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danaewrites · 4 months

Text

you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part ii: i wanna hear you speak to me

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.6k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: new year, new chapter! i started writing this one back in SEPTEMBER and finally had enough time away from the terrors of calculus homework to finish it. thanks for reading my story so far and i hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent chapter, because i had way too much fun writing it!! i promise that the angst in this chapter *will* be resolved, but it was too deliciously tempting to resist sprinkling a wee bit of hurt/comfort and dramatics in there as well. sorry not sorry!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

“I’ve got no bloody clue how Dumbledore can be so energetic all the time,” you groaned, head in your hands as you peeked out at the headmaster’s more-than-slightly manic grin from your seat at the Gryffindor breakfast table. You were far too sleep-deprived to process his latest choice of garish attire: a bright chartreuse robe covered in plaid polka dots, topped off with what appeared to be rhinestones and tinsel attached to his beard.

Perhaps if Kettleburn hadn’t assigned you three feet of parchment on the seventeen glorious properties of dragon dung yesterday and expected it done by this afternoon, you might have appreciated the headmaster’s creative fashion choices– oh, who were you kidding. There really was no understanding that wizard, even properly rested. James and Peter had made a bet during fifth year on how long it’d take Dumbledore to crack under a constant deluge of pranks in his office, but they’d quickly realized that the man was too far gone to do anything but take inspiration for school events– an idea that was quite frankly, comically frightening, and the sort of thing you weren’t keen on pondering on a normal Tuesday morning.

Sirius wrinkled his nose sympathetically and slid the pile of raspberry jam tarts closer to you. “Late night in the library again?”

You nodded sheepishly, gratefully taking a pastry from the pile. “I honestly don’t know why Pince allows me to stay past curfew. Marauder’s luck, I guess?” Your attention was diverted by the sound of hoots and flapping wings as the morning owl brigade arrived, apparently choosing a kamikaze dive-bomb approach to deliver this morning’s newspapers. Ah, the joys of living at the world’s most advanced magical school.

Sirius, ever the epitome of grace, slipped under the table as a rogue owl zipped past, popping himself back up just enough to throw you finger guns. “Exactly right, doll, exactly right,” he grinned. “Trust me, Marauder’s luck gets you everywhere. And I mean everywhere,” he winked, sending you a lecherous smirk.

“Ew, Sirius, I don’t even want to know,” you sniffed. “I’ve learned my lesson after the mental trauma your tales of Dorcas’ birthday adventures inflicted upon my psyche. Please, spare me the details.”

“What? All I meant was Slughorn’s Christmas Party, of course!” He batted his eyelashes angelically, still partially covered by the tablecloth.

Your mouth gaped open in shock. “Last year’s Christmas party? Sirius Orion Black, I refuse to hear another word! What on earth would your ancestors think, with you bragging about such exploits-”

He leaned over, eyes wide with laughter. “No, I meant the one Slughorn is throwing on the 21st, it’s exclusively for us lucky seventh years this time. Although, you bring up some very fond memories… okay, okay, I’ll stop, don’t kick me–”

“What are we kicking Sirius for?” James slid onto the bench across from you, eyeing a groveling Sirius with interest. Peter joined him, but wisely chose to stay away from the ruckus, piling his plate high with the bacon the owls had spared. Remus was noticeably absent, spending the morning resting in the infirmary after a rough night of shifting– which you assumed was much more peaceful than the current chaos at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

“Oh! Good morning, Jamie,” you beamed up at him, passing him the plate of desserts you’d been protecting from Sirius’ nefarious advances. “Morning, dove,” he greeted you, and then paused. “Ha, get it? Morning dove?” He puffed up his chest smugly and nudged Sirius with his elbow in a futile effort to make him laugh. You huffed fondly at his antics. Boys.

Sirius rolled his eyes and took advantage of your momentary distraction, retreating back onto his seat to nurse his wounds– to your ever-growing delight (and Sirius’ woe), you had recently discovered that the Hogwarts girls’ uniform shoes were quite sharp. “At this point we should call you Lames. ‘Cause your puns are lame,” he muttered.

You shooed him away with a brush of your hand, remembering what Sirius had mentioned earlier. “According to Sirius, Slughorn’s hosting a Christmas Party again this year. Let’s pray it won’t be like the last one.” You muttered. James and Peter both looked vaguely ill at the prospect, shuddering in unison. “My tie will never look the same again,” Peter griped, but suddenly sat up straight in his seat. “Hey, wait, we’re finally old enough to bring dates to this one! Without sneaking them in, I mean.”

Sirius snickered and lightly punched his shoulder. “Why, Petey, got some lucky girl in mind?” Peter reddened and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where a certain freckled blonde was chatting with her friends– a move that didn’t go unnoticed by James, who gave a delighted wolf-whistle. “You got a thing for Lucy Abbott, huh? Might want to make a move before Smith does,” he grinned, gesturing to the tall brunette boy who’d just arrived and sharing a knowing smirk with you. You giggled at Peter’s increasingly pouty expression; he’d figure out sooner or later that Smith was definitely not interested in Abbott– or witches in general– but it was entertaining to see him out of his comfort zone. Peter had always been the quietest of your little group, and you privately thought that a bit of momentary romantic angst might spur him to be more assertive. An ironic opinion, considering how your own love life revolved around the fact that your best friend had feelings for someone else… and you couldn’t do anything about it except mope.

Peter scowled. “Easy for you to say, Prongs, you’ve finally got precious Lily-flower wrapped around your finger. I bet you’ve already asked her!”

There it was: another reminder that James wasn’t yours, and never would be. You watched as the Gryffindor boys good-naturedly jostled his shoulder and tousled his curls. James grinned sheepishly, shrugging off their teasing. “Not yet,” he admitted, glancing hopefully at the end of the table, where Lily was chatting with her friends.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on, we all know she’ll say yes this year.” Sirius winced, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Peter glanced at Sirius, drawn by the movement. “What’ve you got to worry about? Half the population would kill Dumbledore to get one dance with you. The only person who’s got to worry about a date is me– well, and maybe Y/n, I guess.” His face suddenly turned contemplative, looking you up and down. “Are you going with someone?”

Sirius’ grimace became doubly pronounced at Peter’s tactlessness, and you felt your face heating up. Peter had a way of accidentally hitting on the issues others tried to hide. It wasn’t his fault he’d never heard about your trips to Hogsmeade with a paramour– in fact, none of the boys had. Because there hadn’t been any. You’d spent your entire time at Hogwarts pining after James, and as a result had missed the romantic milestones your classmates had already blissfully bragged about.

Peter looked at you expectantly, waiting for a response, and you opened your mouth to confess your lack of experience when you spotted a familiar redhead walking gracefully towards your side of the table– to James, you realized with a start. Something within you ignited as you watched her glow with confidence, carefree and lovely as ever. Lily would never pine after someone uselessly; she knew she could get anyone she wanted with the right amount of banter and flirty gestures. You... Well, you weren’t there quite yet, but maybe it was time to take inspiration from the Muggle saying and ‘fake it til you make it’. And before you could think about what you were about to do, you turned to Peter and smiled coyly. “I might.”

James’ and Sirius’ heads snapped up immediately from their perusal of the breakfast lineup as they let out an identical murmur of surprise. “What?” James furrowed his brow, looking you up and down– seemingly trying to discern whether you had taken a holiday from your senses, most likely via Bludger-induced concussion at the last Quidditch match. Sirius merely raised a questioning eyebrow at you. You groaned internally, knowing that you’d have to explain yourself later… although, if your half-baked idea worked, you’d be spending a lot more time with him anyway. For now, you beamed innocently at both of them and took a sip of your pumpkin juice. Apparently, the Sorting Hat had placed you in Gryffindor for a reason- you were either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to commit to this plan, but with Evans quickly approaching, you saw no other choice.

Peter looked momentarily shocked, then glumly began to assemble an egg and bacon sandwich seasoned with the occasional mutterance of “unfair” and “perpetually single, my arse”.

James’ eyes were still trained on you. “Who is it?” he asked, searching your face again as if he was looking for some indication that you were joking. You shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“Dove-” he began, but Lily finally reached his seat and placed one stupidly perfect hand on his shoulder, diverting his attention momentarily. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but Professor McGonagall asked me to bring you to her office for Quidditch scheduling.” James blinked, glancing up at her and then at the rest of the table. He stood up and focused on you again, expression clouded. “I’ll see you in Potions, yeah?”

Sirius stood up quickly, ushering him out of his seat with a speed you’d only seen him use to gulp down cheap Firewhiskey. He gave you a significant look. “Actually, Y/n and I were just about to take a walk, isn’t that right? So we'll both see you in Potions, what a sublime coincidence, now don’t be late for your meeting–” he chattered on as he shoved James toward the doors of the Great Hall, the latter eyeing him suspiciously but moving nonetheless. Sirius turned to you and pointed to the courtyard entryway. “You. Me. Talk, as in right now.”

Once you were sure that you’d made it out of earshot of Peter and the rest of the Gryffindor table, you wheeled around to face him. “Okay. First of all… I didn’t plan that.” Sirius raised an eyebrow again. “Second of all, I need a favour,” you pleaded, staring up at him with the most adorable doe eyes you could physically summon. They were usually most effective on James, for some reason, but you were sure that Sirius wasn’t immune to your manipulation either. He groaned, resting his face in his hands. “How do you even have a date? Last time I checked, also known as yesterday, you were still head over heels for Prongsie, doll. So do I need to check you for Amortentia or somethi–” He peered out from between his fingers with annoyed realization. “You don’t have a date, do you.”

You blinked innocently up at him. He let out a long-suffering sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “This is what you need the favour for? You want me to go with you to Slughorn’s party so you can pretend in front of the rest of Hogwarts that you’re not madly in love with Jamie?”

You grinned confidently up at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Siri, you know me so well. It’s almost as if you were maaaade to be my date for the party...” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him one more time for good measure, trying to hide a smirk. “Alright, alright, stop with the Bambi act, I’ll take you.” He scowled good-naturedly. “You know, this is going to ruin my dating pool for the next month.”

You scoffed. “As if! If anything, you’ll just have more people fawning over you– temptation of the forbidden apple and all, you know.”

Sirius brightened up considerably at this revelation. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the beginning, doll! I vote that we match in purple velvet, it does wonders for my complexion–”

You gave a very unladylike snort at the thought of you and Sirius swanning into the party in some sort of horrendous plum-coloured disco getup, and shooed him away towards the Potions classroom. That was an eyesore to imagine sometime when you weren’t about to get a headache from the dim dungeon lighting.

Slughorn greeted you and Sirius by directing you to the front of the classroom with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oho, a pair of latecomers, I see!” He winked at you and Sirius in exaggerated motion. You winced as Snape jeered and nudged Malfoy, who was busy enjoying Flint’s crude gestures at you. Ugh, Slytherin boys. The worst of the lot. Their snickers were quickly stopped by James chucking a handful of powdered wormwood at their heads when Slughorn turned away, making Malfoy’s prized hair appear covered in soot. You shot him a grateful smile.

“Since you two missed my initial remarks, let’s see if you can make it up by identifying today’s potion, hmm?” Slughorn gestured dramatically to a shimmering green brew in a cauldron next to his desk, cherry-coloured smoke curling off of the top invitingly.

Sirius shot you a panicked look, clearly not expecting to be put in the academic spotlight, but you shook your head and stepped closer. You smelled something rich and incense-like, which meant that Bumburrel leaves were a key ingredient. And combined with the way the smoke was drifting lazily around your wrists, curling higher and higher… “Brew of Mandelian, sir. Used for sharpened acuity under times of pressure.”

Slughorn gave a delighted chuckle and clapped his hands. “Well then! Ten points to Gryffindor for paying attention in lectures!” He dismissed you and Sirius with a wave, moving on to explain the finer points of ingredient preparation to a very bemused George Goyle as you slipped into your usual seat beside James.

You worked in quiet harmony for a moment, methodically slicing and crushing the slippery beetles needed to give the brew its signature green colour while James handed you the insects. He broke the silence after six beetles (not that you had been counting or anything) with an awkward, “So… you have a, erm, date?”

You huffed, motioning for him to hand you the foul-smelling Moorish tubers next. “Honestly, James, is it that surprising?” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Well, I– yeah, I guess.” he trailed off, seeing your expression.

“The tubers, Jamie, thank you. I mean, you looked at me like I was a ghost back in the Great Hall!” You were decidedly not making eye contact with him, trying your best to focus on the slimy plants in front of you and not the fact that your best friend-slash-unrequited crush doubted your romantic potential. What a way to be humbled– and while covered in tuber juice, no less!

He huffed, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Come on, Y/n, it’s not like that. What did Sirius want to talk about in the Great Hall, anyway? You two looked… chummy.”

You glared down at the copper slicing board. “Well, it’s none of your business how chummy we are, is it? I don’t interrogate you every time you converse with Peter. In fact, it’s rather expected that Sirius and I speak to one another on occasion, considering the amount of time we all spend together thanks to you.”

You moved to grab another tuber from the jar, but James reached out and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were alight with frustration, a look you knew by heart thanks to the hours you’d spent tutoring him in History of Magic after he napped his way through the entire first semester. “Are you serious? You’re actually going with someone?”

“Please, Jamie, do enlighten me on whyever you think I couldn’t possibly get a date with my numerous and diverse charms,” you sniffed, hoping to Merlin that he would just leave the entire subject alone.

“No, it’s–” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. “The other boys, they don’t know how– you’re so, I mean, just look at you!” he exclaimed, gesturing at you. He stopped, frowning to himself, looking more confused than before. He glanced over at Lily, expression becoming even more muddled, brow furrowed and hard to read to anyone but you.

Your mouth parted in shock, and to your dismay you felt tears bubbling up again. You blinked fiercely, refusing to let him see you cry. James thought the issue was… your looks? You suddenly wanted to crawl under Slughorn’s desk and never come out again, except perhaps to find a shovel to dig your grave with. This was far, far worse than watching him transfigure chocolates for Lily every Valentine’s Day. Now you knew for a fact he didn’t find you attractive– thought other boys didn’t either, even! And the way he’d clearly mentally compared you to Lily after what he’d admitted… well. There was no recovering from that. Teenage boys could be dense, but Merlin, how you had wanted him to at least let you down gently.

You wished you’d never opened your mouth to lie about having a stupid date in the first place, but you forced yourself to laugh and mutter something trite about how that could all be fixed with a couple glamour charms anyway so it really wasn’t an issue for the party, thank you very much. He looked even more confused, opening his mouth to respond, but Snape chose that moment to interrupt.

“Hey, Potter!” James turned to scowl at the greasy Slytherin as you thanked your lucky stars for Snape’s interruption (a rather disturbing thought– potentially a harbinger of an imminent apocalypse. You’d never thanked Snape before in your life and hoped to never do it again). “Here’s payback for earlier,” he smirked, checking that Slughorn had dozed off and the other students weren’t paying attention before whipping a mottled yellow bottle at James.

James’ carefully honed Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he quickly dodged the object, but as the vial soared up, up, past your carefully diced tubers, over James’ messy notes, it hit your arms and shattered. You flinched in pain, crying out as the glass shards embedded themselves in your arm and the congealing, repulsive liquid dripped down your hands and onto your thighs. James lunged towards you, but it was too late– the potion had already seeped into your skin, causing an awful sparking sensation.

You gasped, grabbing onto the desk as the feeling bubbled upwards. “Jamie, I don’t– I don’t feel–” you stuttered, suddenly lightheaded, and you heard someone gasp as you began to taste something metallic. You absently touched your nose. Why was it so cold and wet? You had been so careful not to touch your face around those horrid tubers and oh, oh Merlin and Morgana what was that pain in your hands and legs, please no make it go away someone help me help me HELP

You vaguely registered someone whimpering in the background. It might have been you, but you weren’t entirely sure what was happening outside of the electric symphony of agony crescending in your nervous system. The pain built swirled flooded through until you weren’t sure where you ended and the potion began which was a funny thought because of course you were you, but you couldn’t remember who you were before this so you laughed but that really hurt, oh how that hurt no no no no no bad idea–

“Fuck– no–” James? Was he here too?

You blinked– when did your eyes open?– and saw him reach for you, frantically pushing his dark curls off his forehead. Why would he do that? You loved his hair, even when you were feeling funny awful things from the potion. You felt his arms scoop under you, lifting you off your seat as he caught your head from falling back. You heard a door slam open, footsteps, darkness clouding your vision–

His voice. “Sweetheart, no– don’t do that, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

You blinked again, trying to focus on James’ face. He looked pale, jaw set and tensed like it was before his Quidditch games. Were you moving? You couldn’t tell whether James was walking or the hallways were walking around you. He glanced down again, exhaling with relief once he saw whatever he was looking for. “Yeah, just like that. Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, okay?”

He thought your eyes were pretty?

James gave a tight laugh. “Yeah, I think your eyes are pretty, dove. Hold on a bit longer, we’re almost there,” he choked out.

Oh. Had you said that out loud?

But you thought– he had said something, before, you couldn’t remember now but it was important and it hurt–

Some part of you, deep where the potion hadn’t reached, had melted at his words. That part was tinged with pain, too, but in a different way, raw and honest and hopeful and all for him. Or maybe that was the potion, you were pretty sure witches weren’t supposed to melt unless they were green and lived somewhere much further west, but your thoughts on the whole process evaporated as you reached a white door and a woman and your words started to swirl until they melted too and everything went black.

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams

#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler daniel bruhl #scuttle-buttle #tw self harm #tw suicude #tw child abuse

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chisheya · 3 years

Text

hanahaki disease [niragi x reader x chishiya] highschool au!

Summary: love is reckoned to make us powerful; not susceptible - as much as i tried to convince myself that. as much as i tried to stay strong; tough and heroic, enough to risk it all and let my emotions surge on the exterior. strong enough to be crushed yet again, to love and be loved again - knowing my fragility.

i’ve known the agony and lament sufficiently enough that it demolished my sanity, left my soul burning away, gradually fading into ashes and disappearing like dust under the moonlight’s breeze. and the funny unfunny part is - i wish i had told him, perhaps one day i will.

‘‘I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. My love bloomed like a flower in my chest.’‘

Tag list: (if you want to be tagged, let me know because the previous post got deleted for some weird reason lol)

Word count: 2.5k

The sun's soft twinkles crawl over house rooftops, and in an early hour, despite it, it still felt like a chilly morning. Early as it is, the neighborhood was caught up with parents rushing with their children, some going to work, some even rushing late. Thankfully, the riots of youngsters were vetoed by the sound of Supermassive Black Hole by Muse playing through my earphones. I was deliberately walking down the alley on my way to school, gripping the hem of my uniform and cursing to myself that this skirt was of no use to at least keep my legs warm.

The reckless gust reaching from my left side provoked me to jump out of my skin, revolting me from my daydream.

‘’God's sake-’’ I turn my head only to see Chishiya standing next to me, with a smirk on his lips. The sudden view of him caused me to blush, as my brain screamed oh-look-your-crush. Although you could rarely see this guy smiling and being friendly, his agenda was incompatible. Clever, crucial, and cunning as he is, he always had a special place in my heart. Why, you ask? I'd love to know that too... Maybe because he has been my friend since forever.

''You must be that cold, huh,'' Chishiya says sarcastically. ''Y-yeah.'' I murmur, ''anyway, again one of early practicals at the hospital today?'' ''Correct.''

''Yikes,'' I add, clicking my tongue, ''good luck.''

''Have you decided if you'll stay here in Tokyo?'' Chishiya pops a question, clearing his throat, as his face remains immersed on the boulevard in front of us. ''Huh, what do you mean?'' I add, looking up at him, wishing he'd look back at me. But he never does...

''For university.'' ''Oh, that,'' is all I say, before taking the next few seconds to think what to proceed with, ''yeah, Tokyo - I guess, still not sure yet.''

''It better be Tokyo or I'm disowning you.'' He says in a stern voice, delivering it with a smirk as he quickly runs his hand through my hair, resulting in becoming a mess.

''Hey!'' I chuckle, about to return the favor but he succeeded to grab my wrist and stop me just on time. Shucks.

Chishiya and I have been friends since childhood, as our dads have been friends since their early school days as well. He's in his third year in med school and I'm about to graduate in less than a month and enter university in few months. Not to mention, living close enough in the same neighborhood visiting Shuntaro's family every Sunday for dinner was a ritual that my dad, Aguni, and I couldn't stop doing. My mother has had enough of Tokyo so she decided to leave for England. Yeah, pretty simple...it has only been dad and me since. Not like I regret staying with dad, and if there was the father that would win The Dad of the Year award, it would be him. Playing cards meanwhile drinking wine was a post-dinner ritual for our dads, later through time, Chishiya joining them as well. In most cases, I'd end up just observing how they play and anticipating who's going to win. From Aguni being the best to, Shuntaro's dad, a few years later as Chishiya evolved enough his cunning games he beat them in it. He became a card game master, no jokes.

I didn't notice it has come for the time for us to go different paths, as my school was in the complete opposite direction.

''So,'' I murmur, stopping and turning to face him, ''I guess time to say goodbye.''

''Good luck, kid.'' He says, giving me a soft smile. Ah, if he only knew how something so insignificant and minor to him has such a consequence on my heart. But he never will though. As I know, what we are and what we are not.

I just smiled as I watch him turn his back on me and leave first. He always leaves first. I stayed few more seconds as his figure slowly fades of to distance I get ready to go my way.

⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ��

After the last class, I choose to go to a nearby library to catch up on some assignments. The library is a soft of the enormous coffee shop yet one can stay all day and feel good even if one buys nothing at all. That's the discrepancy. It is a place of welcome for everyone rather than for "customers." This is not a money-nexus venue yet a love-nexus space, and that makes it a real treasure in this city.

I was relinquished and dazzled by the book in front of me, until the moment someone’s voice yanks me out of my thoughts.

''Since classes are over, want to grab lunch?'' I feel a hand placing softly on my left shoulder as a soft boyish voice peaks behind me.

''Niragi,'' my lips stretch in a smile as I embrace my best friend in a hug, ''of course, you mind if Chishiya tags along as well?''

''Oh,'' he mouths, providing it with a vague look, as I feel him stiffen up a bit and breaking the hug before proceeding, ''Chishiya..too?''

''Yeah!''

''Sure,'' he says, providing it with a soft smile, ''definitely..''

''Great, I'll let him know then.''

⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟

Niragi and I walked after school side by side, on the way to Shibuya where we agreed to meet up with Chishiya. As we have arrived early, we stand by a big poster advertisement. I gently lean my back onto it, facing the industrious avenues of Shibuya wandering with people. Niragi, leaning as well, right next to me.

''So, have you decided? Is it going to be Tokyo or London?''

''Hm,'' I murmur as his question breaks me out of my trance, ''regarding studies?'' He nods.

''Honestly, not sure,'' I hesitate, before proceeding, ''but I'd love to stay in Tokyo.'' This was not a lie, but London on the other hand, was just an excuse in case my health gets worse. An agreement was made with my dad that it'd be best to stay there with my mom and focus on getting better.

''Tokyo.'' I sigh, still caught up thinking what if I have to end up having to go back to London. What do I do then? And more importantly, what do I tell them? The minor, simple thought of lying to the people I deeply care about stings.

''And you?''

''Tokyo,'' he says softly while looking down, smiling - as the thought if he had something that binds him to dwell in this city, ''I already got accepted in for game engineering.''

I knock him softly on top of his head, standing on my tippy toes. Though he was portrayed as the delicate and sweet guy he is, he was taller than both Chishiya and me.

''Ouch,'' he exclaims as his hand rests on top of his head, my action catching him off guard, ''why did you do that?''

''Why haven't you told me, little idiot?''

''I planned to,'' he giggles, a wide smile as I've never seen scattering across his delicate features, ''I was waiting for you to confirm you got in your desired major as well.''

Yeah, I have, Niragi. It's just that I might not even be able to go because of my health. The phrases, the verdict, that I desired I could have mouthed out. But I couldn't, not now. Not when we're about part ways, and the way I want to remember these recollections is by them as their happy-selves, us cycling through alleys of Tokyo, eating noodles in the park during chilly nights, by city lights as the background noise of crickets was vetoed by our laughter. The recollections, moments I'll protect in my psyche permanently.

I just remained silent, looking at my friend as he was smiling and looking off to distance till he started waving to someone. I shift my gaze only to see Chishiya's figure approaching us, hands in his pockets as usual.

''Hello there, peasants.'' Chishiya teases, as he finally approaches us.

''Excuse me, lord Shuntaro.'' Niragi scoffs at him, crossing his arms.

''So where will we head to?''

''Whoa, Morizono, not even embracing your friend in a warm hug and you're already talking about eating,'' Chishiya says falsifying pain in his voice, ''I'm hurt.''

''Chishiya,'' I let out, rolling my eyes at his statement, ''I know you don't do hugs.'' I proceed, nudging his forearm slightly, hoping that the warmth I felt growing in my cheeks wasn't showing.

''Fuunji or Ichiran Shibuya?'' Niragi says, clicking his tongue.

''Fuunji,'' I mutter, at the same time as Chishiya adds, ''Ichiran.'' Our eyes met instantly as we both realized our choices were different.

Do I have to mention that I'm probably already blushing? No, because heck - yes I am.

Oh boy, here we go. Let him have his way, Y/N.

As you always do.

''You know what, let's go to Ichiran,'' I exclaim, looking in between my best friends waiting for them to agree.

''Ichiran it is,'' Niragi exclaims.

A little while later, our food has finally arrived. The moment it lands on the table, Niragi digs at his sweet and sour soup and pulls out all the cubes of carrot. I don't say anything, I really couldn't care less about table manners and there's always something interesting going on in his head. Chishiya calm and collected as he is, starts eating at a slow pace. After swallowing his first bite, he breaks the silence, ''we must go somewhere to celebrate your birthday, Y/N.''

''I'm not sure-''

Niragi peeks up at me with sticky fingers in his mouth. Meanwhile, Chishiya adds, through the mouthful, that I could just about make out the name "Kyoto."

As my mouth was full of food as well, I just nod seriously.

"That's a great idea, Chishiya. I never thought of that." Niragi grins, still with the fingers in his mouth, then he scoops them up and lines them neatly next to his stocking.

Chishiya holds out a cup of soju, "for Y/N." Niragi's hand comes over and snatches it up, his grin as wide as his cheeks will stretch, and scatters back.

Chishiya and I just exchanged looks, laughing at his silliness.

We drank soju, we were already merry and full, we told the most terrible of jokes. That was us. Casual, informal, yet caring enough to make the time we spend together joyful.

⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟

After grabbing lunch with Chishiya and Niragi, I headed straight home. The thought of visiting Kyoto for my birthday with them was still bouncing on my mind. The thing is, how to bring it up to Aguni? Hm? As loving and fond as he is of both of them, the thought of sending his only daughter away with two boys on a trip probably sounded far away from a brilliant idea. Sigh, I guess it'll take a lot to convince him.

''Dad, I'm home!'' I exclaim, meanwhile closing the doors behind me and taking off my shoes in the hallway.

''Someone's back home early, huh?'' Aguni says chuckling, as he plants a soft kiss on my forehead.

''Yup, something smells delightful,'' I say, meanwhile slapping my hands in excitement and taking my seat.

''Ah, you sneaky,'' He adds, taking the seat as well across me, ''it's your favorite - pad thai chicken wok.''

''So,'' I began, meanwhile randomly picking food with chopsticks in my plate, ''I have a question.''

''Yes?'' Aguni murmurs, mouthful, gazing up at me. ''So you know that my birthday is next week...'' I say awkwardly, placing my chopsticks gently on the table.

''Of course, how would I forget my daughter's birthday?'' He scoffs, butthurt that his daughter thinks he's that forgetful.

''No, of course not.'' I chuckle, ''but I did want to ask you something, uh...''

''Go ahead, silly.''

Just say it. Now or never. And I do - ''I've been thinking of visiting Kyoto with Chishiya and Niragi-''

''Not happening.''

''But-''

''You? On a trip? With two boys?'' his voice stern as he glares up at me, causing me to swallow, ''you must be out of your mind to think I'll let you, Y/N. Boys your age are wild.''

''No, there's going to be more of other friends...too, from school.'' I start, slightly panicking as I was also trying to think of the ways to get him to approve, ''not just Chishiya and Niragi, although you know they're my closest friends.'' I proceed further, looking around the food on the table, as I noticed he has almost cleared out his plate, and yet there was still chicken left in mine. Splendid, a perfect way to bribe him now.

''Plus,'' I mutter, as I start taking out the chicken from my plate, putting on his, his eyes now fully focused on that chicken, ''I know you trust them enough to protect me if anything happens, right?'' I grin, awkwardly.

''Only because they are aware who's your father and someone not to mess with.'' He adds, still not convinced enough, but still taking the small pieces of chicken with his chopsticks.

''Uh, yeah,'' I murmur, as I watch him, eating up those last few pieces of chicken as if they are his last, ''beside your protectiveness, what do you think?''

''Y/N, you've forgot one thing.'' Aguni says with a serious tone, placing down his chopsticks.

''What?'' I question, acting dumb. Expecting him to answer, he just remains silent and gives me an even worse glare now, ''doctor's appointment,'' I add, ''come on, it doesn't have to be next week as well. Just check with them if they can postpone it.''

He preserves silent, still staring up at me with a serious look on his face. Sigh.

''A trip with my friends is more important. Not to mention, it's our last as we're all parting ways soon because of university.''

''To you. But to me, your health is more important Y/N.''

''I...understand, dad,'' I sigh, looking up at him, falsifying a smile, ''but look at me, I'm feeling fine. I've never been better.''

''Same as you claimed in the past, until it happened again and I was close to losing you forever.'' He asserts, this time his voice louder than before.

''Dad...cheer up,'' I exclaim, as I reach out my hand, placing it on top of his, ''it's...just because it happened then, doesn't mean it will happen again.''

''You don't know that. Your condition is serious-''

''I'll take care of myself. Alright?'' I murmur, squeezing his hand, ''please, can I go?''

''Alright, alright. Under one condition, take care of yourself and as soon as you get back we're going to the doctors. Promise?''

''I promise.'' I holler, lunging from my seat to hug him before storming off to my room. As soon as I shut the door behind me, I lean my back on it.

There was an eerie sentiment I felt within, a good sort though - just not sure for what exact reason yet. It felt like it was the calling card of an adventure, paths awaiting, what will transpire. Whatever was ahead could be a great challenge, and there could be tears, but it was an exploration to take and so I smiled. The inklings would come, perhaps when I’d least expected it, so I’m ready to take this leap of faith.

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chaoticneutralwriter · 3 years

Text

The Calm

And it’s this quiet moment that you cherish the most.

guardian demon!jimin x reader

genre: supernatural, romance, angst, slow-burn, comedy, fluff

word count: 7.5k

related works: see Masterlist under guardian demon!jimin au

Continuation of: First Bite and A Small Death (M)

Warning: pillow talk so some suggestive content, but other wise fluffy and domestic af

A/N: AAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAPPY HOLIDAYS!🎄🎁☃️ AM I TOO LATE FOR AN UPDATE?? LOLL It’s not necessarily Christmas themed but I had anticipated I could get this done at least by then to post so...does this count as a present? dkshg I’m so sorry it took so long 😩 the last few weeks got me feeling in some type of funk where sometimes i wanna do something and other times it’s just ‘i know i gotta do this thing but...i don’t wanna’ so please excuse if there’s any typos i might’ve not caught and if the chapter seems very stop and go sdfkjshg Once again, thank you guys so so SO much for your endless love and support for this fic and for your endless patience! Stay safe, take care and have a restful week!

Tag list: @cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatina @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b @jiminstinct @beautifulparisiangirl @taelieninvader @ggukjitaejin @xakemi-chiix @vantaenims @atulipandarose @moments-of-melancholy @xclo02 @cherub-kookie @gottadreamitallaway @indiesy @disn3yfreak @oerangdoongi

You feel yourself stirring back into consciousness, becoming more aware of the soft duvet covers that cocoon you. On an inhale, you pick up the smell of fresh linen with an undertone of warm peppermint and cedar. It's nice, soothing and you bury your nose further in it. But it's definitely not what your bed sheets smell like.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open, vision blurred from the deep slumber you were in and the dimness of the room until you blink to adjust yourself. Through the sliver of thin curtains, you see the still darkened night sky – an endless sea of midnight blue with only the faint golden glow of the city building lights dotting along its surface like makeshift stars. The moon is full tonight, shining brightly and casting its pale rays onto the floor and walls though occasionally, it shies away behind wispy clouds that drift by.

Growing more awake, you begin to notice other things besides the time of day, like how these microfibre sheets were especially soft against your body, caressing your skin as if you're wearing nothing at all.

....Oh, you really were wearing nothing at all.

You pause to think, trying to get the gears working in your head before the memories start to jog again.

You remember meeting Jungkook at that fancy lounge, he had given you the address to where your guardian demon was staying (more like hiding). You had marched up, banging on his door and demanding him to explain why the fuck he would hide something as important as attempting to transition to a guardian angel –

Your eyes widen, a sick surge of panic rushing from your gut and you might've given yourself whiplash in your haste to see the other side of the bed, only to sigh out quietly, your palpitating heart settling back to a calm, steady beat. Carefully, you roll yourself over, shuffling closer and finally letting yourself take him in, like Psyche laying eyes on Eros for the first time.

He sleeps so soundly, almost angelically and you resist the urge to snort at the irony of that thought, but with the way his dark raven locks are tousled, strands falling over his forehead, delicate lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks and his full pink lips that are parted slightly as the moonlight kisses every inch of smooth skin the sheets aren't covering, you swear he could fool anyone into believing it, even heaven themselves.

You can't help but to bring a hand up to sweep away the stray hairs, allowing you a better glimpse of him. It's the first time you've seen him this relaxed, any sort of tension no longer marring his elegant face, like for once he doesn't have to put on a strong front and the sight has you bewitched, wanting to take in as much as you can. When your fingers gently glide down his profile, you're surprised they come away a little warmer. In fact, the more you look, you think his complexion has improved, a healthier glow compared to when you first saw him. Is it your imagination? Or the trick of the light? You lift your head to try and get a better look.

You feel him stir before you can be sure of it and you're met with obsidian irises that seem to bore into your soul. There's a slightly dazed look in his eyes that has a fond smile tug at the corner of your lips as you settle back down again.

“Hi.” You whisper, as if afraid you'll break the peace of the night.

Recognition flits through his gaze at the sound of your voice and he mirrors your smile, breathing a soft sigh. He lifts the hand that was resting on his stomach to take hold of yours resting on his cheek.

“Hey.” It comes out deep and husky; still heavily laden with sleep and raspy from disuse. He turns so that he's facing you properly, thumb stroking the back of your hand before he places a kiss on your inner wrist. “Thought I was dreaming for a second...”

You let out what can only be described as a mix between a throaty laugh and a garble, a rather unattractive noise that has you pulling your hand back to cover your face in embarrassment, cheeks heating up further when your muffled voice comes out extremely hoarse and cracks if you so much as raise it.

“You can't say that when you were literally sleeping like a French girl waiting to be painted.”

He chuckles, not hesitating to pull you into his chest and sneaking another kiss to your forehead. You snuggle against him happily, throwing your arm across his stomach and pressing your own lips to his collarbone in return as he slips an arm under your head to use as a pillow.

“You're one to talk.” You hear him say above you before adding teasingly, “When you're not stealing all the blanket.”

You lightly push your knuckles at his jaw but there was no real force or seriousness behind the reprimand; just a case of your usual banters acting up. He retaliates by playfully snapping his teeth at your hand, as if to bite the fingers and you pull back, squealing and giggling.

“No biting!”

“So no biting I see...Duly noted then.”

Your mouth drops open, scandalized as your gaze whips up, only to find him barely containing a suggestive smirk at you.

“...I don't like what you're implying...” You say, eyes narrowing even though you find yourself subtly sinking lower in an attempt to hide the blush you feel rushing up your neck. He catches you all the same, tilting his head as the lazy smirk grows.

“Oh darling I only say to better please you. Although,” He pauses, slowly, purposefully leaning down closer to you, a gleam in his eyes that you swear made his dark eyes deepen into a devilish crimson for a split second.

“We'll probably have to work on that stamina – can't have you tapping out just after three orgasms.”

You choke, completely flustered at such brazen and lascivious words that sound far too honeyed than they should be, making the memories seem all the more vivid in your mind. Your entire body feels incredibly hot suddenly and not knowing what to do, you whine helplessly and attempt to roll away from him but he holds onto you, the sounds of his laughter tinkling in your ears.

“You're not getting any of this blanket for that now.” You pout, bunching and tugging the sheets to your chest more.

“I'm just teasing love, I couldn't help myself!” He giggles, nuzzling into your shoulder. “Forgive me?”

You let the silence drag out for a few seconds longer before you sneak a peek over, letting out a snort when you see him blinking big puppy dog eyes at you. You're biting back a smile as you turn to face him again.

“You're lucky you're cute.”

His eyes crease up as he brings a hand up to cup your cheek, stroking the soft skin. You lean into his touch, watching him affectionately until you see his expression dim to something more sombre.

“I really am sorry Y/N.” He confesses quietly, voice tinged with a heavy guilt as his fingers move to play distractedly with your hair, gently tucking the loose strands behind your ear or brushing them off your shoulder. “I'm sorry I kept this from you for as long as I did....”

You open your mouth to speak, but stop midway. You'd be lying if you said that you're not completely over being mad at him for what he did, however, the initial anger had more or less simmered to a heartache you can't quite shake. You feel him beginning to withdraw his touch, perhaps misreading your silence as reopening a tender wound but you bring a hand up to entangle your fingers with his, keeping them in place.

“I know you said you did it to protect me but,” The sigh you let out holds a lingering sadness, “I still wished you had told me...” You chastised, stern yet gentle as you lock a steady gaze on him. “You really had me worried and scared. I thought something happened to you...like...” You swallow and he squeezes your hand lightly in comfort. “Like the night I found you...in my room.”

He nods, solemnly conceding and his eyes drift away, reflecting in his thoughts.

“I'm sure you figured by now; that night was when I had came back from starting the transitioning process.” He rolls until he's lying on his back, staring aimlessly at the ceiling and you shuffle closer in his loosened hold, not wanting to be apart from his warmth, listening. “Usually not a big deal....but for a demon, it was dangerous.” A rueful chuckle. “To be honest, I still don't know how I even survived...”

Your heart clenches at the thought and you bite your lip, pushing down the lump that's growing.

“But ever since then, my body's been...off, and it only grew worse each day – to the point where using my powers for even the simplest things put a huge strain on me.” He inhales deeply, as if he's trying to breathe past the weight that's been sitting on his chest. “I felt so exhausted all the time; I thought at this rate, I wouldn't be able to do anything. I wouldn't be able to protect you from the misfortunes that follow me and if I couldn't do that much, it would be better for me to stay away, keep you from the dangers and...” You see his jaw stiffen before he directs his gaze to the side, face turned away from you. “Keep you from seeing me this way; helpless, weak.”

The last few words come out as if he loathes to admit them aloud, voice tight. You hear how frustrated he is with himself and you're quick to assuage those tumultuous thoughts, rising so that you hover above his form to cup his face in your hands until your eyes meet, pulling him from the abyss.

“I would rather be in danger than have you risk your life.” You say, softening when you continue, “I don't want to lose you....You mean so much to me. Please don't ever forget that.”

Dark eyes, much like the starless night sky outside the window, widen fractionally. You fight the blush threatening to bloom across your cheeks, realizing how ardent you might've sound but you speak honestly, even if your heart feels like it's about to beat out of your ribcage at any moment. You think it speeds up when you see his mouth tug into a small smile and he leans up to brush his nose against yours tenderly, winding one arm around your waist to press you even closer to his body, half lying on top of him.

“I never would've thought in my lifetime I would find someone like you cherub.” He says in disbelief, free hand coming up to bury into the locks of your hair, palm resting on the back of your neck. “I've done nothing to deserve you.”

“Well, you're just gonna have to accept it.” You answer, planting a light kiss on the tip of his nose. “Because I'm not going anywhere.” You punctuate each word with a kiss to the apple's of his cheeks, forehead, over the lids of his eyes, and finally on pillowy soft lips. You can't help but linger there a little longer. When you pull away, it's to take in his visage, eyes travelling over his form before something catches your attention.

At first, you didn't recognize it; the blemish appearing more or less like a birthmark, however, you see the size it takes up on the left side of his chest and it's then you realize that it was the tattoo you had seen, only this time it appeared to be so much more faded, and in some places, the inky lines have disappeared altogether. You frown, troubled at having not noticed until now...or perhaps from the fact that you had entirely missed it because it was barely there anymore, you're not sure.

“I'm guessing this is because of the process too?” You ask, thoughtlessly tracing the pads of your fingers over what's left of the mark. He hums, the sound rumbling beneath your palm as his larger hand encompasses yours, holding it in place and you feel the steady beating of his heart.

“I'm not surprised, it's the mark of a demon after all.” He explains, none too bothered and lightly shrugging at that. When the hard line of your lips doesn't let up, he chuckles, reaching up to poke your cheek. “It's just a mark cherub, nothing serious. It's meant to distinguish our kind because of our ability to take on any human appearances.”

Still, you don't like how it's another glaringly obvious sign that your guardian demon's health is deteriorating, an unwanted byproduct to add to the pile that does nothing but taunt you. It has your thoughts straying back to the idea that you had your mind set on. You're very tempted to bring it up; wanting to desperately tell him that you might've found another way, that he doesn't need to endure any more pain or sacrifices for your sake, that for once, maybe you can do something for him after all he's done for you.

“Cherub?”

The soft call brings you back, eyes refocusing on the demon who blinks up at you curiously with the faintest hints of concern etched across his deceivingly delicate features. At the sight, you feel yourself melting, endeared and suddenly you can't bear to ruin this sweet moment with another heavy topic – you both had just came to terms and settled the whole guardian angel thing after all.

You'll tell him later, right now you'd rather be making up the lost time you could've had kissing and snuggling him.

So in the end, it gets pushed to the very back of your mind and you redirect to something else, “Sorry, I was just thinking about what you said; how demons can take on any human appearances. I'll admit, your Jimin look is impressive.”

You see him take pause, no doubt trying to process the flitting thought that has just passed before ultimately, he chooses to let it slide and allows you to pull him into your playful antics. The smug smirk that makes its way onto his lips has a coquettish one sneaking onto your own. “But,” you almost laugh at how fast he falters at the single word and your smile grows more and more teasing. “I'm afraid you got sloppy, with or without your mark I could easily tell you weren't actually Jimin.”

He scoffs, looking thoroughly affronted by your claims. “How? I think my look is pretty spot on.”

You hum, propping up a little more so that you can brush the dark strands of hair on his forehead with the tips of your finger. “True....But you could say almost too perfect. See, Jimin has a beauty mark here.” You gently tap on a spot just above his left brow and you giggle when the skin wrinkles up in his effort to follow your movement attentively. “And here...” Your finger lowers to the edge of his collarbone. “And one on the back of his neck. You only managed to get the one on his cheek right.”

The indignant grunt he makes lets you know he's pouting without you even having to look.

“His teeth aren't perfectly straight like yours either – one of his front tooth is slightly crooked.”

“...I do hope your interest in teeth won't go beyond that...”

You smack his chest lightly, kissing your teeth but otherwise make no further comment. “I think the last thing that gave you away is your choice in piercings...” You point out, brushing your thumb against the sensitive shell of his ear where the helix stud sits. “Jimin doesn't have this one anymore.”

“A shame really...” You hear the demon murmur and your eyebrows quirk, barely catching the way he swallows thickly, eyes darting off to the side.

You blink, wondering if you've made him self-conscious or uncomfortable in any way but little do you know, the demon is only relieved you hadn't noticed the goosebumps that have erupted over his arm at your innocent touch.

“You're right, and that's why I like it – the helix piercing.” You continue, smiling gently. “And everything else you missed. It's like your own kind of imperfections and preferences...it just proves that you're you, and not Jimin.”

You can't help letting your voice tether off into something much softer for the quiet confession hidden in those last few words.

You're the one I love.

Your stomach flutters with butterflies at the foreign feeling, shrinking in on yourself out of shyness and you know you really shouldn't be, but you're also nervous; for what you're not even entirely sure. Mentally, you scold yourself – you must seem like such a weird, emotional mess of a human being to him.

The rumbling vibrations of his chuckle catches your attention, as does the palm of his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“Well, I'm glad that you're the one to differentiate the two of us.”

He doesn't need to say anything else because from the fond look in his eyes and the tender dulcet tone of his voice, you see and hear his unspoken response, how much it means to him.

Thank you for loving me, for me.

Your heart swells unbelievably in size that you're actually left a little breathless. The butterflies are going crazy now and so overwhelmed by your emotions but not knowing how to express them adequately, you bury your face into his neck and squeeze a tight hug into him. You get a breathy laugh in response and feel his strong arms squeezing you right back, his mouth pressing into the crown of your head. You stay like that for a while, simply taking in the scent that is so uniquely his. It never fails to relax every nerve in your body, and coupled with the rhythmic stroking of his hand through your hair, you find yourself struggling to blink away the heaviness that's starting to fall over your lids.

Your lips move in a drowsy mumble, sluggishly forming the beginnings of his name but then stopping abruptly. Lifting your head so that you can look at him, you're suddenly wide eyed with the realization.

“I should probably stop calling you 'Jimin' then huh?”

Obsidian eyes blink down at you, amusement shining in their depths for the way you seem so pressed about the issue, like you had offended him to the highest degree. Your chest moves in sync with the deep inhale he takes, watching as he languidly lifts his arm to tuck it behind his head, his expression shifting to something a little more pensive before he seems to reach a conclusion.

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment cherub, I think it's safer if you still continue to. When I said there is power to a name, I didn't mean so lightly. A demon can be overpowered or even banished should their true name be known; be it by a medium, an exorcist or –“

“An angel.”

The words slips out unconsciously in a small whisper, like you're afraid to speak it into existence.

“...Yes, especially angels.” He answers you like he was the bearer of bad news, only you knew that much already. You might not be an expert, but you think it's pretty basic knowledge that demons (and by proxy, other kinds of dark entities) can be expelled in some form or another – your past jokes and gibes at your own guardian demon were proof of that matter alone.

However, now you've been hit in the face with just how volatile that reality is; and all it would take is uttering his name to the wrong person.

“I won't let that happen.”

It's a promise, a vow; one you'll be damned if you broke. He smiles, endeared at your unwavering display of determination.

“I know you won't love, but regardless, if you ever find yourself in danger don't hesitate to call my name.”

Your brows furrow in protest. “But that's too –”

“No buts Y/N.” He gently reprimands you, curling a finger under your chin so that your eyes lock onto the firm gaze he fixes you with. “As your guardian; your safety is still and will always remain my priority.”

There's a finality with the statement that lets you know that no amount of arguing will change his mind on that and your mouth reluctantly falls shut. At your conflicted and crestfallen look, he softens.

“Hey.”

You perk up slightly and feel the featherlight brushes of his finger against the roundness of your cheek, a small placating gesture.

“Don't worry too much on it cherub, just something I want you to keep in mind yeah?”

You want to weakly retort that it's too late for that, mind already running amok with worse case scenarios. You don't get too far into it however, as fatigue rolls over you like a powerful wave, overtaking you in the form of a giant yawn that you struggle to stifle; the force of it has your whole body shuddering.

“We should really stop meeting like this, I'm afraid it's finally taking a toll on you.”

The disgruntled noise you let out gets muffled in with the last remnants of the tired exhale. You don't truly understand what he means until you blink away the tears, catching sight of a sleek digital clock sitting on the night stand, and squinting, you see the numbers illuminating in green reads 4:45AM.

You groan and feel as if whatever remaining energy you had is drained after knowing the time. Shutting your eyes, your body sags completely, half-draped unceremoniously over the firm body of your demon.

“Now, now princess, you'll regret falling asleep like this when you wake up.” You hear him tut before you feel yourself be moved, rolled to your side so that you lie properly on the mattress. You whine, was perfectly contented where you were but settle once you feel arms wrap itself around your waist, pulling you close and your face is once again buried perfectly into the crook of his neck, head resting on the pillow.

The calming scent of him along with his warmth and the plush covers cocooning you easily allows for sleep to pull at your lids once more, your own arms instinctively curling around him.

“Good?”

You hum, sighing out as your worries slowly muddle together into nothing more than a heavy fog and when he starts to run his fingers through your hair again, you're practically mush.

“...You never answered my question...” You murmur thoughtlessly, like a subconscious, knee jerk reaction born from a last minute need for some peace of mind before you finally succumb to the rapidly growing fatigue. His hand stills momentarily, and you're not sure if it's because he had barely made out your slurred words or if it's to recall the memory. There's a lapse in silence, how long you're not even sure at this point as you feel yourself drifting in and out of being awake, but then you hear it – sweet and wistful.

“...For as long as I'm yours, I'll stay.”

The next time you wake, it is to a warmth that you quickly find wasn't the kind you expected nor want. The soft rays of the sun easily pierces through the chiffon curtains that drape over the floor to ceiling windows in the bedroom, bathing the space in a golden haze and while often times, it leaves for an impressive view of the vast cityscape below, you're not entirely appreciative of the exposure it gives you now. Not only did it disrupt you from your peaceful slumber, it does little to hide the coolness you feel from the empty space beside you.

You sit up with a start, still dazed and stay there for a good minute, squinting through the light that's way too bright the same time trying to kickstart your mind into gear – you never were the best person to wake up, it took you forever to get yourself together. Eventually, your eyes begin to take in what's around you, the dark grey sheets that pool around your waist and finally getting a good look at the interior of the room.

It's ridiculously spacious, as is the bed you're sitting in, even from what little you had seen initially amidst the dim lighting along with the flurry of heightened emotions and passion. In fact, it looks a lot like a snapshot right out of a luxury home interior decorating magazine if you're going to be honest.

Off the bat, you can tell the colour scheme was mainly dark greys, creams, and blacks, accented by the same deep mahogany wood of the front door. It was also decorated simply with minimalistic styled furnishing. Aside from the low laying king sized bed, with its taupe coloured upholstered frame, a dresser sits across from you and in the far corner facing the large windows was a singular lounge chair with a small coffee table situated in front.

Turning your head, you see matching night tables, both with identical geometric lamps but one had the clock you spotted earlier, the time now reading 2:16PM. To your left, you notice a doorway situated perpendicular to the large windows in one corner of the room while to the right of you, there was another door and just ahead to the right was another. Immediately, you guess that these lead off to one of three places; a bathroom, a closet or the main hall leading out to the rest of the penthouse.

A shiver passes through you, causing you to momentarily shrink in on yourself and reminding you that you're still very much nude. Self-consciously, you tug the blankets around you back up once more, wearing it as a makeshift cape as you continue to glance around the room, now with more awake eyes. It's then that you finally notice your neatly folded clothes laying on the black cushioned bench at the end of the bed, and sitting just beside that pile was a plain black robe and towels. The rush of air through your nose barely concealed the quiet giggle seeping through – so sweet of him.

You should probably shower, you think. Though surprisingly, you don't feel as grimy as you would have thought but still, it'd be refreshing. You lean over until your hand reaches the robe, already loving the extremely plush softness you feel under your fingertips. It feels even better once you shrug it on, securing the sash around your waist and you honestly think you can fall right back asleep in it. A tempting idea, but you have more pressing matters. Niggling at the back of your mind, a part of you wanted to find your guardian demon first, to check up on him in the same manner he'd so carefully demonstrated upon your waking and confirm your comfort wasn't at the expense of his health. Plus – and even as you admit this, your heart traitorously flutters – you miss him.

You shuffle to the edge of the bed until you're able to swing your legs over, letting the soles of your feet touch the cream carpeting before you haul yourself up. You sharply inhale, halting in your steps at the popping of joints and a dull ache, the latter catching you off guard (and causing a mad rush of heat to your face) that you had to take a moment before tentatively continuing to the door farthest from you.

Just as your hand brushes the handle, your hair falls over your face and without thinking, you sweep it away but the motion makes you pause abruptly. Slowly, your mind jogs back up to speed, your fingers combing through the messy locks in an attempt to smooth it out and suddenly you need a mirror. Actually, never mind a mirror, you probably should at least brush your teeth before heading out so recklessly!

Shamefaced, you change course, heading straight to the door you guessed was the en suite bathroom. The moment you opened the door, you're immediately taken aback. Much like the bedroom, the bathroom was quite big and so cleanly decorated with wide windows that take up one wall, offering whoever that was soaking in the Jacuzzi bathtub the same expansive view as the bedroom. Aside from the tub, there was also a glass shower stall big enough to fit at least four people at once despite having a bench inside, the stone marble matching in colour with the twin sink counter and cool grey tiles.

It takes you a moment to compose yourself again from being awestruck with the excessive bathroom and after much careful rifling in the medicine cabinet, you find a spare toothbrush and a travel sized toothpaste pack.

Teeth brushed and a little bit more refreshed from a splash of water to your face, you finally poke your head out of the door your had initially set your sights on. You find your previous suspicions correct as laid out before you was a hallway, the walls a warm cream beige colour that matched the carpet that continued outside the bedroom and any doors were of the same mahogany wood. It wasn't fairly long as you see just not far ahead, the carpeting stops at a threshold of sorts and leads off to another open space with dark granite flooring. Immediately, you're drawn out without hesitation because from the small glimpse alone, your eyes were already bugging out of your head.

So by the time you actually reached the end, you swear your jaw just about dropped off its hinges. The space you stumbled into was a living room, the size alone you think equalled to your kitchen, living room and bedroom, with its high ceilings, so tall that there's room to hang an equally large linear chandelier without appearing claustrophobic (in fact, the lighting fixture itself looked as if it could pass off as an expensive art installation) and if you had thought the view in the bedroom was extreme, you've been proven sorely wrong.

One side of the room is entirely made up of floor to ceiling windows, making the view even more vast with nothing obstructing it that if you had peered over, you would believed you were simply floating on a cloud in the sky, truly suspended in mid-air. Mounted on the wall adjacent to the panel of large glass was a sleek, electric fireplace, the flames dancing over small, white pebbled stones rather than wood and at the centre were long velvet couches surrounding a simple wood coffee table, all encircled by a lush white fur rug.

What's more, the other thing that had caught your attention was the set of floating stairs that lead up to another level of the penthouse – leading to what you're not sure. With your eyes so busily roaming about the entire area, you had failed to notice the person you've initially set out to look for until the very last moment, finally spotting his figure ahead in the kitchen situated under the large landing of the stairs. His back was turned towards you so all you saw was his tousled raven locks, the faint twinkling of his silver chained earrings and a loose fitting white tunic. Automatically, you smile, your heart easing and suddenly the splendour of this luxurious penthouse means nothing to you.

Despite your approach being fairly quiet, you knew it was no match for the heightened senses of a demon and without surprise, you see him turn his head slightly to acknowledge your presence just as you reach the island counter separating you from him.

“Slept well cherub?” He asks with a charming quirk of his lips.

You seat yourself on the breakfast stool, propping your arm on top of the marble counter top and hum, pretending to think.

“For Egyptian cotton, it wasn't too bad I guess.”

You get a chuckle from him before he turns his attention back to what's in front of him, and it's then that you smell the cooking of eggs and bacon. Instantly, your stomach gurgles, demanding to be fed and your cheeks colour at the loud sound it made. There's no way the demon in front of you could've missed it, even if he didn't have supernatural hearing. So as if prompted, he lifted the sizzling pan and dispensed its contents onto a pristine white plate sitting beside the stove, just as the toaster pinged.

You watch him take the single slice between his fingers before he faces you once more, presenting you a plate of creamy scrambled eggs, strips of crispy bacon and perfectly golden toast on the side.

“Sorry if it's a little lacking. I've found that throughout the years, I don't have a good grasp of flavours humans enjoy.” He apologizes. “Eggs and bacon are the few dishes you can't really go wrong with.”

You suppress the snort, accepting the plate gratefully nonetheless and not minding his forewarning – it made sense after all so you assured, “Hey, at least it looks edible and cooked well; already better than my own scrambled eggs and bacon.”

The smile he gives you makes his eyes crease into crescent moons, his cheeks rounding with a glimmer of mirth that makes him appear very boyish. He hands you a silver fork pulled from one of the drawers.

“Very sweet of you cherub.”

Your eyes squint and your cheeks puff up from the force of the exaggerated, syrupy sweet smile you give him, wiggling in your seat like a cheeky five year old as you lift your hand to take the utensil. You miss the crooked stretch of his lips so before you could close around the fork, he pulls it out of reach and lightly bonks the back of your hand with it. The shock of the metal hitting your knuckle jolts you and your eyes snap open in an instant, mouth open.

“Jimin!” You say, aghast but the sound is more or less void of any real offence as you act out cradling your 'injured' hand.

All he does is bark a single laugh and gesture to the fork for you to take again. “Eat up, food's getting cold.”

Not like you needed to be told twice, if not by Jimin then the sounds of your growling stomach. You gratefully begin to chew on the eggs and bacon (albeit they were on the bland side, but food is food and you ate happily). Meanwhile, Jimin busies himself making a cup of tea for you after he had asked your preferences and as he does, you both chatted, mainly about this apartment you didn't know he had.

“I rarely have any use for these places because I never really stay for long.” Jimin explains casually, sliding you a steaming mug as you finish your last bit of toast. “I use them if I have time or if I just want some place quiet to relax and not be disturbed.”

“Then what's the point of having a place so big?” You ask, exchanging your empty plate for the mug, wrapping it up in your hands to warm your palms.

He props up an elbow, leaning on the counter with a cheek resting in one palm and shrugs. “I can't deny I like nice things but in the end, it doesn't have any real value to me.” Here, a sly smile makes his way onto those pillowy soft lips. “You can have it if you want.”

The sentence nearly makes you spit out the tea you had so meticulously been blowing on and you cough, stammering, “I-It's fine! Don't joke like that!”

“I wasn't joking, I was being serious.”

The way Jimin said it was so matter of fact that you could only blink in disbelief. After much floundering, you clear your throat, bringing up the mug closer to your face in hopes of shielding the heat that's spreading over your cheeks. “Still, there's no need. I can't possibly take your house.”

The demon in front of you puffs a chortle, still looking as carefree on the matter as ever, “If you ever change your mind, let me know.”

You grunt bemusedly, mumbling about how you wouldn't even know what to do with a place so big, before taking a slow sip of your tea, humming lightly at the warming feeling and the pleasant taste. Jimin watches you quietly, a content smile on his face. You try to seem unbothered but evidently, the effects of your newly blossomed relationship with him has yet to calm down and so, your heart fluttered in your chest incessantly the moment you locked gazes with those irises, dark as night that seem to only shine on you.

Suddenly, you find yourself in a paradox – while you feel like you're struggling to maintain eye contact with Jimin, no matter how much your eyes flit and wander aimlessly, in the end you're drawn back to him anyways. Rather shameless you think, but confidently, you could at least say that you can't be blamed.

You're not sure if it's the sun's rays, so freely beaming into the room from those large windows, or it's just Jimin, but he seems to emit an unexplained ethereal glow. Gone was the ashen paleness that had made his skin appear almost translucent, his complexion radiates a warm honeyed suppleness that you've missed seeing on him because with it, he looked so much livelier.

Wait.

Now that nothing is hindering your sights, you see clearly that any ailments on his features have been significantly reduced. The purplish dark circles that had clung under his eyes are gone, his cheeks don't seem to be so sunken in and even his raven black hair, tousled effortlessly, had a wonderful sheen as it fell in thick waves over his forehead.

It's with without a doubt, this Jimin in front of you right now really was indeed healthier.

Unconsciously you find your hand reaching out to his face as if wanting to confirm physically that this was no illusion or dream, making Jimin blink in surprise before he gently catches your hand mid-way.

“Something wrong cherub?”

“It's just,” You start, fingers automatically clasping in his hold and you absentmindedly think how soft and warm his hands were. “How are you feeling?”

The sudden question must've caught Jimin a little off guard so after a second of serious considerations, he replies, “I feel...pretty good?”

“You look pretty good too.” The words slip right out before you realized it but once you do, you pull your hand back hastily, flustered as you rambled. “Not that you don't always look good! Because you do! Because you know, you're a demon, master of disguises and all that, and you've even got on arguably one of the best looking faces on the planet so what I meant was you don't look like a ghost that's been dead for centuries anymore instead of a demon like you're supposed to be!”

Jimin, of course, didn't really bother to hide the toothy grin that's forming yet very graciously still moved the subject along in fear that you would pass out. “You do have a point – as you've seen and have been told, the effects of the transition were obvious on me. But,” He lifts up a hand to eye level, spreading his fingers and flipping it this way and that. “I...really do feel fine. Much better than I have for days.” The last admittance has his shapely brows furrowing, as if he couldn't believe it himself once he's said it aloud.

“Is there any sort of explanation for this?” You ask.

Then, after some pondering, he slowly let his hand fall to his side and hummed, “There are...a few number of possibilities I can think of. The most likely one is that unconsciously, I might've taken some energy from you.”

“Taken from me? When did – oh...” It clicked just as the sentence was coming out and instantly your face flushes, eyes wide. Jimin's brow rose, his lips twitching imperceptibly at the corner and you rush, clearing your throat to cover up. “I thought that was like....a specific ability you needed to have, unless you mean to tell me you're an incubus...”

Jimin snorts, bringing a fist up to cover his mouth before he said, “No cherub, I'm not. All demons possess this ability to a certain degree but most usually lean towards certain affinities. Unless you're specifically an incubus, there are other way demons can gain sustenance or a source for their power other than taking energy directly from humans.”

At such news, your own brows raise in curiousity and you can't help but to ask. “Then what do you usually use?”

“Oh the usual; fear, invoking murderous intent, enticing those into depravity.” Jimin lightly lists off, as if he's talking about hobbies he likes to do on a lazy Sunday.

“Hah....” You shouldn't be so surprised. “Well, either way, as long as you're feeling better.”

Jimin hums noncommittally, distractedly reaching out to tuck a strand of fallen hair behind your ear and though his face is mostly impassive, you get the feeling that he was still deeply mulling over this. But the pensive look soon disappears, his eyes going slightly hooded as something else had caught his attention, his focus going to a place on your neck. You felt the hand brushing your hair come to a slow too and shivered when the pads lightly graze the skin there, trailing a path downwards before stopping.

“What a mess I've made.” The low rumbling murmur has your breath involuntarily hitching and your chin automatically tilts down to see what he was referring to. With his prodding, the collar of your robe had been pushed open to reveal the purplish colouring that mottled the surface of the skin along your collarbone and already without needing to see the full extent of the bruising, you know your neck is covered with them.

It was honestly something you hadn't thought about until it's been pointed out so the moment actually caught you off guard and in your stupor, you can only half coherently say, “Not like it hurts or anything...”

When his fingers draw the robe back a little further to get a clearer look, he unwittingly stumbles into another rather troubling thing.

“You're not dressed.”

“...Well, I was gonna shower....” You mumble, letting your eyes drift off from embarrassment. You hear Jimin breathe out a snicker.

“Dirty girl.”

You narrow your gaze back at him, pouting your lips. “Why don't you show me how to work your fancy expensive shower then.”

He laughs. “It's just a bunch of knobs cherub, how hard can it be?”

“Do you even shower?” You ask back accusingly, hands coming up to rest on your hips.

At that, he cocks his head, stepping back with arms crossed and almost haughtily, “I do, in fact, I already did shower this morning. I'm a little offended you would accuse me of having poor hygiene.”

You copy his pose and sniff, “Sure could've fooled me.”

It's obvious what a lie that was because out of the two of you, anyone could tell with one glance which one is likely to smell more like vanilla and peaches (not you), but you can't help making it a habit to poke the tiger when it's asleep.

Sure enough, Jimin's mouth drops open, looking at you incredulously and an actual hint of mild offence. Then he puffs out a scoff, lips quirking up at the corner and suddenly you don't like that glint in his eyes. In a frighteningly calm manner, Jimin lowers his arms and then smiled serenely, only it came off more creepy than reassuring.

“Y/N ~ ....” He singsongs and as if the impending danger has heightened your senses, you see him subtly shift his weight and it's all you need to whip around and take off running, squealing as you go. Probably not the greatest idea since how the hell do you expect to outrun a demon but when you heard the sounds of his jovial laughing right behind you, you think at least some good came out of it.

189 notes · View notes

jerzwriter · 3 years

Note

Hey E,

So after you messaged me to ask for time to get to my request, it had me thinking. Honestly, I sent the request for a lot of reasons but it was never my hope that you would write one immediately. There's just too much things happening plus I'm not the type of person to rush others especially with their creative process. You acknowledging the request was more than enough.

That then led to thinking about other writers who I follow and how often I see fics being posted. I have no idea where you guys find the time to keep pushing out so many fics one after the other, especially when you have real life obligations to contend with.

So I must commend you and all other writers. Thank you all for blessing us with your writing. E thank you for taking the time to indulge my request and producing a beautiful FLUFFY piece hahahah.

@rosebudde... Rose! 💕 I cannot begin to thank you enough for this lovely note! (And I just took a peek at the other one you sent. I will have to address that later because just a peek had me a blubbering mess!)

I am saying this not only for me, but on behalf of many other writers we both know and enjoy, but it's done out of love. Love for the art of writing, love for the characters we create (and semi-create), and love for the stories that come to us and don't let go until they are told. I find it to be both an honor and a pleasure to share my silly little stories with you.

But, with that said, it is also time-consuming and, at times, draining. To write with any consistency takes dedication and it can be trying. I'm blessed to have a small community of people that help make it happen. There are other writers with who I converse, whether it is 2:00 AM conversations delving into the psyche of a character, fleshing out ideas together, performing surgery when needed, and just laughing. The way we build each other up makes it easier to continue and I don't think they know how grateful I am to them.

But that isn't the whole community, there are also the readers like you. I don't write for "notes". If I did, I would change what I write and how I do it tomorrow. But with the time we put in, of course, people want to be read and liked. And, oh God, I don't know a writer who doesn't just love to discuss their stories and characters and when people like you leave the most thoughtful comments, it just nourishes the soul. Seriously, every time I post DTI when I see you, Dori, Cher, and others I just smile. You have no idea how much it means. To anyone reading this I implore you - interact with the writers of the fics you love. In the end, it will benefit you because it will definitely make them want to do more and work harder, I assure you. Since your message was not just for me, I am going to tag some other writers here, they have been a small or large part of my "village" since I began writing. I am grateful for what they have shared with me, and for all the amazing works they provide to all. I've gone on far too long (how unlike me, right? lol) But seriously, Rose, THANK YOU. <3

@lucy-268 @liaromancewriter @danijimenezv @jamespotterthefirst @a-crepusculo @bex-la-get @coffeeheartaddict2 @potionsprefect @catchinglikekerosene @sillydg @genevievemd @thegreentwin @txemrn @kachrisberry @secretaryunpaid @chemist-ana and I'm sure I'm forgetting people so please forgive me in advance. :)

#asks #asks answered #thank you #all verklempt

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plaidbooks · 3 years

Note

Hii!!☺️ could i request Barba x reader, where raf is seriously injured and the reader takes care of him, and he is so moved that someone had never cared and loved him like that🥺🥺, please? 🤗 your writing is amazing i love it!! 🥰💕

Taking Care

A/N: Hey anon <3 This got...this is much longer than I expected it to be haha. I tried to not make Rafael too self-deprecating...if I do a part two though, then he may go full self-hating....

Tags: bullet wounds, mentions of needles/blood

Words: 3109

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @ben-c-group-therapy @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @dianilaws

You finished washing your hands quickly, hurrying out of the courthouse bathroom. You usually didn’t duck out during trials, but you didn’t know when the next recess would be, and you needed to excuse yourself. Besides, you had been there for the victims, and you had left during Rita Calhoun’s, the defense attorney’s, posturing; you didn’t need to be there for that. You had just made it back to the courtroom as Judge Ortiz was calling it for the night. Of course. You rolled your eyes; that was just your luck.

“Welcome back, Detective,” Rafael quipped, a sardonic smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You shot him a playful glare. “I blame you; you’re the one that got me that large coffee during lunch.”

He really did smirk at you this time. “I did, didn’t I? I think that means you owe me a drink. Forlini’s?” You smiled back at him; you and Rafael were good friends, and you enjoyed his company…maybe a little too much. Not that you’d tell him that.

“Sounds good to me. Right this way, counselor—” you were cut off by a gunshot, ringing out in the courthouse. People screamed, ducking their heads. You reached for your gun, drawing and aiming at the defendant, who had somehow gotten the bailiff’s pistol, who was now aiming at you. But you were quicker, shooting him once in the chest. It wasn’t until you watched him hit the ground that you remembered he shot first. Eyes scanning the courtroom, you froze, hesitating for a moment when you saw Rafael on his back, blood seeping through his expensive suit at his left shoulder.

“Fuck,” you muttered, dropping to your knees by his head. You ripped your jacket off, pushing it to the wound. His eyes were wild, and he was gasping for air. If it wasn’t for all your years on the force, you’d probably be panicking as much as everyone else in the courthouse was. Hell, you were panicking, but on the surface, you were calm, professional.

“10-13, shots fired, officer down, send a bus to the courthouse now,” you ordered into your portable radio. You didn’t care if he wasn’t an officer; it was the quickest way to get an ambulance. You leaned over Rafael, trying to make eye contact with him. “Can you hear me, counselor?” you asked, keeping your voice level. “What’s your name? Can you tell me where you are?” His eyelids fluttered closed, and your hands started to shake. “Come on, talk to me…stay with me Rafael, do you hear me? Open…open your eyes…come on!”

You vaguely noticed people standing around you, hovering and looking down on you both. “Stand back, please. Give us some room,” you said, waving at them with a hand. They shuffled back, giving you some air. “Come on, Raf…stay with me, baby…you’re not going to die here, dammit,” you muttered. Where was that damn ambulance?

You swore your heart stopped when his chest did. Glancing up, you saw Rita standing and watching, eyes wide. “Rita, hold the jacket to his wound,” you ordered. She hesitated for only a moment before she was on the ground next to you, hands replacing yours. “Just hold it there.” Thank god you were certified in CPR; you pumped Rafael’s chest, stopping only to breathe into his mouth. You were dimly aware of how soft his lips were—you had wanted to know how his lips felt for so long, but this was not how you wanted to find out. You had to do this process twice more before Rafael was breathing again, and you sighed in relief. You took the jacket back from Rita, letting her rest back on her heels, in shock that one of her friends is in Death’s grasp.

Finally, the paramedics were pushing through the crowd. “He was shot with a 9mm and I had to perform CPR; he stopped breathing for maybe 10 seconds,” you reported as they loaded Rafael onto a stretcher. “I’m riding with him.” You turned back to Rita. “Call Olivia—let her know what happened and to meet me at the hospital.” It wasn’t until you got into the back of the ambulance, the sirens wailing, and saw Rafael with an oxygen mask on, medic’s frantically trying to keep him alive, that the tears started to fall.

*******************

“He lost a lot of blood,” the doctor was telling you. “We called his mother; she has the same blood type. All we can do is hope she makes it in time.”

“Wait; I’m type O negative. Can’t I donate to him?” you asked, heart in your throat.

The doctor looked surprised. “Yes, of course. Let’s get you prepped.” You followed him to a secluded room. He ran a quick test, to confirm that you were indeed O negative, and then he placed a needle in the crook on your arm, ordering a nurse to bring you water.

By the time you were done donating blood and heading towards the waiting lobby again, albeit a little lightheaded, Olivia was there, along with the other SVU detectives…and Rafael’s mother, Lucia.

Lucia came to you, hands on your shoulders and shaking you slightly. “Where’s my Rafi? Is he okay?” The shaking made you feel dizzy, nauseous. Olivia must have seen the look on your face, because she gently pulled Lucia from you.

“He lost a lot of blood, Mrs. Barba. I gave him some of mine, but we should ask the doctor if it was enough, or if you need to give some, too,” you said, leading her back to the nurse who just helped with you. Lucia’s eyes had sparkled when she noticed the bandage around your arm.

********************

As it had turned out, just your donation was enough, and Rafael would make a full recovery. He was staying in the hospital for at least 48 hours before he’d be released. And during those 48 hours, you’d be fighting IAB about the shooting. You were only able to visit with Rafael once while he was in his hospital bed—he was just as snarky and sarcastic even with morphine pumping through his system. You had brought him a bouquet of flowers and a small assortment of expensive chocolates that you knew he liked. His mother had thanked you profusely for being in the courtroom when he was shot, for staying with him until he was taken to the hospital, and for donating blood when she wasn’t there.

“You…you donated blood?” Rafael asked, his ears slightly pink.

You smiled sheepishly. “Yeah…I’m O negative, universal donor and all that…guess that’s payback for the large coffee?” you joked.

He had a small, tight smile, a nod. “Sure…thank you.”

******************

You were finally cleared by IAB, but Olivia wasn’t letting you back to work yet, telling you to take some time off. The therapist that ran your psych evaluation had reported that you were still in shock from the shooting, that you were shoving all your feelings down instead of dealing with them. Olivia said that until you dealt with them, you were out. So, you found a therapist, started working through everything. And they suggested talking to Rafael, making sure he was alright. Because deep down, you blamed yourself for his injury.

Which is how you ended up on his doorstep, a container of your family’s minestrone soup in your hands, knocking on his door and waiting. You were greeted by Lucia Barba, who smiled brightly when she saw you.

“Oh! [Y/N], how are you?” she asked, beckoning you inside.

You moved past her, into the loft, sniffing appreciatively at whatever she was cooking. “I’m doing well, ma’am. How are you? And Rafael?”

“I’m going insane,” Rafael’s voice came from the couch in his living room, and his mother scoffed. He struggled to a sitting position, grimacing and grunting the whole time, and Lucia hurried over to help him.

“Rafi, stop being so damn stubborn,” she admonished, readjusting the pillow behind him.

He huffed out a soft “sorry, Mamí,” and you smiled. “But you really should be going back to your school; they’re missing you.”

“Nonsense; my little mijo was shot. I’m not leaving you alone,” Lucia said, kissing his forehead.

Rafael’s eyes darted around the loft, landing on you standing there awkwardly. “B-but I’m not alone! [Y/N] is here; I’ll be fine.”

She glanced at you, eyes narrowing in the way that mother’s who are being replaced do. You swallowed nervously. “Uh, y-yeah! I’m here to check up on Rafael…look, I brought soup!” You lifted the container of soup, and Lucia glared daggers at you.

“Fine, I’ll go. But you call me if you need anything,” and then she said a bunch of things in Spanish that sounded suspiciously like threats. You saw Rafael’s eyes widen, and he nodded, swallowing hard. You both sat there in awkward silence as she packed her things and left.

“Thank you,” Rafael finally said after she was gone.

You came to sit across from him, taking in his appearance. Despite the bruising still visible, peeking out from underneath the collar of his shirt, he looked well-rested. This was probably the most sleep he’d ever gotten

“Anytime. How’re you feeling?” you asked.

“Like I was shot,” he smirked.

“Well, I got news for you, Raf.”

Rafael gave you a playful glare. “Don’t be a smartass.”

You both chuckled until he winced, huffing in pain. “You okay? Anything I can do?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth, his head leaning back on the couch. When he caught you giving him a pointed look, Rafael sighed. “Fine; I have an ice pack in the freezer. Could you please bring it?”

You moved to his kitchen, pulling the freezer open and grabbing the ice pack. You wrapped it in a towel and came back to Rafael. He placed his hand over yours, guiding the ice pack to his shoulder, hissing at the cold.

You sat in silence, only moving again to put the ice pack back in the freezer after 20 minutes had passed. Finally, Rafael said, “you don’t have to stay here, you know. I only said that to assure my mother. I love her, but she was smothering me. I may have gotten shot, but I’m not dead yet.”

“Do you blame her, Raf? You were…it was bad. You were unconscious; you didn’t have to see your own body lying lifeless on the ground, blood everywhere—”

“Hey, hey…I’m okay though, aren’t I? I’m sitting right here, [Y/N],” he murmured.

You took a deep breath, controlling yourself. You realized that besides the witnesses in the courtroom, the IAB officers, and yourself, no one knew what happened in the courtroom—not even Olivia or SVU. He didn’t know that he did die…at least for a couple seconds. And like hell were you going to tell him.

“Yeah, you’re right, you’re fine. But I’m not gonna lie to your mom,” you said. “At least let me make dinner, wait until you go to sleep for the night.” Rafael looked like he was going to argue, but you raised your voice over him, “you couldn’t beat me in a fight before, Raf, and you definitely can’t now.”

He huffed, hunching his shoulders and sinking into the couch. “Fine.” He glared at you for a moment. “You said you brought soup, right?”

********************

You spent the rest of the day with Rafael, making sure to give him his space, but also taking care of him. You didn’t want to just be his mother 2.0, but you also didn’t want him to hurt himself. Mostly, you waited for the drugs to knock him out before you went about cleaning his kitchen, washing dishes, finding cleaning supplies and doing little jobs as he snored softly on his couch. You made sure you were on the opposite couch by the time he woke up, idly watching TV or scrolling your phone as if you were doing nothing. He always looked embarrassed when he awoke, saying that you didn’t need to babysit him, but you scoffed, telling him you had nothing better to do today anyways. Eventually, it was late, and you helped him off the couch and towards his bedroom.

“It’s a shoulder injury; I don’t need help walking,” Rafael huffed, making his way down the hallway.

You grinned following him. “True, but I want to make sure you end up in bed okay…do you—do you need help changing shirts?”

His face turned full red, making the heat rise in your cheeks. He was already in a button-down shirt; it was probably easier to put on than a regular shirt. “I, uh…if—if you don’t mind…I can’t sleep in shirts…I have a, um, sensitive throat, and I feel like I’m choking,” he mumbled, looking away from you.

“O-oh,” you said. “Here, let me help you, then.” You moved to stand in front of him, your fingers shaking slightly as you unbuttoned his shirt. You pulled his right sleeve off before moving to gently tug it off his left. The scar just below his collarbone was angry and puckered, such a stark contrast to the rest of his smooth, tan skin.

Rafael cleared his throat, and you tore your eyes from his chest to look at him, embarrassed that you were caught staring. “Thank you for today, Detective,” Rafael gave you a soft smile, turning and heading towards his bed.

Your eyes roamed over his broad back and you fought the urge to reach out and run your nails over his skin. Instead, you hovered over him, making sure he didn’t hurt himself as he settled down. “Good night, Raf,” you whispered down at him.

“Night, [Y/N],” he muttered back.

You meant to leave his loft, to go home. Really you did. But you couldn’t force yourself to leave Rafael all alone in his loft, not when the memory of him dying in your arms on the courtroom floor was still so fresh in your mind. Though, you also couldn’t stay in the same clothes, with no deodorant or toothpaste. So, you waited until he fell asleep before you reluctantly left his place, rushing home and filling a duffel bag with necessities, then hurrying back. You stuck your head into his room, smiling when you heard his soft snores.

*******************

Waking up on a couch at Rafael’s loft was…disorientating at first. It took a moment for you to remember where you were before it hit you. After checking on the still-sleeping Rafael, you went about making coffee. Then, you looked in the fridge, seeing what you could make for breakfast. It seemed like his mom had premade a bunch of meals, so you’d just wait for him to wake up before heating anything up.

You heard a muffled groan come from the direction of Rafael’s room, and you hurried down the hallway. You knocked twice before entering. “Are you okay?” you asked.

Rafael was standing, his right arm through a shirt sleeve, and he was struggling to put on the other side. Though, when you came into his room, he jumped, cursing in Spanish before asking, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“Helping you,” you replied, moving behind him and pulling his shirt so that he could slip his left arm through the sleeve. You came in front of him, buttoning up his shirt carefully.

“You…you don’t have to—” Rafael started before you cut him off.

“Stop saying I don’t have to, Raf. I know I don’t have to,” you glanced up into his green eyes. “I want to. We…we’re friends, aren’t we? So, let me take care of you.”

You buttoned the last button over his chest, and his hands rested over yours, holding them there against his solid torso. His eyes bored into yours, and you swallowed nervously. “Friends don’t take care of each other, [Y/N]…not like this,” he muttered.

“Then you’ve had shitty friends, Raf,” you replied, your heart in your throat. His eyes seemed to stare right through you, see all your secrets.

“Tell me why…why do you care so much about me?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

You opened your mouth but was saved by the coffee maker beeping. Rafael’s eyes flitted to the door, and you took this time to turn from him, gesturing him to follow. “I made coffee, and I was going to heat up some of the food your mom made for breakfast.”

He had no choice but to follow you to the kitchen as you made him a coffee, insisting on doing the sugar and cream for him. “You didn’t answer me,” Rafael said, taking a sip of his coffee after you handed it to him.

Outside of the intimacy of his bedroom, it was easier to not tell him the truth…at least not the full truth. “Is it weird that I care about you, Raf? I…I care about Olivia, too. And the rest of the squad. I’d help any of you, especially after being shot and dying—”

“’Dying’? I didn’t die—” Rafael stopped talking when he saw the look on your face. “[Y/N]…is there something you need to tell me?”

You fidgeted with your coffee mug before saying in a low voice, “you stopped breathing in the courtroom, Raf. I…I performed CPR on you. I—there was a moment where I thought you might’ve—”

Rafael put a hand behind your neck, tugging you towards him as he kissed you gently, his lips just as soft as the first time you felt them. But this was so much better. You kissed him back, your hands threading in his hair, careful not to pull him too hard as you held him to you.

He gently pulled back from you, panting slightly. “I’m sorry, I’ve just…no one’s ever taken care of me before. And—and not only have you stayed here all night, but you’re the reason I’m even still alive.”

“Raf…” you murmured, cupping his cheek with your hand. Your heart strained for him. “I’m here for you. I’ll take care of you for as long as you need—”

“I can’t ask you to do that. You have a life to live, a job to do.”

You shook your head. “I’m on leave. I…the shooting affected me more than I thought. I’m free to help—”

“You should be helping yourself before you help me—”

“This is helping me, Raf. Trust me. Now let me take care of you, dammit,” you smiled, leaning in to kiss him gently.

“Mmm, how can I say no when you kiss me so sweet?” he replied, grinning.

#rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing #anon #Anonymous

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gothamsglam · 3 years

Text

Can I have Your Name? (a SamBucky ficlet)

for @samshield hope you enjoy 😘

(also on ao3 under @/the_fifth_marauder101)

---

“Thanks, can I have your name?” asked Bucky with a charming smile on his face, pulling out a sharpie. However, instead of writing on an empty class as the poor customer thought, he scribbled down “Tony” on one of those ‘Hello, my name is…’ stickers.

“That’s a wonderful name by the way,” Bucky compliments, because fck you Steve, he can be polite.

He fcking told Steve going into customer service was a great idea. Idiot wanted to continue doing door to door shit, or, even worse, mope around forests for wandering travelers. He told him it wasn’t the 1400s anymore, and to grow up. Damn the supernatural council and their ‘hunt in pairs’ rule, he will go rouge and leave Stevie, he will do it.

“I’m this close,” Bucky had hissed, holding his fingers in the air so Stevie could see,

“Your fingers are touching,” Steve deadpanned.

“Exactly.”

The man doesn’t look up from his flurry of typing, “Thank you, it’s a family name.”

“Sure,” Bucky replies quietly “Alright, your order will be right out,” Bucky grinned, replacing his name tag with the new one without looking away from the brown-haired customer. The second the tag sticks to his shirt, he feels a refreshing rush of energy. Kind of like what he imagines those ‘caffeine/sugar rush’ those damn teens keep harping about.

“Thank y—” The customer—Tony—looks up from his phone to flash him a grin, only to have it fall from his face when he sees the name tag.

This was the fun part. Bucky didn’t break eye contact, maintaining it with the same smile, only now he could tell it felt eerie to the human. Like something wasn’t right.

The man’s brown eyes flitted up and down between Bucky’s face and the name tag, before he surged forward, “What di—”

“Have a good day,” Bucky bit out, still keeping the smile and cheery customer service tone. His eyes were blank, he made sure of it. Honestly, this whole song and dance was unnecessary. Stevie usually just wrote the name tags, and then stuck them on as he was making the drinks. Their shop was typically slow enough that there wouldn’t be people behind to question why the tender had a new name. But Bucky loved to fck with humans. What the hell else was he supposed to do? He’s been alive for 70 generations, let him have his fun.

However, today was a bit different. Another two walked into the shop, Bucky didn’t see it as much as he felt it. Bucky kept his back turned, hollering “Welcome to Stars and Stripes, I’ll be with you in just a moment,” over his shoulder as he made the three drinks. What asshole ordered three drinks?

Bucky’s question was answered when he saw the two men walk over to Tony’s table. One of them kissed Tony on the cheek and the other just faux-gagged before giving Tony a hug as well. Bucky called out the order, eyes tracking the way Tony mumbled something to the two men and both reacted oddly, as they probably should. Bucky would expect no less.

Apparently, he jinxed himself, because the man who hugged Tony came to pick up the drinks.

“Nice name,” said the man.

“Thanks,” Bucky flashed his uncanny valley smile and offered nothing else. The man winked and then walked back to the table.

Bucky did not look at his ass, he didn’t.

---

The next day, the man comes in. Not Tony, but other guy. The cute one.

“Hi my name’s Jacob, how may I help you today?” Bucky asks politely.

The man, to his credit, didn’t bat an eyelash, “Hi I’ll have three—” And he rattled off the same order that Tony had. Bucky resisted the urge to frown, maybe it was just a two-time thing? This group has only come into their shop once before, what are the odds of it happening again, for a third time?

“Perfect,” Bucky slid the receipt across the counter, “Can I have your name?” Bucky asked, as he reached for a pen.

“Nope,” the man replied.

Bucky froze in his moments, “What?”

The man shrugged, face showing nothing but politeness, “I’m the only person in this store, you’ll be able to find me.”

Bucky was stunned as he watched him walk back to the spot the trio was in the other day. As he sat down, the man gave a nod of acknowledgment to Bucky, who was still staring.

His brown—almost hazelnut with the light of the sun—eyes stared into Bucky’s own, and in them all he saw was mischief.

Fck.

---

For the next two days, Bucky kept a—subtle, he wasn’t obsessed or anything—watch out for Tony or The Man. And for those two days, he didn’t see hide or hair of them. Bucky figured they must have been college students from nearby campuses, wandering in when Starbucks was too full, which happens often enough. Then on the third day, he returned.

“Hey, Jacob” greeted The Man, his smile so bright—so bright that Nat would have burned like she does under the sun and threaten to bite the man in the jugular. Bucky, who was too gobsmacked to even deliver his customer service opening, stared at him.

“Not Jacob,” Bucky said, his voice strangled.

The Man chuckled, his eyes sparkling with the same look from the first day he ordered, “Ok ‘Not Jacob’, may I have—” And repeated the same order from the last two times.

“Um, right, uh” Bucky stammered, face growing hot as The Man raised an eyebrow at him smugly, “Can I have your name?”

“Put Redwing,” The Man said, shrugging. The corner of his lips pulled upwards into a happy smirk—how can a person have a fcking happy smirk?—, not that Bucky was only looking at his lips or anything.

“Redwing?” Bucky asked, stupidly. Because why ask, idiot, why ask for clarification? He read somewhere that the psyche is powerful enough to make the body do things, like fake pregnancies. Whether that’s something only reserved to humans is up for debate, but maybe, if Bucky doesn’t ask and lives in blissful ignorance, he can feed off of a fake name. But no, because he’s a bloody fool, he asked.

“It’s my pet’s name,” The Man answered, then looked tilted his head, giving a sheepish smile, “Or at least, that’s what I want to name a pet, I don’t have one.”

“Right,” Said Bucky, suddenly feeling empty in ways that have nothing to do with hunger, “Your order will be right out.”

Their conversation was longer than normal, so when the man went to sit down, the couple came in moments afterward. All three sat in the same place as before.

‘Oh no,’ Bucky thought in dawning horror, ‘Regulars.’

---

“Falcon,” grins The Man, now foregoing any attempts to be subtle and simply being a little shit.

Bucky looked at him, face void of any amusement. At this point, he’s shucked the polite customer service voice and snarked back and forth with the regular like there’s no tomorrow—only in this situation, there is a tomorrow, there always is tomorrow.

Their staring contest probably goes on for a bit too long, judging by the way Tony and his boyfriend—Bucky can feel comfortable calling the two a couple, based on how disgustingly affectionate the two get in the cafe—walk in.

The Man flashed a smile and turned away to greet the couple. An audible ‘Rhodey!’ reached Bucky’s ears. Now, finally, he has a name for one of the dark-skinned men, the one who kissed Tony’s cheek and was currently walking in with said Tony, arm around his shoulders. Only Bucky doesn’t feel that familiar warmth pool in his gut, refreshing his energy levels.

‘Oh,’ Bucky thinks, and watches as the man—his regular—laughs with his friends but also how his eyes flit back to peek at Bucky as names are spoken. ‘oh, loopholes.’

Bucky is so screwed.

---

The names his regular gives become increasingly goofy, and Steve teases him about how flirty they get—Bucky absolutely didn’t have a favorite, and it absolutely wasn’t Angel. But Bucky only believed Stevie when he got a number instead of a random moniker.

“What?” Bucky short-circuited.

The man just sighed, “Come on, I gave you my number, work with me here.”

“You finally did it, huh, Sam?” Tony called out from where he was typing away on his computer, which rested on Rhodey’s legs. Rhodey, who was sprawled out in one of their chairs, nudged Tony with his foot, “Shush, let them have this.”

‘Sam,’ Bucky thinks, and all he can come up with in his blue screened mind is, ‘Perfect’.

In his phone, the name Sam’s contact is under is ‘Angel’.

Steve heckles.

---

“How did you know, Angel?”

Sam looks at Bucky, and Bucky’s struck into silence, The whole world falls around them in muted sounds and lights fade into balls of blurry color, because as they lock gazes all Bucky can notice is Sam’s eyes. Sam’s eyes—his wonderful, soul-deep eyes that shine with mischief and laughter, that glow so bright and rival the heavens when the sunlight reflects off it just so—are sad.

“My friend,” Sam says quietly, “Riley. He was one of yours.”

Bucky nods, and reaches out with his metal hand—an injury from decades ago and a gift from a shapeshifter who hissed that his debt was repaired before slithering off into the night—pulling Sam closer to him. They watch the sun go down from the top of the roof, the stars revealed one by one, twinkling against the darkness of the dusk.

---

(One day, Bucky will ask for Sam’s name again, specifically his last name. Only then, will Sam reply honestly.)

---

AN: This is a more bastardized version of faeries/fae, I just made up my own creature for what Bucky and Steve are. Simply because I just wanted to write a little ficlet about SamBucky and didn’t do much research. Don’t think too hard about it :)

(and the link to the Tik Tok I saw on tumblr that inspired this is also linked on my ao3 fic)

Hope you enjoyed!

-vix

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light Ch. 11

Emotions run high as Mulder and Scully are reunited after Aubrey and an accidental 'I love you.' Then, Scully gets her blood test results back.

-----------------------

Tapping her foot out of sheer impatience, Scully waits in front of the elevator in the Hoover building’s lobby. She glances at her watch; it’s 9:26am--earlier than she agreed to meet Mulder--and yet she couldn’t keep herself away any longer. She’s among a crowd of other agents, either bored with their jobs or killing themselves for it, and she’d bet her life savings that she’s the only one going down.

The elevator dings, the up arrow illuminating to indicate its direction. Scully steps backward to let the other loiters slip in. She is left alone. As expected, the basement is not in high demand. Every day she starts off by waiting for the elevator, hoping that maybe it will be her lucky day and that down arrow will light up right away. And every day, she finds herself headed for the stairs like a dejected puppy.

The heavy door of the stairwell clicks shut behind her as she descends into the building’s darkened depths. She traverses the stairs like she is back at the Academy running drills, trying to prove herself. It’s only one story, nothing much, and she takes it in eight seconds--she counted in her head.

Her heart rate just a bit elevated and her hair just a bit displaced, she pushes out into the ever-familiar basement hallway. Halfway open, the door collides with something solid and whiplashes her backward.

“Shit!” The exclamation comes from the other side of the door. Scully flicks a stand of hair out of her face and tries again, this time with caution. She peeks around the door, and there he is. She’d believe he was a figment of her imagination if the door hadn’t just proved otherwise. She slips into the hallway, lets the door shut behind her.

“Mulder,” she practically laughs, “are you okay?”

He kneads his right shoulder. “They’ve got to put a speed limit in there,” he groans.

“May I suggest not standing right in front of the door?” she muses.

“Well, considering we’re the only two who ever come down here, I figured I’d take my chances.” He bends to scoop up his key, his injury evidently not so serious after all. He jams it into the lock while Scully interrogates him.

“How did you get down here?”

“Teleported.” He twists the key, and the lock surrenders.

“I was waiting for the elevator not sixty seconds ago. I didn’t see you head to the stairwell.”

They jaunt into the office, or as they have taken to calling it, their dominion.

“I didn’t take the stairs,” Mulder tells her. “I took the elevator.”

Scully turns and looks through the doorway as if some fairy godmother will appear to explain it all. “What do you mean? I was waiting for the elevator. It went up. You didn’t get on it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Scully. I walked up, hit the down arrow, and the doors opened within five seconds.”

“But I-I took the stairs in eight seconds,” her voice high with frustration. “It’s impossible for the elevator to have beat me.”

“You have other redeeming qualities, I assure you.”

“Oh, really?” Scully coos. “Like what?” The more time apart, the more willing they are to walk the line when they see each other. Especially in the wake of accidental I love you’s.

Mulder props himself against the desk. “We’d be here all day if I dove into it. Rest assured that a conveyor belt built in the 60s has nothing on you.”

A feeling Scully can’t quite identify bubbles in her chest. She smiles, looks away. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she teases.

“Yup.” He tosses his keys in the air and catches them as they fall back to earth. “I don’t have much success with it...what am I doing wrong?”

Laughter flutters out of Scully, the butterflies in her stomach taking flight. It is a wonderful sound, a more certain version of the girlish giggles Mulder heard through the phone--the ones that followed him into his dreams. His eyes meet hers. They are the color of caramel this morning, she notices, sweet, sweet caramel.

“You know it’s an hour earlier than we agreed to meet, right?” She raises an eyebrow in his direction. Mulder being willingly early is about as unlikely as catching Bigfoot.

“I caught an earlier flight. I was going to surprise you, but you see how that worked out.”

“I don’t take kindly to surprises, Mulder,” she drawls, her pupils dilating as she looks up at him.

“Yeah well, neither does my shoulder.” He rubs it dramatically, then squares himself up in front of her, hands on his hips. Her eyes are level with his lips. The image of her tongue gliding over his mole flashes in her head. It would feel--no, she can’t think about that. Thinking about feeling tends to lead her to some dangerous places. Namely, more feeling.

The jig up, they snap back into themselves. “So, the case.” Scully plants herself in the chair in front of the desk. “What happened? And how’s BJ? Are she and Tillman going to raise the baby?”

Mulder sighs, swipes his fingers through his hair. “So Melissa is better, I take it?”

“Mulder…” Scully shoots daggers at him with her eyes. “Missy is fine. What happened in Aubrey?”

He sets his elbows on the table and rests his chin atop his hands. “I told you about Cokely, right? The suspect from the 1945 murders?”

Scully nods.

“Turns out, BJ is his granddaughter. Her father was adopted, so she didn’t know. Essentially…” he hesitates, hoping to slip his supernatural explanation into the field report without Scully’s interference. “BJ...she went crazy.” Scully’s jaw locks as she listens. “Genetic memory tends to skip a generation. I think the psychosis of her grandfather surfaced in her.”

Scully stares at the desk, at his hands against the desk, at his rolled-up shirt sleeves. She wants him to be kidding; she knows he’s not.

“Is she…?” Her eyes plead for the answer she wants to hear.

Mulder thanks her god that he’s able to assuage her fears, at least partially. “No,” he shakes his head. “But she’s being committed to a psych ward.”

“But she’s pregnant!” The desperation in her voice is about as cutting as Mulder has ever known.

He softens his voice. “It’s an all-female ward. They’ll take care of her.”

“She’s just a woman, a normal woman…”

Of all the parts of the story he expected Scully to object to, this was not one. “She killed Cokely, and she tried to kill two other people, Scully. Me included.”

“She tried to kill you?!”

He nods, his face a solemn slate. “Tillman saved me. I’m fine.”

“You can’t go alone anymore, Mulder.” She chokes back tears. Mulder leaves his chair and kneels before her, shocked by how quickly emotion has sprung to the surface. “You can’t.”

He frames her shoulders with his hands, breathes words of comfort into her ear--”It’s okay, Scully. I’m okay.”

Her body trembles against him. “Mulder, if you died right now, I’d stop breathing. By my own hand or God’s.”

Mulder is seized with such sudden fear--such distilled awareness of his own mortality--that he wants to lash out, to tell her to never ever say that again or he would go far away and change his name and abandon this life just so that she would never have to hear of his death. Instead, he collects himself.

“I’ve always thought the moments you think you’re dying are the ones where you’re living the most.”

She hides her face in the crook of his neck. It is such a dignified thing to say, so completely Mulder. It tears her heart clean in half.

“I’m screwed if that’s true,” she blubbers into his shirt. It smells like airport and aftershave. His hands meet her shoulder blades like he’s looking for angel’s wings. She imagines he must be disappointed. He’s not. He walks his fingers up and down her bra straps like a mother might rock her baby. He doesn’t mean it in a sexual way, but as an acknowledgement of what she is--not just a coworker, or his friend, or any ordinary human being, but someone--the only one--who makes him believe in holiness, the single thing he has never pinned his hopes on.

He presses his lips to her cheek, catches her salty tears on his tongue. Speaking to her skin, he whispers, ”What’s wrong? Why did you leave Aubrey?”

He knows. Of course he knows, she’s known that he knows, but it still startles her to be caught in a lie. She turns her head so that he’s forced to take his lips from her skin. He cradles the back of her head instead, her hair getting caught between his fingers.

She’s told too much of the truth to lie anymore. “Something happened to me during my abduction. They did something to me, but I don’t know what. I’m trying to figure it out.”

She speaks plainly, raw as skin-to-skin contact. Mulder feels as if her sorrows have migrated to his body, burrowed into him, and sworn to stay.

“I haven’t had my…” she sniffles, the fear coming back to her again. “I haven’t had my period since I was returned. That’s abnormal for me.”

He pulls her in closer, like they could become one if he tried hard enough. He doesn’t want to say it, but he knows he has to.

”Are you pregnant?”

He feels her eyelashes flutter closed against his shoulder. “No, I even got a professional test done. That’s the worst part, something being wrong and having no explanation.”

“I know how you feel.”

She exhales. Her stomach fills then flattens against him.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks, knowing that nothing would ever be enough.

“I think that maybe…” her voice falls quieter. “I think that I should take a leave of absence. While I get this all figured out.”

“Mmm-hmm.” The vibration of his voice box resonates within them both. “That sounds like a good idea.” He is as gentle as if he were speaking to a newborn baby.

“I am really, really sorry,” she stammers, mouth against his ear.

“For what?” His breath tickles her earlobe.

“For making you do it alone.” If she weren’t pressed to his ear, he wouldn’t be able to hear her.

“I’m not alone, Scully. You’re a part of me now. I’m carrying a miniature version of you in my head wherever I go.”

She’s crying again, a reflex tapped.

He continues whispering into her ear. “She’s telling me that there’s a scientific explanation, that there’s no such thing as extraterrestrials, that I’m batshit crazy--” Scully laughs, Mulder smiles. “--and I have to say, she makes a very convincing argument. I’m even starting to believe her, you know, just a little bit.”

He pulls back so that he can see her face. Her brokenness glimmers off of her like a shattered mirror. He wipes her tears away with his thumbs, then looks straight into the reflecting pond of her eyes.

“You are more important to me than any dumb X-file. Even Samantha hurts less because of you.” He was hollow, and she is filling him in. He hadn’t realized that he was draining her in the process. “I want you to be happy, and I want you to be whole,” he affirms. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll support you.”

She wraps her arms around him and nods in gratitude, her nose bouncing off his cheek. She will learn to live in her body again. She will learn to live. She will learn. She will.

---------------------

Scully made the appropriate arrangements with Skinner and walked out of that basement office indefinitely that night. She had spent so much time pretending she was fine to save face, thinking it was the noble thing to do. That was what she was taught, how could she know any different?

She never anticipated the inner strength that comes from vouching for yourself. From deciding that you are worthy just because you are alive. From owing nothing to no one, unapologetically. She suddenly understood why her sister had always seemed brave to her, so completely okay with disregarding expectations and breaking rules. Courage breeds confidence, Missy remarked when Scully brought this up to her. All you have to do is take that initial leap of faith.

But it would be a mistake to assume that Scully is truly free now. A person who is in total control of their life does not choose to leave a job they love, however temporary the absence may be. It’s not like something better has come along, an option that brings with it the bittersweet pang of leaving a beloved place for a new adventure. No, that’s not this--this is sacrifice on all sides.

Her, backing away from the work that keeps her sane and the experience that has made her insane. Mulder, shouldering the blow of fruitless investigation all by himself. Another loss in his stepping stone graveyard. And what about Missy, who has uprooted her life and left the woman she loves to take care of one she shares blood with? Scully has not properly thanked her for that, she knows this. And now...what comes now?

Scully’s stomach folds in on itself. She has not felt this listless since the weeks between the FBI’s offer to join them and her med school graduation, when her heart knew what it wanted and her brain feared anyone finding out. Working yourself to the bone to get a medical degree and then shoving it aside? Her parents would think something was wrong with her. In fact, she thought that something was wrong with her then too. It was Missy who convinced her that changing your mind is the most human trait of all. What is Scully always at odds with if not her own human fallibility?

These thoughts play through her head from her drive home to Missy’s homemade dinner to the moment she tucks herself into bed. Before her head hits her pillow, she pops open a bottle of melatonin tablets and places one on her tongue. It plunges her into dreamless sleep.

It is a relief, when she wakes up, to realize that she did not dream because this means she did not have nightmares either. Being a captive audience to your own brain gets tiring. Two nights pass this way, their days filled with waiting and research. She cracks the spine of every medical encyclopedia she has looking for clues into her condition. This is the most sensible way to move through life, she thinks, preparing for the worst so that reality will be no more heinous than the depths of your imagination.

Mulder calls from the office each night before he leaves. She did not ask him to do this, but she is grateful that he does. Their conversations are neither deep nor long-lasting, the perfect salve for Scully’s sudden rush out of their breakneck world into relative normalcy.

Missy is, unsurprisingly, elated that her sister is prioritizing herself. She even goes for an extra grocery run after work and stocks up on Dana’s guilty pleasures, hoping that the pattern of abstaining may be ending on all fronts. Dark chocolate covered strawberries, Greek yogurt that doesn’t say nonfat on the label, Nutter-Butters. These are things Dana loves but denies herself. Missy has never been more proud to see an empty package of Nutter-Butters in the garbage.

That is how the conversation starts. Dana is on the couch, and Missy joins her.

“You found the Nutter-Butters. I’m glad.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Scully nods, half-paying attention, half-perusing one of her old medical textbooks.

“I tried to pick stuff I remember us having in the house as kids. I wasn’t sure if you still liked them.”

“Oh, I do, I just usually avoid peanut butter.”

“Why?”

She looks up from the page for a moment, as if the question should answer itself. “Fattening.”

“Yeah, because that’s something you should be worried about,” Missy jests.

“Heart disease is the number one killer of American women, and it is tightly linked to weight and diet,” Scully says matter-of-factly.

Missy reaches over and lifts the textbook out of her sister’s lap. “That’s enough of that.”

Scully smirks, lets her sister close the book and put it on the table. She pulls her feet onto the couch and sits cross-legged. “My test results came back, by the way.”

“What?” The textbook slams onto the table.

“Yeah, they called a couple hours ago.” Scully rubs her eyes, sleepy from reading. “I have elevated follicle-stimulating and luteinizing hormone levels, but low levels of anti-mullerian hormone.”

Missy raises her eyebrows. “What does that mean?”

“It’s consistent with the results of a menopausal woman.” She says it in her doctor voice, as if she’s speaking of a body she autopsied instead of herself. “I have an ultrasound tomorrow to count my ovarian follicles.” She sighs, her face revealing nothing. “To give an idea of whether I could still be fertile.”

“My goodness.” Missy touches her sister’s hand. “I think that warrants a hug.”

Scully nods, and her sister pulls her in. Missy’s hugs are like a warm towel after a shower, purifying the cleansed.

“What time is your appointment?”

“One. But you don’t have to come.”

“I’m coming, no arguments,” she insists. “I have the lunch shift tomorrow, but I can swap for the dinner one instead.”

“Okay.” Scully smiles softly, devoid of any urge to fight. She has surrendered to her fear, and in doing so, has found herself free of it.

#~all aboard the angst train!~#i just have to edit ch 12 so i will have that posted this week too #thank you for reading <3 #it really means so much #only the light fic #txf fanfic #the x-files #dana scully #fox mulder #melissa scully #missy & scully fic #mine

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toloveawarlord · 3 years

Text

Ch. 1

Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle x Mina Van Gogh x Charles Henri Sanson

Tagging: @plumpblueberry @starry-starry-night24 @youreawizardharr (please let me know if you want to be tagged)

A/N: First new oc of the 12 Days of OCmas! Eventual poly-ship. All the Van Gogh siblings will make appearances in this fic!

The dark sky shielded all light from reaching the path outside of the city. Steady rain fell into her soaked form, seeping its cold down into her bones. Trudging along the cobblestones with water pooling in her boots, the young girl shivered. Winter weather wrapped in a rainstorm was not ideal for the long walk.

She exhaled, like dragon’s breath spilling from her mouth, it hung in the air. Mina’s steps sluggish with the numbness spreading across her frigid limbs. This was the only opportunity she’d been given to escape and get this close to the mansion.

Hesitating at the large double doors, she cast a worrying glance behind her. It wouldn’t be unrealistic to fear that someone might be following her. That’s how overprotective her eldest sister was, or rather, how controlling. If she found out, Mina didn’t know what punishment might await.

“How long are you planning on loitering at the door?” The harsh voice paired perfectly with narrowed violet eyes and an annoyed frown. He held the door at a crack, opposed to letting her in.

Mina only paused for a second. “I’m looking for Vincent.”

“Why?”

Why was this man so concerned? Perhaps she should admit that she was also a lesser vampire, but she chose not to. “I’m a friend of his. He’ll want to see me.” That was only half the truth, but it was enough to get her entry.

He demanded that she wait there, muttering under his breath as he walked away.

Alone, Mina investigated the entrance. The whole room warm and bright, like a real home. Not like the place that she lived, which was empty and dark. A stark difference. She let out a soft sigh, brushing her wet bangs away from her face.

“I heard we had a guest. What a pretty little skirt.” The curious man descended the stairs, sauntering up to her as if she were solely there to see him. A wicked grin grew on his lips. “Hello there, love. I’d be delighted to know your name.”

He was very close. Mina found it impossible to look directly at him. If she stared into those blue pools too long, she might absolutely drown. “I’m Mina.” Her voice failed her, barely above a whisper.

“Mina, I’m Arthur. It’s lovely to meet you. What brings you to our humble home?” He asked. She was nervous, pulse racing. Her gaze couldn’t settle. But no, he found no ill intent.

“I- well-”

“Broer, you shouldn’t meet with strangers. I can handle this.”

“It’s alright, Theo. They came all the way here. It must be important.”

Oh, she was not prepared.

All her psyching herself up sizzled out completely.

Arthur observed her behavior with mild curiosity. How interesting. “You’re familiar with Theo and Vincent, are you?” He kept hold of her hand, brushing his thumb gently across her knuckles. It must have been them that brought her here.

“Oh, Arthur, you’re here, too. Mozart said there was someone here for me,” Vincent said, his protective little brother right behind him. No one received visitors, so he’d been quite surprised.

Mina stiffened at his voice, one that she had terribly missed. But her fears overtook her. She needed a moment to calm down, that’s all.

“Oi, is that her?” Theo’s gruff tone did not aid in soothing her nerves.

She was so very grateful that neither of them could see her. Mina reached out a shaky hand to clutch Arthur’s jacket. Her head shook slowly. “I- help-please--” Her voice just loud enough for the mystery writer to hear.

He didn’t quite understand what was going on, but who was he to deny a lovely maiden in need. “I’m not sure,” Arthur replied to the brothers, tugging Mina forward protectively into his arms. “But this sweet skirt is here for me, and you’re frightening her terribly, Theo.”

“The hell did I do?” Theo asked, irritation laced in his voice.

“Well, I suppose it must not have been that important. I’m sorry we interrupted,” Vincent replied.

It hurt more than she realized. The dull ache in her chest turning sharp. Only once they’d gone could she breathe fully again. A gloved hand rested atop her head as a silent comfort. “Oh, I’m sorry-” She pulled away, heat flushing her cheeks.

“Let’s get you some dry clothes and then you can tell me all about why you’re here.” Arthur said, arm falling around her small shoulder, guiding her to his bedroom. What a curious situation he’d found himself in.

Only when the door to his bedroom close did Mina relax. My apologies, luv, but this is the smallest I could find. The clothes in her hands would be baggy, but she cared little when soaked to the bone. However, the trousers staying up would be quite the problem.

“Hmm, let’s try this,” Arthur said, still snickering at how tiny the woman looked in his clothes, and the hint of pink on her cheeks at his teasing was adorable. She’d be thrilling to play with, he thought. But first, he produced a pair of suspenders, clipping it to the front and back of the trousers and adjusting the length.

Mina was hyper aware of his hands occasionally brushing against her body. “Th-thank you. I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” She apologized. How embarrassing. He must think her some kind of coward.

The writer plopped on the chaise, patting the space beside him. “There’s no need for that beautiful face to have such a sad expression. I helped you because I wanted to, so there’s absolutely no reason for apologies. I am curious about your business with dear ole Vincent.”

His hypothesis currently was that she was a long-lost child. Her bone structure similar, and eye color the same cerulean blue. Physically, save for the raven locks, she fit the part. The only missing piece was that the author couldn’t fathom the gentle Vincent having a fling.

“No, I...” Mina couldn’t draw her gaze away from his, as if he were holding her there to peek at her darkest secrets. Besides, after all he’s done for her, lying would be rude. “I’m Willemina Van Gogh, the fourth child and youngest sister of the Van Gogh family, and I’m also a resurrected vampire, like my brothers and you.”

Arthur searched her but found no lies. She surely believed that she was a vampire, and it would account for how she managed to come to this mansion unimpeded. Most humans didn’t know this place existed. But what fun would it be to simply accept her word. A sly smirk spread across his lips. “Alright, then why don’t you just give me a little bite? You must be parched, after all.”

Mina flushed, surprised by his proposal. Since vampires were a well-kept secret, of course she couldn’t just say it was so. Something about his cheeky tone lit a fire of determination in her. “Alright. If you want proof, then I’ll bite you.”

“Ah, grand! No need to be shy,” Arthur teased, tilting his head to the side, and tapping his neck with his index finger. She was to do it, which absolutely thrilled the writer.

The room’s temperature rose. Mina leaned in slow, convincing herself that she’d be quick and not drink his blood. He smelled of ink and fudge, a strange but alluring mixture. A streak of smudged black ink showed some frustration from his work.

Deep blue irises studied the woman. “Something the matter, luv?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice, his adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke, drawing her in. Mina didn’t answer with words, instead sinking her fangs in. His warm blood coated her tongue, and a low moan escaped from the author’s lips, only making her desire to hear it more.

Mina could lose herself entirely with only a sample of his blood.

But she maintained self-control and pulled away, licking the last drops of the delicious nectar off her bottom lip.

Vampire bites were meant to soothe human prey. They stung, and then spread pleasure in order to subdue them into submission. It affected vampires similarly, except it tended to only make them crazed for each other.

Arthur was buzzing with desire. His features flushed, throat dry, and body burning with need for her blood. He hooked an arm around her waist, hauling her into his lap. Her cerulean irises begging for him to continue.

If only he’d locked his door before he’d begun this little game.

“Hey! Who the hell are you?” Theo had thrown the door open hard enough to knock it from its hinges. He’d heard from Mozart that there wasn’t two women in the mansion, only one.

Mina jerked back from Arthur’s embrace, falling promptly onto the floor. “T-theo!” She yelled in absolute embarrassment, forgetting entirely that he had little idea of who she was. All that swam through her mind was that he’d seen her so intimately with a man.

His eyes narrowed, trying to puzzle out why she knew his name.

One gentle but shocked voice covered all the others. Vincent hardly needed an introduction as he recognized her straight away. How could he forget his darling little sister of whom he’d been so close to?

“Will? You’re... alive?”

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp theo #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp charles #ikevamp mina van gogh #ikevamp oc #new oc!

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hobeemin · 3 years

Text

content tag game

tagged by the lovely @joonscypher 🍒🍒

1. what fandoms have you written for (but do not currently)? whew one i wrote for was sailor moon, true blood, xmen, batman, game of thrones. haven’t written anything in ages.

2. what fandoms are you currently writing for? bts, got7, nct... i’ve put members of red velvet, vixx, txt, sunmi, exo, hyuna, hyolyn and a few others in my fics as well.

3. how long have you been writing? since middle school, but actually wriiten works online, i was 16

4. on which platforms do you post your stories? tumblr & ao3

5. what is your favourite genre to write? supernatural and crime. i always loved mysteries and fantasy and otherworldly creatures.

6. are you a pantser or a planner? both, but i lean towards planner now a days. i have to do at least a basic outline for my fics so i remember my thoughts and the plot.

7. one shot or multi-chapter? def both.

8. what is the perfect chapter length in your opinion? umm honestly it depends on the fic.

9. what is your longest published story? is it complete? hmm if were looking over the course of my writing, it was a sailor fic called angel of mercy, super cringe >.<. but currently one i’m proud of is a bts fic called resurrection a mix of zombies and drama. i’m proud of writing a six part series in less than three months. don’t know if i can do that again lol

10. which story did you enjoy working on the most? ohh good question, probably my delightful temptations series, dangerous pairing, jamais vu, and eros et psyche

11. favourite request you’ve written and why? hands down it was dark charms it combined both my love of bts and harry potter into one story. it was so much fun researching and familiarizing myself with hp world once again.

12. are there recurring themes in your stories? ohh def enemies or strangers to lovers. there is even a bit of slow burn if i’m being kind.

13. current number of wips? you don’t wanna know...i think its like more than 10 by now.

14. three things you have noticed about your own writing? 1. i can never now a striaght pwp cause i like to describe a lot of details. 2. my mc always have an attitude lol 3. i need to use a thesaurus more.

15. a quote you like from a published story. this is from dark charms 😊

Her eyes scanned the shelves looking for the purple sprigs. She lit up once she saw them peeking behind an extra mortar and pestle. Standing on her tiptoes, Y/N tried to reach for them only for a hand to shoot in front of her to grab them. The intricate ink patterns on the fingers could only belong to one person. Jeon Jungkook. She sighed as he pulled the lavender off the shelf giving her the tiniest acknowledgment. He turned to walk away when she grabbed the sleeve of his robe.

“Um, that was mine first, Jungkook.”

He froze, whirling around to give her a cold stare. “Does it have your name on it?”

Y/N flinched slightly under his intense gaze. “N-No, but–”

“B-But,” he mimicked mockingly. With a snort, he turned back on his heel. “You can have it when I’m done with it.”

Her eyes blinked in surprise. She watched his retreating form going over to the table with the rest of his Slytherin buddies. She grabbed the Valerian sprigs and walked back into the classroom. Throat tightening, she tried to keep her composure as she made her way back to her table. He knew she couldn’t start the Sleeping Draught without the lavender. It took awhile to make the paste. Her eyes cast over to him as he took his sweet time pulling the lavender out and making a show of taking out each sprig slowly. Her face felt hot as she watched him chatting and laughing with his friends. Once she knew he wasn’t planning on giving them back, her face darkened with anger. All her reasoning going out the window. She grabbed something out of one of the bowls and stomped angrily over to his table, fist balled. Before she knew it, Y/N smacked him across the face with the flobberworm mucus and snatched the lavender from his hands.

16. a quote from an unpublished story. ohh okay here’s from a fic called a princely affair

“Who’s shameless?”

The couple’s eyes turned toward the entrance of the veranda. Namjoon was standing with a young woman. Her dress is the shade of lavender with a silver mask adorning her face.

“Cousin!” Aria ran to her in excitement. “Namjoon, have you two been getting acquainted?”

“You could say that,” he chuckled cutting his eyes to Jin. He raised his brow not understanding his friend and walked forward to the woman.

“Aria was just telling me she visited you abroad on her holiday. I’m surprised I didn’t know that information already.”

“Shocking really,” she said crossing her arms. “You would think Prince Seokjin would know all.”

“Pardon?”

“Still being a jerk?”

Aria cried out covering her mouth, “Cousin! H-How could you say that?!”

Jin clenched his jaw but gave a forced laugh. “I didn’t know she would be so bold.”

17. a space for you to say something to your readers. to anyone whose read my fics, thank you. i write for myself mostly, but if anyone enjoys my writing that is a bonus. love all yall 💜💜

tagging; @springbean @hobiandsprite @yoongsgguktae @kookdiaries @bangtanhome @ressjeon @oftenderweapons @joheunsaram @sugasbabiie

#tag game

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sparrow-ink · 3 years

Text

Wanna Know a Writer

Tagged by @misdemeanor1331

How many works do you have on AO3?

- 19. a bit less than I thought, but my AO3 profile is actually less of a WIP graveyard than I thought it was. That’s what my google drive is for lmao.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

- 101354 , again more than I thought considering.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

- I mentioned the WIP graveyard that is my google drive, here’s a peek at the folders in it:

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Sucker Punch (Daredevil) - I know I’ve said this before, but I think I’ll actually finish this one this year.

Your Own Personal Jarvis (Teen Wolf)

Holding it Together Like a Rubber Band (Teen Wolf)

Mike the Lamest Werewolf Ever (Suits)

Best Friends Forever (How I Met Your Mother) - I’m kind of shocked that a little crackfic I wrote for a friend ages ago is this high up on the list tbh.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

- I try to respond to every comment, though I know I lose track of them on older fics. I post stories that I want to share with other people, and getting to talk to those people about my stories or just thank them for reading gives me warm fuzzies.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

- this is tough because I don’t tend to write angsty endings. I think probably ‘Love Him Protect Him’? which, fun fact, I wrote for an English class after we watched The Truman Show. you heard that right my loves, I submitted fanfic for a grade without an ounce of shame. I can’t remember what grade I got on it, it was so long ago, but it must have been at least a B+ because I still liked that teacher afterward. 😂

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

- I most certainly do. half my favorite shit I’ve written is off-the-wall crossovers. one that still seems to get kudos is ‘corrupting the youth of today’, which is iron man mcu/ouran high school host club.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

- yeah. not recently though now that I’m thinking about it? which might be because I stopped crossposting to FFN a while ago. it was mostly out of laziness, but I also feel like the comment culture there was starting to get pretty bad around when I stopped.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

- I do occasionally venture into the porn mines, it’s true. usually when I’m seized by an idea for just a really compelling interaction between two characters, and then I have to write a whole scene around it to justify it. or sometimes a whole fic, in the case of Sucker Punch. 😅

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

- not to my knowledge, knock on wood.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

- I think so? I’ve had people ask for permission and granted it, but I don’t think I’ve ever gotten confirmation or a link to the posted translation.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

- the ships, they come and go with the seasons, and I but wait for them to come in. aka don’t have one, unrepentant multishipper.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

- I started a couple of sequels to older fics of mine right after I originally posted them, and never really made headway on them. I’m no longer active in the Eureka or Psych fandoms so I doubt I’ll go back and finish them. I’m pretty happy with where I left the endings on the original one-shots so I’m fine with those sequels/timestamps being trunked.

What are your writing strengths?

- probably dialogue, humor, and flow of both.

What are your writing weaknesses?

- empty rooms and blank faces. why describe what a character looks like or where they are? the reader has an imagination, they can use it, right? also rarely finishing anything in the past, though I’m going to chalk that one up to the previously undiagnosed adhd.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

- if it’s in a language a writer is fluent/has background in, of course. if it’s natural for the characters, and the writer is actively seeking fluent beta readers/translators/feedback, I can see a place for it. if it’s just inserted as ‘flavor’ or to make a character seem ‘exotic’ or ‘worldly’ a la google translate, nah. other people’s cultures aren’t window dressing. I’ve seen that happen a few too many times in english-language fandoms for original works in other languages, so I’m a bit wary of it now.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

- probably teen titans? the original cartoon network animated show, never read the comics. and haven’t seen the new teen titans go or Titans.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

- usually whatever I wrote 6 months ago. long enough ago that I’m not super-critical of it anymore, but not so long ago I forgot about it lmao.

tagging: @colubrina @plaudiusplants @vtsuion @shastuhh @naarna - if any of y’all feel like it

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searchingwardrobes · 3 years

Text

Ivory Runs Red: 5/6

First off, massive thanks to the @cssns, my beta @demisexualemmaswan, and my artist @cocohook38. Cocohook created this amazing cover art, and she is working on something else too to go with this story. The rough sketch made my jaw drop, so I can’t wait for ya’ll to see it!

This part is going to be a little long, but I need to address something that I got multiple comments about. Just bear with me; this is the only way I can think to clear things up. I was really surprised to see that some people were angry at David and Mary Margaret for not doing anything to find Emma and/or "allowing" her relationship with Neal. Others simply expressed things along the lines of "I hope you explain what David and Mary Margaret did about all this." The reason this reaction surprised me so much is because I thought it was clear that they HAD done something. Why would the Golds need to get rid of police files if the Swans never reported Emma missing? Why would issues of the newspaper be missing from the library if Emma's disappearance wasn't reported on? Obviously, David and Mary Margaret did something! As for Neal, they had no idea Emma was seeing him. If you'll recall, in a previous chapter, Emma told Killian she had to sneak out at night to meet Neal. So that wasn't Snowing's fault either. Also, how would any of these characters know what David and Mary Margaret did or didn't do for their daughter? This is almost a hundred years later, and Emma's memories are dulled from being a ghost for so long. The only way I could spell out clearly how Snowing handled their daughter's disappearance would be some sort of convoluted info-dump, and I didn't want to destroy the tone and mood of the story to do that. But just so everyone knows: Yes, Emma's parents were devastated. They did everything in their power to find her, never giving up hope (which is so in character for them!). They died still believing she was either still out there or that crimes against her had gone unpunished. It broke their hearts. The Golds spread rumors that Emma was some kind of slut who ran away with a guy, and the people of Storybrooke overall thought the Swans had gone crazy. So there it is, that's the back story that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the story, lol.

I'm not mad at the questions, to be clear. I was just surprised by them. I guess I blame the show for ruining these two as parents the last couple of seasons. Maybe that's why everyone jumped on them so fast. I was also honestly worried that ya'll would be upset with me for not addressing the topic, hence this long explanation! No one was rude by any means, so don't go trying to defend me from nonexistent trolls, lol! My feelings have NOT been hurt. I simply wanted to address the questions that were asked and the misplaced anger toward Snowing. (Not anger towards me - but fictional characters!)

Okay, now that I've cleared all THAT up, let's get on with the next chapter, shall we? And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is gonna hurt . . .

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thesschesthair @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling

Chapter Five: Run

“You’ve got to tell them what you saw - what you’ve learned,” Killian pleaded.

Graham shook his head, his curly hair falling in his eyes as he stared at the slender hands he clasped in his. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw sported far more facial hair than it normally did, and Killian didn’t have to ask if he’d slept in the past forty-eight hours.

“They won’t believe me.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “But if I saw Emma, and you saw her, then maybe they’ll believe -”

“That Belle saw a ghost push Mike Gaston off the troll bridge? They’ll believe that? Really?” Graham let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. “You really are just a naive kid if that’s what you're thinking.”

“But you’re a cop!”

“I’m still only nineteen! They’ll think we’re just over-imaginative teenagers.” Graham paused, reaching up with one hand to trace the curve of Belle’s cheek as she slept in her drug-induced prison. “That will land us in rooms just down the hall with our own IV full of an antipsychotic cocktail. How will I help her then?”

“You’ve fallen in love with her.” It wasn’t a question.

Graham sighed. “How could I not? And how could he -” He broke off, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. If I’d been there and saw him hurt her -”

“Shh, I wouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”

Killian’s gaze fell to the bruises around Belle’s neck, and he didn’t blame Graham at all. It terrified him to think what could have happened if Emma hadn’t shown up.

“History repeats itself,” he murmured under his breath.

*************************************************

Killian had scarcely arrived at the bridge when headlights blinded him. He turned away, blinking, stumbling, refusing to be stopped.

“Emma! Emma!” he shouted. He tripped and dropped his flashlight. It broke as it hit the ground, rolling to the edge of the bridge. Now all he could see was ebony before him and radiant luminescence behind him.

His palms scraped against the asphalt as Liam hauled him to his feet. His brother gripped his upper arms so tightly it was almost painful, and he gave him a brief shake.

“You’ve got to stop this!”

Killian fought him. “I have to see her!”

Liam had always been broader than Killian with an unfair advantage in all their childhood tussles. Even now, Killian was no match for him as he lifted him bodily with one arm and hauled him over to his car.

“You need help!” Liam literally tossed him into the backseat.

“I’m not going home!” Killian tried to scramble out, but Liam just shoved him back inside.

“Good, because I’m not taking you home.”

*******************************************************

“Why won’t you be straight with us, kid?”

Killian glared at the detective with a cynical sneer. The psychiatrist on the cop’s left frowned at Killian’s attitude. The choice of words was cruel considering he was in a literal straightjacket. His vision of the two men was obscured by the long strands of dark hair before his eyes. Haircuts were apparently seen as a luxury on the psych ward.

“I’ve answered all your questions,” Killian finally told them wearily, “you just don’t like what I had to say.”

“Because we want the truth,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Archie Hopper, said gently. He was clearly playing the part of “good cop.” Or “good doctor.” Whatever.

“I told you the truth.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Killian snorted a laugh. “Tell that to Mike Gaston.”

The detective’s voice took on a harsh, warning tone. “Mike Gaston was the victim of murder.”

“The victim!” Killian cried, his voice snapping up. “What about the bruises he put on Belle? Or the fact that I nearly died when he tied me to that bridge!”

The detective’s lips curled up in a lewd sneer as he lit a cigarette. “If some horny teenager likes it a bit rough, that’s none of my business.”

Killian fought his bonds, his jaw clenching at the detective’s insinuation. He was as bad as Neal Gold, maybe worse. He had to be pushing fifty at least, and a pot belly strained at his button up shirt. His eyes widened as Killian raged.

“Bothers you though, I see.” He leaned forward. “Nobody blames you for wanting her, kid. Nobody blames you for being jealous. But murder? That’s a different story.”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”

The detective glanced at Dr. Hopper, and the soft spoken psychiatrist took over. “Killian, start at the beginning for us. What did Belle say when she called you that night?”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t call me, she didn’t come to my house. I saw her early that afternoon at the library. That was it. Then my brother got a phone call that there had been an accident, and we came to the hospital.”

“You and Belle were at the library together a lot,” Hopper said softly, “what did you two do there?”

Killian rolled his eyes. He hated the patronizing way the man asked the question. “We studied. Did our homework. We were friends.”

The detective snorted again, and Killian wanted to scream. “Drop the act, kid. You really expect us to believe that you spent all that time with her, all that time with a hot chick, and you never fucked her?”

Dr. Hopper recoiled at the foul language, and Killian thought his own jaw might actually break.

“You’re just as much a misogynistic, narrow-minded, neanderthal as Mike Gaston.”

The detective grinned and slapped Dr. Hopper on the knee. “You were right, shrink, this kid’s smart.” He took another puff of his cigarette as he eyed Killian. “Smart enough to plan an elaborate murder with your knocked-up girlfriend?”

“That’s the most ridiculous - wait - did you say knocked up?”

“Hm,” the detective mused, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow. “You didn’t know?”

Killian was horrified when a laugh slipped past his lips. Another bitter laugh followed, then another, until before he knew it, he was shaking with them. He was laughing hysterically while wearing a straightjacket. That thought made him laugh even more, and if he didn’t seem like a lunatic before, he sure as hell did now.

“What the hell is so funny?” thundered the detective.

Killian’s laughter stopped abruptly and he leveled the man with an intense stare. “History repeating itself. That’s what’s so funny.”

A smile that he knew bordered on manic curled his lips. Yes, history had repeated itself, and this time, Emma Swan had won.

************************************************************

They didn’t have enough to charge him, or Belle, or anyone else really with Gaston’s murder. It was officially declared an accident, and theoretically, Belle French and Killian Jones were free to move on.

Killian wouldn’t say it was easy for Belle. She had severe trauma from that terrifying night, and she ended up losing the baby because of it. Nevertheless, she had Dr. Hopper’s patient help, her father’s support, and Graham’s unwavering devotion. Soon, though it would be a long time before she was truly healed, she was able to go home.

Killian, on the other hand, didn’t really want to go home. For one, he, unlike Belle and Graham, refused to stop talking about Emma - refused to lie and say he made it up. He didn’t fault his friends for it; didn’t take it as a betrayal. He even understood their reasoning when they begged him to do the same and just play along, damn it. He simply couldn’t do it. Emma was too real, too precious. He knew her in a way they never would. He knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that go.

The psych ward wasn’t so bad. The drugs numbed him to the point that he sailed on a sea of oblivion half the time. He’d stopped fighting, so there was no more straight jacket, no more bed straps.

And she came to him. Sometimes the drugs meant he wasn’t lucid enough to really carry on a conversation. On those nights, she curled up next to him on the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheeks. She pressed kisses to his lips, and sometimes he could respond in kind.

Other times, though admittedly rare, they would talk. About everything and nothing at all. One night, they talked about their dreams for later, after high school, and suddenly Emma began to weep.

“I know,” he soothed, brushing her forehead with a kiss, “you fear you can never have that. But maybe we can figure it out. If we somehow get the truth out. About your murder -”

Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips. “That isn’t it, Killian. It’s you. I have no more tomorrows but you can.”

His brow furrowed, and she sighed and soothed the lines away with the pad of her thumb.

“But not if you keep holding onto me.”

His arms instinctively pulled her closer. “I’ll never let you go.”

She sighed, and sadness filled her eyes. She slipped out of his embrace and rose from the bed. Her skin grew white, her gown floated in an ethereal way at her feet. He frowned and scrambled to a sitting position.

“I have to say goodbye,” she told him. She said it with an edge of discovery in her voice. Her lips turned up in a soft smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek.

He shook his head and tried to reach for her, to leave the bed, but he had just enough drugs in his system to make his movements sluggish and ineffectual.

“I won’t let you see me again.”

“No, Emma, please! I love you!”

“And I love you. That’s why I have to do this.”

She was already fading away. Killian made a fist and slammed it into his thigh. Tears stung his eyes.

“Be happy,” she told him, “for me.”

Then she was gone.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #ghost story #horror #strange lieutenant duckling #lol trust me #happy ending of sorts

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anthracenes · 3 years

Text

Passion-Based Learning | Chapter 7

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Abuse of Authority, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Dom/sub, Brainwashing, Praise Kink, Anal Sex, Manipulation, Objectification, Creampie, Implied/Reference Incest, Step-Parent/Step-Child Incest, Cock Rings, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spitroasting

[read on AO3 here]

“Mm, yes... Very good, Isaac," Wilfred murmurs, carefully stripping the young man of his clothes. "What a good, obedient boy you've been. Always just the sweetest little thing for me, aren't you?”

He chuckles upon seeing Isaac blush, cock already twitching to life at the tutor's words of praise. Wilfred strokes the member in between his fingers, relishing the way his student shivers helpless beneath him.

"I'm sure you must be exceptionally starving right now, seeing how busy you must've been all day. Poor thing. What kind of terrible hosts would we be if we didn't feed our guest properly?" The older tutor tuts, shaking his head as he pulls out the bottle of lube from under the table.

"That's why we have something quite different planned this time around now," he gestures towards the kitchen with a wave of his hand. "An extra special treat just for you—on account of how tired and hungry you are today, after all."

From the kitchen's entrance, the younger "tutor" shyly peeks his head out. Wilfred smiles, nodding.

"It's alright, kitten. Come on out now."

Seeing him give his permission, his loyal pet struts on all fours until he's nuzzling at his feet, purring. As always, his kitten is wearing nothing save for the collar snug around his neck and the clamps he adores so much on him.

"Isaac," Wilfred whispers, breath hot in the boy's ear. "In a moment, both of us are going to fill you up and give you everything you need. Make you feel so good , just like you wanted. It’ll be just like our previous study break, too—except you’ll come out feeling even fuller and happier and better than ever before. Doesn’t that just sound perfect?” The older tutor traces the rim of Isaac’s hole with slick, lubed fingers, teasing the boy before slowly plunging them in.

“Ah! Mm… Y-yess...” the sleeping boy gasps, moaning. Isaac clenches down on his fingers, almost as if desperate to suck them in.

“And the best part? You won’t be able to think about anything else the entire time. No, thinking is just too hard when you’re so tired and hungry ; you can’t afford to clutter your mind with anything else right now. You’ll make plenty of room for us both to fill you up, because you won’t have even a single thought lingering in that empty little head...”

“Thinking... too hard..... nnh..”

“That’s right, Isaac… Very nice,” he murmurs, scissoring two fingers inside of the boy. He works them in, slow and deliberate, dragging the thick, calloused digits against soft, inner walls as he spreads him open. All the while, the older tutor also takes care to rub his fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves within, teasing the boy relentless. “Thinking is just too difficult right now, isn’t it? You’ll need that space for more important things, after all. You’ll be so much happier leaving all the hard thinking to your tutors...”

After enough time of toying with his student, Wilfred withdrew from the boy's hole. The older tutor chuckles at the low whine from his student, who desperately shakes his head and moans at the loss of fingers inside of him.

“Look at you. So hungry. You’re practically drooling for it already, Isaac. But a hungry boy like you is not going to be satisfied with just this now, are you?”

The older tutor unfastens his own slacks and strips off his underwear, quickly kicking them both to the side.

“No, no. A growing boy like you needs lots of thick, heavy protein filling him up. Luckily, we have just the thing for you here. Why don’t you come and join us right now?

“Open your eyes, Isaac. Get into position for it, on your hands and knees between us. Show me just how bad you want it.”

The boy does just that without a word—fluttering his brown eyes open as he slinks off the couch and onto the floor to obey. Isaac splays his legs apart, moving sensually before the tutor.

“Please... I-I want... inside..."

Spreading his student open, the older tutor lines himself up at the boy’s entrance. As Isaac tries to rock back onto his cock, however, Wilfred holds him in place by his hips.

“ No, no. No. When had I given you permission to do that? You don't want to start being a bad boy for me now, do you Isaac?" He grips the boy firmly as a warning, almost hard enough to bruise him.

The boy shakes his head, groaning.

"That's right. Only good boys get to relax and have their tummies filled during study breaks," Wilfred relaxes his hold on Isaac, gently stroking the skin beneath him.

"That's what you want now, isn't it? You want nothing else than to be a good , obedient boy for me, Isaac. And good, obedient boys wait for permission. They do everything they're told, and don't do anything else they weren't."

Isaac shivers, nodding.

"Now there's a good boy... Don't worry, sweetling. You'll still get to be full and rested in the end, just like you've wanted..." the tutor smiles, kissing the shell of the boy's ear. "But first, before I give you what you need, let's try something new."

"After all, my cute kitty over there is lonely all by himself, too. He has a nice, tasty snack for you and wants to help out, see?" Running his fingers through soft, chestnut brown hair, Wilfred guides the boy towards his stepson’s crotch in front of him.

“See? Smells delicious, doesn’t it?” Wilfred gently nudges Isaac’s head forward until his kitten’s hard length is pressed against the boy's nose, smearing precum all over his pretty pink cheeks. “I can see your mouth watering for it already, Isaac. Oh, it'll come to be one of your favorite treats, just you see. One taste and you’ll go mad for it. You just can’t wait to take it in, can you? To have it melt over your tongue as all that thick, creamy goodness gushes down your throat. You can’t wait to slurp it all, down to every last drop.”

Thin streams of drool roll down the boy’s vacant expression and onto the rug on the floor. Isaac shivers with anticipation, whining but otherwise staying in place obediently after learning his lesson previous.

"Mm, very good…You did really well, waiting patiently this time. It's alright, Isaac; you have my full permission. Go ahead now—open up nice and wide , and take it all in."

With a wanton moan, the boy rolls his eyes back as he takes all of Alex into his mouth. He holds onto the younger tutor's hips with both hands, licking and sucking at his cock as if his life depended on it.

The older man watches with perverse delight the sight of his hypnosis at work—his words and suggestions sinking its claws deeper and deeper into his student’s psyche, molding Isaac into the mindless cockslut he's destined to be.

“There now… that’s a good boy. You just can't help yourself anymore now, can you?” Wilfred murmurs, voice low with arousal.

"Me neither."

He moans in unison with Isaac as he finally sheaths himself inside in one swift motion. Wilfred fucks into his student hard, gripping the boy's hips tightly as he plows into his student’s tight, wet heat.

“Don’t be shy yourself, kitten,” the older tutor grunts out, “Show our esteemed guest here all the hospitality he deserves. He’s gagging for it badly enough, the pretty little thing.”

Both tutors started moving inside him then, one right after the other. Wilfred picks up his pace, pushing Isaac forward with each thrust as his pet would push him back towards him immediately after. Back and forth, in and out—over and over again. Even his sweet little kitten held nothing back as he earnestly fucked the sleeping boy's face, gripping the hair on his head as leverage and pulling back almost all the way out of his student before slamming back inside him.

Between them both, Isaac was trapped. Even if he was awake, the boy wouldn't be able to move away from one without propelling himself onto the other. The student could only shudder and take it, helpless to the two cocks filling him up and fucking his body senseless.

Wilfred pulls the boy’s hips up as he moves in and out, changing the angle until he hits something that makes Isaac choke on the dick in the back of his throat.

“Oh? Having fun, are we? I knew you would come to love this, sweetling. It feels amazing , doesn’t it? You’ll want this to happen every time you meet us, I’m sure. After all, nothing feels better than surrendering your mind and letting your tutors take care of everything for you…"

He reaches around with one hand, wrapping his fingers around the boy's cock and jerking him off in time to his own thrusts. It quickly became his favorite thing to do, to tease the slit against his thumb while peppering the boy with sweet, sweet praises—smearing precum all over the sensitive member and making Isaac clench down on his dick oh-so-prettily.

The boy ruts back and forth between the two in a frenzied, erratic manner, desperate to fill his greedy holes and chase after the pleasurable friction on both ends. Every press against his prostate, the back of his throat, the slit of his cock, sends him closer and closer to the edge, moaning around the cock in his throat like a seasoned whore.

Eventually the student tips over it altogether, shooting ropes of white onto the floor with a muffled shout.

"Mm… Very good. This is just second nature to you, isn’t it?" Wilfred breathes out, grinning. "You were born for this, Isaac..."

Both tutors pick up the pace. Their grip on his head and hips are the only things holding the boy upright anymore. Alex gasps as he grinds himself against the back of Isaac’s throat. He’s skillfully maneuvering the boy’s head on the length of his cock, using his face as a personal fucktoy and enjoying this rare privilege bestowed by his master to the fullest.

Meanwhile, Wilfred takes care to couple each of his own thrusts with even more suggestions to further corrupt the boy's mind.

“And now that you’ve had a taste, it’ll be all you can ever think about, day and night. You’ll grow to crave it, until it’s all you can think about during your classes. You’ll grow restless with it, needy for it, until it’s all you can do to beg for us to fill you up. Until all you’ll want to do is rest, relax, and surrender your mind as we stuff your hungry body with what it really needs…”

With a loud groan, Wilfred comes deep inside of his student. The older tutor holds Isaac tightly by his hips—staying buried in him the entire time as he's emptying his load inside the boy, and keeping him in place until he's all but soft enough to pull out. His kitten finishes not long after him, pumping Isaac’s throat full of thick, hot semen until some inevitably spills out from the corners of his mouth and down onto his chin.

"Very good… You’ve been such a good boy for us today, as always.” The older tutor pats the boy’s head, smirking. He picks up his own clothing from the pile on the floor and signals for his kitten to leave up the stairs for now.

“Look at you. You were made for this, Isaac. A real natural. It would be a shame if you wasted all of it away…"

"... a shame…" Isaac repeats softly.

"Exactly," Wilfred smirks, stroking his hair. "You would only be throwing this god-given talent away if you were to continue with all those grueling years to become a doctor. And for what? A thankless task, really. Look at how exhausted and hungry you were just now, right when you came in today. It's clearly not good for you or your health to continue like this."

The older tutor leans into his ear.

"Stay with us, Isaac. This is what you were meant to do. You want so badly to let go of all these responsibilities, don't you? You're tired of thinking and worrying about exams and grades and classes. You want to surrender yourself to us, and let us take care of everything for you. You want your tutors to make you feel so much better..."

"I want… but… m-my parents……nnh.." the boy hesitates, shaking his head.

"Shh, shh…. It's alright, Isaac," Wilfred murmurs. "It’s alright. I won't force you to decide right now. You won't even have to decide the next time we see you. But you will think about it, won’t you?”

The older tutor helps Isaac back into his clothes. Just like in the session previous, he slips the clothing back on the sleeping boy without first cleaning him up—preferring to see his own cum slowly trickle down the student's thighs right before he puts his pants back on him.

He chuckles to himself, admiring his handiwork.

“Of course you will. You’ll be thinking about it when you wonder why you’re so physically and mentally exhausted all the time, no matter how much sleep you may get at night. You’ll be thinking about it when you find yourself craving for more in between your classes.

“And when your body grows so restless and needy for it, to the point where you can no longer even focus on anything anymore, you’ll know the decision you’ll make then. And you’ll come home to us.”

#Anthracene AO3 fic

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sandalaris · 4 years

Note

SethKate for the 10 sentence meme?

one sentence per genre for a pairing

How can anyone do any of these with just one sentence?! At least I tried.... there’s a lot of run on sentences in this, btw, although after a few I just decided the one sentence rule could shove it and went with keeping each one short, and at least one I said screw it and made it pretty long for a one-sentence story.

1. Angst

A shadow self, that’s what Amaru called them, the ones she twisted and turned and brought forth from the other side, and logically Kate knows he had no choice, knows he did what he had to do to save Richie and her and the world, but logic has no hold in the face of screaming gaping wound in her chest that pulses and weeps grief and guilt when she looks at Seth’s face. It’s a cruel and ugly twist of fate, to still love the man who killed her brother.

A/N: A mild AU I will never write (but have thought about what would happen before) in which Amaru did her shadow-self thing on Scott and Seth is forced to kill him.

2. AU

There’s nothing wrong with the school itself, she decides, even if she does find some of its rules and traditions a bit odd. She wouldn’t even need to be here except Our Lady of Sorrow holds the only duel credit program with both an opening in Statistics and Intro to Psych that was willing to let Kate in given her... unusual circumstances (being homeschooled, a devout Baptist, and technically enrolled at a local public high school - a PE credit apparently requires a bit more than her daddy and the internet can provide - had her sure that even applying was a lost cause). She only has to spend half a day on campus and only one of her classes is even near the annex building so she hardly sees Seth (she refuses to call him “Mr. Gecko” on principle. She’s only somewhat a student here, and he is certainly not her teacher, even if he is a teacher.. she thinks).

She’s counting the weeks until the semester ends.

A/N: I would love to read this as a full fic... just not sure I want to write it, lol.

3. Crack

No. Nuh-uh. No way. Seth is not some pansy assed prince charming setting out on a quest or one of those glory seeking wannabe knights who graduate from the Fairytale Training Academy, and he’s certainly never wanted to be anyone’s goddamn hero, so little miss damsel in distress, who’s probably some secret lost princess because Seth’s read this tale before and he hated it the first time around, can save her sob story for some other guy because he is absolutely not-

“Please.”

...fuck.

A/N: A reluctant Seth who is entirely too aware of fairy tale tropes and trying everything he can not to be in a one? Way more amusing than it should be to me.

4. Future fic

Seth eyes the group of sparkly wrapped boxes sitting on the counter with distrust, part of him already counting their numbers and trying to figure out how many have his name on them. After last year, when Seth managed to sneak a peek at every single last gift and “ruined the surprise,” Kate had managed to hide every Christmas present so well he’d begun to wonder if she’d decided he didn’t get any this year.

He reaches for a small, shiny box, the tag just peeking out from the curly bow and revealing a “th” in a familiar loopy penmanship, when Kate suddenly hisses behind him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

A/N: “Future” makes me think domestic fic (at least in FDtD), and that’s not an area I’m real familiar with, so *waves hand* this is what you get. :P

5. First Time

Her hands are shaking. Not visibly, but enough to make her fingers feel weak and the gun in her grip far too dangerous.

“You ready?”

She doesn’t know if she’s imagining the doubt in Seth’s voice, regret bleeding through at agreeing for her to play a bigger role, but she nods firmly anyways, tightening her grip and stepping forward.

A/N: Kate’s first heist... although I doubt Seth let her use a gun the first time. Too dangerous in the hands of an amateur. And I’m pretty sure Seth kept Kate’s role as danger-free and background as he could, because she was still fighting so hard to be considered an equal partner at the beginning of S2.

6. Fluff

She’s just managed to settle into the perfect spot when the bed shifts slightly behind her and a familiar hand fumbles sleepily at her arm and over her stomach before finding the hollow dip of her waist. Kate lets out a half-hearted protest, bits of warmth escaping at the blanket slips down and the sheet bunching beneath her as Seth wastes no time tugging her across the mattress, the sound dying into a soft laugh as he tucks her half under him and grumbles wordlessly against her temple without even opening his eyes. She shifts, tugging the corner of the pillow down a bit so its not digging into her neck before letting out a happy sigh. Perfect.

7. Humor (I had a hard time with this one, so I just wrote something random)

Kate makes a noise of frustration, pushing herself from her chair and snapping, “I’m gonna die a virgin. Again!”

“You know,” Richie says with far too much brotherly glee, “if you’re looking for someone to-”

“Shut up, Richard!”

8. Hurt/Comfort (another one where I didn’t exactly want to go full hurt/comfort, so instead I went Hurt? As in injury? Yeah, lets go with that.)

“Ohgodohgodohgod.” She can’t seem to stop the litany of words, repeated phrase cycling through her mind as she presses harder. There’s blood, so much blood, seeping red and too thick through her fingers that she can’t even feel the pain.

She should feel it, she thinks, she did before. Or maybe its better that she can’t, she doesn’t want a repeat of the well.

She takes another step, seeing the door just a few steps away. There are people beyond it, Seth and Richie’s people (Seth’s going to be so pissed, she thinks with a kind of worrying detachment.) It’s a simple goal: get to the door. Everything will be alright if she can just get to the door.

A/N: Kate is totally OK in this. It’s bad, but not as bad as she thinks, and while she doesn’t make it to the door before collapsing, someone comes through really quickly and sees her.

9. Smut Hand holding?

The leather is soft against his skin, well worn from years of near continuous use and Kate’s dedicated care. He remembers when she first got them, the fancy looking box with its folded tissue paper holding them inside like they were a gift. He had hated them, hated the way they covered Kate’s small, deadly hands, the way Dad expected for her to be grateful, how necessary they were.

He slides his hand up, pad of his thumb brushing over the expensive leather covering her palm before it presses against the soft, vulnerable skin of her inner wrist, and he swears for a moment her can feel the nervous flutter of her pulse before he curls his fingers to lock around her wrist.

She looks at him, an amused quirk of to the edge of her lips as he raises her hand between them and he meets her gaze, not bothering to measure the redness of her eyes as he reaches his free hand up to pinch the fabric just above her pinkie.

“What’re yo-” She cuts off with a choked gasp when he tugs, but doesn’t jerk back. He’s inexplicably proud of her for it.

Her eyes are wide and a little panicked, bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she watches him tug at the top of each finger, loosening the well-fitting glove until it sits loose on her small hand.

He takes in a shaky breath, feeling unaccountably nervous as he grips the empty tip of the glove’s middle finger, like he’s removing far more than just a simple bit of leather. But then again, maybe he is. After all, Kate’s almost never lets any of them see her without her gloves, not willingly.

He pauses at the thought, gaze flicking away from his task to look at Kate. He regrets it almost immediately. He wasn’t going to stop once he started, wasn’t going to give Kate cause to think he held any of the fear she’s convinced he must feel. But maybe she sees the question in his eyes, or feel it in the sure way he holds her wrist because she nods, small and hesitant but there. He pulls the glove the rest of the way off and lets it fall to the floor.

He lets out a breath just as Kate seems to suck one in, her gaze locked on her bare fingers and Seth loosens his grip, fingers already turning so he can run the flat of his palm up her wrist, forearm pressing against forearm as his hand aligns with hers.

He’s grinning, sudden and full of too much smug satisfaction if Kate’s affectionate eye roll is anything to go by, but Seth doesn’t care, already lacing their fingers together so he can hold her hand proper for once.

A/N: This is part of a tUA inspired AU that has no plot and therefore will never be written. But I know exactly what Kate and Seth’s abilities are, which is part of why this is such a thing for Kate here and why Seth feels her fears are unfounded.

10. UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension)

She doesn’t blink, barely seems to be breathing, holding herself so carefully behind her desk, straight backed and fingers laced together as she stares stubbornly up at him. He smiles, slow and measured and knowing, letting his gaze sweep over the cardigan she’s begun buttoning all the way up since he joined her little class, before leaning close, meeting her gaze and dropping his voice low, like a secret between them.

“And what do I get if I get it right?”

A/N: Seth goes back to school to get his GED, Ms. Fuller is not what he was expecting. I actually had a whole scene playing through my head for this, because I like build up, and it was really hard to pick just a small part to put here.

None of these are edited, despite how long it took to post, meaning I have mixed feelings on them, lol. I think I like more of them than I expected to, so yay!

#sethkate #asked and answered #my writing #these were both really hard and really fun #and with mixed sucess

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dreamlover31 · 3 years

Text

Love Will Find a Way: Chapter 5

It was supposed to be a routine operation; Olivia would bring the young woman looking to leave her abusive boyfriend to the shelter, her and Alexa would go over the rules and regulations and she would get herself settled in. However, this day was going to be anything but routine, it all began in the early morning hours; after spending the night at Rafael’s place, Alexa was less than willing to crawl out of bed and start the day. All she wanted was to spend a few more minutes wrapped around in his big, strong arms and snuggle up against his gorgeous chest hair, but as they say duty calls, so after slowly getting out of bed and taking a quick shower, Alexa received a page from Olivia saying that she had just brought a woman to the shelter. As she gave the description of her, Alexa assessed that this was the same woman she read of in the file that was received a couple of weeks ago; the one who had the corrections officer boyfriend who terrorized her for years.

After sending her a confirmation that she was on her way, Alexa changed into the clothes that she brought over in an overnight bag and walked into the kitchen, where Rafael was brewing some coffee. As he brought over two mugs, Alexa quickly took a sip of hers and explained to him that Liv needed her down at the shelter asap.

“Sorry to have to run out on you like this”

“It’s ok I understand, are we still on for tonight?”

“Oh you mean the ballet, yeah of course”

“Alright, I’ll see you tonight,” Rafael leaned in and planted a small kiss on Alexa’s lips before she headed out the door.

Upon arriving at the shelter, Alexa was met by Olivia and the young blonde haired woman who was practically shaking like a leaf and could barely look her in the eye, at that moment, Alexa’s mind flashed back to the days when she saw that same timid expression on her mother’s face whenever they were out in public; especially when it was after one of the violent beatings initiated by her father. Alexa carefully approached the woman in a composed and calming manner, Alexa held out her hand as she made the introductions, the woman returned the handshake as she introduced herself as Nicole.

“Yeah, I know who you are, I read your file”

“Oh…right sorry”

“Hey you have nothing to be sorry about, you’re doing a brave thing here”

As the three of them went inside, Nicole was introduced to the security guard named Edwin who Alexa assured was more than capable of protecting everyone in the building, as they made their way down the hall, Alexa pointed out to one of the spacious rooms that she’d be staying in as well as the dining area further down. Olivia then explained to her some of the guidelines that she’d have to go buy until it was safe for her to be on her own, then she reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like a garage door opener when in fact, it was a silent alarm. Olivia told Nicole that if she was ever in trouble, to press the red button and the alert would be sent to her phone and that she and another one of her detectives would rush to her aid, Nicole nodded as Olivia handed it to her.

“Well now that we’ve gotten the formalities out of the way, why don’t I show you to your room that way you can get settled in. Afterwards, we can join the others in the mess hall for a quick bite to eat and go from there”

“That sounds great, what do you think Nicole?”

“Yeah sure that sounds fine”

Once Nicole unpacked her things, the trio made their way towards the dining room; the chef prepared an excellent meal of Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes and gravy along with a side of peas. As they sat down, Alexa saw Nicole’s demeanor change a little, it was like for the first time in her life, she felt safe. During the course of their meal, all three of them made small talk, Alexa asked Nicole about her family and what her plans were for the future; she spoke of how her parents divorced when she was young and how her mother had a revolving door of boyfriends, one of which would sneak into her room at night while her mother was passed out on the couch.

As she listened to her story, Alexa felt like she could relate to certain aspects of it, while she was never sexually abused, she knew what it was like to live in fear; to wake up every day wishing that the pain would stop or how she thought to herself of how she would rather die than go on living. After dinner, Alexa and Olivia were cleaning up the plates when suddenly, a strange noise stopped the two of them dead in their tracks. Slowly, they crept out into the hallway and looked around to ascertain where it was coming from.

Bang

There it was again, Alexa looked over at Olivia and asked:

“What is that?”

“Stay here, I’ll check it out”

Alexa watched as Olivia walked down the hallway with her gun drawn, but deep down she knew something wasn’t right, she could feel a knot building up at the pit of her stomach. Once Olivia disappeared from her sight, it was then that Alexa realized that there were people still inside, she knew that part of her obligation was to ensure their safety so against Olivia’s wishes, she decided to go on her own and find the others. As she made it to her office, Alexa was startled when she saw at the corner of her eye, her office assistant Gladys. The woman who was usually so bubbly and cheery was now standing in front of Alexa, looking at her as if she had seen the devil himself, she reached out to her with both hands to try and calm her down.

“Gladys, what the hell’s going on”

“Edwin’s dead,” she exclaimed.

“What…what are you talking about?”

“I was on my way out when I saw this man in a baseball cap, Edwin asked him what he was doing here and before he could walk him out…this guy pulls out a gun and shoots him. I got out of there as fast as I could.”

“What about the others, where are they?”

“Don’t worry, I got them all out through the back door”

“Oh thank god…come on we have to find Olivia”

As they searched every corridor, Alexa and Gladys were careful to check the corners and to stay low and quiet so as not to alert the gunman there were more people in the building. As they slowly made their trek down the hall where it lead to the living room area, there were voices coming from one of the rooms next to it, as Alexa peeked through the crack in the door, she saw Olivia standing in front of a tall white man with the baseball cap that Gladys earlier described as he pointed a gun at her face.

“Alright Kevin, let’s just take a deep breath and talk about this”

“Shut up bitch…you don’t think I know what you’re trying to do, that psych cop crap’s not going to work on me”

So many emotions were going through Alexa’s head, there was a part of her that wanted to help her oldest and dearest friend while the rational part knew that it was too big of a risk, as her mind scrambled to come up with a solution, the man spoke again with a harsh tone.

“Where’s that little cunt Nicole, I want to see her right now”

“She’s not here Kevin”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, you think I didn’t know she was leaving me…I got friends man and they told me the score, matter fact…where’s that other whore?”

“Kevin, she doesn’t need to be involved in this”

“Oh I think she does, seeing is how the two of you tagged teamed Nicole into leaving me…I warned that stupid bitch”

As Alexa and Gladys continued to stand behind the doorway, she felt helpless, the same kind of helplessness she felt when her mother was being beaten; Alexa swore to herself that she would never be put in that position again. She knew that the situation would escalate if she didn’t do something, so she turned to Gladys and told her in a hushed tone to get out of the building, the bewildered young woman looked at Alexa and said:

“What…no I’m not leaving you here with that maniac”

“I’ll be fine, trust me, when you get out call SVU and tell them what’s going on…everything’s going to be alright I promise”

With that, Gladys quietly made her way down the hall that had the quickest access to the front door, Alexa quickly turned back to see what was happening, right away she could tell that the man pointing the gun was losing his patience with Olivia’s stalling tactics. A sense of relief washed over Alexa as she heard the sounds of police sirens in the distance, she looked on as the man walked towards the window and yelled:

“What the fuck, who called the cops? Someone else is in this building…” he stalked back towards Olivia and pointed his gun at her temple.

“Tell me who else is in this building or I will blow your brains out…I’m going to count to three…one…two…” his voice trailed off as he cocked the hammer of the gun back.

Before he could get to three, Alexa bolted inside the room and said:

“It was me, I called them”

“Well you must be the other do gooder that stuck your nose where it didn’t belong”

“So your Nicole’s boyfriend…listen it’s not too late, we can all walk out of here and…her voice trailed off as she slowly walked towards him with her hands up in the air, but before she could finish her sentence, Kevin pistol whipped Alexa across the face so hard that she fell to the floor.

“I already told your friend here, that psychobabble stuff’s not going to work on me”

After getting over the initial shock, Alexa slowly stood up and walked over to Olivia, as he pointed the gun at both of them; the sounds of a vibrating object could be heard, but there was no way of knowing where it was coming from. It wasn’t until Alexa saw Kevin reach into his pocket and pulled out what she assumed to be Olivia’s phone, he looked at the screen and swiped right to ignore the call, a few seconds go by before it vibrates again as he seethed with rage.

“Kevin…that’s probably the hostage negotiator trying to get a hold of you, if you don’t answer it then they’re going to come in here guns blazing”

“If I go down, I’m bringing you bitches with me”

In that moment, Alexa decided to go at the situation in a different angle.

“Kevin…you were right, Olivia and I had no business butting into yours and Nicole’s relationship. In fact, we would like to apologize for all the trouble we caused you and if you let us go now, it’ll show Nicole that you’re not such a bad guy after all”

As much as it sickened her to say that, it seemed like the words were starting to get through to him, after the phone vibrated for like the sixth time he decided to answer it. Meanwhile, in front of the building, there were a line of squad cars up and down the block with an ambulance waiting on standby in case of any casualties and a full SWAT team ready to make entry. Members of the SVU team were there as well securing the perimeter, Fin and Rollins were inside the mobile unit with Tucker, while Carisi and Dodds were outside trying to get a confirmation that Alexa and Olivia were still alive. Tucker still had the phone to his ear as he conversed with Fin and Rollins.

“Alright what do we know about this guy?”

“Well his name is Kevin Armitage, he’s a corrections officer who works out of Rikers, his girlfriend filed a domestic violence complaint and was referred by Liv to stay at the shelter”

“Somehow he got the info that she was leaving him and decided it was payback time”

“And now he’s got two hostages and feels like he’s got nothing to lose”

After a few more rings, Tucker heard a voice on the other end.

“Hello”

“Hello is this Kevin? My name is Lieutenant Tucker, first of all I need to know if Lieutenant Benson and Alexa Duvall are alright”

“Hold on let me put you on speaker”

As he pressed the speaker button on the phone, he held it out palm flat as Olivia relayed to Tucker that they were alright and that Kevin was taking good care of them. Once confirmation was received, Tucker then tried to put Kevin’s mind at ease by saying that he wouldn’t be prosecuted if he let them go, but then he spoke up:

“What do you think I am stupid? There’s no way in hell I’m walking out of here a free man”

“No it’s true…my boyfriend’s a DA, he’ll make it happen,” Alexa interjected.

After a brief moment of silence, Kevin went on to say that he wanted something in writing that there would be no charges filed against him, and that he wanted Alexa’s boyfriend to sign off on it.

“Alright Kevin, one of my colleagues is going to contact the DA right now and get that sorted out for you…is there anything else you want?”

“I want to talk to Nicole”

“Ok Kevin we can do that”

“You better not be jerking me around, cause if you are I’ll blow these bitches away”

“I give you my word Kevin, nobody is jerking you around”

After he hung up, the only thing going through Alexa’s mind, other than survival, was seeing the look on Rafael’s face when he got the call that her and Olivia had been taken hostage. She dreaded the thought of him worrying about whether or not he was going to see her again, the pain and the anguish he would feel and the feeling of powerlessness of not being able to come to her rescue. Outside, Carisi walked the perimeter, then at the corner of his eye, he saw a black SUV pull up with Dodds and Barba getting out of it, Barba ran up to him and said:

“What’s going on, are they alright?”

“They’re fine counselor, the guy asked for a DA to come down and put it in writing that he wouldn’t be charged”

“There is no way in hell that’s going to happen”

“I know…but he doesn’t know that”

The three of them turned to see Fin, Rollins and Tucker exiting the mobile unit, as the group stood in front of the building; Barba was briefed on the situation.

“Counselor”

“Tucker, so have you made contact yet?”

“Just about to”

As Olivia and Alexa stood for what felt like an eternity, her phone vibrated again, upon answering it, Tucker informed Kevin that the DA was here with a binding contract that stated that he wouldn’t be brought up on federal charges of murder and kidnapping.

“Alright, what about Nicole?”

“We’re tracking her down Kevin”

“No don’t give me that, I want to see her right now”

“I understand that Kevin but it’s going to take a little time”

“You’ve got 5 minutes and if she’s not here by then that DA’s going to be buying roses for his sweetheart…to put on her grave”

A cold chill ran down Rafael’s spine as he heard those words, the thought of him not being able to hold Alexa or to touch her sweet face again filled his heart with ache. He tried telling himself that Tucker was going to get them out of this situation, he had done it before when Liv was taken by that cokehead and his girlfriend at that townhouse a few months back. As the clock was slowly ticking down to Kevin’s 5-minute deadline, things were starting to get tense in the small room, Kevin was pacing back and forth and looking out the window for Nicole but to no avail. The more agitated he got, the more likely he was going to do something drastic and then once again, Tucker phoned in.

“What”

“Kevin, we are still trying to find Nicole but in the meantime how about you show us some good faith and release one of the hostages so that once we do find her, she’ll be more at ease speaking with you”

“Good faith…I’ll show you some good faith”

As soon as he hung up the phone, Kevin throws it to the ground and stomped on it until it was in pieces, Alexa and Olivia looked at each other and knew that this was it. Then he took a step forward and pointed the gun at both of you with the safety still off.

“So…which one of you cunts gets to die first?”

Not willing to answer him, he decided to use the gun as a prop for a sick game of eeney- meeney-meiney-mo, as he switched the gun back and forth; the same bravery that took over Alexa when she decided to stay behind was starting to build up again. As Kevin reached the end of the rhyme, the gun was going towards Olivia until she decided to grab it by the barrel and with all of her strength pushed him back up against the wall, as the two of them struggled for control of the gun; Olivia broke the window and called out to the SWAT team below to enter the building.

Bang

At first Alexa didn’t hear the gun go off, but then she felt warm liquid pool over her shirt, as she slowly backed away, she pressed her hand on her stomach and saw that it was covered in what she realized was blood; her blood. Suddenly, as if everything was in slow motion, Alexa collapsed on the floor, vision was going in and out and voices started to fade.

“Oh God, Alexa”

Was that Liv?

Then there were the deafening sounds of two more gunshots.

“Suspect is down; I repeat suspect is down”

Who was that…what’s happening?

“We need a gurney in here now!”

Fin…is that you?

As she laid there, slowly bleeding out, she could faintly hear the sounds of footsteps coming towards her; naturally she assumed that it was the paramedics, but as she struggled to look up, she saw the face of the last person she’d ever wanted to see sprawled out on the floor in a pool of her own blood. As Rafael leaned down and used his large hands to cup both sides of her cheeks, Alexa smiled weakly as he looked at her; his eyes starting to well up as he kept telling her to stay with him. Those would be the last words she’d ever hear as darkness took over.

Tagging: @madpanda75 @madamsnape921 @karens-imagined-world @itsjustmyfantasyroom @youreverycolor @misssirenlove @beccabarba @laceybellerain @southern-magnolia @thatesqcrush @glimmerglittergirl @tropes-and-tales

#rafael barba x reader #love will find a way #raul esparza

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