#the best at it. and that only got worse as the looming prospect of being possibly seperated from everyone he knows and loves started to get | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sopebubbles · 2 years

Text

Chapter 12

<- master list ->

At thirty-eight weeks, you may be experiencing insomnia made worse by anxiety.

Chapter summary: pregnancy anxieties bring new things to light

Warnings: pre-partum anxiety, someone 👀 might call this spicy...

WC: 2k

You suppose you should be grateful for the alone time you've had the last couple of weeks. You're not going to know what that feels like for a very long time once Mochi arrives in the world, but you're still going to be on your own, won't you? That thought has been gnawing at you a lot recently. Even though at first you thought having the boys come in and change your life was going to mean an overwhelming amount of support, the last few weeks have taught you it might not be as much as you thought. More than likely, you'll be spending many days and nights at home alone with your baby. Even if that's what you always expected, the prospect of it is looming over you now and fear is beginning to set in as you realize. You have no idea what you're doing.

Soon enough you're going to have a real living child and you're going to be the most important person in their life. And what if you're a total failure? What if they don't love you? What if you're just a bad mom, and you screw them up? What if...

"Y/N, you're still awake? It's after midnight." Jimin's voice reaches you through your deep, winding thoughts.

You shake your head, as if breaking free from the web of anxieties you've been trapped in, letting them devour you. "Oh. I didn't realize."

Jimin comes into the room and sits beside you on the bed. His eyes narrow on your face in the light of your bedside lamp. "Have you been crying?"

You touch your fingertips to your cheeks to find they're actually wet. You hadn't even noticed. "I've just been thinking…"

"That sounds bad," he chuckles. "What are you thinking?"

"What if I'm a disappointment to Mochi?" You stare blankly ahead, not looking at him. Your voice is flat, but rough from days of not talking to anyone but yourself and your baby. "What if I'm a bad mom?"

"What?! How could you be?"

"What if I'm just a failure? Jeongguk is so cool and talented and successful. What if I just look like nothing in comparison? What if I am nothing? What if they're embarrassed of me?"

Jimin frowns at you as he brushes a bit of your hair behind your ear. "Y/N, that's crazy. What have you ever failed in?"

You gesture around you with your hands. "This. I just...I didn't do things the right way. I got knocked up by Jeongguk because I'm bad at love. Because I was so lonely and unlovable that I allowed myself to be seduced by him for a brief moment."

"Y/N," he whispers your name. "You aren't unlovable."

"Aren't I though? You're only here because of a mistake. You don't love me. The father of my baby doesn't love me. And after all this, who will?"

"Y/N, I-" But he can't bring himself to confess to you even when he knows that he does love you. He thinks about almost nothing but you lately, and Mochi too, but you first, if he's being honest. I hope Y/N ate well. Hope Mochi is okay. Hope she's not giving Y/N too much trouble. I miss her. All day long he thinks of you. All he wants now is to comfort you, but he doesn't think telling you now will achieve that. You're emotional. You could give birth at any moment, really. You could not love him back. It's too complicated and he can't seem to find his courage.

"Y/N, do you realize all of this was meant to happen?" He asks instead, looking intently at you until you return his gaze, meeting his eyes with your watery ones.

You sniff and wipe the back of your hand across your cheek. "What?"

"You ended up with Mochi because it was meant to be. You're meant to be Mochi's mom because you'll be the best mom for her. It happened with Guk because you're supposed to be with all of us, with me. Maybe it was an accident or chance, but it will be a good thing in the end. It's serendipity. You're not unlovable. You're well loved."

You sniff. "Do you love me?" You shouldn't ask questions like that, and you know it. What if he says no? What if he thinks you're pathetic? But it's too late now. "As a friend, I mean," you try to cover and cough.

Jimin gazes at you for a moment. He wasn't going to say anything, but if you ask him point blank he can't lie, can he? "Y/N, I love you in every way possible." His voice and eyes are soft.

You blink at him several times to clear the unshed tears from your eyes. "What do you mean?"

Jimin clears his throat. "When I realized whose baby you were having you became my family, and I love all my family." You sink a little into your pillows and frown at his words, but he continues. "And then we got close, and if there's nothing else between us, I'll always love you as my friend, and that's important to me." That wasn't inherently bad, but you still felt your heart crushing in on itself. "But truthfully, I liked you before all of this. In fact, I was pretty mad when Jeongguk told me you slept together because I'd always liked you. And then we got close and it just feels right to me. You're the first person I've felt connected to in a long time. You've made me feel less alone. You've made me feel needed and cared for at the same time, even when you've had other things to worry about. So it's not fair, but I love you. I'm s-"

Jimin's words are abruptly cut off, your lips on his making it difficult to speak. It takes Jimin a moment to respond. He knows he should gently push you away - your hormones are probably in control and you're just reacting to someone telling you they love you when you're feeling so vulnerable - but as soon as he raises his hands to your shoulders he finds himself pulling you closer instead. Your lips are so soft against his and they stay there instead of leaning away. For a moment, he kisses you back until you're both breathless. His warm hands grip you firmly but gently through your 3X t-shirt and you just want to melt into his embrace as you move slightly closer to him, leaning in more. The pressure in your chest and anxious haze of your mind have both lifted. How does he always make you feel better with his presence? So much so that the mere thought of never having it adds to the waves of anxiety that have taken over your mind lately. But this feels so right at the moment. His lips feel so perfect against yours as his warmth spreads all through your body and your fingers curl into the long hair at the back of his neck. He's the first one to pull away, and that has you feeling self conscious even though your need for air is just as great, if not greater, what with Mochi pushing on your diaphragm.

"I'm sorry," you pant, your forehead pressed to his.

"It's okay," he breathes, although he's still nervous and he's not sure if it is okay. Will you blame him for not stopping you when he should be clear-headed?

You sit back and wipe your hand over your lips, embarrassed by how you attacked him even though you don't regret it yet. "I probably should have told you I think I'm in love with you, too, before I just jumped you like that."

"I didn't mind," he chuckles. "Wait! You do?" His eyes frantically search your face, which is down turned in shame.

You nod shyly. "All those things you said before, I feel the same way. I've felt alone for so long, but not when I'm with you. You bring so much warmth into my life. It's not fair, but I need it. I-I can't bear the thought of losing you. Even if Mochi is the only reason for you to stay in my life, I'll be happy. Even if we're only friends," you add quietly.

Jimin smiles at you briefly, but there's a touch of regret in his eyes as he expression falls into a frown. "I really did have a crush on you for the longest time. The guys would always tease me for it. It was just a crush, admiring you from afar, but over the last couple of months, I've sometimes wondered what would have happened if I'd had the nerve to ask you out before everything with Jeongguk. Would you have accepted me? Is it all too late now?" He's asking you, but he knows you can't have the answer to that either. You remember just how complicated your situation is and sigh.

"I don't know, Jimin. I...I just don't know."

Jimin smiles again and takes your hand reassuringly. "It's okay, Y/N. We don't have to know right now. I'm not going anywhere. You're gonna be stuck with me."

"Promise?" You pout and he nods happily. "Then...can you stay with me tonight? I hate to say it, but I sleep better when you're near," you admit shamefully.

"Of course, Y/N." Jimin shimmies under the duvet to get comfortable and then opens his arms for you to cuddle into. You turn off your bedside lamp and settle down by his side. He still smells a bit of sweat from the long rehearsals of the day, but even with your heightened sense of smell, you don't mind because he just smells more like Jimin.

"How are preparations going?" You ask softly in the darkness that embraces the two of you. You can hear his voice start in his chest, along with his steady, rhythmic heartbeat. "It's going well. Better than ever now that we're more or less united again."

"More or less?"

"There's still a bit of tension between me and Namjoon," he admits.

"Jimin, you don't need to punish him forever," you admonish, surprised at his bitterness.

Jimin wraps his arm more tightly around you and kisses the crown of your head lightly. "It's not just about you, I promise. I take my relationships seriously, and Namjoon hurt my trust. He gaslighted me and tried to make me feel wrong for the things I believed in. That will take time to heal, but I'm sure that it will, eventually." You simply nod, because it's not your place to judge how Jimin processes his relationships with others. "You should come to rehearsal tomorrow!" His voice remains quiet since you're so close, but the enthusiasm isn't diminished. "I'm sorry, I've been keeping my distance because I didn't want you to feel like I was taking over your life. But you must be bored and lonely in here all day. I should have thought of that earlier. No wonder you're getting too deep into your head and thinking silly things. Come see us."

"I don't know if I should," you hedge. "They still haven't made a decision about me coming back, and going to HYBE might be awkward."

You feel Jimin shake his head above you. "We're going to the stadium for the first time tomorrow!"

"I can't believe muster is only a week away. Who knows if I'll get to see it."

"Of course you will!" Jimin smiles.

"Not if Mochi comes early," you remind him, gently rubbing your hand over his chest.

"Oh, right." He hums happily, though. "Either way, next week will be exciting. So rest up because you're gonna need it." You nod your head sleepily, nuzzling further into his chest. "Go to sleep, Y/N. I'll be here," he coos as you let your eyes close with shockingly few thoughts left on your mind.

To be continued...

Taglist: Taglist: @halesandy @burningupp-replies @lilacdreams-00 @minclangyyy @yoongiofmine @yonkimint @wholockian1 @cbgdoll @babycoffeefire @theatren3rd @bri-mal @armytwist @hwayne2294 @kazufuyusluv @n4mina @crish-mac @juju-227592 @mickmoon @yoongicenterofmyuniverse @likeshatteredrainbowglass @softforpj @chimchimsauce @arikimtanapon @outro-kook @ellesalazar @somewhereinthestarss @cscam @svgahigh @defcv28 @shydestinyyouth @bbl32 @eternally-writing-main @craftymoonchaos @chimchimmarie @sweetcheeksdna @lovelytaes-blog @mwitsmejk @cursedcursives @ncizen @elliegrace1999tvd @miffy1997 @borahae-reads @mattsunsupremacy @brit97 @heyjiminnie @natalie-rdr @lovergirl1316 @agustpark @lalisala @blueeyedlove-blog1

#bts fic #bts fan fiction #bts idol au #bts pregnancy au #bts dad au #bts imagines #bts angst #bts x reader #jimin angst #jimin fluff #jimin au #jimin idol au #jimin pregnancy au #jimin x reader

435 notes · View notes

peakyblindersxx · 3 years

Text

whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 5 of ?)

gif by my literal angel @michaelgreys who keeps blessing us like holy fuck

a/n: all i can say is that this is the hottest one yet. as always, my girl @stxdyblr-2k did an amazing job so i hope you all enjoy :) and i'm still working on requests, tysm for all of them!!

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland

prompt: john just can't help himself when he sees you with someone else.

warnings: nsfw!!! smut, fluff, angst, light praise kink, john fucking adores you and spends a good amount of time with his head between your legs (yes i know!!!!!)

John had spotted you from across the London nightclub, his table tucked into the balcony area, perfectly positioned to survey the entire club. It'd been over a month since he laid eyes on you last. Sometimes, he wondered if it was possible for you to only get more beautiful every time he saw you. He wasn't surprised, as he'd been warned of your presence by Tommy, but he was unable to stop himself from staring at you, hair neatly styled, scarlet velvet dress clinging to every curve, red lipstick emphasizing your lips, a light haze of pink pressed into your cheekbones, lash-line expertly darkened with kohl. You were dancing with one of Isaiah's friends; the young man was tall and muscular -- a blinder foot soldier, John concluded, draining his glass of whiskey, flagging the waiter down for another.

The young lad was smiling down at you. John took a swig from his drink bitterly, the man obviously head over heels, his eyes bright, excitedly glancing from your lips to your figure. John could feel himself cringe; the younger man had all the subtlety and strategy of a malnourished dog. Then again, who could blame the lad? You were an absolute vision, twirling and giggling, off your face on something Michael had brought. John couldn't help but watch, wishing it was him who had caught your attention tonight, wanting to feel your breath fan across his neck, pulling away while you giggled at his blushing arousal; him whisking you to dark corners to steal a moment of quiet.

He'd tried to get over you but he couldn't. He'd been travelling a lot lately, business in Liverpool, Edinburgh and Belfast; yet in every woman who smiled at him, he found himself searching for you in their eyes, their smiles, their laugh. They were all gorgeous, but his heart simply wasn't in it.

Tonight had started off alright, normal Peaky activity. They'd seized the club only a few hours ago, gaining vital territory in London, bagging their place in the opiate trade and a successful business prospect in one fell swoop. By all accounts, John should’ve been happy, but he'd been too lost in his own mind lately to properly take in the consequences of those sleepless nights with the accounting books, all the hours practicing shooting and boxing, all the endless driving, the meetings, the lingering stench of death which clung to his family. Try as he might, he couldn't enjoy himself. His night got worse the second he spotted you; a yearning for you suddenly flooding his veins. It was easy to get on with life when you were hundreds of miles from him, but when you were a flight of stairs away? He knew the club had countless dark passages to hide away with you, multiple cloak rooms with thick brick walls to take you against: he had to stop his mind running wild. He couldn't. That had to be the last time. You were in his past, you had to stay there. But as he watched you dance with the blinder, he could feel the familiar burn of jealousy swell deep within him. The lad was far too close to you for his comfort, practically grazing his hips to yours. John roughly rubbed his jaw at the sight, silently seething to himself in the shadows.

Thomas studied his brother's body language, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, not understanding the fuss around you. Sure, you were pretty enough; you were bright, apparently funny, but you had never caught his attention really. He observed how John's eyes followed your every move, every sway of your hips closely watched as he held his breath, losing himself to you. He was glad he'd prompted Michael to invite you; this was the most attentive he'd seen John in a month. It was no coincidence that he'd dragged you away from Birmingham, from the watching eyes of the city locals, the wagging tongues in the assembly lines, far from Ada. Michael had admitted to Thomas that it was easy to persuade you, promising you a lift in his new car and a night out as Ada had plans with a gentleman. A night of dancing with your favourite lads and an all expenses paid trip to London? You couldn't resist.

John's jaw had tensed and squared, the man murmuring something against your neck causing you to giggle and grasp his collar. Thomas could tell his brother was practically bristling with jealousy. If looks could kill, the young man clinging to your hips would be long dead from the glare unleashed on him by the tallest Shelby brother.

"You gonna sit there useless or are you gonna fucking do something about it, eh?" Tommy inquired, nudging him with his shoulder.

"I can't."

"No one will know." Thomas pointed out, raising a brow, "The Blinders will say fuck all if they see owt. They keep quiet when it's about us Shelby brothers, yeah?"

John glanced at him, eyes slightly widened, confusion furrowing his brows. "You've changed your fuckin' tune."

"Sometimes, it's good to have secrets. What Ada doesn't know about the events of tonight won't hurt her."

"We don't do secrets. We're meant to trust each other." John objected. "We're a family."

"Nothing will change, John. I'll fix it for you, yeah? You've had a rough few weeks, you should reward yourself."

"She's not a fuckin’ prize, Tom."

"Keep talking that shit and people will get the wrong idea, think you love the woman or sommet." Thomas shrugged, taking a sip of his drink, while John's cheeks flared, his eyes flinching to the floor. He smirks to himself. "You going to go get your lass, then?"

John replied wordlessly, standing and downing the rest of his drink, pulling on his suit jacket, straightening his collar. "I'll catch you later, Tom."

********

The lad was nice, his name had long disappeared into the fog of liquor and Tokyo. He was someone's cousin, but he was polite; charming, almost. Most importantly, he wasn't related to your best friend. Not quite a Casanova type like John, but you two were a good match, everyone thought so. You'd seen him a few times now over the past week. He wasn't much of a talker, but he was a good dancer, and sweet after a few pints.

The band started playing a slower song, Isaiah dancing chest to chest with a beautiful girl across from you. You felt your partner place his fingers on the small of your back, his fingers inching lower, pulling you in closer before the two of you were interrupted by a dark figure looming over you.

"Can I cut in, mate?" A strong Birmingham accent sliced through the air, voice low and polite enough, but with a tone that was laced with venom. "Or are you gonna be a dick about it?"

The lad glanced nervously between you two, moving his hands away from you, embarrassed to be caught by his boss in this state, John staring him down. You slowly pulled away from him, turning to face John.

"Or you could ask me to dance yourself, John?"

John silently glared back at you, his mouth tensed into a thin line. He looked momentarily embarrassed, his attention switching back to your dance partner, the rest of lads silently watching, breaths baited, ready to jump in on the action if the moment required it.

"I'm heading off mate, reckon she's a cocktease." Your partner comments, attempting to diffuse the tension, stepping away, not wanting a fight or to piss off his boss. His path was quickly blocked by another blinder. You shot him an apologetic look and took the large hand John was offering you.

"Or, she's just not interested in you," John quipped, smirking, locking his fingers through yours. "You gonna go get your coat while I finish up with your best mate?"

"Thought we were dancing?"

"You can dance as much as you like in the suite, yeah? Proper gramophone. You coming?"

"You just want me on my own."

"Just tired of the distractions." He told you pointedly, skimming his glare over the group of men, standing with baited breath, preparing for it to kick off.

You rolled your eyes but squeezed his hands, slowly heading to the cloakroom, chatting with the attendant as you watched John confront the lad, keeping your distance. His arms were clutching the lad's lapels, snarling in his face before pushing him back. Michael watched from a few steps away, smoking absentmindedly, spine pressed to a pillar, leaving his cousin to sort out whatever offense he believed the man had caused.

You bundled yourself up in your thin coat, a gift from one of the girls you hung around with as she had recently married a blinder and was being spoiled rotten. The coat's flimsy material was going to be useless against the London night. At least you could count on John to keep you warm on the walk back to the hotel. You headed towards the side door, John's hand quickly finding your lower back protectively as he fell into step beside you. He opened the heavy wooden doors for you, the cold air an instant relief from the heat of the nightclub. You turned back as the door closed, catching a glimpse of the boys closing in on the lad, their eyes gleaming with a violent hunger for action.

"He'll be alright. Daft prick just getting put in his place." John said flatly. He seemed bored but watched you anxiously, begging you with his eyes to drop the subject.

"Is the hotel close by?" You asked casually, as the frigid air swirled around your calves, instantly causing you to shiver.

"I'll get us a cab, love, can't have you in those heels trekking halfway across London town." He stepped fearlessly into the road, unbothered about any potential danger or just forgetful from the whiskey. Quickly, a dark cab pulled up to the cobblestone pavement and John helped you in, taking off his coat and wrapping it around your shoulders before climbing in after you.

As the engine started and the car made its way through London's dimly lit streets to Camden, John's hand found its way to your thigh. You glanced at him, his eyes looking away but his thumb angled against his teeth. He was nervous, having not touched you in a month. You crossed your legs, angling them towards him, his hand shifting higher up your thighs, taking a deep sigh of relief. Your hands found his chin in the gloom of the back of the car, only the occasional bright lights from a nightlife hub or the demure lights of a residential illuminating his face, the angles changing as the cab drove on. It was too much. You'd been needing this for the past month, needing him. Your hands laced around the back of his head and you pressed your lips to his for a brief moment, allowing John to pull you deeper into the kiss. It awoke something familiar inside you, something comforting. Kissing John erased all your homesickness. Christ, you had to stop thinking like this.

"You've not been about for a bit, sweetheart. I know we said never again, but I was hoping you'd come by," John muttered, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling with yours as he spoke.

"I almost did. The amount of times I nearly visited your office.. I just couldn't do that to you or Ada. Besides, last I heard, you were on tour." You admitted, keeping your voice down to save the cab driver the embarrassment. John caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, tracing the corner of your mouth, prompting a grin from you.

"Last place on earth I'd expected to see you next, it's been hectic my end," He sighed. His eyes were outlined with deep purple smudges of exhaustion, yet he was still devastatingly beautiful even after all the sleepless nights. "It's been too long."

"Not my fault you've been hiding yourself away. You should've called."

"Blame Tommy for that. His solution seems to be sending me on business trips. Trying to make me too tired to handle you." A nervous lick of his lips revealed John’s response to the suggestion that he call you. He wanted to say he would ring next time, but there couldn't be a next time.

"You can barely handle me on a good day, Mr. Shelby."

"Can't blame me. You seen yourself? On the brink as soon as I see you, lass." He teased, earning a gentle shove to the shoulder as you quickly pressed a kiss underneath his chin. You wanted to bring up Thomas' threat, but you bit your tongue, nudging his shin with the toe of your heel in the back of the cab. He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrists lightly. "Behave yourself in front of the nice cabbie, sweetheart."

You soften at his touch, unable to resist reaching to interlock your fingers, squeezing his hands in yours affectionately. The spirits your table had been bringing you all night definitely boosted your confidence, any hesitancy due to potential rejection drowned out. John pressed his lips to your knuckles in response. He seemed different tonight, far more protective and serious than usual. He was so quiet it was strange, usually yapping your ear off, desperate for you to react, treating him to a giggle, a middle finger or a cutting response. You'd also never witnessed him spark off due to someone's interaction with you. Finn had mentioned a week or so back that John had a shouting match with Thomas and in the moment, your name got thrown up in the conversation, resulting in John taking a swing at his big brother out of frustration. It was confusing. He was willing to start fights over you, punch his brother, yet when you two were alone he was uncomfortably quiet, studying you, lost in his thoughts. His silence only made your body long for him, his fingers tracing patterns in your inner thigh. You let out a small whimper into the crook of his neck, as he instinctively pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

The car pulled up outside the hotel, your pulse racing, the anticipation already threatening to make you give in completely to his wishes tonight. You waited as he turned up his collar against the rain, clambering out of the car to open your door, creatively arranging the coat to hover just above both your heads protecting you from the miserable weather. Although John had referred to the building as a hotel, you could instantly tell the manor was some aristocrat's third or fourth home, obviously being rented out or gifted to business partners for trips. It was an imposing grey stone building, exquisitely carved, although not a country estate, the house was just as large. Was John used to this? It hit you all of a sudden that you'd never set foot inside John's home. You'd heard from Ada that it was overrun with hoards of screaming children. She often joked with the children at the Shelby Institute that if they hung around long enough at John's, he'd assume they were one of his offspring. You'd only ever fucked him in a guest bed. The shame made your stomach churn.

You needed to remind yourself of this when your late night thoughts ran rampant. John could say what he liked, but he'd never actually allow you to get overly personal with him. Whatever confusing mess was winding around your skull regarding him was useless; it was best not to think about it. You went to him every time, yet he would've picked another lass tonight, it was just that you were there. He probably had a string of gorgeous women, older, more accomplished, more experienced, more elegant. He could tell you he missed you, but you could never take for granted that he told you this for any other reason than as a prelude to get you in bed with him. You were his gorgeous mess, but only for the night. It was best to remind yourself to care less than he did. It was the easiest solution in the long term; this way, the downfall would be less brutal.

"You alright, love?" He asked suddenly, breaking your train of thought.

"Sorry, I was thinking about work."

He lived around his brothers for long enough, he could smell bullshit. He decided to let it go. It was best to not push it tonight. Just keep it light hearted, easy, like it was always meant to be.

"If your boss keeps being a prick, you tell Ada. She'll sort him out."

"Don't I know it? He can barely open the door before she starts on about workplace ethics." You joked, earning a small smile instead of his usual bright chuckle. "John, what are we doing here?"

"Well I'm about to take you upstairs and sort you out, yeah? You gonna let me look after you?" He asked, stopping you in your tracks by turning you into him, grabbing your wrist.

"You know that isn't what I meant."

"I know. But can we leave it tonight? Can we just have fun?" He questioned, lips ghosting over yours, fixing you with an intense stare.

"It's fun anymore." Your voice cracked, the liquor in your system making it impossible to control your tone or your facial expressions. "It's fucking with my head, John."

"It's just.. fucking difficult. It's fucking difficult because of who we are." He replied firmly but dropped his makeshift coat shelter around your shoulders, freeing his hands to grab your face pulling it to his, the alcohol making him far needier than he usually appeared. "You, my beautiful Y/N, are a fucking losing game. It's not as easy for me, I can't just dance with a woman and get a leg over-"

"I never said you couldn't."

"I know, I.." He gestured vaguely, lifting one of his hands off your cheeks, and you can feel your head nodding in understanding. "You know, I thought I was going to manage it this time. That I wouldn't be a total fuck up, but then you and that lad-"

"Catch you getting jealous over me."

"Fuck off." He let go of you for a split second but you reeled him back in, resting your palms on the chest of his shirt, the soaked material sticking to his skin. You'd struck a nerve. You decided to push him further.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, Mr. Shelby, disappearing across the country for weeks then coming back and telling me you want me all to yourself?" You played with his collar, tugging his face to yours before pulling back at the last possible second, causing him to let out a frustrated groan, hands itching to feel you underneath them.

"Don't fucking wind me up," He snapped, the intensity between you rekindled momentarily.

"It's worked wonders in the past," You replied, barely able to finish your sentence before his mouth was on yours, his fingers tangling into your hair, kissing you properly. Although you'd kissed so many times prior, this one felt so genuine, as though unleashed from its restraints deep within John. You'd never kissed anyone in the rain before in the middle of the night, and it felt magical. You were shivering but hot all over, burning for John to do something, anything. You could feel his cock through his dress pants, hard against you, prompting you to moan into his mouth.

"Fuck’s sake, Y/N," John grunted into your ear, his hands grabbing at your arse. "You're fuckin’ killing me here. I need you, yeah?"

"Tell me how badly." You responded coyly, linking your arms around his neck, ignoring the late night drizzle.

"I'd rather show you. M’gonna take care of you tonight, make up for the month I've been gone."

"Who's saying I've not been taking care of myself?'

He bit his lip in frustration, trying to stop his mind running wild with the image of you in bed, fingers between your thighs, breasts moving as you arched your back, hips lifting off the mattress, moaning as you called his name -- his jaw clenched. "I know what you're doing. You coming up before you catch a chill?"

You shifted your weight away from him, as if considering your options. He knew your answer; you both knew in a few minutes you'd be upstairs practically tearing his shirt off, needing his skin against yours, begging for him. John pulled away from you, dragging you up the winding path to the front door of the manor, opening the door for you, arm wrapping around your waist. His lips met yours, then your collarbones and neck, prompting a breathy giggle and whine as you wound yourself back around him, craving the contact. The manor was plunged in darkness, staff somewhere in the gloom. Your arrival had definitely been noted, but as with everyone who worked for the Shelbys, they just left you to it. It was easier to not get involved, to keep their heads down and not mention the midnight trysts the brothers got up to.

John knew his path, he'd stayed here before. Even in the dark you could tell the house was decorated to spare no expense, the gaudy paintings and sculptures casting strange shadows. He led you up the grand flight of stairs, then another.

"Worse than Thomas' estate, this place." You murmured quietly, unsure of other guests within earshot.

"I could never live like this. I'd never see my brood again. Getting them ready for bed would be one hell of a nightmare." He whispered back, halting your stride by pulling your hips to his, unable to wait any longer.

"John, what if we get caught?" You asked, pressing your hand against his chest with your palm flat.

"Never bothered you before. Thought you liked the fact that anyone could just walk in and see what a pretty little mess you’ve made for me."

You couldn’t help yourself from pressing an affectionate kiss to his mouth, letting him lay you down and pin you to the stairs, the luxuriously thick carpets scraping into your flesh. He cursed under his breath at the sight of you underneath him, pushing your dress up your thighs, lifting your legs to wrap around his neck, pressing a kiss to your flimsy underwear, glancing up to drink you in. The most beautiful woman in his city, begging for him, figure swamped by his coat, rain soaked and shivering, his mouth between her thighs. He ran his tongue slowly across your clothed core, your pleading moans music to his ears, loving how your thighs tightened around his neck. His tongue traced circles over your clit and labia, the friction generated by the lace of your panties pushing you further, your hands knotting into his hair, spine arching against his mouth.

"No one been looking after you while I was gone. eh?" He asked, pressing kisses to your inner thigh, tugging your panties to the side. "What about your dancing pal?"

"Fuck’s sake, I barely know him, John." You snapped back, teetering on the edge between lust and frustration from his relentless teasing.

"Keep it that way. You don't need ‘im, lass, not while I'm about." He replies before lapping at your slit, interpreting your moans as approval as your head slumped back and you released a low groan. "Y/N, watch me, yeah?"

You pull yourself weakly upwards, propping yourself up in your elbows to be able to look down the staircase at John between your legs in the dark. The view was thrilling, moonlight shining in through the rain on the window, illuminating his face, hair messy and tongue flickering across your clit while he stared up at you, his eyes darkened with lust. You couldn't help but pant, knowing you'd be returning to this moment alone at night, when it was your fingers instead of John's tongue pushing you towards the edge.

"So fuckin' wet and ready for me, aren’t you?" He crooned, sliding his fingers into you, sucking at your clit between flicks of his tongue.

You couldn’t find the words to respond, whimpers leaving your mouth instead, your hips lifting beneath his palms, chest heaving.

"Go on, use your words, clever lass."

"John, fuck.. don't stop," You manage to string together, thoughts too muddled by alcohol and arousal to play hard to get any longer.

"I won't ‘til you cum in my mouth. Need to taste you again, beautiful."

Your head jerked back suddenly as John curled his fingers inside you, pushing up against the spot that made you lose your mind, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, all he could hear except from his blood rushing in his head. Your desperate cries for relief caused his cock to strain against his dress pants, fighting the urge to sort himself out, needing to finish you off. John needed to prove that he could fuck you better than anyone else. He knew he was pushing you to the edge, but he wasn't going to deny you your orgasm. He wanted to make a point with this. His fingers worked faster, his mouth hungry for you, lips moving against your core at a harsh pace.

You groaned loudly, hips bucking involuntarily just to be forced back against the carpet of the staircase. Your breaths grew heavier, warning him how close you were to your peak. John refused to let up, pushing you closer every second, lips latched to your core firmly, lapping up the wetness he'd produced.

"I want to watch you finish." He commanded, you completely at his will now that you'd lost control, lifting your head upwards with the little strength you had left to be able to stare down at his dilated blue eyes. "Good girl. You gonna show me how good I make you feel? You gonna cum for me, doll?"

You couldn't respond, unable to keep your eyes from rolling backwards as you felt yourself suddenly release, John’s name escaping from between your lips, legs shuddering around his neck. He let you ride it out on his tongue, tasting you desperately, watching your expression slowly relax.

Finally, he pulled away from your cunt, unwrapping your legs from his neck. He grabbed your wrist, not letting you retrieve your panties, stuffing them into his trouser pocket. He returned his attention to tracing your slit with the index finger and thumb of his other hand, as he pressed a long kiss to your lips.

"I love how you taste," He murmured against your lips, causing you to flush slightly. John noticed, pressing kisses to your jawbone. "Don't get shy on me now. I've barely started with you. Not even got you to the suite and you've already cum."

He looked so proud of himself, it suddenly clicked for you. He was trying to prove himself to you, for some unknown reason. You know he was protective and quite obviously jealous tonight, but you couldn't believe that John Shelby felt the need to prove that he knew what he was doing, as though you weren't aware. You weren't trekking to his office for mediocre sex. Tonight he let you finish first, no teasing, no denial, no fucking about. Just putting his ability fully on show, so when your mind went drifting it'd go back to him, not some young lad who barely knew what he was doing. His cocky attitude and smug acceptance of his sexual prowess would've been off-putting if it was anyone else, but John, but with his bright smile and constant humour, pulled it off. It was enticing, making your core pool with wetness when he crossed your mind.

"A month is far too long, Mr. Shelby."

"I know, you're practically drooling over me." He teased. He seems a lot more himself than before. He’d been too caught up in his head, too focused on getting you off to enjoy the flirting and teasing. John loved how light-hearted he could be with you. Despite the mess you were both in, it was making you laugh or roll your eyes that soothed his mind. Honestly, if it was just sex he'd have cut you off instantly; he wouldn't have even gone there out of loyalty to Ada. Admittedly, it was your company and presence that had him absolutely on his knees for you, the way he felt understood, less alone in his brother's bullshit, less trapped by his criminal career because you understood. You always had a cutting line, a bright smile just for him, an eye roll at his brothers' daft plans, a choice curse word for Thomas. He didn't even want to consider what would happen after the night ended. He stood, pressing another kiss to your lips as he helped you to your feet, fixing his coat which hung off your shoulders.

"You ready for rounds two through to six?"

"John, you know you won't get through three with me."

"You’re right, you're just too pretty when you’re riding my cock." He teased, the vulgar material of his jibe earning him a joking shove before you curl into his side, letting him escort you up the stairs to the nearest bedroom. He quickly shut the door behind you, scooping you up in his arms, causing you to let out a laugh as he practically tossed you onto the king sized bed, eyes shining with adoration as he looked down at you grinning back up at him.

“You’re something else, John Shelby.”

#john shelby smut #john shelby fluff #john shelby fanfic #john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfic

455 notes · View notes

yandere--stuck · 3 years

Text

Grim - Yandere!Grimdark!John x Reader

[Warnings: Suggestive, graphic body horror, mentions of blood and gore]

---

John had watched you die. Not long after he had died himself.

He had seen the dead body of his father, lying on the floor beside Rose's mother. The scent of wine mixed with the stench of blood and death, making the Heir wrinkle his nose in disgust.

He didn't know why he didn't cry. He didn't cry at a lot of things. He didn't know why. Maybe he never learned how.

Or, maybe, it was the comfort of your presence at his side. The feel of your arm brushing against his, the sound of your voice hitching in shock. Even if he no longer had his father…. At least, he had you.

Maybe Dave had been right, the game had been bad news. They probably shouldn't have played it. Really, it had only brought ruin into their lives - into the lives of all it touched.

But it's not like they were the only harbingers of the apocalypse. And if you all hadn't played it… He could have lost you. It's not like he wanted to die, or that he didn't care about his dad or his friends, but you were the most important thing in the world to him.

Really, the main reason he had wanted to play was to finally see you, one on one. Rose was his best friend, but he felt disappointed that you weren't his server player, and jealousy at Jade being your client player. But, finally, to close the loop, he was your server player.

His excitement in seeing you, taking in everything about you, made him lose himself, and he ended up smashing his face against the screen of his laptop. The exhilaration and euphoria of seeing you and serving you almost overpowered the terror at the prospect of you dying, of you not making it to your planet in time.

But, you did eventually make it. The relief made John's heart burst with joy, hugging his laptop to his chest, trying to imagine the warmth of the machine was your own body heat. He made goo-goo eyes at you through the screen, resisting the urge to kiss the pixels that made up your form.

He had to continue making progress, but he was terrified of you getting hurt - so, he alchemized his glasses to include a screen that displayed your status in the game. This way, he could check up on you and carry you with him, outside of pesterchum, at least.

Vriska kept pestering him, eventually convincing him to fall asleep on his quest bed, saying something about "god tiers", apparently it was something even higher than the usual tiers on one's echeladder.

The next thing he remembered was awaking on some sort of chess board-esque battlefield with some little chess guys on it. Luckily, he was able to borrow his dad's car in the meantime (good thing his dad had gotten on his ass about *finally* getting his driver's license… Though, did he really need one if he was controlling it with his new windy powers?) And he had even managed to reunite with dear, sweet, precious Liv Tyler! Though… She was a lot more robot-y than before.

The thought of sharing her with you made him absolutely giddy! And the idea of you being a co-parent to Casey… God, it made him smile so hard his face hurt!

And! He had even gotten a cool hammer! You'd certainly be impressed by his strength and his cool moves. John would prove himself to be a great, protective boyfriend for sure!

A looming darkness caught his attention, and he felt himself pulled toward it. It seemed to come from a large castle shrouded in darkness. It didn't seem to be natural, like from a thunderstorm. It didn't seem to be from a fire either, the darkness neither smoky nor smelt of burning.

His eyes widened as he focused on something in the midst of the darkness - and he let out a gasp when he realized it was you!

He kicked into gear, rushing to meet you. You were dressed in your dream planet pajamas - and you looked so cute in them! As you turned, hearing him approach, he had to fight the urge to not fling himself at you, pulling you into a tight embrace as he spun you around in his arms.

He shook himself out of his daydream as you spoke to him, explaining that you had seen the darkness, as well, and wanted to investigate. It seemed to be coming from within the castle. Of course, John offered to accompany you inside. If anything went south, he'd be there for back-up!

He had to hide his grin and blush as the two of you ventured in, you sliding up beside him for reassurance.

Walking through the cavernous halls of the castle, you were horrified to find the bodies of so many innocent people strewn about, blood and viscera covering the walls and floors. The bodies, as alien as they may have been, were clearly. This was a massacre.

But, beside you, John felt… Nothing. It was sad, sure, but… You were still alive. And that was all that mattered, really!

You jumped when you stumbled upon a living person, John moving in front of you protectively. You held your breath as the figure turned, revealing…

Rose?

Though, she looked much different than what little you had seen of her. Her skin had turned a ghoulish gray, her eyes as black as night, and her eyes seemed to glow, illuminating her face. And a darkness seemed to surround her. It emanated off of her, stretching above her like tendrils.

Could… Could Rose have done this?

John seemed completely unfazed, greeting Rose with a wave, saying something about her "finally going grimdark."

Rose let out a noise that sounds something like a giggle, her lips quirking upwards. She tried to speak, but the words that came out… They weren't even words, you think. It sounded fuzzy, but also incredibly, painfully loud. It didn't sound like any noise a human could make, like TV static blaring in your ears, or switching through radio stations with no signals. It was suffocating and loud and- everywhere. It felt as though Rose's voice was everywhere, all around you, inside of you.

You were sure you let out a scream, but you only heard Rose's voice - even as you screwed your eyes shut and clamped your hands over your head, all you could hear was the noise…! It felt as though your ears were starting to bleed.

John's hands clamped down on your shoulders, bringing you back to the moment. You breathed heavily, chest rising and falling heavily as you tried to ground yourself.

Rose's eyes were full of guilt and concern, a pained expression on her face as she turned away.

As you tried to ground yourself and recover, you barely noticed John caressing your shoulder with a thumb. Nor did you see the deadly glare he sent to the back of Rose's head.

It's not like he didn't love Rose, but he loved you far, far more. If she ever hurt you again… He couldn't be held responsible for what he'd do.

The both of you followed Rose through the castle, the girl not able to bare turning around to face either of you. Still shaken up, you kept your head down, not wanting to look at the bodies or gore. John held you close to him, stroking your arms up and down to comfort you.

He had to fight not to smile, the feeling of your skin on his was electric.

Eventually, Rose guided the both of you out to a balcony of sorts - and you stopped dead, gasping in horror.

John's father and Rose's mother… Both dead on the ground. Murdered.

You couldn't help it, you turned to face John. The man's face was one of shock, his breathing shallow as he processed the scene in front of him.

His dad… He couldn't believe it. He had just seen him. He was right there… He felt his heart break.

Oh, and what was worse… You had to see something this awful! Oh, you poor thing! He had to get you away from here…!

But, everything happened so fast. All at once, a figure appeared - a man with the face of a dog and the body of one of the many, murdered chess people, armed with a sword. Instinctively, you stumbled back - and John turned, reaching out for you, terrified of losing you.

Before he could even call out for you, his words got choked up in his throat, replaced with nothing but blood. Pain exploded from his abdomen and his back, ocean eyes widening as they focused on the sword going straight through him.

The figure pulled the sword free, the Heir grunting in pain as his organs were ripped apart, blood gushing from his open wounds. As John fell to his knees, trying desperately to hold himself up, he spat out blood onto the white, marble floor. Slowly, he sank to the floor, eyes growing dim as, in his last moments, he tried to find you.

---

Coming back to life, John found, was a lot like waking up - the slow awareness of consciousness, the disorientation. A sudden burst of energy hit the man as he felt himself be rejuvenated, colors exploding across his vision. He blinked as he regained his sight, the world fading in from white. He swiveled his head, trying to find you.

In the distance, he could see Rose and the dog-man battling over the battlefield, blasting off magical attacks at one another. His heart pounded in his chest.

If she was there, then where were you?

Looking down, he surveyed the balcony. The body of his father, Rose's mother, and-

Oh. Oh, God. God, no, please!

The Heir felt tears strain at his eyes, his mouth pulled into a pained, horrifying grimace. He fell hard to his knees, kneeling above your body.

"No, no, please!" He choked out a sob. "Please, please, wake up!"

John clutched at your body, fisting the fabric of your pajamas in his hands as he shook you, desperately trying to get you to regain consciousness. He could feel his eyes and cheeks begin to sting with tears. His breathing was shallow and fast, having to use his powers to try to even it out.

He sobbed, all words incomprehensible by now. He let out sobbing screams as he clutched your body close to him, already feeling the warmth leaving you. He pressed, desperate, messy kisses to your lips and face - but, it was no use. Your real body and dreamself had both died.

He doesn't think he had ever cried before now. Only you made him feel so strongly. He loved you. He only loved you. He needed you. He couldn't lose you.

He couldn't.

Without you, life was meaningless. You were his only reason for playing this game. His only reason for doing anything - for living, for breathing. You were perfect. You were everything.

But, without you, there was no point. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!

Grief and rage filled him to the brim. He grit his teeth and he screwed his eyes shut, eyebrows knitting together.

The air tasted of electricity, and without his knowing, the dark clouds that swirled from above dripped down and encircled him like an inky blaze.

And John let out a scream.

Or, at least, he had tried to. His cry had been cut off by inky, black tendrils forcing their way inside of his open mouth. The tentacles came from everywhere, from the gloomy clouds from above the darkness that surrounded the man.

The eldritch beings that had given the Lalonde her current state had felt power within John's rage and sorrow, as well. The outburst had drawn their attentions - feeding off the darkness within him. They would remake him in their image, as well…

John gagged as the tendrils snaked their way down his mouth and down his throat, his neck bulging from the amount of vines forcing their way down his throat. John could barely breathe, writhing in desperation to get air into his lungs. He tried to use his powers, trying to suck in air through his nose in an attempt to somehow get oxygen through the vines' air-tight hold in his throat - only to let out a strangled, muffled scream as tendrils slipped up into his nose, reaching up into his brain.

If he could have, John would have gurgled or spit up around the tendrils, but he didn't even have the ability to do even that. The Heir's limbs spasmed as he tried to reach up to yank the tendrils out, only for more to snap the man's arms against his torso. Even more came to wrap around John's legs, restraining his legs and tying them together.

More tears bubbled up from his eyes as he felt the tentacles curled around his legs, thighs, stomach and chest - almost caressing him, as if gently teasing him. The tender touches only served to contrast the agony of the tentacles spreading further into his body, ripping through his throat and into his stomach and intestines.

The pain was so unbearable that if he could have, he would have puked, but the tentacles blocking his throat and mouth would have never allowed him to do so.

John swore he could feel himself bleeding internally, but in truth it was the feel of the darkness spreading all throughout his body, taking hold of him, corrupting him. He could the darkness clog his arteries, wrap around his bones, fill him up to the very brim with itself - somehow, despite the unknowable agony he was in, John had managed to stay aware, but only barely.

Until, the tentacles that had filled up his nose plunged deep into his brain. The man's body jerked wildly, twitching and spasming as the darkness overtook and corrupted his mind. Dark grey overtook and crawled up his skin. His dark hair slowly turned from his natural hair to a stark white. His eyes, forced to say open, lost their irises and pupils as they were lost in an impossibly bright, growing white.

As the tendrils finally burrowed completely into John's body, deep inside him - a horrible scream erupted from his body, making the ground below him shake and crumble, inky darkness flowing like smoke from his open, shrieking maw, now filled with fangs.

---

You awoke with a start, taking deep gasping breaths. God, your head hurt, and your back wasn't exactly feeling any better. Felt like you slept on stone… Rubbing your head, you looked down, confirming that you had, in fact, slept on stone. It had a distinct symbol on it, and looking at the front of your new outfit, it seemed to share the exact color and symbol.

You stilled suddenly, blinking, realization washing over you. An ominous presence seemed to loom over you, making a shiver crawl up your spine. You turned, and jumped in place.

It was… John. Or, what looked like John. He grinned, looking upon with an eyeless stare. It reminded you of how Rose looked before. Had… Had whatever happened to her, happened to him, too?"

"John… What's going on?" You asked, eyes flitting around in confusion. Somehow, John had taken you all the way to your planet after you…

You…

You died, hadn't you?

"John…?" You settled your focus back on him, letting out a gasp as he pulled into an embrace.

A rumble seemed to emit from within his chest… Was… Was he purring?

You settled into his hold, trying to hide your nervousness. "What happened back there? What happened to you?"

John's expression flickered to one of nervousness, before opening his mouth to speak.

You let out a yell of pain, the sound all too familiar to you. It suffocated you, overpowering even your own yelling, incomprehensible, ear-bleeding static that seemed to drill straight into your eardrums, into your mind, and your very being.

You had only realized John had stopped attempting to speak when he clasped his hands over yours, easing them from your head and holding them in his own. Whimpers bubbled up from his throat as he leaned forward, nuzzling you.

You laughed nervously, detangling your hands from John's to pet at his now-white hair. "It- it's okay, John. We… We just need to find out how to get you back to normal, okay? And then, we can get back to Rose and the others and-"

You were cut off, letting out a soft grunt as John pushed you back down onto your quest bed. A powerful purr rumbled from within him, leaning down to kiss and lick at your neck.

You were stock still for a moment, before letting out a shocked laugh, not knowing how to react. Your hands wormed your way to his shoulders. You chuckled, trying to push him off of you. "John, I- now's really not the time-"

In one swift movement, the grimdark Heir was able to pin your wrists by your head, letting out a playful growl as he straddled you.

"John…" You could whimper, voice dying out.

John only responded by diving in, kissing and licking hungrily at your neck and shoulders, occasionally pressing hungry kisses to your face and lips, swallowing your whimpers and moans.

John's purrs seemed to surround you on all sides as he dug his teeth into your neck, claiming you as his own.

145 notes · View notes

buckleyydiaz · 3 years

Text

torn at the edges

pairing: tony dinozzo/timothy mcgee

length: 1.4k

description: fuck rule 6, tony decided, and fuck rule 12. they weren't worth it if they were hurting mcgee like that.

---

Tony fiddled with the corners of the envelope that sat, sealed on his desk. Despite his urge to read what was enclosed within the crisp white paper, the nagging dread held his fingers back from ripping it open, instead just leaving the very edges of the seal bent and nearly torn.

There was no questioning who it was from, or what it was regarding - Tony knew from the moment he first saw it atop a pile of unfinished paperwork, set aside the previous night in favour of prospective alternatives, which had, at the time, seemed far more joyous than slaving away at his desk till some god-only-knows hour of the morning. As such, the butterflies within his stomach - not butterflies though, of course, something much more manly, and strong, and more Anthony DiNozzo like - were not a result of some memory he tried to bury deep in the back of his brain being unearthed, instead it was simply what it seemed; Tony was just stuck with an asphyxiating fear of what the words within, surely having been typed on that goddamned typewriter, and what they had to say.

His usually decisive mind fretted about what he was to do, as the timer ticked down before Gibbs made his mind up for him, sick of Tony’s messy thoughts flowing through the whole office, creating a generally unpleasant and on-edge atmosphere. Taking one last look at the empty desk to the side of his own, he tore the seal of the envelope open, without any care or finesse, pulling the letter out as quickly as he could, his mind now past the question of whether or not to open it, only now curious about what was contained within.

Skimming his eyes over the words on the page, Tony found that as he had predicted, written - or rather typed - in the signature style of the man who should have been sitting to his right as of well over an hour ago, but instead had been overcome with what had been skeptically announced by the boss as the flu, with a very pointed look delivered straight to DiNozzo, a clue containing Gibbs’s usual lacking level of subtlety, telling him that even if the note did contain the plague as one of a similar staging had years ago, that was the least of his worries, in the case that he failed to fix his fuck up.

Shuddering at the reminder of that certain set of consequences, Tony simultaneously felt vicious waves of regret pulling him under as he read what was written. Honest words from a heartbroken man, he quickly identified, all too used to hearing words that shared a remarkable similarity, but not from his best friend -- just from women who had read into something never meant to mean anything.

What only worsened the remorse was the knowledge that it was his fault - Tony wasn’t any stranger to self-flagellation, but in this case, it was more deserved than the majority. Instead of pausing, taking a breath, even just spending one fucking moment thinking about what he should say, he had just let his mouth speak without a second thought, bullshit pouring out as easily as it ever had, words that meant nothing, despite the perfect opportunity to say everything that actually meant something.

Reading what Tim had to say only set his regrettable words on repeat, a bad movie that he couldn’t turn off, no matter how hard he tried to do that very thing. Fuck Rule 6, he declared to himself, and fuck Rule 12. They had failed him this time.

“I think that the Probie could do with some soup, since he’s so sick.” Tony announced, pulling his jacket off the back of his chair, looking to Gibbs, who nodded, a wordless response that he took as approval to up and leave, to do far more important things than complete the ever-piling paperwork.

---

The drive to McGee’s apartment happened almost without Tony’s awareness, his focus solely on his destination, and what - or rather who - he would find, rendering him oblivious to the brief journey. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel of his car, a symptom of his restless mind that simply would not settle until things were, for lack of a better word, settled, with McGee.

Once he parked, Tony couldn’t quite pull himself to get out of the car and speak to Tim. It was strange - he had always been a man of action, and previously, his conviction to fix what he had broken between them had seemed unbreakable - but in this case, it seemed daunting to do what was necessary. After a moment of letting his own nerves overwhelm him, Tony decided that the fact it was so intimidating was reason enough to do it. There was no way he was going to let a mere conversation get the better of him.

Setting aside his apprehension, Tony knocked on the door twice, waiting for a response from the man inside.

“I’m fine Abs, you don’t need to be here.”

Tony couldn’t help but laugh, despite the situation that lay beyond the door that he was more than dreading. Although tempted to mock Tim’s mistake in identifying who he was, he figured that in this case, it probably was better not to, to choose not to be an asshole. The last thing he needed was another thing to apologise for.

“I think you’ll find that I’m not Abby, McGeek.”

Okay, so not entirely un-teasing, but better than he could have been. There was a moment of silence, which Tony assumed was Tim deciding whether he wanted to take a trip down the fire escape stairs to get away from the looming conversation, before heavy footsteps came towards the door, followed towards the clicking of the lock.

The door opened in front of him to his friend looking… worse for wear, certainly. While never as preoccupied as Tony with how he appeared, he was generally not a slob when dressing, going to some effort to look semi-presentable when he expected visitors, but that wasn’t remotely visible in his current outfit.

That wasn’t at all to say that Tony didn’t think Tim looked absolutely adorable in his worn old hoodie and sweatpants, with an expression that looked equal parts sad and pissed off, but entirely pathetic.

Yeah, Tony wasn’t remotely sure how he had almost let McGee slip through his fingers - actually, he knew exactly how, and it had everything to do with years of intimacy issues that probably stemmed from a neglectful childhood or something or other, but it was hardly the time and place to unpack all that - so he returned to his plan to remedy that.

“I got your letter, McWriter, and I-”

“Stop it, Tony,” He was cut off, McGee clearly not wanting to hear what he had to say (not that Tony blamed him at all for that). “I don’t need you to make fun of me any more. It was bad enough for me to tell you… that in the first place, and then the letter. Can we just leave it in the past and move on?”

Tony almost felt bad for shaking his head at Tim’s plea, clearly oblivious to what Tony had in fact come to say. He let the silence sit stagnant for a second, before attempting to make a casual confession.

“Y’know, Tim, I’ve had a thing for you from when you were so green that just looking at a dead body made you green in the face.”

It was as though the words took a few moments to enter McGee’s head, and then another couple to process, the whirring of a computer working overtime could just about be heard through the pin-drop silence. Even when the words did seem to make their way through McGee’s brain, he only tilted his head, as though puzzled by what Tony was sure were perfectly clear words.

He scrunched his face up, deep in thought, before Tony decided enough was enough, and it was time to put him out of his misery.

“I’m into you, Tim. I’m sorry for not saying this before, but given how little your brain seems to be processing right now, I’m sure you understand how I felt. How about we break rule 12 together.”

Tony watched, heavily amused, as McGee’s jaw fell slack and his eyes opened wide, before he began spluttering for words to say.

“You...what? Y- uh-”

After a moment, Tony figured it was only fair to put the poor guy out of his misery and took a step towards him, leaning in until their faces were only centimetres apart.

“Is this okay?” he asked a still speechless McGee, who only nodded, before Tony pulled him even closer.

#mcnozzo #tony dinozzo #timothy mcgee #mcgee #dinozzo #ncis #ncis fic #anthony dinozzo #tim mcgee #fanfic #ncis fanfiction

60 notes · View notes

jungle321jungle · 3 years

Text

Something Worth Stealing: One

“What do you think?”

Truthfully Virgil was terrified at the very prospect. There was a reason each nanny didn't last long, and Virgil had heard enough horror stories about the Ackroyd boys to avoid them at all costs when he had worked in the past. Hell the only reason he still got some to come in now and then was because the job was so high paying. Mr. Ackroyd knew exactly what he was doing advertising with all those zeroes, he was reeling in any nanny who would skip talking to peers at the sight. And now by some twist of fate that very bait was dangling above Virgil, and even worse there wasn’t anyway he could feasibly afford to ignore it. A sigh escaped his lips as he looked the man in the eye, “I think it is more than a generous offer that I would be happy to accept.”

(Virgil becomes the newest nanny for his very attracti- for Logan.)

Taglist: @angels-and-dreams @ollyollyoxinfree @gattonero17 @chumo-cookie @dreaming-always @anxiety-ismy-name @mrbubbajones @janustheliar @why-do-you-care @hogwarts-my-love

Ao3 - Masterlist

One

Virgil bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming out in frustration. He crossed the room briskly once more as he wondered- not for the first time, why was even here. Quite frankly Mr. Ackroyd should have fired him on the spot, so why was he just casually in the man’s office as if nothing was wrong? Was this a test? Leave him in the office full of expensive items to see if he’d be bold enough to try and steal one? That was the only way this would make sense, he was being tested and then if he passed maybe he’d only be fired rather than being sued or jailed. If it wasn’t that then maybe he was going to be made an example of. He’d be told off both here and in front of the rest of the staff later so no one would ever fall to Virgil’s level of stupidity ever again.

Virgil’s pacing slowed to a stop as he forced himself to take a deep breath. Now that he knew the two most likely options for the situation he’d need to practice and edit his apology six- no eight more times before his boss walked in. Mr. Ackroyd didn’t often show much emotion but maybe if Virgil repeated his sorries enough one would get through to the man and he would accept that Virgil had been more than an idiot.

“Virgil.”

The sound of his name sent a shiver up his spine as he jumped in place and turned eyes wide to where Mr. Ackroyd had entered. “Ah- hello sir...”

“Sorry, did not mean to startle you,” the man said simply as he moved to sit behind his desk. “Thank you for coming in early, and do take a seat.”

Virgil’s legs felt like led but he forced them to move forward and in what felt like robotic motions he sat. When he had Mr. Ackroyd spoke, “Now there is something I’d like to speak to you about.”

“I’m so sorry about yesterday!” Virgil blurted. “I should have never even touched your things, much less tried to steal it. I am so so so sorry! If there is any way I can make up for it-”

“While I did want to talk about my watch, and the apology is appreciated I do have a few questions.”

Virgil cut himself off and tried to regain his composure, “O-of course.”

“Why did you take my watch at all?” he asked simply. “You’ve worked here for years and I have never had an issue with you, and yet randomly yesterday you do something as out of character as attempting to steal from me. I assume there must be a catalyst for this behavior? A monetary one perhaps? Or was this just a sudden change in you?”

Virgil’s mouth felt dry as it opened and closed but with a pinch to his own leg he forced himself to function enough to speak. “It was semi spur of the moment- it had never crossed my mind to do something like that ever before! But it wasn’t me being ungrateful or anything! This job is great I just um, well I- I...” Virgil gave a sigh and let his head hang as his hands balled into fists with frustration at himself, “It-it was money related yeah... things are- are harder right now...”

“How so?”

Virgil took a deep breath trying to steel himself best he could before he spoke, his gaze on his boss’ desk rather than the man’s face. “My half sister has a kid, and she’s stuck in a really bad situation and needed her son out of it. So... so I took him in. And well great kid as he is, I’ve never had to pay for this much before. I truly am sorry.”

“And so you teach him to steal?”

“I’m sorry.”

The silence which covered the room was heavy, only broken by the sound of Mr. Ackroyd’s finger tapping on his desk which managed to increase Virgil’s heart rate more and more. But when the sound stopped entirely, Virgil couldn’t help but bring himself to look upon Mr. Ackroyd’s face. “Virgil I trust you understand I cannot have someone who steals from me cleaning my home.”

Virgil’s heart, his lungs, and everything else plummeted to his stomach with those words, and then they proceeded to keep falling until they landed at his feet, leaving Virgil with only an empty and hollow feeling. “I understand,” he replied quietly.

“As such I suppose it is a good thing that no one outside of this room knows what you have done.”

“Sir?” Virgil asked, he wouldn’t get his hopes up yet.

“I think I have a solution to both of our problems Virgil, that is if you never even consider stealing from me again.”

“Never,” Virgil said quickly.

Mr. Ackroyd gave a nod. “On your end I assume a bulk of what you make goes to different forms of child care given your early mornings at your other job and late nights here?”

When had he even mentioned to the man having a second job? “Y-yes, I pay for both before and after school.”

“I assume you have heard that my newest nanny quit?”

Virgil gave a slow and confused nod as he tried to get a read on that unchanged face, “Yes.”

“They come and go quickly,” he sighed, “My older two can be a tad unruly. But if you would like to alleviate your childcare costs and work one job rather than two, then you can become my nanny. And while caring for my boys you can also watch over your nephew. Oh and of course the salary is more than enough. What do you think?”

Mr. Ackryod gave a slight yet pleased smile, “Then I will see both you and your nephew here early Monday morning.”

“Y-yes sir.”

The large mansion seemed to loom over Virgil in a way it never had before, and yet all he could do was climb out his car and resist the urge to puke. There was just too much riding on a job which seemed destined to end in pitiful failure. He had been forced to quit his job at the cafe so suddenly too (not that he held any joy for that job), but if this went south quickly he had no fall back. Maybe he should start looking for new jobs when he gets home just in case?

“How long are we gonna stand here?” Janus yawned beside him.

“We’re going in now,” Virgil told him moving forward towards the door. And then before he could falter more he inserted the key he had been given in the lock and stepped in the entryway, to lock eyes with Mr. Ackroyd.

The man glanced up from the laptop in his hands before he shut it, “Twelve minutes early.”

“Good morning sir,” Virgil started awkwardly trying to resist the urge to ask how long his boss had been standing there waiting. “This is my nephew Janus. Janus, this is Mr. Ackroyd.”

“Hi,” Janus waved. “Do you have orange juice?”

“Janus.” Virgil cut in immediately, but Mr. Ackroyd gave a chuckle.

“My boys drank the last of it with breakfast. Would you like apple instead?”

“Yes please!”

He gave a nod, “Then let's get you your juice. Virgil, the twins are in their rooms, hopefully getting dressed. I’d like you to start by getting them and Patton together and then you can bring them all to school. As for how the rest of the day will go, simply return here and care for Patton and then pick the boys up from school in the afternoon. Have them do their homework until dinner, I should be back around then. As for the general both daily and weekly schedules I have shared the Outlook calendar with you so you may review it later today. Understood?”

Virgil hoped how intimidated he felt didn't show on his face. “Yes sir.”

“Then get moving.”

Virgil didn't hesitate to hurry up the stairs and head in the direction he knew, but it was the sound of laughter which drew him to one room in particular, and after a deep breath, he knocked.

“Come in!”

Upon entering Virgil knew he should’ve just looked for another job.

The room was virtually destroyed and the culprits were in the midst. The younger of the twins, Remus, was jumping on the bed swinging about a pillow and letting its tiny feathers fly around and coat the floor. Roman meanwhile spun himself and the baby around in the falling feathers causing Patton to cackle with delight. But the older two looked his way as he entered.

“Hi Virgil!” Remus yelled. “Dad said you’re our new nanny!”

“Yeah...” Virgil said slowly, still recovering from the shock. “He also says you two need to get dressed for school.”

“In a sec!” Roman replied, raising Patton over his head.

“No, now,” Virgil tried stepping into the room. “You’re going to be late if not.”

The twins paused each watching him for a moment, before they looked at each other then back to Virgil once more. “We don’t wanna go to school,” Remus said finally.

Roman nodded in agreement, “We’re gonna be homeschooled now.”

“No you’re not. Your dad said-”

“Hey Virgil, why aren't you a housekeeper anymore?” Remus asked, hopping off the bed. “I liked when you cleaned my room, I don't lose things when you clean it.”

“T-things change,” Virgil replied awkwardly. “But where are your clothes?”

Remus gave a vague gesture towards the closet, “I don't need clothes to be homeschooled. I can do it in my PJs.”

Virgil bit his tongue as he watched the two, but slowly an idea formed in his mind. “Do either of you know how homeschooling even works?”

“Yup. You get to do worksheets and hang out,” Roman answered. “We can do them while we watch TV.”

“Not exactly. We would do lectures and then worksheets for every class probably in the library all day. Given I’m not a teacher it would take longer to go over everything so the only break would be lunch. We also wouldn't have time for watching TV or for recess, and of course you can’t see your friends.”

Roman gave an awkward cough as he shoved Patton into Virgil’s arms. “Well I guess we’ll have to go to school until you learn how to teach.”

Virgil held in a sigh of relief as the two began the motions of getting ready which let him dress the Patton. But by the time he had gotten Patton to keep on his socks rather than throw them away he had heard shouting from downstairs. So with no other option he picked up the baby and followed the sound, but his anxiety grew as he heard Janus’ voice.

“Take it back!” Janus’ voice shouted and suddenly Virgil was moving much quicker.

“You first!” Roman yelled back.

“You!”

That was the last clear word Virgil could make out, but then again words weren’t needed to explain anything when he walked in to find his nephew on top of Roman grabbing the other boy’s face. A curse escaped his mouth as he hurried forward pulling Janus away by the collar only for Roman to jump up and lunge after. He tried to position himself before the two feuding children and to think of a better solution, but with Patton having grabbed a fistful of his hair, and Remus chanting behind him for Janus to win it was kind of hard to focus on anything.

“I believe my instructions were to introduce yourselves.”

Mr. Ackroyd’s cool voice cut through the room’s chaos in an instant sending ice through Virgil’s veins. He hadn’t even managed to be a nanny for an hour and now he would be fired. He’d probably set the record.

“Are you leaving?” Remus asked like nothing was wrong.

Mr. Ackroyd studied the room for a moment before he moved closer to Roman and bent down. Taking his son’s face in his hands. “I am. But more importantly, Roman I see no reason to continue to pay for you to take karate if you get hit in the face.”

“It's his fault not mine!” Roman said at the same time Remus unhelpfully added,

“I didn’t get hit! And Sensei said I can get a new belt soon.”

“Flying up the ranks are you?” Mr. Ackroyd smiled at him as he stood and moved over to Janus and squatted down to the boy’s height. “Can you tell me why you hit Roman?”

As Virgil released his nephew’s collar, Janus moved a step behind Virgil before he answered the question, “He... he said my name was an old lady’s.”

The man gave a hum, “I see. Now while that was a mean thing for him to say, using your fists won't fix the issue. You need to use your words, okay?”

Janus gave a nod, “Okay... sorry.”

“Not to him,” Virgil put in. “And you need to say what for.”

Janus gave a frown but even so he turned to Roman, “Sorry for hitting you.”

“Roman?”

The older twin crossed his arms and looked anywhere but at Janus’ face, “S...sorry for making fun of your name.”

“Good,” Mr. Ackroyd nodded. “Now give me a hug so I can go to work. And Virgil before you leave, be sure to grab Roman an ice pack.”

Virgil gave a nod of bewilderment and disbelief, “Yes sir.”

While Roman and Janus didn’t seem to get along from the outset, somehow not long after getting in the car, Remus and Janus had decided they were now some of the closest friends. Not that Virgil would complain of course, if they were getting along that was good for him, even if Roman sat in a moody silence for a while. But said silence broke when Janus had been dropped off. It wasn’t ten seconds after the driver had pulled off that he spoke to his twin, “Why’d you take his side?”

Virgil looked behind him at the sound of Roman’s voice in time for Remus to give a shrug. “He’s fun.”

“He hit me!”

“And that was your fault.”

Virgil was about to let them bicker and talk things out amongst themselves when Remus’ appearance caught his eye. “Remus that’s not your uniform tie.”

Remus nodded in agreement, “It’s fish shaped.”

“I can see that, but you’re supposed to wear the one that goes with your uniform.”

“That one is boring.” He looked between Virgil and the strange tie (why did kids even need to wear ties?). “Do you not like it?”

“It’s certainly... different. But I think you should wear the other one.”

“But I wanna show my friends this one.”

“Then you can take it out when you get to school. For now please change it.”

Remus gave a groan and sunk in his seat, but ultimately the nine year old did as he was told.

~~~

After the chaotic start to the morning, the mansion seemed so quiet and calm when Virgil returned. He half expected chaos to descend as the time wore on, but caring for Patton wasn't as hard as he had anticipated. The ten month old was not only adorable but he was pretty good in the sense that he didn’t really seem to cry or complain. He simply played with his little toys and babbled at Virgil (who took multiple pictures and videos to send to Mr. Ackroyd). He had been nervous at first. His only experience having taken care of a baby being those off times his sister had dropped Janus off for a night. But he had made it through the day without anything going wrong. So of course it did in the car.

He and the driver had gone and picked up Janus without issue. He had climbed in the car and instantly began talking about his day in the loudest voice he dared so not to wake Patton. It all seemed fine, until they picked up the twins.

“All day all I got were people asking me what happened to my eye!” Roman whined. “And it’s your fault!”

Janus gave him a bored look as he gestured to the scar on his face, “You get used to it.”

If the shouting which ensued was any clue, Roman didn’t care for Janus’ statement. Virgil was half turned around in the front seat as he tried to beg them to quiet down, but it was too late as Patton woke up, bursting into tears as he did. Not that the older three children seemed to notice. They carried on yelling at one another and reaching across the seats to grab a hold of one another.

“That’s enough!” Virgil interjected. “You two need to-”

“I need to kick him!” Roman interrupted.

Janus stuck out his tongue in reply, “And then I’ll kick you back three times as hard!”

“Oh yeah? Then I'll punch you!”

“I’ll just-”

“Shut up!” The harsh and loud words were out of Virgil’s mouth before he could stop them but he certainly didn’t regret it. “Roman,” he started firmly. “You will get along with Janus. And Janus you will get along with-”

“But he-”

“I don't care and I don’t want to hear it! I’m not asking for your opinions, I'm telling you what’s going to happen. The three of you are going to get along without fighting and arguing how starting right now. This pointlessness has already cost you all your electronic privileges for the evening, and if it continues more things will be taken away.” He paused and looked in each of their eyes before he spoke again. “Is that clear?”

Three identical looks of confusion and surprise stared at Virgil before each of the boys mumbled an agreement and after some probing an apology too. When they had Virgil gave a satisfied nod, “Roman calm Patton.”

“Where do you two usually do your homework?” Virgil asked after the twins had changed.

“Wherever we want,” Remus shrugged. “Can we do it in-”

“You can do it in the library,” Virgil decided for them. “Do you all have lots of homework?”

“Lots of reading,” Roman groaned as they walked. “And the book is bad!”

“Then read it quickly.”

“That’s not how it works!”

“Are you sure?”

“Uncle Virgil will you help with my fractions again?” Janus asked him. “I still don’t get it. I don’t like it either.”

Virgil gave a slight smile as he ruffled Janus’ hair. “Of course I’ll help.”

Homework time went surprisingly well. It seemed since Virgil’s outburst in the car the boys were trying to be on their best behavior. But he wouldn’t complain about that. Instead he gave the boys help on anything they needed while he ate crackers and bounced Patton in his lap.

“This is the quietest I think homework time has ever been.”

At the sound of his voice everyone turned to see Mr. Ackroyd. There was a pause before Roman was out of his seat and hurrying to give his father a hug. “You’re home early!”

“I am,” he smiled hugging his son. “My meeting was moved until tomorrow. So I’m here early.” When Roman didn’t release him, he awkwardly maneuvered to the table to pull Remus in for a hug as well. “How were they?” He directed at Virgil.

Virgil paused, “They were... they were good. Especially Patton.”

Mr. Ackroyd gave a laugh as his boys released him and he reached for the baby. “For some reason, I wasn’t particularly concerned about him.”

“How were they, really ?” Mr. Ackroyd asked as he walked Janus and Virgil to the door.

Virgil gave a slight smile, “Well today was certainly chaotic , but I managed. It took me losing my temper though.”

“And that’s fine. I find my previous nannies were afraid to be stern with the boys. In one day you have found that doesn’t work. As such you have already exceeded my expectations.”

“Um, thank you sir.”

He nodded once, “Tomorrow we can talk in more detail for now enjoy your evening.”

“You too. See you tomorrow sir.”

“Logan,” he said simply. “We’ll be working closer together now.”

“Oh, um are you sure?”

“I’m the one who suggested it.”

Virgil looked down slightly in embarrassment, “Right. Um okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Oh, and you may call me by my name too Janus.”

Janus gave a smile and wave as they walked out, “Bye Logan!”

~~~~

One - Two

#boss and employee #analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #Janus Sanders #patton sanders #kid!remus #kid!roman #kid!janus #worth stealing

60 notes · View notes

witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

Text

Good as Gold pt.21

[part twenty] | [part twenty-two] [prostitute!jaskier masterpost]

After Wyzima, Geralt almost doesn't go back at all. Last time was... not normal and Geralt can't let himself slip any further. Setting aside the fact that Jaskier wasn't working or that they fucked in his bed in a house he owns, it was just different. The sex was different - more intimate in a way Geralt doesn't know how to deal with even days later. The only thing he understands now is that it can't happen again; something has changed and Geralt can't continue under the circumstances. It isn't fair to Jaskier and he'll only end up hurting both of them in the long run.

He's become attached. As hard as he tried not to, something about Jaskier wormed his way under his skin and settled in and now he's here. He could never ask Jaskier for anything, could never expect a whore from Hagge to want any of the things Geralt longs for, so he has to end it. And he has to do it today or he'll lose his nerve. Winter is coming and he'll be heading up to the keep soon. He'll have his brothers to keep his mind off the lingering loneliness and in the spring he'll just have to find a different brothel. Maybe he'll wait until he gets to Novigrad and visit the Passiflora. Whatever he decides to do, he needs to finish this first.

Geralt approaches slowly, rehearsing what he wants to say over in his head. The building looms up in front of him and he ducks his head, refusing to acknowledge it. With any luck, Jaskier will be free and Geralt can just go up to his room and they can talk privately. He'll tell Jaskier what he came here to tell him and then when he leaves he'll go into the forest and find something to hunt to work off the excess energy.

The plan falls apart almost instantly. Geralt is so focused on getting upstairs and to Jaskier's room that he doesn't notice the man sitting on the other side of the room. Not, at least, until Jaskier slips up behind him, hands on his waist. Jaskier hums as he presses up against him and Geralt barely refrains from sighing in frustration.

"I missed you," Jaskier purrs and Geralt has to steel himself against the swell of emotion. It rises up through his chest and threatens to drown him.

"Don't say that."

"I did."

"I don't believe you." Geralt pulls away and when he turns, Jaskier is looking at him skeptically, his lips twisted in concern. "It's your job, I get it and that's fine, but don't tell me that." Jaskier's frown deepens and his shoulders slump.

"Maybe we should talk upstairs." He speaks with certainty, but his expression is still worried and Geralt doesn't bother with a response before heading for the stairs. Jaskier follows.

He slips ahead of him on the landing, entering the room ahead of Geralt. It's late and the light is dim enough that Jaskier crosses to the dresser, lighting the lantern that sits on it. He proceeds around the room, lighting candles as Geralt shuffles in and shuts the door behind him. Now that he's here, he's beginning to regret letting Jaskier bring him up to his room.

Geralt doesn't have a home and there are few places he feels comfortable but over the past years, Jaskier's room has become something of a haven to him. The prospect of leaving and never returning sits heavily in his stomach. He's going to change his mind if he doesn't say something soon. But he’s made a decision. He can’t ask Jaskier to leave the comforts of his home to travel the wilderness with him; the Path is no place for anyone but a Witcher. Jaskier deserves love, deserves a family and someone who will return home to him every night and Geralt can’t offer him that.

Jaskier finishes with the lighting and comes to stand in front of Geralt again. Neither of them has spoken and his expression is carefully schooled into something neutral but Geralt can hear the way his heart beats just a little too quickly. He can't imagine why - Jaskier has never been afraid of him. Geralt can't find the words to say what he wants, so Jaskier sighs and speaks instead.

"You know I don't charge so much just so I can trick people into coming back to me. I've never lied to you, Geralt. I've never misled you. I did miss you.”

"Hmm."

"Geralt, what's going on? I thought-" he cuts himself off, looking away and up to the ceiling. "Have I done something? If you want- If I've done something to upset you I'll be happy to refund you but I'd like to know what it was."

"Nothing," Geralt mumbles. He had this all planned out, knew every word he wanted to say and had a counter for any possible dissuasion. But now that Jaskier is in front of him, looking small and soft and hurt, he can't remember any of it.

"Right."

He has to say something. If he doesn't this is going to get worse or Geralt is going to leave without saying anything and Jaskier doesn't deserve this - even if it is just a business agreement. He can’t bring himself to do it.

"I have to go."

Jaskier sighs but he sounds resigned, not frustrated. "You just got here."

“I know, but I- I shouldn’t stay. I should leave you to it.” His stomach feels like it's in his throat and he struggles to find the words. They’re right there on the tip of his tongue and he can hear himself saying them, but he can’t make them come out.

"Why?" Jaskier speaks so softly Geralt nearly doesn't hear him over the beating of his heart and the deafening silence between them.

"It's for the best."

"Geralt, tell me what I did. I tried to be good for you, I tried to give you everything you wanted. I don't understand what I did wrong."

Geralt can’t even look at him, can’t face the sheer devastation in his face. Jaskier doesn’t understand that this is what’s best for them. Eventually, Geralt will adjust to being alone again and Jaskier will find some lovely young thing to make him happy. They’ll have a couple of kids, grow old together, and Jaskier will forget about the Witcher he once knew.

"You did nothing wrong," Geralt breathes and he can feel something clench tight in his chest and not let go. "I should go." He makes to leave but Jaskier's hand brushes against his forearm.

"Just... stay for tonight? It's late and it's getting cold." He sounds sad and while Geralt knows he should leave, every part of him is screaming to stay, to wrap Jaskier in his arms and never let him go. He can't - for both their sakes. But he can stay for once last night.

"Okay," he agrees, "just for tonight."

Jaskier relaxes somewhat at that and turns to tend to the fire. Geralt watches as he crouches before it, surprised at how quickly he gets the wood crackling. He pulls the grate across once it's burning steadily and crosses to sit on the bed. Geralt hasn't moved from his spot in front of the door, but he shuffles over when Jaskier beckons him.

"Tell me then, what can I do for you tonight?" he tries to sound enthusiastic but it doesn't quite land.

"Nothing. I don't want anything tonight." Jaskier's sadness spikes and Geralt shuts his eyes. "It's not anything you've done. I just- can we just rest?"

"Of course," Jaskier says, "you must be tired. Come," he holds out his hands and against all his better sense, Geralt lets Jaskier take his hands, rubbing his thumbs against the palms of Geralt's hands.

He pulls him forward and when Jaskier releases his hands, Geralt curls his fingers into fists, unsure what to do with himself. He lets himself be guided to the bed and reluctantly lets Jaskier undress him. He struggles to keep his hands to himself, struggles to keep from pulling Jaskier into his lap. To keep from kissing him.

If things were different, he thinks he might have had a chance at something more with Jaskier, but that's not his life. The life of a Witcher is dark and solitary; too dangerous for anyone else. Jaskier had said he wasn't unloveable, but that doesn't mean anyone will love him. The capacity for something doesn't necessarily ensure it's existence. And Geralt is better off on his own anyway - this dalliance with Jaskier has only proven that.

When he's been stripped down to his smallclothes, Geralt lays on the bed, shifting toward the wall to leave space for Jaskier to join him. He does after a few moments, pulling a thick wool blanket over both of them. He faces Geralt, avoiding looking him in the eyes, but maybe that's for the best.

Geralt will never forget the colour of his eyes, the soft slope of his nose, any of it. Jaskier will be as clear as this in his mind until the day he dies. Geralt isn't sure if it's better or worse than forgetting about him altogether.

Neither of them speaks and after a short while Jaskier's breath evens out and he relaxes into the bed. He shifts in his sleep, turning over so he's facing into the room and Geralt aches to slip an arm over his hip, pull him closer. And why shouldn't he? What could it hurt when he'll be gone soon anyway.

So he tugs Jaskier close and curls around him, sliding his hand up his chest and holding it there. He can feel the beat of Jaskier's heart through his hand and he shuts his eyes, pressing his nose into his hair. Because it's just for tonight. When morning comes, he'll leave for good, so what's the harm in giving in one last time?

#rex writes #good as gold #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #sorry this is so late #i have a new work schedule #so i forgot it was saturday!#prostitute!jaskier

130 notes · View notes

tocrackerboxpalace · 3 years

Text

Le Rêve - Part 3

Summary: John demands an explanation for what happened in part two. The only problem is the response that the explanation is met with.

Warning: NC-17-rated (Buckle up!)

Paul was a bloody mess.

He and John had not directly talked to one another since the car ride. Their interview answers had been chaste and polite, and they had sat as far away from one another as possible, ignoring the persistently quizzical looks from George and Ringo. Paul had desperately tried to act as typical as possible but had felt overwhelmed with humiliation and confusion—and the concerned looks of the interviewer coupled with the “get-it-together” jabs of George’s elbow didn’t do much to reorient him.

They had finished the interview in a hurry, tensions high. On the way back, the boys wordlessly altered their seating arrangements as Paul crawled first onto the floor, curling up as much as possible as Ringo now took his spot on John’s lap. Paul held his face in his hands the entire ride, murmuring a flurry of “I’m all right” and “Maybe a sort of stomach bug, that’s all” to the others’ concerns.

John didn’t seem upset with him, just… indifferent. Which was almost worse. He didn’t scowl at him or try to hit him or mutter bitter, backhanded comments in the interview. He also didn’t curl up next to him tickle his ear or thump the back of his head or straighten his tie, as was typical. He just sat there, as if Paul had never existed. A bad reaction, Paul felt, would be better than this. He had absolutely no clue whatsoever what was going through John’s mind. Was he angry? Confused? Paul’s breath hitched. Disgusted?

Maybe he was just waiting until later to confront him. Away from the others.

The thought of being alone with John made Paul’s stomach churn. God, he had royally screwed up this time. He was alone with John more than anyone in the world, and there was no way he could wholly avoid his songwriting partner for too long. A discussion was inevitable, but that didn’t mean that he wanted it to come any sooner.

Paul threw the pen and pad down on the carpet in a sudden burst of frustration, running his hands through his hair. As soon as they had exited the car upon arrival back at the hotel, he had hurried to his room, buttressing his distress with an “I’m going to be sick” call. He had been hunched over on his bed ever since, staring at the utterly blank paper pad in front of him. He had immediately locked the door—not that he thought John would try and come in anyway, after earlier. Just to be safe.

In all fairness, Paul did think he was going to be sick. His sudden infatuation with John pulled at him from every which way, filling him with questions. Notably: What did all of it mean? For him and John, yes, but more importantly: for him. For his own sexuality and future. His mind was racing at the prospects.

He had tried to get some writing done, but it was no use. Usually, it was a soothing process for him, but he was stuck at a particularly heavy part of the song and couldn’t bring himself to ask for John’s help on the verse, especially after John had approached him with the task. He had had something earlier, but today’s—ahem—disastrous turn of events had left him distracted and empty-handed.

Paul stood, pacing the room frantically and kicking John’s strewn-about clothes to the side. God, what he would give to shamelessly watch John strip them off—

No. Paul’s mind snapped in response. He gave himself a light smack on the forehead, as if to swat the thought away. That’s John, your best mate. Your best male friend. You can’t think about him in that way.

It was one thing for him to show up in the dream, and for the dream to taunt Paul’s waking thoughts. He reckoned if it had been George or Ringo in the dream, he’d be in the exact same struggle—with something that sensual and realistic and wrong playing out in his unconscious, it’d only be right to worry. To obsess over. To over-analyze.

But he just couldn’t start thinking of John in that capacity, outside of dream-state John. He had started off as a bird, anyroad. The real John could never be so eager an interested in Paul in-in that way. Paul had watched his mate bloody lads up time and again for calling him queer when they were younger. So, it would do him no good to start fantasizing about Real John. Dream John would have to be compartmentalized until Paul could get over whatever the fuck was happening to him.

Paul suddenly sighed defeatedly and gathered up the pen and paper from the ground. He rehearsed the incomplete ballad in his head, hoping that with the flow of the song would come the next few lines.

If I fell in love with you

Would you promise to be true

And help me understand?

‘Cause I’ve been in love before

And I found that love was more

Than just holding hands…

Paul groaned in frustration. Nothing. John’s verse was so natural, so pure and beautiful: hey, love isn’t what I’ve always thought. Could you help me figure it out? Paul felt he was dirtying up the ballad, every thought paling in comparison to the vision he knew John wanted. But they’d both been stuck there for a reason, and it was now Paul’s duty to push them forwards.

Than just holding hands…

“Any progress, mate?”

Paul’s head whipped around at lightning speed. He had never heard the door open, but there John stood in its frame, leaning against it with the most casual aura Paul had ever felt. His heart was pounding, chest rising and falling theatrically, almost offended by the carefree picturesque model of John in front of him.

“I—uh, no. Sorry,” Paul spluttered, holding the pen and paper out to John as an offering. “I thought I’d locked the door.”

John ignored the latter comment, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “It’s all right. I kind of dug me self into a hole, there. Sounds like a definitive ending.” He took the items from Paul and set them on the bedside table.

Paul nodded, his voice shaking as it rang impossibly loud in the small room. “Yeah. Maybe launch into a pre-chorus or something, I don’t know. Shake up the rhythm a bit. But I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“Doesn’t always matter what I want,” John answered. Plainly.

“It’s your ballad,” Paul countered. “I know how you can get with these things. Ask me for help and expect me to read your mind, you do.”

John chuckled, almost to himself. “Sometimes,” he started, toying with the pen on the nightstand. “I’m more interested to hear what you want.”

His eyes found Paul’s, and they were curious. There was something testing in them, and Paul began to panic. He had a feeling they weren’t necessarily talking about the song anymore.

“Why?” was all he could think of to say.

John shrugged. “Because sometimes it’s something new, and daring. Something… that I didn’t think you were capable of.”

Paul cocked an eyebrow at what felt like a backhanded compliment. He almost hoped they weren’t talking about the song. Because, if they were, he was pretty sure John had just called his writing boring. A stubborn defensiveness rose in his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean, now?”

John blinked. “What the hell happened in the car, Paul?”

Paul froze. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. They were stuck in his throat, every word that had ever been. The entire alphabet circling his mind, the infinite possibilities of combinations, the skill of language on the tip of his tongue. But it all eluded him.

John continued slowly when it was clear he wasn’t going to receive an answer. “Because, based on the way you’ve reacted since then, I don’t think I’ve misinterpreted it. I think I know exactly what happened, but what I want to know is—why. Or-or how.”

Paul could lie. He could tell John that he didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Or that it was a misunderstanding, and he had thought John was acting strange. Or that he had popped a magical pill that was also an aphrodisiac, and it wasn’t anything personal or weird, because it was magical. Or he could tell the truth.

With his options laid out side by side like that, the answer felt quite clear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Paul’s voice came out about eleven octaves higher than normal.

John quirked an eyebrow at him. His eyes surveyed the whole length of Paul’s body skeptically, as if trying to read his inner thoughts and feelings and desires. Paul squirmed under the gaze.

“That’s not true,” he decided finally. He was still standing across from the bed, his looming presence beginning to feel like one of dominance and control. He had the upper hand now, and whether Paul liked it or not, he was going to tell John the truth.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Paul tried. “But then you were acting strange, so I got nervous and reciprocated.”

“Wrong again.”

Paul was beginning to feel desperate. “I took a pill—”

John laughed suddenly, bizarrely. He cast his gaze to the side and bit his lip. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Macca.”

Paul was quiet for a long time. The words were there, it wasn’t a matter of lexical access anymore—now he had to get his heart to say it. Because there was only one right answer to John’s question, and it wouldn’t answer a thing.

“I don’t know.”

Now it was John’s turn to be quiet. He simply stared in wonder as Paul continued unsteadily. “I-I had this dream. A few nights ago. And in the dream, I was getting on with a bird, and we were in the room, y’know? A-and we were. You know. But she was real strange at some parts, like she-she kept changing, and then…” He hesitated. “And then it was you. And you were doing everything that she was. And I woke up, w-with you, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I try, I swear, and I-I’m not gay, it’s just—”

“Why don’t we give it a go, then?” John said softly.

Paul’s words died in his throat. “I—what?”

“You heard me.”

Paul blinked wildly. “John, if this is some sort of sick joke—”

“No.” John stepped closer now, his expression impossible to read. “If it was so damn good that you can’t get it out of your head, and you can’t even control yourself around me… Let’s give it a go, then.”

Paul swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was small. “What if I don’t want to?”

John thought about this for a moment. “You can stop me at any point. We act like it never happened. You say the word, mate, and it’s off.” He paused. “But I don’t think you want that.”

To his dismay, John was right. Paul didn’t want that. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears and almost drowning out the unbelievable things that John was suggesting. John had no idea what happened in the dream, and yet he was a wholly willing participant in the recreation? The idea, despite the whirlwind in Paul’s mind, sent a shock of tingles to his crotch.

“But… it’s… I’m not gay,” he tried again.

“Don’t think so much,” came John’s voice, gentle, as he caught Paul’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Paul’s breathing slowed. This was that side of John that he rarely got to see: soft, comforting, calm. Loving. It felt bizarrely out of place in the situation. “Just… just don’t worry about it. If you think, you’ll ruin it.”

Paul nodded quickly, his mind buzzing.

John lowered himself onto the bed, his gaze never leaving his mate’s face. “What did she do first?”

The question caught him off guard. “Who?”

“The bird.” John chewed his lip tentatively. “What did she do first? In the dream?”

“Oh! Erm…” Paul thought for a moment. He knew very well that the dream had started with them making out, but part of him held that thought back. For some inexplicable reason, kissing felt more intimate, more queer, than whatever was about to happen. So, he refrained from mentioning it. “She—um, sort of got in me lap, like.”

John’s eyes flashed in recognition. “The car.”

“Yeah.” Paul winced. “The car.”

“Oh.” John’s voice was curious, and he looked down at himself for a moment before his eyes reconnected with Paul’s. They were wide, intrigued, but somewhat shy, too. A nervousness that Paul had never seen in his friend before. A tremor ran through Paul’s body as he recognized that same piercing stare from the dream.

“Why don’t ya…” John scratched his face apprehensively. “Erm… move back. Against the headboard.”

Paul gradually obliged. He swung his bare feet over the side, shifting himself higher on the bed until his back comfortably rested against the cushioned headboard. John kicked his own shoes off as he did so and climbed up after him.

Both boys paused for a moment, eyes locked, and something passed between them. An understanding that wherever this was going, it was all right, because it was John and Paul. Lennon and McCartney. And everything would be all right.

Emboldened by the exchange, John swung a leg over Paul’s outstretched body and planted himself directly in his lap.

“Like this?” He breathed.

Paul’s fingers found their way to John’s hips, watching the scene in wonder. His voice was ragged and humiliating, cracking at the sudden contact that flooded his mind with millions of filthy thoughts and images. “I—yes. Like that.”

“Then what?” Their faces were mere inches apart, John’s face flushed and almost eager. His eyes continually darted around Paul’s face and body, as if he too couldn’t believe the position they were in. His lips were wet and parted, slightly swollen from his nervous chewing habit. He sucked in the tiniest breaths of the shared air between them, as if he was terrified that Paul would pull away and he’d be left to his own solemn airspace once more.

In the moment, Paul wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

But no, that was too far. The desire in his crotch could be written off as greedy, randy, sexual—a biological need, perhaps. It could be satisfied, and maybe that was all Paul needed to get over the fantasy. The wild, twisted pull in his heart was not so easily dismissed.

“Paul?” John repeated. His pupils were dilated, his chest slowly heaving.

“Right. Erm… then she started, sort of, rocking a bit, I suppose.” He cringed inwardly as the words spilled out now, both humiliated at his own forwardness and betrayed by the almost desperate response his body was giving to John’s presence.

John didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, however. He simply shifted to where his knees straddled Paul’s hips and placed his backside directly on Paul’s hardening member. A whisper of a groan escaped Paul’s lips as John slowly began rocking back and forth, grinding down into him.

“Like this?” John said again.

“Just like that.” Paul murmured as his eyes fluttered shut, cocking his head back against the bed. The feeling was all too familiar and quite simple to deal with—if Paul closed his eyes, he could nearly pretend that it was a female. One of those ladies from a Hamburg club giving him a lap dance. While the thought was entertaining and calming, part of Paul was alarmed at how easily John mimicked those movements, how convincing it all was.

“Paul,” John said suddenly, halting his movements.

Paul’s pulse quickened again. “Hmm?”

His friend broke out into a reluctant grin, chuckling at his own perplexity. “I can feel it. Already.”

Paul looked at him uncertainly. He knew he was hard as a rock now, all of the blood having rushed dizzyingly fast to the lower half of his body. The arousal and sudden shame made it hard to think. “Is it bad?”

John took a moment. “No.” He gave an experimental twist, slotting his body against Paul’s as he grinded down again, his face in the crook of Paul’s neck. A hand laced its way up the back of Paul’s neck and into his dark locks, giving a quick tug.

Paul couldn’t bite back the “ah, fuck,” that was pulled from his throat. The dizzying combination of sensations sent buzzing shocks through his dick, which now felt as though it was frantically trying to push its way out of his slacks.

“What next?” John asked, pausing the shift of his hips. There was an edge to his voice now as shaking fingers reached up to tease at Paul’s shirt buttons. “Maybe… she got you a bit undressed, is all.”

Paul nodded lazily. Why the hell not? It would make sense. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t really recall that happening. “Yeah… yeah, I think she did.”

John continued to rock in Paul’s lap, letting out curious hums at the minute twitches and moans coming from his friend. His long, delicate fingers struggled to successfully pop Paul’s buttons free, but Paul refrained from offering any assistance. He was amazed, shocked even, by the submissive display John was putting on show. A sudden jolt shot through his chest as he realized that John might do anything he asked him too.

John inhaled sharply as he undid the last button. Paul leaned forward a bit to shrug the white dress shirt off of his shoulders, casting it to the floor as it joined its friends.

John’s eyes wandered over his shirtless frame. They had seen one another in the most compromising of positions before—hell, they’d walked in on each other in the middle of a good shag countless times—but something was different now. This looking, feeling, touching… it was intentional, and it was just them. And it felt strange: an intoxicating concoction of arousal and desire and fear and confusion. Paul couldn’t help but wonder if he had wanted this for much longer before now and simply never realized it.

John’s calloused fingertips traced their way down Paul’s jawline, onto his neck, chest, stomach. Paul simply watched and felt, felt the way the touch that ran over him made his skin prickle and his face warm. John was regarding him cautiously, deliberately, as if he was a work of art that John was afraid to mar.

“I’m sorry if she teased you for this long,” John’s voice came, breathless. His fingers found the waistband of his trousers and hooked inside them. “When do I come in?”

“Right about now,” was Paul’s reply. His mind had entirely disregarded the remainder of the dream, not recalling and not caring. It was just him and John now, real John, who somehow really wanted to do this with him just as much as he wanted it to be done. Perhaps Paul had fallen asleep again while working on the song, and this was just a recreation of the first time. Another lucid fantasy.

The feeling of his cock popping free as John undid his zip let him know that this was all but a dream, though. He arched up off of the bed to help John shimmy the remainder of his trousers down his legs, kicking them off with fervor. The sudden change in John’s mood as the reins were passed to him caused Paul to check any reserved guilt or shame at the door. The tent in his boxers was no longer a burden but a beacon, an invitation for an inexplicably fervent John to do whatever he desired.

Then, the boxers were gone too. Tossed to the side with a particular carelessness that made Paul’s skin prickle with sweat. And that was that. Paul laid there, entirely naked and exposed under the watchful gaze of his best friend, his partner. John.

“I’m going to try something, Macca,” John started nervously, shifting so that he was directly between Paul’s thighs. Paul’s eyes went wide at the implication, at the scene. John’s mouth was only centimeters away from his flushed cock. And he eyed it, almost hungrily.

The sight made Paul moan, and John’s eyes flicked up fearfully. “You can stop me, Paul. Just tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to stop…”

John almost sounded like he was talking to himself.

“Go on,” Paul whispered hoarsely.

John shot him one last daring glance before reaching out at grasping at Paul’s dick. The sudden sensation caused Paul to arch forward, brow knitted in roused concentration. His hands clutched at the bedsheets to steady himself as John began wanking him in an encouraging rhythm. “Bloody hell, John,” he groaned.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” A note of confidence, arrogance even, laced John’s voice.

“Y-yes. Very.”

Paul forced himself to open his eyes and jerked at the heated gaze that met his in return. John’s expression was dark with arousal, and his tongue flicked out teasingly between his teeth. The dynamic had wholly changed, John’s assuredness growing with every new step he was allowed to take, every dirty sound that was elicited from Paul’s throat.

When a bud of precum began to spill over, John wrapped his lips around the head and dipped his tongue over the slit, sucking it dry like the last few drops of an ice lolly.

Holy fuck.

“Shit. Ah, Christ!” Paul was babbling now as the sensation and notion struck him at once: John was giving him head. And it felt damn incredible. “God, John.”

The feeling of his throbbing member inside of John’s mouth was unreal. He could see it pulsing against the inside of his cheek as John bobbed his head, tongue and cheek muscles massaging him slowly to insanity. Paul cocked his head back and tossed it back and forth, unaware of how to respond to the situation.

Paul decided he had never gotten a blowjob before this. All those others were a silly game. Maybe it was John’s willingness and enthusiasm. Maybe it was that he, a male, probably knew how to best please another male. Maybe it was the taboo nature of the extremely explicit act they were engaged in, adding further logs to the fire. Whatever it was, Paul didn’t care. This—this was head.

John pulled off for a moment but continued stroking, the mixture of saliva and precum making the slide all the more easier. Paul felt lightheaded at the immense pleasure. “Christ,” John murmured, his voice unsteady. “Look at you, Paulie.”

Paul only moaned in response, hoping to draw John’s wonderful mouth back down.

John happily obliged, licking a long stripe up from his balls to the tip of his dick and swallowing it all down once more. Paul could note his inexperience, from the length he could take in and the variety in his movements, but somehow, the knowledge made it all better—the idea that John was doing this for the first time (or, one of the first times) to Paul. He made extra sure to gasp and groan loudly when John did something he particularly enjoyed, as if to almost teach the man what to do.

When John began to pull back for a breath, Paul hooked his ankles around the small of John’s back without thinking, pulling him closer.

“Fuck, Paul,” John groaned back. “God, I want you. I want you, Paulie.”

Paul hardly paid the confession any mind. John was babbling now, just like him, but Christ he would be lying if it didn’t turn him on more.

He let out another broken string of incoherent curses as John took more of him into his mouth than he thought possible. He grabbed a fistful of John’s hair and pulled him up aggressively, relishing in the light “Ah!” of surprise that escaped John’s lips.

“Dirty-talk me, John,” he practically begged, whispering into his mate’s ear. “Just—fuck—tell me what you want.”

Paul could feel John grin knowingly against his jaw. Uh-oh. The lad had an idea.

“You know, Paul, you’re not very quiet during sex.” John spoke into his ear teasingly, sensually. He began to pepper his jawline with kitten licks and nibbles. Paul only whimpered in response as John’s hand slowed to work him lazily. “Actually, you get quite loud. Make a whole fuss of it.”

“I—hadn’t noticed,” Paul panted.

John’s eyes glinted dangerously as he momentarily lifted himself. Their faces were only centimeters apart. “Paul? Do you want to know a secret, Paul?”

Paul’s mind barely registered the question. He nodded hazily, letting out another soft moan as John bent back down to lick at his earlobe.

“The thing is,” John started slowly, his hand beginning to pick up speed. “Sometimes you bring a bird up. Usually at a hotel, just like this. And we all know—me, George, Ritchie—we all know what’s going to happen when we see her come up.” John moved downward and began paying special attention to the junction of his neck and jawline. “But knowing what’s going to happen is different from hearing it.”

Paul immediately blushed, trying to discern where John was possibly going with this. Did he want him to be louder now? Or quieter later? Did he… Oh God, was John suggesting that they should—

“So here’s the secret,” John interrupted. “The other night, in Glasgow. I’m sure you remember.” He paused, as if to give Paul a chance to recount the night. His hand began pumping furiously, and he bit experimentally at Paul’s jaw. The mix of pleasure, shock, and pain, coupled with the words John was saying and the way he was saying them, was beginning to feel overwhelming. A string of filthy moans and groans were drawn out of him as he began to feel a familiar pull in the pit of his stomach. John looked at him expectantly for a moment, and Paul wasn’t sure if he was gauging his reaction or waiting for a response. Paul opted for the latter.

“I—fuck—remember.”

“Good. I do too,” John replied simply, sounding almost like a schoolteacher. Suddenly, his voice dipped low, and he placed his mouth directly in Paul’s ear to whisper the next bit. The second the words flowed out, John grinded down hard into Paul’s thigh, and Paul could feel an erection perhaps more pressing than his own.

“I gave me self a wank to it. And it wasn’t the girl.”

“Shit, John.” Paul’s mind instantly flooded with obscene images of John touching himself to the sound of Paul’s broken moans. His cock twitched in John’s hand and another series of moans and curses spilled out. He felt so close, John’s firm fist feeling so good around him, but part of him wanted to hold back. He began to panic.

If Paul let John touch him, that was one thing. It didn’t have to mean anything. They’d seen each other jerk themselves off countless times. He could convince himself that this was basically the same thing, just a slight shift of hands. He could ease his conscience by saying nothing had really happened.

But if Paul came on him, by his hand? He didn’t know if he could reconcile that one.

Paul bit his lip and tried to focus on anything but the image of John that was now burned onto his eyelids. It didn’t help that John was now rutting against his thigh and letting out involuntarily groans of his own. He couldn’t hold off much longer.

“John,” Paul started insistently. Before he could speak again, however, John pulled his face from where it was buried in his neck and pressed his lips against Paul’s own.

Paul was struck with surprise, but John wasted no time waiting for him to adapt. His tongue forcibly parted Paul’s lips and he licked into his mouth with fervor, as if this had been something he’d needed his whole life. Paul hesitated momentarily, but the roughness and intensity was impossible to ignore. He let his own tongue dance around with John’s. In a spur of dominance, Paul pushed back against John and licked into the other’s mouth, running his tongue along his mate’s teeth as if he wanted to trace every part of the man. Teeth clashed as both impossibly fought for more. When John retreated for air, Paul bit down on his bottom lip and grabbed him by the waist to pull him back in.

“Fucking hell, Paul,” John mumbled against his lips. He thrusted down particularly hard against Paul and moaned into his mouth, and Paul decided in that moment that it was the most sensual thing he’d ever experienced in his life.

“John.” He pulled back as much as possible from the kiss, turning his head so that John was met with his cheek when he went back in for more. “John, I can’t—” He thrust up weakly into John’s fist as if to emphasize his point. “John, stop, I-I’m gonna come—”

Just then, the door flew open.

Paul and John froze in their compromising position. Although it was only seconds later when John pushed himself off and scrambled to the other side of the bed, Paul grasping at the bedsheets to cover himself, it was too late.

George stared at them, open-mouthed, his hand still on the doorknob. No one spoke.

Paul, in that moment, solemnly decided they had no alibi. His mind ever-so-helpfully constructed an image of what they must have looked like: Paul, completely naked, his cock trapped between John’s skilled fingers, tongue-fucking each other as John dry humped his leg.

George’s eyes flitted between the two as their chests heaved. He made no motion, no effort to speak. Paul almost begged him to say something, watching as his mind worked furiously to come up with some excuse for what he just saw his mates doing.

Without a word, he turned and shut the door behind him.

“How could you not lock the fucking door?”

Paul turned his head towards the voice. His fingers trembled as he pulled the sheets tighter to his chin, twisting onto his side so the tent in the sheets wasn’t so humiliatingly evident. He felt dumbfounded. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” John’s gaze looked frighteningly angry. “Are you absolutely daft? Are you actually just the pretty one? Paul, how could you not lock the fucking door?!”

Paul felt his own anger begin to rise in his chest. He felt helplessly defensive. “Are you mad? You started this! You’re the one that closed us in here. If anyone should’ve locked the door, it should have been you!”

“How was I supposed to know you were begging me to shag you? I just wanted to know what the hell was up with the car ride.”

Paul was aghast. “Begging you to shag me? I didn’t want to fucking tell you, John! I knew what would happen. You forced it out of me.” His voice grew cold. “You wanted it just as much as I did.”

John stared at him for a moment, his words faltering. Paul wondered if he had learned something tonight about John that he wasn’t supposed to know. He felt a sudden sick pride in his ability to shake him. The feeling, however, was short-lived when he noticed with a start how glassy John’s eyes were.

John sat up and ran his hands through his hair. His voice was shaking. “Shit, shit, shit. I bet he’s in the other room talking to Ringo right now. Telling him everything. There’s no other explanation for what he saw, Paul. They’re gonna tell Brian. Someone must have heard us, too, and they’ll get ahold of the press. Or the police. It’s over, everything we have is all over—”

“Hey,” Paul interrupted, softening his voice. He couldn’t bear to watch John spiral, especially in the tornado of emotions that was tearing through the room already. If John lost it, he would too. “It’s not going to get out. We’ll go get George and Ringo, and tell them what really happened, and—”

“What really happened, Paul?”

John was quiet now. His eyes were burning into him, pleading. Paul tensed up at the question, feeling his mind falling blank on any possible response. He didn’t know what answer John was pleading for. So he didn’t answer.

John met Paul’s eyes with the iciest stare Paul had perhaps ever seen. It suddenly felt as if a chill had come over the room.

“You’ve ruined everything.”

Paul watched numbly as John bent over on the edge of the bed, putting on his boots. He knew John was furious and spewing things he would soon regret, but another part of him knew that John was right. He had ruined everything.

“Where are you going?” He asked quietly, already fearing the answer.

John paused by the door. When he turned to look at Paul again, his expression was hard and unreadable.

“I’m not fucking queer.” And he slammed the door behind him.

Paul could only stare.

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #beatles smut #mclennon smut #mclennon #part 3 #chapter fic #ao3 #smut warning

34 notes · View notes

whumpcollector · 3 years

Text

Lucas Pt.6: Couldn’t be worse

By the power of spring break I bring to you part 6 of Lucas’ story. We’re getting to the part I’ve been wanting to get to for a while so I hope you all enjoy!

Content warnings: Magical whump, slavery, dehumanization, forced labor, references/allusions to noncon, fantasy religion, drowning (sort of), depictions of violence. (If I have missed anything pls let me know.)

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

It had been three months since he had entered the “care” of Captain Edwin and the witch hunters. Not that Lucas could tell for sure, time had lost a lot of meaning lately. The past months had been a marathon of physical punishment and deprivation. After that initial week of torture Edwin had begun the long and grueling process of grinding away what little resistance and dignity Lucas had left.

The day after he had pulled out his own tooth, after he had submitted himself to Edwin’s will, he was taken into a large windowless room. Inside the room was a pile of large rocks, and Lucas was given a simple order. Pick up the rocks, move them to the other side of the room, and then when every rock has been moved and a new pile has been made, do it all over again. He would do this until ordered to stop, and not a moment sooner. It was monotonous, exhausting, and utterly soul crushing. Exactly what Edwin wanted.

Lucas grunted in exertion as he lifted one of the larger rocks in the pile into his arms and began the impossibly long trek to the other side of the room. His legs and arms shook with exhaustion and sweat drenched his body. He wanted to rest, to take a break for just a moment and let his body just collapse onto the floor. But he wouldn’t. Breaks were not allowed unless given permission and the most minor of infractions were reported to Edwin and met with severe reprimand.

The captain controlled every aspect of Lucas’ life. Lucas did not eat, drink, or sleep unless Edwin allowed him to, and disobedience was not tolerated under any circumstances. That lesson had been thoroughly beaten into him. Whatever resistance Lucas may have once had, whatever drive spurred him towards that one desperate bid for freedom had been long since snuffed out. Now all he wanted to do was avoid any more punishment and maybe even live to see the next day.

He had been somewhat successful in that so far at least.

He dropped the rock he was carrying and made his way back towards the smaller pile, savoring the few moments he was unburdened. Fatigue had soaked into his very bones, it had been days since Lucas last slept and what little magical reserves he had left and the fear of punishment kept him on his feet. He was just about to pick up another rock when he heard the witch hunter assigned to guard him call out.

“That's enough mage. Edwin wants to see you in his office.”

A wave of relief flooded Lucas. He almost wanted to cry. He might finally be allowed to get some sleep. The witch hunter exited the room with Lucas following wearily behind him. The sudden prospect of rest seemed to have somehow enhanced the exhaustion he felt. His legs felt like they were made of iron and every step took more and more out of him. The dark hallways seemed to stretch on forever. As the trek continued Lucas realized that he hadn’t seen the sun since he was brought to the stronghold. The only light he was exposed to came from the lanterns the witch hunters carried with them. He couldn’t remember even seeing a window in his time here. He also realized, with a sort of defeated horror, that he didn’t really care.

They reached Edwin’s office and the witch hunter opened the door. Before entering Lucas paused, and began to panic. Was he supposed to just walk in? He hadn’t been given an order, and just walking into the room might make it look like he was taking some sort of initiative. But then again Edwin had wanted to talk to him in his office, and waiting too long might make it seem like Lucas was disobeying an instruction.

His spiraling was stopped by Edwin’s voice calling out from the office. “Come inside Lucas.”

The mage let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and walked inside the office. Edwin was seated at his desk, a simple utilitarian block of hardwood balanced on four legs. The captain was focused on some papers on his desk, a quill twirling between his fingers. He didn’t look up as he addressed Lucas.

“Your master Harold will be returning tomorrow. It seems our time together has come to an end.”

Lucas felt a feeling of relief bubble inside of him. Master Harold had been a cruel taskmaster, but he was nothing compared to captain Edwin and the witch hunters. Whatever the man had planned it couldn’t be worse than what he had endured the past few months.

“I must say I am rather impressed with how quickly you have come to terms with your position in life. I have had others of your kind take up to a year to finally accept their stations, and you’ve only taken a scant three months.” Edwin looked up from the desk, an almost fond smile on his face. “I am glad that you’ve been so understanding.”

Lucas didn’t say anything, keeping his gaze towards the floor.

“I have assured Harold that there will be no more outbursts from you.” Edwin’s smile vanished and was replaced with a piercing glare. “You wouldn’t make me out to be a liar, right?”

“N-no, captain. I...understand my place now.”

Edwin gave a satisfied nod. “Good. Now return to your quarters. Best you be well rested when Harold arrives tomorrow. Oh and before you go, could you light this candle for me?”

Edwin held out a candlestick, and Lucas felt his stomach drop. His magic had been fighting off exhaustion and injury for months, and gathering enough for even a tiny flame was excruciating. Edwin knew that, and Lucas knew that objecting wasn’t an option. The only way out was through.

Lucas held out his hand and began to channel his magic, the leylines on his arm barely glowing with how little energy there was to move through them. It felt like he was pushing stones through his veins, and after a solid minute of effort a small flame barely large enough to be seen manifested. He held the flame out towards the wick and waited for it to ignite. For a few terrifying moments it seemed like the flame might be too weak to light the candle, but to Lucas’ eternal relief the wick caught fire and the candle was lit.

“Thank you Lucas, you are dismissed.”

Lucas nodded, lacking the energy to speak, and turned to leave the office. He was halfway to the door when he heard Edwin speak up again.

“Oh Lucas.” The mage turned and watched with a sense of utter hopelessness as Edwin casually blew out the candle. “It appears that the candle has gone out, relight it for me would you?”

Lucas dragged himself back to the desk and began channeling his magic again. He gathered every last dreg of magic he could muster and forced them into his fingers. Black spots danced in his eyes and blood trickled from his nostrils as he willed another flame into existence. He lit the candle again and his arm dropped like a lead weight.

“Thank you Lucas, return to your quarters.”

The walk back was a slow, agonizing ordeal of sheer willpower. Every step made his legs shudder, every breath sent sharp pains through his chest. A sudden coughing fit assaulted him and he doubled over, more blood streaming down his face and out of his mouth. He was an inch away from collapsing on the floor where he stood, but he had been told to return to his quarters and so that is what he did.

At least he made it to his “quarters”. A cramped room with a single wooden slab attached to the wall with old iron chains that served as a bed. He stood in front of the makeshift bed, wanting more than anything to just let himself fall onto it and embrace the mercy of unconsciousness, but he stopped himself. He had only been told to return to the room, sleep had not been allowed yet. So he waited, swaying on shuddering legs as the room span and his vision darkened. In the distance he heard footsteps, slow and methodical. It took an eternity for Edwin to finally appear in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back.

Edwin stood there for a while, simply staring at Lucas in that infuriatingly impassive way. Lucas didn’t turn , he couldn’t. The slightest movement would push him past the edge of his endurance.

“Very good Lucas. You have learned well. You may rest now.”

He didn’t even feel himself hit the floor.

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

Lucas woke up to a sharp kick in the stomach. He looked up, blinking blearly to see the face of Harold looming over him. Lucas’ eyes widened, and he clumsily pulled himself off the floor. He was still exhausted, however much sleep he got not being nearly enough to make him feel anywhere close to rested.

Harold looked Lucas over, before delivering a crushing backhand that sent the mage sprawling back to the floor. Lucas looked up fearfully at his master, curling in on himself and waiting for the next blow.

“It's been a while you little rat. You know I never got back at you for trying to run but…” he trailed for a moment, “looks like Edwin’s already put you through hell and then some.”

Lucas meekly nodded and stood back up, still wary of another sudden strike. It never comes, and the duo find themselves standing somewhat awkwardly in the room. Whatever tension was building is cut when Edwin enters the room, pulling Harold into a warm handshake.

“Harold. I had just been informed you had arrived. Sorry I couldn’t greet you myself, paperwork is still a killer.”

Harold offers a hearty laugh and claps Edwin on the shoulder. “It is no issue, captain. I was just admiring your work.” He turns to face Lucas. “I don’t know what you did to the little shit but he sure does seem a lot more...docile. No that he was much trouble beforehand.”

“Yes, I must say he might be my finest work yet. You shouldn’t experience any more resistance from him.” Edwin turned to leave before pausing and turning back. “Ah, almost forgot to mention. His time here has put considerable strain on his magic and he will likely be unable to perform any feats worthy of a show for a long time. I know that's what you intend to use him for so I thought I would give fair warning.”

Harold raised an eyebrow. “Oh really, well I suppose that shouldn’t be an issue.” he grabbed Lucas’ arm, running his thumb over one of the dull red lines that covered the mage’s arms and looking down with a lecherous grin. “Magic or no he is still a mage, and there are other ways to make a profit off of such an...exotic little creature.”

Lucas felt a wave of revulsion. He wanted to pull away, to cover every inch of his body and disappear into the floor. He didn’t dare act on those desires however, and simply stood there fighting back the urge to be sick. Harold mercifully let him go and exited the room, signalling for Lucas to follow. As Lucas left Edwin gave him a wave goodbye.

“Farewell Lucas. Hopefully the next time we meet will be under far more pleasant circumstances.”

Lucas very fervently hoped they never met again at all.

Upon leaving the stronghold Lucas was met with blinding light and deafening noise as his body adjusted to the outside world after months of darkness and near silence. Harold laughed at his discomfort and roughly pushed him forward. Their trek towards Harold’s cart and the caravan was brief, the stronghold being closer to the outskirts of the city than Lucas would have thought.

Devran was waiting for them when they arrived. Upon seeing Lucas we walked up to the mage and promptly slammed his fist into Lucas’ stomach. Lucas doubled over in pain and fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen and suppressing a gag.

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the rat. Not gonna lie, I missed you.” Devran said, punctuating his sentence with a kick to Lucas’ face. As Lucas tried to pick himself up he felt a boot on the back of his head, and his face was harshly pushed down into a pool of mud on the ground. His attempts to push himself up were foiled by the boot on his head and the terrifyingly familiar sensation of drowning returned to him. After a minute the pressure was let up and Lucas flung himself backwards, gasping and spitting mud out of his mouth.

“Hahahahahaha, still as fun as ever. We’ve got a lot of time to make up for, rat, I look forward to it.”

Lucas could only whimper before being pulled to his feet by Harold. He felt a familiar wight on his wrists and looked down to see his old shackles secured around his wrists yet again, his skin already beginning to chafe.

“Edwin says you won’t be any trouble, and I believe him, but it never hurts to be safe.”

The shackles were secured to the back of the cart and Lucas felt a sense of familiarity. It was almost comforting. He knew how to handle this, knew how to survive this. It wasn’t any worse than what he had endured. Whatever was to come, it couldn’t be worse than what he had endured.

The caravan started moving and Lucas trudged behind the cart, head hanging low in fatigue. He noticed offhandedly that the caravan seemed smaller than he remembered, not that it really mattered to him. He didn’t know how long the day’s trek would be but he knew he wouldn’t be offered any mercy from Harold or Devran. All he could do was keep himself upright and try not to let himself be dragged across the ground.

The caravan stopped around midday, allowing the horses to rest and the various members to eat and water themselves. They had stopped in a hilly field near a forest, the uneven terrain had been brutal of Lucas’ poor feet. He was considering whether it was worth the risk asking Harold if he could sit down when an alarmed cry pierced the air.

Lucas turned and saw a large group of men in makeshift armor and wielding crude weapons charging across the hills. Bandits, lots of then. They were too close to the caravan for escape to be possible, and everyone scrambled to defend themselves. The guards that had been hired rushed forwards to meet the bandits head on, while the hands and merchants grabbed makeshift weapons and huddled close to their carts. Whatever trepidations Lucas had about acting without orders were replaced with a primal fear, and he dropped to the ground and crawled underneath the cart. From there he cowered and watched.

He watched as the guards were overpowered and slaughtered, the only hope of driving the bandits off vanishing into the air. He watched as the bandits descended on the caravan like wolves, effortlessly cutting down anyone in their way. He watched Harold’s body crumple to the ground, a thick crossbow bolt embedded in his throat. He watched Devran desperately fight one of the assailants, his club swinging in slow clumsy arcs before his opponent stabbed him through the stomach with a sword, twisting the blade and pulling it out with a spurt of blood.

Lucas stared at the bodies of the men who had tormented him for years. He held no love for them, but their faces, frozen in fear with lifeless eyes burned themselves into his mind. He couldn't move, couldn’t breathe, all he could do was pray to whatever gods were listening that he wouldn’t be found.

His prayers would go unanswered as soon enough one of the bandits dragged him out from under the cart. The bandit, a broad man wielding a large mace stared down at him curiously, before his eyes spied the red lines on Lucas’ arms.

“Hey lads! Lookie here, we got ourselves one of those mage things.”

A few of the other brigands walked over, surrounding Lucas and looking down at him with looks ranging from curiosity to utter disgust. He curled in on himself, trying to shrink away as best he could.

“What should we do with it” one of the bandits asked nonchalantly.

An argument broke out amongst the group. Some said they should bring him with them and sell him, others said they could find a use for him themselves. One very fervently argue that he should be strung up and killed, repeating over and over that “the only good mage is one that’s dead and fucking gone.”

Lucas cowered beneath them, trying to tune out their words. Their argument was cut short by a loud, barbaric yawp that cut through the air and drew their attention. Three emerged from the forest on the other side of the caravan, weapons in hand and charging the bandits. The bandits in kind charged to meet them, giving Lucas another chance to hide away underneath the cart. He watched the bandits as the newcomers clashed, but this time it was the bandits who found themselves outmatched.

Lucas stared at the scene in front of him. One of the newcomers, a tall man with tan skin and wearing strange looking armor effortlessly fought off three of the bandits at once. He laughed and taunted them in a language Lucas did not recognize, his long curved sword deflecting blow after blow with ease. The man weaved his way through the group of brigands, his movements almost dance like as he gracefully cut down his opponents one by one.

A guttural roar drew Lucas’ attention, and he stared in awe and terror as a muscular woman with a half shaved head brought a large glaive down onto the head of an armored brigand. The blade cleaved through the brigand’s helmet like butter, cleaving the man in two all the way down to his sternum before becoming lodged. The woman let out a bark of laughter, grabbing the neck of an approaching bandit and snapping it with her left hand while she pulled her weapon free with her right.

The last of the newcomers stood on the peripheries of the battle, picking off bandits one by one with the longbow in his hands. Every arrow he fired found their mark and the man almost looked bored, his posture lax and his weapon hanging loosely from his fingertips. One of the bandits managed to close the distance. The man ducked the bandit’s swing and rolled behind him, drawing a dagger and slashing the back of the bandit’s knee. A quick stab through the armpit and a slash across the throat finished the bandit, and the archer pushed away the body like one would push in a chair.

There had been more than two dozen bandits that had attacked the caravan. The three figures standing in the middle of the road had dispatched them all in a matter of minutes. Lucas stayed under the cart, frozen in place. Whoever these people were they were dangerous, and clearly had no qualms about killing.

What would they do to him if, no, when they found him?

“Looks like we’re too late,” the archer said, slinging his bow over his back. “I don’t think there are any survivors.”

The tanned man pulled off his helmet and hung it on his hip, revealing an aged and clean shaven face. “Perhaps. We should still check, maybe someone made it.” The man spoke with a thick accent. “I’ll check the hills, you check by the carts.”

The woman snorted and rested her glaive on her shoulder. “You lot have fun with that, I’m gonna go see if there's anything worth looting.”

The group split up, and Lucas watched as the archer patrolled around the caravan checking the carts for any survivors. Lucas’ breathing grew shallow and panicked as the archer approached Harold’s cart. Each step sending a wave of ear down Lucas’ spine. When the man’s legs stopped in front of where Lucas was hiding he clasped his hands over his mouth and screwed his eyes shut, holding his breath. Maybe he wouldn’t check underneath, maybe he would just-

“Well I’ll be.”

Lucas’ eyes shot open to see the archer kneeling on the ground, his body cocked sideways so he could look underneath the cart. They stared at each other for a few seconds, Lucas heart beating in his ears. The man straightened back up and called out to his companions.

“HEY! I have a live one over here!” He leaned sideways again, looking at Lucas and holding up his hands in a disarming gesture. “Hey kid, name’s William. Don’t worry I’m not gonna hurt ya. Why don't you come on out of there so i can get a better look at ya eh?”

Lucas didn’t want to come out. He wanted to curl up in a ball and wait until these people left. But he had been given an order, and orders were to be obeyed. Maybe if he was obedient and docile they wouldn’t hurt him. He crawled out from under the cart, taking William’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled up.

“There we go, what's your name lad?”

“Lucas, sir. My name is Lucas.”

William nodded and started looking Lucas over. “Well Lucas are you…” He trailed off as he saw the leylines on Lucas’ arms. “Fuck.”

“I see someone did survive. That is good news.” The tanned man said as he approached Lucas and William. “Is everything alright William?”

“Oh hey, Mehrzad, take a look at this.”

“At...oh.” The man, Mehrzad, looked up and down Lucas’ arms, his eyes trailing the red lines. “Sand and stars, a mage.”

Lucas shrunk under their scrutiny. He couldn’t exactly hide it but people knowing he was a mage was never a good thing. Maybe these people would be more tolerant than most. Lucas wasn’t feeling optimistic.

“What is your name, mage?” Mehrzad asked.

“Lucas, sir.”

Mehrzad nodded, turning to William. They shared a look for a few moments, communicating in some unspoken way that Lucas couldn’t decipher. After a bit William pulled out a thin sharp metal object and his dagger. Lucas flinched back, causing the man to hold up his hands and take a step back.

“Hey kid, it's ok. Just a lock pick. Going to see if I can get you out of those chains there.” He gestured to Lucas’ shackles. “That ok with you?”

Lucas nodded and held out his wrists, still wary of some sort of trick. William approached slowly, making sure his hands were always in view before working on the lock. The lock clicked open and the shackles fell to the floor with a dull thud. Lucas rubbed his wrists, and offered a quick thanks. As he did the women joined them, digging a finger into a jar of honey.

“Not much on any of the bodies but that cart close to the front has a lot of food we could pilfer.” She scooped another handful of honey into her mouth before spying Lucas and raising an eyebrow. “Who’s that?”

William grabbed the jar of honey before responding. “This here is Lucas, Lucas this is Bernadetta.” He popped a finger covered in honey into his mouth and let out a small hum of approval. “Quality stuff here, good for the company. We should send some temps to pick through that cart.”

Lucas watched their exchange in silence, thankful that their attention wasn’t focused on him. Suddenly his vision began to swim, and his limbs felt like they were made of lead. The adrenaline from the attack had worked its way out of his system, and hunger, exhaustion, and his still unhealed injuries finally pushed his magic beyond what it could sustain. He collapsed to the ground, William only barely catching his head before it slammed into the earth.

“Shit, kid must have been worse off than I thought. We need to get him back to camp.”

Mehrzad nodded, picking up Lucas and carrying him bridal style. “Agreed, we can worry about looting later.” He looked down at Lucas, offering a comforting smile. “Do not worry Lucas, my husband is the finest surgeon these lands have known. You will be fine.”

Bernadetta huffed. “Bringing a mage to camp, Konrad won’t be happy.”

“Perhaps, but Konrad is not here and we will deal with him if he makes a fuss. Lucas needs help, I intend to help him.”

The group made their way into the forest, Lucas fading slowly into unconsciousness. He didn’t know what would happen to him, and frankly he didn’t care. Whatever these people had planned, Lucas was sure of one thing.

It couldn't be worse than what he had endured.

Tags: @haro-whumps @ladygwennn @dramaticcollapse @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @brutal-nemesis @rippedjeansandfadeddreams

#lucas #whump #fantasy whump #magical whump #oh look I didn't take small eternity to write this on #poggers

32 notes · View notes

catlordewrites · 4 years

Text

Where the Roses Grow: Chapter Two

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian. Rated M.

This story can also be found on fanfiction.net and Ao3.

@killtherandomness

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mild violence, strongly implied child abuse, slavery and associated themes.

Chapter One - This Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter Two

It was hot.

The walk hadn't started out horribly. Despite her trepidation, she was still able to appreciate a change in scenery after being penned up in the compound for so long. Thankfully, they'd only been in direct sunlight for about a half hour. After that, they walked in the shade offered by the maze of shallow canyons that stretched out around the compound in every direction.

The baby was having the time of his life. He perched in his bassinet, happy as a clam as he watched lizards skitter in and out of cracks. Life in the compound had been boring for Elsi, but it had been even more frustrating for him. Elsi had done everything in her power to keep him entertained and happy, but a child needed more than his nanny to play with while locked in the same building for so long.

There had been so many games of hide-and-seek.

To him, the change in scenery was magical. He would communicate this to his caretaker, who would humor him by nodding and forcing a smile. He also tried talking to his new friend - the Mandalorian - who ignored him entirely.

Elsi, mindful of annoying a new master - even if it was only a temporary arrangement - had to repeatedly reinforce their little 'be quiet' signal. Each time she held her finger over her lips, the baby would dutifully copy the motion and fall silent, only to forget a minute or so later and go back to chittering for attention.

Not that she blamed him. Their joint existence had been a lonely one.

. ~0~0~0~

Elsi didn't dawdle.

'Daddy's special quests', as Hetta so eloquently put it, was a not-so-discreet euphemism for 'Underworld Contacts'. Like almost every nobleman that managed to cling to power through the rise of the Empire, Lord Burkisn made deals - most under the table, some not - with Imperial officials and dealers. Elsi didn't hold it against him; he was a politician, and that's what politicians did. But now that the Empire had fallen, Lord Burkisn was scrambling to appease the New Republic while still managing old promises.

Although the Empire was technically gone, the power and influence of the Imperial Underworld remained. When an Empire Remnant called in a favor, you did your best to accommodate.

Elsi's soft shoes were soundless on the shiny tile floors as she bustled through the ornate halls, keeping to the walls in order to avoid other servants and the odd protocol droid that bumbled past.

Lord Burkisn had a wide range of servants in his household - approximately a third of them were slaves. Droids could do a slave's work, but weren't nearly as fashionable. House slaves were much harder to replace; you couldn't program them or fix them when they broke. They had to be taught. Fed. Like most pets: a potentially expensive long term investment.

She bypassed the main study - where New Republic representatives were often hosted - and down a set of stairs into the lower levels of the house. Lord Burkisn's private study was well-cushioned and unassuming, but Elsi couldn't help but feel the very air had been tainted by the people that had been hosted there over the years.

If you thought there was nothing worse than a nobleman that both owned slaves and had the gall to manipulate the New Republic system into letting him keep them - you'd be very wrong.

The prospect of a baby was troubling. Why would Underworld entities have a baby in the first place? Let alone a sick baby? Even then, why the hell were they bringing it to HER? Surely they had deep enough pockets to buy their own doctors and nannies to care for it.

She reached the polished oak door and took a moment to straighten out her cotton dress, ensuring she was prim and every hair was in its proper place. This gave her a moment to eavesdrop.

The conversation came in bits and pieces, muddled by the door.

"... Hays Minor. They won't…"

"...sold… from spice dealers on… delivery."

"We couldn't take it to… when it's…"

Lord Burkisn's voice rose above the others, shrill and irritated. "Where the hell is that damn nanny? I paid twelve thousand credits for that overpriced whore…"

Elsi grimaced, realizing that she'd already pushed her luck too far, and knocked.

"Enter!"

Elsi eased her way into the room, head down with her eyes politely on her toes, hands folded chastely in front of her.

"About fucking time," he swore at her, which wasn't out of the ordinary. However, it WAS uncharacteristic of him to do so in front of business associates. Lord Harl Burkisn was tall and on the back side of middle aged with charmingly light blue eyes, chestnut hair streaked with grey at the temples, and impeccable jawline; handsome, really. He took great pride in his appearance. His usual suave, put-togetherness was a huge part of his professional image. "What took so long?"

Elsi lowered her head further in the perfect imitation of shame. "I came as soon as I was told, sir."

He growled under his breath, "Hetta…"

Elsi did nothing to confirm or deny the inference.

Thankfully, Burkisn moved on. He flicked his fingers to summon her closer. She obeyed without question.

Though her eyes were down, she quickly surveyed the room through her eyelashes. Her master was accompanied by two other men, a human and a twi'lek. They were reasonably well-put together, but their dark, closefitting clothes suggested mercenaries, not anyone high-ranking. They were all looming around Lord Burkisn's desk, upon which sat a large metal storage container.

Lord Burkisn led her to it and gestured for her to peer inside.

When Hetta had said that there was a baby, Elsi had assumed that it would be the child of another nobleman - perhaps a bastard that they didn't want their spouse to know about and were secreting away to live somewhere else.

She couldn't have been more wrong. Or confused.

It was a child, alright. A tiny green baby with massive bat ears held flat against a dirty brown sack of an overcoat. It was short, squat, and unlike anything Elsi had seen before.

The little creature was beyond pitiful; curled up in on itself like it was trying it's hardest to be swallowed up in the dirty sack that it wore, which was already much too big for it. It sat with its back to it's audience, pressing the front of its tiny green body into one corner of the box like it desperately wanted to hide.

It was awfully, awfully still.

Elsi's heart broke for it. She looked to her master for instructions.

Lord Burkisn seemed troubled. "Can you care for it?"

Elsi didn't like making promises. "I've cared for many children."

He scoffed and dragged a hand through his hair, making it stick out in every direction. "Yes. Yes. But this one?"

"I don't see why not. But…" She hesitated. "Is it alive?"

Burkisn whipped back around to study the child more closely. His eyes glittered nervously as his less practiced gaze caught what Elsi had seen at once: the unnatural stillness, how quiet it was. Children weren't supposed to act like that.

He turned and fixed the two couriers with a glare.

"Err…" The twi'lek shuffled nervously, very much out of his comfort zone. "Should be…"

"When did you last check?"

"This mornin'," the human said defensively. "It's been sluggish since we got it, but it hasn't done much since midweek. It just sits and stares."

"What changed then?"

"Nothin'! We kept in the landspeeder, just like always - "

"On Hays Minor? It's freezing there! And you just left it in the speeder?" Burkisn accused, dark eyes thunderous with disgust. "This precious, EXPENSIVE asset? And you've treated it so carelessly? Can you even BEGIN to understand what they'll do to m… to YOU… if it perishes? Do you change it? When's the last time it had anything to eat? Have you bathed it recently?"

Rich, coming from a man that hadn't done any of those things for a child in his life. Elsi wasn't fooled by the righteous tirade. It had nothing to do with the baby's welfare.

"Is it alive or not?" He went on to demand. He was worried. While coming to the 'rescue' of something valuable could be beneficial, having the asset die while under his roof would be very, very bad indeed.

The courier closest to the crate reached out a gloved hand and gave the box a sharp shake. Elsi was no stranger to cruelty; her expression didn't change.

The baby gave a barely audible squeak as it was loosened from its makeshift safe spot. Other than that, it's only response was to weakly shift to press its face back into its corner.

"See?" The twi'lek said triumphantly. "It's alive."

The poor thing was half frozen. Lonely and terrified. No wonder it was sick.

Elsi grit her teeth, anxious to be rid of the other adults so she could take over.

"If it's sick, shouldn't we take it to a medical facility?" The human courier piped up. His eyes ghosted over Elsi's form appraisingly. "No offense, but why're we just giving it to a house slave?"

Burkisn sniffed. "You've lost the right to make those decisions. And do you think I'd let my daughter, my own flesh and blood, be cared for by any less than the best?" He prodded Elsi roughly in the shoulder. "Your credentials."

Elsi's collar felt tighter than usual. It was the same practiced spiel she'd given to potential buyers since she was twelve, and she delivered it with less emotion than a droid. "Educated by the Flirkgen Order of Servitude, First Class. I am trained in all forms of childcare from birth to adulthood, including, but not limited to: childbirth, nursing, emergency first aid, education, and nutrition. To date, I have cared for…"

Burkisn silenced her with a wave of his hand. "You see? We can't risk calling for a doctor, anyhow. The asset doesn't exactly blend in, does it? And if they found out it…"

He cut himself off. Elsi didn't bother wondering who 'they' were.

"Can you care for it?" Burkisn repeated. "Nurse it back to health?"

"I'm not a doctor, master," Elsi said warily. She wouldn't know the full extent until she'd had a chance to look it over properly, but the poor creature already seemed half dead to her. "But I will certainly do my best."

"Good. It's settled." He clapped his hands with an air of finality. "You'll make it your top priority. All of your other duties are suspended till further notice."

That was fine by her, so long as she didn't have to be the one to tell Hetta. The child did NOT like sharing anything, especially the slaves that were at her beck and call. There were other childminder's in the household that were more than qualified to care for the master's child, but none of them were Elsi.

Elsi bowed deep. "Yes, master."

We waved her away. "Take it, then. I'll inquire later as to your progress."

With a final curtsy, Elsi bustled forward and picked up the crate, closing the lid in hopes of making the little creature feel a little safer. The metal was icy cold against her skin. Without a moment to spare, she hurried out of the room.

~0~0~0~ .

Elsi was exhausted.

The skin under her collar still burned, the already tender skin actively being rubbed raw by the collar every time she moved her head. Every muscle in her body threatened to give out at a moment's notice. She moved in constant fear that the next step would be the one to send her sprawling to the ground.

She wasn't sure she wanted to suffer that brand of embarrassment today. Not that she had much pride left after a lifetime of humiliation and servitude, but she already had enough to worry over.

She stumbled a few times, but didn't fall. She kept walking.

After several hours, their pace had begun to slow. With every step, a little of the strength she'd pretended to have was leached away. It took everything she had to put one foot in front of the other.

The Mandalorian didn't comment, but Elsi noticed how the brisk, utilitarian pace he'd originally set had dwindled to something that was clearly designed to accommodate her. She appreciated, yet hated it.

Being thought of as weak was usually a good thing. But it wasn't in this case because it was the truth. Being underestimated gave her an edge, one that - staring at the tattered, dirty cloak of the silent wall of armor that stalked silently ahead of her - she wished she still had.

The baby finally settled down, tired from the day. He sat in his bassinet, nibbling his cloth frog and peering out at the changing scenery. His dark eyes flickered as he sought out the lizards that occasionally darted across their path.

Elsi knew he must be getting hungry. She was, too. Their last shared meal had been that morning, and it was well into late afternoon now. Elsi was used to functioning on very little; years of being fed the bare minimum had taught her to ignore the empty gnawing in her gut.

She didn't want the baby to have to learn the same way she did, but had a feeling that the Mandalorian wanted to get somewhere specific before nightfall. The canyons weren't exactly the best place to spend the night. Too many places for an enemy to hide.

She would wait until then before asking for a brief respite to feed her charge.

As if to confirm her suspicions about the canyons, the Mandalorian suddenly came to a halt. He lifted a gloved hand, cautioning Elsi to do the same. It was unnecessary, of course, because she'd heard it as well.

A near-silent footstep. The soft clink of a rock being kicked out of place and knocking into another. A quick, panted breath.

Then silence.

Elsi cast a warning glance at the baby, who didn't need to be directly told to stay silent. The adults' sudden tension was more than enough. He gripped his frog tighter.

Elsi watched the Mandalorian closely, taking note of the tension in his shoulders, waiting for some kind of signal.

She saw the Mandalorian's hand ghost over his blaster.

When the first bounty hunter exploded out of the shadows, Elsi was already on the move. While the Mandalorian met the threat, both of them, head on, Elsi made a beeline for the bassinet.

Sand flew as the sound of battle echoed throughout the narrow canyon. The baby whined when she scooped him into her arms. She hushed him, giving him a little reassuring bounce before slinking away from the conflict.

The baby cried out, distraught. He'd tried to take his frog with him, but dropped it. Elsi cast a glance backward to see it lying prone in the sand, only a few meters away from where the bounty hunters fought.

She went on, melting into the shadows and through a passage in the canyon walls. Worst case, she could make him another.

Elsi turned twice down different paths before deciding they'd gone far enough. She leaned her back against the stone, tucking them away in a dip in the rock face. The sounds of the fight had faded, leaving the pair washed in a heavy silence. Elsi struggled to quiet her breathing, which rasped loudly in her throat as she fought to catch her breath.

The baby buried his face against her chest and grumbled.

"Froggy's fine," she sighed, tipping her head back against the rock and closing her eyes. "We'll get him in a minute."

From what she'd seen, the Mandalorian had been holding his own fairly well, so hopefully they'd be able to go back to the bassinet in a few minutes. Not that she wanted to go with the faceless hunter, but for now she preferred him to the others. At least she was almost certain that he didn't have any immediate plans for killing her or the baby.

Also, he had her fob. She couldn't go very far without it.

Suddenly, the Mandalorian was there. He appeared without warning, scaring the shit out of Elsi - though she'd never show it.

He was more or less unscathed except for a gash in his upper arm. It looked nasty, but he seemed unbothered.

His helmet ticked forward minutely. "You good?"

Elsi's response was collected and emotionless. "Yes."

The child chirruped to say that he was fine, too, thanks for asking.

The Mandalorian cocked his head slightly, then held something out to him. The baby's ears perked forward when he recognized the beloved patchwork frog sitting in the warrior's hand. He gave a squeal of delight and all but threw himself out of Elsi's arms to get it.

Elsi almost dropped him, but was able to adjust fast enough to prevent him from falling. With a weary sigh, she moved to place the baby back in his bassinet, which still floated obediently at the Mandalorian's elbow.

The baby hummed happily and snuggled down in his blankets, squishing Froggy against his cheek.

Elsi's quick eyes went back to the gash on the Mandalorian's arm, then lowered submissively, fixing on the diamond shaped indent on his cuirass. "Your injury looks painful. I can dress it, if it pleases you."

His shoulders settled back; in surprise, Elsi thought.

"It's fine," he rasped. "We need to keep moving."

Elsi didn't argue.

. ~0~0~0~

Despite the awkwardness of the box, Elsi took the steps of the narrow servants' staircase two at a time, doing her best not to jostle the baby.

She winced and murmured an apology when she accidentally bumped it against a wall as she turned a corner, feeling the occupant slide from one corner to another.

Elsi bumped the door to her room open with her hip, and then closed it with her foot. As the head child-minder of a prestigious household, she had been granted her own quarters. She was still a slave, so it wasn't much: a small bed, a fireplace, a couple of chairs, a minuscule refresher, and a table that was covered with her current sewing projects.

She swept the half-finished articles of clothing off the table without a second thought, no longer caring if they got trampled and dirty, then sat the crate gingerly in their place.

Finally alone, Elsi flipped open the lid. Now she was closer, she caught a whiff of what could only have been the child; an unpleasant mix of bodily waste and mildew.

A distraught sigh hissed between her teeth. Elsi cautiously moved to pick up the baby.

The baby seemed to know she was coming and pressed itself more firmly into the corner. She crouched beside the table so that she was level with the box, reaching out tentatively towards the cowering child to smooth the fuzz on the back of its head.

The baby squeaked weakly, somehow succeeding in making itself look smaller. Elsi recoiled. Time was at the essence, but the last thing it needed was to be frightened even more.

"It's okay," Elsi hummed in her most reassuring voice, the same tried-and-true one used to soothe nightmares. She settled back just enough to kneel in the chair and rested her forearms on the edge of the crate.

The baby whined.

"Hey, hey. Shhh," she murmured, reaching out again and brushing her knuckles gently down the baby's spine. It quivered. She repeated the motion, "It's okay. You're okay. Shh."

The baby gave a plaintive squeak that was muffled by the side of the crate.

"Yeah, I know you're cold," she crooned. "Will you let me warm you up?"

The baby didn't comment, but it did turn its head, daring to peer at her with dark, watery eyes. Elsi noted the crusty discharge that had dried at the corners. Then the dampness of its nose.

"Can I hold you?" She asked, holding out her hands to it expectantly.

The baby squeezed its eyes shut.

Elsi figured that it was the closest thing to permission she was going to get. She gingerly wrapped her fingers around the baby's middle and lifted. He weighed next to nothing; she could wrap her hands all the way around him. She immediately transferred him to her chest, tucking his fuzzy head under her chin. Tiny claws curled into the fabric covering her collarbones.

Holding him in place with one hand, she bustled around the room, humming softly for the baby's sake as she unearthed cloth diapers, towels, and wash rags.

She took the supplies to the refresher, where she spread out one of the towels on the counter next to the sink, which she then filled partway with warm water. The child was far too small to consider using the tub.

Careful to cradle his head, Elsi eased the baby down on the counter. His sallow green skin stood out starkly against the fluffy white towel. The child stared up at her blankly through half-closed eyes.

"We're gonna get you clean, m'kay? The water's nice and warm for you. Then maybe you'll feel a little better. That sound good?" She explained to him kindly, but he only blinked in response.

The baby was heartbreakingly easy to manipulate out of his clothes, making her suspect that he was used to being handled roughly. She made a point to be as gentle as possible.

"Do you like bubbles?"

Before his bath, Elsi wiped him down and checked for injuries. He didn't react much to the water, leaning heavily into the hand that was keeping him propped up while she smoothed his skin with the gentlest soap she had and ran a kitten-soft washcloth over his ears.

After, she wrapped him in a small clean blanket instead of redressing him. His tiny robes would need to be cleaned before she would even consider putting them on him again, and even then, they were past use.

She would make him others, but that would take some time.

She laid him against her chest, lifting one of his little three-fingered hands to her lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. Elsi toed off her shoes and settled down on her bed. The baby snuffled a little, but otherwise stayed quiet as she tugged the other blanket over top of them both.

He felt much warmer now, at least. Elsi nuzzled the top of his head, breathing in the gentle smell of flowers from the soap. The baby mumbled softly before blinking his eyes closed.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep. Elsi rubbed her hand up and down his back. Pressed kisses to the top of his head. Stoked his ears. Hummed a lullaby. Then another.

It seemed that he had given up, but children could be dazzlingly resilient. As awful as he seemed now, he could be up and playing in a day or two. She'd seen it before. Hopefully, a little love and attention would be enough to breathe a little life back into the poor little runt.

She wasn't optimistic, but that wouldn't stop her from trying.

~0~0~0~ .

The trio walked well into the evening, not stopping until the canyons were far behind them and they were surrounded by nothing but flat, rocky plains.

Elsi saw the logic. Out here, nothing could sneak up on them. The Mandalorian would see or hear anything a long time before it became an active threat.

Though she appreciated the strategic value of the decision, she loathed the bounty hunter for forcing them to travel so far before resting.

The last of the sun's rays were fading below the horizon, painting the desert in a myriad of lovely violet hues. The Mandalorian chose a flat-ish expanse of rock to kneel down, producing a collapsible lantern. He set it down at the center of the space and turned it on, casting them all in an orange glow.

"We'll camp here tonight."

Music to Elsi's ears. She all but collapsed to the ground, disguising her exhaustion as productivity by immediately starting to dig through the russack bag. She found the water and two jerky ration packs that she and the baby would share. She uncorked the water and drank, nursing it to make it last.

"Muu?"

The last few hours had them walking directly into the setting sun, prompting Elsi to close the bassinet shutters so as to offer the baby some shade. He'd been quiet for the most part, but now that they'd stopped moving, he seemed to have enough reason to draw attention to the fact that he still was still secluded.

"Muuuu?" Muu? A soft, drawn-out squeaky sound, always turned up at the end like a question. It was the baby's name for his caretaker. It was cute, really. So much better than Nan.

Elsi forced herself back to her feet, ignoring the screaming of her aching muscles in favor of retrieving the baby. When the shutters peeled away, he rewarded Elsi with a wide, toothy grin.

Mood slightly improved, she got him out, but also tugged the bassinet over to where she'd been sitting: away from the Mandalorian.

The baby trilled conversationally at the bounty hunter, who continued ignoring him. In the time it had taken Elsi to get the baby and sit back down, the Mandalorian had removed his cuirass and sat prodding at its inner workings with a tool from his belt.

The baby was entranced by the occasional shower of sparks tossed into the air as the Mandalorian worked, but not so much that he was distracted from consuming every morsel of food Elsi placed in his greedy little hands.

She figured that she ought to hurry. While she was no expert on Mandalorians, she was vaguely aware of the limitations regarding the helmet. He hadn't been able to eat or drink all day, and while Elsi didn't really care much for his welfare, she knew she would if he became frustrated and decided to take it out on her. He could also die from heatstroke, which would essentially trap her and the baby in the middle of the desert.

Until a better option presented itself, he was their best bet.

Elsi didn't give two shits about seeing his face. She had better things to worry about than satisfying basic curiosity - especially curiosity that could end with him killing her out of rage. If he simply asked her to not look, she wouldn't. As her (temporary?) owner, he could also order her not to look, and she'd have no choice but to obey.

But she didn't think he would do either. The Mandalorian would probably wait until they'd both fallen asleep to remove his helmet; which was absolutely no problem for Elsi - she was already half-asleep sitting up. The baby was a little trickier. Elsi would have to make sure he was asleep before settling down herself.

Luckily, the baby hadn't slept much throughout the day. By the time he finished eating, he was snuggling into Elsi's shoulder, making the soft little grumbling noises he made when he was tired.

Elsi hummed to him, soft enough that only he could hear, rubbing his back in time with the melody. It was an old slave song, one she distantly remembered her mother singing for her when she was fussy and small.

The humming also kept the baby from hearing the sounds that the Mandalorian was making. Forgoing Elsi's offer to clean and dress the wound on his arm, he'd settled on cauterizing it with the same tool he was using to repair his armor.

It looked painful. She almost insisted that he stop and let her tend him, but then remembered that she didn't care.

Elsi tucked the sleeping baby in the bassinet, ensuring he was snuggly wrapped in his blankets and clutching his stuffed frog before she closed the shutters.

Confident that he would sleep through the night, Elsi lay down on the stony ground with the russack bag tucked under her head. Mindful to keep her back to the Mandalorian, she allowed her exhausted and abused body to finally rest.

~0~0~0~ .

42 notes · View notes

wickedmilo · 3 years

Photo

ASK ME ANYTHING | MILO & HARSH

PLACE: Harsh’s apartment TIMING: A couple of months before ‘Sweet Summer Child’ SUMMARY: Milo begrudgingly accepts the fact that if you don’t know, sometimes you just have to ask WRITING PARTNER: @notsoharsh CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of overdosing, needles, and drug abuse

Milo stared down at his notebook, his hasty, and cluttered handwriting making it difficult to spot any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies. Not that it would matter, really. He had no plan on actually letting Harsh see his work. But it felt important to appear at least semi-composed. He was already making himself vulnerable, embarrassing himself by showing his blatant lack of understanding. He knew Harsh would be kind, and patient. The man had yet to show any sign of regretting his decision to take him in, something that was both a comfort, and a concern. It was forever looming over his head, the thought of the older vampire growing bored of playing mentor. But he knew he couldn’t live in fear. Either it would happen, or it wouldn’t, and right now, what was important was his distinct, and disorienting lack of knowledge. Hopefully, by the end of the night, he wouldn’t feel so lost, or confused. He might finally get some answers.

People had been helping him, Harsh in particular had made him feel safe, and secure in a way he could never have anticipated. But there was so much to learn, and it was very rare for information to come up organically. He was learning, that much was undeniable, but the pacing was slow, and eventually he had come to decide the best course of action would be writing a list. A list of everything he felt he had missed, everything that wasn’t about to come up in conversation, every question that hit him at 6 in the morning, every worry, every passing query, every fact that Rio wouldn’t know. Harsh would be there for him, in the same way he had been there for him since the moment they first crossed paths with each other. So he saw no harm in presenting him with said list, of asking him outright in a bid to know more.

The overwhelming scent of human food told him he would find Harsh cooking in the kitchen. It was something he did an awful lot considering he wasn’t able to enjoy the food, but the sound of somebody cooking, the smells, and routine that came with seeing his roommate busy over a stovetop, was something he genuinely enjoyed. It made the apartment feel more like home. Slipping out of his bedroom, and making his way into the hall, his socked feet were soft, and quiet against the apartment’s hardwood flooring. When he finally arrived at the kitchen, he hovered in the doorway so that he could watch for a moment before making his presence known. No doubt Harsh was fully aware he had an audience, he was very good at staying vigilant, but he pretended otherwise so it felt polite to announce himself. “So…” He started, trying to ignore the sudden spark of anxiety that ignited within his chest. It was an unhealthy product of his academic upbringing, but he hated not knowing. If he needed to know the answer to a question he had always been encouraged to search for it himself, which made it very easy to pretend he had automatically known the answer. This was different. Harsh was him searching for information, only to get it, he first needed to admit that he didn’t have it. Something that didn’t come naturally to him. “What’s on the menu tonight?” He asked, leaning against the door jam, offering an affectionate smile.

There was something strangely comforting about having a roommate again. No, comforting wasn’t quite the word. Settling, balancing maybe. Harsh didn’t care to get hung up on the particulars. He knew what he was like when left on his own too long, had been there too many times. He got reckless, he got sloppy. Even before he had turned, before he had thrown his soul away, he had been impulsive. It was worse now. Though he had learned from two hundred years of mistakes, there were still times he slipped, fell into old, bad behaviors. It was so easy. Instant gratification. That was the name of the soulless game and it was one he had played for two centuries. He liked to think he played it well, but there had been close calls and plenty of them. Now though, there was someone else to worry about. A couple of someones, if he was honest with himself now. He had friends, people who gave a shit. And he wanted to give one too. It was weird, the feelings scraping up the hollow where his soul should be. Wanting one wasn’t the same as having it, not by a long shot, but he had been pretending for a while. Fake it till you make it, the words had served him pretty damn well so far. What was a bit more?

Harsh didn’t take his eyes off the sizzling pan in front of him as Milo made his way down the hall. The kid was learning. Stealth wasn’t part of the vampire package, but it was necessary to know to make it out there. Still, Harsh hadn’t made it this far without knowing when someone was sneaking up on him, when he was being watched. But he kept his eyes on the food before him. Neither of them needed to eat, but it was a habit he had never quite managed to shake. He remembered it vaguely how much he had liked to cook when he was alive. Though the tastes had faded off his tongue, the fun hadn’t. He grinned as he flipped the vegetables, tossing and catching in the searing pan. Glancing over his shoulder at Milo’s question, he grinned. “Stir fry, I found this new recipe I wanted to try. Extra spicy, careful around the garlic though, makes your fangs pop out if you get a big bite.”

Grabbing two dishes from the cupboard, he plated up the food smoothly and slid one across the counter to Milo. The apartment wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to suit their purposes and had a landlord who didn’t look too closely at references. The kitchen was separated from the living room only by a half wall sort of island, a bar stool on either side. Harsh sank onto his after grabbing a mug of blood out of the microwave. “You want a cup?” he asked. “There’s more in the fridge. Should last us a couple weeks.”

Milo eyed the vegetables as Harsh flipped them, looking back up at the man in time to catch his easy grin. It was so obvious he enjoyed cooking, though he had never thought to ask why before. Was it something he used to do a lot when he was human? Maybe he had been a chef in some past forgotten life. “Wait- you put garlic in there?” He asked, moving forward to peer into the pan, his notebook still clutched to his chest. “That’s really a thing? Like, vampires and garlic?” He couldn’t hide his skepticism though he definitely wasn’t about to demand any kind of proof. He figured that was one question he would be able to tick off of his list. Leaning against the kitchen counter as Harsh moved to ready two plates, he couldn’t help the way his expression brightened at the prospect of blood. He had always been self-indulgent. If something made him feel good, or he enjoyed it, then he wanted more. He wasn’t in the business of denying himself simple pleasures, and thanks to his new life, blood happened to be one of them.

He had kept note of his roommate’s eating habits, he knew vampires only really needed a moderate amount every couple of weeks if they wanted to get by without descending into bloodlust. But much to the detriment of Harsh’s supply, he had been drinking far more than he needed to. Why not? If Harsh was happy to let him then he saw no reason to hold back. “Sure!” He enthused, picking up his plate of food and setting it down opposite Harsh so that it would be ready for him when he got back. Leaving his notebook beside it, he moved to pull a blood bag out of the fridge. Using a pair of scissors from the cutlery drawer to cut open the plastic, he looked back over to his company as he began to empty the blood into a mug. “Did you have a good day- I mean, night at work?” He absentmindedly corrected himself, still not used to the shift in scheduling. “Anything interesting happen?”

“Oh yeah, a whole bunch. I know it’s weird.” Harsh shot Milo a grin as he drew closer, glancing at the notebook. Huh, he was actually trying to do homework on this whole vampire thing. That was probably smart. “It is… sort of. It doesn’t hurt us or anything, but it makes it pretty hard to pretend to be human. Try a clove and see what happens,” he said, passing one over. “I just eat them like popcorn sometimes. They actually taste like something. I go a little crazy seasoning things sometimes.” As much as he swore by the perks of being undead, he couldn’t really deny that not being able to taste things properly was sort of a pain. After two hundred years, he was used to it, but playing around in the kitchen, trying to find something that would cut through the dullness never quite got old.

The blood wasn’t going as far as it used to, but that was to be expected. Sharing with a roommate, and a newbie at that, was going to make things a little tighter than usual. Oh well. If they started running low on blood bags, Harsh could just go eat a couple joggers. He slid onto a stool at the counter, popping a large forkful of food into his mouth. Decent, but he could do better. “Well, Dr. Gnick killed three people in surgery today and made his interns talk to their families, so that was kind of a shit show. They seriously need to take that guy’s medical license away. If you ever want a watch though, let me know, he loses his in patients all the time. They’re nice ones too. What about you, man? Finding stuff to do around here?”

“Everything about this situation is weird.” Milo countered, throwing the empty blood bag into the bin before putting his mug in the microwave. Setting the timer in the way he had been taught to, the drink should be body temperature by the time the alarm eventually sounded. Just the fact that he knew how long to microwave blood for inarguably supported his statement. That was not normal information to retain. Turning around to lean back against the counter behind him, listening to the quiet hum of the appliance, he wrinkled his nose at the thought of eating garlic cloves like popcorn. He knew as he tried to imagine doing so he was remembering the overpowering taste that came with being human, but it was still a difficult habit to understand. Hesitantly reaching out to take the clove offered to him, he held it up to his eye level, analysing it quietly before deciding he had nothing to lose. Popping it into his mouth, it definitely wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, and Harsh was right about being able to taste… something. But it was only a matter of seconds before he could feel his fangs protruding. They made him feel clumsy, and awkward as he continued to chew. After forcing himself to swallow, he reached up to prod at them with the tip of his finger, raising his eyebrows at his roommate. “So that’s what happens?” He asked. “It doesn’t hurt us but it stops us from looking human?”

It was kind of depressing to think something as mundane as an ingredient could reveal what he was now, draw this monster out of him against his will, but he tried not to dwell on that fact, focusing instead on the microwave as it beeped to alert him that his drink was ready. Once he was comfortably hugging the mug to his chest, he settled into the chair opposite his friend, a quiet laugh escaping him at what he sincerely hoped was a joke. “No he did not.” He countered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Though honestly, shit like that would probably go unnoticed in a place like this.” If doctors could steal blood bags, and he could forge his father’s prescriptions, then people weren’t exactly being vigilant. “I can’t say I’m in the market for a watch,” he admitted. “But I’ll take one if it’s got a gruesome backstory.” Faltering at the question of how he was spending his time, he realised it was the perfect way to change the subject of their conversation. Move it over from lighthearted small talk to something heavier, and more difficult to discuss. Chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, his fangs sharp and uncomfortable against the skin there, he pulled his notebook back towards himself. “Actually…” He tapped his fingers absentmindedly against the page facing upwards. “I spent today coming up with a list of questions.” Offering Harsh a sheepish grin, he watched him carefully for any sign of judgement. “If- if you don’t mind me asking, I mean- I guess his is probably the last thing you want to do after work.”

“Eh, after you’ve been doing it a while, it doesn’t seem that off.” Harsh hardly even thought about it anymore. Drinking blood was just one of those things, like showering or brushing his teeth. But then, he did have about two hundred years to get used to it. He snagged a couple cloves of garlic for himself, not so much as blinking when his fangs jutted out. It took a moment’s focus to get them back in place. Though he didn’t need to. Not like Milo was going to care about it. “Pretty much. So if you’re ever hanging around humans, just make sure you skip the garlic bread.” Garlic usually didn’t prove to be too much of a problem, though Harsh had encountered a couple humans over the years who had tried to slip him some, just to force the fangs out, to prove what they were already certain of. “It would be worse if we could still taste things. I would miss Italian food way more if it still tasted like something. If there’s any kind of food you miss though, I can try to make it. I like playing around with recipes, see what I need to do to make it actually have flavor.”

Harsh laughed, one shoulder rising in a shrug. “Is pulling a watch out of a dead guy’s guts gruesome enough? I swear, the stuff you find in bodies at the hospital is wild.” He had a small collection of things that had been found by the unlucky doctors dealing with the patients who didn’t make it. Maybe it was stealing, but he was pretty sure that no one wanted any of it back. “Questions?” Harsh blinked, caught a little off guard. He shouldn’t have been though. It made sense. When he had first turned, he had probably driven Eleanor crazy with all his questions. “I don’t mind. Better you ask me than try to find vampire forums online, people always make up the weirdest shit. So go for it, kid. Ask me anything.” Hell, this would probably be a better way to spend the night than just watching whatever mindless crap was on TV.

Milo could understand that. Even though on occasion he still caught himself doing something and was inevitably struck by just how strange that something was, his more vampiric habits were slowly becoming second nature. How long until he did things without thinking? Without remembering a time where he didn’t need to? Taking a sip from his mug, washing away the taste of the garlic, he watched Harsh as he retracted his own fangs. It wasn’t the first time he had seen him do it, but now felt like a very good time to ask him how it was possible. “How do you do that? Make them disappear?” He offered a sheepish grin, hiding behind his mug to avoid acknowledging his embarrassment. Maybe no matter what he did, he was going to feel ridiculous for asking so many questions. Maybe he should simply embrace that fact. “Noted.” He laughed quietly at the mention of garlic bread. He wasn’t sure there were many humans he needed to worry about eating around, so it wasn’t very much of a concern. Still, he was willing to take any advice he could get his hands on. “Italian food is your favourite? What was Italian food even like… two hundred years ago? How old are you again?” Making a mental note to think back on any food he missed that Harsh might be able to recreate, he wrinkled his nose at the mention of objects being found in dead bodies. Of course he had ended up with a roommate who liked to collect said items.

“I actually don’t want to know, I’ve changed my mind.” He teased. “I can’t believe you have a collection. Have any ghosts followed you home demanding their shit back?” He was only half joking, he definitely wouldn’t be surprised if the answer ended up being yes. Feeling a little more confident in himself now that the conversation was flowing easily, he nodded, grateful for no longer being able to blush. “Oh, jeez. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll, uh… I’ll stay away from the internet.” Offering his company a genuine smile, he took one more sip of his drink before begrudgingly setting it down. This was going to require his full attention, he couldn’t afford to get distracted. Pulling his notebook towards himself, he let out a huff of breath. Why was it this hard? It shouldn’t be this hard. Especially when Harsh made him feel so comfortable. “Okay, so you know I wrote a list… I’m just going to- I’ll start with the first question.” It was only going to complicate things if he jumbled them, so he swallowed his nerves, steeling himself to rip off the bandaid. “So… why can’t we sleep?” It was something that had been bothering him an awful lot, as of late. He could almost sleep, achieve something that passed the time and felt similar to losing consciousness. But it wasn’t the same. He missed the comfort, and the warmth. He missed the dreaming. “It’s like I can, but I can’t- if you know what I mean. I don’t get it…”

That was a decent question actually. Harsh hesitated, trying to think about it. There was so much that was just automatic now. He had spent so long learning to blend in, how to make himself seem more human, it was something he barely thought about. “You have to kind of relax your mouth. Think un-bloody thoughts. Just let them sink back in. It’s… kind of an instinct thing when they pop out sometimes, y’know? So you have to train yourself to just let them slip back in when you don’t need them. It’ll get easier with time.” At least, that was the hope. If Milo couldn’t figure it out, well… that was going to be a problem for later. He considered the question for a moment, shrugging. “I don’t know if it was my favorite. It depended where you went. I travelled a lot before I turned, everywhere had their own special dish. I’m 262… wait, I might be 263 actually. I sorta stopped keeping track of birthdays a while ago. They seem less special after the hundred year mark.” The date hardly mattered. If he really sat down and thought about it, he could probably remember, but there didn’t seem to be much of a point. It was easier to keep track of the years ticking by.

“Hey, it’s not like I just keep them for the hell of it. Loose watches and rings sell for a lot if you know who wants to buy.” It wasn’t something Harsh technically needed to do, the hospital job paid well enough and he had a decent amount saved. Still, a little extra spending money never hurt. Watching Milo’s posture shift, Harsh sat up a little straighter. So the kid was serious about this. Good, that was good. The more he knew, the better he would handle things out in the world. Huh, that was actually a pretty good question. Harsh rubbed at his chin. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The short answer is that we just don’t need to. I… think when we turn, things in our brain kind of shift a little bit. You don’t need that deep sleep to recharge anymore, so we just… don’t. It’s weird. It’s one of those things that gets easier over time. I think another part of it is… well, humans are kind of wired to sleep at night, but that’s the only time we can really go out and do anything, so we need to be awake for it. If you really miss sleeping… I know a couple people who might be able to help with that.” It wasn’t a guarantee, but hell he had seen spellcasters do a lot more than just put someone to sleep.

Milo glanced down at the blood in his mug, it was tempting him even as they spoke. Maybe thinking ‘un-bloody’ thoughts would need to wait for another time. “Hm, you keep saying that.” He pointed out. Though he had no doubt the words were true, sometimes he felt too impatient to wait for things to become easier with time. Why couldn’t they become easier now? Falling silent again, genuinely intrigued by the answer to his question, he couldn’t imagine how different travelling was back when Harsh had been human. Did he use a horse and cart like in the movies? Or ships, maybe? What other modes of transport were there? A quiet laugh escaping him, he did his best to avoid dwelling on his roommate’s age. It was fun to joke about every now and then, but the reality of it was terrifying. He had gone from feeling certain he probably wouldn’t reach the age of fifty, to knowing he might very well live to see his two hundredth birthday. What were you supposed to do with that information? How were you supposed to come to terms with that? “I guess fitting more than a hundred candles on a cake is pretty impossible anyway.” He teased.

His smile growing as he realised Harsh sold the items he took from the morgue, he wasn’t sure whether that was more or less reassuring. It could definitely be considered economical. Watching as his company sat up a little straighter, he felt another wave of gratitude wash over him. He didn’t need to be taking this so seriously, but apparently he understood how important it was. How desperate he was just to understand. His smile faltered as Harsh began to explain the way their bodies worked, but it didn’t take away from his appreciation. He wanted to say he wasn’t disappointed, that he had inevitably drawn the same conclusion. But he was disappointed. He was never going to have the feeling of waking up next to somebody again. He was never going to be able to drift off in the morning knowing he didn’t need to be up for anything. It was an opportunity to escape reality, to just enjoy being comfortable, and it had been taken from him. Stolen like so many other things. “You- you do?” He asked, unable to hide the sudden spark of hope he felt ignite within his chest. “Like actually sleep? Because I already know from experience I can still drink myself into oblivion.” Taking a quick sip from his mug before picking up his pen and crossing out question number one, he tapped the top of it against his notepad, already thinking over question number two. “Okay…” He continued, making it clear he was moving on. “So how can we be killed? There has to be more than one way, right? And we can get injured, so if we get injured enough, can that be fatal... or is it only if we’re injured by wood?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry. I don’t mean to be a broken record. It’s just… you’re still pretty new to all this, man. You’ve gotta give yourself a break. There’s no rush, y’know? You’ve got a couple hundred years to figure shit out if you play your cards right.” It felt lame to say, but Harsh knew he had been repeating himself. That didn’t make it less true. There were so many things that he had just stumbled onto as time went on, things that just became natural the longer he spent as a thing that went bump in the night. Honestly, some of Milo’s questions kinda threw him. He hadn’t thought about his fangs in such a long time. They were just part of him. It was like asking about how his tongue moved when he was eating something. It just… did it. But that wasn’t a helpful answer. With a laugh, he nodded. “I tried to put a hundred on a cake once. It wasn’t really worth the joke, the whole thing got all waxy and gross. It’s easier to just get those number shaped candles, cheaper too.” The thing about birthdays is that you needed people to celebrate them with. Harsh didn’t always have those. But… maybe he should look into it. There were people in White Crest, his friends, they might like that kind of thing. It was weird to think about.

“Yeah, I do.” Harsh sort of did. It was… maybe a weird ask, but that was probably something Nell could whip up, or maybe he could track down someone a little shadier and ask. It wasn’t as though he had never dreamed as a vampire, though the few times he had, something magic had definitely been at work. So it was possible… probably. He had never actually figured out what it had been that caused all that dream sharing stuff, but it hadn’t been all that important. At least not for him. “Actual, real sleep. It… might get a little weird, magic can do that, but I think it would be more like what you want.” Magic always had its risks. He wasn’t anything close to a spellcaster and he knew that much. Onto the more intense questions then. That was a pretty smart ask though. “There’s a couple ways,” he said, nodding, “stake through the heart is the most popular. You probably know about the sun thing, if you stay out too long, it’s bad news. We’re also shockingly flammable, so I would avoid campfires and arson. And getting your head cut off, but I’m pretty sure that kills most things. Most other things we can heal from, and we heal fast, but you don’t want to get too reliant on that. Bullets and knives still hurt like hell, and if you haven’t had blood in a while, you heal slower.” Harsh didn’t exactly have the scars to prove it, but he could remember more than a few times where he had gotten a little too cocky and paid the price.

Milo smiled at Harsh, silently assuring him he didn’t need to apologise. Especially not for trying to comfort him, even if he did use the same lines on occasion. He was right, although the reminder of his new lifespan still made him nervous. He had time to figure things out, time to become comfortable with what he was, and the strange world he had been thrown into. He was already feeling far better than he had when Harsh first crossed his path, and that was largely due to his help. In a few more months he might even be happy, there really was no way to know. “Hm, but those number candles aren’t anywhere near as dramatic.” He pointed out. “Isn’t a hundred kind of a flex?” Wrinkling his nose at the thought of biting into icing only to realise it was actually wax, he couldn’t deny the inconvenience. But then, did vampires even eat cake? Making a mental note as the conversation shifted back to sleep, he didn’t want to forget. He longed to know who these people were, who he could go to and ask for some spell or potion that might allow him to replicate sleep. But that wasn’t what he was here to discuss. There were more important questions demanding his attention. “I can handle weird.” He assured his roommate, although he had a feeling there might be a lot of evidence to prove otherwise. Until recently he had been a mess, and they both knew it. Only with Harsh’s support had he been able to brush himself off, and hesitantly begin to deal with the loss of his human life.

Pushing away the thought, he focused on his mug of blood, nearly half empty now as it sat on the table in front of him. He picked it up, taking another sip before it was able to get cold. Nodding to show that he was listening to what was being said, he considered the new information. He was more than familiar with people trying to force a stake through his heart, but the mention of fire surprised him. “Wait- we’re flammable?” He asked, his mouth open slightly as he stared in indignant disbelief. “What, so every time I pull out my lighter I could literally fucking die?” As far as he was concerned, he would much rather take the inconvenience of wax on a cake over being scared of the candles. “You’re saying smoking can still kill me…” He added, pouting petulantly as he began to realise how frustrating navigating his smoking habit was going to be. “Shit.” Finishing what was left of his drink, he undeniably did feel better after putting his mug down again. Blood, like so many other substances in his life, was proving to be a wonderful aid when it came to avoiding his problems. “Okay, so…” Letting out a huff of breath, he turned his attention back to his notebook, scanning the questions he had written there, searching for the next one on the list. “You said if I haven’t had blood in a while then I heal slower? How much blood do I need to survive? And what happens to me if I don’t drink it?”

It was a pretty big adjustment, going from expecting to croak in fifty years to knowing there might be hundreds to go. Harsh had been pretty thrown when he had realized just how much time he had. Sure there was that distant deadline, four hundred years, but even that wasn’t an end. It was… a change, but one he wasn’t really eager to think about. Even though he was getting closer to that than he was to a normal human lifespan. Still, not his main problem right now. “Kinda, yeah. I definitely made a pretty big deal of it when I hit triple digits. But the second century seems a little more meh, y’know?” Though maybe that was just him. By the time he had started getting close to two hundred, everything had started to seem… less than it used to be. The hollow inside had started to grow, nothing ever filling it. Nothing lasted, nothing mattered. Huh, were souls a thing on Milo’s list? Harsh was half tempted to ask. Nah, probably better not to touch that unless the kid brought it up. “Alright, I can ask. Do you--have you messed with anything magic before? We can’t do it, at least I’m pretty sure we can’t. But there’s kind of… a lot of it just going off around here.” Milo was from the area, he had to have noticed some things weren’t quite normal in town. How anyone didn’t know that White Crest was a supernatural hot spot was beyond him. Denial was a hell of a drug.

With a little laugh, Harsh nodded. “Yeah. I mean, you’re probably not going to go up in flames if you drop your smokes on you, but… you might just want to be a little more careful with them. Just in case.” He had seen a few vamps catch fire before, it wasn’t pretty. Still, it didn’t usually happen by accident… usually. There had been a few idiots here and there who had landed themselves in rough shape. “It’s possible,” he said, shrugging and shooting Milo a sympathetic smile. “Just be careful and you shouldn’t have a problem… but I might stay away from bonfires if I were you.” Ah, blood, of course. It always came back around to that. Harsh hardly thought about it now. But the questions were good ones. “Yeah, and it’s not just healing. If I go too long without blood, I start getting antsy, it gets harder to focus on anything except for when I’m getting that next blood bag.” He fought down a slight shudder as he spoke. It had been ages since the last time he had gone too long without a drink, but the times he’d stretched his supply a little too thin always stuck in the back of his mind. “It depends. You’re still new, so… I wouldn’t go more than a week without a pint of blood. Once you adjust more, you can probably stretch it to two weeks, maybe three, but it starts getting risky around then. If you don’t get any… for me, I start feeling a lot less like a person. It gets to where it’s all you can think about. And, if it gets really bad, you might kind of lose yourself until you get another drink, and at that point, you’ll probably do anything you have to to get it.”

“Hm, the second century…” Milo echoed, amused by the absurdity of the statement. He could only imagine being that old, but one day he wouldn’t need to. One day it would be him reaching the triple digits. “Have I- no.” He answered, caught off guard by the unexpected question. “I mean, I don’t even know anybody who can do magic… I don’t think I do, anyway.” It was still strange to consider how many people from his life had been living in a secret, supernatural world. If he was being entirely honest he probably did know a witch or two. They just hadn’t told him about what they could do. “Why? Is it like, dangerous or something? Are you going to tell me it’s more trouble than it’s worth?” He almost dreaded the words, not because he would heed any advice Harsh had to offer, but because it would be another element of his life that came with risks, strings attached, people worrying over his safety, and growing restless when he refused to listen to them. He already had enough of that without turning to magic as a sleeping aid. “Yeah, no shit.” He added. “Ever since I died this place seems to get weirder by the fucking day…” He missed the days of blissful ignorance, the days where he could leave the house without worrying whether a Slayer might be waiting at the end of the street to stake him. Picking up his mug again, he sighed, clutching it to his chest as he listened to his roommate.

“If I did careful then I wouldn’t be a vampire.” He pointed out. Though they both knew he would be careful knowing the risk fire now posed to him. Not as careful as any sane person, but given his record any level of vigilance was commendable on his part. Paying closer attention as the conversation moved back to blood, he finished what was left of his drink, carefully savouring the taste of it. “I guess I kind of know that feeling…” He admitted, thinking back on every time he had ever been forced to go without his pills, or his cigarettes, or abstain from drinking alcohol. It was never an enjoyable experience. “I, uh… don’t think stretching is for me.” He realised as he said the words that maybe sometimes stretching would be his only option. Blood wasn’t exactly easy to source in an ethical manner. Without Harsh’s connection to the hospital, he didn’t know where his supply might be coming from. He wouldn’t let himself dwell on the thought. Swallowing as his company began to tell him about the risks of not eating properly, he lowered his gaze, tapping his fingers against the ceramic in his hands. He already knew what it felt like to lose himself, he never wanted to suffer through that again. “Like when you wake up… after you die...” He asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Would Harsh even be able to remember waking up? It had happened to him so long ago.

Forcing down the memories of his first, and only attack, he stared at his notebook, at the questions still written there demanding to be vocalised. “You mentioned healing…” He murmured, determined to change the subject, although he knew his next question was going to be a difficult question to ask. Harsh was more than aware of the fact that he liked to indulge, the man had even walked with him to pick up on the night they crossed paths with each other, but he still worried he could end up facing judgement, or the specific brand of sympathetic concern that still managed to set his teeth on edge. “This is hypothetical,” he started, knowing his lie would be obvious but feeling the need to insist upon it all the same. “But with the whole… the healing faster than humans thing, do you think I could still use, y’know- intravenously?” Glancing down at the marks on his arms, scars from long ago that were apparently going to forever blemish his skin, he forced himself to press on. “I guess I can’t OD anymore, right? Is that something I still need to worry about?”

That sort of made sense. Most people didn’t believe in magic until they saw it right in front of them, and sometimes that wasn’t even enough to do it. Harsh shifted his weight from foot to foot, a slight frown on his face. The question here was just how much to tell Milo. “More like it’s just literally not a thing we can do. Something about undeath and magic just doesn’t seem to mix. I don’t really know much more than that, honestly. I’ve heard people kind of lose their mojo if they turn like us. They’ll try to do a spell and just, nothing. I tried to mess with some a while back and never got anywhere.” He kept his tone light, casual, hoping Milo wouldn’t ask just what he had been trying to do. There were a dozen things he could make up, a few that weren’t even that far from the truth. “It’s also dangerous as shit if you don’t know what you’re doing. I won’t tell you not to mess with magic or spellcasters, I’m not the boss of you, but that stuff can go wrong and it’s not pretty when it does.” It was only just now getting weirder for him? Well, maybe that made sense. Milo had sort of been thrust into the thick of it.

With a soft laugh, Harsh nodded, holding up his hands. “Fair enough.” He couldn’t really argue with Milo on that one. Careful and becoming undead didn’t exactly go hand in hand. He nodded. “That’s probably better honestly. What really gets people in trouble is when they think they can make it on just a sip of blood every month. You’ll be a lot better off if you stay regular with it, especially if you’re not always drinking human blood.” He was still going to have to teach Milo how to hunt. It wasn’t exactly necessary at the moment, but two vamps meant a few more blood bags needed to go missing every month. Harsh had gotten good at keeping a low profile over the years. Milo though was still new, and new vamps weren’t exactly predictable. With a grimace, he nodded again. “Just like that. It’s… rough. People do a lot of things they regret if they go hungry for too long. I’d try just to not let it get to that point.” Easier said than done, honestly.

Ah, that. Now that was a bit of a hazy area. Harsh smoked and drank here and there, but he had never dabbled much in stronger stuff. It had never really appealed to him. A blood addiction was enough as far as he was concerned. But it was still worth asking. “Right, so… I’m not exactly an expert on that. But I think you could. You’re probably going to have to jab a little harder and you might need a stronger dose than before if you want to feel something.” He paused, letting his thoughts drift back for a moment. Though he had never messed around with anything beyond a few pot brownies, he had met a couple vamps over the years who hadn’t been able to leave their old vices behind. “I did have a few buddies a while back, they said they could still get what they needed if they fed from a human who just used. I don’t know if you’d want to do that, but… it’s an option, I guess. It sounds kind of risky to me though.” Drugs and drinking straight from a human sounded like a combination that was bound to end in disaster, but hell, Harsh had never tried it himself so what did he know. “I don’t think you need to worry too much about OD’ing now. I’d be more worried about someone thinking you OD’ed and sending you to the hospital. It’s really hard to explain waking up in a morgue.”

Milo made a mental note to avoid magic when he could, although toying with it didn’t necessarily interest him. He was looking for a way to replicate sleep, if that wasn��t possible he wasn’t sure staying away from potions, and spells would be difficult. Part of him was curious to know why, and how Harsh had been involved in spellcasting, it was becoming increasingly clear he was speaking from experience, but the older vampire was always so open when he wanted to be. If he wasn’t volunteering the information there was definitely a reason. He was under his roof, drinking his blood, picking his brain for answers to his never ending list of questions. The very least he could do was respect his privacy. “I’m not about to try and learn, don’t worry.” He insisted, hoping to alleviate some of his company’s concern. He had far too much going on to invite more chaos into his life, especially for something as simple as a good day of sleep. Smiling at the sound of Harsh’ laughter, he enjoyed the fact that the conversation felt casual, and calm. Any embarrassment, or vulnerability was fading away, replaced by a familiar sense of comfort. It was a reminder that he was safe in Harsh’s company, a reminder that for some unknown reason, the man wanted him to be okay.

“Is it good for you?” He asked, unable to help himself. He had never once considered the nutritional value of his diet, what his new body needed from it now. “To drink both?” He thought back to his nights spent on the edges of town, chasing aimlessly after every animal moronic enough to cross his path. Sometimes he got lucky, sometimes he actually managed to catch something, but the animals were usually weak or injured. He knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against a healthy creature, one determined to escape him. The blood couldn’t compare to human blood, but it had still tasted decent, and more importantly, it had kept him sane. Would he ever have to go back to that? Should he never have left it behind? Chewing on his bottom lip, fighting to keep his expression neutral, he didn’t want to talk about his own experience with losing control. He wasn’t ready to discuss that with anyone, not even Harsh. So he stayed silent, nodding quietly in response. It was only as Harsh moved on to his next question that he finally looked back up to catch his eye again.

A stronger dose. He wasn’t exactly against the notion, although he could hear his wallet adamantly protesting the news. He really should start thinking about going back to his job, but that part of his human life felt so out of reach, impossible to even consider. Not yet. Not now. Not after everything. “You did?” He asked, immediately desperate to know more. There were people out there who understood what he was worried about, who knew everything he needed to know if he wanted to continue supporting his habits. Where were they? How could he find them? Just as quickly as a sense of hope washed over him, it was replaced by a chill that seemed to shoot up the length of his spine. He couldn’t remember very much of his death, but his hazy memories were enough to make his friend’s words sound uncomfortably familiar. So he could give somebody drugs, and get high through drinking their blood? Apparently that particular strategy ended with people bleeding out on the floor of abandoned buildings. He suppressed a shudder, trying not to think too hard on the subject. He didn’t know that was why he died, and until he did he was determined to forget the details of his death, forget the trauma that he couldn’t seem to shake. “Yeah…” He murmured, reaching up absentmindedly to press his fingers against the base of his throat. “It does…” Forcing a smile again at the mention of waking up in a morgue, he had seen enough tv shows frame the situation as a joke to be able to glean some humour from the warning. Lowering his hand, he leaned forward to pull his notebook closer towards himself, scanning the list, surprised to realise he was nearing the end of it. “Okay,” he said, brushing off the previous questions, ready to be replaced. “How do you make somebody a vampire? What do you have to do for them to, you know… change? Obviously I’m not asking because I want to... I just… I can’t remember what happened to me. I want to know what was done to me.”

It was sort of a relief that Milo didn’t ask. Because if he did, Harsh would tell him. Maybe he should anyway. Was there anything about souls on that vampire question sheet? He almost wanted to sneak a peek at it. It wasn’t exactly… uncommon knowledge, but he had run into plenty of vamps over the years who had never even thought about their soul, let alone getting rid of it. He gave Milo a little smile. “Probably better that way. There’s plenty of witches hanging around town if you need some magic done anyway. It’s actually pretty cool if you watch someone who knows what they’re doing.” Cool and terrifying. Even when a spell was going right there was a chance it could go south at any second. Harsh sort of liked that rush… and he wouldn’t be that surprised if Milo did too.

“Yeah, a while back. I can try looking them up if you want.” The offer was one Harsh might not be able to cash in on. It had been ages, and those buddies weren’t really the type to have a consistent phone number or address… if they were even still around at all. “You might be able to find some people who know more about that down at this club called Teeth. You heard of it?” It probably wasn’t the sort of place he should send Milo to alone. He didn’t go there much himself, but he could chaperone now and then. God that was a weird idea, being the responsible one. When the hell did that happen? He was going to have to go out and make some dumb choices after this. Being responsible felt off. He had been trying to fake it, force it, for years. The fact that it was just kind of… happening now was weird. Unnerving.

Oh… now that was a question. Harsh let his fingers drum on the counter for a second. “Yeah, I get you.” It was understandable, wanting to get a grip on what had happened to him. “It’s not that complicated… mostly. You have to drain someone till they’re almost dead then get them to drink your blood and they should turn.” He paused, lips pulling into a grimace. “But you’ve got to be careful with it. Sometimes people turn, but… they don’t end up like us. Have you heard of spawn before? They’re… still vampires technically, but they’re not people anymore, not like we are. Some vampires make spawn on purpose, but it’s pretty messed up.” He should know, he’d done it a few times for shits and giggles. It had never turned out as funny as he had thought it would.

Milo resisted the urge to let out a huff of breath, of course White Crest was filled with witches. It seemed as though you could roll a dice on supernatural creatures and run into one the second you opened your door. “It sounds pretty cool.” He admitted. “But I can’t think of any reason why I might need magic… apart from the whole sleeping thing.” And maybe he should hold off on that for now. If magic could come with complications, didn’t his life have enough of those already? Humming softly as he considered the offer, he shot Harsh a sheepish grin. He was grateful he wasn’t being judged, or even reprimanded for his blatant intentions, but he hadn’t been expecting such a genuine level of support. “You’ve already done so much for me… I mean, only if it isn’t too much trouble?” Teeth. He felt sure he would remember visiting any place with such a distinctive name. “Uh… no,” he said, hoping to prompt a further explanation. There weren’t many establishments in White Crest he hadn’t frequented at least once before. And now he was incredibly curious to know more.

Feeling the atmosphere shift, becoming more serious as Harsh considered his latest question, he watched his fingers as they drummed against the surface of the table, the noise was quiet but incredibly distracting. Hearing the words, feeling them wash over him as his brain began to process what they meant, he had to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. “I… drank somebody’s blood?” He asked, repressing a shudder. Drinking blood now was part of his every day routine, but he had been human then. Had he willingly taken it, or had his attacker forced it upon him? “Spawn?” He nodded, a frown creasing his brow as he looked back down at his list. The question ‘What does Spawn mean?’ jumping out at him in his clumsy, familiar handwriting. “Someone mentioned them to me once… but I didn’t know what they meant.” Feeling his stomach jolt as he realised he could have become the something other Harsh was talking about, he wondered what his chances had been. Whether he should be considering himself lucky for waking up as a vampire. “How do you make them? Is it the same… process?” He asked. If they could be created intentionally then surely there was a technique. “How do you know what somebody is going to become?”

“You never know. It’s pretty helpful if you lose something.” Harsh wasn’t about to list off his big reason for needing magic. But he should. Milo should know. He should tell him the truth. No… there was no reason to scare the kid. And it wasn’t like he owed him that information. Souls were personal. If Milo found out about them, Harsh could tell him then. Why was he even so hung up on it? It wasn’t like it mattered. He was faking it perfectly fucking well. No reason to go and throw all that away. “It’s no problem, kid. I don’t get out enough anyway.” Probably better to have someone around for Milo’s first big vamp outing. There were a lot of bad influences out there. Harsh should know. He used to be one of the worst. Plus, if Milo went on some kind of drug fuelled blood bender, that would just make things more difficult for everyone. “We can hit it up this weekend if you want, see if it’s your scene.”

Huh, so Milo really didn’t remember any of it. That was… rough. Harsh could still remember his. Well, parts of it at least. He hadn’t been alone. Eleanor had held his hand as the world went dark around him and been there when he woke up desperate to feed. Poor kid didn’t have any of that. “Yeah, that’s… kind of how it works,” he said, with a little wince. So he had at least heard of spawn, that was better than nothing. “Spawn give us a bad name. They’re the ones slayers should be dealing with.” He nodded, arms crossing over his chest. “Same process. I… don’t know exactly. I’ve always thought of it as an intent sort of thing. I know it can be done on purpose.” No need to tell Milo he knew at least partially from experience. “When you turn someone… it’s kind of this whole… thing. Siring someone isn’t something most people do lightly. I guess I’ve always thought of it as kind of a willpower and focus sort of thing. When you sire someone, you have to mean it, you have to want it. And if that’s not strong enough… it can go wrong. It gets easier to turn someone else properly the longer you’ve been at it. I’ve known some people who just turned who try to bring their family along for the undead ride and… it doesn’t usually go well.”

“I don’t have all that much to lose these days.” Milo admitted, thinking about the meagre collection of belongings he had managed to salvage from his friend’s house. He should probably go home, he still needed clothes, his laptop, and maybe there were even a few comic books he couldn’t live without. But the task felt so daunting. Watching Harsh, noticing the shadow of an emotion he couldn’t quite place, he wondered whether the older vampire had ever lost anything. Maybe one day he would ask him. “I, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how ready he was to walk into a room full of vampires. His killer could be there and he might never even know. “Maybe… I’m still getting used to going out again, period. It’s a- it’s a weird adjustment.” He offered a smile, letting his roommate know he was incredibly grateful for the offer. For everything. He wasn’t sure where he would be without the man sitting opposite him, who worked in a hospital, and liked to cook human food just for the fun of it. He cared about him, in an altogether unexpected way. He had been saved by Harsh. It was undeniable at this point.

“From the way it sounds they don’t mean to give us a bad name.” He pointed out, feeling a strange pang of sympathy for the monsters being described. It was a horrifying thought, becoming twisted, and warped in a way that forced you to lose who you were forever. At least he was still Milo, at least he could cling to the things that made him exactly who he was. “So… the person who did this to me, they wanted me to become a vampire. They cared enough for this-” He gestured vaguely to his neck, wrinkling his nose as he remembered the scars there. “To be successful, just not enough to stick around, I guess…” Letting out a huff of breath, he tried not to look affected, finally picking up his fork and taking a mouthful of his stir fry, if anything just for something to do. Glancing up again at the mention of people turning family, he couldn’t imagine that thought ever even crossing his mind. Maybe because he refused to acknowledge the way his future stretched out before him. Maybe because he didn’t want to admit the fact that one day his parents would no longer be there for him. Everything about the idea felt wrong, somehow. Dooming your family simply because you yourself had been doomed. He was never going to be that person. “M’kay…” He hurried to swallow, turning his attention back to the notebook, to the final question written at the edge of the page. “The last question is probably dumb but… you know the whole sunlight thing? What does happen if we stay out in the sun? When I first… y’know, I was in the sun for a while and I started to feel... I can’t explain it, I just knew I had to find some shade. Do we just get ill, and weak, or is it something more than that?”

A weird adjustment period was putting it pretty mildly. Even more than a hundred years later, Harsh remembered the shift being rough. He returned Milo’s smile easily. Milo was a good kid. He didn’t ask for any of this shit, not like Harsh did. The fact that he had been left high and dry to figure it all out on his own… even without a soul, it rubbed Harsh the wrong way. At his very worst, he had still stuck around to make sure the vamps he sired knew what was up. It was just the thing to do. “Don’t worry if it takes you a while. It’s better to be safe than sorry with… everything. But you’ve got time now, man, you don’t have to rush it.” That was a pretty big perk of the whole undeath thing. Milo had at least a couple centuries before him if he wanted them… and if he was careful. But that was always a pretty big if with new vampires. If Harsh was smart, he wouldn’t get attached, wouldn’t get invested. Harsh had never really considered himself particularly bright.

“They don’t,” Harsh said, sighing. “They don’t mean to do anything but feed. It’s not their fault really… spawn can’t really think like we can. Everything gets stripped away except that hunger.” It was pretty bleak if he actually thought about it. Usually, he didn’t. That was easy, not dwelling, not thinking. But Milo wasn’t like him. Milo still had his soul, he still felt for people. Now that was an interesting question. Did whoever turned Milo actually care? What were they after? Why him? Harsh nodded slowly. “They meant for this to happen. Whoever it was, whatever reason they had… they wanted you to be this way.” Probably. Harsh had heard of plenty of people accidentally creating spawn. But he had never heard of someone accidentally siring someone if they meant them to go the other way. Sunlight, that was another good question, even if it had Harsh fighting down a wince. “You don’t want to test it, trust me. If you stay out too long, you start to burn. Remember how we’re flammable? Think of the sun like the biggest lighter out there. It just takes a while to get the fire going.”

“Yeah…” Milo agreed, despite feeling as though maybe he was taking too long. Had Harsh been this shaken up when he first became a vampire? How long did it take him to stop feeling nervous, and scared? But he did have time, an awful lot of time, and somebody willing to be patient with him. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe, for the first time in his life, he was being forced to process change in a healthy manner. “Thank you…” He added, struck by a sudden sense of gratitude. “I mean, I know I say that enough for the phrase to lose all meaning but I do still mean it.” Taking another mouthful of stir fry, chewing it for longer this time to see if he could bring out any more flavour, he used his fork to push the food around his plate, listening as Harsh began to elaborate on Spawn. The subject made him uncomfortable for so many reasons. Because it made him anxious knowing he could have become one, because it upset him to know other people were suffering, because there was no way to save them, or teach them how to live again. It was over. It was a fate worse than death.

Letting out a quiet huff of breath, he hesitantly glanced back up at his friend. They meant for this to happen. It was one thing to draw a conclusion himself, another thing entirely for Harsh to tell him he was right. There was no room for doubt, his roommate was speaking the truth. But that only left him with more questions, questions he might never find answers to. “Yeah, well… fuck him, right?” He muttered, wishing he could say the words and miraculously let go of his trauma. Even though speaking them did offer him a degree of satisfaction, it was never going to be quite that easy. Raising his eyebrows as Harsh seemed to wince at the mention of sunlight, he was so relieved for the distraction that he found himself resisting the urge to laugh. It wouldn’t exactly be appropriate until he understood the context, until he knew what Harsh had been through to warrant such a reaction. But a vampire being so averse to sunlight that he didn’t even like somebody mentioning the sun was amusing. He couldn’t pretend otherwise. “Right,” he nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Like an ant under a magnifying glass, jeez…” Repressing a shudder, he made the conscious decision not to dwell on the information. He could truly consider everything he had learned in the morning, when he was curling up in bed, alone, and safe underneath his comforter. Now he only wanted to enjoy an evening with Harsh, his roommate, his friend… his mentor? It was true, he wasn’t sure where he would be without him. But he did know, all things considered, that he was more than content with where he had ended up.

#drug abuse tw #drug use tw #medical blood tw #drug manipulation tw #overdose tw #needles tw #milo and harsh #c:harsh

2 notes · View notes

connorspiracy · 3 years

Text

Seance In The Library || Connor & Leah

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Public Library PARTIES: @connorspiracy & @phoenixleah SUMMARY: With the time for the second exorcism of Nadia/Cordelia looming closer, Connor goes looking for knowledge. Leah is happy to assist.

Blanche had been fucking stabbed and Cordelia was still out there, and that knowledge filled Connor with even more extreme sense of urgency. Nadia had been practicing her possessions, so it was almost time to put things into practice. He knew he’d have another exorcist for help, but he still wanted to do his research. There had been so much going on recently; Bloody Mary, Adam’s full moon mania, Jasmine’s Larry Bob problem, that it was tough to keep up. It was his fault for not getting it right the first time. Blanche could have died, all because he’d messed up. Nadia was still floating around in ghost form somewhere, and that spiteful little poltergeist was taunting them on Nadia’s social media. They’d dug through every fucking book in Rio’s library and he still hadn’t found anything that would help with Cordelia. It was time to branch out. That was what brought Connor to the definitely-regular library, wandering around the occult section, probably looking like a right weirdo. It had probably been a good few minutes before he caught the eye of someone who looked like an employee. “Oh, hey,” he said, putting on his best charming smile, doing everything he could not to look like an out-of-place dodgy creep. “‘Scuse me, love,” he said, not to be demeaning, but just because it was how posh London boys spoke. “Do you have anything on exorcisms, or possession and stuff?”

More often than not, when someone was wandering around the so-called ‘fiction’ occult section in White Crest Library, Leah found that they were looking for help with real, and often very urgent problems. It was easy to tell apart those who had an obsession with all things weird and were looking for a good read, and those who actually needed information, whether it was by body language, facial expression, or even something more subtle that she couldn’t put her finger on. She was glad the library was there to help. The problem was, it was usually hard for the average person to decipher between what was actually fiction in that section, and what was written by real, legitimate authors that could offer invaluable information. It was for this reason that she usually hung just beyond the section whenever someone made their way there, ready and willing to offer help if ever the situation arose. She smiled at the patron politely, a bit taken aback but intrigued by his accent.

She licked her lips at his question, looking at the shelves they were both standing in front of. “Oh, we have a ton on all of that”, she said, raising her eyebrows. More than the average library, certainly. “Some would say we have too much on that subject”, she teased, pulling out one of the books in front of them, scoffing at the pictures on the cover. “These here are all pretty poorly written”, she commented, handing him the book in question. “But if any of that stuff were real, and well, of course it’s not… But if it were, you’d probably find the more legitimate works over this way”, she said, leading him toward the shelves a bit to their right. “Are you planning on possessing someone? Or just getting into the nitty-gritty of our weird town and looking to read about the occult?”

Connor had a pretty good instinct for people, and he could tell upon meeting the young woman (Leah, according to her name tag) that she was keen to help. There was a certain brightness about her, a glimmer in her eye that spoke of curiosity and kindness. He felt himself smiling almost without meaning to. "A ton?" he repeated, chuckling. "Well, a ton is what I'm looking for." He couldn't help but smirk a little at her real-but-not-real description of this particular section, following her to what she called the more legitimate section. "Oh, it's definitely real. You know exactly what I'm looking for. Thank you." There was really no use in holding up pretenses when he was all over the internet.

"Me? No, no, I'm not the possessor. I'm an exorcist. I'm looking for something a bit different, you see. Something that's probably a bit... weirder? It's less taking the wrong soul out of the body and more putting the right one back in. Does that make sense?" He realised how that sounded, holding up his hands and shaking his head. "Um, not necromancy. Shit. Jesus. No, there are no dead bodies involved, fortunately. Definitely possession. But more... if the exorcism yeeted the wrong person, and you have to put it back."

This man definitely knew about the realities of White Crest, based on his reaction, but Leah wasn’t one to reveal her knowledge of them as well, especially not to a patron and a stranger. He didn’t have to play along with her game of ignorance, but Leah fully intended on upholding it as long as realistically possible. For now, she brushed off his words about her protest of reality. Her eyes widened, not used to someone being so open about necromancy, of all things. She was about to ask if he was trying to reanimate a corpse, when his elaboration made it clear that wasn’t exactly what he was talking about. She laughed, surprised that he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.“Okay, not so simple, then”, she said, letting out a breath and trying to think. “Is there a wrong soul inhabiting the body right now, though? Because I think, if this were real, you’d still need a way to get that one out, no?” She worked while she talked, pulling books out of the shelves here and there as she got more ideas of what might help. “What if you found a way to help the right soul back into their body by… teaching them how to possess? If they were possessed in the first place, why not do to the wrong soul what was done to them?”

It struck Connor that perhaps he shouldn't have been so honest about Nadia's predicament, but how else was he going to get the help he needed? It wasn't like he was naming names. He made it a habit to almost never be dishonest about the supernatural, whether people wanted to know or not. "Not simple, no." He perused the shelves, flicking through the first book, page by page. "Wrong soul out, wrong one in. I was supposed to expel the other. I'm not sure what happened." The corners of his lips curved into a grin when she mentioned teaching Nadia how to possess. "You're not the first person that's had that thought. We're working on it. Just thought our lost soul could use all the help they can get."

Leah let out a breath, watching the man carefully. “I’m with you on that, the more preparedness you can get for a situation like this, the better.” She placed the books she’d been piling on the table nearby with a thud, her face turning serious. “Are they a friend of yours, then?” She’d read in the scribe journals about a similar situation many times- souls inhabiting bodies that weren’t their own, loved ones desperate to get the right soul back to where it belonged, but it wasn’t always easy- nor was it always successful. “I’m sure you’re aware that what you’re trying to do is very dangerous”, she said, dropping the pretense she knew the man didn’t need for only a moment. “I have some… loose information on the subject in the basement that might offer extra guidance, if you’re willing to wait for me to make some copies.”

“The floating, bodiless spirit? I dunno if I’d call them a friend. Lots of people I know are friends with them though. I wanted to help.” He was probably sharing far too much information, but Connor rarely ever saw the need to lie. Either people accepted his words or didn’t, but he rarely sugar-coated them. “Dangerous, ha, yeah. You could say that.” The spirit trapped in Nadia’s body was a murderer. She was a poltergeist. Those factors alone were dangerous enough without adding exorcisms to the mix. “Oh, you have a basement?” Where they kept the good stuff, no doubt. He made a mental note of it. “That’d be sound. I can come and help, if you want?”

“A friend of friends, then”, she said with a smile and a nod. Leah could understand the sentiment of wanting to help someone, even if she hardly knew them. She supposed that was why she enjoyed the job she had so much. “Have you done this sort of double reverse exorcism before?”, she asked, curious. The dude clearly knew what he was talking about, but something like this was almost unprecedented. If something similar had happened in White Crest recently, she hadn’t heard about it. Her expression turned serious when he asked about the basement, and she hoped he didn’t notice the way her body stiffened. “A small, sparse basement, yes, to hold lose works that wouldn’t fit in any sections up here. It’s off limits unless you’re a certified employee”, she explained shortly. “I’m sure you understand. We all have protocols we need to follow.”

"Yeah, friend of a friend." And those friends (especially that angry Kaden guy) would probably kick Connor’s ass if he didn't fix this. He tried to let his genuine interest in the conversation with the young woman overtake his fear of what would happen if this went wrong again. "I haven't. It's pretty exciting. If you ignore the potentially horrifying consequences of it going wrong," he said with a vague chuckle. "You don't seem to be acting like I'm fucking bonkers, by the way. I appreciate that. It's refreshing. White Crest Lifer?" Not that living here meant you had to believe in the truth about the town. He’d met far too many who would rather bury their head in the sand and not think about what they might get bitten by. Literally.

Leah leaned against a wall as the man spoke, now fully fascinated at the prospect of what he was trying to do. If it meant saving someone’s life and letting someone else’s soul pass on, she wanted to be as helpful as she could. “But you can’t not try”, she said, understanding. “Not trying feels worse, somehow, than trying and failing.” At his next words, she glanced around them, making sure to confirm that no one was in earshot of their conversation. As a scribe, it felt like a betrayal to open up to a stranger about her awareness of the supernatural so willingly, but as a phoenix, it felt kind of invigorating. Her expression was soft as she answered. “Sometimes it’s nice not to have to hold up appearances”, she said. “I’ve lived here my whole life, and believe it or not, the library is where a lot of people turn to get help with this sort of thing.” She looked at the book she’d laid out for him, knowing they wouldn’t be enough. “How about I go get those copies for you, hmm? I’d like to think they’ll be really useful.” Without a second glance, she flashed him another smile. As she quickened her pace toward the basement, she held the key in her hand firmly, ready for the familiar motion of unlocking the door that held so many of White Crests secrets underneath.

“Exactly,” Connor said, a little more serious than he’d been moments before. The happy-go-lucky casual conversation vibe could only stay at the forefront for so long. “I had to try the first time, even though it went wrong and my friend was upset with me for buggering it up. Now I feel even more motivated to make sure I get it right.” Connor returned Leah’s smile, grateful for her help. “I never keep up any appearances, ever,” he chuckled. “I literally have a whole YouTube channel talking about ghosts and exorcisms and stuff, so secrecy isn’t really my strength, but…” He looked at her with a small, sincere nod. “I really appreciate this, okay? I really think we’re gonna get it right this time.” He didn’t have a choice. Not succeeding was unthinkable. He wouldn’t fail Nadia again.

#paras #with: leah

6 notes · View notes

jealousmaude · 4 years

Text

Stories with Strangers

Ezra (Prospect, 2018) x OC (sorta)

Prompt: Ezra makes up an heroic story about losing his arm in order to impress a pretty lady at the local watering hole

A/N: The above prompt was given to me by @ifalltheyearwereplayingholidays when I was bored and wanted to write something. It was meant to be a short drabble but my hand slipped and whoops it’s 3.9k words. Only my second Prospect fic and Ezra talks A LOT. I hope I did him justice. I’m always down to talk about Ezra more, feel free to drop me a line!

Warnings: None I think. A bit of vaguely described gore?

Tagged: @lalablue0 Thanks for the gentle nudging and encouragement as always

When Ezra walked into the bar he knew he’d picked the right one. He was in a fringe city, on a fringe planet, looking for fringe work. It usually paid the best. But tonight he was just looking for a quiet drink in a dive bar where no one would look twice at him. And this was that bar. A dark and dirty bar with dark and dirty patrons. There were two men hunched over a table talking conspiratorially who looked up at him when he entered, but quickly went back to their hushed conversation when they deemed him no threat. There was a man lounging in a booth with two women he had no doubt paid to fawn over him. Another booth housed a couple of thugs surrounded by an excessive amount of empty bottles and glasses, having an animated and at times violent conversation. At the end of the bar was another working girl chatting up a depressed man who seemed far more interested in his drink than the girl, but she was determined. The shabbily dressed barman was leaning against the bench behind the bar, cleaning a beer glass with a filthy rag in the most stereotypical barman fashion ever, while ogling the young woman.

This was the right place indeed.

Ezra smiled to himself and approached the bar. The barman heaved himself upright, clunked the glass down, tossed the rag beside it and ambled over to Ezra as if it was most inconvenient of him to want service.

“Amber. Top shelf. Neat." He knew in a place like this the alcohol wasn’t going to be of the highest quality so he figured he’d improve his chances of something drinkable if he aimed high. The barman grunted in acknowledgement and hauled himself around. He reached up to the highest shelf of bottles, revealing his unsightly underarm stains. He took a bottle of dark amber liquid, sloshed it into a smudged glass and plonked it unceremoniously in front of Ezra.

“You’re a prince among men,” Ezra said with barely concealed sarcasm as he tossed some credits on the bar. The barman grunted again as he collected the payment and returned to wiping not very clean glasses with not very clean rags.

Drink in hand, he turned to survey the bar again. He enjoyed people watching. The longer you observed a person for the better you got at judging their behaviour. That came in handy in Ezra’s line of work. And if he couldn’t quietly watch them, then he would talk as much as he could to them. At them, it usually ended up being. He could tell a lot about people based on how they responded to his stories and that helped him down the line when he needed to know who he could trust if - or when - things went south.

Out of the corner of his eye something bright caught his attention. He turned to see a woman sitting at the end of the bar by herself. She had a shock of bright red curly hair covered by a hood, which would explain why Ezra had missed her on his way in, but that now stood out like a neon sign. She had a drink and a book open in front of her. He watched her reading for a moment and while she appeared to not want, or need, company, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to talk to someone who may have an interesting story to tell. He had lost count of the days since he had conversed meaningfully with another person.

He approached her and sat at the other angle of the bar next to her. Her eyes flicked up to him for a second, then back to her book.

“Forgive the intrusion, but you have piqued my curiosity by reading a book at a bar when there are so many interesting beings here to observe. I must know what it is that is so engrossing.” Not his best opening line, but he’s used worse.

The woman slowly raised her head to meet Ezra’s eyes. She studied him for a moment, her eyes wandering down to his right shoulder, then back up to his face. Ezra was used to people being distracted by the missing limb. It usually got surreptitious, side-ways glances. More often than not, it was left unaddressed. Which suited him just fine. Recounting the story was not something he enjoyed doing.

The woman continued to gaze at him, as if she was waiting for him to continue. He cleared his throat, “my name is Ezra,” he said and pressed his hand to his chest by way of introduction, hoping it would spur the woman on to talk. She didn’t, though she looked thoughtful, as if she was carefully considering her response. After a moment's further silence, Ezra decided she was a lost cause and moved to excuse himself. “I have clearly interrupted you, I’ll leave you to your book.” He went to stand when the woman spoke:

“I’ll tell you my name… if you tell me how you lost your arm.” she said plainly.

Ezra tried to hide how taken aback he was. But her candid approach was refreshing and he felt compelled to tell her… almost…

“Oooooh, this is a story of great heroics on my part,” he said gesturing to his missing arm. “Many people are alive today thanks to my heroic actions.”

A small smile played on her lips and she leaned forward with interest. “A story of heroics? I would never have guessed!” Ezra noted the sarcasm but continued nonetheless.

“Indeed. Though I try to stay humble, of course.” He might as well go all in and play up to the woman’s expectations.

She huffed out a small laugh, humouring him. “Of course.”

“I was on Kapria-1, a dull little planet with no culture to speak of but spectacular deposits of an ore that is highly sought after in the outer systems. Terribly valuable stuff due in no small part to it being a tough bastard of a thing to extract. Time consuming, complicated and requiring specialty tools that are themselves, complicated to use. But the rewards far outweigh the tedious chore of obtaining it.” He paused for effect and to see if the woman would refute any of his story so far. She didn’t. He continued.

“The only other thing Kapria-1 is known for is the wildlife. Namely, a vicious creature called a Fanger.”

“A Fanger?” She replied, not bothering to hide her utter disbelief.

“A Fanger,” Ezra confirmed in all seriousness. He wasn’t proud of the name he’d just made up, but he was thinking on the fly and went with the first name that came to him, regardless of how ridiculous it sounded. But he was committed to this story now so continued unabated. “Like I said, they are vicious. The locals call them hell-hounds. On all fours they stand as tall as a man’s shoulders. Eyes that burn bright red and a mouth full of the sharpest teeth you’ve ever seen. A beast not to be reckoned with. They will attack anything in their sights and tear a man limb from limb in seconds. However, they are nocturnal creatures, so provided you are sheltered safely and securely after dark they should be no cause for concern."

Despite herself, the woman seemed genuinely engrossed in the story now. As Ezra paused again she took a sip of her drink and said "I gather the next part involves you getting stranded out after dark."

"You anticipate correctly!"

"Go on then," she said encouragingly.

"Well. I found myself working with a fairly green group of diggers. Had only done a few rotations on the planet previously, but they were an enthusiastic lot. Our time keeper misjudged how long we were in the tunnels for and when we emerged we were just in time to see the sun sinking below the horizon. We argued about whether it would be best to stay in the tunnels for the night, or risk the journey back to camp. Nights of Kapria are cold and we had no provisions. And despite the tunnels running deep, there was nothing to prevent a determined Fanger from sniffing us out. So it was decided we would make the journey back to safety. We had no weapons to speak of, but armed ourselves with the heaviest and sharpest tools we had at our disposal. I chose a small but hefty pickaxe. We took off with as much haste as we could muster, trying to keep quiet and not draw attention to ourselves. But the beasts have aural and olfactory capabilities that far eclipse our own, so it was only a matter of time. Just as our camp came into sight, we heard it. A distinctive snarl that stopped us in our tracks. Before we could even run we saw it looming. A giant figure stalked towards us, jaws slung with bloody slaver, eyes lit by the fires of Hades’ eternal damned Kingdom. It picked up pace and we knew we had no chance of outrunning it so I did the only thing I could do; I ran directly at it. If I could take its attention myself then maybe the rest of my crew could escape.”

Ezra felt a twinge of guilt at this point. He’d never done anything so selfless in all his life! It hardly mattered at this point, as he neared the end of his outlandish story. The woman, for her part, appeared genuinely interested in the story now. Which was not entirely surprising, Ezra knew he had skill when telling a story, no matter how unbelievable. Still. Her hand still rested on her open book, marking her place as though she was not entirely committed to this conversation, and was ready to return to reading as soon as she tired of his outrageous claims. She raised an expectant eyebrow, “...And?”

“Well it worked. The beast lunged at me and sunk its fangs right into my arm as I tried to shield myself. It pinned me to the ground with one of it’s massive paws, claws digging into my flesh. In a vain effort to save myself I smashed the pickaxe into the side of it’s head as hard as I could. I kept hitting it, over and over, all the while I could feel it’s teeth shredding my flesh and bone. I must have made some impact because it decided I wasn’t worth the trouble of a head injury and bounded away into the night. The rest of my team dragged me the short distance back to camp, but my arm was too damaged to save. Luckily we had a few members with medic experience and, with our limited supplies, they managed to remove the damaged limb and patch me up. Not the prettiest job, but it did the trick, and I owe my life to them. I hitched a ride off the planet the next day and never looked back.” He downed what drink remained in his glass, punctuating the end of his story. He was quietly rather proud of spinning such fine fiction on the fly.

“Well. That is an impressive tale of bravery and loss.” The woman remarked.

“And I believe it has earned your name.”

A sly smile appeared on her lips. “Holly Golightly, pleased to meet you.”

Ezra tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “Now I may be just a floater from the Fringes, but I have read a book or two in my time and I know when I’m given a name taken straight from the pages of classic literature.”

She smiled more broadly. “Fake stories get you fake names, Ezra. If you’d care to tell me the real story, you might earn yourself my real name.” As if to signify her seriousness, she closed her book and folded her hands on it, awaiting his response.

Ezra considered for a moment. He didn’t particularly enjoy thinking about the events that led to losing his arm, let alone telling the tale to a stranger in a bar. But the woman intrigued him with her flame red hair and her forthright questions and he was curious to get to know more about her. Starting with her name. He signalled the barman and jiggled his empty glass at him indicating a refill was desired. He’d need more alcohol for this. They both waited in patient silence while the barman sloshed more amber liquid into his glass. When Ezra had taken a large gulp, he was ready.

“I was on Bakhroma Green,” he started. The woman sucked a breath in through her teeth. If people knew of it, they knew it was a dangerous place. Not just because of the toxic spores, but because the people who typically made the journey there these days were desperate and toxic themselves. She clearly knew of the moon’s reputation so Ezra did not need to go into details. “While the rush was over long ago, I figured I’d try my luck, see what was still left down there. If you’re lucky, it’s worth the risk of a visit. Unfortunately, owing to a dispute with my crew, I was left crewless, shipless and stranded. My only hope of getting off that rock was to find passage with another crew. Unfortunately there aren’t a lot of other harvesters willing to make space. Lotta trust issues. A case of Aurelac can make a man do desperate things. I thought my luck had run out, but then I stumbled across a father and his teenage daughter. I’ve never seen a girl so young down there. When I couldn’t bargain my way on to their pod, we struck a deal. The man was on his way to meet some mercenaries who claimed they’d found the Queen’s Lair - a most sought after, yet hitherto undiscovered deposit of the gem. Regrettably, greed got the better of him before we reached our destination and he attempted to relieve me of my own hard-earned case. A firefight ensued, leaving him and my partner dead, and his daughter fleeing back to their pod. I figured the girl was still my best hope of getting off the planet so I set out to find her. I eventually caught up with her, only to find her pod incapacitated and smoking and when I attempted to breach the entrance, I took a thrower bolt to the shoulder. She was feisty, I’ll give her that…”

Ezra smiled and the memory of his and Cee’s first meeting. While at the time he was in pain and exasperated with her, he admired her tenacity and cool-headed negotiation skills. He’d never seen a girl in the green at all, but he’d never met a girl like Cee, period. The woman’s expression had changed from one of mild amusement to genuine interest. She waited intently for Ezra to continue, her brow knitted slightly in concentration.

“She gave me a field kit to patch up my shoulder and we got to finding a mutually beneficial agreement to get us both off the moon. She could have taken me out then and there as recompense for my hand in her father’s death, but fortunately for me, she concluded I was her best bet at getting off the planet alive. We reached an accord wherein she would lead me to the mercenaries, and I would act as harvester in order for us to bargain our way onto their ship. Seemed a straightforward enough plan. However after walking for some time, it became apparent the toxic dust had made its way into my shoulder wound causing it to suppurate. By chance, we stumbled across a lone Sater who led us to his camp. We didn’t have much to trade, and Sater are notoriously difficult to deal with, but I didn’t have much choice; I could feel infection taking hold. I offered what little we had in exchange for medical supplies to treat my wound, but they had other plans. Their leader offered medical supplies and a great deal of Aurelac… in exchange for the girl.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes wide. She was genuinely invested in the story now. "So what did you do?" she asked in awe.

"Well, I knew that no matter how much Aurelac I had, if I couldn't get off that planet, I'd have no chance to make use of its value. And since the girl was my only way to find the mercs and my last shot at getting on a ship, I couldn't make that deal. The idea of what those religious zealots would do to her made my stomach turn. As I was buying time to come up with a counter offer, my young friend made other plans. She took off running as quick as she could. She was fast enough that she was out of sight before they managed to catch her. I cannot fault her for her actions though. She had no reason to believe I wouldn't sell her out. To her I was just a thief and a murderer using her to get a ride home. In truth, I was growing quite fond of her and had no intentions of allowing harm to befall her. Without her though, I was useless to the Sater and they ejected me from their camp with nothing. I staggered through the thick forest of the planet, filter spent, arm septic and painful, until I came to an abandoned prospecting camp. With what little supplies that were left I attempted to excise the infected flesh, but I only made it worse. My options were two: die painfully and slowly as the infection spread, or amputate the affected limb before it got into my blood.”

The woman now looked somewhat horrified. Her eyes moved down to his shoulder again, then back up to his eyes. Mixed in with the horror was something else: pity. Another reason Ezra didn’t like telling the story, or even talking about it, really. People ended up feeling sorry for him and he hated it. An heroic story of sacrificing his arm to a giant, fanged beast in order to save his crew garnered him much less pity, even if it was obviously a fabrication. But there it was in her eyes, unmistakable. “So… how did you do it?” she asked, with some trepidation.

“I knew I could not manage it on my own, so in desperation I put a call out on the radio hoping that someone in the vicinity would hear me. I cycled through all the channels just hoping I would reach anyone, as risky as it was to broadcast my location in a place where most people's intentions are justifiably self-preservatory. Just as I began to lose hope, I heard someone approach. Weak as I was, I waited by the door of the tent to surprise them should I judge them dangerous at first glance. The tent unzipped and a blaster poked through first, which I grabbed before tugging it’s owner into the tent and shoving them to the floor. You cannot imagine my surprise when I saw who it was: the young girl. Filter spent and near starving. I had no idea if she would help; she still had no reason to trust me, though when she asked if I would have left her to the Sater I told her truthfully I would not have. She must have believed me because she agreed to help. With nothing but a syrette of anaesthetic for me and a small e-scalpel for her, she got the job done. Didn’t wince, didn’t flinch. Cool, calm and collected, the whole time.” He shook his head and smiled, remembering just how levelheaded Cee had been. He’d been so impressed. “I, on the other hand, was a babbling mess.” He chuckled.

The woman held up a hand to interject. “Do you mean to tell me that a teenage girl cut off your arm in a dirty tent with only a scalpel and a single injection of pain relief?”

“That is the truth, yes.”

“Well, first of all, this story is way more interesting than some tale of beasts and heroics!”

Ezra chuckled. He knew it was, but that didn’t ease his discomfort in telling it. The woman shook her head in astonishment. “So… what happened? Did you find the mercs? Did you find the Aurelac deposit??”

Ezra nodded. “We did. We finally located them and after some hard bargaining we secured passage on their ship in return for harvesting the Aurelac they’d found. It was indeed a bountiful site.” Ezra knew he was seriously skipping over some details of the final part of the story, but she had asked how he had lost his arm, not about the scar on his chest, that still, to this day, ached in the cold. He rubbed at the scar absently as he thought about the last, few, horrifying events on the moon before they finally escaped. This woman did not need to know that he couldn’t harvest one-handed. That they had had to resort to shooting their way out. That he had received a stab wound to the chest and then used a scalpel to the throat in bloody retaliation. That he had watched Cee run into the darkness after he insisted she get off the moon while she still could, only to have her return to him and save his life. Again. The sadness and relief he felt when he saw her and she sprayed his wound with the cream and helped him to the ship. No. She didn’t need to know these details. They were for Ezra alone.

As it was, the woman’s mouth hung open in awe. “And… what happened to the girl?”

Ezra downed the last of his drink and smiled sadly. He missed Cee. He had grown accustomed to her presence in his life and enjoyed being her guardian, as surprised as he was by this. The woman took this response to mean the worst.

“Kevva, I’m so sorry, I--”

Ezra shook his head adamantly and held up his hand, “no, no. She’s fine. She attends a boarding school back in Central. Brightest in her year. We exchange correspondence every week, her missives filled with stories and details of her life and school, far more interesting and colourful than the stories I’ve told tonight. I think she’ll publish a book before she’s even graduated.” He couldn’t hide how proud he was of her.

The woman smiled and it was the first genuine smile Ezra had seen from her all night. It lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle. Eyes that were now filled not with pity, or doubt as they had earlier, but with understanding and kindness. She held out her left hand to better shake his. “Ezra, I’m Ida.”

Ezra took her hand. “Ida. It is a pleasure to meet you. Now, do you have any harrowing tales you would like to recount in return?”

She let out a loud laugh and tossed her head back, her flaming hair swishing under her hood. “Let’s have another drink and see where the night takes us.” She flagged down the barman.

Ezra figured that if he thought about it, there was a lesson to be learned here about the benefits that honesty and discomfort brings, but for now he was happy just to enjoy Ida’s company a while longer.

#Prospect 2018 #ezra prospect #fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic

17 notes · View notes

ixchel-sketch · 4 years

Photo

TITLE: Cacalotl / El Cuervo GENRE: Crime & Romance FANDOM: Mayans M.C. SHIP(S): Coco & Original Female Character STATUS: Complete LENGTH: 4,057 words

Coco is beginning to feel worn down by balancing his responsibilities with the MC and his relationship with Maya. Before she goes away to a festival for a week he gets a letter letting him know that he’s being placed back on active duty. The club is supportive now that he is a fully patched member and all that is left to do is tell Maya about it. Meanwhile she discovers some game changing news of her own.

The honeymoon phase was officially over, whatever the fuck that meant. Five months into their relationship and there was no longer any novelty about coming home and finding arbitrary art supplies scattered into every corner of his place. Or the small piles of clothes that remained stacked where they’d been removed until he reminded her to do her fucking laundry. Though he didn’t have too much of a leg to stand on with complaints, his beer bottles and cigarette butts were practically a form of interior design by this point. Both of them had low moods where they weren’t productive, much less focused on avoiding the other’s pet peeves.

When he was still a prospect Coco could get away with disappearing for a few hours to a night or two spent somewhere else. Now that he was a fully patched member he didn't have to stay late after parties and runs to clean shit up. There was more freedom and some stability now that the club business was going good. Maya had decided to cut down on the amount of travel she did a year, her nights spent split between the RV parked in the back of Coco's house and his bed. Sometimes it was great, he felt a sense of peace coming home and seeing her face light up when he entered the room. Or her head popping out from behind the thin door of her van once the sound of his motorcycle cut off. The feel of her pressed against him at night. But on the hard days, ones where she would suddenly stay in all day and only move to finish a painting or pop something in the microwave reminded him of just how trapped all of the so called stability made Coco feel.

And the guilt at having those feelings just made him feel even more fucked up. Maya would look at him with those big dopey eyes and say sweet things at him. Even when his temper would flare and he would push her away she would just shut down and give him space or worse...be outright accepting. The guys didn’t see it as a problem and Coco had gone long past the point of trying to explain. As far as Angel and Gilly were concerned she was damn near perfect, never causing drama or getting into Club business. She didn’t even give Coco a hard time when they would spend nights at Vicki’s for some celebration or another that usually involved other women giving them attention.

Which was just another sin Coco could add to his current list of burdens. While Maya had remained faithful and filled her time making art Coco had not been able to resist flirting and stealing kisses from the women at Vicki's. He hadn't slept with anyone, an embarrassingly small point of pride he still wore like a badge. Though the longer it took for them to see any kind of excitement or danger the more his resolve weakened on that front. When they finally got a job doing a run that their northern charter couldn’t complete, crossing over territories that would take at least a couple of days to cover and keep up with the necessary hospitality, it felt like a breath of fresh air. An eager distraction from confronting the news he’d gotten earlier that week.

Maya certainly hadn’t seen it that way.

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped and the look of disappointment that wormed onto her face made his stomach clench. “ I have to leave for that festival in a couple days…”

“Yeah.” She’d been gearing up for that for weeks, only adding to the stress of their interactions. A smudge of red paint on her cheek told him she’d been working on the collection again. Finally being able to get away for more than a day was exactly what he needed. “And?”

“I just thought you might want to spend it together.” Her words were loaded and it sent Coco automatically on edge. They had never set restrictions on the other’s behavior before but now she was going to disapprove of the Club business?

“It’s not exactly a choice.”

“But you want to go, right?”

His shoulders bunched up, making the shrug more apparent and he turned his back to where she was standing in the kitchen to head towards the room and begin packing his bag. The plan was to leave early in the morning and cover as much road as possible. Maya stayed at the doorway and even not facing her Coco could guess that her arms were crossed over her chest. “I gotta go. It feels like I’ve been stuck in the house for fucking weeks.”

“That’s kind of funny,” Though her tone made it clear that she felt no amusement. “ considering you’ve had more shifts and club stuff these last two weeks than in the past couple of months. And when you are here you’re practically itching to leave.”

“How the fuck do you know what’s going on in my head?” The clothes were tossed onto the bed with little care, just a couple things that would fit into his military surplus backpack.

“Are you serious?” She scoffs, turned to head back into the kitchen so that she could finish putting away some dishes she’d been working on clearing out earlier. Maya had a habit of leaving them in the sink until the end of the day and felt the need to clean from the rising tension come over her. “The only time you want to talk to be around me is when you want to fuck.”

“Wait wait,” He calls from the other room and the sound of his pack being dropped to the floor is the only noise until he’s standing in front of her with an incredulous expression. Dark brows are lowered into a glower and Maya squares her shoulders in preparation for the oncoming fight.

They didn’t get into arguments often. In fact she could probably count the number of actual fights on one hand, usually resulting in one of them leaving the house until they had both cooled down and were ready to actually talk about it. There was always some sort of catalyst, or some slow building thing that was finally too much for either of them bare. The former was always an easier fix...but something about the way that he’d been pushing her away made her think the resolution wouldn’t be so simple this time. It had only become obvious that something was wrong when she noticed the way he would lean away from her, the casual brush of his hand against her waist or ass had long since stopped when they were in public. And even though she knew the club had legitimate connections and business at Vicki’s, Coco came back smelling more and more like cheap perfume instead of just cigarette smoke.

“Don’t pull that fuckin shit. If I’m not at the club or work I’m here just hanging while you do your art so you can take the fuck off again. And when I gotta do the same you wanna start shit? Fuck!” One of the drying plates from the sink is swept off the counter in one fast movement, sending glass shattering on the floor and making Maya jump a couple inches in the air. Her eyes are wide with shock and he purposefully doesn’t meet them, only stares at the organic shaped pieces of ceramic that decorated the tile.

“What the fuck is goin’ on with you?” Her Appalachian draw picked up as her heart started to race. There was definitely something deeper that caused this kind of reaction in him and the dread that it was something big began to loom in her mind’s horizon. “This isn’t about me wanting to spend time with you before I leave town for a couple weeks is it?”

“No, it’s about you never leaving me the fuck alone!” She’s silent, watching him try to breathe some level headed thoughts back into the conversation, his hand swipes at his mouth where some spittle still clung from when he was shouting. “You’re always here, and when you’re not you’re in my fucking drive way. I agreed to date you, not put a fucking ring on it.”

Coco felt out of control. As though the topic they had was covered in a metaphoric sheen of gasoline and in his hand held the match. Sure, there had been times when Coco had done his best to lash out and push Maya away, but all of those had been weighted down by his infatuation with her. Now, all he could think about was how good the road was going to feel and the hours of silence and distance. Of action. Of getting away from the conversation at hand and where he knew it would lead. There was far more comfort in the life that he’d known than there was struggling to find himself in a life of domesticity with her.

“Well it’s a good thing I’m leaving then, I guess.” To agree with her out loud would be too spiteful so instead he went to work picking up the mess he’d made. Shoulders still held high and tight and each action was careful, like he was desperately trying to keep whatever he was feeling buried. Each silent moment made the void of anxiety in her chest open just a little bit wider. “Do you...still want me here? Or is this about something else?”

Coco’s dark eyes snap to her face and Maya swallows heavily. There’s a severity to his grimace and she had a feeling if he didn’t have a dust pan full of broken plate he’d probably be reaching for a cigarette right about now. After dumping them in the trash can he ran a hand through his hair. A few moments of tense silence later and Coco crossed the kitchen to pull out an official looking envelope, her own gaze drawn towards the seal of the US military at the corner. “What the fuck is that?”

“Got this a couple days ago. “ Her hands were practically shaking as the piece of paper slipped free from its packaging. A quick scan of the first page gave her enough information...he was being called back to active duty and would have to leave at the end of the month. “I already told the guys, they got no beef with it.”

“But you didn’t want to tell me. You didn’t even tell me you were still enlisted!” “Signed up for six years, they can call me back if they want.”

“So? Fuck them!”

The glare she receives for that outburst tells her all she needs to know. His mind was made up and the withdrawing made total sense now. A lump formed in her throat and she retreated back to his room to climb onto the bed and wait for him to follow. The painting she’d just finished earlier was still hung on the wall to dry and caught her eye. When Coco finally came in to finish packing Maya waited, the air heavy between them. There was an emotional pain blooming in her heart that felt like the coming of the end. Her voice wavered when she finally worked up the courage to speak.

“What does that mean for us? I don’t...I don’t want us to be over.”

Tears finally break free and make tracks down her cheeks and Coco lets out a heavy sigh. Maya hadn’t even noticed that she had her palms pressed to her face until his calloused hands are gently pulling them away so he can wrap his arms around her. Falling for each other hadn’t been in either one’s plans and even though she’d never met another person that made her feel like he did --- some part of her had always known that Coco wasn’t ready for something permanent.

“Nothing’s got to change right now, we got a couple days to figure it out.” She shook her head against his shoulder and let out a small hiccup of a sob. He was leaving to get away from her. He wanted it to end and there was nothing that she could do about it. The emotion at the forefront of her mind was heavy confusion at how they had even gotten to this point. More gentle than he had ever been, Coco buried his face against her neck and for just a moment she thought he might join her in shedding a couple tears. Instead he simply stroked her back until her chest felt a little less tight and her crying had slowed to a stop. The warmth of his palm against her spine and Coco’s steady breathing turned heavy as he pulled her closer still.

“I love you.” Maya whispered into the space between them. He didn’t reply, simply placed a kiss in the corner of her neck, her jaw, her lips. His hands are careful but still hold a bit of desperation where they grip her. The fact that he doesn’t say it in return doesn’t go unnoticed but she valiantly pushed the fear of what was to come away so that she could only feel the familiar and comforting arousal that his attentions usually brought on. Maya kissed him back with fervor, hands splayed on his chest, smoothed over the loose white T-shirt he wore until she could wrap her arms around his neck. The long steady strokes down her back slowly reach even lower until he’s grabbing her ass and pulling her into his lap.

“I’m sorry.” She’s not sure if he means for the fight, or for something more final… Either way it doesn’t matter at the moment. Maya shushes him with another kiss, one of her hands going to card through the short black hair at the base of his head. His gentleness begins to fade when she arches her back so that their chests are pressed against the other, though there is still a measure of care to his movements when Coco pauses to remove the sundress she'd thrown on earlier.

His clothes are quick to follow and Maya takes the opportunity to stretch out on the mattress beside him, eyes roving over his bare form -- memorising the lines of his tattoos and the way they move over his muscles. Soon the shadow of him looms over her, his forearms bracketed either side of her and Coco places a kiss on her forehead. There's something heavy and too scary to name behind their intimacy. A slowness that neither had really had too much patience for before that night. Now it was as though both of them were determined to take their time, one of his legs sliding between hers and allowing the weight of his body to rub her in all the right places.

"Fuck, you feel good." He groans, hips rolling against her. Maya smirks and brings her hand up to lick her palm before slipping it between them and around his member, earning a gasp of pleasure and fevered kiss for her efforts. Coco thrust against her hand, his own findinding purchase in gripping her thigh or calf where it's raised against his side. His breath is hot between them, warming the air between kisses placed on her collar and lower still.

Maya lets out a small cry when he noses against her breast then his lips close around a raised nipple. At the same time Coco easily entered her, her hand on his dick going to scrape up his back and rest curled around broad inked shoulders in order to keep him close. She feels stretched and full in all the right ways, but it’s still not enough.

"Shit, harder baby--" Her tone breathy and heavy with desperation. The heat on Maya's belly growing and moving south with building pressure of pleasure. Opposite of her request, he comes free of her and laughs at the pouting frown that creased her full lips. Before she had time to complain though, Coco takes firm hold of one of her legs and brings it up to his shoulder.

“Oh! Fuck!” At this angle it feels like he might be trying to split her open, hips pistoning fast and harsh until the sound of their pants and the slap of flesh is all that’s left. One of Maya’s hands traces up the muscles of his stomach to lay a palm over his chest and Coco meets her lust filled gaze with heavy lidded eyes. A wet kiss placed messily at the where her calf is balanced against his collar. Her own eyes fall closed as her orgasm ripples through her and pulls him closer to the edge, but she thinks she catches the words ‘Te quiero’ on his lips.

It’s almost a week before she talks to him again. Four days before she’s supposed to return from the festival. The next morning Coco had taken off hours before she woke up, leaving Maya full of insecurity over their future and the argument that had occured that night. There was no trying to talk him out of his decision and the longer that she spent thinking about the time that would mean apart --- the bigger the void got in her chest and the looming feeling of heartbreak. They had never spent too much time planning their future, but she had a feeling at least a year apart would require some kind of heavy talking. And if their last conversation was any judge of his feelings on commitment then she truly felt as though their relationship was living on borrowed time. The internal disquiet caused her stomach to let out a sharp pang of nausea, bile rising in her throat and Maya forced herself to breathe through it rather than go running out of her booth.

“Hey! Maya!” A familiar voice caused her head to snap up and a grin pushed the dark thoughts momentarily at bay. Tati, the artist that ran the table next to hers came over with a water bottle in her outstretched hand. “Here, you’re looking kind of pale.”

“I’m alright, just a bit of indigestion.”

“Damn, that sucks. Do you think I could borrow a tampon?”

“No. Please do not return it.” She laughed and went to get her purse, sure she had a few older ones lying towards the bottom of the large patchwork bag. Her mind ildely trying to think of the last time she’d used them and froze with a sudden icy chill of panic Maya couldn’t hope to hide. Her fingers shook as she fumbled to place the plastic wrapped tube in her friend’s hand.

“You okay? You look like you just saw a fucking ghost.”

“N..No, I’m fine.” Tati looked unconvinced but thanked her again before heading back over to the safety of her canopy. These were the times she wished she’d split the table with another artist so that she might be able to take a break and answer the scary question that was growing like a weed in the back of her mind. As it was she would have to wait until the end of the day to close up her booth and head to the nearest convenience store, each hour passing by impossibly slow despite the amount of decent foot traffic she had. Her gaze cast out and locked onto a nest of a black birds, most likely a crow, equally busy in the tree across the foot worn path. Whether they were a beautiful show of nature or a bad omen she couldn’t say. Instead she counted the weeks since her last cycle, then again for good measure to make sure that it wasn’t just paranoia. Sure, she was on The Pill but had been known to accidentally miss a day or two...and she’d never been very good about staying on schedule with it.

" Fuck me, shit.” By the time she made it to the store the sun had set and her anxiety was in full swing. Maya grabbed two boxes of tests and polished off the rest of her large water bottle. Privacy was pushed to the back of her mind in panic and the brunette locked herself into handicapped stall. Coco had been slow to answer her texts since he'd left, and even now left her messages on read despite the obvious stress behind them. With her heart racing and the test lining up on the sink accusingly, she was in no mood to be toyed with.

"Pick up, pinche pendejo." Three calls, no answer. The sound of women coming and going in the other stalls completely ignored by the focus at hand. By the fifth call there's finally an answer on the other end, his voice tight and the sound of laughter in the background loud and obnoxious over the line.

"What?"

"Where are you?" She had expected him to be home, or maybe out with the guys. Though the familiar sound of music and women's laughter told her otherwise. "At Vicki's?"

"Yeah. Hello to you too."

"Hm." He'd never ignored her calls when he was there before.

"What? Qué paso?"

"I think we have a problem." She waits for him to say anything but the only response is the quieting of ambient noise. He must have gone into another room or stepped outside. The tension grows so thick that her stomach spikes with nausea once again. One glance at the four tests lining the sink and she's unable to breathe the repugnant feeling away this time. The cell phone placed quickly on the floor before Maya emptied the contents of her stomach.

With a tired sigh she wiped her mouth and picked the cell phone up, grumbling a weak apology.

"What happened? You take something?"

"No, nothing like that." She'd called him from a show sick from drinking or tripping before, her impulse control severely lacking while on the road. The words felt foreign in her mouth but she forced them out. The bitter taste of bile still coating the back of her throat with a scratchy burn. "I'm pregnant."

Nothing. Almost complete quiet except for where his breathing has gone rough and stilted. "What the fuck did you just say? Are you sure? I thought you were on the pill?"

Multiple feelings strike her at once, rippling through her core like a physical blow. Intensifying with each question. Though her tone goes flat and cold, the cell gripped so tight Maya's knuckles go white. "I am. It's not perfect."

"Yeah? No shit."

Her eyes closed tightly and Maya swept the tests into the trash. There was no use clinging to them as though she could will away the situation. She clears her throat to make sure her voice doesn't break. "So...what do you want to do?"

It's his turn to sigh, a slow whooshing crackle over the line and he sounds bone weary and utterly contrary to the wired and shaky energy that courses through her veins. "That's not on me. Look... I already got a couple kids, and I'm not in their lives for a reason. Ain't nothing really changed on that front."

It's a conversation that they should have been holding in person. Both of them shared accountability for what had happened and not being able to see the look on his face only hastened the hysteria that swiftly encroached. "Right. So you don't...want to be involved. If I keep it."

"Maya...I'm not even gonna be here."

"Right." Her heart sinks and Maya finally flees the small bathroom, rushing out of the store and shivering when the night air chills the nervous sweat that misted her forehead. The lock to her bike came free as she balanced the cell phone on her shoulder. Numb shock of what this meant making her movements mechanical. The consuming heartbreak just waiting until she was alone to attack, for now anger was her only defense. "You're right. I got this. Just do me a little favor, 'kay?"

He doesn't answer but it doesn't really matter. There's no way that Coco would turn down this final request, especially since she wouldn't be back for another few days.

"Pack up my shit so I can just swing by and get it? Thanks."

#johnny coco cruz #coco cruz #mayans fanfic #mayans smut #mayans mc #Coco & Maya #Maya Ortiz (OFC)

40 notes · View notes

neostar-entertainment · 4 years

Text

Title: A Booty Call

Pairing: Jaejin-Centric, Jaejin/Daehyeon

Summary: When Jaejin finds himself out on the streets, after facing a difficult situation with his uncle, he makes a call he’s made numerous times but for a much desperate reason this time around.

Warning(s): cursing, recreational drug use, mentions of drug use, family drama (?), mentions of sex

Notes: This is pre-debut just in case I didn’t make it too obvious!

Jaejin was fucked.

Maybe fucked was a slight understatement. He was 99% sure he was homeless, although he was clinging onto that 1% of hope that his uncle would call him shortly and tell him to get his ass back home like always.

Granted, the fact that he was quite literally thrown out and was told to come back to get his things in the morning before having the door slammed on his face made it hard to cling onto that 1%.

He had called a friend of his, although he wasn’t quite too sure if he could depend on someone who he considered more of a fuckbuddy than a friend for something as serious as this.

As he walked down a random street, his mind was racing with thoughts of what the fuck he was going to do, or even where the fuck to go. In his few years of moving from LA, Jaejin really made no plans to travel and get himself familiar with the city of Seoul, or the country in general. He simply remembered the way to from his uncle’s to his part time-job, or to Neostar to do his training. Outside from making it to those two locations and back, Jaejin could probably remember a few grocery stores if anything.

“Fuck…” his legs were hurting from how long he had been walking, and to be quite frank...it was getting late and Jaejin was tired. He sighed to himself as he spotted a bench not too far and trudged his way to sit down, his mind trailing to what happened not even a few hours ago.

“Weed, Jaejin? Are you fucking serious?”

“I haven’t even smoked it-”

“Oh, did you find a way to get it just to flaunt it around the house?! Do you think I’m fucking stupid or something?”

“I didn’t say that.” Jaejin’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, his mind on full-panic mode, not knowing how the fuck to get out of this situation. Jaejin finished his training early today, and with his uncle’s work schedule he thought he could manage to have a quick smoke session before he came home, however shit quite literally hit the fan when his uncle came home the moment Jaejin had decided to light his blunt.

“For fuck’s sake Jaejin, your parents caught you doing this shit and worse in LA and sent you here to get you away from that shit and you have the fucking audacity to continue it?”

“It’s just-“

“It’s a drug! There’s no ‘just this’ or ‘just that’. You can end up being arrested for this and it’s obvious you’re not taking it seriously when you’re a country away from home and continue to do the same shit that made your parents worried to the point where they called me crying to help you-”

“The fuck? Are you trying to guilt-trip me-”

“Mind your tongue, Jaejin. I can tolerate a lot of shit from you, but this is too much.”

Silence loomed over the relatives, Jaejin’s nerves getting the best of him, making him start to sweat out of nervousness and let his mind go berserk in possibilities of what his uncle meant by that.

“You need to leave, Jaejin.”

Jaejin could feel his face fall, his mouth opened to say something but nothing could come out.

“I cannot and will not support this. If you think you can fool your parents by saying you’re doing better, while continuously doing things that you know none of us will approve of or support, fine by me. But you won’t be doing it under my roof.”

“You can’t be serio-”

“I am. If you think I’m going to be supporting someone who’s smoking illegal substances in my own house, you’ve already lost it. If you want to go back to LA I’ll pay for your ticket, but if you’re planning on staying here you’re on your own, Jaejin.”

“Uncle…” Jaejin’s voice was shaky to the point where he wasn’t sure if his words were coming out coherently. He wanted to clear his throat but a part of him was terrified to make any noise at all.

“Get out, Jaejin...come back in the morning and I’ll have whatever you don’t take packed up. You can tell me then if you’re going back to your parents or not.”

“I-I’m not leaving, I don’t have anywhere to go!” the younger exclaimed, his voice cracking with emotions as he began to panic while the tears began brimming in his eyes.

“That’s...that’s not my problem any longer. I had strict rules when you came here, strict but fair, if you can’t respect them I won’t respect you-”

“I’m your nephew!”

“Go.”

“I’m your fucking family-”

“Jaejin.”

“And you’re kicking me out over a mistake?!”

“Jaejin!”

“I won’t do it-”

Jaejin practically choked on his breath as he widened his eyes the moment his uncle moved towards him, automatically taking a few steps back to mirror his uncle’s actions.

“Please.”

Jaejin…” it was as if something weakened in his uncle as his face fell from the glare he had instilled in himself the moment he had walked in on Jaejin, “this isn’t the first time we’ve had this exact conversation. I’m not going to be supporting this. Please...don’t make it hard and just...just leave.”

Jaejin’s mouth opened and closed several times, his mind desperately trying to figure out something to say, but it was almost as if his mind was too busy painting the images of countless stressful situations Jaejin could potentially find himself in.

“Take whatever you need. I’m going to bed...it’s been a long day. I expect you to be gone tonight, and if needed come in the morning if you want to go back home. If not…”

Silence fell over them once again, and rather than it being a comforting blanket of silence like usual that Jaejin preferred, it felt like it was almost suffocating him. He knew he did something wrong, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew his family had caught him doing worse in Chengdu which is why the topic of sending him here with his uncle was brought up. He knew that getting high should’ve been on the bottom of his priorities, and should’ve been the last thing he ever thought of doing, especially with the pain it brought his parents .

He knew better...and maybe that’s why it made it all hurt more as he couldn’t figure out why he didn’t do better.

Closing his eyes as if it would block the memories out, he wiped away the few tears that had managed to slip, shaking his head as he let out a few curses out.

Jaejin didn’t know where the fuck to go. He would go to Neostar if it wasn’t for the fact the building is off-limits to trainees this late at night as the CEO wanted to make sure they weren’t over-working himself, and he didn’t have the intentions to explain his sob story to the lady in the lobby.

That’s why he (reluctantly) ended up calling Daehyeon.

He was a fellow trainee he had seen countless times, and although they didn’t have much of any interactions aside from dancing together a few times they ended up getting to know each other quite well.

In the practice room. After-hours. In a position that had Jaejin shocked with Daehyeon’s flexibility, but also had their adrenaline at an all-time high at the prospect of staying when they shouldn’t have been, doing something they shouldn’t have been.

Calling him was...uh...awkward to say the least.

Daehyeon instantly thought he was calling as a booty call, only for Jaejin to be on the verge of tears and Daehyeon automatically going from screaming at his brother to shut up to being concerned as all hell.

Jaejin didn’t truly think things through when he decided to call Dae, nor did he really imagine what he would get out of if it when he called, but his answer was gifted to him when Jaejin explained his situation and Dae’s first response was that he’d talk to his family and figure something out.

It might’ve taken thirty minutes, or possibly a bit longer, but Daehyeon had called back and said that he was on his way to pick him.

Jaejin was beyond shocked, to say the least.

Yeah, their first interaction was probably more intimate than strangers should’ve been, but their friendship was only beginning. Hell, Jaejin only learned of Daehyeon’s name after he left the practice room with him that night.

So, the surprise running through him the moment he got the call back wasn’t much of a shock.

Jaejin picked at his nails, his eyes looking up at the night sky, counting the numerous stars in the sky in an attempt to distract himself from his own thoughts. And to be quite frank to Jaejin, looking up and trying to count something that seemed countless was a hell of a lot better than thinking of how much of a disgrace he would be to his parents if he decided to return home.

Jaejin remembered when he had made the same mistake back home, albeit with a bit more of a...dangerous substance. He distinctly remembered the horror on his parents’ faces when they learned of what Jaejin had been doing when he was skipping school, and he remembered the uncomfortable feeling that lingered among them for countless days before they came up with a way to help Jaejin. Granted, he was more than reluctant to even think about getting help considered the fact that...well...Jaejin didn’t think he needed help.

However, the guilt of seeing how his parents reacted to his actions was enough for Jaejin to at least try and do something that they wanted, no matter how hard it was.

The change of location was something his parents decided on, feeling as if the factor of them being swamped with work majority of the time led to Jaejin’s actions, and that sending him to his uncle might be the change that could help Jaejin.

And Jaejin tried, he truly did. It was just...harder than he would’ve imagined. He knew his friends back in LA often joked about how much of a bitch it would be to be on the path of recovery, however Jaejin never thought it would be him enduring the same things he joked about before.

The sound of a car honking interrupted his thought process, causing him to snap his neck down from his sight of the stars to the car in front of him as he squinted trying to figure out who was in the front seat.

“Jaejin!” Daehyeon’s face popped out from the passenger seat window before he managed to open the door and rush towards the aforementioned boy.

Jaejin sat there practically unresponsive as Dae slowed down in front of him before squatting down and slowly reaching out to place his hands on Jaejin’s shoulders.

“Jaejin, can you hear me?”

“Y-yeah, of course I can.”

“Are you okay?” Daehyeon’s eyes were flicked with hues of concern as he reached out to wipe tears that had been streaming down Jaejin’s face without realizing.

“I…” Jaejin went silent as Daehyeon softly placed his hands on the sides of his head. “I-I don’t know.”

“That’s-That’s ok.”

“Ok.”

“Remember our conversation on the phone, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jaejin pulled back from Dae’s grasp, as he shook his head softly.

“Just making sure. Do you have anything with you?”

“No...I just...left.”

“Ah, okay, that’s...that’s fine too. You’re okay with coming home with me, right?”

Jaejin simply nodded, his mind reaching the point of becoming too overwhelmed to think of a verbal response.

“Alright.” Dae nodded to himself, before turning around to face opposite of Jaejin, before craning his neck to look back at him “Get on.”

Jaejin’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion before realizing what Daehyeon meant and instantly frowned before shaking his head.

“Jaejin, just...c’mon you’ve been inside of me but are gonna refuse a piggyback-ride?”

The aforementioned boy sighed to himself before wrapping his arms slowly around Daehyeon, his grasp gently getting tighter as Daehyeon got up from his squatting position.

“There we go-”

“I’m not a kid, Dae.”

“Didn’t say you were, Jaejin. My older brother is in the car, by the way, just don’t want to surprise you.” “Does he-”

“He knows you don’t have anywhere to go and that you’re a very close friend of mine that I trust quite a lot.”

“Oh…”

“I didn’t know how much you were comfortable with telling, and although I’m sure my parents will ask a lot, I didn’t necessarily think it was my place.”

“They’re letting me stay without knowing anything?”

“Uh…” Daehyeon hiked Jaejin up a bit, causing the older to clung on a bit more, “Maybe I lied a bit. As far as they know we became best friends since I started training there and you’ve helped me tremendously with my dancing so I don’t get kicked out.”

“That’s not even remotely true-”

“I know, but I don’t think telling my family we became friends during some not-so family-friendly stuff would win them over. Just, uh, share whatever you’re comfortable with, ok?”

Dae smiled at Yeonu in the front seat, whose face was the absolute quintessence of confusion with his eyebrows shot up showcasing his worry-lines on his forehead, a small frown on his face, causing Dae to shake his head in an attempt to tell him to lay off it.

“Want me to sit next to you in the back?”

Jaejin shrugged, a part of him not bothering to truly think of a reply because he felt the events that took place today taking its toll on him, his mental exhaustion transferring into a physical one as he got off Daehyeon’s back only to slip into the backseat as soon as Dae opened the door.

As he scooted to the other side he quickly bowed to Yeonu who mirrored his actions from the driver’s seat, attempting to give a smile that would mask his worriedness. Dae followed Jaejin’s actions, and decided to slip right next to him, but not before leaning forward to whisper a few things into his brother’s ears.

Jaejin once again looked up to the night sky, his eyes fixated on the same stars he no longer had the effort to begin counting.

“Well,” a deeper voice trailed in Jaejin’s ears, catching his attention making him shift his vision, “I’m Yeonu, it’s nice to meet a good friend of Daehyeon’s, Jaejin.”

“Uh, yeah you too.”

Yeonu gave him a tiny smile, one that Jaejin noticed didn’t mask the confusion and worried that had begun swirling in his eyes ever since he had seen Jaejin on his younger brother’s back.

“It’s kind of a long run,” Dae’s voice was gentler, almost comforting without even trying, Jaejin wanted to blame that for the fact that he had begun leaning into the younger boy. “If you want to close your eyes, feel free, I’ve got you.”

Jaejin remained silent, but showed that he understood as his head found its way onto Dae’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you now.”

#kumokocnet #kocsociety #fake kpop idol #fake kpop group #idol!au #oc kpop idol #fake kpop #oc kpop group #oc kpop #idol!oc #male!idol #g: dark moon #c: daehyeon #i didnt even realize?? that this was a plot i had??#until recently when i looked back at their relationships post??#c: jaejin

13 notes · View notes

theonceoverthinker · 4 years

Text

When Will My Life Begin? (Fair Game, 14/?)

Summary: Tangled AU. Clover Callows has been confined to a tower for all of his life, and given the threat that his Uncle Tyrian says his semblance poses to his safety, he accepts that fate. It’s the only life he’s ever known, after all. But when he’s offered the opportunity to fulfill his greatest dream after a chance encounter with a thief -- or bandit, as Qrow Branwen insists there’s a difference between the two -- both Clover and Qrow will discover joys that they never knew life could offer them before.

AO3

Tumblr: (1) (2) (B1) (3) (4) (B2) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (B3) (10) (11) (12) (13)

Hey! So, as you're going to see, I took a...different direction with this chapter than you might have expected (...I realize this happens a LOT with me). I was having some trouble with the next chronological chapter, and I thought this would be an interesting and sensible diversion from the main story while I figured the next part of the story out. I hope you enjoy!

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

If there was one feeling Harriet Bree had become increasingly familiar with, it was the feeling of underlying, yet all the same relentless tiredness.

She was tired of hearing reports of Salem’s growing army of Grimm and the havoc they were doing to far away towns and villages.

She was tired of the constant shadow of fear that loomed over every street and shop in her kingdom about when their malicious tormenter would strike next as well as who and what would be lost in the chaos when it inevitably took place.

She was tired of the criminal underbelly in the kingdom that just made getting by harder for good, honest folks.

She was tired of the fact that even with all the power she, her siblings, and her father yielded, there was only so much they could do about any of that.

However, more than any of those things, she was tired of the all but despondent look in her father’s eyes that coated his face every year around this time.

Harriet was especially tired about the fact that the gazes her siblings gave her all but screamed in her face that she had that same look in her eyes, too.

As the saying went, ‘like father, like daughter,’ she supposed.

Then again, that look in her eyes was just as present on all of their faces, too. She was sure there was some phrase about families who do things together that applied to a heartbreaking situation like theirs, but honestly, she was at a loss to come up with one.

Besides, it didn’t matter -- it wasn’t like their family was complete, anyway.

That hadn’t been the case for over two decades now.

Clover…

Harriet had two brothers and a sister that she was fortunate enough to have in her life. She adored them with every beat of her heart, and she knew they as well as their father felt the same for her.

However, the gap that Clover’s kidnapping created in hers and her family’s hearts was one that couldn’t be filled by anyone else except for him.

Clover...

Where was he?

Was he even alive?

What kind of life had he led if he was alive all this time?

Why did the prospect of him being alive make her feel just as anxious as the thought of him being dead?

Damn it!

Of all the things Qrow Branwen could have stolen the day before her brother’s birthday, why did it have to be the brooch? Why did the universe insist on making this anniversary so much worse than it was already going to be, than it was for the past several years?

Was it not enough already that Clover was ripped from their arms before they could even really know him without so much as a clue as to where he’d gone or who had made off with him?

Semblance or not, who stole a baby?!

It had to be Salem, or one of her goons, but why did they never say that they at least had him in their possession? Salem’s castle was well guarded enough, and it wasn’t like she didn’t know they could never brea-

Harriet sighed. She pet the horse she was now walking beside instead of on, and let herself recline against a tree as her hand massaged her nose.

She’d gone down the proverbial rabbit hole that was Clover’s mysterious whereabouts many a time before, especially around Clover’s birthday. All that resulted in that trip were questions, questions with not even hints of possible answers, but instead haunted her with apparitions of a reunited family that was always still a possibility, but less of one with every passing year.

Vine told her in the past that it wasn’t healthy...right before admitting that he did the same thing nonetheless.

Even still, he was right.

Harriet would never give up hope that Clover would be found, that their family would be whole once more, but she knew well enough by now to assure herself that that wasn’t going to happen today.

However, she could at least make the next day or two just a bit less taxing on all of their hearts by getting back the last tangible memento of her brother from Qrow Branwen’s clutches.

Pushing herself off the tree, Harriet continued her trudge back to the team’s meeting spot in the forest.

Maybe one of them found something.

After all, they weren’t called the Ace Ops for nothing.

As Harriet approached the clearing where she and her team had agreed to meet, she could hear voices -- Elm’s first, then their prisoner’s, and Vine and Marrow’s soon afterward.

None of them sounded too excited, or given any kind of sign that they hadn’t walked away from their search empty handed.

No, they just sounded tired.

She could certainly slip into that feeling like a well-worn coat.

Harriet walked through the last of the bushes and under the last of the trees that stood between herself and her siblings.

Just as she’d expected, their bodies reflected their voices, no one looking either curious or triumphant or stimulated.

“Nothing, huh?” she asked, unable to keep the dark, resigned tone out of her voice.

Words left none of them. Marrow shook his head, Vine looked to his shoes, and Elm, still holding their prisoner, bit her lip.

The prisoner Mercury scoffed, earning himself a jerk from Elm’s body.

He growled.

“You’re slowing yourselves down and wasting your time keeping me here,” he then snipped.

“We’re putting a crook like you behind bars,” Marrow shot back, clearly content to allow just a little bit of smugness to get into his tone, “sounds like a good use of our time to me.”

“And yet you can’t get back that brooch. Have to wonder how it is you got the name Ace Ops. Ace Oops seems more appropriate to me.” Mercury then smirked.

Gods, what was it about thieves that made them enjoy bragging so much?

Weren’t they supposed to be quiet? Wasn’t that the one good thing about them?

Ignoring Mercury’s remark, Marrow looked to the group.

“Did anyone find any clues?” he asked, “Or maybe run into someone who saw him? Or saw signs of a scuffle or even just shop prints?”

Once more, silence reigned. Even Mercury didn’t respond, seemingly caught between annoyance over his accomplice’s escape as well as his own captivity and satisfaction that at least they hadn’t succeeded in their task of retrieving the brooch.

What a bastard he was.

Vine met Harriet’s eyes.

“What do we do now?”

Harriet, for the life of her, couldn’t find herself able to answer that question.

Branwen had been out of their sights for hours now. If they hadn’t found him by this point, that probably meant they likely weren’t going to find him at all.

What could they do in that case -- wait until the brooch surfaced on the black market?

Who knew how long that would take to happen, nor how they’d find out about it, nor even which of Remnant’s handful of often spoken of, but well-hidden black markets it would show up in…

This dead-ended mystery was starting to sound all too familiar to Harriet for her liking…

Harriet didn’t want to give up, though she had no idea what the next best step to take was.

Perhaps they could just return to the kingdom, drop off Mercury at the castle’s prison, and resume their search? It would be better to have the entire team at full capacity, and by the time they did that, Harriet figured she’d be able to use her semblance again.

However, that would just give Branwen more time to get even further away from them, or perhaps even just sell the brooch and be done with it.

Not to mention the fact that even if Harriet’s semblance was working once more, without an idea of where Branwen was going, she’d just be running around aimlessly.

She’d done that on more than one occasion -- it made for not only some good training, but also as one hell of a stress reliever -- but it wasn’t going to help them here.

So there went that plan, and yet the rest of her sibling’s eyes joined Vine’s, turned to her for their next step.

As Harriet struggled for an answer, her ears picked up a sound.

It was the sound of footsteps -- small in size, quick in their pace, not deft enough to avoid snapping twigs and running into small bushes, but just so enough that there was no resulting crashes or falls.

What’s more interesting were that those footsteps were fast approaching them.

Harriet looked toward the noise’s source, unsure what was to meet her on the other side.

Seconds later, a man emerged into the clearing. He stood tall and slightly muscular with a mean, angular face and an odd, triangle-like hair style.

“Guards! Guards!” he called as he approached them. He took a second’s pause to loudly catch his breath. “Br-Branwen,” he continued as air kept puffing in and out of his chest as loudly as a bear’s roar. “The thief Qrow Branwen. W-we have him.”

Harriet’s eyes bulged.

C-could it really be?

“Are you sure?” Elm asked, beating Harriet to the proverbial punch. Harriet felt her heart start to pump as loudly as the man’s footsteps were just moments ago as she waited for him to catch his breath enough to answer Elm’s question.

After three seconds that felt more like an hour, he answered her.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “My-my boss matched him to the poster.”

Harriet couldn’t believe it -- this was really happening.

“Where is he?” she pressed.

“L-Lil’ Miss Malachite’s,” he wheezed, pointing a finger in the direction he came. “It’s about a half mile that way. We’ve got him caught.”

Branwen…

By nothing short of pure chance, they were in the exact right in the spot to find someone who had eyes on him.

Lucky them.

While she knew he probably couldn’t have had anything to do with it -- though she’d wished against each and every odd that stood as an obstacle to that possibility that he could have -- she couldn’t help but thank Clover for this.

Harriet looked to her team, all of whom suddenly looked like they had more energy flowing through their veins than they’d had in a while.

She got the feeling she looked that way too.

“You heard him, Ace Ops,” Harriet said, glancing at a sneering Mercury, and shooting a smirk of her own at him. “Let’s move out.”

Elm picked up Mercury’s form once more and tightened her grip around him as she and Marrow cried out jovially, Vine let loose a small chuckle, and even Harriet couldn’t help but let her smirk dissolve into a grin once she turned away from Mercury.

They had a lead on Branwen and the brooch.

There was hope still to be had for this tiny piece of their still broken, but loving family.

Suddenly, Harriet wasn’t feeling so tired anymore.

#fair game #rwby #harriet bree #ace ops #clover ebi #vine zeki #marrow amin #elm ederne #mercury black

7 notes · View notes