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ggukcangetit · 3 years

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Name of the Game: ksj fic (M)

title: Name of the Game

pairing: seokjin x reader

genre/au: Anastasia AU, fluff, mystery, a bit of angst, smut, comedy

rating: 18+

word count: 14.2k

warnings: lost identity, slightly graphic description of a car accident including mentions of blood and dead bodies, minor character deaths mentioned, mentions of nightmares, mentions of past trauma, y/n gets lost multiple times, sexual content including oral (f and m receiving), kissing, grinding, fingering, breast play, nudity, unprotected sex (PLEASE USE PROTECTION).

summary: The Hotel -Strange, The Manager - Far Too Charming, The Situation - Dire, The One in Trouble - You.

a/n: here’s my adaptation of the 1997 animated Anastasia film! the idea of the hotel was inspired by the Spanish tv series - Grand Hotel! i didn’t manage to finish this by the deadline. but it is finally over. i’m not very happy with how this story turned out but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless. this was part of the Wish Upon A Star collab featuring some incredible writers and their brilliant adaptations/interpretations of different stories from our childhood.

The address seemed correct. You had asked three people on the way over, and they had all pointed you in the same direction, accompanied by a knowing look. And in a way, they were completely correct. Concordia was a Gothic style castle, standing tall in the midst of acres and acres of lush green fields - a foreboding structure lost in time, separated from the rest of the world by sheer distance. In fact, the nearest payphone and gas station had been almost 100 miles away - which you had used to phone the Mins.

“I think I’m almost there,” you spoke into the phone, surveying your surroundings doubtfully. “I asked a bunch of people and they all told me it’s just a few minutes away.”

They had lied. It took you at least 3 more hours to bike there.

“You sure you aren’t lost, kiddo?” You could almost see the teasing grin on Yoongi’s face.

“Oh, would you look at that? My time’s almost up” - you rolled your eyes at Yoongi’s giggles filtered through the receiver - “I’ll give you a call once I find accomodation, Yoongi! Take care, and don’t swipe any more tangerines from the shop!”

“Look out for yourself, kiddo.”

You had lived with the Mins for the better part of your 21 years of existence. They had found you almost 12 years ago, sitting under a large tree, bawling your eyes out. You had no memory of how you had gotten there, or who you were - just your name and a very battered piece of sheet music in your pocket. It was solely due to the kindness of a young couple who ran a modest cafe that you were even alive at this point. Their only son, Yoongi, preferred to lord his 4-5 year age difference by calling you ‘kiddo’. You would rather die before admitting it, but you really adored the nickname.

Living life without an identity, without any roots, without a past - it was inconvenient at best, and unsettling at worst. You were eternally grateful to the Mins for everything they had done for you, but the first indication of financial distress arising from difficulties at the cafe had prompted you to pack your bags and leave in search of a job.

Concordia was a name everyone knew. It was one of the oldest hotels in the country, passed down through 4 generations, known for its grandeur, luxury, and exquisite service. But most importantly, the food at Concordia was absolutely legendary. People saved up money throughout the year, so that they could travel to the hotel and try the food just once. And as a person who didn’t have much to lose, you decided that this would be the perfect place to apply for a position in the kitchens.

What you hadn’t expected was to come across a gigantic looming structure, more suited for housing a reclusive vampire with horrible mood swings or a flamboyant literary figure prone to wild fantasies and nights of debauchery. Or both.

You had almost turned back after seeing the castle for the first time - it didn’t seem like a place you’d want to spend more than a few seconds in. But something inside you kept nudging you forward.

There were two men standing at the main doors, looking equally formidable and archaic as the building they were guarding. After a few terrible attempts at convincing them to let you in, you gave up on the idea.

You looked around carefully. Surely there was another way of getting in. Once you were inside, you could convince whoever was in charge to give you a chance. You just needed one chance to prove yourself. Just one.

Just then, a couple of people walked out using some kind of side entrance - a magnificently dressed woman and a young man with a certain swagger in his steps.

You crept over towards them, hoping that something from their conversation would help you out.

“I don’t understand why that silly girl creates such a fuss about bringing food to my room!” The woman rolled her eyes and brought a cigarette to her lips.

The young man took a lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette with a practiced sort of ease. “I’ll have a word with her, don’t worry.”

You strained your ears, trying to figure out just what they were talking about. Something to do with the hotel?

“But Mr. Kim,” she continued, taking a step closer to the young man. “Why can’t you bring my food up to my room?” The tone of her voice had most definitely changed, dropping a few octaves as she tilted her head to one side.

“Now, now, Mrs. Trent,” he replied, with a hint of a chuckle. “You know that’s against hotel policy.”

With that, he took a definite step back.

“Shame,” she continued, sweeping her eyes over him. “Make sure Kate doesn’t make any more mistakes with my room service.”

“Will do, ma’am,” replied Mr. Kim. He bowed to her and showed her back inside using the side entrance.

This was your opportunity.

You followed behind them, making sure to maintain a decent amount of distance, and slipped in before the large door slowly creaked shut.

The inside was comparatively more inviting than the exterior. Lanterns at every few feet provided soft, warm lighting, and the decor looked a lot more modern and familiar than expected. The side entrance opened into a sort of lounge area, filled with comfortable sofas, small wooden tables, and a few dozen bookshelves. A record player -

“Can I help you?”

You hurriedly stepped back from the person you had bumped into - the man from earlier, Mr. Kim.

“Uh…” You floundered for words, caught off-guard by how handsome he was. Chocolate brown eyes, devastatingly plump lips, ridiculously broad shoulders, and strong eyebrows - one of which was quite beautifully arched as he sized you up.

“I-I got lost. I wandered away from the lobby. C-could you”- you straightened your posture, mustering up all of your confidence - “direct me back there? I need to complete my check-in.”

Mr. Kim stared at you for a few moments. He seemed to be considering your words. You weren’t dressed half as extravagantly as the woman from before - who was probably a good example of the hotel’s usual clientele - but you somehow resisted the urge to tug at your clothes self-consciously.

“Of course,” he flashed you a brilliant smile, gesturing towards another part of the hotel. “This way, ma’am.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, quickly turning it into a cough as he turned towards you inquiringly.

“Sorry, my throat is absolutely parched.”

He smiled again. “I’ll get one of the staff to bring out some water and refreshments for you.”

You nodded weakly and stood there, trying to look like you belonged.

As soon as Mr. Kim was out of sight, you headed in the direction he had gone. Hopefully it was towards the kitchens. If not… well, you didn’t want to think about that.

It was soon evident that you were lost. Whatever this corridor was, you had no idea where it led or whether Mr. Kim had headed that way at all. Perhaps you should have waited near the front desk and thought your plan through…

“Are you looking for something?”

You whirled around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. It belonged to a middle-aged woman, with a soft kind of beauty that had aged gracefully. You probably should have stuck to your story about being a guest who had gotten lost in the hotel. But something about her kind eyes encouraged you to tell her the truth.

“You want a job in the kitchens?” she asked, sounding a little skeptical. “My dear, there’s a way to apply for such positions. Why don’t you go back home and look at some proper avenues to apply for hotel internships?”

“Please,” you tried to keep the desperation out of your voice. “Just give me a chance. If I’m not capable, I’ll leave. But please, don’t turn me away.”

She sighed. “What’s your name, child?”

“Y/n.”

“What?” Her eyes seemed to well up for a moment, but she gathered herself quickly. “Y/n… Umm, alright. We’ll give you a try. One week. And if things don’t work out, you have to leave without a fuss.”

You beamed at her. “Thank you! You won’t regret it -”

She shook her head with a resigned smile. “Call me Yuna.”

Your first impression of Concordia had been spot on. There was something definitely off about the place. At the end of your first day working there, you noticed that all the staff seemed to get along with each other but there was a certain tension whenever the owners of the hotel were mentioned. Nobody said anything, but an uneasiness hung in the air every time.

“So tomorrow,” Yuna turned towards you. She was the head chef and you had spent the entire day observing her as she directed everyone in the kitchen. “I’m going to ask you to help Kevin with the breakfasts. It’s not too tough - but in my experience, you can tell whether someone has potential by the way they cook eggs.”

You smiled. She had a subtle sense of humor, and everyone working with her absolutely adored her. She was the mother hen and head chef all rolled into one.

“And about your accommodations-”

An interruption arrived in the form of the last person you wanted to see.

“Do we have any strawberry pastries left?” Mr. Kim asked, sauntering into the kitchen like he owned the place.

You busied yourself with some dust that had miraculously lodged itself into your left eye at that very moment, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. But unfortunately, those piercing eyes had spotted you.

“Look who it is,” he drawled, walking over with slow, deliberate steps. All the amiable attentiveness in his eyes had been replaced with a calculating smugness. “Our lost check-in.”

“Ah, Seokjin,” Chef Yuna interrupted your staring match. “I see you’ve met our newest recruit - y/n. Y/n, this is Seokjin - my son.”

You gulped. “N-nice to meet you, Seokjin.”

“It’s Mr. Kim or Manager Kim to you, Lost Check-in,” he said, with a definite sneer. “Mum, forget about the pastry. I have a meeting with Madam Iris in a few minutes.”

With that, he walked off, leaving you a humiliated mess. Chef Yuna opened her mouth to say something but you were off without a second thought. Manager or not, how dare he speak to you like that!

“Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim! KIM SEOKJIN!” you all but screamed, finally catching his attention. Although, if he hadn’t been ignoring you so obviously, he would’ve turned around sooner.

“What is it, Lost Check-in? I have more important things to do,” he asked, huffing much louder than necessary.

“Why did you speak to me like that?” You glared at him, trying to keep your temper in check. “I know I lied to you before but that’s no way to talk to another human being.”

He stared at you for a few moments, and once again you got the distinct impression that he could see right through you. It took all of your determination to not break eye contact.

“Because,” he whispered, leaning in closer. “You aren’t a guest here. So I don’t need to be nice to you. Do you understand, Lost Check-in?”

You stood rooted to the spot, goosebumps breaking out all over your body.

“S-stop calling me that!” you yelled, long after he had walked off.

Concordia belonged to the Chavalenet family. Madam Eva Chavalenet, the matriarch of the family, was silent, formidable, and barely ever seen by any of the guests or staff at the hotel; Madam Iris Farrow, Eva’s daughter, was intelligent, graceful, and extremely beautiful. She ran the hotel along with her husband, Anthony Farrow, who was the family’s solicitor. Iris and Anthony had an eight year old son - Ryan - who was an absolute terror, and someone Seokjin did not like having around.

Unfortunately, management meetings meant that he would be seated at the antique dining table in the Chavalenet’s residential quarters, trying his best to avoid whatever it was that the young heir would try and lob at him, while the boy’s mother rattled off a long list of things for him to take care of. Seokjin couldn’t understand why none of the members of the family attempted to, or even wanted to, keep the child under control.

“Seokjin,” Madam Iris began the meeting, pulling out her expensive looking reading glasses out of her equally expensive looking purse. “The last few months have not been good for the hotel. We will need to have some layoffs.”

Seokjin kept his expression neutral. This wasn’t the first time staff had been laid off over the past year. Whoever was managing the hotel’s accounts was either doing a terrible job, or the expenses had truly outrun the income they generated from the guests. The former was the more likely possibility because people paid a pretty penny to come and stay at Concordia, and as far as he could remember, business had been booming since he had been promoted to manager two years ago.

“We’ve reviewed the staff’s evaluation forms and come to the decision that housekeeping and kitchen staff need to be reduced by 8 overall. We’ll leave it up to you to make the final decisions.” She looked up from the stack of papers in front of her and gave him a small smile. “It’s going to be difficult, so make sure to consult Chef Yuna and get her opinion on the matter as well.”

Management meetings always proceeded like this. Madam Iris gave him orders, Anthony Farrow agreed to every word she said, and Madam Eva remained unyielding in her silence. Previously, the Assistant Manager would also join these meetings - but ever since the position had been terminated, it was always the four of them. And that annoying brat, of course.

“Before I forget,” Anthony said, turning his gaze towards Seokjin. “Make sure the sheets in our room are washed with the new ultra fine formula detergent.”

Seokjin’s jaw ticked in irritation. Anthony Farrow had married above his station, doing everything that his wife and mother-in-law asked him to do. It was only while interacting with the hotel staff that Anthony found his voice and used it with incredible high-handedness.

“Darling, don’t bother Seokjin like that.” Madam Iris understood the strategy of appeasement very well. “I will speak to Helen when she comes up to our room tomorrow morning.”

Usually, this was when the meeting would end and everyone would head back to their rooms.

Today, however, there was an unusual interruption in the form of-

“I’m so sorry! I got lost on the way to the kitchens!”

Seokjin stared in astonishment as you hastily tried to explain why you had quite literally stumbled into the management meeting. It wasn’t that you were doing a bad job of it, per se… It was just a very tough crowd.

“How long have you been working here, girl?” snapped Anthony.

“I’m new,” you answered, shortly.

Before Anthony could express his outrage at the tone of your response, Madam Iris stepped forward and surveyed you carefully. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n.”

Something flickered in her gaze but she masked it quickly. “Well, y/n, this is very disappointing indeed. Usually our staff know how to conduct themselves in front of the guests and the owners. I’m afraid-”

“Let her be.”

Everyone’s attention snapped to Madam Eva who had spoken for the first time that night. In fact, Seokjin couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken voluntarily in the first place.

“Mother?” Madam Iris looked confused.

“The meeting is over. No need for unnecessary fuss.” Her tone was final and no one dared say anything after that.

Seokjin wasn’t sure if you understood the significance of the moment. But before any further damage could be done, you had excused yourself with an apology and left the room.

You woke up early the next morning, partly because of another nightmare and partly because you were anxious to get to work on time. Chef Yuna may have taken on a complete stranger the day before, but you were pretty sure her kindness wouldn’t extend any further if you messed up.

On your way to the kitchens, you found yourself lost once again. It was the hotel’s fault, really. It was far too large and had one too many winding corridors. How did the guests find their way around without getting hopelessly lost? Was there some sort of map that was given out to them at the time of check-in?

A sudden movement from a few feet away caught your eye. It was a shadow - which meant that there was someone moving about in the alcove.

Curiosity got the better of you and your feet headed towards the person, wondering who it-

“Mr. Kim?!”

There was no mistaking those broad shoulders. Kim Seokjin stumbled slightly, startled by your presence.

“I-I can explai-” he stopped abruptly when he realised it was you. “Oh, it’s just you.”

You glared at him, offended by his tone. “What were you doing just now?”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” he shrugged, attempting to leave without divulging any more information.

“So you just skulk around dark alcoves indulging in shady behavior for no particular reason?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was so easy for him to regain control of the situation with that penetrating gaze and intimidating body language. “But more importantly, what are you doing in this part of the hotel?”

“I got lost again,” you muttered, looking away in embarrassment.

“And instead of being thankful that you bumped into someone who could help you find your way back, you’re accusing me of - what was it? Ah, that’s right, ‘indulging in shady behavior’,” he emphasized the last few words with air quotes.

“As if you would have helped me!” you retaliated. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you sent me off in the complete opposite direction and made sure I never found my way back again!”

“I wouldn’t have,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “But now that you’ve brought it up, I’m going to do precisely that.”

You gaped after him. What exactly did he have against you?!

“If you don’t take me back to the kitchens,” you said, making him slow down. “I’ll tell Madam Eva that you were lurking about in places you have no business being.”

It was a long shot. But something about the atmosphere the previous night had indicated that Madam Eva’s approval was hard to come by. And the entire room had been quite shocked when she had asked for you to be left alone.

Seokjin stopped and turned around slowly. Your threat seemed to have done the trick because he didn’t look quite as smug as he had a few moments ago. “Fast learner, aren’t you?”

You held your ground, determined not to be shaken by his intimidation tactics.

“Fine. Let’s go.” He began walking again, in a different direction this time.

You held back a grin and followed behind him.

“But if you ever” - he whirled around suddenly, taking you by surprise - “think of blackmailing me again, things will not end well for you. Understand, Lost Check-in?”

Overall, your second day working at Concordia had not been very eventful. Chef Yuna had been very pleased with how you had prepared the eggs and potatoes for breakfast. She was looking more inclined to keeping you on permanently. Besides that, not much had really happened. You found out more about your coworkers - Kevin, Michelle and Laila. All three of them had been working there for more than two years and seemed likeable enough at first glance.

Chef Yuna herself was something of a genius in the kitchen. While she didn’t cook often, her instructions were impeccable, and the one dish that she had cooked for dinner had been so incredible that five guests had sent back compliments to the chef. On top of that, her pleasant personality made her a hit with almost everyone.

You could see where Seokjin got his charms from. He had a way of drawing people towards him with a combination of beautifully arranged words, intuitive actions, and overall handsome aura.

Although, there was something slightly sinister about the way he operated. You realised that the incident with Mrs. Trent had not been a solitary one. Manager Kim regularly charmed gifts, favours, and cash out of the guests. You had observed him on more than a couple of occasions, just chatting with some guest, and before you knew it there was something small being passed into his hands. And it wasn’t just women who gave him things either.

“I hope you enjoyed the classical music session in the grand hall last night, Mr. Cowen,” said Seokjin, talking to the elderly gentleman seated near the balcony. “There’s another one scheduled for the end of next week, if you’re still staying here at that time.”

Mr. Cowen seemed utterly delighted to hear this, and not only extended his stay at the hotel but also pressed a rather thick envelope into his palm. No doubt, this was a regular occurrence because Seokjin was just incredibly smooth at handling everything that people handed to him.

You made it a point to avoid him as much as possible. And your little stunt that morning had also ensured that Seokjin left you well alone. All in all, it was an arrangement you were quite happy with.

“Y/n, don’t forget about tonight!”

You turned towards Laila, confusion lining your expression.

“Tonight?”

Laila rolled her eyes. “I told you about it yesterday, remember? We have a staff gathering every Friday evening! It’s basically a small party where we eat, drink, and dance to music on the manager’s boombox! It’s a lot of fun!”

You scrunched up your nose at the mention of Seokjin. But Laila looked so excited that you figured it was worth going to. Not that you had any other grand plans for the evening…

“Sure! Where does the party usually happen?”

“There’s a large unused room below the lobby,” explained Laila, eyes sparkling in excitement. “The Chavalenets don’t keep any hotel events there because it’s on a lower level, so we take advantage of that and have a good time there instead!”

“Sounds fun! I’ll be there!”

“Oh, and don’t forget to dress up!”

You stumbled on thin air. “Dress up?”

“Of course! It’s a party, y/n!”

“I don’t have any fancy clothes…” you mumbled, scratching the back of your neck.

That did not seem to faze Laila. “Well, it’s a good thing I have tons to spare!”

Later that night, you walked into the forgotten room below, dressed in a knee-length, midnight blue dress courtesy Laila. She had insisted on you wearing a pair of sparkly earrings as well, claiming that you absolutely could not proceed without it because it matched the little sparkles in your dress.

You were quite glad that you had followed her advice because everyone else clearly took these small Friday gatherings very seriously. In fact, this party turned out to be the most free-flowing gathering you had encountered since stepping into the hotel. Gone was the stiff, unnatural feeling that usually clung to the atmosphere. Replaced, instead, by normal conversations, comfortable interactions, and a general feeling of warmth and comfort.

“Y/n, you look beautiful!” Chef Yuna walked over to you with a big smile on her face.

“Thank you! Though, I’d say most of the credit goes to Laila for letting me borrow her dress.”

Chef Yuna laughed and pointed you in the direction of the snack table. Your eyes sparkled at the sight of every dish sitting there - shrimp appetizers with a subtle garlic dip, baskets full of freshly baked bread rolls, two large bowls of salad, slices of turkey, chicken, and salami, and a very delectable looking cake with fresh cream and strawberries.

“Y/n, where did you learn to cook? Do you have any formal training?” Penny, who worked at the front desk, had only spoken to you in passing before.

“Oh, the family I lived with owned a cafe,” you said, sipping the punch slowly. It was a little too tart for you. “I used to help out a lot here and there, and eventually got quite interested in cooking. But I don’t have any formal training.”

“That’s odd.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Penny shrugged her shoulders. “You don’t have any training or experience, but Chef Yuna still hired you. I can’t see why.”

“Well, I’m grateful that she gave me a chance,” you said, a small frown gracing your features. “Otherwise I’d be unemployed and homeless.”

Penny took this as an indication to leave. You wandered around the room, avoiding people, and mulling over her words. It was a bit odd that you had been hired. Although you had tried to keep yourself from overthinking the reason behind it, now that Penny - a relative outsider - had pointed it out, you felt a little uneasy. Surely, there wasn’t a sinister motive involved…

“Shoot! The tape’s jammed!”

Kevin fumbled with the boombox, trying to open it and take the cassette out. A mass of wriggly black tape shot out after a few moments, startling him enough to make him lose his balance and fall on top of Laila.

“My dress!” Laila yelled, as the punch spilled on her cream colored outfit.

“I’m so sorry!” Kevin hastened to get off her, and looked around helplessly.

“Let me take a look at it,” you came over, inspecting the tape and boombox. “I can fix this but I’m not sure about your dress, Laila.”

Kevin was relieved that the tape emergency was over, but one look at Laila’s furious expression wiped the relief off his face. Chef Yuna placated Laila with promises of a home remedy for the stain, while you busied yourself working on the boombox.

Yoongi’s obsession with music, and any and all technology related to music, meant that you had seen him fixing countless tangled cassette tapes before. The boombox hadn’t eaten any of the tape, thankfully, so you looked around for a pen or pencil with which to wind the tape back into place. There didn’t seem to be any in the room, but Michelle told you that there was plenty of stationary in the backroom of the kitchens.

While walking up the stairs, you noticed something moving about in the shadows. Was it Seokjin being shady again? Surely not…

“UGH!!!!!”

Alas. It was exactly that.

Well, not exactly. This time around, something had frightened him so much that he had let out an almighty shriek, jumped two feet into the air, and accidentally hurled a large bunch of keys in your direction.

You realized it was accidental because a few seconds later, Seokjin’s frantic voice could be heard searching for the keys.

“Where is it?” he muttered, crawling on all fours.

You contemplated giving him back the bunch without any fuss. But the image of his annoyingly handsome face staring at you condescendingly made you reconsider your course of action.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, walking up to him slowly.

Clearly, the man didn’t do well with sudden noises because he let out yet another loud yelp and fell on his backside.

“What’s wrong with you?!” he demanded. “Why would you sneak up on someone like that?”

“I was walking by when I saw you being shady again. And for the record,” you added, kneeling down beside him. “It wouldn’t feel like I was sneaking up on you if you weren’t sneaking around yourself.”

He frowned at you, and you realised that he was still in his formal work clothes. Although, you could tell that he had been rummaging about for quite a while because his shirt had come untucked and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. You tried not to let the pronounced veins on his arms distract you. The last thing you needed was for his obnoxiously large ego to become even more bloated by realizing that you found him extremely attractive.

But really, you didn’t need to worry about him realizing anything. For Kim Seokjin was busily trying to comprehend the fact that you were wearing a relatively short dress and kneeling down next to him. Never before had he contemplated how long and slender your legs were - but now that he had caught more than a glimpse, he couldn’t quite get those thoughts to leave him.

“What were you doing, anyway?” you asked, realizing that no one had spoken for a significant amount of time. “I’m beginning to think you’re either a sleepwalker or a very clumsy pervert.”

That seemed to snap him out of it. He got up quickly and dusted his pants, glaring at you the entire time.

“Neither. And you need to mind your own business, Lost Check-in.”

It was your turn to frown. “Stop calling me that.”

“Stop getting in my way,” he retorted.

“Tell me what you’re up to.”

“Or else what? You’ll get me into trouble?” he sneered.

You smirked and brought the bunch of keys out from behind your back. “Not at all. I’ll just keep the hotel’s main set of keys to myself and watch you get yourself into trouble.”

“Give that back!” He lunged at you, trying to get the keys back.

You should have thought this through more thoroughly. The initial advantage you had was now gone, and instead, the man before you was able to use his height and ample shoulders to his full advantage and trap you against the wall. You held the keys behind your back, determined to keep them away from him as long as possible.

Now that you were backed up to the wall, Seokjin had to press himself flush against you in order to get closer to the keys. His hands moved wildly, trying to feel for the keys and brushing against your thighs instead.

The sudden contact made you jolt upwards, knocking both your heads together and temporarily ceasing the fight.

Although, if anyone had seen the two of you, they definitely wouldn’t have thought you were in the middle of a fight - the angles and movements were much more like two people feeling each other up very heatedly.

“You’re such a pain,” Seokjin muttered, rubbing the spot on his forehead you had bumped into. The tips of his fingers were placed very gently against his forehead, but somehow the movement itself was extremely aggressive.

The image was so bizarre that you burst into giggles, doubling over and collapsing onto the floor. He stared at you for a few moments before the corners of his lips started twitching upwards as well. Sighing slowly, he sat down next to you.

“You’re very strange,” he said, though it lacked the usual crisp annoyance.

“You’re one to talk. Lurking in shadowy corners on more than one occasion,” you retorted, giving him a pointed look.

He sighed. “If you must know, I’m looking for the treasure.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “What?”

“Growing up at the hotel, I had always heard about rumors of a great treasure that was hidden somewhere here. Mind you, no one really knew anything concrete about this treasure. But the rumors were always fantastically exciting.” He paused, leaning his head back against the wall.

“If you’ve known about it for so many years, why are you searching for it now?” you asked.

“Because I don’t think the hotel will be running much longer.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “Why not?”

“Financial problems. I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s not been looking good for the past year.” A sad smile graced his features. “This hotel is my home, and it feels weird to think about a time where it won’t be a part of my life anymore. But I have to plan for the future, look ahead and make sure there’s a plan b in case the worst comes to.”

You remained silent. How were you supposed to respond to this?

“Anyway,” he continued. “Can I have the keys back?”

You looked at him, surveying his features closely. Once you moved beyond how handsome he was, you could see the determination in his eyes as well. This man was a survivor - just like you. That’s why you decided on your next course of action.

“I’ll help you.”

He blinked a few times. “Huh?”

“I’ll help you,” you repeated, handing the bunch of keys to him. “I’ll help you look for the treasure.”

It had been a week since you had started working at the hotel. Chef Yuna was satisfied with your work and hired you on a six-month contract.

“That way,” she said, while passing the contract to you. “You are free to leave the hotel if you find somewhere else you want to join. If not, we can just draw up another contract for you to continue.”

You smiled at her. She really was a very kind and compassionate person, who always looked out for the people around her. Unlike her son…

Although maybe Kim Seokjin wasn’t as bad as you had originally thought he was.

“Lost Check-in! Don’t you look lovely today!”

Correction: he was just as bad as you had thought.

“Can you not breathe down my neck, Manager?” you said, through gritted teeth. He was currently standing right behind you, staring at the soup from over your shoulder. The close proximity meant that you could feel his breath on your neck - which was extremely unsettling.

He backed away a little and stared at you with mischief dancing in his eyes. You frowned and crossed your arms across your chest, anticipating some kind of sabotage. And sure enough, he suddenly leaned forward, brushing his lips against your ear.

“Do you know where the gummy bears are?” He pulled away slightly, tilting his head and gazing at you inquiringly.

“The gummy bears…?” you repeated, slightly dazed by the sensation of his lips on your ear.

He grinned and flicked your forehead softly. “I’ll just ask Laila.”

Apparently, Seokjin had a slight gummy bear addiction. Chef Yuna had banned any sort of gummies from the kitchen for that exact reason. Somehow, Seokjin managed to overcome that obstacle as well - he would ask the grocer to smuggle in his favorite rose colored gummy bears, even going as far as saying some guests had requested it but wanted it kept a secret.

Laila, who you thought had a pretty obvious crush on Seokjin, was chosen as the gummy guardian in the kitchen, and occasionally, Kevin also helped hide the stash when things got too chaotic. It was only Michelle who would possibly disapprove, and therefore, was kept completely in the dark.

“What was the manager talking to you about earlier, y/n?” Michelle came over to you after tea had been prepared for the guests.

“Oh, uh-” you saw Laila desperately shaking her head from behind the counter. “Nothing in particular. He was just being tiresome.”

Michele frowned but nodded her head. “Okay. Just don’t fall for what he says, okay? Do your job properly and listen to Chef’s instructions. Everything will be fine that way.”

You nodded your head. What a curious thing to say… You wondered what had brought about this response from Michelle. Everyone in the hotel seemed to be very fairly fond of, if not incredibly smitten with, Seokjin. This was the first time you were witnessing such an explicitly negative response towards him. Even Madam Iris and her husband maintained a level of aloofness associated with the upper class.

“Why does Michelle hate you?” You were standing next to Seokjin as he tried to jimmy the lock on a random cupboard in some random room. You still hadn’t been able to figure out what his process for finding the treasure was - it just seemed like a bunch of inaccurate guesses. But at least he had finally relented to your persistent nagging and asked you to join him on his next escapade.

“Why do you think she hates me?” he asked, frowning as the lock wouldn’t budge. When you didn’t respond, he turned towards you and chuckled at the skeptical expression on your face. “Okay yes, she isn’t particularly fond of me.”

“I figured that much out myself, funnily enough. What I’m asking is why?”

He hesitated a little, as if trying to find the right way to explain the situation. “Michelle and I were - uhm - we had a brief dalliance a couple of years ago. In fact, it was right after she had started working here. Things didn’t end well…”

You pressed your lips together, desperately trying to keep a straight face. It didn’t help that the tips of Seokjin’s ears had started to turn red as he finished recounting his story.

“You played her, didn’t you?”

“No way! I would never-” he stopped, realising that you would not fall for his stories. “Yeah well, it’s not like I promised to marry her or something! We just kissed a few times and she helped get a couple of persistent guests off my back.”

“Yeah, you played her.”

He sighed, pushing past you on his way out of the room. “Whatever.”

It was incredibly amusing to see him annoyed and flustered like this. You made it a point to find out a few other things that would possibly elicit the same reaction from him. Maybe there was a particularly scandalous gummy bear story you could wedge out of Laila.

Just as you both rounded the corner, something small and fidgety dashed into you, successfully knocking you off your feet.

“Hey! What the hell?”

The bane of every hotel staff’s existence, the reason why a large crate of tomatoes had rolled down the main flight of stairs, the culprit behind the large pudding stain on the special ivory tablecloths, the spoilt young heir of the hotel - Ryan Farrow sat on the floor opposite you, seemingly delighted about the fact that he had managed to topple a new victim.

“Watch where you’re going, kid,” you said, trying to keep your temper in check. You had heard dozens of stories about the terrors unleashed upon your coworkers by this child, and even though this was your first direct interaction with him, you were already extremely annoyed.

“You watch where you’re going, old lady!” he yelled, scrambling to his feet and sticking his tongue out.

“I am not an old lady!” you yelled, chasing after him as he began running off in the direction he had come from. “Hey! Get back here! You should say sor-”

The sight of a very displeased Madam Iris stopped you in your tracks. Ryan grinned at you from behind his mother, made a series of unfortunate gestures, and ran off before you could chase after him.

“Y/n,” Madam Iris spoke with a calmness not reflected in her eyes. “I’m not sure I understand what you were doing just now.”

You stood still, knowing that she had more to say, more excessively long sentences to use, more haughty expressions to display.

“I can’t imagine that you’d be chasing my son around the hotel,” she continued, raising a thin eyebrow. “Yelling at him to apologize to you. What exactly would my son need to apologize to you for?”

“I wasn’t yelling at him,” you replied, stiffly. “He was too far away so I had to speak loudly. Also, he was running through the corridors very fast and could’ve hurt himself along with someone else. I was ju-”

“How dare you?” she frowned at you. “How dare you think you have any right to tell my son what he can and cannot do? This is basically his hotel. You work for him as much as you do for me and my mother.”

You bit your lip harshly to stop yourself from saying something that would land you in further trouble.

“If I ever see you treating my son like that ever again,” she looked you up and down with a disdainful expression. “I will have you sacked immediately. Understood?”

You didn’t trust yourself to say anything more. Madam Iris gave you one final look of disapproval and walked off.

“That was quite something.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I don’t feel like listening to your bullshit right now, Seokjin.”

After getting no response, you removed your hands from your face, only to be greeted by a large hand full of rose gummy bears. Seokjin stood in front of you, wiggling his eyebrows and nose, trying to indicate that you should take some of the gummy bears from his hand.

He looked cute.

“Is there something wrong with these gummy bears?” you asked, once you had recovered from his oddly endearing actions.

He frowned, a soft pout forming. “I’m appalled. Whatever differences we may have, Lost Check-in, I would never put my precious gummy bears in danger.”

You remained unconvinced, so he picked up a single gummy bear between his thumb and index finger, and popped it into his mouth. After a couple of chews, he thrust the gummy bears towards you, gently bobbing his head up and down to signal to you that it was safe to try some.

You rolled your eyes and picked up a couple of them. Seokjin was watching you intently, trying to gauge your reaction to his favorite treat.

Your first instinct was to say that you hated it - it would be so much fun to watch his disappointment. But his large brown eyes were filled with a clear emotion - anticipation - the kind you feel when introducing your best friend to something you love. At least, that’s what you’d imagine the feeling would be, because you never really had a best friend before.

“I like it.” It was a simple statement but somehow, it managed to earn a full-blown smile from him.

“Excellent! I knew you’d like it!”

Your face felt hot as he grabbed your hand and shoved the rest of the gummy bears into it.

“Oh, and I got this for you.” He reached into the inside of his suit jacket and pulled out a battered looking document. “It’s a map of the hotel - it’s quite old but I’ve scribbled down any new additions or structures that may have been added more recently.”

“Where’d you get this?” you asked, trying to avoid the more pressing question of why he was going out of his way to give this to you.

“Madam Eva gave it to me,” he replied, simply.

“Madam Eva? Why would she give you a map of the hotel? Didn’t you grow up here? Why would you need it anyway?” The questions poured out before you could really check yourself.

“Oh hush, Lost Check-in,” he tutted, shaking his head. “I got it from her to give to you. So you wouldn’t keep losing yourself in dark corridors. I wouldn’t want you to bump into someone else like you did with me.”

“Huh?” was your very intelligent response.

Corridors. So many corridors. None of them leading anywhere. Just an endless path. No destination in sight. No doors on any sides. No rooms. Not a single person around. You were all alone. A single object far away. Too far away. The corridor doesn’t end. A figure in black. Growing larger. It was coming for you-

“It was a nightmare… thank god...” You woke up in a cold sweat, breathing harshly as you struggled to gather your surroundings.

You were in your room, the gentle sounds of Michelle’s snores calming you down while you got up to get a drink of water. It didn’t seem like you would be able to get to sleep anytime soon so you decided to study the map Seokjin had given you.

It was no wonder you kept getting lost in the hotel - it was massive and there were a number of rooms within rooms whose existence you wouldn’t be aware of unless you specifically knew where to find them.

Your eyes wandered over to the top left corner of the map. That particular section of the map was much more faded than the rest of it, making it hard to decipher exactly what was there.

“Seokjin!” You burst into his room just as the clock struck 6 in the morning. “I think I know where we should be searching next! Th-”

You nearly collided with the table in the centre of the room as you realised exactly what you had stumbled upon.

Seokjin doing his morning stretches. Seokjin, with bed hair and rosy cheeks, doing morning stretches. Seokjin, wearing a peach colored t-shirt and tiny pink shorts, with bed hair and rosy cheeks, doing morning stretches. Seokjin, whose ears were now a bright red, wearing a peach colored t-shirt and tiny pink shorts, with bed hair and rosy cheeks, doing morning stretches.

“Y/n?” he asked, looking very confused.

“Thigh- I mean, hi!” You looked away from the lower half of his body, donned in the most ridiculously tiny pair of tennis shorts you had ever laid eyes on. “I have an idea.”

“Okay? Is it related to knocking before you burst into someone’s room at the crack of dawn?” he replied, grinning cheekily.

“Shut up!” you scoffed, turning away from him. You didn’t need him to see how affected you were.

“Okay, just gimme a minute.”

Soon, he was back, appropriately dressed and smelling like strawberries. Of course he smelled like strawberries…

“So what was your great idea?” he asked, sitting down on the floor.

“I was looking through the map of the hotel,” you said, opening it up. “And this place right here on the top left corner of the map - I think this place would be worth a shot.”

“No.”

“No? Why not?!” You were slightly annoyed at how quickly he dismissed your suggestion.

“Because,” he said, pulling the map closer to himself. “This is where the Chavalenet suites are located.”

“Oh…” You frowned at the map. “But that means there’s a greater chance of finding the treasure over there! Have you looked there before?”

“No, because only select staff are allowed there during fixed hours. Madam Iris insists on it.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I think we should check it out. Come on, we’ll be very careful! They’ll never know we were there!”

The earnest look in your eyes seemed to make Seokjin waver. He stared at you for a few moments before shaking his head resignedly.

“What’s the worst that could happen… Ah, fine. Let’s plan on exploring that section of the hotel while dinner is being served. I know that Anthony requested a special performance by that famous children’s magician, so they should be occupied for much longer than usual.”

You grinned, collecting the map and getting ready to leave the room. “I’ll meet you outside the kitchens at 7!”

It was exactly twenty past 7 when you rushed out of the kitchen, nearly colliding with Seokjin in the process. He tapped his watch a few times, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly.

“I hate that woman!” you huffed angrily, slipping into your jacket. “She actually requested that I peel all the potatoes for tonight’s dinner. Do you know how many potatoes were served tonight? 200!”

“You peeled 200 potatoes by yourself?” Seokjin raised his eyebrows in alarm.

“No,” you sighed. “Chef Yuna got Laila to help me out but Madam Iris kept popping in every few minutes so she had to go back to doing something else. Mind you, I might not have finished at all tonight if she hadn’t helped me. But it still took an insane amount of time.”

The two of you walked towards the Chavalenets’ section of the hotel. It was located at the back of the building, effectively cut off from the usually busy portions of the hotel.

“Why is this family so weird?” you complained, picking at a thread on your jacket. “One doesn’t speak, one is an evil tyrant, one is a spineless asshole, and don’t even get me started on the kid!”

Seokjin chuckled softly. “They weren’t always so weird. Especially not Madam Eva.”

“Really? I don’t believe it. She just sits there and watches her daughter do whatever she wants.”

“No, it’s true. She was a very powerful woman - used to command the attention of everyone in the room. Everyone respected her and she really cared about everyone in the hotel - staff and guests included. In fact, she was the one who introduced special events for guests during the evenings. She also had part of the hotel renovated so that there were more staff quarters.”

“So what happened?”

“A couple of things. About 15 years ago, Madam Eva’s husband passed away quite suddenly. Everyone was pretty shocked, but in hindsight it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. He liked to live it up - smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, and ate everything the doctors specifically asked him to avoid. Anyway, around the time of his death, rumors about the treasure started circulating. There was speculation that he had left something behind but hadn’t told the rest of the family. Overall, his death created a lot of upheaval in terms of property and inheritance issues.”

Seokjin paused, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly.

“It was about two years after that that Madam Eva’s son and his family died in a car crash. Adrian, his wife Sophie, and their little girl - who funnily enough had the same name as you.”

“Really?!” you asked, eyes widening in surprise. That would explain why Chef Yuna and the Chavalenets had reacted so strangely when they had heard your name.

“Yeah,” he said, turning towards you with a sad smile. “I still remember that day clearly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Madam Eva as devastated as she had been that day. The police barely managed to stop her from going to the crash site. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if she had managed to get there - apparently, the explosion was so bad that only a few body parts were recovered.”

“Wow…” You didn’t know what to say. The story sounded horrible on its own - what must it have been to actually have to live through it?

“Anyway, here we are” -Seokjin pointed at a couple of large doors next to each other - “that’s Madam Iris’ study and her and Anthony’s bedroom next to it. On the other end of the corridor is Madam Eva’s room and an empty ballroom where they sometimes hold meetings.”

“Okay, let’s start with the study.”

Madam Iris’ study was a very well organized room. There was no way you could rummage through it without moving something out of place. Seokjin suggested that each item should be returned to its place as soon as it was inspected, making sure that nothing was left to be put back at the end. It seemed like a pretty efficient system, but unfortunately, there appeared to be nothing useful that could point you towards the treasure.

“I knew it!” Seokjin stood up and waved a large paper notebook frantically. “I knew she was tampering with the books! There’s no way the hotel could be doing as badly as she claimed!”

You frowned and took a quick glance at the notebook. Not being familiar with any of the accounts, you looked at Seokjin for some help. He began explaining every single mistake with a feverish excitement, his words coming out faster as he got more excited.

Suddenly, you heard a noise from outside the room.

There was no need to check who it was - in whatever scenario, you and Seokjin could not be caught rifling through the papers in Madam Iris’ room.

“Seokjin!” you whispered frantically. “Shut up! There’s someone coming!”

He wasn’t paying any attention to you, excitedly rattling off different things from the notebook. The voices were getting closer and in a last desperate attempt, you pulled him behind the large red curtains and smashed your lips to his.

That seemed to shut him up for a moment. But as he realized that your lips were on his, he attempted to pull away. There was no way you could risk letting Seokjin talk right now. So you moved your lips over his, kissing him fast and hard, while your fingers frantically tapped a pattern onto his left arm. Hopefully he would notice the pressure on his arm and understand that you were trying to tell him something - that you were trying to tell him to shut up for a few minutes.

Thankfully, he stopped struggling after a few taps on his arm, focusing on kissing you instead.

You nearly missed out on the conversation happening at the other end of the room because Seokjin’s lips were just so damn powerful.

“Iris,” you recognized Madam Eva’s voice, low and stern. “I’m running out of patience. When is that lawyer husband of yours going to be done with the new staff contracts?”

“Mother, please, have patience. Anthony can’t just rush through such an important task. We need to everything is absolutely perfect before handing it over to you.”

“You have until the end of the month,” Madam Eva said, her voice ringing with finality.

The door slammed shut and the sound of the two pairs of footsteps slowly receded into silence.

It took you a few seconds to realise that the coast was clear. Pulling away from him hastily, you took in the sight of his bruised lips and dazed expression. Pushing aside the delighted feeling blooming in the pit of your stomach, you brought his attention to the conversation you both had just overheard.

“Sorry about that - I had to find some way to shut you up quickly! But more importantly, we need to find those contracts! Did you hear what they were saying? I’m sure Iris is planning something sinister!”

Seokjin had not, in fact, heard anything that had been said. His brain had started glitching as soon as your lips had descended on his. But it was only when you started tapping his hand, did his world come crashing around him.

“Y/n! We aren’t supposed to be here! I’ll get into trouble if they find me here!”

9 year old Seokjin had quite a few reservations about raiding the special chocolate cabinet that was kept locked and stored inside the grand ballroom.

“Shh!” you whispered, pouting at him. “If you keep screaming like that, they’ll definitely find us!”

“What?!” Panic seized his entire body, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could think about them. “I knew it! This is a disaster! I’m going to be in so much trouble! Mum is gonna-”

The feeling of something soft on his cheeks made him halt his word vomit. Your lips, to be precise.

Before he could overreact to this as well, you began tapping his forearm rhythmically. The movement snapped him out of shock, alerting him to the fact that two of the hotel staff were currently taking away the old centre pieces on the tables.

He pulled away from you slowly, nodding his head to let you know that he would be quiet until they left.

It was a good 15 minutes later that the coast was finally clear. However, Seokjin’s ears were still red and his cheeks felt like they were on fire.

“Sorry, Jin,” you apologized, grinning at him mischievously. “I had to shut you up quickly!”

It came back to him in a rush. A pile of memories, falling from the sky and burying him under the emotions he had kept locked up for more than a decade.

He couldn’t believe that this was happening. Madam Eva’s beloved granddaughter was still alive. You were still alive. You were Madam Eva’s granddaughter.

“I can’t believe I kissed him like that!”

You were currently having a mini meltdown inside your room. Thankfully, Michelle was still working so you had the whole place to yourself to rant about your ridiculous choice of actions.

“I could’ve just covered his mouth with my hand!” You buried your face in your hands. “But NO! I had to use my mouth to cover his mouth! What was I thinking? No! What is he thinking?! Fuck!”

This was getting too much. Your face felt unbelievably hot, and you couldn’t make sense of your own actions. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t kissed a guy before - in fact, those sloppy kisses you had shared with Yoongi’s best friend, Hoseok, had been quite enjoyable. But that was after Hoseok had said that he liked you - you hadn’t just jumped him out of nowhere!

“I’m such an idiot!” you groaned.

There was no point screaming to yourself inside the room. Perhaps a walk around the hotel would help you calm down. You’d probably get lost again and it would take hours for you to find your way back. The perfect distraction!

The walk was beginning to do the trick - you were so busy examining the different paintings and statues lining the corridors that you ended up at some random part of the hotel, too immersed in what you had found to overthink the kiss.

“A piano?” You walked into the small room, marveling at the beautiful ivory piano situated in a corner.

“It looks like no one’s used this in years,” you muttered to yourself, opening the keylid and lightly running your fingers over the keys. “Shame… it looks so magnificent.”

An idea popped up in your head. When the Mins had found you 12 years ago, the only object in your possession had been a roughly folded set of sheet music. Yoongi had saved up enough money to buy a second hand piano - but there hadn’t been enough keys on it to play the last page of the sheet music.

But this grand piano would do nicely.

Sneaking a peak around the room, you made sure that no one else was there. The last thing you needed was for Madam Iris or anyone from her family to catch you here.

“Okay, let’s try this.”

The first note sounded rich, and the tone was definitely of more superior quality than the one you had practiced on with Yoongi. As you continued playing the piece, your thoughts wandered over to the Mins. A wave of homesickness hit you suddenly and images of the cafe sailed through your mind - you wondered how they were doing. Was the cafe managing a little better now? Maybe you’d use one of the hotel’s telephones to call Yoongi and see how they were doing…

“Huh?” You stopped playing, confused by the sound coming from the key you had just played.

You were now on the last page of the sheet music - your right hand on the highest scale available. The e flat key did not sound right, and you checked the sheet music to make sure you were playing the right one.

“No… this seems right. Why does it sound off?” you wondered, pressing the key a little harder this time.

All of a sudden, there was a loud creak and one of the wooden panels behind you sprung open. You nearly fell off the piano stool in shock, just barely managing to hold on as you waited for someone to jump out from the shadows and attack you.

Thankfully, no one did. But the panel remained open, subtly inviting you inside.

“What’s the harm in checking it out?” you reasoned with yourself. “No one’s going to find out.”

And so, you stepped through the opening, walking into a very large room filled with trunks of different sizes, a few large cabinets, and dozens of pictures set up all over. It almost resembled some kind of store room. Upon closer inspection, you realized that all the pictures were of the same people - a young man with a soft smile, a very beautiful woman standing next to him, and a little girl who never seemed to be facing the camera when the picture was taken.

They looked so familiar. Like something out of a dream. A dream that you were struggling to grasp at as it slipped away into your subconscious.

With every picture you examined, the ache inside your chest grew. Soon, there were tears falling from your eyes as an overwhelming rush of memories hit you like a ton of bricks. Your father showing you the different keys on the piano while your mother fussed about not having enough time to teach you how to write. Your grandmother talking you on walks through the property, telling you stories about how there used to be deer and rabbits before most of the greenery was cleared away. Your family showering you with so much love while you raced about the hotel making new friends, playing hide and seek, and dragging your best friend along with you.

“It can’t be…” you wiped away your tears furiously. “How can this be true…”

You sat down on one of the trunks, burying your face in your hands. Your head hurt. Your chest hurt. Everything hurt. You wanted to cry. You also wanted to punch your way through the hard stone walls.

You felt… lost.

“Are you sure?” Anthony asked his wife, the fear very apparent in his voice.

Madam Iris snapped at him. “Of course I’m sure! Would I be joking about something like this?”

Anthony gulped and looked down at his hands. “So Adrian and Sophie’s kid is still alive… what if they are too?!”

“No, they’re not,” she replied, shaking her head definitely. “I saw their bodies in the crash. It was just that pesky kid I couldn’t find…”

“You don’t think she’s back for revenge, do you?”

“I’m pretty sure she has no idea about her true identity,” Madam Iris contemplated. “But it’s better to not take any chances - we should get rid of her quickly. Before someone else realizes who she is.”

Anthony stared at his wife doubtfully. “Doesn’t that seem a little extreme? I mean… she’ll probably never figure it out if she hasn’t already.”

“My darling,” Madam Iris sat beside him and took his hand in hers. “How many times have I told you not to use that little brain of yours? It’s landed us in a fix quite a few times already. So please, leave the planning to me. And just do as I say.”

“You aren’t joking, right?”

Seokjin sighed and shook his head. He had been trying to explain everything to his mother for the past half an hour - but every few minutes, she would give him a skeptical look and ask if he was playing some kind of elaborate prank.

“Why would I joke about something like this?”

Chef Yuna rubbed her forehead tiredly. “It did catch me by surprise when she said her name was ‘y/n’. My mind immediately thought of the little girl running around the hotel, stealing everyone’s hearts.”

Seokjin smiled softly, recalling all the memories he had of you when you were both children.

“Including yours, if I remember correctly,” his mother teased him.

Seokjin’s ears turned red and he cleared his throat loudly. “I don’t know how to tell her… that she’s part of the Chavalenet family. Probably even the next heir if we consider the inheritance laws.”

Chef Yuna nodded her head. “The oldest child of the oldest child will inherit the property.”

She looked at her son who was busily examining the skin around his fingernails - a habit he had picked up around the time of his promotion. It signaled a great amount of anxiety inside him.

“Maybe you should talk to Madam Eva about this,” she said, gently. “It’s probably the best course of action right now.”

Seokjin nodded his head. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that Madam Eva would have to be told about this revelation. It was the next logical step - she would be the best person to tell you the truth.

But his heart felt heavy. On one hand, he was incredibly glad that you were still alive - his childhood friend, the only person he ever remembered being really close to. On the other hand, this meant that both of you belonged in separate worlds - worlds which were leagues apart, worlds which didn’t have any place for each other.

A part of him, selfishly, wanted to keep the truth to himself, and be able to stay by your side for a bit longer. Over the past couple of days, he had come to the startling revelation that he had feelings for you - and the thought of never being able to act on those feelings made his heart clench painfully.

He wanted to kiss you again - properly, this time. But now, even if you somehow managed to return his feelings, there was no way the two of you would ever work out.

Life was quite unfair sometimes.

Madam Eva had tears in her eyes as she hugged you tightly to her chest. Soft sobs wracked her entire person, and you patted her back awkwardly.

“My sweet child,” she managed to say between sobs. “My sweet y/n. I can’t believe that you’re here in front of me! That you’re alive! I missed you so much!”

Truth be told, you were very overwhelmed by everything that had been going on the past couple of days. You had even briefly contemplated running away and going back to the Mins.

But then Seokjin had told Madam Eva the truth - the truth you had no idea he was aware of.

And that had stung.

“How long have you known?” you asked him, once things had quietened down a little.

“Two days,” he replied. His eyes looked sad and that annoyed you even more. Why was he sad?! He was the one who had figured out your identity and then revealed it to your family without once thinking of telling you anything! If anyone should be sad, it should be you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your tone was clipped as you tried your best to control the anger underneath.

“Huh?”

You uncrossed your arms from over your chest. “If you knew, why didn’t you tell me? I should’ve been the first to know! I’m the one it affects most! How could you not tell me?!”

Seokjin recoiled a little. “I- uh- wasn’t completely sure. I didn’t want to confuse you.”

You let out a mirthless laugh. “How considerate! You didn’t want to confuse me? Well how do you think I feel now?! I was ambushed by a family and a past that I wasn’t prepared to confront! I was barely able to wrap my head around the memories that suddenly assaulted me when the whole hotel came crashing down on me in tears and embraces! HOW DO YOU THINK I FEEL, SEOKJIN?!”

You were yelling now as tears streamed down your face. Seokjin attempted to reach out to you but you brushed his hand aside roughly.

“Don’t touch me.” The words felt like they were choking inside your throat. “And don’t talk to me. Ever.”

You didn’t have much time to yourself as the hotel began preparing celebrations in honor of your return. The first item on the agenda was a bonfire organized by your grandmother. Everyone was very excited about it because it had been years since she had actively taken part in any hotel event.

“Feels like the good old days!” Chef Yuna said, barely able to contain the excitement in her voice. “You lot have never been to an event organized by Madam Eva - they’re really a once in a lifetime kind of experience!”

It was just around dusk that everyone gathered around a large bonfire, prepared for an evening of song, dance, and wonderful food. The guests along with the hotel staff were extremely excited about the bonfire, but there were three faces that looked like they would rather be anywhere else but here.

The first was Madam Iris, whose hazel eyes burned with a cold anger as she watched everyone fuss over you. The second was her husband, Anthony Farrow, who looked pale and kept glancing at his wife nervously. And the third was you, who felt like you deserved none of this and couldn’t reconcile whatever was going on with what you had known for so many years.

“It has been many years since my heart felt any kind of joy,” Madam Eva began, looking around with a bright smile. “As many of you know, I lost my husband 15 years ago, and shortly afterwards, my son and daughter-in-law were killed in a car crash. All these years, I thought that I had lost my darling granddaughter as well - but somehow, the heavens have granted me a miracle. It’s been so many years since I last saw you, my dear y/n, and I cannot express how happy I am to see you again.”

Everyone clapped and cheered as she gave you another hug. Maybe you didn’t deserve it, but it felt nice to be showered with so much love and affection. You just wished you could remember something more - you had absolutely no memory of the car accident that had killed your parents even though many other little details about your past were very clear.

“Please, everyone help yourselves to the food and drinks prepared by our talented Chef Yuna and her incredible team!”

Halfway through the event, everyone had scattered to different parts of the grounds. Besides the main bonfire, a number of small heating devices had been set up so that people could stay warm outdoors.

You had just finished a small plate filled with dishes Chef Yuna had made. They were all incredible but everything felt like sandpaper in your mouth. You wondered when it would be okay for you to go back inside without it looking too impolite.

Trudging back to the bonfire, you noticed that only Madam Iris was sitting there. You were in no mood to interact with her - she hadn’t been subtle about expressing her dislike towards you even after finding out who you really were.

Just before you could turn back, she stood up and walked over to pick up something that had fallen on the ground. She was wearing a billowy black cloak over her expensive clothes and the bonfire behind her illuminated her silhouette like…

The air is full of smoke. You cough and sit up, looking around for your parents.

“Mum! Dad!” you yell, coughing furiously. “Wh-where are you?!”

The smoke is getting in your eyes and you rub at them to try and clear your vision. You try and get up but the shooting pain in your left leg stops you. There’s a huge gash below your knee, red and brown as the dirt on the road mixes with your blood.

“Mum! Dad!” you scream again, hoping that they might finally hear you. “Help me, please!”

Suddenly, a huge explosion rocks the area, sending you flying into the nearest obstacle.

Your back hurts as you try and sit up again, trying to see where the explosion came from. Your eyes catch sight of a brilliant orange light, roaring against the night sky.

A fire.

And in front of the fire, stands a figure in a black cloak, looking so frightening that you start crying in fear.

“HELP!” you yell, struggling to get to your feet.

The figure is getting closer and something inside you knows that you need to get away from it.

“HELP ME! PLEASE!” You have somehow managed to stand up, but fear keeps you paralyzed in place.

A sudden gust of wind blows through the night, shifting the direction of the embers, and you catch a glimpse of their face.

Suddenly, the ground beneath you wobbles and you find yourself hurtling down the side of the road. You try desperately to grab onto something but your momentum is too strong. You finally come to a stop after crashing into a tree, the last of your consciousness slipping away as the face comes back to haunt you.

It is your aunt, Iris.

“It was you!” you screamed, as the memories came back - the car crash, the chase that led to the crash, your parents’ frantic voices, your mother pushing you out of the car before it crashed. “You were there that night! You were chasing our car that night! You’re the one who watched us crash and didn’t do anything about it! You killed my parents!”

Madam Iris glared at you with unbridled hatred. “Shut up! Just SHUT UP! You ruined everything, you stupid little bitch! I was this close to getting everything!”

A fight ensued as Iris attacked you with all her might. At one point, Anthony joined in as well, and you were worried that you would be outnumbered. But somehow, Seokjin managed to find you and subdued Anthony quickly. After that, it didn’t take long for you to get the better of Iris - a few punches and she was down.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked her, panting for breath.

She sat down by the tree, exhausted, but spitting venom from her eyes. “Fuck you.”

It turned out that Iris didn’t need to say anything. As soon as your grandmother had looked at Anthony sternly, the frightened man had opened his mouth and spilled each and every one of his wife’s secrets. It was quite a sad story overall.

On that fateful night, 12 years ago, your father had found the ‘treasure’. Both he and Iris had been looking for it for days, believing that it was either a lot of priceless jewels or some very important property papers. After your father had found it, he had tried his best to keep it hidden, but Iris had found out about it anyway. A huge argument had taken place, following which your father had decided to run away with you and your mother. You had all snuck out in the middle of the night, driving off in a car with some of your belongings. Iris had given chase and watched as the car had crashed and then burst into flames. She had also believed that you had rolled down the edge of the road to your death.

Over the past 12 years, she had tried to find out where your father had hidden the treasure, but did not succeed. In fact, it was you who had stumbled across it the night that you had found the hidden room behind the wooden panel.

Alas! The treasure was not so much a treasure as a horrific surprise. Your grandfather had apparently sold off the hotel a few days before his death - and hidden the fact from everyone, including his wife and children. However, he had hidden the legal papers so that neither the new owners nor his family would ever be able to prove the fact. It was one last ridiculous game he had played before succumbing to all his vices.

Iris’ grand plans of selling the hotel citing financial losses - which she had orchestrated herself - had also been foiled by the discovery of those papers. She and Anthony had been taken into police custody for further questioning.

Your grandmother had taken the news of the sale relatively well. She had immediately packed her bags and left to visit the new owners, hoping to garner some goodwill in the process.

All of this had happened in a matter of a few hours, and you had completely forgotten about the injuries you had sustained from fighting your aunt. So, that was why you were currently sitting in the room behind the front desk, trying not to fidget as Seokjin tended to your wounds.

“That was… an interesting series of events,” he said, trying to ease the tension in the air. “I never really liked that woman but I definitely didn’t think she was that crazy.”

You remained silent. Seokjin continued to clean the cuts and scrapes carefully. Once again, you noticed how he gently held the cotton swab but then shook it vigorously to get the excess antiseptic off. It was strangely endearing, and made you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“Jin?” you used your nickname for him.

He looked up from the cut on your knee, eyes wide in surprise.

“Do you have any rose gummy bears?”

He blinked a few times before smiling and nodding his head. Quickly finishing up with the rest of injuries, he asked you to wait while he raided the secret stash.

“Here.” He handed you a small bag full of his favorite gummy bears and sat down next to you.

You gave him a small smile and took out a couple of gummy bears, swiftly popping them into your mouth. Seokjin said nothing, waiting patiently for you to finish eating as many as you wanted.

“Can I tell you something?” you asked, after a while.

“Of course.”

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

Seokjin’s ears turned red as he stared at the wall in front of him. His side profile was so gorgeous, soft lines defining his strong features.

“Can I?” you asked, making him turn towards you. “Not to distract you. Not to prevent people from finding us. Nothing like that. Just” - you tilted your head to one side - “because I want to.”

He nodded his head slowly, giving you the permission you hadn’t asked for the last time.

You drew him closer and softly kissed his lips. After a few seconds, he responded as well, cupping your cheek with his hand, and returning your kisses with enthusiasm.

“Why do you want to?” he asked, in between kisses. “Why do you want to kiss me?”

You pulled away and frowned at him. “You’re an ass. Why do you think I want to?”

He grinned, kissing you behind each ear and starting a slow path down your neck. “Indulge me.”

“It’s because- ugh!” you gasped as he nipped at the sensitive spot near your collarbone. “Because - because -”

He stopped his assault on your neck, eyes twinkling playfully. “Because?”

“Two can play at this game,” you muttered, incredibly embarrassed and equally turned on. You moved over to sit on his lap, grinding against him while leaving open mouthed kisses along his neck. Once his entire neck was sufficiently covered with light nips, you moved back to his lips, kissing him deep and hard.

“Y/n,” he gasped into your mouth. “I’m going to explode.”

“Are you now?” you whispered, swiping your tongue into his mouth and feeling your insides curl with pleasure. “Good.”

“I’m serious,” he managed to say between some very loud moans. “I’ll ruin my pants if we keep going like this.”

“Fine,” you said, hopping off and making quick work of his belt buckle. “Take it off then.”

“W-what?” he choked, unable to believe what he had just heard.

“Take off your pants.” You raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down carefully. “Do you know how many times I've thought about seeing that cock of yours after walking in on you doing morning stretches? Why the hell would you wear such tiny tennis shorts anyway?"

If possible, Seokjin's ears turned even more red. "A-are you sure? We don't need to rush or anything."

"Yeah, we don't. But I want to. So," you said, rubbing your palms along his legs. "Take off your pants."

Seokjin grinned, the cheeky glint back in his eyes. "If you insist. But I'm not going to be the only one losing their pants."

"With pleasure," you replied.

The pants were off and soon, the two of you were back to kissing each other like there was no tomorrow. His tongue ravaged your mouth while one of his hands dropped down between your legs and started rubbing you over your panties.

"Feels - mhmm - so good." You matched the rhythm of his fingers, bucking your hips into his hand. Your hand also moved down from his neck and palmed his cock, drawing the most delicious moans from him. Very soon your top and his shirt joined the pile of pants, leaving you both in just your underwear.

"Y/n," Seokjin groaned, taking in the sight of your breasts. "You're so hot."

The two of you remained like that for a bit, almost completely naked, tongues down each others' throats and hands rubbing each other into ecstasy. You felt wetness between your legs, clenching violently when he parted your panties and stroked you between your folds.

"Fuck..." you moaned into his mouth.

"Does that feel good, sweetheart?" he mumbled into your mouth. "Do you want me to use my mouth?"

Your brain could barely process what he had said, but you nodded anyway, senses hazy with pleasure.

"Okay, lie down for me, y/n" he said, pulling away from you. "Let me make you feel good."

You lay down on the sofa, legs parted, as Seokjin hovered over you. "So beautiful. So wet."

He began peppering your inner thighs with light kisses, making you squirm in pleasure. Making his way to your core at an agonizingly slow pace, he finally removed your panties and licked a stripe between your folds.

"Jin! Fuck! I-" Your hips shot up at the intense feeling.

He paid no heed to your moans, licking and slurping your pussy until you were absolutely on the edge.

"I'm close! Please!"

Seokjin plunged a finger inside, using his other hand to keep your legs down. The sensation of his long, slender finger inside you combined with the sight of his head between your thighs was enough for you to reach your climax.

Stars exploded in your vision as the orgasm rocked through you. Seokjin continued his beautiful work on your pussy until you breathed a shaky sigh of pleasure.

"Did you like it?" he asked, teasingly. There was no way he could've missed your screams of pleasure.

"How about I show you just how much I liked it?" you asked, sitting up and playing with the band of his underwear.

Seokjin smirked and quickly shimmied out of his underwear. "Be my guest."

Your eyes widened at the sight of his cock - it was huge. Would he even be able to fit?

"Tell me what feels good," you said, licking long stripes up and down his length. Precum was leaking from his tip already, and you used your tongue to tease him further. Seokjin moaned, gripping the fabric of the sofa as you sucked his cock a few times.

"Don't tease, y/n," he managed with a lot of difficulty. "I don't think I can control myself for much longer."

Pressing a few small kisses to his tip, you leaned back and positioned yourself in front of him. "Okay, I think I'm ready."

A pained expression crossed his face as he took in the sight of you kneeling on your knees, waiting for him to cum.

"Maybe next time," he said, pulling you up to him and placing a soft kiss on your lips. "Right now, I want to be inside you."

"Are you sure?" you asked, returning his kiss.

"Yeah, but let's hurry," he mumbled, taking his throbbing red cock in his hand.

You laid down on the sofa again, spreading your legs for him. He positioned the tip of his cock in front of your entrance, rubbing you a few times before entering slowly.

"Tell me if it's too much," he whispered into your ear, before placing kisses all over your face and neck.

"Mm hmm,"you mumbled, getting used to the stretch.

Seokjin moved his mouth from your neck to your breast, placing sloppy kisses on the mounds before taking one of them in his mouth. You shuddered with pleasure as his tongue swirled around your nippled.

Your senses were getting overwhelmed again - Seokjin had started thrusting into you while simultaneously moving his mouth onto your other breast.

"Is this okay?" he managed between thrusts, his voice hoarse and delightfully sexy.

"Y-yeah, just do what you need to," you said, gripping his biceps with all your might.

He grunted in response, increasing the pace of his thrusts. The room was filled with the sounds of both your moans, and you knew that a second orgasm was building.

Just then, a shrill ring sounded through the room, startling you both. Seokjin barely managed to keep himself from falling off the sofa, placing a hand over his chest as he looked around wildly.

It was the telephone.

Seokjin sighed and pulled out of you, quickly going over to pick up the receiver.

"How can I help you?" he asked, standing there in his full naked glory.

You bit your lip as you drank in the sight of him - from his rippling shoulder muscles to his abs to his tapering waist and dangling cock.

"Of course, madam. But it is currently 2 in the morning. Please call after 7 am in order to make a reservation. Thank you. Have a good night."

Clicking the receiver in place, he rushed back to you, jumping onto the sofa with a smirk.

"Now where were we?"

this took me 2 hours to format on the site T_T i am exhausted. please give it some love! i would love to know what you thought of this story! please like and reblog! thank you! tagging @yoongsgguktae @sugamonster22 @anglofmrcy @blue1928 @jinpanman @thatlongspringnight @thatmultifandomhoe

#seokjin fic #seokjin smut #seokjin #seokjin x reader #wishuponastarcollab #bts bookclub #bangtanhq #btswritingcafe #ficswithluv #magicshopnet #hyunglinenetwork #btsgoldnet #c me write bangtan

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

nightmare, recalled

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: the hearing. next part up is the slave of duty. we are reaching the end of this arc, and we will do some healing, i promise. thank you all for waiting on this part! it’s a little short breather before we get slave of duty tomorrow night.

words: 2k warnings: discussion of violence, language

summary: “when someone you loved was depending on your lie, it was perfectly easy.” - liane moriarty, big little lies

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You arrive at the office in the early morning, not looking half as exhausted as you feel. It was your own fault - you begged and begged to be the first in the back-to-back team testimonies today. If you were first, you reasoned, you never once had to leave Jack once he and Aaron arrived.

Jess is taking care of the final arrangements today - handling the catering for the wake with her parents, sourcing roses, all of the wretched little tasks you’d much rather take on yourself - for the funeral this weekend.

But alas, Strauss needs to continue her warpath on Aaron, and you need to defend him.

You sit outside of the eighth-floor conference room, just down the hall from Erin’s office. You have tissues tucked in your hand, not trusting her to provide them and saving your pride in the process. You keep your eyes down as she steps into the room and closes the door behind her.

As you expected, about three minutes later, she pops her head out. “We’re ready for you.”

Inside the room is one of the deputy directors, in addition to a lackey from the inspector general’s office.

Gang’s all here...

You take your seat opposite Erin, keeping your hands in your lap.

“Please state your name and rank for the record.”

You do, clear and steady.

“How long have you worked in the BAU?”

“I was assigned to the BAU as a New Agent Trainee in the summer of 2007, and was assigned to the unit as an agent at the end of that year.”

“So, two years?”

“Just about, ma’am.”

The other people in the room start taking notes, but Erin keeps her eyes on you. It’s unsettling.

“How was it that you were assigned to the BAU as a NAT?” There’s something hidden in her question, so you answer somewhat comprehensively.

“I requested a unit assignment based on a recommendation from Jennifer Shepard, the late director of NCIS. I was intrigued by the guest lecture given by Agents Hotchner and Gideon and requested the BAU.”

“Who approved your transfer into the unit?”

Your brow crinkles. “I’m not sure of the specifics ma’am, but the SSAIC informed me that she’d spoken to Agent Hotchner prior to my assignment.”

“Do you feel indebted to Agent Hotchner?”

Ah. There it is.

“No, ma’am.”

She narrows her eyes. “How can that be? He was directly responsible for a massive acceleration of your career within the bureau.”

“All due respect, ma’am, I believe my academy coursework and the Director’s Leadership Award on my desk speaks for itself. Agent Hotchner and Agent Hemingway both recognized my potential and made their decisions accordingly.” You try to keep the sass out of your tone, but you have to throw her off this train of thought somehow.

She hums - once, staccato. “Given that...recognition, do you feel obligated to defend Agent Hotchner?”

“No, ma’am. I do not feel any obligation or debt to Agent Hotchner.”

She narrows her eyes again, but makes a note in her small notebook before speaking again. “How would you describe Agent Hotchner’s recent behavior in the field?”

Without hesitation, “Motivated.”

She’s not impressed. “Would you say he’s been taking unnecessary risks in the field?”

Lady, if you only knew the half of it.

“No, ma’am. I believe his choices in the field have been effective.”

She chuffs a little laugh, unamused. “Very cute, agent, but that’s not what I asked.”

You blink at her, waiting for another question.

“Why did Agent Hotchner step down from his position as unit chief?”

Careful. Careful.

“He promoted Agent Morgan so the team could continue our work unhindered.”

“What were the hindrances?”

Shit.

“By transferring his responsibilities, he had the opportunity to explore more investigatory avenues regarding George Foyet that he would have been unable to prioritize while in his post as unit chief.”

Good save.

“Can you characterize the transition of power?” She raises an eyebrow. She’s baiting you.

You don’t take it. “Amicable. Seamless. Peaceful.”

“So you wouldn’t say there was tension between Agents Hotchner and Morgan regarding the division of responsibilities?”

“No, ma’am. I did not experience or witness any dysfunction arising from the transition. Agent Hotchner was exceptionally respectful and deferential to Agent Morgan following the promotion. There was never any confusion about the chain of command.”

And that was actually true.

She pushed and pushed and pushed you to say something that would condemn Aaron for his behavior in the previous eight weeks. Though you were plenty frustrated with him, you didn’t budge.

Soon enough, she asked about what happened on the afternoon of November 23rd, 2009. You started from the beginning - The Fox, the letters, the medication.

+++

“Who made the decision to breach Foyet’s apartment?”

This was wearing on you, well into the second hour. “Agent Morgan, ma’am.”

“Didn’t Agent Hotchner have anything to say regarding the tactical plan?” Strauss looks tired too, but she better rally - her efforts are getting weaker as you continue to answer her questions with steady candor and she still has seven more interviews to conduct today, not to mention the paperwork.

“No, ma’am. Agent Morgan, even in normal circumstances, is the established tactician of the unit. In this instance and others even while he was in the unit chief position, Agent Hotchner deferred to Agent Morgan’s expertise regarding SWAT deployment and tactical decisions.”

+++

“Do you believe it was Agent Kassmeyer’s fault that Agent Hotchner’s family was compromised?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m sure you’ll hear it more than once today, but torture is seemingly endless. Agent Kassmeyer took everything Foyet threw at him and still refused to compromise the Hotchner family’s location. There was nothing more he could have done to prevent Foyet from making contact with Haley Hotchner.”

+++

“Did it occur to you to join Agent Hotchner as he separated himself from the team?”

“No, ma’am. And I disagree with your characterization of the situation - Agent Hotchner did not separate himself from the team. He pursued a lead with Agent Kassmeyer, who requested his presence as he was dying in the back of that ambulance.”

She purses her lips. “What was your next plan of action?”

You take a moment.

This is the hard part.

“Once the scene was in-process, I took a car and followed the ambulance to the hospital. When I arrived, Agent Anderson had already found Agent Hotchner a car, and he was in touch with the team regarding the next plan of action.” You wet your lips. “He then received a call from Foyet.”

+++

Her eyes remain cold and detached as you walk her through the conversations with Foyet, with Haley. With a certain degree of frustration, you push through your tears as you relay her last words, the gunfire.

“I don’t remember exactly what happened after that.” You stare down at your hands, focused on the way the pad of your thumb feels against the side of your middle finger. “I remember pulling up to the house and getting out of the car...The - the door was open. I found Agent Hotchner while I was clearing the ground floor. Foyet was dead, at that point.”

“What had happened to Foyet?”

“He’d been...beaten.” Your voice cracked. That was an understatement. “I subdued Agent Hotchner until the rest of the team arrived.” You press the tissue to your eyes for a second. “He was...understandably distraught.”

Strauss examines you across the table, sees the emptiness in your eyes behind your tears, the grief, the sorrow, the horror of having to relive it. “What happened after that?”

“I realized,” you continue, “that I hadn’t found Jack. I remembered what Agent Hotchner told him, and we both got up and ran to his home office, off the kitchen. I found Jack Hotchner in the storage trunk beside Agent Hotchner’s desk.” You look up at her. “I can’t begin to articulate the relief I felt at seeing him alive.”

+++

“When Haley’s sister, Jessica Brooks, arrived, I kept her away from the crime scene for the sake of her health and safety. She met up with Agent Jareau, who had Jack at that point. I -” You stutter and swallow before taking a breath. “I returned upstairs.”

Your voice shakes, and tears make their way down your cheeks again.

“I returned upstairs, where Agent Morgan was sitting with Haley’s body. There wasn’t - I couldn’t, um - I couldn’t do anything for her. She was gone even before Aaron - Agent Hotchner - arrived.”

The representative from the IG’s office looks a little misty now, as does the deputy director. You press your hands to your face.

“It was... She’d been shot at least three times - that much we heard over the phone.” You voice breaks, but you forge ahead. “She had also been stabbed...There was…” You take a quick breath, but it’s not enough. “...so much blood.”

Strauss’s voice is quiet when she asks. “What was the nature of your relationship with Haley Hotchner?”

You look her square in the eye, not shy about the grief washing over you in waves. “She was one of my best friends. My boss’s wife, the mother of a boy I consider my family.” You turn your gaze to the table, the fake wood grain suddenly very interesting. “I will miss her beyond measure.”

A breath echoes around the room as the others collect themselves.

“I have one last question for you.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“What do you think would have happened if Agent Hotchner had allowed George Foyet off of that floor?”

You level her with a look that makes her sit back. “He would have killed Jack. He would have killed me.”

“And?” There’s one more thing you have to say.

“He would have let Agent Hotchner live, and he would have told him it was his fault.”

The rest of the room looks shaken, and you know you’re right. Even beyond the profile, Foyet’s obsession with Aaron was clear.

Why can’t they see it?

“Thank you, Agent. No further questions.”

+++

When you get back to the roundtable room, JJ is there with Derek. You offer them an approximation of a smile.

“What are you still doing here?” Derek asks. “You can go home, if you want.”

You shake your head. “I’ll be here until Aaron’s interview is finished.”

+++

You can’t help the way your face lights up when Jack sprints across the bridge in the middle of the afternoon, leaping ahead of Aaron.

Rounding the table, you kneel and open your arms to him, letting out an oof when he runs into you full-tilt. You can’t help but smile.

But then again, Jack has always had that effect on you.

“Good morning, bud.”

He wraps his arms around your neck, still impossibly tight. “Hi.”

You stand in the doorway until Aaron gets there. Jack’s familiar travel bag is slung over his shoulder, and he tosses it down in the corner. “Emily’s in right now, and then it’s you.”

Aaron nods, taking a seat. You follow suit, reclining in your chair so Jack can relax against your chest. The rest of the team watches you both, equal parts mournful and hopeful.

JJ watches the way Aaron presses a kiss to the side of his son’s head right before he sits down, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder for balance.

Penelope watches the way Jack clings to you, playing with the buttons on your shirt, comfortable and safe.

Derek watches the way Aaron watches you, brown eyes soft and absent of concern.

Dave watches the way you watch Aaron, can see the way your fingers ache to reach out for him, to take care of him.

They all watch the three of you - understanding, but not knowing.

+++

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#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali talks cm #a joyful future #shut up tali #a joyful future fanfic

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adsosfraser · 3 years

Text

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Four

Read on AO3

cw: medical trauma/abuse

They stripped her to the bone and prodded her towards the corner with the spigot about a metre above her head. Their eyes were focused intently on her every move, calculating each misstep. One of her guards called out into the hall and the water surged down in high pressured spurts. She had been naked with strangers before. Had been dressed by them. Bare and vulnerable. Mrs. Fitz came to mind. But this was not anything like that, it felt demeaning, dehumanising. It was intended to humble her.

The other guard threw a bar of soap which Claire fumbled with and fell to the floor. The grime on the floor had built up for years and mould dotted the edges of the shower. She scrunched her nose at the thought of picking the soap up from such an environment, but the stares of the guards burrowed deep into her skin.

“Two minutes.”

Claire carefully traced the spot above her heart. It stung less than before when she was weaned off of the pain medication. Claire was heavily sedated for those six days in hospital. She felt like she had when she returned through the stones, a crushing weight bearing down on her body. And she was all alone. Her injury was monitored until she could be properly transferred to Danvers State Hospital, or rather the Danvers Lunatic Asylum, where they placed her unceremoniously in her cage-like room. The pounding force of the shower left a dull pain, almost opening the wound on her breast again. She scrubbed the dirt, the pain off of her skin until she felt she had no skin left.

Claire was soon in the plain cotton uniform they provided everyone. Her hair flew wildly above her head because she was unable to comb through her curls. They at least deemed her safe enough to not need restraints on top of the guards that flanked her. How kind. Those were reserved for the more violent afflictions.

She watched as her tangled curls floated down to the tiled floor around her feet. Her hair was shorn to about her chin to conform with the other patients.

The institute had yet decided what to do about her condition, which they concluded was melancholia and the hysteria which accompanied it. All unnecessary consequences of her female persuasion.

“I assure you, sir, I am perfectly fine. Now if I could just speak to my husband.” She forced herself to put out the last word.

“He is still considering the terms of your release and treatment. You gave Mr. Randall quite a shock.” Doctor Lionel Brown quirked his eyebrows at his patient, placing the pairs of his pointer and middle finger against his lips in thought.

“I know. Now if you’d just-“

A knock sounded at the door.

“Mr. Anderson you may come in.”

“Mrs. Randall, this is Mr. Anderson, our specialist in mood disorders. He’s shed some insight with me earlier about what may be best in order for you to be released. If you don’t mind, Mr. Anderson.”

“I think our electroshock therapies would be very conducive for her recovery. When repeated twice a week, these treatments help ease pain and reduce memories that are hard to pass on their own.” Anderson glanced at Doctor Brown and continued. “Another option if the treatments are unable to hold and improve your condition is the transorbital lobotomy which is guaranteed to permanently improve it. I can assure you ma’am this avenue has been thoroughly researched and our patients report a calm demeanour within weeks of the operation.

“I highly doubt that’s necessary sir.” Claire scoffed.

Claire slumped in her chair and considered for a second. She could be free of the pain, of the man who haunted her every waking moment. She could stop mourning her husband, her family at Lallybroch, and her children. Maybe she would forget and finally be able to return to Frank as Jamie had intended. But she could never forget Jamie, no matter what happened to her. Her mind may forget but her soul would always keep him within her.

It was four doors later that she reluctantly followed one of the nurse’s in the ward down the dreary halls. No matter her reluctance to it, her treatments would begin according to the doctor’s schedule.

Claire was instructed to take off her shoes as she entered the room. She glanced around the room only to be met with unfamiliar faces. She had comforted the woman who went before her who was convulsing and writhing on the treatment table. Claire tried to soothe her and soon her breathing evened out and a dazed look took over her face. There was no fighting this. If Claire refused to comply, it would be much worse. The woman slouched to the floor and began her walk away from the machine.

The orderly wiped off the metal table from the woman’s sweat and perhaps even a small amount of urine: the reactions to the terror. He sighed and wrote on the chart, detailing exactly how the patient’s body handled the treatment. He pointed to the table, not even sparing a glance at Claire. One. Two. Three. She thought as she forced each step. Her back and limbs arched away from the shocking cold of the metal and her muscles tensed reflexively.

The nurse placed a flat wooden stick in her mouth and instructed her to bite down. Her arms and legs were strapped down before she could change her mind and start thrashing against her jailer. Two firm ovals suctioned to her temples and a strap ran around her head securing the device to her head.

Perhaps it was her indifference that led them to choose this method of torture. She would be sure to smile and have all the warmth of a womanly countenance when she next met with Doctor Brown. Her fate depended on her first husband, and the doctor that held her hostage within the suffocating walls of the institution. She had made her feelings quite clear to Frank, and perhaps he was enacting his vengeance this way.

As the first wave of electricity passed through her body straight to her heart and mind, her body convulsed under its strain. After the base time of thirty seconds for her treatment, her body slumped back down onto the cold surface that sent chills down her spine. She was left disoriented and stupid, waiting to gain back her senses.

“Who’s this, Smiley?” Claire’s mind could barely discern the shape of the figure hanging on the doorframe before her. The glum nurse who was addressed was the farthest thing from smiley.

“Mrs. Randall, your newest neighbour.”

“Oh, how exciting!” The girl who couldn’t be more than fourteen slipped something into the nurse’s pocket. “I think I’ll call you Miss Curly Wig.” She grinned and eyed the mess of curls fanned out around on the silver surface enviously.

The orderly nonchalantly slipped a lollipop into the girl’s waiting hands and a piece of gum, payment for whatever she had smuggled in for him.

“You’ll be just fine Miss Curly Wig.” The girl who was barely a teenager patted her shoulder in comfort. Claire couldn’t do more than stare blankly at the girl, no words appearing on her tongue. “Sure the first one is a bit of a shock. But you get over it. Your brain is like cotton the first few days, and you look as dumb as ever, but if you comply, they shorten it to every three weeks instead. I haven’t gotten the shock in four weeks now because I’ve been on my best behaviour. Haven’t had the urge to steal in months. Isn’t that right Smiley?”

Smiley grunted affirmatively in a way that reminded her of Murtagh while he put away the equipment from the day’s treatments. Her heart ached along with her head and tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.

“Can I escort her back to her room Smiley? You are done here for the day, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Emily.” The nurse clearly was uncomfortable straying from protocol.

Claire walked back in silence to the plain white room, filled with only a white metal bed and mattress. Emily patted her hand on the sheets and Claire plopped down on them. The rambunctious child flitted out of the room, excited to find a new face in the dreary and tedious schedule of the ward.

Claire laid back against the stiff pillow of her twin bed. It was impossible to get comfortable here. Her brain was buzzing and her fingers felt tingly, like the static from the radio. In the night, when the other patient's cries filled her mind, she traced the fading scar on her palm where he cut her. The rings, sgian dubh, pearls and her old clothes were the only physical proof it had been real. Now she had none of them. No tangible proof in her grasp. The only reminder was the memory of the slight pain when he marked out the flesh into a J.

“Milady!” Fergus screamed into the empty air of the great room. His body curled up into one of the velvet chaises by the fire and his whimpers woke Jamie, who rested his eyes on the floor beside the inconsolable child. Jamie had almost drifted off to sleep himself, but his mind buzzed with thoughts of his wife. He rose and gathered Fergus in his arms, hushing the boy.

“Milady.” The tears renewed themselves and tumbled without end down his cheeks. Jamie stroked the hair from his son’s face and cursed when his hand felt the hot and sweaty skin.

Claire woke up shaking on the sweat-soaked sheets. “Fergus.” Her guilt of leaving him, her family was insurmountable. But she felt deep in her bones something terribly awful. A dread that squeezed at her heart. Just like any other person could feel the earth shift under their feet, before possessing the actual knowledge of what happened to their loved one. A fellow war nurse once told her of her premonitions, and the next day she was sent an impersonal letter declaring his death in battle.

She pressed the pillow against her ears, trying to block out the vivid visions of the young French boy.

Emily became an ally to Claire in the short amount of time she had been in the B ward. She followed her constantly like a lost puppy and accompanied her to the electroshock therapies every week. Claire supposed the girl had deemed her the sanest out of their fellow patients, so she must have felt more at ease in her presence. The girl had even taught Claire a neat trick, how to pretend to swallow her medicine and then spit it out later.

At night, the faces in the flecks of the popcorn ceiling above taunted her. Every move of the shadows was a demon reimagined in her mind. Of her family and those who wished her harm. They all played an equal role in the play stretched out before her. Two straight lines and a curve mixed together into one evil, Black Jack Randall and her husband. Her mind drifted to the sight of her son, curled up and shivering in his sickbed. She was stuck between the tormenting images in the ceiling or the all too real feel of Fergus’ small body pressed against her in a tight hug.

“Miss Curly Wig!” It took her a moment to recognise her young companion, the thoughts seeped slowly through her mind like molasses.

“Where on earth did you get these?”

“I filched them from Doc B when I was snooping through your files. I was going to trade them to Smiley, but I thought better. Hide them in your bra, they never look there.” The child winked at her.

“Thanks for the advice.” She slipped the silver down her shirt and was about to scatter the gold across the wooden boards of the floor when she thought better; it was a valuable chunk of money. “What do you want in return?”

“Nothing yet. But those locks of yours sure are pretty.”

“You want a lock of my hair?”

She stared at the child dumbfounded. Hers easily rivalled Claire’s, the fiery red waving around her ears and growing slowly towards her shoulders. What harm was there in giving a child a piece of a muddied brown curl? She gripped a strand of her hair from the base of her head and held it taut. Claire ripped the piece just below the hold her hand had on it so it wouldn’t be plucked directly from her scalp. Her palms opened, gifting the rare thing to the adolescent. Her face visibly brightened and she snatched it immediately. She tucked in safely within her shirt like Claire had done with her rings and skipped down the hall towards the dark wood staircase.

Claire plastered a sickly sweet smile as she sat on the plastic chair. Dr. Brown shuffled some papers on his desk and ignored her. He licked his finger to card through the pages and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat before finally acknowledging her.

“Ah, Mrs. Randall. And what, might I ask, lead me to the pleasure of seeing you in my office today?”

“As you can see, Dr. Brown, the treatments have worked splendidly and I would very much like to return home now. I see no need to be kept here further.”

“I’m sorry ma’am it’s just not how- oh looky here! Your husband signed for your release when he visited me yesterday.”

“Great, so now this has all been sorted.”

“Just hold on Mrs. Randall.” He emphasised her proper name. “Yes, he’s clearly signed your release here, but we’ll need to keep you here for an observation period of at least three more days. Make sure you’ll do no more harm to yourself or others. But, you’ll be glad to know we have seen an improvement from your treatments, and your last one will be this Friday, a day before your release.”

She bit her tongue to hold back the avalanche of defiant words and insults she wanted to fling at the man who held her fate in his hands. Finally, she settled for a simple, “thank you,” and left back to the empty halls.

The bastards in the hospital had made zero progress in truly helping her. If she was asked, Claire knew she wouldn’t be able to recall any detail at all about the last few months of her life. If she could call it that, she was dead living. The therapies only added to her already failing memory. Emily was the only bright part of her day, and now she was leaving the poor girl in the hands of these people alone.

Her final night, when her brain sludged forward through its thoughts, a consequence of her treatments, she finally allowed herself to relax back into her bed fully. But that was a mistake. Fergus sat before the fire at Lallybroch, playing soldier with some chess pieces. The sight of the son of her heart pierced through her chest. He turned around and smiled at her softly.

“Come back, Milady, please. Milord needs you. I miss you maman.” He had never called her maman before, only Milady.

On closer inspection, his eyes were wide with fear at the apparition before him. He knew Milady would never harm him, but there was something otherworldly about her appearance now, much different than her usual strange demeanour. Sensing his trepidation, she kissed his forehead gently, taking the pain and fear into herself from that small point where her lips met his curl that dangled there. A tear dripped down the edge of her nose to his cheek. A flash of red and blue entered the dream, but by then she was already awake.

#outlander fanfiction #adsofraser writing #claire beauchamp #claire fraser #jamie x claire #frank randall #insane asylum #fergus fraser #canon divergence #jamie fraser #medical trauma #I am inflicting pain onto my characters because I can #outlander fanfic

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bjy-on-ao3 · 3 years

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Fic Friday: Hungry Like The Wolf

As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

Bit of a suspension of belief involved in the setup here. I don’t really have a viable reason WHY this would be happening here, but it felt like the best place for this particular concept, so bear with me. Title is after the Duran, Duran song, because the lyrics seemed fitting on the surface, and the name ends being kind of punny.

(Also a thank you to Petaldances for basically beta'ing this for me and catching all my weird little mistakes.)

Summary Reader gets caught up in a passionate and primal game with a certain detective turned Phantom Thief.

Tags/Warnings

Biting, Creampie, Metaverse, Metaverse S*x, Outdoor S*x, Persona 5 Strikers Spoilers, Predator/Prey, Reader-Insert, Rough S*x, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal S*x

Hungry Like The Wolf (F! Reader/Zenkichi Hasegawa)

You couldn’t count how long it had been since you started running. Had it been a minute? Five? Fifteen? You weren’t sure. Time was the last thing on your mind as you bolted down the empty streets. All that was on your mind was to run as far and fast as you could. All you had to go on was the burning in your legs and chest and the swiftly passing city blocks.

You stopped, spinning in place so quickly it nearly made you dizzy, and you stumbled, catching yourself before you toppled over. Your eyes darted about wildly, heart pounding in your chest and your breath coming in out in short, panting puffs. Even if you didn’t know how long you had run for, you had to have at least gained a good deal of headway, right? There was no sign of anyone or anything around you, save for the eerie atmosphere of the metaverse itself. No people, no shadows, no nothing, simply you and the silence of a false city. Though still you felt unsettled, ever sense wired and on alert, waiting for when the silence would shatter into a million fragile pieces.

It was the sound of boot heels scuffing the pavement that broke the silence and set you off again, bolting off down the route you thought best with a quick glance. Yet the sound of boots didn’t die away, as it had when you had first ran, no matter how hard you pushed yourself. No, it echoed in your ears, growing louder and clearer even, and you willed yourself to run faster, lest the game come to an abrupt end. But even with the added talents that came with the strange world of cognition, you could only run so fast and so far before you were caught. Your last choice was to hide, even if it there was no true escape. The thought of capture made your heart drum a somehow heavier rhythm, and wracked your body with pins and needles of adrenaline.

Even if hiding was likely to be a fruitless effort in the end, you had to try. You couldn’t give up without exhausting every avenue available to you and using every bit of your wits. You had no other choice either, not when the sound of your tail was so hot in pursuit, and steadily gaining no matter how much ground you covered. At this rate, it would be only a couple minutes, if you were lucky, before your pursuer caught up with you.

You veered sharply, ducking and weaving past cars and light posts and distorted obstacles otherwise out of place in a typical cityscape. With one final burst of speed, you sprinted through a narrow alley and past the corners of several buildings. Finally, you spied a small alcove amongst one of the building exteriors, and hurriedly tucked yourself into it and the shadows it provided. You flattened yourself back against the bricks, trying to blend in with the darkness. You covered your mouth and nose with one gloved hand to suppress the ragged breaths spilling from your lips, and cast your gaze warily out on the cognitive city.

For an instant, all was still, though the sounds that alerted you to your pursuer’s presence were evident nearby even then. Your breath stalled in your throat as you watched him come into sight, slowing from a run to a cautious walk. Clad from head to toe in black leather and silver trim and metal, he cut an imposing figure. Your eyes lingered over the various weapons strapped and holstered on his person, adding a greater air of menace, before turning your attention to his masked face. Even with the mask, you could tell he was watching keenly, searching for even the tiniest sign of where you had gone. You thought your heart might erupt from your chest when he looked straight at you, or rather straight at your hiding place. You didn’t dare make a sound, didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare even blink, lest he find you somehow.

But he looked away, and you could breathe again, still trying to stifle it against your palm. You couldn’t make yourself move a muscle yet, though. Not until he broke into a jog again, and then a sprint, heading down the block. You waited in your hiding spot a while longer, wanting to be positive he was far gone enough that you could no longer hear him anywhere nearby. Finally, you withdrew from your cover, eyes wide as if if it would help you peer more easily through the dusky light. Your heart raged in your chest, unwilling to calm down, and your mouth was dry, your body hot and tingly and jittery all over.

You swept the area once, twice, three times, and nothing met your eyes. Nor did anything alert your ears. A light fog was settling over the area, making it hard to see very far away. Though the same fog would likely impair his sight, too. Staying on edge, you went about getting your bearings to head back to your rendezvous point. Your thought processes were abruptly interrupted, however, by the sudden gnawing sense you weren’t alone anymore. The hair on the back of your neck and arms stood on end, and you whirled in place once more, coming face-to-face, or mask-to-mask, rather, with the man clad in archaic black leather and metal.

Instinctively, you tried to make a break for it. But he seemed to have been expecting that, and before you could dart away again, resuming the chase, his arms lashed out. He caught you half-turned, looping his arms around your midsection and pulling you fast against you. You squirmed and struggled for a moment against the tight embrace, gloved fingers digging roughly but uselessly into the leather of his clothes and failing to accomplish much. His strength suppressed yours, and his hold was a vice you couldn’t pry apart. All your effort gained you was knocking off the wide-brimmed hat topping his head. You stopped, deciding to save your energy, eyeing the man with full attention.

“You know, you’re a lot faster than you look.” His voice was smooth and level, as if he hadn’t been pelting after you in hot pursuit for god knows how long. “But being fast isn’t enough,” he informed you, releasing part of his hold to reach up and pull down the sharply angled mask hiding his face. Mischief and satisfaction gleamed in the dark eyes behind it.

The cocky tone in his voice reinvigorated your will to escape, out of sheer stubbornness or a second wind, you weren’t sure. You punished against his grasp again suddenly, weakened now that he held onto you with only one arm. His mask slipped through his fingers and tumbled to the ground when you tried to take advantage of the perceived moment of overconfidence. But his hand snapped out in a flash, and the arm still wrapped around you squeezed tighter. His fingers curled back to grasp the base of your skull, catching in your hair. Between the strengthened coil of his arm and the new grip above your neck, your chances of breaking free became even more abysmal in an instant.

“It’d be enough for someone who doesn’t know me, Wolf,” you argued. Your words sounded irritable and casual, though the thundering pulse in your ears threatened to block out your voice.

“Shame for you I do then, huh?” Wolf - or Zenkichi, as you knew outside the confines of the metaverse - sounded very pleased with himself.

Between the smooth sound of his voice and how close you were caught against him, the tingling feeling of adrenaline that had rolled through you before during the chase had morphed into something stronger, though just as primal. Ravenous and hot, it let you tense and burning up, waiting to see what would happen next.

He didn’t give you time to retort to his quip, spinning around with you still held tight in his grasp. He leapt forward, and the world lurched and shifted, until you felt the familiar scrape and snag of rugged stone catching your clothes. You were breathless as Zenkichi leaned in, releasing you from his embrace in favor of caging you in against the building wall with his body. A sidelong glance revealed you were back in the alcove you had hidden in before. Looking to Zenkichi, wearing a grin that was equal parts knowing and cheeky, told you he had been well aware of your hiding spot. He had known where you were as soon as he looked straight toward you.Failing to notice you had been only a pretense to lure you into letting down your guard. You had walked right into his hands.

But there was little time to dwell on your mistakes; the hunt had come to a close, and it was time for the hunter to indulge in his prey. Zenkichi reminded you of that clearly as he bent down with his fingers remaining snared in your hair, using his grip to coax your head back. He left a trail of fervent kisses and sharp nips along your throat, left bare by your outfit. Beaten in your game, you gave in, leaning back against the brick, letting him pin your body there. And arching into the fiery touch of his lips. He said nothing, but as his lips skated over your pulse, hammering in your throat, you felt his lips quirk. A satisfied smile that was forgotten about as quickly as it had come as he continued to ravage your neck.

It wasn’t long before the assault on your skin turned you into a mewling mess pushed against the stone, plaint and hot under his lips. There was a fervor fueling the press of his lips, the stroke of his tongue, the pinch of his teeth. The same fervor burning in you as well, roaring through you and boiling your blood. The unyielding buckles of his several belts were hard and unpleasant, pressing into you so forcefully, but another hardness stood out as well, one far more pleasant and enticing.

Your hips twitched reflexively against his when a well-placed bit made you moan openly into the empty air. A hiss slipped through Zenkichi’s lips, and his actions paused for an instant, before renewing with a vigor. The new effort made you cry out all over again. But he was only satisfied with the small tastes of kisses and bites for so long. He was hungry for so much more, and you were all too pleased to surrender and let him devour you.

The world whirled again, and your eyes shot wide with surprise for a second, before Zenkichi’s hand between your shoulders pressed you forward, back against the wall, pinning you place once more. Your cheek and chest met the stone, your mask shielding you from some of the scrape of the bricks, and you stilled again. A shudder of anticipation rolled through you at the slow creep of his hand lower, and lower, tracing over the curve of your back and the swell of your ass. The wandering hand moved back up, joining its twin and curling beneath the waist of your pants, and tugging them down swiftly.

Your own hands, now lying flat against the bricks, dug at the rough service when his hands inched back up, one stopping to roughly knead a handful of your ass, while the other cupped your center through damp panties. Two leather-clad fingers hooked beneath the fabric, pushing it aside before disappearing past it and between your lips, searching. They found their quarry smoothly enough, sinking into your hole to the knuckles, before pumping in and out. A whine a murmured ‘ fuck ’ burst from you, and you clung to the wall tighter, desperate for something the latch onto, even if the abrasive surface made your fingertips sting.

The finger-fucking didn’t last very long though, enough to make you needy and tense, and when he withdrew his fingers from your slick cunt you managed to turn your gaze back and peek at him. You swallowed hard and your pussy throbbed when th sight of him putting two fingers to his lips met your eyes, the material glistening with your wetness. He cleaned each finger quickly, at the same time seeming to relish the taste of you on the leather.

His glance met yours, pupils dilated so wide you could barely made out the color beyond them, hunger and ardor boring into you. It was a wild and intense expression, borne from the cocktail of lust and adrenaline the lust had filled you bow with; one you hadn’t seen before on Zekichi’s face. But it wasn’t frightful, save for perhaps how much it ignited your own desire. Unabled to hold his gaze any longer, you turned back to eye the bricks, another shiver wracking you.

The crunch of leather and the clink of metal behind you made you even more taut with excitement, and you squeezed your thighs together to quiet the demanding ache between them as you waited. The mood was running too hot - searing you both - for you to need to wait very long, though. Even that brief wait felt like far too much, far too long long in your heated mind and surely in his.

You nearly groaned in relief as the thick head of his cock pushed through your soaked lips, and you weren’t sure how you resisted the urge to slam your hips back and impale yourself on his length. Greedy hands latched onto your hips, fingertips digging hard into your skin with each new inch that entered you. A sharp inhale and a heady, feral groan drew your attention, but you didn’t dare capture that primal gaze again, not when you were already so on edge. You might explode from the sheer desire coursing through you if you chanced it.

Hallways inside, Zenkichi threw any shred of remaining patience to the wind, rolling his hips forward and sheathing himself the rest of the way inside, jostling you against the wall. You ignored the jolt and the burn in your fingertips, clinging to the bricks as if they were your lifeline. The only thing on your mind was the length of him buried hard and deep inside, the fullness complemented by a hot ache. He leaned forward, his body pushing more flush against yours, pressing his lips back to your neck.

Words ghosts over your skin, muffled, and when they reached you, they were gravelly and breathless, but shaky. “Didn’t think you’d be so into this.” The words were quiet, almost as if he were speaking to himself rather than you. “Fuck, didn’t think I’d be so into this.” The rest came as an afterthought, punctuated by a growling moan.

You couldn’t bring yourself to refute his words, even silently, nor did you want to. Your moans half-stifled by the bricks were enough on their own, not even considering your inability to think about much else other than his dick driving in and out of you.

His hips rocked harder, faster, and his breath grew heavier, broken when he pressed more sloppy bites and kisses to your skin. Some were careless enough that might have caused you to wince, had you been in a less aroused state of mind. As it was, each new sensation, whether painful or enjoyable, blended together into a swirling ball of desire and heat that made you more lost with each one. The desperate rut of him against you, the tight grip on your hips sure to leave a few finger-shaped marks, and the smothering heat of his body, contrasting with the cool, rough stone in places where your bare skin touched it. It was all pushing you faster and faster towards the peak and threatening to shove you over.

Beyond the pair of you, the world stayed silent and still, shattered by the myriad of shamelessly obscene sounds pouring from your mouth and Zenkichi’s. The rustle of leather joined the sound of skin slapping together rhythmically and the gasp of panting breath. He was saying something in your ear, something you couldn’t quite make out, unsure whether it was a curse or praise or complete gibberish. You cried out his name, or rather, the name you were supposed to call him then, ‘ Wolf’. The word rolled so easily off your tongue, again and again, like some strange prayer.

Everything was adding up, your breathing shorter and more ragged, and you couldn’t keep yourself from grinding back into every hard thrust. A sharp, unexpected slap on your ass made you hiss between your teeth, but otherwise just encouraged you to buck back into him with more enthusiasm. Your belly and the muscles in your thighs felt so achingly tense, and your legs quivered beneath you. You found yourself fleetingly thankful the weight of his body held you to the wall. The thought was swept away though as the sensations peaked, and you weren’t sure if you could it much longer.

In a single, smooth motion, Zenkichi wrapped one arm around your waist, his fingertips skimming over your skin until the gloved digits found your clit, rubbing quick, tight circles. It was the final puzzle piece you needed to come undone, nearly screaming your satisfaction to the empty block. Zenkichi cursed into your shoulder, your cunt intent on enticing him to spill himself inside of you and join you in ecstasy. By the pitch of his hot breath, and the several following crass words, he was having a hard time resisting it.

His fingers stroked you through your orgasm, the waves of bliss ebbing into oversensitive pulses that made you squirm and try not to thrash your head against the stone, whimpering. His hands stiffened and stilled with his hips as he finished, a few last thrusts pumping you so full of cum that when he stopped moving, a warmth trickled down one of your inner thighs.

You whined when he moved to pull back, unsure if you were protesting his withdrawal or how it made you shudder with lingering oversensitivty. Zenkichi rested a hand on your shoulder after pulling out, and you felt his breath washing over your skin, making goosebumps rise on it all over again. You were loathe to move and shattered the serene, exhausted moment, and the pleasant haze that accompanied it. But there was a time to bask and relax, and you could do that later, once you had taken your leave from the metaverse.

Zenkichi stepped back, and you heard him redoing his belts and adjusting and smoothing his own outfit. You turned to face him, slowly, leaning against the wall and holding onto the bricks to ensure you stayed on your feet. You realized your mask was crooked, half on, half off of your face, surely thanks to the position you had been in.

When he looked up from tucking himself away and sorting out his clothes, Zenkichi’s face twisted into an expression of concern, a hint of guilt tinging the look. You matched the expression with one of confusion, unsure what was its cause. “What’s that look for? What’s wrong?” you asked worriedly, though it came out tired and soft. You glanced all around you, unable to discern what had made him so concerned.

“Shit, can’t you feel it. Your cheek.. and your hands.” he began, and you lifted one hand, palm up to see what was trying to get across.

Looking at your palm, you realized what had caused his distress. The stone had taken more of a toll on your hands than you had noticed in the moment. You winced, out of reflex rather than real pain, the high of your orgasm still faintly lingering and dulling your own concerns. They were going to hurt tomorrow though, you were sure of that. Reaching up to your face gingerly, you found it was similarly scraped and scuffed, though only on the side your mask had been askew.

“Ah, it’s fine, it’ll heal.. and it was totally worth it,” you dismissed, trying to dissuade the guilt mixed with the concern.

“Are you sure I didn-”

“I promise, I’m alright,” you interrupted him before he could fuss any more. You had wanted your little game as much as him, maybe more, and you weren’t going to let either of you regret it over a few scrapes and bruises.

“We should get out here though,” you noted, at least fixing your own clothes. “That was fun, but we probably shouldn’t stick around.”

#zenkichi hasegawa #persona 5 #persona 5 strikers #archive of our own #fanfiction #writing #ao3 #reader-insert #fic friday #nsft #N/s/f/w

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tsukkisupermacy · 4 years

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Hey, love. ( @animatedrapture ) I hope you feel better soon and that these feelings of sadness are replaced with happiness. You deserve to be happy, I promise.

My apologies, this was written on mobile and wasn’t proofread nor edited. I doubt this will be a good piece, but I hope it helps out in some way. I love you.

IN THE HEAT of the moment, Suna slung his bag over his shoulder. Slamming his locker shut without uttering another word. The pitter-patter of his steps resounded against the halls of Inarizaki.

Abruptly, he found himself leaving practice. Not even with Atsumu’s indiginant barking did he reply. This wasn’t about him; this wasn’t about anyone; anyone other than you.

His top priority—you—vanishing after leaving an esoteric text. He, himself, wasn’t aware of what was wrong. He was merely aware that you were troubled, and he’d be damned if practice would be the reason he stalled to console you.

Left, right, right, straight; his mind a one-way train track to concern Avenue. Thoughts pacing with any possible deduction of where you’d possibly be.

In your final period classroom? No, there were too many people lingering after school hours. You weren’t one to distress in public settings, at least, not that he knew. Perhaps you were in the bathroom?

Another corner turned and Suna finds himself facing his conclusion—the bathroom—one of the most secluded areas on campus. He swallowed back a sigh and contemplated his next course of actions. Is he meant to enter and look for you?

The dark brunette nearly facepalmed at his suggestion. What was he? A creep? What could he possibly say if you weren’t in there?

Suna’s thoughts continued to race before jolting, of course, he’d just text you. The male didn’t waste time on drowning himself in satire over his delayed reactions. Rather, he scrolled to your contact; your name with a singular red heart beside it.

Typing out his request—for you to leave the bathroom, if you were even in there—and waited. A moment passed... two, three, and soon enough, the bathroom door opened.

Suna’s eyes widened as the sight of your eyes—red and puffy—paired with damp lashes. Tear-tracks aligning your cheeks as you sniffled, suppressing a sob. Oh, how poignant your tears were, stirring a sonorous ache within his heart.

His arms opened, and within a flash, you found yourself situated within them. His warmth engulfing your figure as he drew you closer, your face buried in his chest.

At times like these, Suna’s lack of adeptness with comfort was an anathema to him; his bête noire. Even as he inhaled your fragrance, basking in the essence of you, he couldn’t help the falsity of his own mind.

He was meant to be there for you and provide as much as he could ever possibly give; to give you everything. If you wanted the stars, he’d fish them from the solar system, reeling each one— line, hook, sinker.

Yet what you needed now was comfort, consolation, for him to provide perpetual support you could confide in.

Suna was never an expert in consoling. He was gum under the shoe of an emotional guru. Yet he was willing to bend himself backwards for you, destroying himself for a ghost of a smile to lace your lips.

As he held you, his right hand rubbing circles in the small of your back whilst the left was at the back of your head, he cooed in your ear. “Shh... I’m here. Breathe for me, can you do that, princess?”

Your short-lived, frantic gasps seemed to reach a crescendo. Alarmed, he pulled away from the embrace to find you on the verge of crying harder— what could he do?

His lips meet your forehead as he sat you down, you were dazed, he worried you’d possibly collapse from the way you were nearing hyperventilation.

He gave you time, he gave you the minutes you needed to collect yourself. Hell, he would give you days if you needed it. His arm draped over your shoulder to bring you close; he hoped his actions could be rewritten by the constellations for you to know that he meant he’d forever keep you close to his heart.

Suna was a simple man, he didn’t have many desires. His wishes were always an in-the-moment type of deal. Suna wasn’t wishful, he was rather realistic, even tending to lean pessimistic.

But there were the little moments he found himself becoming an optimistic, wishing for things that seemed to be an impossible feat.

Though he continued to wish, all for you. It’s strange; it’s absurd how much he’d twist himself for you. Hollowing himself to become merely the hollowed chrysalis of his old self, if you so wanted.

All for you, he dreamed and wished, a wish he prayed would come true. To extricate your sadness: banish your doubts, slay your insecurities, and eliminate all of your burdens.

He dreamed to be there alongside you, battling your internal demons. He didn’t want you to feel alone with your problems, he desperately wanted you to know that he was there.

Both physically with you and emotionally accompanying you. Your sadness was his just as much as your happiness. He wanted to share your pain as much as he wanted with your accomplishments.

He prayed to be with you in full, devoting himself entirely to you. He was yours just as much as he hoped you were his.

Burying his face atop your head, inhaling the scent of your hair—your shampoo’s scent being ever-so prominent, the aroma he had grown to adore.

Your sobs has considerably decreased, reduced to mere sniffles and the occasional gasp. The tears stopped minutes ago as you remainedwithin his arms, sedentary.

“I think—“ You sniffle, drawing out a long exhale, “I think I’m okay now.” A miniscule sentence, one that alleviated the hollowing in his heart.

As long as you were alright, Suna doubted that even the largest burdens of the world would mean nothing to him.

He picked at the fruit of his desire, a smile gracing your eyes as he peppered multiple kisses against your left temple and cheek. The actions enduring a Pavlovian giggle; how adorable.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He murmured, baritone voice blessing your ears. Coy smile lacing your lips, you leaned to peck his lips.

Though as you pulled away, a frown sunk your features. Suna arches a brow before removing his team jacket to drape it over you.

“You’re not smiling, babe. Did you want to talk about it?” He questioned. Yet with a shake of your head, you dismiss his suggestion— not today, not right now.

“It’s not that, I’m just... I’m sorry.” You whisper. The vixen-like eyed male was taken aback, choking on his spit before stuttering, “Why are you sorry?”

“I feel like I’m putting this all on you, and I don’t want to seem weak. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for putting all my problems on you and depending on you so much and—“ He silences you with his lips against yours; a chaste kiss.

“That’s what I’m here for, princess.” He assures you, his fingers intertwine and lace themselves with yours. “You can always rely on me, ‘ya know?” A sigh escapes your lips, “But—“

Suna, yet again, pressed his lips to bring an end to your self-deprivation. “No buts, baby. I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I? I want to be here for you, I want you to face your problems with me, I want you to find comfort with me; I want you happy.” He gushed. Your eyes widen before glassing over once more.

You found yourself choking on a sob, one Suna was quick to notice, his perceptive eyes catching your shift. He scoops you into his arms and leans back, your body sprawled over his.

“No, no— there will be no more crying, babe. I’m here, and I’m here to make you happy and smile. So let me see that pretty smile.” He coos, smirking. Your arms coil around his neck as he press your chest against his, chuckling.

Suna’s eyes soften at the sight of your smile and the sound of your laughter bringing a flurry of butterflies to his gut. Oh, how he loved that sound.

He hoped you could one day be able to know just how much he adored and cherished you. You meant the world and more to him, the entire galaxy could never compare to the glimmer in your eyes.

Together, eternally bound, he hopes. He’ll face your burdens alongside you, forever giving you his undivided attention and support.

“You know I’ll always be here for you, right?” He asked. His fingers laced with yours as your body’s swayed to the rhythm of silence.

“I know,” A whisper, the words dying at your lips. Suna nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple before laying back, sighing.

He hoped—with every fiber of his being—that you knew he’d be with you. Though thick and thin, he’d be there. By chance, forever beside you.

He only wished for you to truly know just how much he was willing to do for you.

#Take care of yourself #I’m sorry things have been hard on you #You don’t deserve this sadness or pain #I hope things get better for you #Sorry this wasn’t the best #I just wanted to get it out for you in time #Here’s some hugs #I love you a lot

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project-ohagi · 4 years

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Keigo Takami ღ Hawks x Reader {Omegaverse AU}

Buy me a coffee!! <3

----

A dependable, dreamy goddess.

That was the image conjured of you, with the draping of a rose-tinted veil over his mind. Perhaps it was the fault of his instincts, that his deepest regions yearned to belong to such a sublime Alpha? To be forever marked as yours, no matter if he had to relinquish his autonomy, or simply be rendered a plaything? Yeah...that was the dream. But, if you embedded some feeling, some sliver of affection into your bite...oh, he would always keep it on display. He would proudly parade around the proof of your bond - of your love. The fluctuations in your scent seemed to bounce off his heart-strings, only further convincing the poor little Omega of your striking compatibility. It was such an intoxicating aroma, gentle but commanding. Whispers of comfort and protection almost emanated from your very soul, whenever he was particularly tired or stressed. It might have been a mere fantasy, but that wasn't enough to stop it providing for him, even at the greatest of distances. He knew you hadn't yet claimed a mate (just don't ask how), and he wished so desperately to be the one to receive that honour.

Your interactions were limited, with you being a high-ranking member of the Paranormal Liberation Army, and Hawks a rather dubious character. But, oh...loyalty to you was sovereign. He did everything to arrest your attention, but as an Omega, there weren't many avenues. He wanted to demonstrate his fertility, show you that he was prepared, willing, to sabotage his mission, if only you would bless him with a child. He would fawn over them, be the perfect mother - the perfect Omega.

Just notice him, already! Notice his desperation to be marked, to conceive!

"What would it take for you to just mate me?" A sigh rolled off his tongue, as he imagined an idyllic future.

He needed to stop transforming into a puddle of nerves and sputtered sentences, when he practiced his confession in the mirror. Where was his usual, debonair masque? He melted at every breath you took, every word you meticulously crafted, every slight movement. And, oh gods, when you licked your lips so absentmindedly, his self-control frayed more and more. He couldn't contain those needy whimpers, or the slick gliding down his thighs. It was obvious that you weren't trying to seduce him, but even so, you managed wonderfully.

How was he supposed to confront you, without immediately falling to your feet and worshipping your every inch? How was he supposed to sit idly, and wait to be selected? You could have anyone! No-one was out of your league, but he felt so incredibly inferior. As he should, being an Omega. But that wasn't it. Could he ever hope to be enough for you? To be gifted the opportunity to satisfy your every need, whether sexually or not? He longed for this, day and night. He longed to be worthy of your hypnotic lure. Recently, this desire had intensified - in a matter of days, his heat was due. He didn't want to suffer through another, alone...without the Alpha he craved. But did he have a choice? Would he be able to woo you, as a simple Omega? And most importantly - would it please you to stuff his tight breeding hole until it overflowed, and make him shamelessly moan out your name, as he begged, as he pleaded for a symbol of your devotion?

He could only dream of the ecstasy.

...Wait. What if he performed some cool, aerial tricks for you? Or...Or gave you some presents? Would you appreciate flowers? Food? What about something shiny? Gods, the scent of giddiness, mingled with a light apprehension, was seeping into the air. It was an exciting prospect, but maybe too forward? That small, niggling self-doubt still remained, and he just couldn't shake it. Was he honestly a grown adult? He felt like a love-struck teenager.

That was your effect, huh? You completely shattered his confidence, turning him into a blindly-infatuated, starry-eyed idiot.

He loved it.

He loved you...but all his training, that suave exterior...it all fell away in your presence. His thoughts muddled, and the only thing on his mind was mating. Mating...having your child...would that bind the two of you together, for eternity? He sure hoped so! Would your naturally-protective instincts allow you to reject a pregnant Omega? One who had been pumped full of you, one who would gladly abandon his position, to start a family? To simply while away the hours cuddling, nesting...

Ah...he wanted your attention, your love, your everything.

So why was he just standing around? He should be flying, pursuing your scent from the air.

That's...not a bad idea, actually.

The last time his gaze had lingered on your majestic form, so powerful, so enticing, you had been engaged in a conversation with a certain patchwork Alpha. It was common knowledge that Alphas didn't usually choose a partner of their own gender, but he couldn't help the small bubble of that jealousy rose within. Alright...the massive, all-consuming bubble of jealousy. For a brief moment, he wondered if that emotion would be acceptable, considering his gender. Did you like the idea of an Omega taking charge, possessing such unbridled lust? All for you? It was impossible for five hours to have passed, since he witnessed that horrific display, but there was a heavy persuasion to your pheromones, which convinced him to stay. He should have already turned in a report to the Commission, muttering something about the idiocy of sending an Omega on an infiltration mission. Yes it was stupid, but secretly, he was over-the-moon. This wasn't nearly as evident in his scent while with his superiors, but the minute he touched down on to Liberation Army property, his entire being seemed to relax.

You were dominant, definitely spouse material, and he ached with an overwhelming desire. You didn't appear the least bit interested in mating, but he was certain that would soon change. One-on-one, praying that the rustling of his crimson wings and the aroma of need, of passion, didn't betray his infatuation, could you honestly resist him? Would you? Or would he once more fall victim to your indifferent charm? To your powerful pheromones, which he inhaled with fervour?

A little love, and a lot of wing-action, carried him on the wind.

He puffed out his chest - maybe you were into less submissive Omegas? Or maybe not. Either way, months of planning and faux confessions were about to be shoved into a blender, and turned on full. It's said that first impressions are incredibly important when attracting a life companion, and these would indeed be his first ever words to you. He could scarcely hear himself over the erratic beating of his heart.

He didn't understand the look of half-confusion, half-amusement eclipsing your typical monotony.

You didn't understand the contrast between this Omega's brazen demeanour, and the fierce, scarlet blush on his cheeks.

A roller-coaster romance was being forged beneath your noses, but the starting pistol sounded an awful lot like a well-renowned pro hero shouting, for the whole world to hear, "Let me give you a child. Please!"

[Word Count: 1197]

#bnha #bnha x reader #my hero academia imagines #my hero academia x reader #bnha hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #ABO #omegaverse #omega hawks #pining hawks #bnha hawks

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dubmill · 3 years

Text

Monday, 14 December 2020

Walked to Arena Shopping Park in the pouring rain to buy Puppy Toilet Training pads at Poundland, then on to Harringay station. (1.1 miles)

Rail: Harringay to Streatham

Shopping at Tesco, then bus (50) to Becmead Avenue

I found my mother in the gloom clutching a letter from Acorn Stairlifts. She was fixated on the offer of a £50 reward if she referred someone to get a stairlift. I said, “You don’t know anyone that needs a stairlift.” (She probably once did, but now they are mostly dead, or if not, already have one.) But she wouldn’t have it. Eventually, when I said I was going to put the shopping in the fridge, she said I should put the letter there as well. I said, “We don’t put letters in the fridge. We put food in the fridge.” “That’s true,” she quickly replied.

Later, the phone rang, and I soon regretted answering it as it was a woman named Monica with a thick accent saying that a warranty on my mother’s washing machine was up for renewal. I was straight away dubious that this was genuine, but I listened, reluctantly, to sales patter about policy benefits and a telephone no. for engineer call-out. Then she passed me over to a man who said his name was Johnny, and it was more spiel about benefits, and did I want to add any more appliances to the policy. Finally, he moved on to asking for card details. I said that I didn’t want to provide such details over the phone and could he put something in writing, but he said they only sent promotional material in the mail. I responded that I would need to discuss the matter with my mother, and he said that was fine and he could call back in 10 minutes. I said that I wouldn’t be there (checkmate), so he gave up, saying he’d call back some other time. If he does call and my mother answers it, she won’t tell him anything to his advantage as she doesn’t know the card no. or other details necessary for any scam to succeed. But no doubt it would cause her some anxiety, which she could do without.

***

Soon after I left the house, it began to rain heavily again, so I thought I’d go to the Wetherspoon’s on the High Road (The Holland Tringham). I had something to eat and a pint of Sambrook’s Junction (good). I originally only planned to have one pint, but an hour later it was still pouring with rain, so I thought I’d wait it out in hopes of the rain stopping, which it eventually did. There was a notice pinned on the wall saying all ales were reduced to 99p once more following the announcement of Tier 3 restrictions from Wednesday. For my second pint I had Ruddles bitter, which only costs £1.29 at full price, so not much of a saving, but it was very good – tasted fresh.

I’m a fan of Wetherspoon’s but the Holland Tringham not so much. It’s a bit dowdy and seems to attract a higher ratio of rather washed-up-looking, decrepit customers (of course, I’m not far off being one of them myself, so I shouldn’t complain). At a nearby table, two somewhat elderly women who had long finished their drinks (and, presumably, mandatory meals) were playing cards endlessly. One of them kept coughing, which made me feel slightly uneasy.

By the time I’d finished my beer, it was past 8.00 pm, so too late to walk all the way home. Not that I would have really wanted to, because I’d done 16 miles on Friday and 10 miles on Saturday and was wary of bringing on a bout of tendonitis, or whatever it is that I suffer from periodically (various pains in my right hip, knee and shin). Instead, I thought I’d just walk to Trafalgar Square, which would be around 8 miles, and I could get the bus home from there.

The rain had only just stopped, so the pavements were still soaking wet and dotted with puddles, plus the streets had completely emptied out to almost lockdown levels. That, and the fact I was slightly buzzing from the alcohol, meant the first four or five miles were quite exilharating, before I started to tire a little. I couldn’t be bothered to think of different routes, so I mostly just walked the same way as on many previous occasions:

Prentis Rd., Garrad’s Rd., Abbotswood Rd., Drewstead Rd., across Tooting Common to Emmanuel Rd., Radbourne Rd., Weir Rd., Clarence Ave., Poynders Rd., Rodenhurst Rd., Hambalt Rd., Elms Crescent, Elms Rd., across Clapham Common to Cedars Rd., Queenstown Rd., Chelsea Bridge, Grosvenor Rd., Claverton St., Denbigh St., Churton St., Tachbrook St., Longmoore St., Wilton Rd., Victoria, Sir Simon Milton Sq., Warwick Row, Palace St., Buckingham Gate, Birdcage Walk, Great George St., Parliament Square, Whitehall, Trafalgar Square (8.0 miles)

Bus: 29 to Harringay

Weather: heavy rain in the afternoon and again in the early evening, but dry later; mild; light winds

Total: 10.6 miles

#London #Harringay #Streatham #Clapham #Battersea #Pimlico #Westminster #England #UK #Britain #Wetherspoon's #rain #scams #phishing #vishing #walk #Streatham to Trafalgar Square #2020 #14122020

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eirian-houpe · 3 years

Text

Darkness Falls On Hyperion Heights - Chapter 1

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings<br />Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin|Detective Weaver, Wishverse Captain Hook | Detective Rogers

Additional Tags: Angst, Supernatural Elements, Hyperion Heights (Once Upon a Time), UST, Smut

Summary: When Librarian and Scholar Belle French arrives in Hyperion Heights in search of an artifact stolen from the British Museum and to enlist the help of Detective Weaver in that search, events in the Heights go from mildly intruiging to dangerously terrifying. Can Belle and Detective Weaver find the truth before time runs out?

Chapter 1 - The Coming of the Storm

Thunder rolled overhead and Detective Weaver turned up the collar of his jacket against the rain. They were huge, fat, tepid globules that fell from a slate gray sky that was fast becoming almost black, and not yet the sheet of water that was promised in the weather forecast. Weaver knew that - as they would have said in his native Glasgow - it was in the post.

He took a long, lasting look along the street opposite to Roni’s Bar. Daytime drinking for the next few days, if he wanted to be social, which was rare. He was on the late shift, six till two, not that he ever really stopped working. One thing about Weaver above all else, he was always on the go - always watching.

With a sigh he turned and hurried into the forty-second precinct building, where he almost immediately bumped into his partner. Rogers appeared to have been waiting for him, pacing the foyer for some time, judging by the look of relief that came over the desk sergeant’s face, and the way Rogers’ shoulders slumped as he sighed when he set eyes on Weaver.

“You do know what time it is, right?” Rogers said by way of greeting.

Weaver glanced at the clock. “Had to call in and see a guy before coming in,” he said absently

“One of your CIs?” Rogers asked.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but… yes.”

“Of course it’s my business. I’m your bloody partner!”

“Then start behaving like one instead of my mother.” Weaver retorted. The day was not getting off to a good start.

“There’s someone waiting for you, in our office,” Rogers said.

“So you’re out here,” he emphasized his words with cutting motions of his hands, “instead of in there talking to them… why?”

“Because she didn’t want to talk to me. She was polite enough about it, but made it pretty obvious that she would only talk to you.” Rogers answered. “Said she came straight from the airport, and judging from the number of suitcases we had to stow in the interview room, plans on staying quite a while.”

Weaver sighed, and shaking his head said, “All right. I’ll see what she wants,” he began to head toward his office, then shot back over his shoulder, “Mean time, Rogers, how about some coffee? It’s fuckin’ miserable out there.”

He ignored Rogers’ huff and headed into his office, snatching up a file from the basket on the door and flipping it open as he went through the doorway without raising his eyes from the paperwork.

“Detective Weaver?”

It was the accent that struck him first, and drew his eyes up from the file. Then, the breath went out of him in a rush. He couldn’t have said what he expected, but she wasn’t it. She was dressed in a golden yellow, floral patterned dress, which fit the curves of her body perfectly, and flared at the waist - he noted as she stood up to offer him a handshake - to fall loosely about her thighs to just above her knees. The dress was sleeveless, and probably afforded little protection from the chill that had settled in with the storm.

Remembering himself a moment later, he flipped the file closed and took her hand in his to accept the handshake. He hadn’t been wrong about the dress.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It seems as though my partner neglected to tell me your name, Miss?”

“French,” she answered, not taking her chilled hand from the warmth of his. “Belle French.”

“Well, Miss French, please don’t keep standing on my account.” He dropped the file into the tray on his desk, and turned toward the door. “I can get you some cof—.”

“Actually, I’d prefer tea,” she interrupted adding somewhat bashfully as he turned back to look at her, “if you have it.”

“O’ course,” he said, and sticking his head around the office door he fixed the nearest uniform with a baleful stare and ordered. “You, find Rogers’ and get him to bring a tea along with my coffee.” He was about to head back into the office when a thought occurred to him, and he added, “And tell him from me, none of that shite he fob the suspects off with either. Something halfway decent. Go over to Roni’s if he has to.”

The startled young officer nodded, with a half terrified expression on his face, and scurried away to do as he was told, even before Weaver ducked back inside the office.

“You certainly have a way with words, Detective,” Miss French said as he returned to his desk.

“So I’m told,” he answered, settling himself into his chair, leaning back slightly to once more take in the small brunette in front of him, unable to ignore her obvious beauty, and seemingly having a hard time not to be affected by it as well. He cleared his throat after a while and asked, “So, what brings you to Hyperion Heights?”

He watched as Miss French picked up a leather satchel he hadn’t noticed, set it on her lap, and rummaged around in it for a moment. Then, she handed him a photograph.

He looked down at its glossy surface, taking in what looked like a large black arrowhead, laid on a piece of cloth next to a measuring tape. Its length from tip to the chipped butt end was five inches long. The surface of it seemed to shimmer, to ripple in a way that made him feel deeply uncomfortable for no reason he could put his finger on. Still, he wasn’t sure why what was obviously an archaeological artifact, had anything to do with him.

“Very nice, Miss French,” he said, handing back the photograph, glad to be rid of it, and forced himself to resist the urge to wipe his hand on his jeans. “But I don’t see what this has to do with the Hyperion Heights Police Department.”

“It’s not, Detective Weaver,” she said by way of an answer. “It’s not very nice at all. Most people that have been in its presence are profoundly disturbed by it… and it’s been stolen.”

“Stolen,” Weaver echoed at just the moment that the junior officer brought in a tray with two steaming mugs, a little jug of milk and a small bowl of sugar with a spoon stuck into it. He nodded to the young officer, and then gestured to the tray of beverages set down on the table. “Help yourself,” he said to Miss French. Then waited while she poured a drop of Milk into her tea. Only once they both had their drinks, and she had wrapped her hands around the mug in a way he found strangely endearing, did he prompted her to go on.

“Yes,” she said, confirming the object in question had been stolen. “From the British Museum. I work there.”

“Then surely the police department you should be informing of the theft is the London Metropolitan,” he suggested, “Not a force half way across the world.” He stopped as she shook her head.

“They weren’t interested,” she said.

“So, what, you thought you’d go chasing after it by yourself?” he found he was holding his breath.

“Detective Weaver,” she began, and he thought she sounded as though she was being overly patient with him. “The missing item is priceless. An ancient artifact of enormous archaeological and anthropological significance, and despite its… reputation,” he cocked an eyebrow at that but she continued unperturbed, “I could not let the theft go without investigation.” She pulled a journal of some sort out of the same satchel as before, that she still cradled on her lap, and set it on top of his desk beside the photograph. It was obviously well used, many of the pages had been turned time and time again, and in places cuttings almost spilled from the book where their folding had become less than perfect. “So yes,” she went on, and sounded irritated, “I went ‘chasing after it,’ as you so eloquently put it. I have spent months and months investigating numerous dead ends and some more promising leads that have left me with more questions than answers.”

“So why here?” he asked. “Why me?”

“Because those investigations led me to this little neighborhood of yours,” she said. “And you, sir, like the artifact in question, have a rather large… reputation, which most certainly precedes you.”

It had taken perhaps another thirty or forty minutes to persuade Detective Weaver to agree to look into the case and to provide her with whatever help, whatever leads he uncovered, but Belle wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t going to hold her breath.

He talked a good talk, but something within her knew that he had no intention of walking the walk to go along with it.

Belle rubbed her eyes with a sigh, and looked around at the hotel room she was in. It was basic at best, but at least it was clean. She could have looked further afield for a better hotel, closer in to Seattle’s city center for example, but she didn’t want to be so far from where the trail had led her, and so had settled for the only hotel that was available in Hyperion Heights itself.

She sat down on the side of the bed, and then, as she was wont to do lay back and curled up on her side and pulled out the notebook from the satchel that she had set beside the bed, along with a pen. She opened the journal to the next blank page - and noted that she would soon need to purchase a new journal - and began to chronicle her meeting with Detective Weaver; her impressions of him, and the next steps she might have to take in search of the stolen head of the Spear of Camlann.

It had been a complete accident of fate that had brought her to Hyperion Heights. For almost six months, no matter what avenue of investigation she pursued, the trail had gone cold and she began to think she would never be able to find the missing artifact. Then, while cataloging the Dark Ages exhibits and texts, she came upon a truly obscure version of the Arthuriad of which, in all her years as a scholar and archaeologist, she had never previously been aware.

To be certain that she hadn’t taken herself off on a fool’s errand, she peered again at the badly reproduced photograph that showed the text. It was written in the English of the Dark Ages, and the hand that had set down the account was spidery at best, and in places took many moments to read the intended words, even though she had already written a rudimentary translation in the later pages of her journal.

Swá fæder ond dóc dyde beadu æt gefilde Camlann, se táhspura Caliburn áhniend clēafan wiðinnan bodiġ Mordredh, swá héafod ahyfend gardena wiðinnan Brytenwealda…

Belle stopped squinting at the photograph, setting it down as she sat up and reached for the note book in which she kept all of her findings and flipped to the page on which she had written her translation, and beneath, her more detailed thoughts on what she had read.

Anyone that knew the Legend of King Arthur, in any one of its many forms and re-tellings knew of the rivalry that grew between father and son even after they were partially reconciled against Morded’s mother - Arthur’s sister, or half-sister in some versions - knew that both the King and the pretender had been mortally wounded on the field of Camlann. Before she had discovered this text, however, Belle - and she suspected few others - had known of the damage wrought to each of the weapons involved in the final battle, nor that the tip of each had lodged with the bodies of the two men. Nor did many know that each had been removed and preserved. Belle had known nothing if it until she had unearthed the fragile pages in the archive of the British Museum, apparently as forgotten as the artifact itself.

She flipped the page of the book to the next page, on which she had reproduced and translated the words on the page which spoke of the anguish of the author as he documented his dismay at having to bind the woman he had loved to the blade he had made of the broken portion of the sword of legend…

“In order to contain the darkness wrought inside of her,” she murmured, reading aloud the words she had written, letting her thoughts go as she did. “Never shall I forgive myself for my lack of foresight which allowed this - which I allowed. I can only hope that my intervention is in time, and that the balance of its power, in the tip of the Spear is enough.”

It was far fetched at best. She was not a superstitious person, and certainly had cause enough throughout her life to abandon childish games, belief in Santa Claus, fairies, and the existence of magic, for good or evil at an early age. However, something about this account, and about the chain of access that showed who had viewed this document, when and where, had somehow made a believer out of her. Investigating living persons was, after all, a far easier undertaking than piecing together the events of something over 1500 years ago.

Turning the page once more, she stared at the drawing she had made - a copy from the pages she had studied - of a dagger with a wave edged blade, highly decorative along its length, beside and around the etching of a name, which as she looked, she could have sworn the letters swam, wavered and changed.

#rumbelle #woven beauty #angst #supernatural elements #hyperion heights #UST #eventual smut #Darkness Falls on Hyperion Heights

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writtenbyandria · 4 years

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KIRA+DOMINIC — 03

It wasn’t often that Kira Mosley ventured out of the quieted comforts of Nassau County without adult supervision.

There were times where, after much pleading with her parents for permission, she’d commute into the Manhattan with a few of her classmates.

Those instances, however, were far and few between.

Unlike those previous occurrences of wandering aimlessly through Central Park until sunset or perusing the liveness taking place at Times Square before embarking on the tedious quest to find somewhere to eat, Kira commuted without her usual group of friends to keep her company throughout the prolonged commute. Rather than resorting to hearing the latest gossip pertaining to whose crush was smitten with who, she commuted to Queens by her lonesome and busied herself with listening to the playlist she spent a majority of her morning curating.

The randomly selected sounds of nineties R&B floated through her headphones throughout the entire duration of her train ride and settled her never ending case of nerves as gathered her belongings and exited the train.

As she hurried up the steps of the 169th Street Subway Station, her stare roamed up the length of the individual sporting a familiar reserved grin. His hands had been stuffed into his pockets.

Before uttering a meek ‘hello’ the moment she raced up the last step, Dominic simply removed her earbuds and toyed with the ends of her cornrows.

“I was startin’ to think you weren’t gonna show.”

“I told you I was.”

Dominic shrugged, “You don’t really know me from nowhere.”

“I know you well enough.” Kira murmured. The fullness of his lips contorted into a blatant smirk that disappeared all within a matter of seconds. “And you still came to see if I’d come.”

“...Yeah,” was all he bothered to say. For some reason, his meekness intrigued Kira. Not because of his sudden tamed behavior was appealing in any way, but because she could see that her arrival to the borough was appreciated. It was almost as if the slight gesture was extraordinary.

Remarkable, even.

“Your people know that you’re out here...with me?” Dominic asked as they waited for the opportunity to cross at the intersection.

“No,” she quickly admitted and later revealed that she used her friend Autumn to cover up her actual whereabouts.

“I’on want you getting in trouble ‘cause of me.”

“I won’t.” Kira said with certainty. With her mother currently vacating with old friends from her alma mater and her father stationed at one of the three hospitals within the county that he happened to have affiliations with, Kira was sure she’d dodge facing any trouble from her parents.

Without saying anything else about her parents or the plausible what-ifs that would ultimately land her in a heap of trouble, Dominic guided Kira across the congested intersection of 169th Street and Hillside Avenue.

She smiled inwardly when he took her hand in his.

Though the stint of hand-holding lasted all of but two minutes due to him luring her into a pizzeria, Kira couldn’t disregard the elation momentarily flooding her.

“For what it’s worth, I’d like to remind you that I was honest with you the moment your mother and I found out about this whole fixer upper nonsense. I said you were in over your head then. And, sweetheart, I’m afraid my stance on it still hasn't changed.”

Huffing, Jackson Mosley pulled his daughter into an embrace in which they separated quicker than expected.

The unfavorable news of her failing to put the foreclosed townhome back on the market was a tough pill to swallow for the fifty-six year old man, apparently.

They shuffled from his parked Land Rover Sport that idled the decent-sized driveway, and up the back steps; the path paved evenly with asphalt was about the only task Kira didn’t seek out to reconstruct. She did, however, plan to have contractors completely gut out the kitchen and bathrooms strictly for remodeling renovations. She also wanted the flooring to be taken up and replaced with brand-spanking-new wooden planks.

Using the duplicate set of house keys she had made a month ago, Kira entered the home and groaned from the displeasing stale stench wafting into her nose.

“What’s wrong with your apartment? Are they increasing the rent?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong with the apartment.” Kira muttered. She trudged through the foyer and headed straight for the dated kitchen simply just to look out towards the expansive yard space. At the sliding glass door, her father joined her. “It’s just that...I don’t know. I think I’m beginning to hate living there. Well, it isn’t so much as I think. I know I’m beginning to hate living there.” Kira admitted. “Gosh. I can’t even believe I’m saying this…”

Years ago -- when enduring the expected slump in freelance journalism and conceptualizing ideas for her own forthcoming blog-site -- Kira would have never imagined she’d eventually grow tired of Brooklyn and actually miss the quieted comforts of the suburbs.

She fled to college not only to earn her degree, but to also be catapulted into a new environment. While studying at Howard University she vowed to never move back to Nassau County indefinitely and made sure to occupy all of her summer breaks with internships that required her to frequent places far from her hometown. Kira had made strides in straying far from Hempstead and established residency in Brooklyn right after graduation to make sure she never had to dwell there too long during. Aside from the holidays where her mother would have to beg her to stay for days at a time, or a massive gatherings (that tended to occur far and few between as of late), Kira hardly dwelled there and regarded herself as a proud Brooklyn transplant who tended to stay within the borough.

In her early twenties, she had fallen in love with everything Brooklyn had to offer; the convenience and close proximity trumped every other amenity.

Her best writing happened in Brooklyn.

Her best years were in Brooklyn.

Some of her more memorable sexual encounters happened to be with Brooklynites.

Kira couldn’t believe it was even possible to loathe Brooklyn as much as she had within the last two years. The neighborhood of Williamsburg had become too crowded for her liking.

Sadly, neither the restaurants, bars, lounges, nor the generous coffee shop barista who gave her fresh pastries due to her being a faithful subscriber were not enough to keep Kira residing there any longer.

Now, in an ironic twist of fate, Kira sought out to move back to Nassau County in a timely fashion.

Among the homes she came across while perusing several online real estate sites, was a foreclosed property in Long Island’s town of Oyster Bay. It reminded Kira of her childhood home in Hempstead although the properties differed greatly in acreage.

“Do you really need all this space?” Jackson asked.

“Yes. The space would be a benefit.” Kira defended. No matter how persistent Jackson Mosley was about putting the three-bedroom home back on the market, Kira was certain she’d make use of the space.

He father heaved a hardly audible sigh and ran his hand over his face. “What I’m saying is that having all this square footage may be a bit overwhelming. Realistically speaking, Kira, you are a single woman with no children. What on Earth do you need with all of this space? You’d be better off looking for another apartment.”

“Whether I want the space or intend to utilize every square foot is subjective, daddy.” Kira replied sternly, crossing her arms over her chest. “It was a steal. I purchased this home considerably way cheaper than what the homeowners in this area purchased theirs for.” She further noted. “I’m gonna fix this up and use as much or as little space as I please. It’s mine.”

A contemptuous grin etched across her father’s expression, and faltered the moment he advanced towards the old-fashioned kitchen peninsula. The counter space was made of a material Kira couldn’t bear to look at for too long, due to the previous owner’s poor choice of granite that conflicted with the cherry wood cabinets.

“Have you even made the attempt to contact the contractors your mother referred you to?”

“Yes, and I chose not to give those assholes --”

“Kira,” Jackson warned, “watch your mouth.”

She glanced at her father over her shoulder. “Sorry. It slipped out.”

“Now what were you saying about the contractors? And mind your language this time.”

“They were pulling my leg about requesting a quote for a kitchen and bathroom remodel. It’s safe to say I won’t be using them.”

“Kira if you can’t even find the proper contractors to help you make this place liveable, then perhaps you need to put it back on the market like I’ve advised.”

“I’m not doing that. But I will be looking for a contractor this week. I’ll make sure of it.” Kira insisted, catching her father’s blatant eye-roll as he ambled back towards the front of the home. “You don’t believe that I have any intention of finding suitable contractors, do you?”

Rather than sparing his only daughter of having to hear the harsh admission by allowing a prolonged silence to loom over them, Jackson Mosley simply confirmed Kira’s preconceived suspicion by uttering, “No, I don’t.”

“Well,” she took a step, “if you don’t have faith in me to actually find someone for the job, you must have no faith in me at all.”

Adjusting the strap to the crossbody bag onto her frame, Kira made a beeline for the door and muttered to her father that she had no intention to head back her parents’ home after locking up. Almost immediately, she felt immense regret for opting to commute to Long Island by way of public transportation on account of her having to solely rely on her father.

“Take me back to the transit station, please.”

Back in Brooklyn, Kira busied herself with composing drafted reviews of complimentary cosmetics and hair products she picked up from an expo she attended the previous week.

The event specifically curated to gain exposure for black-owned beauty start-ups provided Kira with new content to publish onto her site. Typically, she uploaded the drafted posts throughout the approaching week in an effort to keep maintain her quota of visitor traffic to her blog. The frequent postings not only fed her loyal audience, but also provided her with a substantial amount of monthly revenue from advertisements and contracted branding partnerships.

While thoroughly delving into personal pros and cons she experienced while using a manuka honey leave-in conditioner one of the business owners provided her with, Kira halted in typing another word onto the document and retreated back to the list of contractor companies the web browser’s search engine had provided.

As she skimmed the lengthy list in search of a company that were either within close proximity of the home in Oyster Bay or advertising their willingness to commute to other towns within the state limits, her apartment door opened; a pair of keys jingled as the individual padded down the narrow hallway.

Besides herself, only two people were provided with a set of keys into the private dwelling. Not even her parents were equipped with manufactured duplicates.

“Autumn?” Kira called out, forming the presumption that her childhood friend and infrequent roomie had decided to pop up without calling in advance.

Teeth smackings emitted from Kira the moment her eyes settled on the short crop of coarse curls belonging to her brother Lawrence.

“Shoes --,” Kira chided, “-- remove them.”

Huffing her brother four years her junior turned swiftly on the soles of his bulky basketball sneakers and retreated back down the dimly lit hallway.

“You could’ve called.”

“Didn’t think I needed to. You know, since I got the keys and all.”

Instead of plopping onto the dull grey couch positioned against the adjacent wall, Lawrence raced into the kitchen, failing to wash his hands before rummaging through the refrigerator. When he returned, vegetable lo mein was served on one of the marble plateware she hardly put to use. Her fingers drummed along the wireless keyboard paired to her iMac.

By then, Lawrence sauntered towards the couch and reclaimed his usual seat on the couch’s far left; his feet propped atop the mirrored coffee table riddled with books and flea market knick knacks.

“Any progress on the new place?”

“No, not yet. I’m still in the process of looking for contractors.”

“You’ve been saying you were looking into contractors since before you took your trip. You’re making the task harder than what it needs to be.”

“I know. I’ve been a bit sidetracked this since I’ve gotten back.”

“Back from Long Island, or back from L.A.?”

“L.A.,” Kira retorted and mussed with her hair. “If I didn’t have to go and check on the property, I would’ve slept the entire day away. I’ve been back for two days, and I’m still I’m a bit jet lagged.”

“Shit. I forgot to ask. How’d the meeting go?”

“Fairly well, considering that all my terms are going to be contractually upheld.”

The trip in which she traveled strictly to negotiate the preliminary stipulations to her pending collaborative venture left Kira jet-lagged, but more so afflicted with procrastination. Well before making the trip to Los Angeles, company bigwigs -- a duo consisting of a marketing strategist and a branding consultant -- were ardent on gaining consumership with women of color. In the wake of teasing the release of a new formulated foundation produced in a broad range of shades, the renown cosmetic company’s marketing specialist specifically sought out to acquire black beauty bloggers and other online beauty content creators to assist in advertising the brand’s forthcoming fall release.

Kira’s site traffic and faithful readership coupled with her previous ventures with a cosmetic startups and well-known brands were three components that happened to land Kira on the strategist’s radar. Over brunch, at some pretentious eatery, the twenty-seven year old pressed for the rather extensive amount of money she sought out to obtain for the collaborative venture. And by dinner the following evening, Kira was mulling over a newly drawn up, non-binding contract that had already been both faxed and emailed to her lawyer.

Given the approval from the lawyer she kept on retainer, Kira happily signed the contract, and prematurely relished in acquiring the approaching lump sum by overindulging in drinks.

And, of course, Omari Grant.

At the mere thought of the retired quarterback and their tryst in his hotel room, Kira shuddered and rubbed her neck.

“I’ll have a number to a contractor by tomorrow. Mark my words.”

“Ai’ight,” Lawrence expressed with great doubt, “I’ma hold you to it.”

Kira’s eyes narrowed, “Hold me to it?”

“For whatever reason, you’re prolonging the process. If you aren’t one-hundred percent invested in this whole remodeling project, then you shouldn’t even be bothered. Either get the ball rollin’ on hiring contractors for the renovations or put the shit back on the market.”

“Alright. That’s enough. I can’t take any more of you lecturing me on what I need to do. You sound like dad.” Kira rushed out. She resumed with perusing the list of established general contracting companies.

At random, she selected Johnson & Parsons Home Improvement. As stated on their website, The New York-based contracting firm offered services throughout the listed cities, including the town in which the foreclosed property was located. “Dad’s fine, by the way. Just in case you were wondering.”

Kira averted her eyes from the desktop’s massive screen and peered over at Lawrence.

The sudden disinterest in the conversation as it pertained to their father was aparrent in his deadpan expression.

“He asked about you this afternoon.”

Her eyes rolled instinctively when recollecting the awkward drive to the train station. Jackson Mosley simply couldn’t take the hint to keep the conversation to a minimum.

Instead of commuting in silence, he turned on the radio, hoping that the songs playing from the Hip-Hop and R&B station would lure Kira out of her momentary irritation. But when that was proven to be unsuccessful the middle-aged man followed the stint of humming along to the catchy instrumentals from yesteryear by asking about Lawrence.

“He’s fine.” She remembered tersely retorting, later mentioned the creative strides her brother was making, as of late.

For some reason, Kira hoped that Lawrence would have perked up the moment that tidbit of information swept past her lips. Sadly, to no avail, her younger brother sported the same look of indifference he often had whenever the topic of conversation reverted to Jackson Mosley.

A deafening silence loomed over them subsequent to Lawrence sticking a fork in the cold helping of leftover takeout. In that discomforting lull, Kira could feel the harbored resentment radiating from her younger brother as he remained silent; the marbled plateware balanced atop the couch’s broad armrest. Lawrence mussed with the hairs sprouting from his chin.

“Call him, Lawrence.”

The agonizing contempt evaded him.

His pursed lips gave way to a smirk of sudden amusement. Laughter escaped him soon afterward.

“What’s so funny?” Kira queried.

“Nothing.”

“No. Tell me. I wanna know.”

“Nothing,” Lawrence fixed his lips to say again before releasing an exasperated sigh, “It’s just funny how you’re advising me to speak to him when you’ve been on the outs with him before, too.” Lawrence spat prior to grasping the fork and stuffing his mouth with noodles. He ate with gusto and hadn’t thought to stop until the plate was bare. “I can recall a time where you and dear old dad weren’t on the best of terms.” Lawrence recounted. “You and mom weren’t so amicable back then, either. In fact, I could vividly remember you went nearly a whole semester without speaking to them.”

“I was a freshman in college --

“ -- I know you not about to cop out with that excuse again.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“It’s a bullshit excuse. It always was.” Lawrence insisted. “You’re gonna hold onto that, aren’t you? Will you ever be honest and say that you still had that chip on your shoulder from senior year. So much so that you insisted on staying with Autumn and her family during winter break.”

Silence pervaded the room, prompting Lawrence to sigh inwardly.

“I guess not.” He muttered. “Sometimes I believe you only interact with him now because I choose not to. Dad could hardly stomach the fact that you and him were estranged all that time. I couldn’t even imagine how crushed that man would be if both of his children decided to steer clear of having any interaction with him at the same time.”

It wasn’t until Kira jotted down the number to Johnson & Parsons Home Improvement on a nearby post-it note that he muttered, “he should’ve made a better attempt at being a father.”

Lawrence’s statement hung in the air, prompting Kira’s shoulders to visibly contract as she set the ballpoint pen down beside the mouse and it’s respected stark white mousepad; the tension pervading the living room was thick and also somber the longer Kira continued to ponder on not only her underlying grievances with her father, but her brother’s as well.

The children of Jackson Mosley idled within the confines of Kira’s Williamsburg apartment, failing to utter anything to each other.

The weight of their father’s disastrous approach to parenting evident as time progressed.

#kira+dominic #fiction

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villanevest · 5 years

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"You're Her Type": Anna and Eve and the Garden of Evil (+ how Eve and Villanelle learn and love)

hello everybody i have had more wine so now you're going to be subjected to my Opinions. today, we are going to be talking about eve and anna, specifically in the context of their respective relationships with villanelle. i believe that, as we wind up to another season finale, and our characters make some pretty defining choices about one another, this is a comparison that killing eve invites -- it's no coincidence that after six episodes of relative radio silence on the matter, konstantin returned anna to the show's discourse in 2x07. so buckle up. a little signposting: first we're going to break down how eve and villanelle engage with the idea of love, then contrast anna and eve's moral frameworks, and then finally explore how anna and eve have gone from almost mirror images of one another to completely divorced in villanelle's mind, and why that's a good thing. i will try and keep this shit concise, but y'all know how these turn out.

now as i've mentioned before, killing eve is a precarious cantilever of parallels. eve/villanelle are obviously our most important and riveting example of this -- initially, they have their resemblance, but we watch as they slowly and softly kill their old selves until they complement each other seamlessly. but eve/anna is a crucial secondary parallel because it contextualises the primary; it situates villanelle and eve's mutual obsession.

i believe that as we progress through our formative years, the people around us provide us with experiences and patterns that teach us how to love, and what to expect from love. this can sometimes set us up for life (leaving us with a model that drives us to seek out healthy and productive dynamics), but sometimes, it means we don't know how to recognise or cultivate genuine affection, and we get trapped in damaging cycles. i've said before that i think eve sits on the psychopathy spectrum, but i also think that growing up, she had strong examples of relationships, which is why she is such an accomplished long-term chameleon -- she was able to maintain a marriage and friendships. yes, this was partially through self-repression, but at a base level, eve has the formulae to pass in these typical emotional environments.

villanelle, on the other hand? anna tells eve that villanelle's father was a drunk, and her mother passed away. i doubt that villanelle had ANY actual relationships, let alone good ones, with family. she's exceptionally intelligent and a very fast learner (which anna asserts and we have confirmed on-screen almost every episode), and she's versatile. this is why she's able to craft and adopt the perfect character/personality for a particular situation -- she's built up a repertoire of dialects, micro-expressions, cue responses, etc. that allow her to smoothly navigate short-term interactions (e.g. with Sebastian, with Gemma). but prior to anna, villanelle has no people she can invest in and expect a returned investment, so she's never had the opportunity to develop skills beyond the superficial. she gets what she wants through charisma, a calculated blend of innocence and sex appeal, and transactions (i do this, you do that).

but then villanelle meets anna, and undoubtedly forms an imprint on her of some kind, as her first "reciprocal" relationship -- the first adult to treat villanelle like she has value. obviously, the ethics of student/teacher affair are EXTREMELY dicey, but getting into that discourse will take us outside my intended scope. so here's how eve and anna differ. 1) proximity. villanelle and anna are together all the time, and this gives rise to their relationship. villanelle and eve, in the first season, are almost always apart. initially, their fascination is at least partly driven by mystery. it's not a "crime of opportunity". this is pretty much the most difficult long-distance mess imaginable. essentially, villanelle and eve both take an active role -- they pursue each other deliberately -- rather than a passive one. it's not a matter of convenience. 2) commitment. for anna, villanelle was an avenue of tourism, a compartment kept self-contained which anna could visit to re-explore youth and sexuality. but villanelle was not allowed to bleed into the rest of her life; anna wanted to keep job-husband-image just-so while also having villanelle when desired (cake had and eaten too). eve's whole life, however, orbits villanelle. her husband, her friends, her job -- these are discarded as acceptable sacrifices on the path to villanelle, rather than prioritised. while anna (potentially due to guilt) idealises the memory of her husband, eve considers niko disposable, and is a clearer iteration of herself without him.

3) psychology. anna is inarguably fucked up (she had an affair with her STUDENT), but i don't think she registers as a psychopath. she displays empathy, remorse, reticence to cause harm. eve? villanelle kind of nailed it with the "like us" thing. and this brings us to how anna and eve each fit into villanelle's life, and way of life. im making an absolute reach of a biblical reference with my title, but if for a minute we did position anna/eve as adam/eve, we end up with two items of real relevance. firstly, that eve is the one who takes the bite of the apple, and secondly, that eve is created from anna/adam. the apple as we know is symbolic of the temptation of sin. eve eats, and is cast from paradise forever. what i love about this, though, is that our eve isn't cast from paradise, she's cast from prison. eve's boring office job in witness coordination, her stale marriage, her enactment of normality day in, day out -- it isn't a utopia, not by any stretch. and i think that's only really starkly apparent to eve after all those trappings are gone; once she feels "wide awake", she realises exactly how long and how deeply she's been asleep. but anna? anna doesn't give in, or rather, she doesn't give in enough. she sleeps with villanelle, and spends time with villanelle, but when she's confronted with villanelle's capacity for violence, she retreats. she calls the police and cuts villanelle out of her life (which im obviously not going to criticise her for; it's a justifiable response), although it's too late by then. she's stranded in this halfway purgatory -- a woman whose adolescent lover murdered her husband; a woman who isn't good but won't commit to being bad, CAN'T commit. anna is undoubtedly morally grey, but (and bear with me here, because i can't think of a better way to articulate this) anna is kind of weak. she never had the guts to look at her situation for what it was, to bother to try and see villanelle beyond what she wanted her to be. she was using villanelle -- someone she could feel good about helping while simultaneously bringing excitement to her mundane life -- and set her back down when villanelle became too much trouble. what we and Villanelle learn from this is that certain parts of who she is are attractive (irresistibly so) to other people, and others are repellent.

which obliquely brings me to the second point, that eve is created from anna. as early as 1x02, we have our attention directed to the physical similarities between anna and eve, which is perhaps part of the initial draw to eve for villanelle, but we also have their differences immediately emphasised. eve is unique from the outset, because these repellent qualities -- the enjoyment of destruction, the dramatic flair, the violence, the efficiency -- are what excite her about villanelle in the first place. villanelle's beauty/charm/off-beat humour/loyalty all come into the picture later. at the beginning, there's just a string of bodies, and that's what sucks eve in. don't get me wrong, i think it's very much villanelle's personality that eve is obsessed with -- we could see her professional but lack of personal interest in the Ghost -- but she has always understood villanelle in the context of her darkness. it never surprises her, only intrigues her. in 1x08, we have a number of direct comparisons between anna and eve, or at least, the show recreates the same situations with each of them and watches them respond entirely differently.

we have anna pulling the gun on villanelle. the entire time, villanelle is relaxed, stating outright that anna doesn't have what it takes to shoot. she waits her out. she has no intentions of killing anna, even though she tells irina, "i don't love her anymore." we'll come back to the significance of that statement.

later, in the tea room, eve has a gun levelled at villanelle, but again, villanelle is certain she won't fire. eve admits that no, she can't use the gun, but rather than turn it on herself as anna did, she makes villanelle an offer: come with me; it can be just the two of us, and we can talk. in a high stress environment, eve's response is to treat villanelle like a person, not a weapon or a thing.

so villanelle runs. and that brings us to their final interaction of the season, when they meet in villanelle's paris apartment. as they lie together on the bed, eve pulls the knife, and villanelle tells her, "you can't."

this is where eve cleaves distinctly and irreversibly from anna in villanelle's mind. like i said, a fraction of eve's initial appeal is her similarity to anna, although it's also obvious that villanelle is very much attracted to eve in her own right (in 2x03, she calls the woman she sleeps with "eve" and not "anna"). but then in 1x04, eve gets out of the car to face villanelle, and villanelle has dinner with her in 1x05, and eve begins to overwrite anna in villanelle's mind. how can we be sure of this? because in 1x08, when villanelle is sneaking past anna and irina in the apartment, she pauses and stares, even though it's vital that she get to her passport quickly. what's notable about this particular moment is that this is the only shot where anna could easily be mistaken for eve. this is what prompts villanelle to linger for that extra beat.

so we have that initial similarity, then a merging, then an overtaking. but when eve stabs villanelle, she becomes removed entirely from anna in villanelle's mind. she goes from "you're like anna" to "you're more interesting than anna" to just "eve". because along many other things, eve has the capacity to surprise villanelle. she doesn't take the easy or the expected choice. not only does she understand villanelle's language of extremities and violence, she speaks it. this is what villanelle means by "like us" in 2x07; she and eve are more similar than they are different.

and now we're circling back to villanelle's defence to irina -- "i don't love her anymore!" obviously, this line carries all kinds of implications, but the most critical is that villanelle conceptualises herself as someone capable of love. she doesn't say "i don't like her anymore" or "i don't want her anymore" or "i'm not obsessed with her anymore". she chooses and uses "love".

with anna, though, it never could be a mutual, reciprocal love, because she and villanelle don't mean the same thing when they use that word. they have fundamentally different understandings of what love means. so even though, ostensibly, it seems like villanelle broke her learned pattern by seeking anna out, she actually perpetuated it -- anna is another authority-position adult who discards villanelle, who misunderstands her and pushes her away (again, fair enough; villanelle is very complicated and dangerous). but eve? look at eve's initial constructions of love. she loved bill, but remains infatuated with his murderer. she loved niko, but when he questioned her rather than supported her, she discarded him too, and went from upset to acceptance in a matter of DAYS after what was presumably a 15yrs+ partnership.

and then look at her with villanelle. it's not conventional or healthy, but they have a much more compatible interpretation of interpersonal relationships. they're both quite manipulative, but they don't see this as an issue -- the manipulations are a means to the end of helping the other. villanelle is very transactional (she sends eve clothes and perfume, wants to make her favourite recipes), but eve responds very well to the expressing affection through gifts and gestures; far less well when niko and kenny try to show care by giving eve instructions or suggestions. they each romanticise eve stabbing villanelle ("i think about it all the time"), yet neither of them believed villanelle would go through with the hit on eve, because violence plays a deliberate, rather than random, role in their dynamic, which they both comprehend innately. eve stabbed villanelle to assert their equality; she probably did it because villanelle's first response was to say, "you can't", and eve needed to prove she could. but they're on different terms by the time they meet again, and harming each other is no longer a productive currency, no longer has purpose; instead, they hurt others, and help each other, as a way of affirming the growth of their connection.

for eve and villanelle alike, the other represents a deviation from their established learned patterns, but an important choice for them personally. eve isn't going for the stable, normal relationship that she's been brought up to seek out; instead, she's gravitating towards the possibility of someone who embraces her complexity and darkness, and will give her space and means to explore and express herself. and villanelle isn't recreating a nonreciprocal relationship where she is used/enjoyed and then discarded; she's chosen someone who has the potential to be longer-term, who genuinely cares about her holistically.

from where we're standing before the finale, it looks like they may learn to "love" each other, in the way they are each capable of. villanelle and eve aren’t a relationship that can exist in heaven, because they’re not people of paradise; whether they’re the apples or the snakes or the gods in this equation, the pertinent fact is that are each other’s gateways into a world that fits them, and gives them what they need. is that fucked up? absolutely. is it kind of nice? I think so. it’s certainly gripping as all hell to watch.

xx. see y’all on the other side if we survive tomorrow’s episode.

#villanevest #villanevest writes #villainever writes #killing eve #ke #killing eve analysis #ke analysis #ke essays #villanelle #eve polastri #anna killing eve #anna leonova #villanelle x eve #eve x villanelle #killing eve s1 #killing eve s2

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melacka · 4 years

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A Blacklist Secret Santa

Hello there @meetmeatthecoda! Tis I, your Blacklist Secret Santa and I come bearing (slightly late) gifts! I wanted to write you a soulmate au but I just couldn’t get it together to write a good one, so I might just have to return to that idea later! Instead, I have written a sorta holiday-themed, weirdly angsty yet fluffy Lizzington fic. I hope you enjoy it!

Wishing you and yours a wonderful holiday season and a happy and prosperous new year!

Title: Less Conventional Methods by Melacka

Rating: M (mainly for some swearing and mild dirty talk at the end, it’s Gen most of the way through)

Summary: Tired of the way their relationship was going, Liz uses the opportunity of an undercover operation to be someone else for an evening.

Or, Red and Liz actually talk about their feelings.

You can read it on AO3 here or keep reading below.

Liz shifted nervously on her feet as she stared at the numbers ticking by in the elevator. After a moment, she realised what she was doing and willed herself to relax, conscious as ever of people possibly watching her. How many times had she herself profiled someone based almost entirely on surveillance footage they had obtained? How much information was she giving away in this short journey to the top of the building? She wondered idly what it would be like to just be able to go places and not consider who might be observing her. She dimly recalled a time in her life when she used to do that, when she could move with relative ease and freedom through the world. It seemed a lifetime ago, now.

Liz had borrowed a dress from Samar for the occasion. She hadn’t had time to go home before she needed to be at the party and apart from a rather noticeable difference in height, she and Samar wore about the same size. She glanced down at herself and tried not to feel self-conscious about how much skin was on display. She wasn’t exactly confident in her ability to pull this outfit off, but she had already decided that the best way to get through the evening was to pretend to be someone else entirely. Luckily for her, she knew just the person to create an entirely new identity for her. Tonight, she’d say goodbye to Elizabeth Keen and step into Andrea Deacon’s shoes.

Andrea Deacon was a successful accountant who dabbled in money laundering. She wouldn’t hesitate to wear a tight, low-cut dress and she was perfectly comfortable in those spike heels. Andrea Deacon was a strong, confident woman. She was unattached and unashamed. While Elizabeth Keen balked at the idea of schmoozing the city’s elite, Andrea Deacon merely smiled in anticipation.

She sighed and put her best bland smile on her face, smoothing down her dress in preparation for the evening ahead. They were all arriving separately and had agreed not to interact with each other unnecessarily. Red had provided them with some information about who would be in attendance but had, as usual, kept several pertinent details to himself. Liz was becoming accustomed to this particular habit of his, she saw it now more as a challenge to be overcome, rather than the constant irritant it used to be.

Liz stepped out of the elevator and glanced around the room slowly, locating the rest of her team easily. Ressler was ordering a drink at the bar, Aram was chatting animatedly with a young woman who kept touching his arm playfully, an action that Aram seemed baffled by, and Samar was dancing with someone that Liz was fairly sure ran one of the biggest banks in the country. She didn’t acknowledge any of them, they were all playing different roles tonight and would only check in sporadically. She couldn’t see Red anywhere, but she knew he was bound to be around here somewhere. There was no way he would trust them to handle it themselves and he could rarely resist a party. She caught sight of Dembe as she strolled calmly across the room and she smiled at him in invitation as she passed. She walked up to the far window and feigned interest in the view while she waited. Sure enough, within a minute she felt him come up behind her.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” she murmured without looking at him.

“Stunning,” he replied quietly, looking out across the city.

“Are you here alone?”

“No, I am here with my employer.” Dembe finally turned to look at her and smiled. “He is not far.”

“Oh,” Liz replied vaguely, glancing at him quickly before looking out the window again. “I don’t know many people here tonight. Are you able to give me any insight?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well,” Liz drawled, allowing a flirtatious smile to mask her anxiety once more, “is there anyone I should really avoid?”

Dembe smiled in response and beckoned her closer. She leaned in obediently, thinking to herself that Dembe could probably be quite the charmer when he put his mind to it.

“Avoid the blonde man with the moustache, he is very dangerous and not related to your mission here tonight. It would be unwise to draw his attention unnecessarily. The woman talking to Aram is well-connected but unskilled in these matters, she should be targeted. Agent Ressler has made contact with a business associate of my employer’s, he is talking with him now. This avenue should be pursued if you want this evening to be a success.”

“Anything else?” she whispered, careful to maintain her bland expression.

“Raymond is on the balcony and he would like you to join him when you can.”

“There’s a balcony?”

“Yes, to your left. It is quite well-concealed, no one will disturb you there, I will see to it.”

“Thank you.”

Liz stepped away from him quickly and walked straight towards where he had indicated the balcony was. Sure enough, as soon as she pushed her way outside, she could see the outline of a man near the edge. She shivered slightly in the cold but determinedly stepped towards him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said playfully. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your solitude.”

He turned around to smile at her, the same smile he used when he was trying to charm someone.

“Not at all,” he said smoothly. “I would appreciate the company.”

She approached with her hand outstretched and he accepted it gracefully.

“Andrea Deacon, nice to meet you.”

“Raymond Reddington,” he replied, bending over her hand to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “A pleasure.”

“So, Raymond,” the name tasted delicious on her tongue and she savoured it for a moment before continuing, “what are you doing out here all by yourself? You’re not enjoying the party?”

“I was hoping to meet an acquaintance here tonight, but she has yet to arrive.”

“An acquaintance?” Liz said lightly. “Is she a special acquaintance of yours?”

“Oh, she’s very special.”

She felt a rush of warmth spread through her in spite of the cool air on the balcony.

“I believe you could make anyone feel special, Raymond.”

“You barely know me, Andrea,” he rumbled. “How could you possibly know that?”

“There’s something in the way you’re looking at me.” Liz took a careful step closer to him so they were standing almost inappropriately close to each other. “It makes me think that anyone you focused on at any time would feel like the most important person in the universe.”

He smiled at her, slow and teasing. She stared at his mouth, completely unashamed.

“It’s a dangerous sensation, of course,” she continued. “Intoxicating, to be sure, but nothing more than a façade, I fear.” She stepped back from him and turned her attention to the view. “Unsustainable.”

“You are remarkably perceptive,” he said dryly, turning to face the view with her. “Are you here alone?”

“For now, yes,” she said casually. “But the night is still young.”

“And full of possibilities, no doubt.”

“There is at least one possibility that appeals to me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” she said calmly. “Would you like to dance?”

“I would be delighted,” he said cheerfully. “Lead the way.”

Liz laughed and put her hand on his shoulder.

“I think it’s better if you lead, Raymond.”

“You want to dance out here?” he said with a smile as he took her hand in his and wrapped the other around her waist. “Without any music?”

“If there’s no music, you can’t be out of time,” she said happily. “And I like it out here.”

“As you wish.”

Red started to slowly lead her around the balcony in an easy step. She caught herself trying to lead a few times but for the most part, she left him to handle it. She pressed herself closer to him, shivering slightly.

“Are you cold?” he murmured after a few minutes.

“Just a little,” she lied. In truth, she was freezing, but she didn’t want to go inside just yet.

Red started to unbutton his tuxedo jacket, but she stopped him before he could take it off. Instead, she moved even closer to him and wrapped her arms around him inside the jacket.

“Better?” he asked, amused.

“Much,” she said contentedly. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” he murmured, pressing his lips into her hair softly.

“The woman you mentioned earlier,” Liz said suddenly and Red paused slightly in his swaying rhythm. “What is she to you?”

He didn’t answer for a moment and she pulled back her head to look at him, keeping her arms firmly around him.

“It’s difficult to explain,” he said quietly, not looking at her.

“But she’s important to you?” Liz persisted.

“Of course she is, but I don’t know what I am to her.”

“What?” Liz scoffed. “How can you not?”

“To say that there have been some mixed messages between us would a dramatic understatement.”

Liz snorted and leaned her head against his shoulder again.

“We’ve been different things to each other at different times, but never quite what I want us to be.”

“What about what she wants?”

Red laughed loudly and dipped Liz suddenly.

“I have no idea what she wants.”

Liz gasped slightly as Red brought her back upright and resumed their slow circling dance.

“Have you ever asked her?”

“I feel that might be counter-productive, Andrea,” he said calmly, and Liz just barely suppressed a flinch at her assumed name. “We have never had the kind of relationship that encourages open communication.”

“Why not?”

“A lot of reasons,” he said dismissively. “A certain suspicion seems inherent to both our natures, for starters, our work means that we go from allies to adversaries from day to day, and there have been several times when one or the other of us has been right not to trust the other.”

“Sounds very complicated,” Liz whispered, feeling her heart sink within her. “Is there no way through?”

“Not through conventional means, I fear.”

“You don’t strike me as a slave to convention, Raymond. Maybe it’s time to try something a little unconventional.”

“Any ideas?” he said lightly, twirling her away from him and then back into his embrace. “I am open to suggestion.”

“Talking doesn’t seem to be working for you, so maybe it’s time to act.”

“And what action should I take?”

Liz thought in silence for a moment and then grinned as she said, “Is that mistletoe over there?”

“Perhaps,” he said, not turning around.

“Maybe you should have a moment under the mistletoe and forget speaking for a while.”

“And if the lady is not receptive?” he asked mildly.

“Perhaps the lady is waiting for you.”

They stopped dancing and stared in silence at each other. Liz allowed her eyes to dart down to his lips once more, projecting her desire as much as she could.

“Raymond,” Dembe called quietly from the door and Liz nearly groaned. “The lady’s absence has been noted.”

“Damn it,” Liz said quietly.

Red smiled coolly at her and stepped away from her.

“I fear our time has come to an end, Andrea, but I thank you for the advice.” He swept her hand up to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her skin. “And thank you for the dance.”

He lowered her hand again and left without a word. Liz watched as he made his way easily through the crowd and straight for the elevator.

“Damn it,” she said again.

Later that night, freshly showered and dressed in her normal clothes, Liz nervously knocked on the door to Red’s safe house. She'd spent the last two hours working herself up to the point where she felt she could talk to him, but she hadn't really planned what she would say.

“Elizabeth.”

Dembe exhibited no surprise at seeing her so late at night, he simply stepped away from the door to allow her to pass. He silently pointed at a closed door that Liz assumed concealed Red. She nodded her thanks as Dembe retreated down the hall without a word.

Liz took a deep breath as she paused in front of the door, psyching herself up to what could be an uncomfortable conversation. She hesitated and briefly debated within herself about whether she should just come back the next day, before she rolled her eyes at how ridiculous she was being and pushed the door open. Unfortunately, she pushed it with a little more force than was strictly necessary and it rebounded noisily off the wall. Red stared at her in shock as she stopped the door with her hand and moved sheepishly over the threshold.

“Uh—” she said awkwardly.

“Now that’s how you make an entrance,” he said with a smile and Liz felt the little knot of tension she’d been carrying ease slightly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, Elizabeth.”

He said it mildly enough, but Liz could hear the question in his statement and knew that it was her way in, a way to start the conversation they needed to have. She could ease into it, just like she planned.

“I really wanted to kiss you at the party,” she blurted out and then cringed.

Smooth, Liz, she thought to herself. Real smooth.

“Oh?” Red said blandly, an expression of polite interest on his face that infuriated her. “Are you here to collect?”

“Well, yes,” she replied with far too much honesty. She cringed again. “I mean that I – that is, I’m not—” Liz trailed off with a sigh. “I’m no good at this stuff, Red. I don’t know how to—”

She gestured vaguely with her hands, hoping that he would put it together for himself and save her from her embarrassment.

“Don’t know how to what?”

Clearly, he was not in the mood to save her.

“Red, please,” she groaned.

“Elizabeth, I’m going to need you to spell it out for me.” He wandered over to the bar and started to pour himself a drink. “We have had far too many misunderstandings recently and I am far too tired to play any more games this evening. Drink?”

“Please.”

She followed him to the bar and watched as he poured her a drink. She kept her eyes on his hands, mesmerised as always by the grace of their movements. Such beautiful hands for such a dangerous man.

Liz sighed as Red handed her a drink, but she didn’t move away from him.

“Why are you here, Elizabeth?”

“You’re right,” she said decisively. “There have been too many misunderstandings between us lately and I’m sick of it.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, I am.” She gulped her drink down and he raised his eyebrows in surprise at her. “So, I’m going to try something a little different.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m going to tell you what I want and ask you to respond honestly. Can you do that?”

“I—”

“I know you don’t want to commit yourself, Red, I’m not asking that of you.”

“Elizabeth, you are the single greatest commitment of my life,” he said wearily, moving away from her to sit in the armchair by the fireplace. “So, when I hesitate, it is not for a want of commitment.”

“What is it then?” she asked quietly.

“Experience,” he said harshly. “My experience tells me not to commit to anything with you, but—”

He stopped talking abruptly and looked away from her. He sipped his drink in agitated silence for a moment. She replaced her own glass on the bar and moved toward him slowly. When she stood directly in front of him, she waited for him to look at her again. When he did, his expression was carefully neutral again.

“But what, Red?”

“My experience is one thing but what I want—” He shook his head again and looked away with a sigh, leaning back in his chair slowly. “When you tell me that you are going to tell me what you want and that I should give you an honest response, I desperately want to believe that it is possible.”

“It is!” she insisted desperately.

“Is it? My experience with you, Elizabeth, tells me that it can never be. But my heart?”

Her breath caught in her throat and she felt the tears begin to build. This was not going like she planned it at all. She slowly knelt in front of him and placed her hands on the arms of the chair.

“Red, please, tell me.”

“My heart is a fool, Lizzy,” he hissed. “Every time there is even the slightest chance—"

“Red—”

“An old fool, that’s what I am. My heart has turned me into a fool.”

“We are all fools,” she whispered.

“In love?” he said mockingly, and she flinched.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” she asked him miserably.

He stared at her in silence for a moment and then said, “I want to believe you.”

“Then we come back to my original purpose. Will you let me tell you what I want from you? And will you try to respond honestly?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Tell me what you came to say.”

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves once more.

“I don’t know how to get past this barrier between us, Red, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

“The barrier has always been your choice, Elizabeth.”

“It may have been my choice, Red, but you can’t pretend that you don’t contribute to it at all.”

He didn’t say anything, which she took as acquiescence. Or at least, not outright disagreement.

“But like I said earlier, talking hasn’t done has any good lately. It’s time to let go of conventional methods.”

“Oh?” he said, his interest piqued. “And what unconventional methods did you have in mind?”

She grinned at him and removed a tiny sprig from her pocket.

“What’s this?” she said, feigning confusion. “I think it might be mistletoe!”

Red just stared at her silently.

“You still haven’t told me what you want, Elizabeth.”

“I would’ve thought that would be obvious.”

“Humour me.”

“I want you,” she said simply. “I want us to be able to talk through our issues and deal with them like adults. I want to spend evenings with you where we’re not working and we’re not playing games. I just want to be able to be with you and not constantly worry that you’re playing me or using me. I want to make love to you.”

Liz smiled when she saw Red’s sudden intake of breath.

“I want to know how it feels to have you all around me, Red.” She moved her hands, so they were grasping his thighs and he jumped. “To be surrounded by you, consumed by you.”

“Lizzy—” he croaked.

“I want to fuck you,” she whispered, raising herself from her knees and slowly climbing into his lap, maintaining eye contact as she moved. “And I want you to fuck me. I want to still be able to feel you the next day. I want to know how you taste.”

Red closed his eyes as she rolled her hips against him.

“I want to love you, Red,” she whispered. “And I want to know that you love me in return.”

“Lizzy,” he groaned, her name drawn out and desperate.

“But if all that is too much right now,” she continued quietly, extracting her sprig of mistletoe yet again and raising it above their heads, “there’s always this.”

“Mistletoe, Lizzy?”

“Yes, because talking clearly isn’t working. It’s time to try slightly less conventional methods.”

She leaned in close to him but still kept a very slight distance between them. Red searched her eyes desperately and Liz tried to project all her love and desire in her gaze.

“The lady is waiting for you, Raymond,” she whispered.

“I would hate to keep a lady waiting,” Red said and Liz grinned in triumph as his lips finally met hers.

#the blacklist secret santa #lizzington #fanfic

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the-fiction-witch · 4 years

Text

The Laundry girl p1

REAL LIFE :

COUPLE TBS X READER

RATING SWEET

I stood ironing sheets and shirts, the white fabric warm, fresh out the dryer. The pattering of women's shoes Hustling about to get from one end of the laundry to the other. The clatter of the metal washers and dryers working non stop there barrings exaughted and the smell of smoke, hot water and the many chemicals used to clean wash and dry filled the air with a thick toxic soot, girls much younger then me getting to grips with there work as the foreman passed and checked there work.

"Miss y/l/n?" A voice asked making me jump a little I turned and saw one of the new boys older then me transferred over from a factory elsewhere he smiled briefly to me as he held the large wicker basket full of sheets "you done with that one?" He asks looking at my work

"Ohh course sorry, away with the fairies" I said folding the shirt and tucking it in the not of his basket and shutting it down

"Thanks" he smiled as he headed off to the vans I couldn't help thinking about him as I got started on my next load, what a sweet boy.

I finished up washing up and getting my jacket on heading out to the cobblestone streets passing as women went to the arms of there husbands and children. Walking down the paths as they dimmed and the streetlights began to be lit

"Hey! Miss y/l/n!" A voice yelled I turned and saw that boy again, "you forgot this" he says holding out my book I had been taking to work lately

"Ohh thanks, sorry forget my own head if it wasn't screwed on" I laughed taking my book and putting it in my bag

"Yeah, don't worry I'm exactly the same" he laughs "hey uhh you live on Morton avenue right?"

"Yes how did you-" I began

"I just moved that way myself, I've seen you walking home" he shrugs "would you uhh like me to walk you home?"

"Oh no it's alright, I don't want to be a bother"

"No bother miss y/l/n it's on my way home, I'd rather walk you home make sure you get to your door safe and all"

"Well alright" I smiled "Mr?"

"Sangster" he blushed as we began to walk

"Well Mr Sangster, how long have you been around here?" I asked

"About a month" he shrugs "transferred me over when the westbro laundry got shut down because of the rat infestation" he explained

"How are you finding it?" I asked

"It's nice here" he smiled "my flats lovely and I rather like the work here"

"I suppose it's nice, you boys get to ride out on the vans all day"

"I can guess standing around washing and drying isn't as nice" he laughs "miss y/l/n? How long have you worked for the laundry?"

"Sixteen years" I smiled

"You can't have?" He laughs "your far to pretty to be much older"

"Aww your sweet, well my mother worked there so I came with her I used to clean the dryers when I was little" I giggled

"Awww that's adorable" he smiled

"What about you Mr Sangster?" I asked

"Oh working since I was five, my father insisted I work" he says "and call me Thomas"

"Okay... Thomas" I blushed "call me y/n"

"Alright y/n" he smiled

"Well this is me" I said as we arrived at my building

"Okay, well uhh have a nice night. I'll see you tomorrow" he says taking my hand giving it a little kiss before he walked off Into the darkness I blushed hard and hurried up into my flat trying to hide my blush and giggles.

I stood looking out at the sunrise on this little simple Saturday, I wasn't at work today knowone was the laundry was closed as they where having to repair the machinery. But Thomas had told me on the walk home last night to put on my prettiest dress and be waiting for him in the morning, so I did myself a bath washing as much as I could almost scrubbing every inch of my skin raw and red to make sure I got the muck and grime off me I got dressed into my nicest dress and did my hair as the sun rose over the houses so I got my things and headed downstairs locking up my flat as I did, the road already busy with people going off to work or there children to school or daycare, I stood by the stairs to my building avoiding the looks of many housewives pegging out laundry and even the worker women off to there jobs, I felt like they where judging me looking at me like I was a horrible person for trying to look nice

"Morning y/n" Thomas smiled as he arrived getting of his little bike it packed with stuff on the back

"Morning Thomas" I smiled as he took my hand giving it a kiss as always

"Oohh uhh... Oh where did I put that" he muttered to himself digging around his stuff till he clearly found what he was looking for "for you" he smiled offering me a single white rose I was shocked I know the men make much more then I do at the laundry but he's making rose money

"Thomas you shouldn't have, there much to expensive" I laughed trying to hide my blush

"For you, it's worth it" he says putting the rose in my hair for me "come on, let's get going" he says as he got back on his bike and I noticed the space between him and the stuff on the back

"You must be joking?" I laughed "me on that?"

"You just sit, I'll pedal you just hold onto me" he encouraged so I sighed and somehow managed to get settled even if it wasn't particularly lady like having to hold onto him alot as we went off away from the thick smoke and out into some clearer air it was nice just riding along the little roads looking at the nice parks and grand buildings as the sun shone brightly on little old London.

Till we reached a little sun drenched park where we went inside, Thomas stopped his bike by a large free just on a little hill the grass perfect and green, the sun just being hidden the tree providing some light shade, I climbed off and he laughed getting the stuff off the back of his bike and within a minute or two a little picnic was sat on the ground below the tree.

We sat chatting for hours snacking on the picnic every so often, exchanging stories from the laundry, after a while he spoke up the light hearted tone more distant in his words

"You uhh you have anyone... Sort of courting you about now?" He asked as he leaned on his elbow on the blanket his slender body stretched out on the blanket his jacket on his bike revealing his shirt and the suspenders he had to have to keep his pants up, he was fiddling with some blades of grass in his hand as he spoke trying to read my face

"No, I don't think I ever have" I laughed "why do you ask?"

"Just curious y/n" he shrugs

"I'm sure you've got a girl around Thomas, all you boys your age have two or three about now so you can make up your mind" I laughed

"Just one" he says "I'm pretty sure about her, I've been thinking about her alot and... I think I might ask her"

"Aww that's great, I'm sure she'd accept Thomas" I smiled even if I felt a little heart broken

"You really think she'd say yes?"

"Of course I do Thomas," I smiled he smiled wider as he sat up a little and pressed his lips to mine I didn't have time to reach I felt like I was having a heart attack but I never wanted it to end so I kissed him back till he pulled away fixing my hair for me

"Y/n? Would you marry me?"

"Yes" I smiled

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inyournightmares97 · 5 years

Text

Unsolicited (1/3) (M)

Jackson Wang is a perfect gentleman and he thinks it’s extremely vital that you understand... that is not his penis.

Warnings: Fluff. Crack? Adult topics, mentions of sexual harassment (but not too serious) and plenty of swearing. College!au. Please don’t ask when I’ll update. There are three parts and the next one will come when it’s ready.

Word Count: 4.8k+

It was perhaps an unfortunate set of circumstances that led you to become acquainted with Jackson Wang’s penis long before you ever saw his face. There had been multiple opportunities for your life to take a different turn. Had any of those events occurred differently, you would never have learned who Jackson Wang was.

But the idea that we have any control over our lives is an illusion. Life is simply a set of circumstances thrust upon us.

Not too different from how Jackson Wang’s male organ was unceremoniously thrust in your face one bleak Tuesday afternoon.

You were tired and miserable after spending all night finishing your Economics paper and attending a full day of classes, but you still had to trudge over to the student government building to handle your appointments. It was one of the aforementioned unfortunate circumstances that led to you being elected into the student government body of your university. You had been appointed as student advisor to the Sexual Harassment Response Cell six months ago.

The Sexual Harassment Response Cell was a small student-run organization. It had been hastily approved by the university authorities after an ugly incident involving a professor assaulting a female student. The student body had been enraged and taken to the streets in a passionate protest. To prevent such incidents from recurring in the future, and in order to handle the bad press, the authorities set up the SHRC. The SHRC was a place where students could come to share their experiences of sexual harassment on campus and learn about the appropriate avenues for recourse. The Cell’s responsibility was to provide victims with counselling, support, and if they wished to file a formal complaint with the university, then to make sure they had the right evidence and that their accusations weren’t unfounded.

How did you end up being a student advisor for the SHRC?

Well. You might have attended the protests last year and punched a guy in the face for saying something sexist about the matter. The sound of his nose cracking under your fist was extremely satisfying.

The ride to the police station in the cop car was not.

You made it out of jail in a few hours but the reputation stuck with you. You were now the chick who punched a dude at the protests and somehow you became a poster-girl for the cause. Bambam nominated you for the student government elections and Yugyeom published a picture of you punching the sexist guy in the front page of the monthly student newsletter. You won the election by an overwhelming majority.

If only you had known what you were signing up for.

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

“You’re late. My appointment was at 3 pm,” the freshman girl waiting in your tiny counselling office informed you haughtily.

Her eyelashes were long and fake and didn’t match her hair color. You tried not to make a snap judgement; she was supposed to be a victim but the disgusted look she was giving you made that difficult to believe.

You glanced at the clock. It was two minutes past 3.

“Uh, I’m sorry. I had a class all the way on the other side of campus-”

“Whatever,” she cut you off. “Let’s just get this over with.”

You nodded and sat behind the desk with a forced smile. You were supposed to be patient and understanding with the victims because they were usually going through a hard time. You were also supposed to listen to them if they cried and help them find ways to deal with their trauma. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself that the girl in front of you had suffered something.

“I see on the form you filled in that your name is Nari, and you’re a Fashion studies major?” you asked her kindly. “That sounds interesting. Are you having a good time here at university?”

Nari raised an eyebrow at you.

“Fuck all that. I don’t want to chat. I’m here to report cyber-harassment. This dude I met at a frat party two weeks ago managed to get hold of my number and he’s been harassing me through text messages ever since. He’s also a senior and he’s the founding member of the basketball team on campus … so there’s like a power parity-”

“Power disparity,” you mumbled.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever it’s called. Basically he could make life extremely difficult for me because he has a lot of power and stuff. I hear that makes it even worse because he’s abusing his position? Are you writing all of this down?” she demanded suddenly.

You blinked. “Uh, I’ll make a note after our meeting. I’d rather focus on listening to you right now.”

“Anyway, he sent me a bunch of creepy messages threatening to rape me if I didn’t go out with him and he keeps trying to sext me. I have all the screenshots right here. Yesterday was the last straw because he just crossed all lines by sending me these. Want to see?” She thrust her cellphone at you and you could see screenshots of a text conversation.

“Uh….”

“Read them!”

You did. The screenshots were pretty bad; the guy talked about how he would go to any lengths to make the girl go on a date with him, and how badly he wanted to fuck her. The conversation went on in multiple screenshots. You had just reached the third screenshot when you saw it. A large, close-up image of a man’s penis.

You flinched. “Oh god.”

The girl smiled at you smugly. “See? Exactly my reaction. Unsolicited dick pic. That counts as harassment, right?”

You returned the phone to her, not really wanting to look at the penis or come across more pictures of it. It was large, you thought, but you hadn’t seen enough penises outside of porn to make an informed judgement. Maybe the angle was just flattering.

“All of it counts as harassment,” you reassured her.

Nari looked relieved. “Okay, good. Because I want him off the basketball team and preferably suspended.”

“I understand that you’re angry and want justice but let’s take this step-by-step. If you want to file a formal complaint with the university against this guy, then it’s going to be a long process. University authorities will give him a hearing and you’ll have to present your evidence before them. I’ll be there to guide you through it all and support you but we also need to consider the chances he will manage to prove his innocence, and the amount of trauma that this whole process might put you through. I want you to consider the pros and cons of taking this step.”

Nari blinked. “They can’t just kick him off the team right away?” she demanded.

You stared at her in disbelief.

“No. No disciplinary action can be taken against anyone without giving them a fair trial.”

She groaned. “Unbelievable. Victims like me have to go through the harassment and then all this bullshit as well. How long will the whole process take once you file the complaint for me?”

“It could take a couple of weeks.”

Nari looked unimpressed. “This senior, Jackson Wang, is harassing me. I’m an innocent girl and I didn’t come all the way to university to have guys send me pictures of their ugly dicks, okay? I want him off the basketball team as soon as possible. What are you going to do about it?”

You felt tired.

“Alright, look. I’m going to call this Jackson guy in and have a chat with him first so I can give him a heads-up about the accusations that he’s facing. Then I’d like you to come in again so I can share his response with you and I’ll help you file a complaint with the authorities if that’s what you still want to do in a couple of days. Does that sound good?”

“You can’t file it now?”

“I feel like it might be a good idea to wait a few days. Being too hasty about these things usually backfires. Let’s build a solid case first.”

Nari looked annoyed and then tucked her phone into her purse

“Fine. I’ll email you copies of the evidence and I’ll be waiting for you to call me in again.”

“Okay. Have a nice day!”

She rolled her eyes as she sauntered out of the room. “Whatever.”

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

“What is it with men and sending dick pics?” you wondered.

The cafeteria adjacent to the library was crowded and noisy on a Tuesday night. Bambam stuffed an enormous spoonful of rice into his mouth. He munched thoughtfully and swallowed before giving you a cheerful smile.

“It’s sexy. Who doesn’t like getting nudes?”

You frowned and poked at your noodles. You had thought that you were hungry but seeing the picture of Jackson Wang’s dick had ruined your appetite. The sausages on your plate were not helping the unpleasant image that kept flashing through your mind.

“Anyone who’s doing anything except masturbating?” you demanded as you used your chopsticks to transfer the sausages to Bambam’s plate. He bit into one while you continued your rant. “At no point during the day have I ever thought oh I’m horny I wish I had a picture of a dick to look at. Dicks are ugly.”

Bambam frowned mid-chew. “Hey. Can we be a little nicer to them? I happen to own one of those too and my boy enjoys the camera.”

You glared at him. “Please don’t tell me you send unsolicited dick pics to women.”

“Of course not. I only send them when the mood of the conversation is getting sexy and I’m sure that the girl is into it. I have girls who text me saying ‘show me how turned on you are for me’ and that’s basically code for ‘send me a dick pic’. Sometimes girls actually ask for them, you know?”

“And a lot of the time they don’t.”

Bambam shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. There are always those guys.”

“But what’s the logic?” you demanded. “What is the thought process that goes into snapping a dick pic in the middle of the day and sending it to some poor girl who's going about her business? Do men think their dicks are that attractive? Are they assuming that the girl will get so uncontrollably turned on by the close-up shot of their penises that they’ll drop everything and run to desperately fuck them? What sort of weird male delusion is that?”

Bambam sighed. “I doubt it goes that far. I think these guys are just hoping for nudes in return. You know? Like I showed you mine now please show me yours?”

“Gross.”

“Men likes receiving nudes. They just assume girls feel the same way.”

You rolled your eyes. Maybe you shouldn't be letting Nari’s situation get to you. The image of Jackson Wang’s semi-erect penis was burned into your mind unpleasantly (and now a copy of it was even sitting in your email inbox) but you needed to be more professional about the situation. You had sent an email to Jackson Wang asking him to come into your office tomorrow and the man had sent a simple and short ‘Cool. Will be there.’ as a response. You weren’t sure how to handle the meeting but you figured that getting an idea of whether Jackson Wang would confess to the dick pic or would deny sending it, seemed like a good place to start.

Bambam had finished eating your sausages and you were relieved to see them gone.

“So, did you make a decision about the new club you’re joining this semester?” he asked. The two of you had decided to join new clubs that would help you on your resumes in the long-term. “I think I’m going to try out for the basketball team. I figure since I’m tall I should go for the sport that gives me a natural advantage, right?”

“Are you sure you want to go for a sports club?” you asked disapprovingly.

Bambam frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you suck at almost all forms of physical activity. Just come with me to the environment club meeting on Friday, please?”

“Ew. No. Ask Yugyeom.”

“He won’t come unless you come,” you whined. Yugyeom and Bambam wanted to play sports but you were personally opposed to putting in so much physical effort. You already had enough difficult classes to deal with this semester. The Environment Club seemed much simpler. You could attend meetings once a week and maybe help design some awareness posters or join a clean-up drive. “Why can’t you just come with me to the meeting? I don’t want to go alone.”

Bambam pointed to himself. “This beautiful body was not made to pick up trash, babe.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Tell me if the club has a lot of hot chicks, though.”

“No, I’m not going to encourage your man-whoring ways, Bambam. Find a more normal hobby.”

Bambam rolled his eyes as he stole a piece of carrot from your tray. “You’re just miserable because you’re a virgin. And sitting at that stupid SHRC all day and listening to women talk about harassment is turning you into a man-hater. If you keep going down the path you’re on now then you’ll never get laid, trust me.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “If that’s how ugly male penises all look then maybe I don’t want one stuck in me.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bambam brightened up and suddenly pointed his chopsticks at you. “Have you considered that you might be… you know? Gay? Cause I know this chick who’s bi, okay, and she says that if I can find a lesbian we might be able to have a threesome-”

“-and now I have completely lost my appetite,” you snapped as you grabbed your tray. “Bye, Bambam.”

He simply waved as you tossed the contents of your tray in the garbage and left the cafeteria. You needed to head back to your dorm and get some sleep. Tomorrow would be another long day.

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

You hadn’t been prepared for Jackson Wang to be so handsome.

He was already waiting in your office when you arrived; you were surprised to see Jackson was punctual despite the short notice. He had dark brown hair that flopped into his bright eyes and a smile that was almost childlike. Jackson was staring at a poster put up on your office wall that described some basic self-defence tactics for women and he glanced at you when you entered.

“These posters always tell women to kick dudes in the groin!” Jackson pointed out to you brightly, pointing at a cartoon image of a woman kneeing her male attacker. You stared at the handsome man in front of you and blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, this is just my first time in the SHRC building. I never knew that Self-Defence 101 for women was to kick the guys’ balls,” Jackson admitted casually. He was gorgeous; your eyes lingered on the muscles along the length of his tanned arms when he held his hand out for you to shake. “Hi, I’m Jackson Wang. You emailed me asking me to meet you here?”

You cleared your throat and shook his hand. Jackson’s skin was soft and warm.

“Yeah, I need to talk to you about a complaint I received yesterday. Please take a seat.”

“Can I just finish reading this poster first? I had no clue there were this many ways to knee a guy in the jewels. I feel like I should be aware of these things, you know?” Jackson joked.

You frowned. Did he think this was funny? You were not impressed.

“Unless you’re planning on assaulting a woman, I see no reason why you need to read that poster.”

Jackson’s smile fell and his lower lip stuck out in a small pout as he slumped over to the seat across from your desk. He folded his arms across his chest in a childish fashion. “Hey. Sometimes men need to defend themselves too, you know. Or do you think that men can’t be victims of sexual violence?” he challenged.

You sighed and pressed your fingers to your temples. “I never said that. Unfortunately, you’re not here as a victim. I’ve asked to meet you because I received a complaint from a female student yesterday that she’s been the victim of cyber-harassment. She’s been receiving threatening text messages and unsolicited images of genitalia.”

Jackson’s dark eyes widened in concern and he leaned forward. “No way! What bastard has been doing that?”

You stared at him.

“You. The complaint is against you, Jackson.”

Jackson stared blankly for a few seconds and you could almost see the gears whirring behind his big puppy-like eyes. He tilted his head slightly to the left.

“Me?” he asked, pointing at himself in a confused manner. You would have thought he was cute if you hadn’t been convinced that he was a sexual predator. “I sent threatening texts to a female student? No way. I rarely even text girls.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Likely story.”

Jackson seemed startled. His handsome smile fell off his face and he waved a hand in the air wildly. “Whoa, wait. Are you serious right now? Is there really somebody accusing me of harassment? Who?”

“I’m not at liberty to reveal the identity of victims who approach the SHRC for their own safety,” you explained calmly. “But she has shown me text messages as evidence and she also said that she intends to file a formal complaint with the university authorities. You would have to defend yourself before a Disciplinary Committee and you could be suspended.”

Jackson stared at you.

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious.”

“But I’ve never- I swear I’ve never sent any messages like that! This has got to be some kind of misunderstanding. What do the messages even say? Can I see them?” Jackson insisted. You bit your lip. Ideally you shouldn’t show him the pictures because it could help him identify Nari as the complainant. But something about Jackson’s brown eyes and horrified expression made you want to give him a chance to defend himself. You carefully opened your laptop and found the email Nari had sent you with the screenshots.

“I have the unsolicited dick pic you sent her right here.”

Jackson stared at you. “What? Let me see that!”

He turned the laptop to face him and there, on the screen, was the large picture of a penis that Nari had shown you. Jackson stared at it intently for a few moments and then turned to look at you in relief.

“Oh thank god. Dude, there’s a misunderstanding. That’s not even my dick,” he told you confidently.

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Jackson used the mouse to zoom into the picture and you winced as the penis now blew up the entire screen. “That is absolutely not my penis. I would know. I feel awful that this poor girl had to get this in her inbox but it is not mine.” Jackson leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve got the wrong guy. You should be looking for the owner of this penis.”

“The complainant named you. There’s only one Jackson Wang in this university.”

“Come on. You’ve got to be kidding me right now. That is literally some other dude’s dick, how can you just sit there and tell me that I’m going to get into trouble for it?” Jackson demanded. He slammed his hand on your desk and frowned. “That’s unfair!”

“I have no way to confirm whether or not this is your penis.”

Jackson’s hands slowly drifted towards his belt. “Well I could always…”

Your eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare take your pants off in this office.”

Jackson pouted and dropped his hands to his sides. “I wasn’t going to,” he whined. He reached for your laptop and zoomed out of the penis picture to look at the text message. “Wait, this is just a screenshot. Don’t you have the original message files? Because I’m positive that these messages couldn’t have come from my phone number. You can check my phone. I have no records of this stuff.”

You blinked. Jackson had a point. These were just screenshots. All they proved was that these messages had come from somebody that Nari had saved on her phone as “Jackson”; his real phone number was nowhere visible on screen.

“You think these messages came from somebody else?” you wondered.

Jackson nodded firmly. “I think this girl is being catfished.”

“Catfished?”

“Yeah! Someone is pretending to be me and trying to get nudes out of this girl,” Jackson insisted smugly. He leaned back and folded his arms across his broad chest. “It wouldn’t be the first time; I have a handsome face and an easier time with the ladies so a guy might have thought his chances were better if he pretended to be me.”

Oh god save me from these people.

“So this guy is pretending to be you but he’s sending her pictures of his own dick?” you questioned, unimpressed.

Jackson snapped his fingers as though he’d just had a brilliant idea. “You know what we need to do?”

“What?”

“We need to find the owner of this penis.”

You stared at him in disbelief. You couldn’t tell whether Jackson Wang was really a complete idiot or if he was playing you in order to make himself look innocent. You sighed and pressed your fingers to your temple in irritation.

“Or I could just call the complainant and ask her what phone number these texts and pictures came from?”

Jackson frowned and slumped back in his seat. “Doesn’t sound as fun, but okay.”

“How about we end this meeting here and I get in touch with you again after I’ve spoken to the complainant and floated the idea that maybe these pictures are coming from somebody other than you?” you asked. This was turning into a longer procedure than you’d expected but you did have the responsibility to make sure that Jackson wasn’t being framed or falsely accused.

Jackson nodded. “Sounds good to me. In the meantime, I’ll be on the lookout for the real owner of that penis. I spend a lot of time with other guys in locker rooms”

You winced. “Please don’t do that.”

Jackson stood up and he reached across the desk to shake your hand once more. You avoided his gaze and tried not to feel flustered by his warm and gentle grip. He stared at you for a moment and froze with his fingers wrapped around yours.

“Can I ask you something?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Are you by any chance that girl who socked a dude in the face during the protests last year?” he asked bluntly. His lips twisted into a cheeky smile as his eyes scanned you eagerly. “Cause you look a lot like her and damn, that was insanely hot.”

You flushed. “I’ll get in touch with you if I need you, Jackson.”

Jackson grinned. “Sure. Pleasure meeting you.”

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

“I think I’m in love,” Bambam sighed happily.

You barely glanced at him, too busy staring at your laptop screen. Bambam was lying back on your couch with a stupid smile on his face while Yugyeom sat at his feet and dully flicked through the channels on your television. Both of them stank of sweat, having come straight to your apartment from their basketball trials.

“You literally just saw her, Bam,” Yugyeom pointed out dismissively.

“I know but she was just so….” Bambam trailed off and sat up eagerly to explain himself. “You know how some people just have this aura? Like this charisma? She had that, okay? It was just the way she walked and the way she dressed and her gaze…”

“It took her less than ten seconds to walk past us, you really analyzed all that in that short amount of time? You can’t even finish reading the powerpoint presentation in class before Professor Lee switches to the next slide.”

Bambam pouted. “Can’t a man fall in love in peace? Damn.”

“You don’t even know who she is.”

“I’ll just hang around the basketball court at the same time tomorrow and see if she passes by again! She was probably coming from the library. I’m sure she’ll do it again sometime. Right? Help me out here, would you?” Bambam demanded. He reached over to poke your shoulder and you frowned at him in irritation. It was certainly unusual for Bambam to say that he was in love with a woman but you had bigger things to worry about.

“If she goes to the library then she’s not your type, Bambam.”

Bambam pouted. “That’s unfair.”

“When’s the last time you read a book? And frantically flipping through textbooks the night before exams doesn’t count,” you snapped. When Bambam fell silent, you let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. This whole dick pic business is just getting to me. The dude claims that it’s not his penis. I called up Nari asking for the text logs but she says she took the screenshots and then deleted both the original messages and his number. It’s kind of suspicious… but maybe she just didn’t want to have them on her phone anymore? I don’t know what to believe.”

Yugyeom frowned. “He really just flat-out said it wasn’t his dick?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s either a guy who's telling the truth, or a guy with a lot of experience lying.”

You turned your laptop screen so that both Bambam and Yugyeom could see it. You’d found Jackson Wang’s Facebook profile. His cover picture was a group photo of him at the beach. He was wearing a pair of shorts that showed off his toned thighs and a significant bulge. Jackson’s mouth was twisted in a toothy, cheerful smile.

You pulled up the picture of the dick next to it.

“You guys tell me what you think. Does this dick look like it could belong to that guy?” you demanded.

Bambam leaned forward and squinted. “Holy shit. That’s Jackson Wang.”

“Yeah.”

“Your dick pic guy was Jackson Wang?” Bambam demanded, horrified. He shook his head quickly. “No way. That is not possible. Do you even know who Jackson Wang is? He’s like the coolest guy I’ve ever met. He charming and he’s funny and everybody in this university fucking loves him. Okay? Girls would kill to be with Jackson Wang. He doesn’t need to send dick pics. He probably gets dick pics, and nudes, and all sorts of stuff on the daily.”

You stared at Bambam. “Huh.”

“Besides, he’s a totally nice and humble guy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, but attractive people are never really humble. They just pretend to be.”

“Jackson is.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well he is,” Bambam replied firmly. He leaned back and frowned at the picture of the penis. “But on second thought that is one big penis so it might just be Jackson’s. He does have that big dick energy.”

You tilted your head at the screen. “You think this one is big? Yugyeom?”

Yugyeom nodded. “Pretty big, yeah. And you have to keep in mind that it’s only semi-erect.”

You sighed and closed both tabs before rubbing your hands over your eyes and letting out a groan. This was not how you had intended to spend your Wednesday night. You leaned back against the sofa.

“What am I even doing? How did my life come to the point where I need to stare at this random picture of a penis and figure out who it belongs to?” you whined miserably. “I’ve never even seen a guy’s dick in real life before.”

Bambam snickered. “Maybe you should ask Jackson to show you his. You know. So he can prove that it’s not the one in the picture?”

You glared at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t exactly go back to Nari and tell her; oh guess what, I looked at Jackson’s dick and it’s not the same one from your screenshots, what if she still wants to file a complaint? What if the matter goes to the university authorities and I have to take Jackson’s side? Am I supposed to look the Dean in the eye and go I’m sorry sir, I already checked out his penis and it’s not the same? Should I ask Jackson to drop his pants in front of the Dean too?”

Yugyeom snickered. “That could be the lead up to a pretty interesting porn movie.”

“No, there has to be some other way to solve this. Nari didn’t just come up with those text messages out of nowhere, there has to be some story behind this.”

Bambam snorted and turned away from you. “Okay, Nancy Drew. You go conduct your investigation. We’re gonna watch tv.”

You pouted. “You guys are useless.”

“I like being useless. It takes off the pressure to perform.”

“I doubt any performance of yours has lasted more than two minutes.”

Bambam stuck his tongue out at you irritably. “Well, guess what? You’ve never slept with me so you don’t get an opinion on my performance. Go ask Jackson Wang how long he lasts.”

You sighed.

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elmidol · 4 years

Text

A New Tapestry

Three Blind Tooke Part Three Death is an Art

Read on AO3

Warnings: None(?)

Three Blind Tooke

Part Three: Death is an Art

Chapter Forty-Five: A New Tapestry

Yet even a mere shell is not my end,

As it fills with new things while on the mend;

And so my life carried on beyond you,

While I became someone I loved, someone new.

Ripples broke over the surface of the water as the liquid pool was disrupted by the insertion of dust particles. It had been nearly half a day since the Resistance had moved, along with you, to this new, temporary base. Five days since you had been face to face with Kylo Ren, since Urvno had drawn blood from you. Your subconscious had posed the question regarding the Dark side user creating a clone of you for his own entertainment. That bad dream, not quite a nightmare, had disturbed your sleep to the point that you had taken medication to eliminate any possibility of remembering what else your unconscious mind could conjure. On a conscious level, you doubted that Kylo Ren would do such a thing. That clone would share genetic makeup, however it would not be you. It would not have all of your experiences. It wouldn’t be the same, and the man did not seem the sort to want some cheap imitation. Somehow that was comforting.

The news of Kylo Ren’s survival had spread throughout the Resistance much as the ripples now moved. You pinched the sides of the small bag closed, blocking any more dust from escaping. These were not the ashes of your enemy as Ren had collected. They were nevertheless remnants from an ally. In this case, it had been a droid that was destroyed. It had been easy to briefly entertain the idea of starting a collection of your own. The fact that your former captor and host had survived, that had proven to alleviate much of the guilt that you had thrust upon yourself. You felt more in control of your life, your destiny.

Too many choices had been stolen from you. When in that moment you had decided to let Kylo Ren live, be it only on that mission or for longer, it had been a punch in the gut, a blow to your fragile mental and emotional health, to have that stolen away by Captain Phasma.

The dark depths of the cavern, brightened by the humming, electronic torch you had placed into a makeshift holder, was enveloped in more light. The footsteps that had been periodically echoing around you at last drew to an end as the individual from which they had come arrived at your side. General Organa had put you under Dameron’s charge after you had returned. You were once more benched, although you could not say that you blamed your superiors. Circumstances had given you a sense of whiplash that you were recovering from. Plus, you rather liked the man and how he watched your back. He had been on a mission with Finn, during which the younger had reportedly utilized what bits of training in the Force that Master Skywalker had provided.

You could not imagine what it was like to be Force sensitive. Or, you could. You could, and sometimes you did, and you agonized over the idea of feeling death so completely. The void that must arise, such as the one you had felt when you had lost your father and thought you had lost your mother, on a deeper level.

This was all but another reason you found comfort in Poe’s presence. His senses were as deadened as your when it came to the Force.

“It isn’t your fault that the...Order of Ren,” he said, snorting out the name and shaking his head, “has possession of your ship.” It would be easy to deny what he had said, to pin the blame on yourself as you had been doing mentally ever since you had awoken in the cockpit of Rey’s X-wing. You crossed your arms over your chest then raised your eyes from the puddle of water to the shadows playing on the walls of the cavern. “We know everything that was on that ship. We’re still a step ahead of them.”

He was not wrong in that either. You huffed out the last bit of annoyance that you had been entertaining. A new wave rolled over you when Dameron revealed his reason for coming to you; Master Skywalker wanted to speak with you. This remained a difficult avenue. You admired the man for the part he had played in defeating the Emperor, in taking down the Empire. It still remained that he was a relative of Kylo Ren. He was your uncle in a way as well, with the fact that you had married his nephew. You feared what he would say in regards to the Force, in regards to the fact that it was now common knowledge you had not had a hand in killing Kylo. It was not as though he could train you in the ways of the Force. You imagined that the desired meeting would be more personal in nature.

You pinched the rings that were on the chain you wore around your neck, gave Poe one last final glance, and picked up the torch on the way out of the cavern. Your footfalls echoed off the stone walls.

They died in a matter of minutes. Instead of forcing you to leave the cavern completely, Luke Skywalker had met you halfway. He wore darker pants along with a top that was what you sometimes referred to as Resistance-red. The shirt was new. Your eyes travelled along its length as you slowed your pace then came to a stop. The hand fell away from the rings. Your gaze rose to his face, to the neatly trimmed beard. The facial hair failed to conceal the soft smile of greeting. The expression was guarded, not overly-friendly. As though he could feel that you had thrown up your guard.

“Care to take a walk?”

You almost flinched at the fact that he was offering you an out. It was so human, so different than how many others approached you. Either with too much caution, or far too boldly. This man, hero of the Rebellion, was not acting as though he was above you, that you should feel humbled that he was speaking to you at all. Before you had been captured, you would have felt it such an honor to be in his presence. Now?

“Okay.”

He was just another person, another one of the leaders of the Resistance cause.

Luke waited until you were level with him before starting to walk as well. The two of you were side by side, neither speaking a word. The apprehension that you had been experiencing did not fully fade, however it eased. It then dissipated more when he began to speak.

“It is easy to be overwhelmed by darkness. Just one moment, and fearing it can change everything.” He was speaking of how he had nearly killed his nephew that fateful night. “What I saw in him…”

As he trailed off, you found yourself picking up the conversation. “It was more than that, wasn’t it? That made you go to Ahch-To.”

A light chuckle escaped him, one that was tinged with humor along with a hint of self-deprecation. It was not his proudest moment; going to that planet, to that island to die. Here was the man who had faced his father numerous times, had been tempted to join the Dark. He had not given up hope. Yet when confronted with a similar situation with his nephew, with a Ben Solo who had not yet fully succumbed to the Darkㅡnot that you were aware of, at leastㅡhe had fled. You knew that it was not exactly that simple. His other students had been slaughtered. That much death.

“You clung to hope,” he said, and you heard the praise for what it was. Your jaw trembled, bottom lip threatening to quiver. The two of you were nearing the mouth of the cavern. Light had started to creep along the stone. “You and I, we both lost those we care for to him. We both had moments where we nearly killed him. Have you blamed yourself, thought that you pushed him further into Darkness?”

Your next inhalation was sharp, sudden. You swayed in place, nearly dropping to your knees. Luke caught you, his hand firm on your upper arm. It had failed to hit you in the past just how similar your experiences were in that respect. A different intimate relationship with the man who now commanded the Order of Ren. You had blamed yourself. Had questioned your actions. Had told yourself that you were fighting the darkness, the evil; even after you had conceded that there was Light in Kylo Ren, you had nevertheless fought against him. How much harder had it been for Luke, who had watched Ben Solo as a boy? Who had had that moment of weakness beforeㅡbut was it before? The dark thoughts that Ben had been entertaining. The desire. Would he have succumbed even if Luke hadn’t acted as he had?

“There are many what-ifs.” He made a vague wave with his mechanical hand. “What if Snoke had built an army of Force sensitives instead of keeping their powers unknown to them, or at bay? What if the New Republic had listened to Leia? What if I had never left Tatooine? I gave into those what-ifs after I saw the ruins, the bodies of my students. I went away to die… I regretted that I had tried to kill him, but also regretted that I had not killed him.”

“Snoke would have found someone else,” you offered. Yet another what-if. You snorted at your words, and Master Skywalker patted your shoulder. “I know I need to move forward. I just feel that I keep making things worse. The ship… Dameron says we’re ahead of that, but it is still a blow.”

“If you hadn’t been there, all of our pilots would have been killed. Possibly Dameron himself if he had been running the exercise. There was no winning in that situation. Kylo planned the attack wellㅡor Hux would have destroyed the ships, taken captives. Any number of things can go wrong. We must learn from our failures. My old Master and Rey, they taught me that.”

Captain Phasma and Hux managing to get the upper hand on Kylo Ren had had little to do with you, when you thought about it. There were more scenarios that would have resulted in the same thing, in worse things. Upon Kylo’s death, you had fallen in the same way that Luke had. Though you had not sought death, you had all the same secluded yourself. What if Kylo Ren hadn’t revealed that he had come back to life? Would you have travelled down that same path of self-destruction that Luke himself had started on following his mistake that fateful night? The man’s concern was on multiple levels.

“Did Rey ask you to talk with me?” You and her had been working to mend the friendship that had fractured. It was an awkward dance from time to time.

Luke stated that she had not been the cause of his visit. Poe had suspected that you would not be entirely receptive to his comforting words, which had prompted the pilot to reach out. You felt a warmth flood you at that. No matter how many walls you put up, those who cared for you refused to let you barricade yourself entirely. The Resistance was like on large family; that train of thought had you reminding yourself that you needed to sit with your mother, as you had promised to do before the day ended. Peace was not a guarantee.

You thumbed the electronic torch, powering down its beam. Daylight forced you to shield your eyes until you better adjusted. The man who had walked with you offered but a brief farewell then left. He had business to take care of, either training or a mission. You stared after him. Thought of Finn, who would likely be catching up with Rey and Rose. Dameron would join you in under an hour, or at least that is the impression that you had been given. It would be foolish for anyone to rest for prolonged periods. Kylo Ren was building an army of Force sensitives. Supreme Leader Hux was hunting down the Resistance and those who could wield the Force.

Temporary shelter from the sun was given by way of a tarp stretched across several poles. There were three of these available, each of them with two benches underneath. For the past few days, that had been where individuals ate between work. It was simple to spot your mother in the centermost section. She nursed a cup of caf. Had it been evening, that would have been tea instead.

She placed the cup on the tabletop then reached for you with both of her hands. You walked into her embrace. Returned it, albeit briefly, and sat down beside her. She had been much quieter ever since learning that Kylo Ren was alive. Her political ties had done limited good for the Resistance thus far, however she had recently made some headway with one contact. Kylo was a distraction. More specifically, how you were reacting to the news was a distraction for your mother. She did not know how to feel in regards to the relief that you had experienced.

“You’re drinking it black,” you said softly, wrinkling your nose. She drummed her nails on the side of the cup, tilted her head. “General Organa told me of your progress.”

“Mm.” Your mother pulled the cup nearer to her again. “This is not how I imagined working with you.” No bitterness, only a bit of sorrow over the circumstances, which you could understand completely. “There are younger children with the Force. My contact would be able to help shelter them from this warㅡfrom both Hux and Ren.” She was watching you, gauging your reactions. You slid your hand atop hers, verbally assuring her that you were not rooting for Kylo Ren. You wanted those children away from the war. Hux would see them dead. Kylo would… You wanted to say that he would not pull them into battle, however you did not know if he wouldn’t start training them, indoctrinating them. “They’re going to need pilots.”

Your heart hammered in your chest. This was something that, if General Organa and your other superiors approved, you would be able to do. Something that would improve the galaxy, would save lives, would protect what was dear to you. You had no intention of removing yourself completely from battle. Until you recovered, however, this would do.

What might prevent you from being cleared was the possibility that these runs would make you a desirable target for Hux or Ren. The First Order would want you dead along with those children. The Order of Ren, on the other hand… Maker, you wished you could read minds, even if only temporarily. If your last run-in set precedence, the possibility remained that you would not be killed. The children would be safer. Or perhaps that was you beginning down the road of an ego trip.

Movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention. You twisted your torso to watch Dameron do a mini-jog out of the cavern. He headed straight for you. BB-8 rolled forward to meet him, chirping audibly and receiving a pat on the top of his dome. The droid and pilot remained near one another the entire time as Poe deposited himself in the seat across from you and BB-8 lingered on the ground behind him. Your mother greeted Dameron, the pair falling into standard pleasantries. You waited for one to deliver the line the weather’s nice today, however neither ever did. It was no secret that your mother had been in opposition to the formation of the Resistance initially. Obviously her opinion had changed given circumstances, yet there were those in the Resistance that had not held their tongues when giving a roundabout I told you so. General Organa attributed these attitudes to age, and oftentimes this was true. There was none of that from Poe. That did not mean neither held reservations when it came to speaking with the other.

They were dancing around the topic of your being assigned to assist on the upcoming mission. This was amusing to you given that your mother had just talked about it with you. Which meant that you were quick to grow impatient.

“Am I on the assignment?” you asked. There was an edge in your tone that made you wince and wonder if you should apologize. Displaying weakness was not something you feared in the presence of these two; not that owning up to a mistake was a sign of being weak. Your mother tugged her cup of caf upwards, sipping it while locking eyes with Dameron. The decision had yet to be made, though there were clearly discussions regarding your inclusion. One major determining factor lay in the fact that on your previous mission, you had lost all of your comrades as well as your ship. Assigning you to a new starship when the Resistance was in such short supply… Unless, you thought, the Resistance would not be supplying the transport. That could very well be part of the negotiations with your mother’s contact. “Is it when I was under the influence of the Force?” How many people had witnessed your belligerent behavior when you had been under that spell? They might not want you if they recognized you.

Dameron straightened out his spine before tilting his head at a small angle. His body was facing your mother, however his eyes were locked on yours. Poe had been benched at one point due to his behavior. He had to obey the chain of command or else face a demotion. This meant that even if he personally believed you were fit for the mission, his wisest choice would be to hold his tongue. You thought you saw conflict in his expression. He did not know what to say to you.

Feeling rather deflated, you nodded to display that you would not pressure either of them. They were on your side in this, would do what they could to help you so that you could assist the Resistance, the galaxy as a whole. There was a different reason that Poe had come to the table with you and your mother. A likely deduction was that he wished to do an attitude check following your discussion with Luke Skywalker.

A new flight simulator had been provided by one of the allies of the Resistance; Poe and Finn had returned from their mission roughly the same time as another Resistance member, who had flashed the newly obtained item to Dameron. Modifications on older ships coupled with purchases of different models meant that pilots would best serve themselves by studying via the sim. You thought back to the stream of positive warmth that had enveloped you earlier, around the time of Poe’s return. Initially you had believed that Rey had been elated to see her friendㅡnot that this was no longer plausibleㅡhowever knew that the simulator would also provide such a reaction from the female Force user.

She had learned how to pilot crafts by using a simulator while on Jakku. You found your mind wandering to the stories she had told of her lonely childhood. Still, here she was. Struggling with the fact that she was being regarded as a hero, that she was as important a symbol of hope as Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa. This was not what she had believed her life would be like. She worried that she would fail, that she was not worthy.

The Knight of Ren that had defected, that had joined her side, seated himself on the far end of the table. His presence was jarring. You had not noticed him coming, you had been too wrapped up in your thoughts. You looked at him, more specifically at the armor that he wore. He was again donning the helmet and armor that he had worn while under Kylo Ren’s command. Your mother excused herself, grabbed up her cup of caf, and offered only a quick I’ll see you later to you before taking her leave. The Knight did not flinch, did not react at all as far as you could see. Poe reacted differently to the other man’s arrival. He mentioned the flight sim again, prompting the Knight to turn his helmeted head to look at the pilot.

A new discussion arose, this time Dameron and the Knight being the participants while you remained nothing more than an audience member along with the droid. It was the Knight that had provided the intel necessary for the other Resistance member to gain access to the simulation. The First Order, and thus the Knights of Ren as well, had dealt with some suppliers known by the Resistance. Some of the developers of weapons and defense systems had made rough copies. Those programs were sold on the Black Market to competitors. It had also birthed copies of flight sims, which were compiled onto a single datachip. Some of the newer TIEs and other First Order fighter vessels were featured among transports.

You felt as though you were beginning to float out of your body. Lightheaded. Taken aback by the fact that this former follower of Kylo Ren had provided much needed intel for the Resistance. The First Order fleet was large in comparison to the Resistance, however learning how to pilot some of its ships would mean that infiltration would be a better option. Stealing ships right from under their noses. Knowing how to work them. TIEs were temperamental, which Poe Dameron knew from personal experience.

Dameron gestured to the Knight with his head then to you. “If it’s cleared, the two of you will be working more closely.” You narrowed your eyes without looking towards the Knight. It was not disappointment or anger that you felt. Concern, though. Trust was not an easy thing to hand out, even if this man had already proven himself. The words he had spoken to you after Kylo’s death, though, still stung. There had been no positive interactions. “Work it out, kids.”

You nearly rolled your eyes at that. He had not used the term in a condescending way so much as acknowledging the clear tension. BB-8 released a noise that sounded rather catty. It drew a laugh from your superior, who then gave a wave while rising and walking away.

Silence wrapped around you, prompting you to strain to listen to everything else occuring on the temporary base. The flight sim would not be available for you to use immediately. Otherwise you might have suggested that both of you work on that together. If the program allowed it, that is. You puffed up your cheeks. Heard another ship breaking atmosphere. A friendly. You could tell by the sound of the engine. Boy would that be changing once the Resistance fleet expanded. Plus you would potentially be working with non-Resistance personnel. Kids too.

“Pain?”

The inquiry revealed to you that you had winced. It remained a touchy thing, the subject of children. The truth was that you did not know how to feel about that quite yet.

You waved a hand in the air. “Not exactly.” A pause. You sucked your lips into your mouth and pressed your teeth on them, albeit not in a biting fashion. There was an intimacy in sharing your feelings that you did not know whether or not you were ready for. That, too, would require a level of trust to exist between you and the Knight. There were countless arguments for either side. Poe’s words echoed in your head. Taking a deep breath, you wrapped your arms around your waist and leaned forward, hunching your shoulders. The Knight shifted back a little. He had not removed his gaze from you, and your inability to see his face made it difficult for you to read his motivations. “Thoughts of war.” This was not a lie, although the vague nature of the statement drew a snort from the man.

Once more did a hush fall over the table. You swallowed down the saliva that had begun to gather in your mouth. The situation that you were in with this man reminded you of the awkwardness that had existed with Kylo Ren. There was, of course, no threat of being tortured here. No fear of being raped, subjected to interrogationㅡwell, perhaps that was not quite true. Personal inquiries were always a possibility when it came to trust exercises, which you suspected the pair of you would be dealing with. The damned mask was what did it. Those first visits from Kylo Ren when he had worn the helmet, when you had been able to view him as a creature.

This time your bottom lip did quiver. The tips of your fingers dug into your sides, and you squeezed your eyes closed. Pictured Naboo, the greenery, the florals.

“We kill a part of ourselves every day.”

Your eyes snapped open, attention darting back to the Knight. You were trembling at the truth behind those words. At the familiarity in them, how they reminded you of the things that your father had said in regards to monsters and monster slayers.

“They find it difficult to trust me. We know the reasons are valid.” We, because it was the same reason those in the Resistance struggled to trust you. You and the Knight were compromised. That happened when one spent too much time with the opposition. “I hadn’t wanted him to die.”

“I hadn’t either...not at that point.” His chin dipped in a nod, and you again thought of the helmeted Kylo from your days of early captivity. This time the resemblance hurt less. This Knight was treading on the gray area of war, and you were willing to join him. To look beyond death towards the future. “So we would be the two pilots. One of us the co-pilot.” Another snort, this one containing unhidden amusement. Your lips tugged to one side into a smirk. “I will wait until we have results from the flight simulator. I am a capable pilot, but I won’t put my pride above the lives of those we would be transporting.”

The Knight of Ren tapped the side of his helmet with two fingers. “If you combine the two names… Supernova and tooke… Super tooke.”

“Oh, please don’t,” you said, grimacing.

“Pride.”

“Self-respect.” He hummed, conceding defeat on that point. The first layer of trust received a new thread.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #three blind tooke #elmidolfanfic #death is an art

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