.”

The banker patted her hand but his eyes remained on Cyran. “If you’ll step aside?”

“Like I said. Not possible. The lady is a dear friend of mine and -”

“Dear! Oh Cyyyyy . . .” The Belle giggled. “I like th-that! Dear. Deeeeearrrrrr,” she sang the word, drawing out the vowels.

Cyran didn’t think he’d been gone long enough for her to get drunk, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d been upstairs. She was adorable like this, being silly and laughing. It was a side of her he’d never seen before. But the tavern was a bad spot for it. Especially as it seemed the banker had an eye for her. “As I said, very dear. So I can’t allow her to go off with you.”

The banker looked as if he wanted to argue. Then he shrugged and grinned. “Sure, sure. You two have a good time. In fact, to show no hard feelings, have one of my rare candies. These are made from a fruit that only grows near the sea.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tin and held it open.

Cyran took one for himself and one for the Belle.

“They’re re-re-ah, good,” Emma stumbled through her words as if she’d forgotten how to speak. “I had twooooooooooo!”

“Yes, I hope you do enjoy them.” The banker gave a nod and then stepped away, seeming to lose interest.

Seeming was the word for it, Cyran thought. He could tell the banker and two other men were keeping an eye on them. Interesting. He pocketed the candies and took Emma’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk. We need to get you sobered up before Clavis comes back.”

“Sober? I’m . . . not drunk! I di-didn’t have any drinks!”

“Emma. You are wobbling. Be honest.” He tapped her nose lightly.

She frowned and tried to bite his finger. “I am! I just had some of those candies and went daaaaancing.” She turned a pouty glare up at him. “An-and don’t tap my nose. It’s rude.”

He laughed. She really was too cute like this. But behind his carefree smile, he was worried. If she was telling the truth, then what was in those candies? He would need to get them over to Clavis for study.

The two of them left the tavern arm in arm. Cyran tried not to enjoy the way she leaned into him too much but she was a nice armful. Emma settled her head against his shoulder and pulled the clasped arm against her belly, tucked right beneath her breasts, so that as they walked she was nearly against his side.

“Cy, can I a-ask you something?” Emma pronounced it like ‘shum-ting’, her words slurring even more.

“Of course. Ask me anything,” he replied, distracted. It seemed whatever was in the candies was still working its way through her system.

She stopped at looked up at him, studying his face under the warm glow of the streetlamps. “Do you like me?”

Cyran was nearly startled into being honest, but caught himself before the words escaped his parted lips. “What? Emma, everyone likes you. Are you sure you didn’t have even one tiny drink? A sip?” He grinned, teasing, “or maybe you’re just playing a little game with me?”

Emma stomped her foot and almost fell over. Only the soldier’s grip on her arm kept her upright. “No! I’m not . . . I - I . . . it’s just . . . you said dear.” Her anger evaporated in an instant, leaving her with a puppy-eyed expression.

“I did.” He felt drawn forward, his body leaning into hers as if pulled by another sort of gravity. Cyran’s hand cupped the back of her head, fingers sliding up to tangle in her hair, ruining her styling. He felt the catch in her breath and her small hands gripped his coat to pull him even closer.

Their lips were so close to meeting that he could feel the warmth of her.

“This would have been so much simpler if you just ate the candies. Now I’ll have to risk damaging the merchandise.” A voice interrupted the moment. One of the two men that had been with the banker stood on the opposite side of the road. He grinned at Cyran as the soldier turned to face him.

Cyran saw the leather-wrapped tranchon in the man’s hand and pulled his sword from it’s sheath. “You shouldn’t bring a stick to a sword fight.” He was so focused on that threat that he almost didn’t notice the other man rush from the shadows, silently targeting the Belle. It was only really luck that he caught the movement from the corner of his eye.

“Duck,” the soldier snapped the order and thankfully, Emma obeyed. She dropped into a crouch just in time.

The second attacker’s weapon moved through empty space as Cyran lunged forward. Cyran’s sword took the attacker in his gut, naked blade easily parting the tissue.

There wasn’t any time to celebrate the small victory as the man with the truncheon came at them. He swung, intending to take the soldier at his knee. Cyran saw the telegraphed motion and kicked up at the right moment. His boot took the man in the face and sent him sprawling back.

Emma made a surprised sound deep in her chest. A suppressed cry of fear or perhaps anger, Cyran couldn’t tell.

He pulled her into a half-hug with his free hand. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

She nodded mutely and buried her face against his chest.

The man on the ground started to scramble away, but stopped as a squad of guardsmen came into view, with Clavis in the lead. The prince was grinning widely. He took in the scene and began to clap. “Nicely done. I couldn’t have done it better myself. Well, more handsomely, I suppose. I am very dashing. But good job.”

“Thanks.” Cyran smiled back. “I was wondering if you’d pop up conveniently.”

“Of course! I could never stray too far from the lovely Emma.” He held out his hand. “Come here, my dear. The most attractive man in the kingdom wants to make sure you’re ok. Isn’t that flattering?”

She peeked over at him, a tentative smile on her lips, which turned into a frown swiftly. Emma pulled away from Cyran and crossed her arms. “You a-abandoned me in there!”

“I left but for a moment! And I knew Cyran here would look after you.”

“That why you sent me upstairs on a fetch mission?” The soldier raised an eyebrow. He pulled the package from his coat and tossed it over to Clavis. “What is it, anyway?”

“Just a naughty deck of cards. I’m going to slip it into Yves’ games so he finds it next time he plays gin rummy with Keith and Licht.” Clavis’ smile didn’t budge. “It was a very important mission!”

Cyran felt his eyebrow twitch.

Clavis held out a hand to Emma. “Forgive me? Of course you do. Now come here.”

Emma reluctantly took a step forward but laughed when Clavis took her arm and pulled her into an unexpected embrace. She stumbled a bit, still under the effect of the drugged candies.

“There’s my beauty. You’re so cute when you pout but I like that smile. That one right there.” The prince put a kiss on her nose.

Cyran turned to look at the men on the ground. It was easier than watching the two of them. One was rubbing his chest and clearly considering his chances for escape. The other was dead, his skin already taking on that waxy look of a corpse. The soldier cleared his throat. “If you’re done? I think we have some loose ends to tie up.”

Clavis chuckled. “We do! Guards, if you’ll arrest that one on the ground?” He gestured toward the tavern. “Is our banker friend still there?”

“We didn’t see him leave.” Emma said, drawing out the word leave into a lilting sing-song.

“Are you drunk? No - I know what it is! He gave you something, didn’t he?” The prince’s eyebrows rose with excitement.

Cyran intervened before Emma could answer. “Candies. Which you should probably analyze because Emma had a few.”

“One,” she squeaked.

“One. Which might have ended with her in the banker’s clutches, if I hadn’t come downstairs when I did.” Cyran fixed his boss with a hard look.

Clavis waved it off as if there were nothing to worry about. “If the banker took her back to his secret vault, I’d have rescued her then. Along with the other ladies he was kidnapping to sell into slavery in Obsidian. I was very heroic.” He turned his face to the Belle. “I most definitely deserve a kiss for my selfless deeds. Reward me?”

Emma huffed. “It’s nooooooot selfless if - if you get a reward.”

“Isn’t it? No?” The prince looked a little deflated as she turned her face away from him, denying him the sought after kiss. “Well. You’ll change your mind. No one can refuse the most handsome prince in Rhodolite.”

“So all of the missing people were found? And the banker?” Cyran pulled his boss back onto topic.

Clavis nodded. “All the ones not already taken to Obsidian.” Though his smile did not change, his gaze went hard and cold. “Not to worry though. We’ll get them back to. And our banker friend will help us by telling us every single contact he has there.”

Cyran nodded. “Should I head back to the tavern and gift box him then?”

“Not necessary. Guards are already on their way. I think we need to get the lovely Emma home and into bed.” Clavis grinned at her suggestively.

“My bed. Alone.”

“How you wound me,” the prince sighed. “But never mind. I’ll be busy anyhow, analyzing those candies. I must discover what fun compounds the banker was using. Surely something I can borrow. A little surprise, perhaps, for a certain brother . . .”

On the carriage ride back to the palace, Emma fell asleep leaning against Clavis. Cyran studied her peaceful face. The way her lashes lay against her cheek. The delicate arch of her eyebrow. Her lips, slightly parted as if she might speak. He wished it was his shoulder she rested on, but looking at the prince’s expression made him feel guilty for the thought.

Clavis had the most gentle smile as he stroked her hair. It lacked the wicked humor and blatant falseness of his usual expression. It was an openness he’d never shown with any of his other ‘toys.’ Cyran wondered if, perhaps, his boss underestimated the effect Emma had on him. Afterall, a man that had never been in love might not realize when he began that fall.

“You like her.” Clavis spoke softly into the quiet of the carriage. He did not look up from the Belle as he spoke.

Cyran said nothing for a long moment. Then, “Yes.” He took a breath, steadying himself. His chest roiled with emotions he wasn’t sure how to express. His relationship with Clavis was built on trust and mutual love for the small people. The ideals they shared. He had to believe it could withstand one, beautiful girl between them. “She cares for you a lot.”

He hummed an affirmation, and then, “For you too.”

“I know.” The answer felt like it scraped his throat. Acknowledging this affection felt like pulling the scab from a wound.

“Don’t hold back on my account.” Clavis finally looked across at him. “That will make the game even more interesting.”

The smile he wore now was unreadable. A wall that Cyran couldn’t see past. He did not know how the prince meant those words, nor what he should do next. He decided to continue with honesty, the dangerous path. “As you command.”

“Perhaps we should wager? The one to seduce the lovely Emma wins? Oh, but what if we both do! Or neither. Hmmm.” Clavis traced the edge of her ear with his fingertip. “I’m not sure what the prize would be, excepting the woman herself.”

“Prize enough.” She was worth more than gold or favors, Cyran thought. Much more. “I think the stakes are pretty clear.”

Emma slept on through it, unaware of the gauntlet thrown. She was between them, weaving herself into their hearts in a way that would be impossible to sever.

#ikemen prince #ikepri clavis #clavis lelouch #ikepri cyran #fluff #drama #otome #otome guys #fanfiction #fanfic

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writingwithadinosaur · 4 years

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“A Helping Hand” - Oneshot?

“A Helping Hand” - Oneshot

My Masterlist - Here

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Malcolm Bright x Reader

Word Count: 3,082

Key: Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color Chunks or lines of text that are in italics means that its (Y/N)’s thoughts.

Warnings: Cursing, Violence, Death (Murder Victim), Anxiety, Fears/Phobias (Specifically focusing on sharp objects, bugs/insects, water, and the fear of imperfection), Gunshot, Talk of Suicide, the joys of writing about a serial killer based on fear.

Summary: Working a serial killer case hits a bit close to home with the latest victim. Malcolm offers a helping hand.

Author’s Note: This all started because I tried to think of how Malcolm would handle a situation involving someone who suffers from dermatillomania. This is a bit of a selfish piece because my own anxiety, depression, and ADHD manifest itself in the form of skin picking and biting a lot.

Please read the warnings because this is a bit heavy with death and anxiety and fear talk. I do hope that this ends up making you smile though.

This is not beta-read so please let me know if there are any mistakes!

If you guys like this story or want this “Scarecrow” killer to be continued, let me know. I already have a little bit of an idea on how to make this into a series. <3

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

~~~~~~~~

You weren’t a rookie by any means, you have been in law enforcement and a little bit of psychology backgrounds for the last 5 years. But you were the newest member in this part of the NYPD.

You really didn’t have a choice but to grow with and trust your team with the crazy shit that’s happened over the last few months. Lately, everyone has been going crazy trying over a serial killer dubbed as the “Scarecrow.” He or she took inspiration from the Batman villain and started to prey on people with phobias.

Malcolm had some theories, but for now all you knew was the type of person that the killer targeted and no other obvious correlation between the victims. While Gil, JT, and Dani went out for lunch, Malcolm was at his desk going over the file while you found yourself stuck in the big meeting room during your break, staring at the board full of what your team had so far, trying to find anything that had somehow gone overlooked.:

Vic #1 - Omar Klinden. 25 years old. In a relationship, boyfriend’s alibi checked out. Omar was an entomophobe, someone that fears any sort of bug or insect. He was found tied to a chair in a storage unit that had three walls full of different types of bugs in glass cases, a tarantula, a handful of cockroaches, and some flesh-eating bugs on him. Cause of death was strangulation.

Vic #2 - Daphne Stewards. 26 years old. Single. Hydrophobe, someone that fears water. Found hanging above her bathtub full of water. Shallow tubs of water were laid all over the floor, preventing her from walking away if she had somehow gotten the noose from around her neck. Cause of death was hanging.

Vic #3 - Giorgio Lucinta. 33 years old. Single. Aichmophobe, someone that fears needles or pointed objects. Found tied to his dining room table with a multitude of knives, needles, and scissors stuck in the table and hanging from the lamp above the table. Multiple cuts were found over his body. Cause of death was loss of blood.

The victims didn’t know each other. All three were in therapy for their phobias, but they all saw different therapists. Each body was found in different areas of the city. The only thing connecting them was the fact that before they died, they were tortured by being forced to endure their own personal fears before being murdered.

Scarecrow isn’t physically taking anything from the victims, which means what they are taking from the victims is pleasure. They enjoy seeing people in complete and unfiltered fear for their lives. Each murder has shown more and more craftsmanship. They have been taking more and more time to set up something elaborate with each victim. They--

Before you could keep going, the door behind you opened to Malcolm with a sort of excited smile on his face.

“Gil called. We got a body.”

~~~~

“Victim is Wendy Undurmein. 26 years old. She was an analyst at the Cyrane theater down the road.” Gil gave you the rundown before you even entered the building.

“Cause of death?” You asked while slipping on some gloves, interested to know why you and Malcolm were called.

“Gunshot wound to the head. It looks like suicide.”

“So then why are we here?” You could hear the slight annoyance in Malcolm’s voice, as if the case wasn’t interesting enough for him.

Gil just motioned for you to follow him. He lead you through the apartment building and onto the third floor. JT and Dani were in the hallway, talking to a couple who you assumed to be the neighbors of the victim. Behind the normal yellow crime scene tape on the door of apartment 3538 made you realize why Gil called.

Wendy was tied to a chair in what you think to be the dining room, except every piece of furniture was replaced with an excessive amount of mirrors and lights circling and pointing at the chair in the center of the room.

“This is why I called you in.” Gil steps aside and lets you and Malcolm begin your observations.

You started by looking at the victim, Wendy. She looked younger than 26. Her shaggy bobbed brunette hair framed her delicate facial features. She was most likely wearing what she wore to work that morning. She had been wearing makeup, but you could see where some of it melted away from the tear tracks seen around her eyes and down her cheeks.

She was tied to a nicer made wood chair, but only by her waist and ankles. Odd for a supposed suicide victim to tie herself up before shooting herself. Her head was thrown to the side, from the gunshot wound on her right temple. You follow her right arm down to the floor where the gun would have landed after she shot herself, but there was no gun in sight.

While you were inspecting Wendy, Malcolm was wandering the scene, absorbing everything he could and trying to figure out the meaning of the mirrors and lights or the reason why the rest of the apartment looked normal compared to this single room.

“Where’s the gun?” You peak through a break between a couple of mirrors and find Gil watching Malcolm to make sure he doesn’t mess anything up. He shrugged his shoulders a little bit as he answered you.

“No gun.”

“What do you mean ‘no gun?’ Unless I’m seeing things, she has a bullet hole in her skull.”

“I mean there was no gun found at the scene of the crime.” Gil shifted his gaze to you tilting his head slightly, making it really click as to why you were called.

“Someone else was here before, during, or after this all happened.” Malcolm piped out the now obvious truth from behind one of the mirrors, inspecting it to see if there was anything odd about it. Dani and JT walked in as he spoke.

“I’m assuming before and during. Right after the gunshot was heard, the neighbors called 911 and reported it. When they came in, it was just Wendy here.”

You panned around the scene, trying to find anything else, but then you realized that no one had mentioned the elephant in the room: The mirrors and lights.

“All of this makes a bit more sense if there was someone else here.” Malcolm motioned to the setup, no one spoke up.

He turned to you as if to ask, “What? You don’t see it?” And you had to admit that you could see some possible things, but you were sure that he had a bigger and more coherent picture in his head. You motioned for him to go on.

“These are set up to make sure that Wendy had nowhere else to look other than at herself. The lights are set up so that virtually no shadows would be cast on any part of her, making every pore, line, and hair visible.” He stood behind the chair with Wendy’s body still tied to it, looking at every mirror to see the different angles. “I gotta say that some of these angles are pretty unflattering.” He paused, thinking out loud. “Maybe that was the point: To show the imperfections.”

“Could also be the reason why she wore so much makeup. To try to hide any blemishes,” Dani spoke up.

You and Malcolm swapped. Now he was inspecting the victim and you looked at the scene. But you didn’t look at the mirrors, you looked at the rest of the apartment. Everything was in order. The bed was made as if it was a hotel bed, the towels on the towel racks were perfectly hung. She had awards and degrees hung up perfectly aligned on her wall. Showcasing her achievements.

Imperfections. The word kept sticking out in your brain when something clicked: She was trying to prove that she wasn’t a screw up; that she was doing good things and good work. She wanted to be as perfect as she could be.

As you kept looking and piecing more and more together, Malcolm’s discoveries validated your theory.

“She has small cuts around her fingers as if she was picking or biting at them. Her lips look bitten up too.”

“So? It’s New York and it's been cold out. Maybe it's just the weather making her skin dry or somethin’?” JT questioned.

“Check the inside of her cheeks.” You speak up, a bit panicked from the kitchen, finding everything in picturesque form like the rest of the apartment. You had also found the various pills on her counter. One bottle was paroxetine, an SSRI for treating chronic anxiety disorders, making your thoughts race as you realized the possible severity of this case.

“Excuse me?” Gil spoke up, confused as to where you were going. Malcolm had looked away from Wendy to watch you walk back towards them, noticing small psychological hints that the others wouldn’t. Your eyes were flicking to different parts of Wendy, your breathing was slightly shaky, and you had a look that told him that you were trying to keep your cool while your mind was frantic.

You kept your breathing as controlled as you could, but you felt your chest tightening. You know these signs because you have lived through them. You tried to not focus on your hands while you explained your thought process.

“I think this may be a Scarecrow victim.”

Gil walked up next to you, you felt yourself starting to nip at the insides of your cheeks as he whispered “Are you sure? This doesn’t look like it fits his profile. We can’t just throw that out in the air without knowing 100%...”

Malcolm was curious but cautious, so he stayed silent as you went on, keeping a close eye on you to see if you were going to be okay.

“Wendy had anxiety. She--”

“So does most of New York. That doesn’t mean she’s a Scarecrow Vic.” JT quipped.

“Hear her out.” Malcolm defended before giving his attention to you, motioning for you to go on.

“Wendy had anxiety. It could be generalized anxiety disorder, but I think it's more than just ‘generalized.’ You kept saying imperfections and it made me realize how much she valued perfection… and feared imperfection. The fear of imperfection is called Atelophobia. It also means to fear not being good enough.”

You were visually focusing on Wendy’s body, but as you said “phobia” you saw Gil step away, sigh, and run his hand over his face from the corner of your eye. He, and everyone else in the room, were beginning to believe that this was the work of their serial killer. Malcolm knew about the phobia, but kept listening to see how far you could explain before needing help.

“She has her proudest achievements hanging perfectly on her wall to try to validate herself. Her lips are chewed up and there are signs of permanent damage at the skin around her fingers where they’ve been continuously picked at for an extended period of time.”

You subconsciously hold your hands and try to not scratch. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Malcolm.

“Wendy saw or felt when her skin would get dry and start to peel and view those as imperfections, making her pick and bite until she couldn’t anymore. She was trying to get rid of the mistakes.” You paused, trying to keep yourself in check. “And I’m sure if you look at the inside of her cheeks, they’ll be bitten up too.”

You were going to try to explain the mirror set up in correlation to the phobia, but your hands started to shake as you thought about your struggle with anxiety. Malcolm could see that you were unsettled by something and took over, seeing how it all worked together.

“The killer set these mirrors up for the reason we said earlier: to make Wendy see herself. They manipulated her into seeing all of the lines or dots or blemishes or what have you, progressively making her more and more scared of herself. Knowing that this phobia stretches to the idea of not being good enough, the killer most likely pointed out examples of when she messed up. Even the smallest of mistakes could set off Wendy’s spiral. They then gave her a choice to either live in fear and shame or to kill herself. And after exposing her to her phobia so intensely, she chose the gun.”

You just nodded as turned to walk out of the room, not making eye contact with anyone as you quietly said “I need to get some air.”

Gil turned to follow you and see if you were okay, but Malcolm was already on it as he put a hand up to Gil that said, “I got this.”

You found the exit to the alley behind the apartment building and found a spot against the wall to sit, close your eyes, and try to breathe. As soon as you sat down, you unknowingly start picking at the cuticles around your nails, old habits coming back. Your chest was tight and you couldn’t slow down the shirt, quick breaths that fled your panicked lungs.

You heard someone open the door a minute after you and thought nothing of it until you heard someone sit a respectable distance from you. You didn’t bother opening your eyes figuring it was Gil or Dani.

“Hey. If you don’t get your heart rate down, you're going to pass out.”

Your eyes shot open as you realized that Malcolm was the one that came to check on you. After a second, you realized that it made sense why he would come out to try and help. He has a better understanding of psychology than anyone on the team. All you could do was nod your head in understanding because you knew that you had to calm down, but it was just harder than expected.

“Would it help to try to follow my breathing?” You nodded your head, which prompted Malcolm to sit a bit closer next to you against the wall, making his breaths more audible. Slowly but surely, your breathing started to even out. Malcolm reached to his side and produced a water bottle that he had gotten from his car.

“Here. Take a couple small sips. Sorry it’s not cold, but it should still help.”

You did as he said and then started to fidget with the water bottle. It was better than picking more at your fingers.

“So how long have you had dermatillomania?” Malcolm asked cautiously, scared that talking about it might make it worse.

“A majority of my life.” You sighed out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Malcolm was watching you closely, looking for any signs that your anxiety would flare up again. You figured that he was curious and deserved to know how you came to the conclusion at the scene.

“When I was in college, I started seeing a therapist. We thought I had atelophobia. But after a few sessions, we realized that it was a mix of GAD, depression, and ADHD. The dermatillomania is the way most of that energy comes out. It’s mostly in high anxiety situations or when my ADHD is really bad. You have your tremors, I have” you looked down at your hands and realized you had begun picking again and that your finger was now bleeding a little bit. Raising your hands up, you sighed in annoyance, “this bullshit.”

You plopped your hands down in your lap and looked up at the sky, closing your eyes and taking another few frustrated deep breaths.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Without opening your eyes or moving away, you responded. “Well, I figured if anyone on this team was going to understand and respect it, it would be you.” You both half chuckled before you returned your gaze to him. “Thank you for listening and for having my back up there.”

Malcolm waved his hand to dismiss the second part of your thanks and then remembered something. You looked as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bandaid he had snagged from one of the med kits at the scene. He held out his hand as if to ask for yours. You gently gave it to him and he proceeded to bandage up the fingertip that you had been picking at. Once he finishes, making sure it's not too tight or uncomfortable, he holds your hand for a little bit longer as he speaks his mind.

“I know how bad this job can get for people like us that have mental battles going on. And now that I know at least a little bit of what’s going on, I want you to know that you can come to me for help if you need it. If something in a case isn’t sitting right with you, or you need to go and grab a coffee for a distraction, or even just someone to find a bandaid for you, I’d be happy to lend a helping hand.” He ended with a true and contagious sympathetic smile that you don’t see very often on the face of Malcolm Bright.

“I really appreciate that. I will probably take you up on it.” He nods in contentment. “This offer does go both ways though, Bright.” He looked at you with a slightly tilted head. “I know you have a lot going on in that mind of yours that I may not fully understand, but if there is ever anything I can do to try and make it a bit more pleasant, let me know.”

“Sounds like a deal, (Y/N).” He gives your hand a squeeze before letting go. The two of you sit there in silence, focusing on your breathing together for the next five or so minutes. Without warning, Malcolm stands up and extends his hands out to you with a smile. You give him a questioning look.

“I could actually really go for some good distracting coffee right now, and I would like you to come with me and be equally distracting. If you want.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. There was something about this strange man that made you feel comfortable. And after dealing with your anxiety more than you had hoped for, you find yourself reaching for his hand.

“That sounds like a fantastic idea.”

#prodigal son fandom #prodigal son fanfic #Malcolm Bright x Reader #Malcolm Bright Fic #Malcolm Bright imagine #Malcolm whitly x reader #malcolm whitly fic

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