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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

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Day 2: Relationships / Matching

*Introducing the Perfect Pair Collection, featuring asymmetrical designs that match.* The oxymoron was not lost on her.

Time to switch to a completely different art style on day 2– 😣 Today’s prompt features the Pomefiore trio!

A harsh tug on his sleeve drew Jade to a halt. He glanced at Miss Raven, who clung to his side, pointing to a nearby shop window with her free hand. Jade followed her finger to what was on display—small boxes and racks, each displaying a glittering piece of jewelry.

“Oya, I do not believe we have baubles on the grocery list,” he tutted, teasingly wagging a finger. “To think that your interest would be so easily captured by mere shiny objects, Miss Raven... Corvids truly are simple-minded creatures. Perhaps you have more in common with the headmaster than I had initially thought.”

“I’m allowed to appreciate beauty, aren’t I?” Raven retorted, casting Jade a sideways glare. “Besides, you wear jewelry.”

“Ah, this?” He gently tapped at the earring dangling from his left earlobe. Three diamond-shaped scales cast a silvery-blue glow upon his skin. “I wouldn’t call it a piece of jewelry so much as a battle trophy.”

At this, Raven wrenched her face away from the glass display to stare at him. “Please don’t tell me you did something unsavory to get your hands on it.”

“You have such strange ideas, Miss Raven.” Jade chuckled as he slicked back his black stripe of hair behind his accessory-clad ear. “Fufu. There is nothing unsavory about victors claiming a prize for their triumph, correct? That is only the natural order of things.”

… I feel sorry for whoever the twins beat up.

She shook her head and returned her gaze to the display window--to the selection of earrings that were laid out upon velvet cloth. Introducing the Perfect Pair Collection, read a sign, featuring asymmetrical designs that match. (The oxymoron was not lost on her.)

Surrounding the sign were various pairs, as promised: a sun and a moon, a jar of jelly and another of peanut butter, a hand and a heart… but Raven felt herself drawn to earrings in the shape of a lock and a key. How peculiar that the head of the key curved into a heart and that its teeth were ribbed with pearls, and how slim yet stylish the lock was.

“My, are you interested in that pair? What an interesting choice.”

“N-No! I’m just admiring them,” Raven insisted. “You don’t normally see designs like this… I wonder how the jeweler was able to make objects so clunky and heavy into something wearable.”

“That is a fair point. The craftsmanship is indeed exquisite.” Jade’s sharp eyes carefully traced the shape of Raven’s ears--pointed, like the headmaster’s. “How unfortunate it is that you lack the piercings to wear them.”

Raven’s hands instinctively flew to her earlobes, as though trying to shield them from him. “I told you, I’m not interested in buying--”

“Why, whoever said anything about you purchasing the earrings? I was keen to pick up a new pair for myself.” Jade provided a smile and a bow. “Now then, if you would excuse me for one moment…”

Before Raven could protest, he had already vanished inside the jewelry store, leaving her stranded on the street with a list of groceries to procure.

“... Fantastic.”

The bird sighed into her palms. From past experience, she knew that it would not be a wise idea to pursue Jade and attempt to drag him away. For as skilled as Raven was at weaving words, she often found that Jade’s natural charisma, paired with his silver tongue, often gave him the advantage in disagreements.

Best to just leave it for now.

Still, she warily eyed him through the store window as he conversed with a clerk. A few vague hand gestures, a practiced smile, a polite and controlled laugh. All motions Raven had familiarized herself with.

Entranced with her eel watching, Raven didn’t register the trio approaching her until one of the group called out to her.

“Mon petit oiseau! What a coincidence it is to be running into you today.”

“Oh!” She startled at the huntsman’s voice. “Rook…!! And… Vil-senpai and Epel-san. Hello…!”

Acutely aware of Vil’s sternness, Raven quickly lowered her head in deference. This earned a slight curl of the lips from him.

He was dressed as fashionably as ever--a white, frilly top with a V-neck, paired with sunglasses propped in his hair, sleek leggings, and glove boots. Several necklaces adorned Vil’s long, milky neck, and his face was expertly painted with a sheer wash of shimmering, nude makeup.

“Good day to you, Shetland potato,” Vil replied coolly. He passed a glance to Epel, who stood behind him, struggling to carry several rolls of fabric.

“G-Good day,” Epel managed, tugging at his collar. It appeared as though Vil had dressed him, too--for he was dressed in a lacey lilac blouse, and tied off with a black bow. Instead of leggings, Epel wore puffy shorts and striped socks.

“Such a treat it is to see you out of the attic and venturing out into the world!” Rook laughed, brushing back a wisp of his golden hair. He was without his trademark feathered hat, and had traded his dormitory robes for a button-down shirt--the sleeves rolled up and a few buttons undone, army green khakis, and boating shoes.

Compared to the Pomefiore trio, Raven looked like a spaghetti stain on a square of white fabric. She nervously dusted off her skirt, hoping that Vil wouldn’t harp on how she was wearing the same outfit yet again.

“What brings you to town?” Rook inquired, dropping the bags he had been carrying and excitedly grasping Raven’s hands instead.

“Just… groceries. Uncle is away for a conference, so I am to fend for myself in his absence,” she mumbled, gingerly prying her hands away. “Well… sort of. Jade has been mother henning me for the past few days.”

“Monsieur Mastermind? Ohoh. What a dynamic duo! Two halves of the same coin, trading bitter blows with their words… forever locked in verbal combat!”

“I… I guess?”

“I trust that he is looking after you well?” Rook’s smile widened. “If not... perhaps we should kidnap you away and stow you in Pomefiore until the headmaster’s return!”

“Absolutely not,” Vil snapped. “We have our hands far too full with play preparations to be hosting the Shetland potato--or anyone else, for that matter.”

… H-He didn’t object to Rook kidnapping people. Is that a normal thing for Rook to do? Should I be concerned? She shoved her question down to change the subject to something more comfortable. “Erm… Is that what the supplies are for?”

“Oui! Roi du Poison’s club is staging a performance in the winter. These materials are to make costumes.” The huntsman’s eyes suddenly lit up with a mischievous sparkle. “Fufu. Mon roi has thrown his heart and soul into direction. It is a treat to behold!”

“Congratulations, senpai.”

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” Vil commanded, holding up a hand. “We are still in the throes of auditions. Wait until you have witnessed the show for yourself before you cheer for it.”

“Oh, well… I hope you find suitable actors, then.”

Vil’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “Hm. Now that you mention it… Shetland potato!”

Raven jumped when he barked at her. “Y-Yes?! Look, I know I’ve been wearing the same outfit every time you see me, it’s just that Uncle fills my closet with nothing but duplicate clothes…!!”

“I think you would be fitting for one of the roles in my play,” Vil declared. “Report to Pomefiore at 8 am sharp tomorrow if you are interested in auditioning.”

“Huh?! Me, in one of your… I don’t think I’m…”

“Are you doubting my eyes?” His glare sharpened, turning into a pointed dagger.

“N-No, sir…”

“Good. Then I hope to see you then.” Vil spun around on his heel and waved a hand. “Rook! Epel! We’re going. Don’t dawdle, now.”

“Yes, Vil-senpai. I-I’m coming!”

Epel dashed after his Dorm Leader, Rook following suit--but not before he gave Raven one last glance over his shoulder, accompanied by a wave. Au revoir, he mouthed, the twinkle never parting from his emerald eyes.

She waved back absentmindedly, brought back from her daze only by the ringing of the jewelry store door swinging open again.

Jade emerged from within, bearing a small baby blue box with a white silk bow. “I have returned, Miss Raven. Fufu. I trust that you were not too lonely without me?”

She hastily hid her hands behind her back. “Of course not. You were only gone for a few minutes…!”

“So I was.” Jade’s eyes darted to the Pomefiore trio, whose figures were vanishing over the horizon. “Had I been absent a few moments longer, perhaps I would have had to wrangle you from the hands of an nosy huntsman.”

“As though forcing your way in and kidnapping me back would be any better!”

Jade stifled a laugh.

“In any case, I have procured the earrings I had my heart set on.” With deft fingers, he slid off the top, revealing a glittering lock and key tucked away inside. Jade plucked up the key by the head. “Miss Raven, do lend me your ear.”

“Those are yours…!”

“Correct--and therefore, I may do with these as I please.” He smiled pleasantly. “And I choose to lend you one to wear.”

“It’s not that simple! Have you forgotten already? I can’t wear it--don’t have piercings,” she protested. “You’re not going to jab it through my earlobes, are you?!”

“I will do no such thing.” Jade’s voice remained tranquil as he seized the raven by her chin and jerked her head to one side, yielding a clear opening for him to plant the earring. She squawked in surprise, flailing against him--but his grip was too strong, and she, too weak.

He sighed, continuing to speak as though he were describing the nice weather. “I assure you, this will not hurt one bit, fufufu. Now be a dear and hold still.”

It happened in an instant, despite the bird’s struggles. A slight pinch upon her earlobe, the kiss of the cool metal key on her skin, and it was over.

Jade straightened with a satisfied smirk, and patted Raven on the cheek. “There we are.”

“Eh? What? How did…” She cautiously poked at the earring. “There wasn’t a needle…?”

“I requested that the jeweler convert the key earring into a clip-on.”

“Wha…?! You… You tricked me again?!” Her face flared with a mixture of embarrassment and rage. “But why even bother with such a thing?”

“I wished to see how it would look on you. As I suspected, it is lovely on you.”

Raven gritted her teeth, praying that it would somehow help hide her flusteredness. “... And what do you plan to do with the lock earring? You didn’t also have that one converted, did you?”

“Certainly not.” Jade toyed with the lock in question, rolling it between his index finger and thumb. “I was thinking to wear it myself in lieu of my usual sturgeon scale earring, so that we may match.”

“Match?” Raven scoffed through her blush. “I didn’t know you cared so much about your accessories while grocery shopping.”

“I do not,” he confessed with a coy grin. “However, I would be remiss to pass up an opportunity to show to the world what a perfect pair we make.”

“You what--” Raven was interrupted by Jade grasping one of her hands and placing the lock earring into it.

“If you would do the honors,” he murmured, tilting his head to one side--and once more, slicking his black hair back. His tone was low and inviting, yet somehow she could hear him well and clear over the townspeople that bustled around them.

The scales suspended on his earring swung back and forth in a slow motion. Click, clack, against one another, in an almost hypnotic fashion.

His single, golden eye stared right at her. Waiting, pleading.

Raven swallowed hard. With trembling hands, she unfastened the sturgeon scale earring from his earlobe and secured the lock earring in its place. As soon as the deed was done, she rushed to wipe her hands off on her skirt.

Eel cooties, eel cooties, eel cooties…!!

“Thank you for your assistance, Miss Raven.”

“You’re… you’re welcome.” She pursed her lips, avoiding his eyes--but her traitorous gaze soon found itself lingering on the lock. “That suits you, in a way--like a lock, you guard many secrets, and it’s impossible to get you to open up.”

“Fufu. I am flattered to hear such kind words. If I may return the compliment, that key earring fits you like a glove.”

“Right. Because Uncle is adorned in keys, it would make sense for the motif to carry over to his relatives.”

“No, no, you misunderstand.” Jade held a finger to his lips, a twinkle of conspiracy in his golden eyes. “Come closer… and I shall impart one of my closely guarded secrets to you.”

“This isn’t another one of your tricks, is it?” she asked, her eyes forming suspicious slivers--but despite her curt words, the bird’s body instinctively leaned into his. She cursed her curiosity.

Jade chuckled and bent down, allowing his lips to hover by her ear. Time seemed to slow, but her heartbeat quickened. Face, hot--extremities, cold. Opposites, yet matching. One, unable to exist without the other.

And, at last, his answer came.

“It suits you well--for you hold the key to my heart, Miss Raven.”

#twst #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc week #Jade Leech #Vil Schoenheit #Raven Crowley #Epel Felmier #Rook Hunt #twst oc #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #my art

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cherienymphe · 4 years

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Protect & Serve V (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: Cop!Steve, NON-CON, mentions of violence and murder and assault

IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary: escaping an ugly past, you have no choice but to return home. While much has remained the same, Officer Rogers is a new addition who has won over the hearts of the town in your absence. And no one believes you when you start to see him for who he really is

When you woke up, you felt like you’d slept for days. Knowing Steve, and having no clue as to what he injected you with, that might be true. You had dry mouth, that much you could tell, and your head still felt like it weighed a ton. Peeling your eyes open was rather difficult, but when you did, you realized that you were in a different room from the one before.

You pushed yourself up to lean on your forearms, looking around and listening. The house was quiet, a far cry from the last time you were here. You guessed that all of Steve’s guests were gone, and you didn’t know if you should be relieved or not. You didn’t know why you thought their presence would protect you when it wouldn’t. They had literally helped Steve recapture you after also watching your unconscious form be carried into his house to begin with. Maybe it was better that they were gone…

Now you could start formulating another escape without them around to catch you.

A stabbing pain struck you behind your eyes, and you squinted, bringing your fingers up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You cursed Steve to hell and back. Why had he given you the option of walking back with him when he was going to do what he wanted anyway? Did he get some sick pleasure out of it all?

Speaking of pleasure, you noted the soreness in between your thighs and wondered if Steve had done a lot more to you while you were out. He’d said that it wasn’t his style, but he couldn’t be trusted. You pressed your thighs together and winced, sitting up. Just as you considered what to do next, the bedroom door opened.

You sharply inhaled as Steve filled the doorway, heart rate picking up at the sight of him. Was it crazy that you were more terrified of him than you had been of your ex-husband? At least with Killian, you had grown to know what to expect. Steve had shattered every one of your expectations.

“You’re awake,” he said, stepping further into the room.

You didn’t know what to do, so you just stared at him as he approached. For your own sake, you needed to keep your eyes on him at all times. Escape was your top priority, and you had to think smart about it. He gripped your chin, turning your head to the side to gaze at your eyes, and hummed, clearly satisfied.

“You’ve been asleep for almost an entire day,” he informed you, grabbing your arm.

He helped you out of bed, and you let him. Your body was still fighting off whatever he gave you, and you stumbled. Steve was more than happy to catch you though, arm thrown around you, hand digging into your shoulder as he leaned you into his side.

He was patient as he helped you out of the room and down the stairs. The smell of food hit you, and you sniffed, stomach grumbling. Steve heard it and chuckled.

“I made breakfast,” he said, leading you into the kitchen.

A modest dining table was on the far side, and your eyes fell to the food laid upon it. You couldn’t trust him, having no idea as to what he wanted from you, so there was no telling what was in the food. However, you couldn’t afford to not eat. Steve turned his back after helping you sit down, and you glanced through the living room to look at the lake on the other side of the window. Getting across that lake was your best chance…

Too busy staring, you didn’t notice him approach until your hands were being handcuffed to the arms of the chair. You gasped, and he did the same with your ankles. Forgetting about your injury, you jerked your legs, only to cry out at the pain that traveled through your ankle. Steve hummed at that, sitting next to you.

“You gave Bucky and Sam hell. Thor too,” he added.

You watched as he picked up some scrambled eggs on a fork before bringing it to your lips. Realizing that you didn’t have much of a choice, you reluctantly parted them. The food tasted good enough, and he fed you again.

You licked your lips.

“You sound surprised,” you whispered, eyes meeting his.

A faint smirk was on his lips, and he chuckled.

“Not surprised…impressed. I like a fighter,” he said, reaching out to grab his glass of water.

He never broke his gaze from over the rim of the glass, and you blinked.

“…but I could tell that from the first moment I met you. So reluctant to accept a ride from a nice small-town cop-.”

“There isn’t anything nice about you,” you sneered.

Steve chuckled, nodding fondly.

“I suppose you’re right about that,” he agreed. “Nevertheless, the average person doesn’t pick up on that. Of course…you would…”

You glanced away as he fed you again.

“…tell me about him,” he eventually said.

You looked back to him with a frown. You knew who he was talking about, and your heart clenched. He pressed his elbows into the wood of the table, hands clasped together as he eyed you.

“Your ex-husband,” he elaborated.

You heaved a deep sigh, frustration coloring your tone.

“Why?”

“Because I want to know,” was his simple response.

You swallowed, a shiver climbing up your spine as you thought about the other blond man in your life.

“What…what do you want to know?” you wondered with a shrug.

He reached out to brush a finger down the side of your face, running it over your bottom lip.

“Tell me why you stayed,” he quietly demanded.

Figuring there was no harm in humoring him, you answered.

“I…was afraid. I had nowhere to go and…part of me…felt like I was being punished. Like I deserved it…”

“For what?”

“For leaving my family and friends behind,” you murmured. “For ignoring them for years…”

Steve nodded at that, pulling his hand away.

“I am sorry about your family. I meant that when I told you that. They were good people,” he replied.

You blinked. Of course, he had known them. How could he not? It didn’t sit right with you that someone like him had interacted with your family…especially while you weren’t around. You wondered how he behaved towards them, if he ever made any of them feel as uncomfortable as he did with you.

“The funerals were lovely. Was he the reason you didn’t go?”

You suddenly found it hard to swallow, and tears kissed your eyes as he brought that up. He reached out to brush a rogue one away, and you jerked away from him. Missing the funerals of your family was definitely your biggest regret. Every time you thought about it, your hate for Killian grew.

You didn’t have to answer because Steve already knew.

“Bucky told me that you thought he was the one at your house every night. He said that you had feared he would find you,” he said, making you frown at the mention of the brunette.

You looked down when his hand found yours, brushing circles into the skin with his thumb.

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” he murmured, and your frown deepened.

You clenched your jaw, biting back what you wanted to say, and seeing the look on your face made Steve laugh. You looked up at him, gaze cold.

“I know what you must be thinking…that I won’t get away with this…”

He took another bite, leaning back in his chair as he eyed you smugly.

“…but I will. Hell, I’ve gotten away with worse,” he chuckled.

Your brow twitched, and you narrowed your eyes at him, recalling something that Wanda had said.

“Peggy?”

You watched the way his face fell, and you continued.

“Wanda said she’d just…left right after the breakup. I never thought that seemed her style…”

Your tone was accusatory, and apparently with good reason. Steve slowly exhaled, straightening up as he rubbed his hand over his chin, elbow pressed into the table as his eyes gazed at something you couldn’t see.

“Peggy…was an accident,” he admitted, and genuine remorse registered on his features.

Remorseful or not, your eyes still widened as he confirmed what you had initially suspected but brushed off, convinced that your paranoia was getting the best of you. Now, you knew the truth. You weren’t just sitting with a kidnapper, but you were sitting with a murderer too.

“You see, I started having my fun before I came here. I’d help out unsuspecting girls in need. Sometimes they were homeless…sometimes they just needed a ride home…to the store…”

Horror filled you as he spoke, and you started to realize that you weren’t dealing with an amateur.

“They’d get in, and I’d offer them a bottle of water I kept inside.”

Of course, they would. Steve Rogers looked like the poster boy for good Samaritans everywhere. Those soft blue eyes could convince anyone. Said eyes met yours, serious.

“They’d always accept. Either out of genuine thirst or just to avoid being rude, I don’t know. I didn’t care. They’d be knocked out within minutes…”

You felt like you were going to be sick.

“…when I was done, I’d park at wherever they had wanted me to take them to. They’d eventually arouse, and I’d convince them that they had nodded off. None of them ever suspected, and if they did, what could they say?”

He rose an eyebrow.

“The friendly neighborhood cop, Officer Rogers, drugged and raped me?”

He scoffed, and you blinked away tears.

“…and Peggy?” you forced out.

Steve sighed.

“I got tired of the coldness and casualness of it all,” he said with a shrug. “I realized that I wasn’t getting any younger, and Peggy… She was so sweet.”

He sadly shook his head.

“Like every other woman in this town, she was itching at the chance to have me. But unlike the rest, she wasn’t bold about it. She was coy, and I liked that. It wasn’t long before I had her in the palm of my hands,” he chuckled at that. “Literally.”

Disgust churned in your stomach.

“She was everything I thought she’d be. Except…she wasn’t.”

When he looked at you again, his eyes were hard, face taut with tension as he recalled whatever memory you hadn’t been privy to.

“Peggy had plans,” he dragged out, voice low as he took another sip. “She wanted to achieve all of these great things…see the world…leave me.”

He huffed.

“We fought. Things got…physical, and the next thing I know, my hands are around her neck.”

You swallowed, tears spilling over now.

“Jesus,” he quietly scoffed. “I didn’t even realize until I let her go and she just…dropped.”

More tears fell, and he finally took notice. He reached over to wipe them, and you flinched.

“That’s right,” he hummed. “You grew up with her.”

He moved to feed you some more, but you shook your head, appetite lost. He let the fork drop before leaning back in his seat. He turned to look though the living room, eyes roaming over the lake through the window.

“She’s in that lake, you know. I think about her every time I look out onto it,” he quietly said, more to himself than you.

You sniffed, throat tight and chest burning. Fear gripped you, and you wondered if that was going to be your fate. Steve suddenly moved his chair closer to you, and you cried harder. He shushed you, reaching for you to wipe your face with his thumbs.

“That won’t be you. I promise,” he said as if reading your mind, hands resting on the sides of your face.

You shook your head.

“Why me?” you quietly asked him, no longer able to keep it in.

You had to know.

“I could see how broken you were,” he hummed, eyes roaming over your face. “…and I thought that I could fix you. That maybe we could fix each other, hmm? I give you the safety and security and love you’ve been craving for years, and you give me what I want.”

You frantically blinked, eyes searching his face.

“I could see that you wanted me too. Deep down, anyway. After all, I was a good guy. I’m sure Wanda told you something like that, didn’t she? That I would be good for you…and you had thought about it, considered it. I could see it in your eyes that night,” he continued. “Wondering what it would be like to be with a genuinely good guy…”

“I wasn’t ready,” you mumbled.

He took a deep breath.

“I know, but unfortunately for you… I don’t have much patience. At least not when it comes to something I know I want.”

“What…what do you want from me?” you finally wondered.

He let out a breath, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip as he stood, towering over you.

“I want you to look at me with complete adoration as I come inside of you. I want to come inside of you every night, calling you wife while I fill you with my children. I want to make love to you when you’re glowing and round with my child, but…right now…”

He reached for your plate again, bringing some more eggs to your lips.

“I want you to finish your food.”

Too stunned by his admission, you allowed him to feed you, fear gripping your heart at what would happen if you didn’t escape.

When you weren’t locked away in the room, and when you weren’t handcuffed at the table, Steve pretty much allowed you free reign. He was at your side at all times, of course, closely hovering. You figured it was best to seem cooperative. Of course, you didn’t think Steve was gullible enough to believe that you had accepted your situation. You both knew that you were just biding your time. It was only a matter of thinking of a way to escape before he thought of a way to stop you before you even tried.

You feared what he would do to keep you here…feared what he would do if he caught you trying to leave. You thought of Peggy, of how she had simply brought up the idea of leaving and had died for it. Steve’s desires weighed on your mind, and you knew that you only had so much time before he started to go through with them.

That second morning, you had woken up to the feel of a hard chest pressed against your back, a thick arm curling over your waist. It had taken you a moment to understand that the second room you had woken up in was his room. You had jerked in his grip, attempting to get away from him, but your movements had aroused him…in more ways than one.

His hold tightened, pulling you closer, and he groaned as sleep began to leave him. You could feel him poking against you, hard and hot, and you had panicked. You fought to get away from him, and he swiftly pushed you to lie on your back, settling in between your legs. Your hands, having attempted to push him away, were pinned between your bodies as he kissed you.

You gasped against his mouth, and his tongue slipped past your lips, tasting the inside of your mouth. His arms were pressed down on either side of you, caging you in, and you felt like you were suffocating. Steve paid no mind to your aversion, moaning against your trembling lips. One of his hands reached down to wrap around your wrists, dragging them above you until they were pinned just below the headboard.

His other hand slid down your side, kneading your skin as it descended. He ground himself against you, his hardened member poking at you through his shorts. You only had on a nightgown that he’d left outside of the shower the night before. You had briefly wondered if it belonged to Peggy. This very thing was a pressing concern of yours when you noticed the absence of underwear.

His free hand moved to make a home in between your legs, fingers brushing against and poking at you. You bit his tongue, hard, and you tasted blood. He ripped his face away from you with a hiss, and your satisfaction was short lived when he shoved two fingers inside of you to the hilt.

Your chest arched, a choked sound escaping your lips as he roughly fingered you. You turned your head away when he leaned back down, and his lips met your cheek.

“Do that again,” he whispered, lips moving against your skin. “…and I’ll make you pay for it.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt his fingers glide within you more easily now. He hummed, mouth trailing down to your neck, sucking on the skin. You squirmed beneath him, trying to fight off the pleasure that was being forced on you. Your legs kicked around him, and he widened his, pushing his knees underneath your thighs to restrict your movement.

You pushed your wrists against his hands as he added a third finger, stretching you out. A moan threatened to bubble out of your throat, but you swallowed it down, whimpering instead. Steve wasn’t pleased with that. He continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, thumb coming up to brush against your swollen bud, and you whimpered again.

His hands tightened around your wrists as he sped up, almost painfully so, and he grinded against you. His lips attached themselves to your neck, pulling the skin in between his teeth, laving his tongue over you. He curled his fingers, and a broken moan finally slipped from your lips. He did it again and was met with the same result.

You turned your face as much into the pillow as you possible could, but Steve’s lips sought out your own, covering them in another kiss. He swallowed your moans, groaning into your mouth as your hips bucked against his hand. The hand that was holding your wrists down moved to intertwine with one of yours. You quickly pushed your free hand against his stomach, and when that didn’t work, you wrapped your hand around his wrist.

Your efforts were useless, Steve effortlessly working his fingers into you again and again.

“Stop,” you finally begged against his lips.

“Come for me, and I will,” he roughly replied.

He flicked his thumb over your bundle of nerves again, and you fell apart beneath him. He pulled back ever so slightly, your moans permeating through the air as he looked down at you. A few of his blond strands tickled your own forehead, and his nose kept brushing against yours as he worked you through your climax.

He looked down, eyes focused on the way you clenched around his fingers, hand a mess. Your chest heaved, breath shaky as he tightened his hold on your hand. You’d just woken up, but you felt tired all over again. He finally pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips and humming.

“Good girl,” he murmured as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

He rolled off of you, and you caught sight of the large tent in his shorts. You looked away, hurriedly pulling your nightgown back down, disgust coursing through you. You didn’t move as he strode into the bathroom and turned the shower on. You only did so when low moans reached you minutes later, and you moved to exit the room, but it was locked. You noticed what looked like a key pad on the wall next to the light switch. You hadn’t noticed it the day before.

Realizing that you’d have to sit here and listen to him get himself off, you sat back down, covering your ears. You were still in that position when he finally exited, a towel loosely hanging on his lips. You watched as he walked into the closet and came back out with clothes that were clearly meant for you. Again, you wondered if these belonged to Peggy. He ushered you into the bathroom before you could give it any more thought.

Your time in the bathroom was quick. Your quick search of the cabinets turned up nothing useful for you. No type of medication or sedatives or anything. You would have loved nothing more to spend all day in the bathroom, but you didn’t want to give Steve the opportunity to check on you and see you naked. The clothes fit perfectly, and it was then that you decided they weren’t Peggy’s.

The idea that Steve found clothes that were perfectly in your size made your stomach churn.

He was waiting for you when you got out, and he reached for you as soon as you were near. One hand went to the back of your neck, holding you beside him while the other went to what you thought was the keypad. You watched in awe as he pressed his thumb against it, and the pad flashed green just before he reached to open the door.

“Buck and Sam are coming by later,” he told as he guided you down the stairs. “I don’t think I need to remind you not to do anything stupid, do I?”

You shook your head.

“Anyway, just in case…”

He stopped before the door of the basement. Apprehension filled you as he opened it and guided you in, his chest brushing your back as you walked. You walked down some stairs, stopping at another door. This one was sturdier and had a bar that fell across it. You watched as Steve lifted the bar and pushed you in.

You stumbled, tripping over your feet before straightening yourself. You could feel Steve behind you as you looked around, and your heart dropped. It was a room, furnished with a single bed, a toilet, and a sink. You swallowed in fear, taking a step back, recoiling when you bumped into him.

Steve wrapped his arm around you, lips at your ear.

“I don’t want to have to put you in here, but I will if you force me to. Is that understood?”

You gave him a shaky nod. His hand closed around your throat, and you gasped, reaching up to grab his arm as he lifted you, your toes grazing the floor.

“I want to hear you say it,” he whispered.

“I understand,” you shakily replied, and satisfied, he let you go.

He spun you around, one hand on your jaw as he tilted your head, lips brushing your cheek and then your ear.

“Be good for me…and I’ll be good to you,” he quietly told you.

He didn’t wait for a response before guiding you up the stairs. You reached the hallway again just as a knock sounded on the front door. He pulled you along, keeping you at his side as he went to answer it.

Sam and Bucky had grins on their faces and greetings on their lips when Steve opened the door. However, Bucky’s face fell when his eyes met yours. You took in the red marks on the side of his face, and you couldn’t keep the smug expression off of yours even if you tried. He let them in, hand sliding around your waist as he closed the door.

You flinched, and he tightened his arm around you. Bucky looked over his shoulder at you, lips curled into a cruel smirk.

“Like the new look?” he wondered, gesturing to his face.

You simply looked at him, and both Sam and Steve chuckled.

“Maybe if you weren’t slacking…” Sam’s words trailed off as they entered the kitchen, but Steve pushed you towards the living room.

He pressed his lips to your forehead before pushing you down onto the couch. You swallowed, watching as he joined Sam and Bucky in the kitchen. Sam’s eyes were on you, and he turned to Steve.

“She’s quiet,” you heard him say.

“No. She’s not quiet,” Steve replied, calculating eyes meeting yours before he ran them over you.

He smirked.

“She’s smart,” he argued.

He looked away, and so did you, eyes looking through the backdoor to roam over the lake. If only you could get to the lake. When the time was right…

Sam and Bucky didn’t stay for long. Steve had waved them goodbye with one arm securely around your waist. You watched them get back into the car, the police cruiser, and your stomach churned, still in disbelief that the supposed good guys were nothing but scum.

You wanted to know how they could be okay with what Steve was doing. You wanted to know how they justified it, and unable to keep it in, you asked him. He didn’t respond right away, instead heaving a sigh as he pressed one hand into the wall beside your head, caging you in.

“After Peggy, I went back to my…casual encounters…”

You frowned at how he worded it, and he chuckled at that.

“…not often like I did before, but just enough to satisfy me… They caught me one day…”

He smiled as if he were thinking back on a fond memory, and you were almost sorry you’d asked.

“They wanted in on it too.”

Your eyes widened as they met his gaze, and your lips parted as you registered what he was saying. He reached up to brush his thumb over your trembling lips, his own parting.

“Eventually Thor got roped in too. His brother Loki prefers to sit out on the festivities, but he doesn’t mind. I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced to them,” he added. “Loki is a lawyer, and Thor is a cop in the next county over. They come over from time to time. Usually for a game.”

Now you were positive that you were going to be sick, and Steve continued.

“Thor wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous about it when he’s here…and the boss caught on one day. We’re the best cops in town though. We keep these people safe and crime is practically nonexistent, so… So long as we’re discreet, he looks the other way,” he told you.

You turned away from him, tears in your eyes. He pressed his lips to your cheek, inhaling.

“Do you see, now? You have no one to run to. No one will help you,” he whispered darkly, hand landing on your shoulder, digging in, the other trailing to cup your ass. “We run this town…”

He pressed a leg in between yours, and you pushed against him, but he was faster. He grabbed your wrists, slamming them against the wall as he forced his mouth on yours. You kicked at his legs, but it was hard to do when one of his separated yours.

He pulled you away from the wall, lips never parting from yours as he turned and forced you back. You stumbled and tripped over your feet, trying to put as much distance between you two as possible. When that didn’t work, you brought your knee up, and Steve pulled back with a grunt.

Slipping out of his arms, you ran towards the backdoor, but his hands in your hair stopped you. You screamed as your scalp protested his tight hold, and he yanked you back into his chest, one hand closing around your throat. His chest heaved against your back, harsh breaths in your ear.

“Remember what I said,” he whispered, deep voice threatening. “Be good for me…and I’ll be good to you…”

You hadn’t realized you were crying until he walked you forward towards the couch. Your face crumbled as he pushed you down, one hand sliding up the thin dress he’d given you to wear. His hand grazed your bare slit, and you cried harder.

As awful as Killian had been, he’d never forced himself on you. It was crazy to think that in all the years you’d experienced violence at his hand, none of it had ever been sexual. That was a line that he had never crossed.

Steve flipped you, and you immediately fought against him as he ripped at your dress. He caught your wrists, holding them away as he dipped down to wrap his lips around one breast, bud hardened from the cool air in the house. He moved his head to give the other the same attention, and you cried out, pushing against him.

He suddenly jerked your wrist, and you cried out, pain traveling down your arm. He looked up at you, eyes cold as both desire and anger warred within them.

“I will break both of them,” he harshly said, making you freeze.

You couldn’t swim across the lake with a broken wrist, let alone two. He let you go, hands hovering over your own for a while to make sure you would behave. Pleased, he swiftly undressed, and you looked away from him, eyes on the ceiling. He tsk’d, reaching for your chin to turn your head.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered.

Too afraid to defy him, you watched as he grabbed your ankles, spreading and lifting your legs as he moved closer. He was hard and throbbing, bigger than Killian was, and you shook beneath him. There was no warning, no teasing… Steve slid into you with one thrust.

Having been wholly unprepared, you yelped in pain, head falling back on the arm of the couch. He rested your legs on his shoulders, leaning over you as he forced your knees to your shoulders. All of your movement was restricted, and the only thing you could do was press your hands into his waist. A few tears escaped your eyes, and Steve kissed them away.

His breath was shaky, blond hair hanging into his forehead as he savored the feel of you wrapped around him. He rested his forearms on the arm of the couch, caging you in, and you felt incredibly hot being surrounded by him. His lips brushed the corner of your mouth before moving them down to your jaw, nipping at the skin there.

He slowly pulled his hips back until nothing but the tip of him remained inside of you. He was slow to thrust too, and you squirmed, nails digging into his waist. The position you were in didn’t allow for you to do anything other than lay there and take it. Steve gradually began to pick up his pace, and the couch trembled from the force of his thrusts.

You wanted to close your eyes so badly, but you were afraid of what he’d do if you did. His lips never stayed in one place, kissing every part of your face that they could. Occasionally, his hand would brush over your cheek or shoulder. Sometimes he’d reach down and flick his fingers over you. Unable to do anything, you had no choice but to accept the pleasure he was forcing on you.

His skin slapped against yours in the quiet house, and you whimpered as he rested his forehead against yours, blue eyes boring into your own. As quiet as you tried to be, he could see the pleasure on your face, and the corner of his lips curved upwards. He kissed you, slow and soft, and you hated it. His lips didn’t part from yours as his thrusts grew erratic and choppy.

Too many things were happening at once, it was too intense for you, and you turned your head. Steve snarled at that and fisted his hand in your hair, yanking your head towards him again. He kissed you harder this time, slamming into you as he did so. Tears streamed down your face as you felt your stomach tightening, toes curling while you clenched around him.

“That’s it,” he murmured into your mouth. “Come for me…”

You pressed your nails harder into his skin, trying to fight it off, but it was no use. Steve didn’t relent in his movements, and soon, you were coming around him. Your climax struck you like a punch, stomach aching as it tightened, core fluttering around Steve’s unyielding cock. You slapped your hands against him as he fucked you through it, tears in your eyes again.

“Be good for me,” he reminded you, and you shook your head.

You reached in between you to press your hands to his stomach, turning your head away. Steve’s breathing was harsh above you, chest heaving as he thrust into your soaking core.

“Steve,” you begged, pushing against him.

“You’ve got another in you, I know you do.”

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he threw you head first into another, and your mind spun as a choked moan slipped out of your mouth. You couldn’t swallow it down even if you tried, and Steve groaned. One of your hands was on his chest, the other on his shoulder, but he wouldn’t budge. Your legs trembled, and you involuntarily closed them as you tried to stem the oversensitivity, inadvertently locking them around his neck.

“Steve... Steve, please,” you begged, out of breath.

His lips found yours again, and he growled into your mouth.

“One more,” he whispered. “Give me one more.”

You tried to duck your head, but he followed, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Give me one more…”

Stars appeared behind your eyes as you came for a third time, choking his cock. Steve let out a low moan as you gripped him, the sound drawing out into a groan. You could feel the mess you were making, but Steve didn’t mind as he pressed kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your neck…

“Look how good you are for me. Such a good girl for me,” he mumbled, spilling into you.

You shuddered at the feel, and Steve fucked his cum into you, hissing. He sat up to move your legs off of him, and relief filled you as they fell limply around him. He pressed his chest against yours again, hands cupped underneath your thighs as he lazily moved within you.

“See how good I can make you feel…” he said, lips grazing yours. “…when you’re good for me.”

tags: @xoxabs88xox @darkficreposter @mcudarklibrary @captainchrisstan @nickyl316h @buckybarnesplumwhore @harryspet @readermia @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @opheliadawnwalker3 @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @stargazingfangirl18 @lou-la-lou @izzfizzh @thatgirly81 @autty0314 @hinata7346 @lokislastlove @honorarytenenbaum @void-hoechlin @autty0314

#dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #cop!au #cop au #cop!steve #dark fic #marvel fanfiction

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haileygarciasunshine · 4 years

Text

Bump in the Night

Pairing: Jacob Black x Fem!Reader

Written: December 20th, 2020

Posted: December 21st, 2020

Word Count: 819

Warning: None

Summary: Moving back to forks, the reader uncovers secrets about the town and the people living in it that she never knew.

Jacob Black Masterlist

Walking on the shore of La Push, you spotted your small group of friends. Smiling, you hurriedly made your way towards them.

“Y/N!” Seth greeted full of excitement. Pulling you in for a bone-crushing hug, he lifted you off of the group before twirling around.

The air became filled with the sound o your squeals.

“Put the poor girl down,” Leah spoke rolling her eyes at her brother.

Placing you back on your feet, giggles fell from your lips. Turning your attention back towards the group, you greeted each of your friends, before standing beside Jacob, as he placed an arm over your shoulders.

“What’d I miss?” You questioned gazing at Sam, who held an unhappy expression.”

Shaking his head, Sam hadn’t bothered to fill you in on what they were previously chatting about.

“Let’s go.” Sam spat, jerking his head in the direction of the forest behind him.

“But-”

Before you could argue, Jacob sighed before he retreated without another word along with the rest of your friends.

Frowning, tears threatened to fall down your cheeks. Your mind became clouded with the thought of having done something wrong.

Shaking your head, you made your way back to the beat-up truck your dad had given you when you moved to Forks.

---

“I...I think he’s hiding something from me.” You frowned as you gazed out of the cafe window.

Angela sat across from you offering you a look of sympathy. “There’s just something’s that are better to be left alone.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms on the table as you gazed around the small cafe. Your gaze fell upon a familiar pair of eyes. Locking eyes, you raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll be right back.” You spoke standing up promptly, not waiting for her to respond.

Making your way towards the table, the feeling of uneasiness washed over you.

“Fancy seeing you here. Mind if I sit?” You questioned motioning towards the unoccupied seat in front of him.

“Please,” Edwards responded, nodding slightly.

An awkward silence fell between you.

“How’s Jacob?” He questioned in an annoyed voice.

Frowning, you dropped your gaze to the table in front of you. “He’s good...I think. I...I haven’t seen much of him lately.”

“That’s a shame.” He spat taking a drink from his cup.

You rolled your eyes in response. Sighing, you shook your head. “I should go.” “Wait,” Edward spoke grasping your wrist preventing you from leaving. “Why don’t we do something.”

You scoffed. “I should get back to Angela.”

“She seems to be preoccupied at the moment.” He smirked jutting his chin out towards her.

Turning around, you gazed at Angela only to see Mike sitting in your previous seat.

“Oh.” You muttered.

“Why don’t we have dinner?” He questioned moving to stand next to you.

“I-”

Not allowing you to respond, he tugged you behind him not letting go of your wrist as he lead you to his car.

“This is kidnapping you know.” You spoke raising an eyebrow at him as he held the car door open for you.

“I don’t see you putting up much of a fight.” He countered. “Shut up.” You spoke getting into the car.

Edward chuckled as he shut your door, knowing he won the argument. As you were driving down the road, you and Edward shared laughs as well as terrible singing.

Slamming on the breaks, your seat belt-tightening as you leaned forward from the sudden movement. Gazing through the windshield, you were surprised to see Jacob standing in the middle of the road.

Unbuckling your seatbelt, you practically jumped out of the car. “Jake?” “What are you doing with him?” Jacob's voice dripping with venom as he moved in front of you.

“We’re just hanging out...” You spoke gazing at him with confusion, “Wait, why do you care? You’ve been MIA!”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Jacob brushed off your statement.

“Try me.” You spoke crossing your arms over your chest as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Y/N.” Edward's voice spoke from beside you.

“How well do you even know him?” Jacob spat as he jutted his chin towards Edward.

“Why does that matter?”

“Because he’s a Vampire!”

Gazing at him, your eyes were widened eyes.

“What?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. Turning towards the man standing beside you.

Edward’s jaw clench and hesitation were enough of an answer for you.

“V-Vampires aren’t....real.”

“Jacob’s a shape shifter. That’s why he’s been avoiding you, turns out you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

Your eyes snapped up to the man standing in front of you. "Jake?” You questioned feeling your body tremble as you gazed at him in disbelief. The pained look on his face broke your heart.

“Y/N...Let me explain.” He pleaded.

“Take me home.” You spoke.

Getting into Edward's car, you stared intently at the dashboard as you attempted to hold it together.

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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years

Note

PLEASE pluck Ricky from obscurity like you did Zach!!!

Right so you are all fairly keen on this guy because I also got these:

Pick You Up

Ricky Hauk x reader

Word count: 1700 ~ Warnings: None really. Light angst. Kissing.

Lovely gif by @ithinkwehitametaphor

You’ve not lived in this town long. The first time you use the gas station, the tall, skinny guy behind the counter glances at you from under his ball cap, the red brim only serving to bring out the slices of amber in his soulful brown eyes. There’s a crease in his cupid’s bow, the thumb print of a God proud of his work. He rings up your service, gives you a collection time.

When you park up back at home, you see it. A note under your unused windscreen wiper.

Autumn in her eyes

Her hair ropes of burnished gold,

Kissed by corners of the

Falling leaves. Will seasons pass

Before I look upon her

Once more?

The poem was from him. You know it. You know it because the next time you bring your car back, when winter’s starting to bite chunks out of the temperature, you see him write something on your receipt in the same loopy scrawl. He sees you looking. Ricky is embroidered on his navy blue overalls. A flush creeps up his cheeks, and you wonder how old he is. Twenty? You could cry over his perfect cheekbones.

“It should be more than that?” you ask when he rings you up.

The corner of his mouth curves up. “Returning customer discount. No one will miss a few quarts of gas.”

There’s a worn, tattered book propping up a wonky corner of the cash register. A Poem for Every Day of the Year.

And when you arrive home, there’s another scrap of paper under your windscreen wiper.

Winter’s grasp is far-reaching

Fingers dug in tight

But footprints thaw frozen ground,

A smile melts frostbite

Inch by Inch

You fold the paper carefully, tuck it under a magnet on your fridge, next to the one you already have. Wonder what it means. If he writes poetry for all his customers.

iii

Before Winter ends, your exhaust pipe crashes off the end of your car and you narrowly miss swerving off the road in shock at the huge bang it makes. You drive right to the service station, and like a dream, there he is, the huge roller door of the workshop open, and he’s bent over another car, his ball cap on backwards, overalls half-unzipped. Heat is pumping out of the workshop interior and you park your car. As you shut the door, Ricky looks up, and his face goes slack for a second, before he plasters a polite query on the handsome canvas. “Uh, hey. Can I help you?”

“Exhaust pipe fell off on the highway,” you sigh. “I know she’s a hunk of junk, but I just can’t afford to replace her, not yet.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.” Ricky holds out his hand for the keys, a smear of grease on his thumb, and you stare at his palm for a moment, wondering what his hands would feel like on your skin. If he’d leave a fingerprint of grease behind.

You wouldn’t mind much, if he did.

You have to leave the car overnight, eventually. Ricky comes into the tiny office with the noisy watercooler and tiny wall-mounted TV that only shows one God-awful news channel. His hands are shoved into his overall pockets and there’s a streak of engine grease on his cheek.

“Uh, I’m sorry, but she’s gonna have to stay in until tomorrow. My boss has gotta check the weld, and he’s stuck in the snowstorm one state over.”

“Okay.” You’re not cross with him. What would be the point?

Ricky looks from the clock to you. He probably has a hot date you’re keeping him from, you think with a little sadness. “Um, I’ve gotta lock up now. I can drive you home. If you want.” He jerks his thumb at the window to his right. A beaten up red truck sits outside.

“Thank you. That’d be great.”

The snow has started to fall in earnest. Ricky locks up the gas station and pockets the keys as the shutter finally closes up tight. He opens the passenger door for you, waits until you’re safely strapped in before he gets in on his side and starts the engine. “You’ll have to direct me.” He tugs off the ball cap and stuffs it in the glove box.

“Wait,” you say, as his hand hovers over the stick.

He glances at you with an eyebrow raised, that poet’s mouth set solemnly, his tiger iron eyes so large in his face, larger somehow with his thick hair sticking up at all angles, and he looks so young but like he has an old soul. Like he’s seen so much; too much, and he is so tired.

“Why did you write me those poems?”

Ricky looks away, chewing his bottom lip.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“So what?” he throws back, still not looking at you. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you wanna hear?”

Your heart cracks down the middle. “No, it isn’t. They were beautiful. I kept them.”

His gaze shoots to yours. “You are beautiful,” he says, very soberly.

And you lift your hand to his cheek and then he’s kissing you, earnestly, his lips soft and sweet and unpracticed. Not that you’re experienced, but you estimate yourself as perhaps half a decade older than him. He groans into your mouth and desire skitters through you. You part your lips for him and he finally touches you, just a hand on your thigh, his palm warm through your worn, old jeans.

The drive to your house is full of thick, syrupy tension. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the way Ricky subtly adjusts himself during the ten minute trip.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to help him out with that.

He parks outside your building, and you kiss him again before you leave, nipping at his tempting lower lip, making him curse, low and sweet in that sinful, husky voice, still a little thready with youth.

“I’ll work on your car first thing tomorrow?” he half asks, half informs you, as you open the passenger door. The cold wind arcs in, biting at your skin. “I could pick you up. Early. If you want.”

You nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

Ricky catches your hand, tangles your fingers. “Guys like me write poetry about girls like you because it’s the only way we’ll be with you,” he mutters, and there’s something so sad and resigned in the depths of his butterscotch gaze.

You don’t know what to say, and if you kiss him again you run the serious risk of being arrested for indecent behaviour in his truck.

He’s early the next morning. You’re not ready.

“Come up,” you say through the buzzer, and in a matter of moments you’re opening your apartment door to him. He holds the service station ball cap in his hands, wringing it nervously, and his overalls are half-unzipped to reveal a plain white t-shirt. He smells of cheap cologne and minty toothpaste, and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Want a coffee?” you ask. “I’ll be five minutes.”

“No, thanks. Uh, I’m fine.” He stands by the door, like he needs permission to sit down.

You rush around, calling your boss to remind him about your car situation. He’s stuck at home anyway due to a snowdrift, so he doesn’t chew you out.

Pulling on your winter boots - hopefully they’ll see you through to March - you step out of the bedroom. Ricky’s leaning over your kitchen counter, scrawling something on a post-it note. He jerks up, guilt sketched on his angular face.

“Sorry.”

“Not at all.”

He folds the paper over. “Don’t read it.. Til later.”

He turns to face you, hesitates, wariness and want and need laid bare in those gorgeous hazelnut eyes.

“Could I… kiss you? Maybe?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and Ricky cups your face in his broad, callused hands, and lowers his mouth to yours, and the kiss starts soft and sweet, explorative, and then you slide your hands up his shoulders and tangle your fingers in his thick, tattered-silk hair, and he backs you into the wall, his lips urgent on yours, licking into your mouth, and you drink him in like you’re starved for the taste of him. He groans against your lips, one hand slipping down your back to palm your ass, and-

And your phone rings shrilly from your bag. Your work mobile.

You and Ricky spring apart.

“I’d better get that.”

It turns out to be a shitty sales call, but the moment’s been broken. You mostly manage to ignore the distended shape of Ricky’s jeans, but his face is red the whole drive to the garage.

When you arrive, a man who you guess to be Ricky’s boss is already there, opening the shutter. Ricky turns to you, his hand hesitant on your thigh. “Maybe…. Maybe you’d wanna see me again?

You cover his hand with yours, link your fingers. “I’d love to see you again, Ricky.”

His smile lights up the dreary winter day.

*****

Special thanks to @dornish-queen without whose watchlist, this fic would never have happened.

Tagging the Pedro pals! @gamingaquarius @a-seeker-of-imagination @songsformonkeys @alldatalost @dornish-queen @lackofhonor @alienprincesspoop @beccaplaying @cryptkeepersoul @keeper0fthestars @winters-buck @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @jaime1110 @nelba @heatherbel @thewayofthemandalorian @agirllovespasta @seawhisperer @holographic-carmen @mrschiltoncat @mourningbirds1 @emmy-dandiliom918 @trippedmetaldetector @starlight-starwrites @oloreaa @thegreenkid @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @buckstaposition @pedropascallion @pajamasecrets @knittingqueen13 @skdubbs @opheliaelysia

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quillandink333 · 3 years

Text

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part VII

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

It took me far too long to recover from the discovery I’d made deep beneath the foundation of the Sheikah estate. Who knew how many more had been forced to suffer at the hands of the Yiga over the course of that period? It was high time to end this era of tyranny and grief, and to have anyone but myself take the lead was not an option. Whatever truth was waiting for me at the end of all this, so be it. I had to see it with my own two eyes. I had to see her.

To help set my plan into motion, the only person I had left to turn to was Prosecutor Sigatur, and though she had once held my mother in the utmost respect, she had benevolently volunteered to present my findings to the courts in my stead. As confident as I was in my argument and as desperately as I desired to be there for Link, I couldn’t quite stomach the thought of taking the stand and exposing myself to the discrimination of the public eye again.

And so, as the proceedings went on for the following few days, I spent my time back at the apartment, making myself useful by poring through my mountainous collection of data on the eighteen-year-old incident that I’d amassed over the years and had been keeping in my office until now. Now that I had been let go, my flat was practically overflowing with newspaper clippings, copies of investigation reports, and whatever else not. Every time I would open the door upon arriving home, I’d get hit in the face with the musty stench of dust and old magazines that I had nowhere to properly put away.

Though my collection was indeed vast, it was far more so in physical volume than in information. Most of the documents in it were no more than different accounts of the same basic facts. All the useful info I could glean was that the fire at City Hall had taken the lives of most, if not all, administrative officials who had been there working at the time, and those members of council who may or may not have been killed had never been seen nor heard from again, their bodies left for ash. And according to my sources, Mayor Hyrule had been amongst them.

There was a certain line in her letter to Auntie Impa that had tipped me off to her current whereabouts. “...I have been keeping watch over you from the ashes of the afterlife...” The imagery laced so intricately into those words had struck a nerve. There was only one place in this town that both would’ve been of any significance to her and was covered in ash: the crumbling ruins where the former City Hall had once stood.

Having reached the point of culmination in my plotting, I invited the newly reinstated Constable Fyori over for tea. The two of us meeting in my office would have been preferable, but we’d just have to make do with this for the time being.

“If my hypothesis is correct, then I am about to enter the belly of the beast,” I deliberated. Seated on my settee and restlessly tapping the floor with his heel, Link listened with both eyes and ears as I paced about the room. “Ideally, I’d have some sort of backup at my disposal. Maybe I could phone Urbosa and ask her to lend me a hand, just once more...”

“If I may,” he butted in, “why are you speaking as though you’ll be on your own?”

I hadn’t been nearly as prepared as I probably should have been for such a question. “Well...” I stammered, forcing the shame of admitting that I was too afraid to confront my own mother alone down my throat, “would you happen to know someone who’d be willing to accompany me?”

His mouth gaped at my answer. Then jutting his neck out and laying his palms across his chest, he stood up. “Me!”

I took a step back. “Link, what are you talking about?” If something happened to him as a result of this, which was more likely to occur than not, then his last moments would surely be filled with nothing but fear and regret. Not to mention, I would never forgive myself. “I really shouldn’t have to remind you. She’s the reason your family—”

“I know,” he snapped. His eyes were burning a hole straight through me. It was almost frightening. “Believe me, I’m not about to go forgetting it again any time soon.”

“Then why...?” I half-whispered in the most deathly serious tone I could muster.

“Because I’m tired of hiding.”

A harsh breeze rattled the blinds against the window frame. It took me by surprise, but he wasn’t phased by it in the least.

“I’m tired of turning a blind eye and acting like none of the horrible things she’s done ever happened.” I tried to think of a snappy rebuttal, but none came to mind. He’d said these words as though they’d been burning on the tip of his tongue for an untold number of days. He’d had a lot of time to reflect between his false conviction and his acquittal, so it seemed. He and I were of the same mind, of course, but... “And, because...” He stopped himself. Some of the fire in his gaze had gone out in smoke. I got my hopes up when he broke eye contact for a moment or two, and I could all but sense the resolve in him dying, just a little bit.

But then, emitting a slight sound of frustration, he stepped closer. His hands gripped my shoulders, and he pulled me in with the force of a hurricane.

When his lips made impact with mine, my eyes flew open.

He kissed me with what could only be described as reckless abandon. His mouth scraped across my own, and I could feel every ounce of his aggravation in the way his fingertips bit down on my skin alone. It was rough and clumsy and pressed, as if this were sincerely the last and only chance he would ever have.

All of a sudden, we were seventeen again, and standing in the middle of our secondary school’s greenhouse. The scent of dust was replaced with that of lush flora on all sides of us, and sunlight shining in from above caressed the top of my head with its warmth. This was the very scene that I’d used to daydream about time and time again, wasting more hours of each day than I’d have liked to admit at the time.

Now his fingers clung to the corners of my face like I was made of paper, his lips brushing mine almost imperceptibly as his bated breath fanned out against them. When my eyes opened and met with his, his complexion had turned a delicate rouge, and his faultless aquamarines had been clouded over by doubt. In that moment, all I could think to do was to make that doubt vanish. So I ignored the distant sense of guilt that yet lingered and seized the navy blue tie around his neck. Our forms collided, and a sigh like trees swaying at the mercy of a light breeze in summer grazed my cheek.

With Ms. Sigatur’s aid, the constabulary had been more than willing to cooperate and construct a perimeter of officers around the old City Hall’s charred skeleton. Just the fact that the vicinity wasn’t littered in tarps and rubbish and other evidence of homelessness was proof enough of my theory. And yet, the way the wind howled and that the only signs of life were the crows circling up above filled the pit of my stomach with an unease that I could not ignore.

“You know what to do as soon as you sense any sign of danger, I trust?” Urbosa had both her hands planted firmly on my shoulders, bending down to meet my gaze with that same, old look of worry.

I gave a firm nod, never breaking eye contact. “Of course.”

“And you have Fyori and the others looking out for you, so don’t be afraid to call for them if—”

“I’ll be fine, Urbosa. I—”

“No, you will not.”

All I wanted was to get this over with, but she just had to go and remind me of the risks. No matter what I wished for, it wouldn’t change the fact that this was, in all likelihood, a suicide mission. Which was why I’d been so adamant in refusing to allow Link to come along initially.

Said constable was watching the two of us out of the corner of his eye, ever the vigilante as he stood facing the stronghold a mere half dozen paces away.

I heaved a constricted sigh and looked the prosecutor earnestly in the eye. With a deep breath, “I understand how worried you are for me, but please, don’t try to stop me. I’m aware of the risk and I’m prepared to face the consequences. I wouldn’t be doing this if I weren’t confident in my ability to succeed.”

Her stance softened, if only just slightly. “If Hilda weren’t still alive, her spirit would haunt me for letting any harm come to you.”

“But that won’t happen, because she is alive and she would never try to hurt me.” This much I was certain of, for if she had harboured any such intentions, she would have acted on them already, with how the Organization typically operated.

Urbosa’s lips tightened, and the out of place worry lines permeating her expression faded incrementally. She cast her gaze toward my stubborn guardian in silence, and he offered her a calm, yet resolute, nod of the head.

After a quiet embrace that seemed to go on endlessly, she sent me on my way. I looked over my shoulder as she grew smaller and smaller, then turned my focus ahead of me.

Staring up at the towering columns before me, I fell into an unnatural combination of wonder, nostalgia, and loss. (For whom or what was I still mourning? At this point, I didn’t even know the answer to that.) For the most part, the only parts of the building left standing were those invulnerable to fire, and even a great portion of that had fallen victim to weathering and decay over the years. Many of the brick walls had crumbled, leaving little in the way of places to hide a single person, let alone an entire crime syndicate.

The wind was unrelenting as it whipped and thrashed my hair about my face. Yet somehow, even as we drew nearer, the air remained as deathly still as ever.

As we finally came upon the scorched remnants of the main entrance, a gust from the north sent a whirlwind of ash in my direction. My arms rose to shield my face in the nick of time.

After taking a moment to collect myself, I took my first step since childhood into the domain of my mother’s workplace. Surely when I crossed that threshold, I’d thought, surely that was when havoc would finally be wrought upon us. But I was met yet again with stillness. Was nothing but my own breathing able to break this seemingly impenetrable silence?

Just then, my question was answered.

I felt my soul jump out of the confines of my body when the caw of a crow reverberated throughout the government building. If my heart hadn’t been pounding hard enough already...

I jumped again seconds later, though not nearly to the extent at which I just had, when Link’s hand came to weave itself between my fingers. We locked eyes, and he gave me the kindest of smiles. It made me want to melt right into his arms and to never let go, lest I lose him a third, and very likely final, time.

But a clearing of the throat from one of the other nearby constables reminded me of the ever present need to stay alert.

I elected to have the group split into two: one to search the ground floor of the ruins and one to search the upper floor. It was hard to say for certain how stable they were, but the stairways connecting the two stories were still almost fully intact. The upper floor itself, however, was another matter. Though its foundation hadn’t been constructed from any organic material, much of its structural integrity seemed to have been lost. About a third of it had broken off and landed square in the middle of the ground floor, leaving a vast chasm between the two sections of the upper floor that remained. The police had come prepared and equipped for the traversal of rough and uneven terrain, though there was still the danger of stray pieces of rubble raining down onto our heads from above.

I adjusted the strap of my helmet, which was beginning to chafe at the skin underneath my chin, before making my way around the monstrous hunk of brick flooring lying along the length of the grand foyer. Beyond that, as I’d remembered correctly, was the hallway leading to where her office had once been. But the scene I would discover there was a far cry from what I recalled.

What I found there wasn’t unlike what we’d found in the other offices up until now. Any furniture that had once filled the space had been destroyed. I could only just make out the contorted pieces of an old, blackened writing desk, its legs collapsed and the only thing relaying the tale of its former shape being the lamp lying shattered beside it. This I’d only noticed after hearing the crackling of shattered glass underfoot.

A clipped, nasal exhale sounded from behind me, where Link was taking in the scene with an expression similar to my own set into his face. He’d been clinging to my side since we’d begun searching, whether out of a desire to protect or to be protected, I did not know. A question rang in my ears that he’d posed to me during our meeting at my flat. “What will you do once you find her?” It was a simple question, one that I reasonably should have been able to answer, but the only one that came to mind would have sounded beyond foolish if said aloud. In the midst of such an era of power, what crime boss in their right mind would be swayed by a meagre plea to stop? But if not try to reason with her, there wouldn’t be many other options at my disposal.

This supposition only applied given that my mother would be found. My inspections so far had yielded no signs of Yiga activity, or for that matter, any activity whatsoever. Everything here seemed to have been here since the very incident that had levelled the place. In a way, this only added onto my already existing restlessness. The longer this search went on in vain, the less likely we were to find anything of worth, and the more likely it was for this endeavour to end in yet another failure. The moment I would finally give into my fear and call off the mission was steadily approaching.

A shadow flickered in my peripheral vision, followed by auditory pandemonium.

I just barely withheld my yelp. Link had turned toward the source of the sound with his hand on his holster.

But it had only been a piece of debris coming down from the floor above. I sighed furtively.

Between how Link’s shoulders had tensed up to meet his ears and the way his hand twitched as he lowered it from his hip, it was plain to see that I wasn’t the only one who was shaken up.

There was one more area of the ground floor that I had left to search: the conference hall. If the Yiga were anywhere to be found across these vast burial grounds, it was there.

What was left of the wood flooring creaked underfoot at a much greater volume than I’d been expecting. The ceiling, though just as high as that of the rest of this floor, somehow felt even loftier. Out of all the rooms we’d visited, this one was the most intact. Half of the risers, though scorched, were otherwise undamaged, and even the podium was still standing tall. But of course, being more intact meant giving sharpshooters more places to hide. One misstep and—

Crack

The floor fell out from beneath me. I let out a shriek, feeling the realm of death open its big, black maw and swallow me whole.

Then I landed with a calamitus crash.

If I hadn’t managed to curl my limbs around myself in time, the concrete flooring I seemed to have landed on surely would’ve cracked my head open, or given me a severe concussion at the very least. My whole body ached from the impact, and it felt as though I may have sprained my ankle, for when I tried to stand, it throbbed in the most violent pain I had ever experienced. I fell to my hands and knees, reeling.

The spot in the floor that I’d placed my weight on must have lost much of its hardiness to the fire. In all the times I’d been here as a little girl, it had never once occurred to me that this place had housed a basement.

“Zelda...!”

I looked up to see Link peering down from the hole in the ceiling that I’d made, his expression poised with worry. My body, covered in scrapes and bruises, cringed when I realized he had borne witness to that pathetic spectacle, making the pain tenfold.

“I’m fine,” I whisper-shouted up toward the only source of light in the room, and some of the fear in his face relaxed. He glanced around him, then looked back down in my direction before standing up and disappearing.

I could only hope he’d find his way down sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I shifted into a position I hoped I’d have more luck rising back to standing from, and I did. Though, maimed as I was, I’d still have to find some way to take some of the weight off my right foot.

The first thing I latched onto was rusty and sharp. I winced and pulled my hand back, looking blindly to see if my palm was bleeding or not.

As my eyes adjusted, I was relieved to see that the cut had only just grazed the surface of my skin. I scanned the room, seeing that the thing I’d touched was a piece of an old oil drum. In fact, the room was full of metal scraps resembling it.

A vision flashed before my eyes. Of City Hall being engulfed in flame within seconds, and the criminal mastermind hiding the evidence in a cellar, where no one would ever find it until the better part of two decades later.

The rest of the basement was still a cluttered mess, but somehow it felt a great deal more lived-in than what I’d seen up until this point. There wasn’t a soul to be found in any of the windowless rooms I came across, but the few things I found lying around with the help of my pocket torch, like an unopened pack of cigarettes and a deck of cards left strewn across a small table, gave me the distinct impression that I wasn’t alone. The numerous corners provided by old, metal bookshelves and file cabinets did little to slow my racing heart.

Eventually, I came upon an open doorway, beside which a small sign on the wall read, “Archive A.” Beyond the barrier, unlike the pitch darkness I’d been wandering through for I’d long lost count of just how long, a few threads of light were trickling in from above, presumably through a crack in the flooring above that I’d failed to notice before.

I stepped through the doorway, turned to face the yawning expanse of the former archive, and saw her. Dressed in pale white and standing radiantly in the center of the room.

My mother. The very image of my ever vivid memory of her was right there.

My feet carried me, with newfound purpose and with minds of their own, toward her. I wanted to reach out and feel her next to me. I wanted to ascertain that she was truly there and that I hadn’t actually hit my head and wasn’t now seeing things. I wanted to run at her, arms outstretched, more than anything in the world.

But then my ankle throbbed violently in protest, and my reason for being here came back to me at full force. I swallowed down my longing and stopped in my tracks. Her smile—that warm, glowing, congratulatory smile that held all the hope and light of the sun within its corners—wasn’t making this any less difficult, however. I was reminded of the simpler times, when at the end of each day, there was someone back at home waiting to hold me close and make all my worries melt away.

She held her arms out to me in a gesture that made my eyes well up with the tears of a child. It felt unspeakably wrong, but for what reason I could no longer place. Why shouldn’t I? What harm could it possibly do? It was only natural to want to wrap my arms around her as tightly as I was able, and to never let go again, wasn’t it?

A gunshot ripped through the peace.

Her face turned still as stone. Square between her harmless eyes had appeared an inky black-red orifice—an exit wound—from which a spray of crimson had decorated her visage.

Time slowed almost to a stop as Mother careened forward and fell flat onto the cold, hard floor. A hollow thump echoed throughout the empty space.

Before I’d had time to react, I looked up and met eyes with a painfully familiar pair of icy azures, which thawed in an instant as the owner lowered his weapon. I glanced down at the body, which had landed just two or three paces in front of me, then back at him. Then my own body started to shake.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t control the violent tremors that had taken hold of me. My knees hit the floor, my bad ankle being wrenched one way in the process. This tore a scream from the depths of my lungs as the tears began waterfalling down in spiteful defiance against my will. I couldn’t bare to look at her—lithe arms strewn out limply at her sides and golden hair scattered in every direction—so I hid like the coward I was behind my stinging palms.

A metallic clack, followed by footsteps pounding the cement one after another as they neared. When his arms cradled my head into the shelter of his chest, I didn’t stop him. Nor did I when his hand began its gentle stroking up and down the curve of my back. He could have said something, anything, but he refrained. Instead, the silence surrounding my cries did nothing but amplify them.

A resounding clatter broke the air.

My vision was fogged up like a window pane in the dead of winter, but as I blinked away the tears, I began to make out the shape of an assault rifle lying on the concrete, at the feet of a person who hadn’t been there before and whose face I was unable to make out from this distance. In the figure’s hand was a bone-white mask, which they turned over in their grasp before dropping it onto the floor as well. It shattered upon landing.

In every corner, assassins were emerging from the shadows, each one of them laying down their weapons and turning to face the cooling corpse resting at the axis point of it all. Somehow, the room seemed even more devoid of daylight than ever before.

#my writing #fanfic #botw #zelink #botw zelink #zelink botw #link x zelda #zelda x link #botw link x zelda #botw zelda x link #zelink fanfic #zelink fic #zelink ff #zelda pov #detective au

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Text

Be My Nightmare Ch14

Truth

Warnings for NSFW, brief mention of alcoholism and edgeplay.

Word count - 6,039

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

Tagging a few people who mentioned looking forward to this: @blqckmedusa @m-pana @kylo-v @wackywoohoopizzalady @tehrevving Sorry if I missed anyone :)

_________

On the other side of town, a young woman sat in a dark room surrounded by filing cabinets. Her chocolate hair hung in a limp ponytail, loose strands attesting to how long she’d been there. Empty coffee cups littered her desk along with scraps of paper with half-formed thoughts scrawled upon them. Shadows played under her eyes and an exhausted slump curled her shoulders, but she couldn’t give up now.

“Hey, I’m heading out. Don’t stay too long, okay, kid?” a familiar voice said from the doorway. Tony.

Officer Nicoletta Goldstein forced a dry chuckle from her lips. “You got it, I won’t be long. Just finishing up.”

Her mentor offered a lazy salute and turned away, his heavy steps echoing through the nearly empty police station as he approached the elevator.

Nico frowned and returned her attention to the monitor, releasing yet another deep sigh as her latest search came up empty. She hadn’t expected it to be easy, but digging up dirt on Waras was proving more challenging than she imagined. A more spotless record, she’d never seen. If anything, it made her even more suspicious.

There’s gotta be something, I can feel it!

If Tony caught her looking into the doctor, he’d be furious. They’d already had an argument about it, but still she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Normal folk didn’t leave crime scenes without showing some kind of reaction to them. The neutral, flat expression on Waras’ face on her way out wasn’t right. The young officer might even call it indecent.

Tony said it made sense, considering her career. The woman dealt with criminals on a regular basis, no doubt she was desensitized to horror by now. He had a point, but she knew from personal experience how different it felt to be there in person, instead of looking at pictures or hearing someone tell you about it.

When Nico first saw the carnage, she’d had to run outside to vomit. It was far from her first murder scene, but never had she viewed such gruesome evidence. Even thinking about it brought a sour taste to her tongue. She’d expected a similar reaction from a civilian.

Maybe her social security records have something?

She opened yet another database and entered the search terms, reaching for the most recent cup of coffee as it loaded the results.

“Ugh,” she grumbled, grimacing at the ice-cold fluid. Why couldn’t the search run faster? Crappy government internet… Might as well get a fresh cup while she waited. Stretch her legs.

She stood and sighed, glancing once more at the monitor before departing for caffeine. The progress bar was halfway done, she had plenty of time.

As the echo of her footsteps faded, a soft ping sounded from the unattended computer.

---Reader---

You had to admit, it was nice to come home to a hot meal. The chicken was spiced perfectly, and the vegetables had a delightful crunch. The madman knew his way around a kitchen, it seemed.

I should make sure none of the knives are missing later.

“I couldn’t find any wine; I hope the meal is still to your satisfaction.”

Late afternoon light spilled through the window behind him, lighting his form with a gentle glow. The scent of lemon and sizzling meat wafted from the kitchen area, the fruits of his labor still waiting on the stovetop. Quiet music flowed from your stereo, barely noticeable but the ideal accompaniment for a meal.

You swallowed the savory bite residing in your mouth and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t drink much.”

Forest green eyes studied you curiously, the artist’s chin resting on one hand. He’d been more attentive than when you left; he must be feeling better. For a moment, it was all too easy to forget who you were with and enjoy the fading light of the setting sun behind him. If only the peaceful facade of two regular people sharing a meal were true.

He’s a killer. You just saw what he’s capable of.

“Why not?” he asked.

You took another bite and shook your head. “My dad’s a drinker. I’d rather not get into it.”

“Hmm, what shall we discuss, then?”

The fork in your hand clicked against the almost clean plate as you set it down. “How about Michael?”

“Who?”

So he didn’t even know his victims name. Was it all coincidence, then? Most likely; his other victims seemed random, too. His unpredictable targets were part of why the police needed your help.

“That’s the name of the man you killed and chopped into pieces.”

His face lit up, an excited shine entering his gaze. “Ah, yes! You found the true meaning, I assume?”

Suddenly, the bottle of whiskey hiding behind the olive oil sounded appealing. How the hell were you supposed the talk about this? You were no stranger to complicated conversations but chatting about the artistry in a murder scene was a new standard.

No doubt the artist would break that standard soon, too.

Yup, getting drunk is looking better by the second.

You pursed your lips. “Yes, I found it. You’re not quite as clever as you think you are.”

A beat passed in silence before he smirked, carefully setting aside the remains of his meal. “I do not recommend you underestimate me.”

“I could say the same, you know. I can still turn you in.”

He hissed, muttering something under his breath with a glance to your left. Most of his words were lost to the void, but you caught something about chicken soup and plucking.

“If you were going to betray me, you would’ve already done so. You’re in too deep to run now,” he said a moment later. “But I am curious what you thought of my work.”

You hummed and sat back with a sly smile. True, it was too late to run, but that didn’t mean he held all the cards. Not even close. It was about damned time you regained the upper hand.

“We can trade. A straight answer for a straight answer.”

“Oh, are you finally willing to stop hiding? I admit, I have many questions. Griffon and Vergil, too.”

So, he was still hallucinating. It made sense, especially since he wasn’t getting any medication anymore. You couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted to know, and how different the questions from his voices would be. How much of his odd personality was his own? How much was a manifestation of trauma? How much of it was real?

“Let’s raise the stakes. What if I refuse to answer you? What should my penance be?” he asked.

You eyed him, noting his slim build. No doubt he hadn’t had much exposure recently, his system wouldn’t handle it well. The chicken might slow down the process, but still. Plus, you knew your own tolerance could handle it.

Thanks, dad…

“Whiskey. I have a bottle in the cupboard.”

Sure, there was some risk to it; if he drank too much, you’d have to clean up any vomit. You’d have to watch him carefully and stop him before it got to that point. What kind of drunk would the man turn out to be? An honest one, hopefully.

At his agreement, you fetched the unopened bottle and a fresh pair of glasses, filling them before taking your seat again. The signature smell made you gag, but you’d drink him under the table with ease. It was in your blood, after all.

“So… who goes first?” you asked.

The murderous artist smirked and took a tiny sip, sampling the drink. “The lady, of course. Don’t hold back.”

Smug bastard, he has no idea how fucked he is.

“Who was the white-haired man in the painting?”

The change was instant; his smirk flipped into a tight frown, his shoulders tensed and a muscle in his jaw twitched. He didn’t like that question, not one bit. Maybe you should’ve started with something a little gentler.

The artist released a deep breath and closed his eyes. “His name was Nero. He was my friend.”

“What happened to him?’

He tutted, shaking his head like a parent scolding a child. “Ah, ah, ah. It’s my turn now. What did you think of… Michael, was it?”

You pursed your lips and swirled the amber fluid in your glass. It was a mild enough question, a safe place to start. Might as well answer and conserve your capacity. Considering your experience with him so far, you’d need it later. He was too clever for you to expect to get out of this game sober.

“I thought it was extraordinary. Chaos to a casual glance, but an intricate web designed with one purpose for those who look deeper. Very clever, if grotesque.”

To your shock, a pink stain tinted his cheeks and the madman averted his gaze. He was embarrassed, unbelievable. Someone with his ego should be used to praise.

But it was your turn. Time for an answer, or to force him to drink. You repeated your question from moments ago, watching his expression like a hawk. Even if he refused, you’d learn something here.

He sighed and raised his glass, taking a generous gulp. Damn.

“My turn. Are you a virgin?” he tossed back.

Well. Apparently personal boundaries were a thing of the past, that much was clear. Sex wasn’t that personal, though. Everyone did it, why beat around the bush and pretend to be pure and innocent? “No. Why did you leave school?”

“Hmm, that’s easy. My calling drew me elsewhere. What’s your relationship with your father like?”

You crossed your arms and glared at him. “I thought we agreed to give straight answers. Why did you leave school?”

Adam’s apple bobbing, he licked his lips and fidgeted with his glass, refusing to meet your intense gaze as the last dregs of sunlight faded away. Judging by how uncomfortable he seemed, you were on the right track. This line of inquiry held great promise. Maybe tonight was the night you’d finally figure out why he did the things he did.

“There was… an attack,” he murmured at last. “It opened my eyes to the truth, that innocence and naïveté are foolish and must be eradicated. I woke to my purpose and left to fulfill it.”

A moment passed in reflective silence. This was a major piece of information, the latest step toward the truth. The thrill of resolution danced across your skin and sent your heart galloping. If you could get him to tell you just a little more, you’d solve the puzzle at last. Finally- answers.

Assuming you didn’t fuck it up and make him raise his guard again. It wouldn’t do to be disrespectful and break his melancholy remembrance. Instead, you pondered what else you might ask and watched the shadows dance across the table.

Eventually, his eyes lifted to meet yours once more. “Forgive me. It is not a pleasant memory.”

“I understand. Take your time,” you replied softly.

The quiet was unbearable. Perhaps you’d gone too far, pushed too hard too soon. It wasn’t easy to judge where the line was, it never had been.

“What do you do for fun, doctor?”

Wait, what?

Even with all the questions you’d imagined he might ask, this hadn’t crossed your mind. It was too mundane, too ordinary. The sort of thing Kotomi would’ve asked you.

Oddly enough, you didn’t want to answer. The things you did in your spare time didn’t include normal hobbies like cooking or going for a jog. You didn’t like talking about it, because inevitably others made fun of your interests. The idea of the man before you laughing at your expense left your heart feeling strangely tight.

You lifted your glass and took a sip, cringing as the fluid burned its way to your belly. Disgusting.

“Interesting…” murmured the artist.

Shit, maybe I should have made something up.

But it was your turn. No time to think about it, better to find a good question instead. What combination of words would unlock the mystery of his origin?

“What kind of attack was it?”

He sighed and traced the lip of his glass with one finger, thinking. Technically, the question didn’t reveal anything about him directly, and it wouldn’t be hard to find the truth online. Any kind of attack would have made headlines. It was a gamble to ask openly, but the odds of victory seemed high.

“A shooting,” he replied at last. “But back to you… why did my last question make you uncomfortable? What twisted hobby are you hiding?”

Bastard. He’ll figure it out if I answer.

The dark liquid didn’t burn as much this time, instead leaving a pleasant tingle in its wake. How strong was it, anyway? What had Kotomi gotten you? It shouldn’t affect you this much yet, but there was no mistaking the warmth growing within. Maybe you should’ve finished dinner first, gotten a bit more meat in your stomach.

A quick glance at the bottle your ex-friend gave you for Christmas explained it. Fifty-seven percent, no wonder it was hitting you hard. You couldn’t afford to keep drinking like this, or you’d end up completely wasted.

It didn’t matter. You would win this. Failure was unacceptable.

“How many voices do you hear?”

He chuckled and rolled his shoulders. The black shirt he wore hid nothing and your eyes traced the curve of his muscles, admiring his broad chest and defined form. Why did he have to be so damned attractive? The whole situation would’ve been simple if he was balding or had a beer gut, but no…

I should have some water. Already feeling foggy.

“Three, though I consider them friends. They aren’t simply ‘voices’, but I doubt you’d understand.”

The man had the audacity to smirk as he met your eyes, as if he knew you were watching the way his body moved. Coils of heat gathered in your core when his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, all without looking away. Bastard.

“My turn. Have you ever wondered what it’s like to take a life?”

The warmth turned to ice. Of course you had, but you didn’t want him to know that. There was no safe answer here. No matter what you did, he’d see right through your lies or find a way to use the truth against you. The man excelled at mind games, maybe a drinking game was unwise.

You raised your glass, shocked to see that it was already close to empty. A single swallow remained; just enough to dodge the question.

“Ha, I’ll take that as a yes.”

Your vision swam. Using the larger glasses was a miscalculation, and you were paying the price. It almost made you laugh; every time you thought you’d outsmarted the murderous artist, he proved he was two steps ahead. In an odd way, it was nice. Finding someone that could keep up with you was rare.

“Whatever, it’s my turn. How mush do you plan ahead for your kills?” you slurred. Damnit.

As you spoke, he refilled your glass with a knowing smirk. His was still half full.

“Not much. Usually I have an idea for the piece but it’s quite vague, until I find the right canvas.”

You pursed your lips. “You mean the right person.”

He frowned and leaned in, eyes glittering. Did they always look that green?

“Tell me, doctor. Do you really consider everyone equally valuable to society? Aren’t there some who, while cared for, do not contribute? When looking at society from a utilitarian perspective, what determines someone’s value? Why should it matter who I choose, so long as they fulfill their role?”

Without thinking, you took a healthy swallow from your freshly filled glass, mulling over his words. “But why do you get to pick? Plus, if you cut someone’s life short, you’re not just destroying their current contribution but any future ones. Just because someone isn’t doing something important now doesn’t mean they never will. Who are you to deshide?”

“Would you rather choose them yourself?”

“Th- that’s not the point!” you stuttered. “You shouldn’t kill people!”

A frustrated growl rumbled from his throat. “People die every day, for no other reason than they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. My work serves as a reminder to be vigilant. It might make the difference for someone out there.”

He had a point. Nothing served to guide social change quite like the need for safety. People were idiots like that, sacrificing anything just for the illusion of normalcy. But would his work truly accomplish what he hoped for?

Fuck if I know.

You giggled, then leaned back and sighed, too tipsy to continue the debate. A warm buzz saturated your senses, the slightest hint of dizziness only adding to the whimsical mood. Drinking wasn’t so bad, maybe you should do it more often.

“Whose turn was it?” you asked with a crooked smile.

The artist gave you a bemused look and reached for your glass. “It seems wise to stop for now. At least the drinking aspect, that is.”

“Ha. Are you admitting defeat?”

The clatter of glass on wood echoed through the room as he set aside the glasses and bottle, smirking again. Smug bastard. “Not at all. Do your worst.”

You drummed your fingers on the table, assessing options. Curiosity tugged at your mind and danced across your tongue, a myriad of questions begging to be answered. Knowledge is power, as the saying goes.

“What was your first kill like?”

“Messy. It took a few tries to refine the technique,” he replied with a mischievous look. “My turn. Did you enjoy yourself at the museum?”

Though blood already heated your cheeks from drinking, somehow your face managed to heat even more. The beat of your heart quickened, and goosebumps prickled your flesh. You squirmed as your core twitched, the memory enough to slicken your walls. Did you dare to answer? He’d taken away your drink; did you even have a choice?

They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.

“Yeah, until I had to babysit you and drag your sorry ass here. What’s your full name?”

The ebony-haired man chuckled and took a sip. His glass still wasn’t even half empty.

“You know, my dear doctor… you haven’t returned the favor I performed.”

A snort of humor slipped from your lips. As if you hadn’t already risked everything for him, now he wanted more? But maybe you could turn this to your advantage. It might be fun to make him lose control. Time to change the game. New tactics, since the old ones weren’t working.

Besides, an orgasm might help you sober up.

“Hmm, are you requesting a consult?”

He stood and stepped closer, licking his lips. Bastard.

“Your insight would be greatly appreciated,” he purred.

His voice sent a shudder down your spine. The beige walls of your home spun and you blinked, forcing your eyes to focus through the drunken haze. Between your legs, flames licked at your core and urged you onward, wanton need filling you with daring. Or maybe that was the whiskey.

“I do shpecialize in psychiatry… I suppose I could examine your head.”

The artist’s eyes widened, his pupils blown as you reached for his belt. A single finger hooked around the leather and tugged his body closer, and you scooted to the edge of the chair in preparation with spread legs. The angle wasn’t great, but it was too late to worry about it.

“Tell me alllllll about your symptoms,” you murmured with a sultry smirk. Oh, you’d show him who was in charge all right. No mercy, not even if he begged.

But the accursed man wasn’t yet fazed, his steady hands stroking your cheeks and hair and leaving trails of sparks behind. “I’ve had terrible swelling, and a slight fever…”

You licked your lips and unhooked his belt, giving the buckle a sharp tug to remove it fully. It made a satisfying snap! and you grinned, fingers already teasing at his pants. The tight fabric did little to conceal his engorged cock, and you dragged your thumb over the end with just a hint of pressure.

The resulting groan was all the encouragement you needed; you’d see him come undone tonight.

Mere heartbeats later, the length you’d glimpsed weeks ago stood before you in all its glory, thick and curved and already shining with arousal. A throbbing vein ran down his length, the perfect target for teasing. Soft as a feather, you dragged the tip of your tongue down the vein. Your heart was racing, sinful desires flooding your system with lust.

“Ah… what treatment would you recommend?”

You smirked at the tension in his normally honeyed voice. This was going to be fun.

“We’ll have to relieve the pressure somehow. You might need regular treatment, too.”

The artist hummed, hooded eyes glittering down at you as his hands guided your lips closer once more. Blood thundered in your ears, anticipation a heady drug as he rested his cock on your lower lip, forcing you to make the next move. His scent tickled at your nose, the first hint of his essence enough to leave you dizzy. You could barely breathe, you wanted to taste him so bad!

How does he smell so good?

“And what are my chances of recovery?”

“Don’t worry, I take excellent care of my patients,” you replied, and then you made your move.

Your tongue danced across his slit, back and forth until not a drop remained of the creamy sample. Tattooed fingers twitched, his staccato breathing a mark of the effect you had on him. His tangy flavor tingled on your taste buds and summoned lightning across your skin, fanning the flames heating your core.

“I feel better already,” he crooned.

It almost broke your focus.

Almost.

The smooth, hot flesh of his head was heaven in your mouth as you engulfed him with a soft moan, caressing the ridge with your tongue. Dainty hands drifted up his thighs to grasp his hips and ease him into motion. A low growl escaped his mouth as you hollowed your cheeks and explored his shaft, mapping every inch.

Hellfire and brimstone, he tasted gooooooood. It wasn’t fair how he fit inside your mouth so perfectly, or how his every touch made you shiver. You’d never experienced such intense need, all consuming and impossible to deny.

The artist fisted your hair and snapped forward, tapping at the back of your throat with a muttered curse. Unprepared for the sudden invasion, you gagged on his length but quickly recovered and welcomed him as deep as he’d go, humming as he somehow filled you even more. Hair tickled at your nose and you pulled back, working your tongue and coating him in your saliva.

You paused to press kisses on his toned stomach and bring your hands to help in your efforts, stroking and teasing at the tender area. The murderer shivered under your ministrations, his dark and hungry eyes watching your every move. A sheen of sweat coated his abs, his normally alabaster skin tinged pink in between his intricate tattoos.

“Should I continue?” you asked with a smug smirk.

In response, his hands tangled in your hair and guided your mouth back in place. You didn’t resist, shifting your hips to rub your aching clit against your chair. Ripples of arousal blasted your nerves as you started grinding, whimpers slipping from your crowded mouth. Setting a steady rhythm, you bobbed up and down his length, moaning at his flavor and reveling in the power you held to summon such obscene sounds from his throat. What would it feel like, to have him inside you?

I wanna know…

His rolling hips shattered the lewd images racing through your mind, forcing you back to the present as he blocked your airway. In and out, harder and faster with each moment. Impressive enough to make your jaw ache, but it didn’t matter. You wouldn’t stop until he broke.

A harsh gasp and sudden twitch of his length signaled his imminent release and you pulled away, lips swollen but curled into an impish grin. The expression on his face was perfection, frustrated and hungry and begging for more.

“Well, that’s just cruel,” he said.

You giggled and flicked your tongue across his tip, teasing. A small corner of your mind warned you of the danger of teasing a serial killer, but you ignored it. It was the same voice that told you not to stand out or break the rules, the voice that chained you in normalcy. The power it once held over you seemed so foolish, now.

“You want more?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

A low growl rumbled up his chest as he seized your jaw, putting pressure on the hinge until you opened to accept his scorching length. It shocked you to realize how much you enjoyed provoking him, and the sheer thrill of his dominance. You matched his pace, rubbing against the chair to ease the howling need between your thighs. It didn’t help much.

His hands would feel so much better…

But tonight, it was his turn to beg. The moment his grip on your hair loosened, you pulled away again, wiping trails of drool from your lips. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

The artist hummed, fingers lazily caressing your cheeks. “I want you.”

His hands drifted lower, exploring your chest and sending shivers down your spine. Sweat glistened on his skin, shimmering over his tattoos like glass catching light. The outline of his body blurred, your vision swimming as he crouched to your level. The look in his eyes stopped your breath.

“I want all of you. Body, mind, and soul. I will settle for nothing less,” he murmured.

And then his lips were on yours, smooth and gentle. Your heart hammered against your rib cage, stomach flipping as your eyes fluttered closed to revel in his flavor. This was an altogether different sort of kiss, leisurely and unhurried yet still deep and passionate. It left you reeling and breathless, craving another the moment he broke away.

“I’d also very much like to see you swallow every drop of my cum.”

Withholding the whimper of need his words summoned proved to be a challenge you couldn’t defeat, and his lips curled into a knowing smirk. Smug bastard, but two could play at that game.

“Well, we do need to finish your treatment,” you purred, fingers teasing at the fabric covering your chest.

His breathing hitched, Adam’s apple bobbing as you pulled the cloth away, your bra barely a heartbeat behind. You bit your lip and leaned forward, taking his saliva covered cock between your breasts. It was sheer decadence to stroke him, your hands dancing with your hardened peaks as they kept him in a tight hold.

V threw back his head and groaned as your lips joined in, tongue teasing at his ridge and slit in turn. Hints of a deeper, sweeter taste leaked onto your waiting taste buds, the promise of his seed making you light-headed.

Lithe fingers gripped your shoulders, tight enough to bruise. Emphatic curses and panted moans slid from his smooth lips, his snapping hips bucking wildly against your body. He tightened again, cock twitching against the roof of your mouth.

You pulled away and smirked at his frustrated groan.

“Accursed woman! D- don’t stop now!”

The chair beneath you creaked as you leaned back, lazily stretching your arms behind you. “Tell me what you want.”

His hands clenched, jaw tight with what could only be rage. Was this the face he showed his victims?

“I want to cum,” he muttered. “Please.”

Hahaha! There it is!

The superiority of victory crashed against your lust like waves on stone. You wanted to dance and shove it in his face that he, the mass murderer, was begging you to let him cum. Oh, how delicious it was to be in control. Just look at him, so desperate and needy he was willing to beg.

“I’ll allow it, since you asked so nicely,” you replied with a grin.

Before you even had time to blink, his swollen head barged past your teeth and deep into your throat, choking you without mercy. Hands wrapped around your neck and tugged at your hair, forcing you into the position he needed. Your own need was forgotten as he pumped against your face without mercy, giving you no chance to draw breath.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” growled the artist.

You moaned and caressed him with your tongue, wet heat encasing him as you pressed your nose into his stomach. The air stank of sex and sweat, whiskey and chicken. The muscles of your jaw screamed for a break but you denied them, putting all your focus on him.

He tightened once more, the grip of his hands refusing to let you withdraw this time. A guttural moan accompanied the first pulse of his release, his hips stuttering and thighs quaking. You didn’t stop, slurping and humming as his cum flooded your mouth. Rope after rope splattered against your throat, filling what little space he wasn’t occupying with his cock and dribbling from your lips to mix with your saliva on his length.

At last, his body relaxed. The last few drops of his euphoria tingled on your tongue as you slowly pulled away, pausing to lick any morsels left behind. It was a flavor you already wanted to taste again.

The room trembled and bucked as he stepped back, still panting in the wake of his pleasure. Your head was spinning, giddiness welling up in a flash. Damn, how much did you drink?

“My dear, dear doctor…”

You couldn’t help it; you cackled, snorting between peals of laughter. “Ha ha, do you- ha! Do you have insurance?”

The artist smirked and pushed the ebony strands away from his face. “I’m afraid not. Perhaps I can offer payment in another form?”

“Heh, I’m sure we can come to an agreement. Come to my office and we’ll discuss it,” you replied, then stood on wobbly legs and stepped toward the staircase, beckoning the artist to follow you. On the second step you paused to dispose of your pants, wiggling your ass a bit more than was strictly necessary. You couldn’t resist putting on a show. Clothes were a stupid idea, anyway.

The next thing you knew, tattooed arms wrapped around you and held you close, one large hand cupping your skull to keep it from hitting the staircase on your way down. Stairs were a stupid idea, too, come to think of it.

“Are you alright?” asked the artist.

Well. So much for putting on a show. Whatever, it didn’t matter. You shot him a grin and rose, dashing up the next few steps with a giggle. Tomorrow, you’d have to send Kotomi a thank you email for the whiskey. The woman had good taste.

The steps trembled under your feet; they weren’t supposed to do that.

“Here, let me help you,” murmured a silken voice.

“Pfft, I’m fine. C’mon,” was your response. You didn’t need help; it was just stairs. You could handle stairs.

Another few steps. The handrail was cool to the touch, but it gave the support you needed. Warm hands hovered behind you, a concerned pair of green eyes watching your every motion. Perhaps that was for the best, as the railing jumped out of your hand and left you off-balance once again.

“Damnit!” you cried, struggling to stay upright as the world shifted like the inside of a kaleidoscope. Color and light, shapes and shadows blended together as you fell, right back into a set of powerful arms.

“Got you, almost there.”

I know, I live here. Thirteen steps. I shouldn’t need help to climb thirteen steps!

---V---

At first it was rather enjoyable to see you indulge your every whim, but by the time the artist managed to get you upstairs the novelty had worn off. Four times, you fell. Four times, he caught you. It would’ve been easier to just carry you like a sack of potatoes.

“Smooth moves, Van Gogh!”

“Shut up, Griffon,” he replied to the blasted bird hovering overhead.

“Griffon? The way you draw him is so pretty,” you commented. “Pretty bird.”

“Hear that? I’m a pretty bird.”

V sighed and helped you to the bed, pausing to pull the blankets back. You lacked the coordination to do much more than collapse into the sheets with another giggle. He felt a slight mirth as well, a subtle tingle of intoxication, but you were obviously worse off.

“Soooo… where’s my payment?” you asked with a smirk.

As much as he craved the sounds you made in the museum, the artist paused. The two of you hadn’t discussed the parameters of your relationship, was it okay for him to make you writhe with ecstasy?

Do it. You know you want to.

He shook his head, casting aside the words. As much as he relied on Vergil for good counsel, the man didn’t place much value in other people. Not the most reliable source for guidance, in this situation. If only he had a canvas; painting always soothed his spirit.

“Why don’t I pay you tomorrow? For now, you should rest,” he finally said.

A petulant frown was his response, but you didn’t resist as he urged you to lie down properly. Your hair was loose, splayed out across the pillow like a splash of blood. “Don’t think you’re getting out of it, okay?”

His fingers itched to plunge inside you, stretch you open and drown in your fluids. The way you’d moan his name, the way your body quivered under his attentions… Quite tempting. He longed to see you wrecked and incoherent, destroyed so that you could at last see the truth.

But not tonight.

“I won’t forget. I promise.”

Satisfied for now, you closed your eyes and snuggled deeper into the blankets, nuzzling the pillows. Someday soon, you would nuzzle his chest instead as he held you, talking quietly about his next piece.

Soon.

The ebony-haired killer stayed by your side until soft snores filled the silence. He reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear with a soft smile. “Hmm, you really are a lightweight, aren’t you?

---------

Kotomi Ishida wrung her hands outside her boss’ office. This was a terrible idea, she should just walk away and get back to updating her patient’s files. Pretend nothing was wrong.

Pretend she hadn’t put her own career above that of her best friend.

It’s all my fault. I should never have accepted this job.

By all rights, she didn’t belong here. The patients terrified her, she hated the commute, the hours sucked and she had no one to talk to since Waras’ suspension. Maybe her mother was right, maybe the psychiatric field wasn’t a good fit for her.

If only Waras was here. She was such a good listener and always had the best advice. No doubt she’d have a genius way of phrasing things that would make it all fall into place and help her figure out what she was supposed to do.

I miss her…

Kotomi sighed and forced her hands to relax. It wouldn't do to say nothing. The guilt was crushing her, a weight heavier than anything she’d ever known squeezing her heart. She had to at least try to make things right.

Her slim hand rapped against the barely open door, her voice a diminutive whisper. “Dr. Malphas? May I speak with you?”

“Of course, come in,” he replied.

The young woman gathered what little courage she possessed and entered, softly clicking the door closed behind her before taking a seat. Once, her boss’s office felt like a safe haven. A place to escape the horrible people she was responsible for helping. Today, it was a prison.

“Dr. Ishida, what a pleasant surprise! What can I do for you?”

She took a deep breath. “I need to tell you about the day of the fire.”

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

#fanfiction #fanfic #My writing #Be My Nightmare #spicy #v x reader #DMCV #DMC #devil may cry #reader insert #Self Insert

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wwwafflewrites · 5 years

Text

The Not-So-French Mistake

Chapter 7: Inner Demons

Castiel devoured his cheeseburger like Famine had strolled into town.

As for Sam, he was grinning into a biteful of food as he stabbed another with his fork, and then proceeded to jab a few sweet peppers in amusement. Pasta salads were a rare treat when on the road. Dean usually protested against his healthy habits, but it was no use. Sam preferred naturally sweetened foods over the artificial pounds of meat, grease, and cholesterol Dean usually supported.

He cast his eyes from his meal to his laptop screen for a moment, mapping out Bobby's present location. “His cell is at a warehouse about seven hours from here. It's a long drive. You sure you don't want to stake out at a motel for the night? I mean, we can't search for Bobby if we're sleep deprived.”

“No. Unless you feel it wiser. I'll be alright.” Cas assured and then gestured toward the burger in his hands. “Thank you for this, Sam. I appreciate it.” A frail string of cheese laced onto Castiel's lip as he spoke. He pulled the burger further away, letting the line of softened cheese thin out until it snapped, latching onto the bottom of his chin. Cas made a huff, frowning at his nose in regard to the loose strand of cheddar.

“It's nothing, Cas,” Sam dismissed contentedly, relieved that Castiel was satisfied. His angelic friend had been uncomfortable in the car, whiny snarls resonating from his stomach. Sam disliked watching him hunch into himself, a pinching expression similar to pain decorating his face.

Castiel set his burger down respectfully, adding emphasis to his seriousness. He softly disagreed, shaking his head. “No, Sam. It isn’t ‘nothing’.”

While the added finger-quotes were a tad hysterical in the sincerity of the moment, Sam listened without a crack of a smile breaking along his face. Cas was serious, so he was as well.

“I... understand I am difficult as a human. This was all very sudden, and I am unfortunately slow to adapt. Hunger is foreign… and these, inner emotions of turmoil and guilt… I was capable of feeling as an angel, but this…” he struggled to explain, “Sam, I constantly feel this… panic, and it’s all very compressing within my vessel.” He took a breath. “Every nerve reacts to my being, and they bring overwhelming sensations. How do you cope with such complicated feelings?” Castiel almost looked distraught.

Sam held a soft, understanding gaze. “Cas, you’re anything but difficult. Sure, you’re not used to being human, but you’re our friend. You’re no burden to us. We can teach you.”

Cas looked uncertain. “I am also unsure of the social customs among humans. I had once believed I understood, but there are so many rules. Hidden, unspoken rules which determine your functionality. And the lying… I cannot even begin with how to lie…”

Sam set his fork in his dish, rolling a lone pasta noodle in thought. “It's about the body language. Looking nervous or tense tends to give you away. Hesitating doesn't help. The genuine expressions are what tells a lie from a truth. Not that lying is all that great, but sometimes it's necessary for cases.”

Cas nodded, worn. “Thank you, Sam. You have been very kind to me,” he murmured.

“You're welcome, Cas. Anytime.”

By the time they had finished their meal, the sun was touching the horizon, ambers and ochres illuminating the landscape. The clouds reflected salmon pinks and dusty blues. While the noontime sun had set a nightmare upon the previous town, the sunset was gorgeous. Sam admired the sky as if it were a delicate acrylic painting. Geese flew in an uneven V above the stolen truck, faint honks ringing into the evening air.

Cas fell asleep on the drive, his head lolling onto the window, sometimes jolting forward and startling him awake until he was lulled to sleep once again by the engine's purr and the setting sun's warmth blanketing his skin. It was no Impala, but drive was smooth and the road was velvety.

Sam knew angels shouldn't sleep, and that he should be concerned over Castiel's recent humanity, but all he could manage was guilty contentment. Castiel was rarely so peaceful.

When Dean slept, he either looked like he was ready to stab you in the gut or he was stupidly drooling on a pillow with his morning hedgehog hair at attention. But… that was Dean.

Castiel woke drowsily to silver lines of clouds weaving into the horizon, having furrowed downward into the silhouettes of spindly trees. Looming shadows and blinding streetlamps flickered past as the night defeated the light. He knew that as the sky darkened, so did Sam's thoughts.

Sluggishly, he shifted his head toward Sam, still leaning against the door of the vehicle. “Sam?”

Sam startled a bit, as if snapping out of lost, intense thoughts. “Yeah, Cas?”

“Are you alright?” He needed the truth.

Sam stared at the road, letting the silence envelope the innocent question until he whispered, “No. No, I'm really not.”

Castiel nestled his head between his chair and the window. “I suspected such. You seemed troubled after we left Sydney.”

Sam shifted his hands along the steering wheel. “She just… she dug up a lot of memories that I'd buried, you know? She's struggling… like I was… with the, uh, with the demon blood.”

Castiel shot a soulful look at Sam, sympathy washing over his features.

Sam paused thoughtfully. “You know… I used to really believe that I was a freak. Everyone knew it. Even you knew it. I was titled ‘the boy with the demon blood’ before I could walk. But then, I thought: maybe I can make that part of me my strength. Maybe I can use it to save people. I trusted Ruby, I trusted my powers, and ended up unleashing the one thing I was trying to stop. The one thing that caused me the most pain. The most sacrifice. The one ghost, to this day, that still haunts me.”

“Sam…” Guilt bled into Castiel’s features. “Others led you on that path. It wasn’t your fault.”

“And it’s kind of funny. You’d think I’d be worried about vampires, or demons, or witches. Every monster that I face daily. I’ve lived my whole life hunting the creatures that lurk behind people's shadows. But no, it’s the creature lurking behind my shadow. It’s the devil that haunts my sleep. It’s Satan. Lucifer gives me nightmares.”

“Sam.” Cas pleaded.

“But, it’s not even the nightmares... I’m just… I’m afraid Sydney will fear herself like I did once, and she’ll just wind up inflicting more pain―more suffering. I’m afraid she’s going to unleash her own Satan, you know? I’m terrified that it’ll be something that we can’t fight with bullets or brawn.” Sam’s eyes never left the road, deep-threaded pain shimmering along the whites of his eyes. His fists clenched the steering wheel like a life-source. “I don’t want anyone to go through that, Cas. The guilt I felt…” his voice cracked shamefully. “I don’t want her thinking she’s a freak. I can see it in her eyes. It’s the exact same look I saw in the mirror during the apocalypse.” Tears pooled in his eyes, his lashes dampening, but nothing dropped. “Nobody should ever feel that. Because not only can you not trust the world, but you can’t trust yourself. And that's scary.”

Castiel silenced as Sam’s heavy final words sank in. The thought invaded Castiel’s heart like a worm―a parasite―shimmying into the crevices of his aching soul. Not that Castiel had a soul, only humans had such, but it felt like it. And past Castiel’s brave face and stony appearance, his grace wept for Sam Winchester. He wept for Sam's losses, for his sorrow, for his fear, for his centuries of pain and torture in the Cage. He wept for Sam Winchester because Sam Winchester deserved to be wept for.

Unfortunately, Sam did not see past the hardened facade of Castiel's vessel.

Hours past. Cas frequently volunteered to drive, but Sam insisted he was ‘okay’ and he was ‘fine’. However, after his confession, it was clear he was far from such a claim.

Sam finally shredded the burdened silence with a sigh. “How are you holding up, Cas?”

Cas seemed genuinely flustered. “Me?”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think we've heard enough of my baggage for one night. Anything been bothering you lately?”

Cas wondered if there wasn't something that bothered him lately, but he replied, “Other than my wings having been reduced to nothing but feather dusters, I am adjusting.” The angel was rather proud of that metaphor (even though he’s stolen it from Dean).

Sam let his brow lower in puzzlement. “How can you still have wings and not be able to fly?”

Castiel was thankful for the questions he could answer. “My grace allows me to bend distances. so I can fly into the next space within the matter of a microsecond. Much like the theory of black holes. Picture taking a string as a representation of two distances, and then folding the string until both ends meet. I allow two places to become one.”

“Interesting.”

Cas continued to explain it simply, “Sigils generally control the bending of space. Whether it be banishing an angel or preventing it from entering warded areas. They hold an aura we cannot break unless disassembled. It targets our platform, if you will.”

“Platform?”

“You could say it's a layer of existence. It is very… complex. Difficult to visualize.

“Our blades, for example, exist in many platforms. Our grace, however, lives on one. Since only a shadow of our grace remains on this platform, normal weapons will not penetrate it. Normal weapons will only harm the vessel, and our grace will work to stitch the wound immediately.” Cas tried to aid Sam in visualizing it in a way he could understand. “There are other platforms, but they are generally irrelevant. Picture them as layers to reality.

“Simply put, a blade can kill grace as long as it exists on the same platform. They cannot penetrate shadows of grace,” he took a heavy breath. “It gets much more complicated when you visualize alternate universes as layers going vertically. Sydney managed to jump those layers when she entered our reality.” He added, “Humans cannot jump horizontal platforms without dying. Such as heaven or hell.”

Sam made a left turn, headlights sweeping across the barren, deserted asphalt. Sam was unsure if grace could apply to physics, but Castiel's description definitely granted him a vague insight on how it worked. “So when your grace drains…”

With the turn, Cas was nudged further into the window as inertia gently pulled him right. “Our vessels rely on human behaviors. Eating, sleeping. Just as human souls do. The less grace, the more human we become. Currently, my grace is very compressed and useless, but present. I believe something within the town was limiting my grace to become completely unavailable to me. I believe now that we have left the town, it is beginning to unravel. I should be able to utilize my grace's abilities very soon.”

Sam looked relieved to hear that. After a minute of thought, he conjured another curious question. “Do platforms apply to dreams?”

Cas nodded into the window. “Yes. That is its own platform. A complicated one. It merges both conscious and unconscious thoughts, depending on your state. It's a platform your soul is in charge of. Hence why those who are soulless do not dream.”

“Demons?”

“Lucifer created them to live amongst their own platform. Your demon knife exists on theirs.” He paused. “I suppose angel blades do as well. The Colt was designed to target their platform, and all other monsters’. There are very few things the Colt can't kill.”

“Witchcraft?”

“Witches discovered they could control platforms with specific spells. They generally target humanity’s.”

They continued the one-sided game of questionnaire until the questions ran dry. Admittedly, they were both thankful for the distraction.

The sun had yet to rise. Pale mountains of clouds had piled along the skyline, their peaks just barely cutting into the sky. Murky darkness had faded into pale, noticeable splotches of cobalt and a modest tone of lime. It was roughly five in the morning, dawn not having broken yet.

Castiel yawned, removing himself from his somewhat suitable pillow for the everlasting night, the window. He stretched, joints cracking and popping as he extended his stiff muscles. “I can understand why most humans abhor mornings.”

Sam parked, squinting at the warehouse that stood three blocks from the hunter. He scanned the windows for movement, and upon finding none, he bundled his gear in preparation for a fight. He squared his shoulders..

“Let’s get Bobby back."

Tags: @queen-bubble, @rosaren2498

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dreamss-of-boston · 6 years

Text

Rise - ch6

hoo boy this chapter is hella long! i had fun writing it tho, the scenery looks v pretty in my head! the songs in this chapter are traditional germanic folk songs which i thought fit the world pretty well considering aot/snk is supposedly set in a germanic sort of historical world?? or thats what i heard,, pls correct me if im wrong! (i got the english translations for these songs from this website) additionally, the song i envision dimitri playing after the folk songs is andalucia in d major-- while its a spanish song, i just love it so much! you can listen to it here. and i promise all of the new characters introduced are relevant to the overall story! and now i promise i will shut up hehe ok thank u for reading love u bye!

-the spark-

link on AO3!

“I don’t understand why I had to pack four days’ worth of clothes.” Sonya commented as she got into the carriage with Hange and Moblit. After a full day of cleaning the stables and the showers as her punishment for getting cheeky with Captain Levi, Sonya was very sore and rather cranky that she had to leave her cozy HQ to spend at least two days in the capitol.

“The MPs and Parliament like to drag their feet when it comes to making decisions,” Hange sighed as she sat opposite Sonya, and Moblit took his seat beside Hange. “It’s always best to be prepared and pack more than you might need-- I found that out the hard way when they delayed approving Erwin’s new navigation system. We were only supposed to be there three days, but it took them a week and a half to decide!”

“A week and a half?!” Sonya exclaimed in dismay.

“Don’t worry-- the first day will be easy. It’s kind of a buffer.” Moblit assured her. “We’ll get settled in at their HQ in the guest quarters, and then meet with the officials around dinner time.”

“The real adventure comes tomorrow,” Hange said excitedly, “When we can debate the issue in front of Darius Zackly. He has the ultimate verdict on whether we can go ahead with the mission or not.”

“Since this is so monumental,” Moblit added, “representation for all three branches of military will be there. There’ll be some new recruits there, too, who were from your class-- so you won’t be completely alone.” He said helpfully.

Sonya nodded, looking out the window of the carriage at the rising sun. It was always so beautiful seeing the pastel blue and yellow the sky turned as the world awoke-- she only wished she could see the sun rise without the walls being in the way.

“How long will it take for us to get there?” She asked.

“Hm, just over three hours.” Hange said, leaning back into her seat. “Perfect for a nap.”

“She can sleep anywhere.” Moblit chuckled, and Sonya smiled. Her mood was slightly lifted despite the fact that she had to be awoken at four in the fucking morning to pack and get ready to leave. She did feel a bit comforted that when they arrived, they wouldn’t jump straight into court and start debating. Sonya decided that Hange had the right idea, and she settled down as best she could in an attempt to sleep on the way there.

[-]

“Oi, wake up, brat.”

Sonya made a face of utter disgust as she woke from her nap-- she was slumped against the side of the carriage, and as she opened her eyes, she first saw Levi, leaning against the opening of the carriage, pulling his hand away from gently slapping her cheek to wake her. Behind him, the sun was shining and Hange and Moblit were laughing.

“Wow, you sleep even deeper than Hange!” Moblit exclaimed. “We were practically yelling at you to wake up.”

“Did you not sleep at all last night?” Hange joked as Sonya just about fell out of the carriage, gripping Levi’s arm for support-- which he allowed, much to Moblit’s surprise.

“I slept just fine-- I just had an exhausting day yesterday on account of me being a dumbass.” Sonya sighed, looking at Levi pitifully. She thought she saw the beginnings of a smile on his lips, but he just scoffed and went to join Erwin in grabbing their things from the separate carriage they had ridden in.

The Survey Corps soldiers were escorted to their rooms-- Hange and Sonya were sharing a room, of course, and while this was all routine to the veterans, to Sonya, it was as if she had stepped into a castle.

The rooms were huge, first of all, and the bathroom had two sinks and a shower! The beds were incredibly soft-- Sonya wanted to sink into hers the moment she sat on it.

“Maybe staying here for a while won’t be that bad.” She sighed contentedly, stretching out luxuriously on the bed, her shirt hiking up and exposing part of her waist.

Hange laughed, dropping her bag of belongings on the floor before entering the bathroom to wash her hands.

Levi came to the doorway, knocking on the open door to make his presence known. Sonya looked to her left, and smiled mischievously when she noticed his gaze inadvertently trailed over her exposed skin.

“Did you want something, Captain?” She asked, dripping her voice in sarcastic seduction. Levi rolled his eyes, and seemed to refuse to look at her again as he spoke to both her and Hange.

“We’re meeting with them in about thirty minutes.” He said, and pointedly avoided Sonya’s gaze as he turned and left their room. Hange hollered confirmation that she got his message from the bathroom, and Sonya smiled to herself-- it was too much fun messing with Levi.

The four Survey Corps members met with the group of MPs in yet another beautiful room, with huge, framed paintings that Sonya couldn’t take her eyes off of. They discussed the pros and cons of the mission, the ground rules for the debate tomorrow, what time it would take place, and all that. The room seemed to be filled with tension, although Sonya could not understand why; but she could only guess that there was some sort of unspoken history between the three veteran Survey Corps soldiers and the three veteran MPs. The MP who had been part of Sonya’s class was called Olive Hammerstein-- a blonde, stuffy girl who Sonya remembered to be a sore loser. She hardly gave Sonya the time of day when they all entered the room at the start of the meeting; Sonya smugly suspected it was because she had beaten Olive all four times they had trained hand-to-hand.

When the meeting finally ended and all the logistics were out of the way, the sun had set and it was time for dinner. As the soldiers headed to the dining hall, they passed some MPs out of uniform who shrewdly reminded them that it was the weekend, and the dining hall was not open for dinner on the weekend. They were in civilians clothes because they were headed out to town to eat, much to the irritation of the Survey Corps soldiers.

“Well, there is that tavern in town we always used to visit-- what was it called, again?” Hange said.

“The Whistling Wind.” Erwin nodded with a smile.

“Mm, their soup is to die for!” Moblit sighed happily; and so it was decided. Sonya was particularly excited, and as she and Hange changed into their civilian clothes, she confessed that she had never been to a tavern above ground before.

“Really?” Hange exclaimed. “Oh, wow-- well, you’re in for a real treat. Taverns in the interior are the best.”

And off they went-- and soon they arrived at the fabled Whistling Wind.

The tavern was lit rather brightly, with candles littering the tables and hung upon the walls and from the ceiling in crude chandeliers. Sonya, in spite of herself, didn’t even attempt to hide her joy at the sight before her; even the taverns above ground were beautiful. During her training, she had never really gotten the chance to explore any towns much. When she and Anna did get the chance to venture off training grounds, it was usually to just retrieve supplies for the troops, so they didn’t get to explore the towns that much-- but they did explore the woods on the way.

It seemed as if everyone in the world were packed inside of the huge space, drinking wine out of goblets, laughing loudly and sharing in the gossip of the town. The smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air heavily, and spills and stains littered the wooden floor beneath her feet, but it was all so romantic to the small soldier. Here was life-- not survival, but thriving life.

She turned to Hange excitedly. “Is this how taverns are everywhere up here?”

“Oh, not really.” Hange said as their group made their way to a table that was unoccupied. “Most of the taverns near HQ are… eh, less high-class, I guess you could say.”

“Evenin’, folks.” A voluptuous red-headed barmaid came up to their table, hand on her hip and rouge on her cheeks. “What’re y’all havin’?” She reminded Sonya so much of Herschel.

“I’ll have whatever is the most popular thing!” Sonya called to her across the table and over the din.

“Meade it is, then.” The woman nodded.

“Wine for me,” Hange said.

“And me.” Moblit grinned.

“Nothing for me.” Erwin said, clearly not as enamored with his surroundings as Sonya was.

“Black tea.” Levi said, eyeing a rather nasty looking stain on the table.

“What was that, honey?” The barmaid asked, clearly unable to hear him.

“I said, black tea.” He said a bit louder, clearly irritated that she didn’t get it the first time.

The barmaid let out a loud laugh at the odd request. “Alright, honey. Comin’ right up.” And she left.

“Oh, wow, look!” Sonya stood up to see above the heads of the crowded tavern, pointing to the other side of the room at the rickety old piano up against a wall. “A real life piano!”

“Have you never seen a piano before?” Hange asked, amazed.

Sonya shook her head. “No, but Alexander-- er, a friend from the Underground showed me what they looked like in this old book he had about taking care of one.” She smiled, remembering sitting on the floor with Alexander as he showed her the plethora of the black and white keys, the little hammers inside the intricate instrument.

“I’ll hum a tune for you-- I don’t think your mother would let you out of this place to see one.” Alexander half-joked, and closed his eyes, extending his hands out in front of him as if the piano were really there. He began humming, his fingers moving curiously, and Sonya had watched him with rapture.

Levi raised an eyebrow at Sonya, while Hange looked as if she had stumbled upon a pot of gold.

“Oh, that’s right! I forgot you were raised in a brothel--” Hange stopped herself abruptly as the drinks came along with the barmaid, who passed them out in awkward silence. The barmaid was a little confused, but left the table when she was finished. “Er, sorry, Sonya-- I didn’t mean, uh, that is to say--”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sonya said through a smile, though it did sting a little, hearing that word. Sonya had only told Hange her situation, back then when she was recruited. She had obviously tried to keep where exactly she was raised a secret; it was enough of an issue that she came from the Underground. If her fellow soldiers knew she was the daughter of a whore…

“Oh, great.” Moblit nodded towards the door of the tavern, where a group of MPs had just entered. While they were in civilians clothes, the veteran soldiers present could recognize them from interactions in the past.

Unfortunately, Sonya recognized one as well: Kurt from the Underground. As soon as Sonya realized that was him, with his coiffed hair and overly-confident swagger, she sunk into her chair, almost hiding behind the huge flagon of mead in front of her. Great, first Hange bringing up where she was raised, and now Kurt entering the tavern? He was sure to embarrass Sonya if he recognized her.

“We should’ve guessed they’d come here.” Erwin sighed.

“There goes our fun night off.” Moblit took a swig of his wine.

“Maybe we should go…” Sonya said sadly, taking a pitiful sip of the sour drink in front of her. She was surprised to find that despite how foul it tasted, it made her feel very warm and fuzzy.

“You give up too easily.” Hange grinned, determined to fix Sonya’s mood. “The night is youn--”

She was drowned out as a chorus of singing began at the table next to them. A group of men, clearly drunk and happy about it, were singing a folk song that Sonya was surprised to find that she knew.

“Love of the woods, love of the woods.

Fills my heart as none else could.

Dear little songbirds there, voice songs that fill the air,

Singing out clearly their, love of the woods.”

The men repeated the song a second time, and Sonya couldn’t help but join in-- that was a song that Alexander had taught her! It filled her with a warmth that almost made her homesick for that little brothel she grew up in. As she sang along, she could almost smell the perfumed air, the smoke from candles and cigarettes. She imagined Alexander, lounging on a couch with her mother--

That left a sour taste in her mouth as she was abruptly brought out of her fantasies. The singing had come to an end, and the drunken men had noticed the pretty girl next to their table singing along with them.

“Hey, pretty lady.” One of them drawled, leaning over to get closer to her. He was old and ugly-- Sonya, being a professional flirter, had no interest in entertaining this man. Funny, she thought to herself, how her first instinct was whether or not she wanted to entertain him. She was her mother’s daughter, she reasoned.

Sonya shrunk back into herself, turning away-- one of the other men, younger and better looking, did not want to lose her attention.

“Uh, hey!” He called. “Do you know ‘Happy Is the Life of a Gypsy’?”

Sonya paused-- she did know that song, and it was one of her favorites. And this boy seemed to be a bit nicer…

“I do,” Sonya said, slipping into performance mode. “But I’ll only sing it if you sing with me.” She flashed him a smile, which she could see was exactly what he wanted. She knew how to play this game-- she had been taught how to win and manipulate it since she was thirteen years old.

“Now, just a minute!” Again, another man-- with brown curly hair and freckles-- stood drunkenly and proudly. “What’s a song without music?” And he made his way over to the piano.

“Oh, look at our regular show-off.” The young, attractive man rolled his eyes, although he was smiling. “Hey, wait!” He exclaimed as Sonya practically chased after him, desperate to hear what a piano sounded like in real life. She bet it couldn’t sound any better than Alexander’s humming.

“There she goes.” Hange laughed, delighted that Sonya was starting to enjoy herself.

“Should we stop her? I mean, what if those guys are bad news?” Moblit said.

“Let her do whatever she wants.” Levi shrugged. “Maybe she’ll tire out faster and then we can leave sooner.”

The curly-haired man took a seat at the piano, and the barmaid who served Sonya’s table smiled in delight.

“Everyone hush up a second; Dimitri is gonna play us a little somethin!” She bellowed, and the entire tavern slowly quieted; it seemed everyone here knew this Dimitri, and loved his music. Sonya stood by the piano, staring at him eagerly.

Dimitri raised his hands, and started to play. The music coming from this instrument was more beautiful than Sonya could have ever imagined-- the sound so full, it enveloped her whole being. She was so wrapped up in the music, she almost forgot to sing.

The handsome young man had made his way next to Sonya by the time the song started:

“Happy is the life of a Gypsy. Fa-ria, fa-ria, ho!

To the taxmen, he pays not a penny. Fa-ria, fa-ria, ho!

Happy, back in the woods, away. Where the Gypsies so often stay.”

Filled with immense excitement and joy, Sonya couldn’t help but want to dance. She turned to the young man next to her, and grabbed his hands, pulling him to the small space reserved for dancing near the piano, and moved her feet in time to the pulsing music while she and the rest of the tavern sang the chorus. A few people even joined in dancing:

“Fa-ria, fa-ria, fa-ria, Fa-ria, fa-ria, fa-ria, ho!”

“My name’s Garrett!” The young man called over the din of the music and the tavern as he twirled a very happy Sonya. “What’s your name?”

Her mother would have advised Sonya to give a fake name-- a name prettier than the one she was born with, to easily indulge the fantasy of the young man before her. The fantasy about the mysterious, beautiful newcomer in this tavern who he would never see again. But this time, Sonya wasn’t interested in indulging any fantasies-- flirting was fun in its’ own rite, but she intended to limit the amount of influence her mother would have on her personal life.

“Sonya!” She said happily, and sang the last verse loudly with the rest of the tavern.

“When one does not have a featherbed. Fa-ria, fa-ria, ho!

Dig yourself a shallow hole instead. Fa-ria, fa-ria, ho!

Line it with some moss and leaves. That will then your featherbed be.

Fa-ria, fa-ria, fa-ria, Fa-ria, fa-ria, fa-ria, ho!”

And the tavern erupted in applause and hollering, much to Sonya’s delight. She turned to Dimitri at the piano, who had turned around, and drunkenly bowed to the crowd, obviously enjoying the attention.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” Garrett said, wrapping his arm around Sonya’s hip in an attempt to turn her back around to him. However, he underestimated how strong Sonya was thanks to her training in the Corps, as she pulled away from him easily.

“Thank you,” She said distractedly, and went over to Dimitri, with stars in her eyes. “Play another one!”

“Oh, sure!” Dimitri beamed. “But only if you give me a kiss.” He said playfully.

Sonya huffed in annoyance. It sure would be nice to enjoy things without the attachment of her being a sexual object to everything she enjoyed.

“Don’t be so sour!” Dimitri laughed, sitting back down at the piano. “I’m only joking.” And he began playing a piece entirely unfamiliar to Sonya. His hands travelled across the black and white terrain of the piano, leaping from chord to chord gracefully. She watched, entranced.

“What are the words to this one?” She asked-- now that Dimitri was playing, the tavern was again quieting down in respect.

“Hm, there are none,” Dimitri said, his eyes closed contentedly. “The music speaks if you listen.”

And Sonya did listen-- she felt the music wrap around her limbs, clutch her heart, and flow over her like a veil. Dimitri took a look at her out of the corner of his eye, observing her knowingly.

“Dance if you want,” He said. “I think you’re dying to.”

That made Sonya smile a little-- she wasn’t sure how he could tell until she glanced down, noticing her feet had begun making miniscule movements almost on instinct. It seemed the music was actually calling her to dance, giving her invisible counts like how Alexander would whisper: one, two, three, four, five, six…

So, with a bit of reckless abandon, Sonya began to dance. She made it up as she went along-- the music would tell her what to do. An arpeggio, she would pirouette; held out chords, and she would slowly move to the next position, her arms gliding through the air. She moved with precise flexibility, every movement feeling as natural to her as breathing. It was so incredibly freeing to abandon all thought-- all grief for Anna, stress about capturing a titan, embarrassment about Kurt resurfacing from her past-- and simply dance, allowing the piano’s beautiful, foreign sound to influence what already came naturally to her.

Dimitri finished playing, and Sonya finished dancing; and all was quiet. It seemed that everyone was stunned, and the lack of response made Sonya incredibly embarrassed and ashamed. Was dancing like that not normal above ground? Was it offensive? Did she look like a fool?

But then-- someone in the back of the tavern began clapping, and then another, and another, until the whole room was applauding Sonya and Dimitri. Sonya let out a little laugh, incredibly relieved that she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” Dimitri asked, now having joined her side.

“My…” Sonya wasn’t sure what to call Alexander. “My friend from childhood. He taught me.”

“He’s an amazing teacher.” Dimitri said, his cheeks red from all the wine he had drank. With a hiccup, he clasped Sonya’s hand, raising it in the air. Sonya tensed up, almost completely going into defense-mode at the foreign contact.

“What are you doing?” She snapped, but Dimitri only brought their hands down together, taking her with him in an elaborate bow to the tavern.

“You’ve gotta relax.” Dimitri flashed her a dopey smile as they came back up to stand. “If you ever wanna dance again, I’d be happy to play for you.” And he brought her hand up to his lips, kissing her knuckles lightly before stumbling back to the bar to get more drinks.

Sonya felt a blush heat up her face and chest, and as she made her way back to the table with her fellow soldiers, she found that she couldn’t stop smiling. She hadn’t danced in so long!

“Sonya!” Hange exclaimed. “What in the world was that? You were amazing!”

“Thank you!” Sonya put her hands on her cheeks, feeling how warm she had become. “I was so afraid that nobody knew what I was doing or something-- I’ve never seen how you all dance up here.” She laughed, taking a look at Levi; she wanted to know what he thought.

He was taking a sip of his tea, and caught her gaze, surprised that she was looking at him expectantly. Just as he was opening his mouth to speak, a certain someone had crept up behind Sonya and placed his hands on her shoulders in an overly-familiar gesture.

“Sonya, sweetheart!” Kurt exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “Never thought I’d see you on the surface-- but I guess you did make it through training, after all…”

Sonya whipped around to face him; she would recognize that voice anywhere. She narrowed her eyes as he sat in the empty chair next to her, making everyone uncomfortable.

“Say, Herschel was askin’ me about you,” Kurt continued, well aware that he was being a pest. “She just couldn’t understand why you-- hic-- left! She was real hurt.” He pouted his lip, and Sonya looked away, feeling like she had been stabbed in the gut. She could just picture Herschel, with her dark, silky hair and comforting embrace, sitting at the kitchen table where she taught Sonya how to play and cheat at cards. She saw her mother sitting with her there, smoking a cigarette with the sly smile she shared with Sonya. She missed Herschel-- she even missed her mother. But… she had to leave that awful place.

“Well… I had to get out of there.” Sonya muttered.

“Y’know, I never did get the chance to give you a proper birthday present…” Kurt said, running his finger along her bare arm. Sonya caught that, and made a move to grab his wrist with the intent of breaking his arm, but before she got the chance to, Levi was already standing and had grabbed Kurt by the lapel of his jacket. Despite the height difference, Levi had pinned him up against the wall-- the disturbance caught the attention of the tavern, and everyone looked on in alarm.

“L-Levi!” Kurt exclaimed, surprised to come face-to-face with the infamous Survey Corps Captain in a tavern like this.

“You’re annoying as all hell.” Levi said in a low voice-- Sonya saw that his eyes were dark, and not just because of the lighting. “I’ll thank you not to lay hands on my cadet again.” He let him go, and stood back to give Kurt free passage back to his posse of MPs.

Kurt, despite being inebriated, understood very clearly. He hurried away like a punished dog, and Levi let out a sigh.

“I think it’s time for us to leave.” Erwin said just as the barmaid came over to put an end to what could have been a potential fight. “Thank you for the pleasant evening.” He left money on the table, and the four Survey Corps soldiers exited the tavern without another word.

[-]

“Awh, I never even got to eat my soup!” Moblit complained as they walked through the brightly lit streets back to HQ.

“I’m really sorry…” Sonya said, looking down in shame.

“Hm? Sorry for what?” Hange asked incredulously. “Oh-- you mean Kurt? Well, it was Levi’s decision to cause a commotion in the first place,” She cast a playful glare to her friend, “and in the second place, it’s not your fault that creep came on to you like that. I’m surprised you didn’t break his arm.”

“I would have,” Sonya said, and knocked her elbow with Levi’s, “if my knight in shining armour hadn’t come to my rescue.”

Levi sighed, quite annoyed with all this extra attention. “Can we figure out what we’re going to do about food, please? I’m starving.”

“Check it out! A street vendor!” Hange exclaimed, pointing to a small stand, with delicious-smelling steam rising from it.

“Oh, it smells so good!” Moblit cried, and it was then decided that they would be getting their dinner from there.

Sonya got the roasted brussels sprouts and carrots-- they were delicious! She let out an emphatic, “Mmmm!” as soon as she ate one, even though it sort of burned her mouth.

“Oh, can I try one?” Hange asked excitedly, abandoning her vegetable fried rice. Sonya nodded emphatically, and held one out for her to bite. Hange, amused by this strange way of offering food, nonetheless accepted happily. “Ohh, they are good!”

Sonya laughed, wiping her hand on her skirt. “Want to try one? You’ve been eyeing them,” She held one out to Levi, with her signature grin. He glanced at her; he had gotten the fried rice, as well. With a glance at Hange, he knew he would have to accept the food in the same way she had-- though inwardly, he decided it wasn’t all that bad.

With a shrug, he nodded (much to Sonya’s delight). She smiled, and brought the little vegetable up to his mouth, and as he bit down, his lips brushed with her fingertips for just a moment, causing Sonya’s breath to hitch. He held her gaze as he chewed, and raised his eyebrows in approval.

Sonya smiled, glad that he liked the food she liked, and just as she was about to look away, he brought his thumb up to the corner of her mouth, wiping away some of the sauce from the brussels sprouts. Her skin felt red-hot where he had just touched her, and she fought back a blush with all her might. This was definitely payback for her comment as she laid on her bed earlier.

“You’re a mess.” He shook his head. She smiled, and bit the inside of her lip to keep from giggling like a complete idiot. Erwin, Hange, and Moblit pretended they didn’t see a thing.

[-]

The walk back to HQ was relatively peaceful, now that they were fed and relatively happy. Hange and Erwin were discussing their debate tactics for tomorrow, with Moblit listening intently at Hange’s side. Levi and Sonya walked behind the three in silence-- Levi staring at the ground, Sonya gazing at all the houses and buildings on either side of them.

She glanced at Levi, and felt she needed to actually thank him for earlier.

“Um, thanks,” She said awkwardly, “for earlier. It was nice to see Kurt scared shitless.”

Levi half-smiled, nodding. “He is an ass.” He kicked a rock in his path, which went scuttling across the cobblestone street. “I know his kind-- so many of those MPs visit the whores Underground.”

Sonya winced at that word; if Hange and the Survey Corps hadn’t come along when they had, she would have been one of those whores forced to pleasure those disgusting MPs. She looked down, avoiding saying anything to indicate that it bothered her.

Levi noticed, though-- he cleared his throat. “You know, my mother was--” He halted, glancing at Sonya who glanced at him. From the look on his face, she understood. She couldn’t help but be surprised.

“Oh.” She nodded. “To be honest, I thought you came from some noble family that bred assassins.”

Levi let out a quick breath through his nose; Sonya assumed that was his way of laughing. “No. I came from the Underground.”

“Oh!” Sonya almost stopped dead in her tracks-- that was incredibly surprising. Although, now that she studied him upon closer inspection, he did carry himself like the gang members Underground; as if he were expecting an attack at any moment, calmly aware of everything on all sides. That was probably why he was such a skilled killer, she thought solemnly. Their conversation had taken a heavy turn-- she hated that. So, she fixed it in the best way she knew how: humor. Sonya playfully linked arms with a surprised Levi. “It’s like we’re made for each other.” She sighed as they ascended the steps leading in to HQ.

Sonya laughed, leaving Levi’s side to follow Hange down the hallway to their room. Before she completely separated from him, though, she spun around to face him once more.

“Oh, and at least I learned some valuable information tonight!” She said happily, hoping he would catch on her hook and play along. With a half-smile, Levi crossed his arms and leaned against the stone wall of HQ-- he looked incredibly sly, standing like that in the flickering torch light.

“And what’s that?”

“I’m your cadet.” Sonya lowered her voice and gave him the most sultry look she had, one that Herschel taught her: draped eyelids, pouted lips, head tilted back and to the side, and for extra emphasis, she placed her hand on the wall next to him, and dragged it down, holding eye contact as she performed the overly-dramatic display of seduction. She laughed at herself, breaking character almost instantly, and spun around, walking back to her room (though she walked a bit more with her hips this time).

And Levi smiled to himself, making his way back to his own room, thinking to himself how amusing Sonya had just been (and how he kind of liked it).

#aot #snk #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #levi #levi x oc #levi fanfiction

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cagesings · 1 year

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@betterto-die-thanto-crawl ( starter call. )

there's a slight pout to her lower lip as her gaze turns away from the window. hands gently placing her sewing away. night has fallen, the stars tucked away behind dark clouds, there's no point in attempting any more work to her little sampler tonight. ( johanna will have to light a candle later -- when everyone else in the house is asleep so she can busy her mind from the thoughts nagging at the back of her head. ) miss morris is here at her usual time to attend to her. tonight is a better night than others. she'll allow her to help with getting ready tonight.

along her exposed skin, there are faint wisps of scars, johanna notices. memories from long before they knew each other. ( she has her doubts they came from mrs. eastman. the woman appears stern, yet has a certain gentleness with her staff. that's what johanna sees of her. ) not from the judge. he wouldn't get that close. it's from some miserable story that miss morris has written, for better or for worse, on her skin.

❝ what happened? ❞ johanna's voice hardly carries above a whisper. in case miss morris is offended by her question, she can quickly add a "nevermind" or another dismissal. a trick she's learned from years with the judge. yet, she finds herself wanting the answer. ❝ to your arm? ❞ not just her arm. johanna has the sinking feeling that it's not the only area of her skin affected. ❝ sorry if you don't want to talk about it. you don't have to. i just was . . . curious. you can ignore me if you wish. in fact, you probably should. it serves me right. ❞

#*❈ ‣ have you decided it’s safer in cages‚ singing when you’re told? — ( interaction. )#*❈ ‣ you sigh before your window and gaze upon the town‚ your lips part — ( v: canon. )#betterto die thanto crawl #abuse tw #child abuse tw

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spacechip707 · 7 years

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Hostage Heart (Saeyoung x MC)

Here’s a bit of self-indulgent fluff. Honestly, this idea has been in my head and my drafts since V’s route. It’s inspired by a phone call between 707 and MC on day 4 or 5 about ice cream, but there’s no spoilers for the actual route. xD Hope you like it~ It’s just pure fluff!

Saeyoung had been kidnapped before. Three times to be exact. Each time, his physical reaction had been the same...racing heart, jittery fingers, sweaty palms, and stress overwhelming his ability to think straight. This time was no different, except for two factors. The first being that there was no real danger to his life, except maybe his brother scolding him for making too much noise while leaving. And the second being that his self-proclaimed kidnapper was...you.

His nails dug into the passenger seat of your car, trying to concentrate on the blurring city lights and not the unfinished work on his desk back at home. “Um, where exactly are you taking me?” he asked.

You clicked your tongue, glancing at him askance. “I told you already. It’s a surprise.”

“This really isn’t necessary, MC,” he said, a nervous chuckle bubbling over his lips.

Your gaze never left the road, but the concrete seemed to be getting the brunt of your frustration towards him judging by the narrowing slits of your eyes. “The fact that you’re so tense right now says it’s necessary.”

“I’m tense because you came to my house in the middle of the night and practically shoved me into your car!” he exasperated. Truth be told, he could’ve fought back. He had been a trained agent for goodness’ sake, but of course his greatest opponent was always you...and that silly laugh you gave him...and those sparkling eyes...and the slight lilt in your voice whenever you tried to be playful. Who was he kidding? He was defenseless.

Besides, a part of him welcomed the distraction. He was starting to see lines of code every time he blinked until you showed up unannounced at his door. Although he was wary of your sudden spontaneous mood. That was usually his job, you being the more grounded of the two.

“That’s what kidnappers do,” you drawled with a roll of your eyes. The edge of your mouth slanted upwards in a proud smile. The tiniest giggle escaped a few seconds later, and Saeyoung’s breath hitched.

It somehow made him aware of his own stiff elbows and cramping fingers. The tightness trickled away with every passing minute until he was completely slouched into the seat. The smell of your perfume drifted off the fabric and slowed his heartbeat. The car vibrated underneath him, rocking his exhausted body. He inhaled sharply in attempt to keep himself awake. “You never did say...what exactly prompted you to do this?” he asked.

You shrugged before turning into what looked like a small convenience store. “You seemed overworked lately,” you replied. You pursed your lips as if bating your next words.

Before he could interrogate you further, his ribs slammed against the rigid seatbelt, and the car came to an abrupt stop. You placed it in park before jumping out. He fumbled with the door to follow, but you locked it behind you with a smug glance over your shoulder. Knowing you would find some other means to keep him detained, he turned to banging on the window to grab your attention.

“You didn’t bring me here just to lock me in, did you?” he yelled. He rapped his knuckles against the pane again, but you didn’t listen to his pleas.

“Just be patient,” you called before disappearing inside the store.

He groaned as that thrill tickled his skin again. He hated not knowing things. He was a hacker skilled enough to find the world’s secrets just a few clicks. Very few people could conceal things from him, and yet here you were leaving him in a locked car befuddled and slightly anxious.

His fingers resumed their apprehensive drumming against the door. The top of your head disappeared behind the layers of ads plastered on the windows. Saeyoung counted to ten before exiting the vehicle. He allowed himself a smirk at the thought of your nose scrunching in annoyance.

He stopped by the sidewalk, turning to observe the empty street. The night drenched it in darkness save for a few city lights here and there. The blackness washed over him, soothing the negative effects of artificial lights against his eyes. Perhaps, your plan to alleviate his heightened nerves was successful after all.

The bells on the door jingled, and Saeyoung turned to greet you. He chuckled in triumph when your face contorted into the exact expression he imagined minutes ago. Your irritation was short-lived, however, as you held up two ice cream cones.

“Guess what I got?” you sung, handing him the peanut butter flavored treat. A mix of sweet and salty...you knew him so well.

A smile spread across his lips just as a laugh edged up his throat. “For the record, you are the nicest kidnapper ever.”

You ducked under his arm before he could pull you into a hug. You shot him a glance full of faux offense and lowered yourself onto the edge of the sidewalk. “And to think, you spent most of the car ride complaining.”

He sat down next to you, scooting over a few inches so he could bump your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he conceded, attempting to rest his head against your shoulder. But you moved away at the last second, letting him plummet through the air for a frightening moment.

Your lips pursed in a failed pout, and he could see the suppressed smile tugging underneath before you buried your mouth into the white ice cream.

He paused a moment to attend to his own cone which had begun to drip. “How can your most humble hostage make it up to you?”

You hummed and your delicate finger tapped the edge of your jaw. Your bright eyes shifted towards him, and you finally let a smirk through your mask. Although, Saeyoung wasn’t sure he liked the coyness behind it.

“I don’t think you can,” you shrugged. “You would have to do something that’s sweeter than the ice cream I got us. But, considering this is the best ice cream in town, it will be pretty hard.”

He clicked his tongue and took another tentative lick of sugary treat. It wasn’t spectacular--just the typical off-brand cone he’d expect from a convenience store. And yet, somehow the flavor branded itself into his memories.

“You are right,” he sighed forlornly. “It is some of the best ice cream I’ve ever had, but not because of the taste.”

He waited in the following silence until his words registered into your head. Sure enough, your brows quirked in confusion and your torso twisted to face him. “What do you mean?” you prodded when he ignored your questioning gaze.

His tongue lapped at his lips to catch a bit of stray ice cream. He tilted his head towards you, amused by the increasing tempo of your tapping fingers as you awaited his next words. “I mean,” he went on. “Even the worst things in life are the best if I get to experience them with you.”

Your eyes widened and your cheeks flourished into a red blush. You averted your head back to the dark street ahead, burying your mouth behind your sleeve. Saeyoung leaned forward, nudging your temple with his nose. “Was that sweet enough, honey?” he murmured into your ear.

“No, you’re just teasing me,” you replied, half of your words mumbled into your jacket.

Saeyoung gasped melodramatically and pressed a hand against his chest. “I am not!” he protested. For emphasis, he sulked into his cone, his eyes darting to yours every few seconds to gauge your reaction. He caught you doing the same, though you insisted on remaining reticent.

He took a few bites of his ice cream as he wracked his brain for an idea. It felt...good actually. With everything going on with his new work and Saeran’s recovery, it had been awhile since he’d been able to exercise his mischievous side.

Like a spark, the idea flashed into his head with various outcomes trailing after it. He ignored those, though, focusing more on the execution.

He waited until you brought the soft serve to your lips before he swiped part of onto his finger. You jolted back staring at him with mouth agape but eyes ever bright with curiosity.

Before you could even form your question, he smeared the ice cream against his own cheek. “Now I’m just as sweet as your ice cream!” He beamed.

Your shoulders shook with a barely silenced laughter, but you managed to compose yourself quickly. You clicked your tongue, your eyes roaming over your cone as if you were calculating a strategic bite.

“I said you had to be sweeter than this ice cream,” you said. Your eyes narrowed on a section of white cream, and Saeyoung watched as your slowly dragged your finger upward against it. Before he could even call upon his reflexes, your hand darted out and added to the sticky mess on his cheek. “Maybe now you are.”

Finally, your laughter spilled from your lips unchecked. Saeyoung loved it. He loved it for all of its quirks and gasps. Even the tiny snorts which you failed to cover up made his heart dance.

But of course he couldn’t let it continue.

Taking advantage of your incapacitation, he ran his finger over the edge of his cone, collecting a generous pile of the cream before calmly drawing it down the side of your face. Your giggles abruptly ceased, replaced with a gasp.

Despite your appalled reaction, there was no mistaking the delight behind the slight upturn of your lips. It was Saeyoung’s turn to show his amusement. “Sorry,” he barely managed between hiccuping breaths. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of being sweeter than you.”

You scraped off some of the cream with your fingers. You shook your head before inhaling deeply. “You are so lucky I like you.”

“Only like?” he said, leaning away in faux offense.

“While you’re looking like a melting snowman? Yeah.” Your nose wrinkled as you swiped a napkin across his face. He winced at the abrasive cloth but allowed you to have your way.

“I think I’ll be Rudolph with the way you’re going,” he said, yanking the napkin from your grip before you could assault his nose further.

You obliged him with a slight smile, but you weren’t as enthusiastic as before when he tried messing around.

So he let the atmosphere settle. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, prompting you to look at him. “I was serious before,” he said. It was his turn to feel the uncomfortable, but not unpleasant warmth in his cheeks. “I’m lucky to have someone kind of enough to abduct me in the middle of the night to get ice cream.”

His comment elicited a laugh on your part, and to his relief, you continued whittling away at your treat.

“Can I be honest with you?” you asked after both of you had finished the remnants of your cones.

Saeyoung gave an affirmative grunt, and you wiggled closer to him. “Um, bringing you here was kind of selfish on my part.”

“Oh?” he raised a brow.

You bit on the edge of your lip, once again avoiding facing him directly. “Yeah, like I said before, you were working a lot, and you seemed stressed, but…” your words were carried off by the wind, and for a moment, Saeyoung thought you would change your mind. “Promise me you won’t laugh or make fun of me?”

He held out his pinky in the most solemn way. At least, as solemn one can be when swearing with sticky fingers. “I won’t,” he said.

Your chest heaved with a determined huff, though the way you ducked your head contradicted your confident sound. “I--er--just wanted to see you.”

There was something tender in the way you lowered your voice. If the statement itself didn’t send Saeyoung’s heart racing, your tone definitely did. He would’ve thought he would be more flustered in one of your bolder moments. But somehow, a small confession barely whispered into the passing wind sent his mind reeling, his body blazing, and his breath evaporating.

“See me?” he stammered.

“I know it sounds silly, but I was just thinking about you. And I couldn’t stop, and then my chest was starting to ache really bad. I tried convincing myself that I could just wait until morning, but then everything seemed too dreary--and gosh, I sound weird,” you rambled.

Saeyoung’s finger slid under your chin and guided your face back to his. Still, you insisted on finding the pavement more appealing. “Hey,” he said, finally snatching your attention. He waited a moment to speak, half to gather his thoughts and half to recover from how angelic you looked when you were embarrassed. A breathy chuckle eased out from his tense chest. “I like weird.”

Your teeth drew against your bottom lip again. “Only like?”

You two exchanged amused smirks before dissolving the tension with your shared laughter. Somewhere in the midst, your foreheads pressed together and your noses stuck together in their syrup-coated state.

Saeyoung wasn’t sure whether to blame the sugar or you for his giddiness. He decided on the latter when your hand cupped his cheek and steadied his face. Your sweet breath mingled with his as your mouth parted in a smile, leaving him irrationally dizzy. One second more, and you stole the air right from his lungs.

Your kisses were like ice cream, he decided. It was more than just the way your sugar spun lips melted against the warmth of his own. It was the feeling of innocence that you seemed to impart onto him with a simple, feather-light touch.

His eyes remained closed, even after you pulled away. He counted to three to still his erratic heart. It was no use since it hammered against his chest at a faster pace the moment your smile met his eyes again.

“Feel better?” you asked. Mercifully, you leaned away from him, allowing him to recover.

“Much,” he breathed. He pushed back his sleeve to find his watch. “But I really do need to be getting back.”

You nodded and pressed a final kiss to his cheek. “Come on, my cute hostage. I’ll take you home.”

He rolled his eyes at the nickname, although he couldn’t help but see the truth in it. Even when your little joke was over, he would still be captive to you, wouldn’t he? A part of him--if not all of him--would always be tethered to you. He had come to terms with it long ago, and unlike a hostage, he accepted this fate willingly.

They really should worry about Saeran ever finding out they went to get ice cream without him...and didn’t bring any back either. Wow. Rude. Lolol. Anyway, thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!

#mystic messenger #saeyoung x mc #saeyoung choi #saeyoung x reader #mystic messenger oneshot #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger imagine #mystic messenger imagines #mystic messenger fanfiction

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megabadbunny · 7 years

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Rose x Ten, post GitF-au/fixit; angst, fluff, romance, more angst, and possibly some smut later, but this part (and all parts on ff.net) is sfw (minor exception for brief language).

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Minuet, Part III

Stunned, Rose can’t summon the words to argue with him—Please don’t take me home, at least let me say goodbye to my friends first, please just talk to me, please—they all just drift around uselessly, unable to climb their way out of her throat. Silently, she follows after him.

***

The first thing Rose hears upon setting foot in the TARDIS is the sound of her own name, nearly lost amidst the full solid weight of Mickey barreling into her like a freight train.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it, I thought you’d never make it back!” Mickey half-laughs, half-shouts into her ear. His arms wind snugly around her, a pair of friendly boa constrictors squeezing her in happiness. Rose hugs him back just as tightly, barely managing to blink back tears; she didn’t expect to cry right now, but god, it just feels so comfortable and warm, and it’s been so long since anyone hugged her.

“The Doctor said all the links were severed when you when through the mirror,” Mickey continues. “He said it was impossible, he said—”

Suddenly Mickey steps back, his nose scrunched in confusion. “Hang on,” he says, holding Rose at arms’ length while he looks her up and down, eyes traveling over her coiffed hair, her heavy silken gown. “Wow. You look different.”

“Wow,” Rose teases. “You don’t.”

“Well, it’s only been a few hours for me—what about you?”

“About six months.”

Mickey’s face darkens, his eyes flickering over to the Doctor. “Six months?”

“Yep, looks like my calculations were a bit off,” the Doctor says, his voice tight as he breezes past them up the ramp. He rounds the console, tossing a switch here, a lever there. “Well, to be fair, it’s less to do with my calculations, more to do with an unstable time window—difficult to predict, those, especially when they’re in such a sad state of disrepair. But luckily for us,” he says, and his gaze very carefully avoids Rose at that last word, “there was a loose connection.”

The TARDIS shudders around them as it dematerializes, and Rose closes her eyes at the sound of the time rotor grinding, the still-familiar vworp-vworp noise and the soft and gentle buzz-hum underneath. She places a hand against a coral strut, relishing the sandpaper-roughness beneath her fingers, and this time she doesn’t fight the tear that trickles down her cheek. It’s as if a hole was gnawing away in her chest over the last half-year, no matter how she tried to ignore it, but now it’s filling in again. Good grief, but she’s missed these sounds, this place.

“So that’s that,” the Doctor says, as if it’s final, somehow. Rose opens her eyes to find him galloping down the ramp, striding out of the console room. “End of one chapter, beginning of another. Welcome back to the TARDIS!” the Doctor shouts over his shoulder.

And just like that, he’s gone.

“Huh,” says Mickey, watching the Doctor’s retreating form. “That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“I dunno. I guess I expected him to, like, run in here holding your hand and babbling about all your adventures or professing his eternal love or something.”

Rose laughs, and it’s only a little sarcastic. “Yeah, right. Me too.”

“I’m serious.” Mickey glances both ways before leaning in closer, his voice lower now, as if he fears being overheard. “He wasn’t half-mad while you were gone. He was downright manic. It was all sonic this and reverse the polarity that and maybe I’ll check some timey-wimey-whosie-whatsit and what if I could punch a hole in the local space-time continuum without compromising the fabric of reality and blah blah blah, just a bunch of muttering to himself while he ran around the TARDIS and pulled at his hair.”

Running a hand over his own hair, Mickey shudders. “It’s a wonder he didn’t yank it all out.”

“Yeah, well,” Rose replies, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Maintaining the timelines and all that’s sort of stressful, I guess.”

“It was almost scary, the look in his eyes,” Mickey continues, crossing his arms over his chest, protecting himself against the memory. “Like he was a wounded animal or something—you know how they get in the movies, like when they’re cornered, but they’ve got nothing to lose, nothing left in ‘em but the fight, and then everything goes to hell? It was just like that. He couldn’t see or hear anything in front of him, couldn’t think about anything that wasn’t you.”

Something sickly bubbles up in Rose’s stomach, weighing heavily at the pit of it, and she has a sinking suspicion it’s got nothing to do with the corset cinched around her waist. She can picture the Doctor just as Mickey described him, stalking about the console room, alternately muttering under his breath and shouting at the top of his lungs, his frame shaking with the effort to contain the desperate energy inside. She imagines the way his hands would fist in his hair and his mouth would contort in a grimace, his eyes scanning frantically over everything while his mind raced through nearly a thousand years’ worth of memories and facts and tricks and hints. Rose has seen it all before, when they’re trapped at the end of the line, no way out, the fate of a life or a town or a planet or a galaxy weighing on the Doctor’s shoulders.

(She has never seen him act this way because of her.)

“Anyway,” says Mickey, snapping out of his reverie, “Glad that’s done with. Bloody terrifying, that was. Not to mention exhausting. Feels like I haven’t slept in days.”

He punches Rose lightly in the arm. “What about you, though? How’ve you been? Six months, that’s impressive. Probably got a whole truckload of new stories to tell, yeah?”

Distantly, Rose hears everything coming out of Mickey’s mouth, but for some reason, she can’t seem to focus on it, much less discern any meaning. She can’t stop her gaze from wandering over to the corridor where the Doctor disappeared, twisting her hands together while her teeth sink into her lower lip.

“So, you gonna go after him, or what?”

Rose blinks. “Sorry?”

Mickey offers her a wistful grin. “You waited for him all that time, didn’t even know if he’d find you again—but you still love him, don’t you?”

Rose can’t find the words to reply, but really, she doesn’t need to; her silence seems to tell Mickey everything he needs to know.

“You know he’s not good enough for you, right?” Mickey chuckles. “You deserve better.”

Smiling, Rose wraps her arms around Mickey in a tight hug, pecking a kiss on his cheek afterward for good measure. “So do you.”

“Don’t I know it. Now run your arse over there so I can go get some sleep!”

Rose doesn’t try to find the Doctor straightaway. Instead, she takes her time, wandering through the halls of the TARDIS. She kicks off her heels and sighs in relief, delights in the coolness of the floor beneath her aching feet, one hand running along the wall as she walks. Its pebbly surface rasps against her fingertips until they’re pleasantly numb—she imagines it’s like a series of little kisses from the TARDIS, welcoming her back.

“Glad to have your wolf again, hmm?” she asks quietly, and maybe she’s just imagining things again, but she can almost feel the hum shifting in the back of her head, its pitch changing ever-so-briefly, like a little flash of golden happiness in her skull. Grinning, Rose pats the wall. “Missed you too,” she whispers.

She thinks of stopping by her room. This dress isn’t getting any more comfortable, after all, and a hot shower or relaxing bubble bath sounds absolutely divine. But that sick feeling still burbles in her stomach, and Rose knows that no amount of scalding water or fruity soaps will drive it away.

Rose could play dumb, if she wanted, checking the garden or the pool or the galley or any other room first, to buy herself some time, to rehearse her words in her head, but she knows exactly where the Doctor is, and she allows her feet to carry her there.

She finds him, of course, in the library.

Evidence strewn about the coffee table in front of the settee suggests that the Doctor must have been tinkering, books and papers and tools and sonic screwdriver all piled atop each other in a miniature mountainous landscape. Amidst everything else is a small globe of some sort—astrolabe is the word that comes to Rose’s mind, except that she doesn’t actually have a clue what an astrolabe is, or even how she heard of it in the first place—but it has been long-since abandoned, its mechanical guts spilled and forgotten. As for the Doctor, he leans back on the settee, his hands clenched over his face, pushing his specs up into his hair.

He doesn’t move when Rose steps into the room. She tries to remember the last time she was able to sneak up on him like this. She can’t.

Rose clears her throat and the Doctor snaps to, slipping his specs back down and reaching for the globe and the sonic as if he never let them go.

“Did you need something?” the Doctor asks. Rose can’t help but notice how tired he looks; she swears the lines around his eyes run deeper than they used to.

“Yeah,” she says. “I…”

She hesitates. Silently, she berates herself for her cowardice. Why can’t she just talk to him—why can’t she just say what’s on her mind? She’s never had this problem with anyone else, not ever, never had to stopper her words or tiptoe on a thousand invisible eggshell-thin rules the way she does around him. Squirming in her gown (god, but it’s absolutely murdering her ribcage), Rose casts about for the best words to open this discussion, because she absolutely is going to initiate this discussion, she’s not going to let him squirm away from her this time, she spent more than enough time putting up with pinching shoes and heavy underskirts and beyond-stupid 18th-century customs and she’s had enough of the bloody damn rules. She’s not going to let him close around her like a corset, cinching her closer and closer only to push her away when things get too tight; she’s going to put her foot down and they’re going to have a bloody talk because it’s ridiculous for them to keep brushing everything under the rug, and this dress is hot and scratchy, and he’s infuriating, and why didn’t she just go take her dress off before this, and wouldn’t it be so much better to have things out in the open instead?

Yes, she decides; yes, it would. Rose steels herself.

“I need help taking my dress off,” she blurts out.

The Doctor’s eyes raise a little in surprise, and Rose furiously fights the blush rising in her cheeks—of all possible things, why, why was that the one that popped out of her mouth?

“It’s just, back in France, there were people to help with this sort of thing,” she rushes, stumbling over her words. “And Mickey’s already gone to bed, and, you know, it sort of seems like a bad idea to show up on the Estate wearing something out of the 1700’s.”

“The Estate?” the Doctor asks, frowning.

“Yeah.” She swallows. “You said you were gonna take me home, remember?”

“Right,” says the Doctor, diverting his attention back to the instruments in his hands.

Rose waits for him to speak again, but he’s strangely quiet. “You are still planning to take me home, right?”

“Well.” The Doctor fiddles with the globe, tapping the sonic against it in a rat-a-tat-tat. “Certainly, yes, I did say that. And. And I meant it. That was indeed a valid threat. No, not a threat—a promise. I am absolutely, positively, definitely taking you home.”

He sneaks a glance up at her. “Unless. You know. You’re not ready to go home yet.”

Relief washing over her, Rose hides a smile. “I think I can wait a bit.”

“Good,” replies the Doctor just a little too quickly. When Rose can no longer hide her smile, he points an accusatory finger at her. “I did mean it, though,” he insists.

“Sure.”

“I am taking you home. Just not right this instant.”

“Got it.”

“It wasn’t a bluff.”

“’Course not.”

“Just…no reason to rush, right?”

Rose beams at him. “No reason at all.”

“Excellent.” The Doctor brushes some nonexistent dirt off his trousers before standing up from the settee, placing his instruments back down on the table. “Glad that’s sorted. So, I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early, then? Tomorrow and early being relative terms, of course.”

“Sure, but, erm…”

The Doctor watches her expectantly, and Rose’s cheeks grow warm beneath his gaze again. “I still need help,” she admits, gesturing over her shoulder, to the laces on the back of her dress.

Eyes following the line of her hand, the Doctor’s face goes blank. Rose thinks she can pinpoint the very moment realization dawns on him, his eyebrows arching once again in surprise.

“Right,” he says, shaking his head. “Yes, of course.” Wordlessly, he spins his finger in a circle, a silent suggestion that Rose should do the same. Rose turns away, forces herself not to twitch at the coolness of his hand on her neck as he brushes a tendril of hair out of the way.

They both fall quiet, the silence only interrupted by the soft sounds of silk and linen whispering against each other while the Doctor works, deftly untying knots and unlacing laces. But for all that his fingers are talented, the Doctor isn’t quite as adept at this as the women at court, and more than once, Rose’s breath hitches as the corset tightens before loosening.

Rose stifles a laugh. She’d be lying if she said she had never fantasized about this at least a little bit, the Doctor slowly peeling a gorgeous gown off her body, unwrapping her like a delectably rich gift. But between the pinch at her waist and the anxiety in her tummy and the ache in her ribs, this just might be one of the single unsexiest things she has ever experienced.

“So, what did you two get up to while I was away?” Rose asks—she tells herself it’s an attempt at playfulness, just a distraction, and not related in any way to what Mickey told her in the console room. (It’s certainly not a quiet way to test him, definitely not a subtle way to see how far she can push.)

The Doctor pulls a lace a little too tight and Rose bites her tongue to stop herself from grunting. “Not much,” the Doctor replies, and Rose could almost believe him. “We mostly just did a bit of research, poked around until I figured out how to get back to y—how to sort things out.”

“Yeah, Mickey said it was only a few hours here.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor echoes, but something about the way he says it is flat, empty.

His fingers still at her back. “Rose, I’m sorry.”

Rose shrugs, squirming in her half-done corset. “Eh, you’re doing your best. Eighteenth-century underwear’s a right bitch.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner.”

Rose’s lips part in surprise. “Ah,” she says, softly.

The Doctor resumes his task, pulling at the laces once again. “It shouldn’t have taken me so long to figure it out, the loose connection in the fireplace,” he continues. “It’s ridiculous, really. I don’t know what came over me.”

At that, Mickey’s words resound in her ears. He wasn’t half-mad while you were gone.

“Don’t worry, it won’t happen again,” says the Doctor. “But still: I apologize. Six months is a long period for a human to be stranded anywhere, especially three hundred years out of their own time.”

“It was only five and a half months,” Rose mumbles halfheartedly.

“Still. I should have done better.”

“Eh,” says Rose. “It’s all right. I knew what I was getting into, crashing through that mirror. I mean, you were pretty explicit about what would happen.”

She drinks in a deep breath now that her ribcage has the room to expand. She can tell by the position of the Doctor’s hands at the small of her back that he’ll be done loosening the corset soon; she tells herself that if she’s going to talk to the Doctor, really properly talk to him, she needs to do it now, while neither of them can see the other’s face. She tells herself it will be easier that way, even if she can imagine exactly expression his eyes and mouth will make.

“I’m actually more upset about how you treated me afterward,” she admits, her pulse thundering at the confession.

The Doctor falls silent once again—doesn’t even emit an irritated sigh or let loose an explanatory bit of babble. He just works on pulling the last of the laces loose, his pace steady and never-changing. Lightheadedness suffuses Rose’s head, filling it like a dull fog, and she knows this time it’s got nothing to do with the corset.

“Look, I know you were just frustrated, and concerned about the timelines, and—and maybe a little worried about me, too,” Rose rushes. (A wounded animal, she remembers Mickey saying; Couldn’t see or hear anything in front of him.) God, she hopes the Doctor doesn’t notice the way the back of her neck flushes. “But you can talk to me about it, yeah? Just let me know those things are going through your head, instead of being all mean and angry at me.”

“I was never angry with you,” the Doctor murmurs.

Brow wrinkling in confusion, Rose glances over her shoulder. “What?”

At last, the gown and corset completely loosen around Rose, enough that she has to clutch her arms to herself to keep the garments from slumping to the floor. “All done,” says the Doctor, and Rose hears him step back, step away. “You’re good to go.”

Pulling together the last threads of her courage, Rose whirls around to face him.

“Doctor—”

He stops, hands shoved in pockets, mouth stretched thin. He waits.

“Just please tell me what’s going on,” Rose says, pushing the words out before she has a chance to overthink them.

Glancing around the room—at the books on the shelves, the other books scattered on the floor, the faded rugs and comfortable old afghans, the imitation Tiffany lamp (or a genuine Tiffany lamp, one never knows)—the Doctor plays for time. “I’m sorry I was so unpleasant to you earlier,” he tells her slowly. Carefully. “You’re right. It was unnecessary. I let my frustration get the better of me. And you didn’t deserve that. You…you only did what I would have done, after all.”

Shaking her head, Rose allows her corset and gown to fall to the floor, leaving her in nothing but a thin white shift. She steps out of the garments, toward him, watching him as he watches her. If the Doctor registers how bare she suddenly is, he doesn’t show it; somehow, despite being fully-clothed, despite the gates shuttering his face, he seems more naked than she does.

Rose approaches him slowly (gently, so she doesn’t scare him off). “Please.”

“What more could you possibly want from me?” the Doctor pleads tiredly.

“Doctor,” Rose breathes, her stocking-feet padding silently over the wood-paneled floor until they come to a stop opposite his plimsolls. She stands very close to him, now, close enough to count every single one of his eyelashes, chart a starfield out of his freckles.

(Rose wonders if Reinette noticed any of these things. Did she admire the shape of his mouth when he spoke excitedly of science and adventure and awe at the majesty of the universe and the turn of the earth—did she feel a warm glow in her chest when his eyes landed on her face, did she sense his double-heartsbeat when they drew close for a kiss?)

“When everything’s said and done, what do you think you’ll regret more?” Rose asks, her voice gone quiet and soft, and maybe just a little sad. “Everything you said and did—or everything you didn’t?”

The Doctor’s hands ball into fists in his pockets, and Rose fully expects him to turn and flee. But before Rose has a chance to react, his hands are no longer in his pockets—instead they’re cupping around her jaw, shocking her with their coolness as he draws her face upward for a harsh and bruising kiss.

A strange buzzing fills Rose’s head and her mind goes completely blank.

For a moment that stretches into eternity, she can’t hear anything but her pulse rushing and roaring in her ears, can’t feel anything but the cool pressure of the Doctor’s hands framing her face and the warmth of his breath on her lips. She stiffens, mouth parting in surprise as her brain races to catch up with everything that’s happening. She half-expects the Doctor to take advantage of the opening, invade her mouth with his tongue like any other bloke would do, pushing past the swell of her lower lip and tasting her like she’s a whole new world for him to explore, but he doesn’t; for all that the kiss is frantic and she can feel his teeth in it, it’s surprisingly chaste.

It’s still too much.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, by the Doctor’s closeness and the way he trembles as he clutches her, by the hormones fizzing up drunkenly in her head, raging a fierce battle with everything else crowding in there—the confusion, the hurt, the shock, and yes, the want, of course the want, the want that kept her going in France, kept her awake more nights on the TARDIS than she’d ever admit, the want that had burned so hot and so shamefully and so deep in her gut that it was easier to pretend it wasn’t there than to acknowledge its scorching existence, always the want—

(But the look on his face when he talked about Reinette, but the things she’d heard and seen back on that spaceship—)

Couldn’t think about anything that wasn’t you

—Rose shoves at the Doctor’s chest, pushing hard so she can break away with a ragged gasp. The Doctor staggers backward, panting a bit himself, his eyes blown as wide as Rose has ever seen them.

Chest heaving, Rose stammers incoherently, steadying herself against a bookshelf. Her mind fishes about for something to say (absolutely anything will do, anything, anything please), but her heart flutters madly in her chest and she can’t think of anything else but that and the taste of the Doctor on her lips.

The Doctor blinks the shock out of his eyes and pushes a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

Rose knows she should reply, but her vocal chords don’t seem to work at the moment.

“I’m so sorry,” the Doctor repeats breathlessly as he pushes past her out of the room.

Rose doesn’t turn to watch him leave; she’s stuck in place, her feet frozen and unmoving as if they were glued to the floor. The only thing she can do is shiver, and whether she should blame the cold or something else entirely is anyone’s guess.

Rose gulps.

***

Next Part

***

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wordsonpages1-blog · 7 years

Text

1x08 missing moments

so this was originally posted on ff.net as part of my Perfect Enigma series and it’s one of my favurites so I hope you enjoy xx

Betty was on her way to cheer practice when an arm reached out and grabbed a hold of her own, causing her to stop in her path. The blonde turned to get a look at her delay, a soft smile gracing her lips when none other than Jughead Jones occupied her gaze.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” he inquired, eyes flickering around the hall in his typical sign of unease. Betty’s brows furrowed in concern but she nodded anyway, allowing him to lead her to the safety of the Blue and Gold office.

“What’s up?” she asked, propping herself up on his desk as he closed the door. Jughead hesitated as if unsure what words to adduce in order to communicate his point. If she wasn’t so intrigued Betty may have found it comical that he-the boy who was never lost for eloquent words- was now stumped. Finally the distressed teen seemed to come to a conclusion and moved toward her. By the time he spoke he was standing directly in front of where she was perched on the desk. Her breath hitched as she took him in up close; green eyes, dark hair, lean body.

“Veronica called me your boyfriend.” He stated bluntly. Betty raised her eyebrows at him, imploring him to throw something else into the now silent room. When he just shrugged she decided to offer up her answer instead.

“She did. Is that okay?” Her stomach was suddenly a butterfly cage, nerves attempting to throw her judgement with respect to what his answer would be.

Jughead grinned at her, moving even closer now to place his hands on either side of her thighs where she sat. His eyes were bright with a satisfaction she had only seen twice before- when he had kissed her the first time and then after she had kissed him.

“It’s definitely okay with me. Is that okay with you?”

Betty nodded, an intimate smile developing on her lips. His eyes followed its presence, and her breath hitched yet again as she noticed his attention to her mouth. A second later his mouth was the one paying hers the attention. His warm lips crashed upon hers in a passionate kiss. His lips yielded her own, portraying his affection for her through his action. Betty responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, groaning a little into his mouth as his tongue gently traced her lips. One of his hands was stroking her thigh now and it was leaving a very welcomed path of tingles in its place. Kissing him like this, as his girlfriend, was absolutely electrifying and empowering and right. It made a happiness previously unknown jolt through her, further dazing her. Eventually the pair broke apart sharing gentle caresses and sated smiles as they stole a moment to bask in this new development in the story that was them. Taking a second to find joy and hope in something positive and beautiful, something bright and not yet tainted by the corruption so rife in their town these days.

A shrill alert rang through Pop’s diner as Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge crossed the threshold. The fairer of the pair, Riverdale’s resident girl next door, was illuminated with a beaming smile, casting more light on the small space than the cloud obscured sun rays that were trying to break through the windows. Her eyes scanned the booths quickly hoping to zero in on a familiar beanie peeking out. She spotted it without much focus, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet.

“V I’m gonna-“

“Go tell him girl, I’ll order us some shakes,” Veronica cut her off. The raven haired girl gently pushed her friend in the direction of the aspiring novelist who was mere metres away from them, laughing at Betty’s enthusiasm as she practically skipped off, before turning to the counter. She was thoroughly enjoying seeing this side to Betty, a breath of fresh air that was void of the toxic stresses she had been enduring as of late.

Betty reached Jughead’s table in no time, sliding into the booth next to him and drawing his attention. He smiled as soon as his eyes registered her and was immediately captivated by the happiness evident across her features.

“Well hello,” he said with a raised brow and a curious smirk as he inferred her buzzing demeanour.

“Guess what!” She exclaimed in pure giddiness, her eyes positively shining with the emotion. Jughead felt a warmth bleed into his heart at the sight, quashing some of the darkness that was decaying the organ and infecting him with her light.

“What?” He entertained. Betty’s smile grew even wider if that was possible, her hands clutching his forearm.

“Polly asked me to be the baby’s Godmother!” His eyes widened in recognition of how significant that was and a grin broke out across his own face as he moved his free hand to grab hers where it was still gripping his forearm.

“Betts that’s amazing, really! You are going to make the best Aunt and Godmother any kid could hope for, and this kid is damn lucky and will know it,” he affirmed, falling further into her bright sanctuary as her green eyes softened at his words, displaying how touched she was by the sentiment.

Veronica returned a moment later, smirking as she noticed her friends’ close proximity on their side of the booth.

“One strawberry milkshake as promised,” she announced, sliding in across from them and placing her purse down next to her. Betty gave her a warm smile and light thanks in response, sipping on the sugar infused drink daintily.

“So I’m assuming our girl shared her fabulous news with you,” the native New Yorker questioned the enigmatic boy, gesturing to Betty with a slight nod. Jughead shook his head in confirmation unable to keep the appraising look from his typically passive expression as he noticed Betty’s body perk up again at the further reminder that something good was happening to her.

“She did indeed, it’s awesome.”

“It is- B I’m so happy for you,” Veronica said genuinely to her best friend, trying not to let her brown eyes linger on the way Jughead’s fingers were playing with Betty’s where they rested, lighting her persona even more. She catalogued the action though to share with Kevin later, very much liking the way Jughead was enlivening Betty and encouraging her small victories.

“Thanks Veronica for… everything. You and you’re mum have been so wonderful to Polly and to me and it means a lot.” Veronica nodded humbly, revelling in the feeling of being selfless and actually helping someone for a cause greater than herself and her own personal desires.

Jughead knocked on the door of the Cooper residence, praying it was Betty who answered the door and not her intimidating mother or possibly murderous father. He stood in anticipation calling upon his placid persona- hands in pockets, casual lean against wall or any upstanding object. The door creaked open and he let out a slight sigh of relief when his blonde haired girlfriend slipped out the house. He took a moment to roam his appraising eyes over her. She looked beautiful with her hair mostly down, curls falling against her shoulders, her makeup light and accentuating her gorgeous delicate features. She was clad in pretty, yet still conservative floral blouse and a black skirt with a pair of heeled boots on her feet. And oh god did she look good. He couldn’t help his gaze from drifting to her long tan legs, which seemed to go on for miles causing him to swallow audibly as a slight hunger came forth. His gaze climbed back to hers, holding it steady as she blushed slightly under his examination, tilting her head shyly to the side with a crooked smile, as her own eyes took him in. He looked extremely dapper in her opinion, his sweater was smart and she quickly concluded that she loved him in red.

“You ah, you look gorgeous,” His words came out a tad breathless as he shifted his weight so he was standing before her. His smile was so genuine, epitomised by the innocence and candidness of his comment, making her heart stutter.

“Thanks, you don’t clean up so bad yourself,” she returned as they slowly made their way down the drive way, hands gravitating toward each other, fingers linking naturally.

“I thought we established that already?” Jughead teased, his expression quickly becoming cheeky to contradict his dry tone. Betty rolled her eyes at him, but couldn’t help the small chuckle that fell from her lips.

“I didn’t realise you were the narcissistic type Juggie.” He just shook his head in reply, moving to rest his arm around her shoulders as they walked, pulling her further into his side. Betty leaned up and kissed his cheek sweetly. She was only caught slightly off guard by the innate motivation of the gesture. She hadn’t really thought about it at all, she had just done it like a knee jerk reaction. The concept brought a smile to her lips; the natural way they fell together and connected flooded her body with warmth that made her realise she had been cold until now, until him. She revelled in the knowledge that they were simple and well fitted and natural. She finally found something in her life that was controlled, and unconditional.

“Thanks for coming with me by the way,” Betty said after a few minutes of comfortable silence had passed between them. Jughead smiled down at her, leaning in to peck her lips before shrugging nonchalantly.

“How could I turn down free food?”

The night, starting out pleasant and seemingly innocent had quickly been consumed by vulgarity and poisoned with complication and tension. Jughead thought the sky currently represented this notion very well, morphing from a subtle sunset glow of blushing hews to an ebony canvas, void of stars, the moon shielded by brooding clouds; full dark no stars. He fought an amused smirk at that. Now wasn’t really the appropriate time to be entertaining Lodge quotes.

Betty and Jughead were currently walking home from the trailer park, silence hanging over them. It wasn’t tense, rather it felt almost exhausted; neither one quite knowing what to say. Her affirmation of belief in him had been enough to quell his fears of judgement or doubt on her part after Archie had so brashly mentioned his father’s current unsavoury line of work. But he could still feel the weight of the evening pressing down on them. Drama was fast becoming the usual forte of the town, rather than an anomaly and it was tiring.

“I actually think that’s about as well as I could have pictured my dad meeting my girlfriend going,” he finally said after much contemplation on what words should be ejected into the atmosphere; sardonic, yet light hearted humour won out. Betty gave a small laugh in response, turning her stunning green/blue orbs on him.

“Better than breakfast with my mother anyway,” she joked back, flexing her hand in his.

“Your right, drug and murder interrogations are much better ‘meet the parents’ topics.” Some of the seriousness that was hanging in the air around them had been dispelled, allowing each of them to breathe a bit easier.

“Seriously though Juggie, I meant what I said back there and at the station last week- I believe you. I trust you, more than anyone right now actually, and I want to be a part of your world. All of it. No matter how messy it is. I’m not going anywhere.” Her words were so utterly sincere, infused with such strength and an almost yearning for him to absorb them. Jughead couldn’t help but stop her in her tracks, pulling on her arm so that she halted and faced him. He placed his strong hands on her waist, admiring the way she fit in his arms.

“I know Betts and I really am sorry. I promise I won’t let my juvenile ego or stubborn pride keep anything from you anymore. I believe you. I believe in you.” The typically sardonic teenage had dropped his voice to a quiet, raw tone. One that made Betty run a hand adoringly over his cheek and tilt her head up to place a sweet kiss on his waiting lips. Their mouths moved in succinct harmony, communicating their promise in a language much more powerful and sensual than their words could hope to do. When they broke apart, Jughead took a moment to admire her beauty up close; eyes shut, dark lashed fluttering against her soft cheeks, small smile highlighting her lips and making his pulse race. When her eyes opened they looked right into his own and for a moment they were bare, souls interlinking delicately, moulding around one another and mending the tears that had previously lain there. In that moment they were okay. In that moment they were whole.

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #jetty

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theclouddiver · 7 years

Text

Wish Come True {Prologue}

It had been the same wish for over three years, and although your friends would laugh at you and call your quirky habit childish, you could not refrain from it in moments like these.

Pairing: BTS Taehyung (V) x Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count: 2.4k A/N: This is a response to a request I got from a reader some time ago. Get ready for much more fluff (and maybe some smut?) in the future! I am quite busy with my internship in Munich right now and still have lots of requests to tackle, but I’ll try my best to update soonish~

A loud thud went through the room when the book hit the floor, followed by an exasperated sigh and then… silence.

You closed your eyes and massaged your temples with your index and middle fingers, trying to push aside the frustrated thoughts springing up in your head like angry, thorny vines. You had been reading the same paragraph five times now, and you still did not understand what it was about. But what was worse, you had a stupid test tomorrow morning. You scolded yourself for procrastinating for too long, you always did. If you just had started reviewing the material a few days earlier, you could relax right now and attend the popular sophomore party your friends had invited you to to celebrate the end of another academic semester. While your friends probably had an amazing time meeting hot guys and forgetting the stressful aspect of finals week, you were trapped in your tiny apartment, far away from all the fun and cramming for your communications class exam.

You groaned again and decided that pitying yourself would not help you memorize the material any better. With a resigned expression on your face, you got up from the worn out sofa and made your way to the other side of the room to pick up your textbook. You cursed when an uncomfortable tingling shot through your leg; one of your feet had gone to sleep while you were studying. It took a few seconds and a bit of jumping up and down for the uncomfortable feeling to subside. When you looked at the clock on top of the bookshelf and realized that it was already past midnight, your eyes widened in surprise. Did you really spend that much time on looking at your notes and textbook? You decided that it would be best to call it a night and get up early tomorrow to review the topics you did not memorize yet. Tired and eager to get between your blankets, you went to the bathroom to take a quick shower and get ready for bed. After you turned on the faucet and waited for the water to get hotter, you let your gaze wander through the messy room. You definitely needed to clean up before the start of summer break. After you stepped into the shower, it didn’t take long for the soothing water to take effect. As soon as the comforting droplets touched your skin your worries were washed down the drain just like your shampoo and body wash. After tomorrow, everything was going to be better: although you had to clean up your apartment and pack your bags after writing that communications exam, you were already looking forward to take the train back to Daegu, your home town. A smile spread on your face as you imagined your parents and younger sister welcoming you at the train station, fighting their way through the crowds to finally give you a bear hug after five long months of not seeing each other. As much as you loved going to university in the country’s exciting and multifarious capital, home held a very special place in your heart.

It was late when you finally made your way to your small bedroom. You literally jumped onto your bed, exhausted from the long day of reading, researching, and more reading. You slipped under your soft covers and pulled out your phone to set the alarm. You definitely had to get up early if you wanted to feel at least a little more prepared for your last final exam. Furrowing your eyebrows, you decided that 6 a.m. should be early enough and that you would probably need an extra 30 minutes of snoozing and a cup of coffee to be able to fully open your eyes. You were about to lock your phone when something on the screen caught your eye. It was 01:01 a.m. Four simple numbers, but your heart started beating faster the second you saw the double digits on the screen.

To everyone else, double digits on the clock or the phone meant nothing special. They were simply informing about the time, just like all the other combinations of numbers. However, these four insignificant numbers held a lot more meaning for you. Whenever you saw these double digits, you stopped whatever you were doing for just long enough to make a wish. It had been the same wish for over three years now, and although your friends would laugh at you and call your quirky habit childish, you could not refrain from it in moments like these.

Your habit had started a few years ago when you went to high school back home in Daegu. Your parents had to move to a different city because they had found a better paying job there. You knew your family needed the money, especially now that your sister was about to enter elementary school and you were getting ready to start your life as a high school student. Nevertheless, you hated the fact that you would have to say goodbye to so many things that were important to you: your favorite ice cream shop, your friends, your home, your little world. You still remembered how you, back then thirteen years old, had clung to your favorite stuffed toy, a blue cat with white paws, and longingly looked outside the car window to catch a last glimpse of the city you had grown up in.

Your first month in high school had been horrible. Although it was somewhat helpful that you were a freshman and everyone else was equally new to the school as you, it did not change the fact that a lot of the students knew friends from middle school and had already formed exclusive friend groups. Their dialect was very different, and some of your classmates would laugh at you for pronouncing certain words “like a village idiot”. You had always been more of an introvert - you had no difficulty having conversations with others and making a joke here and there, but you had never been the type of girl to start conversations or be the center of attention. Therefore it had been extremely difficult to make friends at first.

However, things got much easier after a few weeks. You were slowly accustoming to the faster pace of the city you were now living in, and your diligent, kind personality had soon earned you the respect of your classmates. You had made friends with a few girls who shared similar hobbies with you, and you could somehow feel that everything in your new life was going to be alright. It would take some time to feel completely comfortable in your new apartment, your new school and your new surroundings far away from your old home, but you were confident that you could make the best of it as long as you had a positive mind and hardworking attitude.

About three months after moving to Daegu, you started to notice him. He had been around you since the first day of school, but you had been too occupied to take notice of him then. You were on your way to Math class when someone bumped into you in the hallway, the impact causing you to drop your notebook and pencil case you had been carrying for easy access once you reached your destination. Of course, you had been too lazy to properly close your pencil case and all its contents were now scattered on the floor. Without a word of apology or gesture to help you collect the stuff you had dropped, the troublemaker carelessly rushed past you and disappeared around the corner. A curse word was already on your lips and you were just about to shout it after the thoughtless student when you decided that it would be better to keep your frustration to yourself rather than causing any more trouble. After all, you had to get to your Math classroom quickly if you wanted to make it in time.

Frowning and mumbling incomprehensibly to yourself, you first did not notice that someone had crouched down next to you. Only when you had collected your pens and couldn’t find your pencil case, you looked up and locked eyes with a boy who looked as if he had jumped straight out of a beauty ad on TV. His hair was messy and a little too long, so that his bangs covered his full eyebrows and part of his deer-like eyes. His skin had a golden glow to it, and the smile on his face was so radiant that even the grumpiest person would have turned cheerful at its sight. Your eyes fell upon the name tag on his chest: Kim Taehyung. He held out your pencil case and some sheets that had fallen out of your notebook toward you and you took them, your cheeks assuming the color of blossoming azaleas.

“That was rude… Are you hurt?” His voice surprised you; although his appearance was soft and ethereal, his voice was much deeper than you had expected. You shook your head and assured him that you were fine. You barely got out a nervous thank you, bashfulness setting over you like an invisible cloak.

A relieved look appeared on his face and he asked, “Are you a freshman, too?” You nodded your head and replied, “Yes, I moved here a few months ago. It’’s my first year both at this school and in this city.” “Really?” He beamed at you, excitement written all over his face. “Welcome to Daegu. I live not too far from here, near the countryside. I hope you will learn to love this city as much as I do. I have to run to my next class now, but it was nice meeting you, … Y/N?” He had looked at your name tag just like you did a few moments earlier. “Nice meeting you, Taehyung. Thanks again for helping me.” And with a nod and another flashing smile in your direction, he was out of your sight.

You did not notice that you had been staring at the spot where he had disappeared until the sound of the school bell pulled you out of your thoughts. With a groan, you quickly pulled your pencil case and notebook closer to your chest and ran down the hallway, reaching your classroom just in time for the beginning of class.

From this day on, Taehyung’s face was engraved in your head like a sculpture made by Michelangelo himself. Sometimes when you walked past him in the hallway, your heart would suddenly beat faster for no reason, and other times when you watched him play sports on the huge field behind the school building, you couldn’t suppress a happy grin garnishing your lips. Since you two were not in the same class, you did not see him very often, but whenever you did, it felt somewhat special and made your stomach do somersaults. At some point, your friends noticed and started to tease your rosy cheeks and goofy smile whenever Taehyung was around, and eventually you kept your thoughts and feelings to yourself, too embarrassed to admit your crush on the boy with the messy hair and deer-like eyes.

You never got the chance to talk to him again. After your first year at Daegu high school, Taehyung moved to Seoul and disappeared from your small world. From his classmates you found out that he moved to the capital to pursue his dream of becoming a famous singer one day. Everybody thought he was a naïve dreamer, full of flaming ambitions that would be blown out by the merciless gale of reality all too soon. However, you admired him for bravely leaving everything he was familiar with behind to do what he had always wanted to do, to become someone he could be proud of.

In a sense, he was your first love. Although the two of you never got together or even became friends, he appeared in your thoughts and dreams day and night. You had expected to forget about Taehyung the second he left, but it turned out that the complete opposite happened. You often wondered how he was doing, if he had found new friends, if he liked life in the big city, if he was happy with his decision to dedicate his life to music. You did not know why you were so entranced by the boy who had stopped to help you in the hallway a few months ago, but the pervasive look in his eyes must have touched a hidden chord deep inside of you.

And that’s how your peculiar habit of making a wish whenever a digital clock displayed a double digit developed. One night you checked the news on your phone when one particular article popped up and caught your attention as soon as your eyes read the all too familiar name: “New boy group BTS debuts with powerful M/V No More Dream”, followed by the names of the group members. You bolted upright from your comfortable position in your bed and spent all night watching the music video and searching the internet for more information about BTS. Just when you were too tired to continue, your gaze fell upon the digital display of the time on your phone: 03:03 a.m. And that’s when you made your first wish. You closed your eyes and pressed your phone against your chest, wishing that you would be able to see the boy you met not too long ago again one more time. Just one more time, you wanted to see his shining eyes and hear his mellifluous voice. Since your junior year in high school, neither your habit nor your wish had changed.

With a wistful sigh, you ended your nostalgic walk down memory lane and returned to the present. Of course you knew that your wish was silly and that the chance of it coming true was smaller than the fractions you were dealing with in your Math classes, but a tiny part of you just did not want to abandon the reverie. But right now, you had to focus on the matters at hand and accept the fact that you had to write an exam the next morning. With a grumpy grunt, you turned off your phone and pulled the blue cat with white paws that you still kept closer to your chest, hoping to drift asleep as soon as possible so that you could get at least some sleep before sunrise.

#bts fluff #taehyung fluff #v fluff #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #v fanfic #kim taehyung #taehyung #bts taehyung #bts v #bangtan

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missjena-may · 7 years

Text

Seven’s Reset AU - Chapter 1

She stood out of the street, a thick wooly scarf wrapped around her neck, giving her a little protection from the cold wind that whirled around the town.

She wasn’t the only one standing there.

There were perhaps hundreds of people gathered, all trying to be somewhat nosy and discover what had caused such a terrible accident to occur.

Her blue eyes gazed up at the tall building before her, well, it wasn't tall anymore.

The top of it had been blown off, glass scattered from every window as a ripple effect at ran down to the foundations of the building.

The building was once as high rise filled with over twenty floors and over hundred different apartments people would have called home.

The building now stood with less than thirteen floors.

The police, firemen and the crew from the ambulance had arrived on scene within the first ten minutes of the explosion.

The police had split up into two, the first half pushing the crowd back and collecting witness statements, while the second assisted the firemen and doctors - searching for any survivors or even charred remains.

For the last half an hour, they seemed to have had no such look.

The blue eyes female pulled down her hood from over her head as the wind calmed. She moved away from the crowd, having not have seen the explosion she was of no use to the police as a witness.

She pulled out her phone and opened up a game she had been playing.

Unfortunately, it became corrupt and showed her a black background with green numbers and letters dancing up and down the screen, almost as if she was watching the matrix. She groaned remembering she wasn't far from completing the game and now she wouldn't know how it would end as the game was no longer available anywhere.

She put her phone away and grumbled to herself as she finally exited the crowd.

She took one final look back, only for her eyes not to see the building, but a heartbroken person standing in the crowd.

His appearance was not out of the ordinary but he had an aura of familiarity when she focused her blue eyes upon him.

He had flaming red hair and bee styled striped glasses, he wore an oversized black jacket with yellow rings on the shoulders and around the hem of the hood. Around his neck sat a pair of orange headphones.

His golden gaze seemed broken as he looked up at the torn building. He was panting.

Did he know someone who lived there?

Why did he look so familiar to her?

He turned his head to look away, his eyes only to met hers.

She quickly turned away and started walking down the street.

“Hey wait!” Even his voice seemed to have a familiar ring to it.

“I said wait!”

She stopped and spun herself around, only to find him a few steps in front of her.

“Do I… You… Do I know you?” He asked.

She shook her head, “No. I don't know who you are, Seven.”

She froze.

Seven. Seven? Who was Seven?

He was a character in a game.

Seven, the red headed hacker from her game. The one with the route that broke her heart, the one where was was so close to giving him a happy end before her game decided to crash and burn.

He tilted his head, “You called me Seven, you do know who I am… But how? Are you with the agency? Do you know the RFA?” He stared at her as if she was a puzzle he couldn't figure out.

“No… To both your questions. Seven isn't real… You just look like a character from a game I play.”

He nodded his head slowly and blinked a few times, trying to figure out if he believed her or not.

“I see… And this game… Does Seven get a happy ending?” He asked, there was a need in his voice, almost begging her to tell him that everything he had endured was worth the pain and worth the wait.

“I don't know, I hope he does after all the pain he went through. But unfortunately, I never got that far… My game capped out at the last minute and now I'll never know what actually happens.”

“Search for the spoilers online?” He suggested.

“I would, but I can't. It was a rare game and I came across it by chance… It isn't sold anywhere, not even in another language.” She frowned.

He sighed, “I see… But what do you think happens?”

She tilted her head and smiled, “I'd like to imagine, he got Saeran back and he got the girl.”

The red headed man stared at her, almost as if she had dug straight into his heart and revealed his most precious and hidden secret.

Of course, she didn't realise that she had.

“Saeran?” He repeated. “How do you…?”

She stared at him, slightly confused by his reaction, “They are characters in a game… They aren't real.”

His face dropped from sadness to almost anger in a matter of seconds, “Are you calling me a character? Are you saying I'm not real? That my feelings are invalid because of that very reason! That my brother should suffer pain because he's not real either!”

“N-NO! That's not what I'm saying! You're not a character! You're real but this story… These people in here aren't real…” She stepped back, watching his anger explode out of him, as she held up her phone to him. “It's just a game.”

“Life isn't a game to be toyed with! Especially his life, especially their lives.” He grabbed hold of her collar, as he hand dropped her phone.

She wrapped her hands around his wrists, as she held back her tears from the fear he had sent through her.

That's when everything changed.

He didn't let go of her, his hands held on as tight as they could to her violet coat. His eyes wide as he watched his skin change, followed by his clothes.

He seemed to pixilate. His eyes landing on hers, “What's happening?” His tone no longer anger but fear.

She shook her head, “I don't know… You're pixelating… But you're real… I don't understand.”

That's when something else changed.

Because his pixelated hand's still had hold of her, her fingers started to change.

She felt a soft tingle under her skin, almost like the feeling of pins and needles. It started to spread from her fingertips to her hands and then down her arms and into her body.

“S-Seven… What… Happening?”

Before she knew it he had vanished and the world around her had too. She was in a large white space, confused and disorientated.

She looked around, hoping for find something that could help her, a door even a window.

She could see someone in the distance, a young woman with long brown hair. She wore a brown jumper with a black skirt and boots. She had pulled her hand away from the button she was pressing, its colour changed from green to red. A set of large oak double doors then not only appeared behind her, but opened for her with a soft creak.

The other female strolled over and entered, allowing the doors to close behind her.

The blue eyes female swam through the air, making her way to the bottom the other female had pressed.

‘Reset’

The blue eyed girl turned her head to see the doors, “Reset… Doors… What's going on here?” She didn't speak but lipped the words as she spoke to herself.

She suddenly felt a cold draft up her coat and along her legs. The doors had not opened, so the new air was not from there.

Instead, a grey hole appeared below her, it looked to be another world of nothingness, but his time it was filled with nothing but darkness instead of light.

She was sucked in. Her body falling down, whilst her hands reached out in an attempt to grab the door or anything that could stop her fall.

She screamed out for help, only for her voice to have been silenced by the white void.

She fell and hit and the ground with a sudden thud. The lady had landed on a soft carpeted floor, her fingers digging into the fibres of the floor and her face rested against it, she cried silently and happily, thanking the ground for not killing her.

“You.” A male's voice rang out.

She sat up on the floor, looking about and then in the direction of the voice.

There stood the red headed man from earlier, dressed in the same clothes as before but in his hands he held a gun, pointing it at her, “What's going on?! Who are you?” He asked frantically.

The female raised her arms and remained still, “I'm Marie, I don't know what's going on, I know as much as you do, please put the gun away unless you like the idea of cleaning blood up off of your carpet and hiding a body.”

He sighed, putting the gun down to his side.

“The building is back… It's standing… And… There has been no signs of any explosion or death or anything… I'm so confused.” He muttered to her. He placed the gun down on the coffee table she didn't realise was behind her before helping her up onto her feet.

“It's almost as if someone has reset the world back… But if that's the case… Where is she? Why isn't she in the building still?” He continued.

“Reset…” She mumbled, remembering the white plain.

He left her side and headed into a room just ahead of her. It had glass for walls and a light on inside with a set of six monitors propped up on the wall with a desk beneath them with two keyboards and a mouse. Under the desk she could see a set of lights and scattered paperwork.

“What the..” She heard his voice from inside the room. She made her way over, careful not to tread in chips into the carpet.

He had sat himself down at his desk, playing on his phone.

“Now she's there… She's acting like she doesn't know us… And they are too… What's going on?”

“She pressed reset… She started again… This is a game for her…” The female muttered.

“What?” He looked up from his phone, “I don't understand.”

“That game I played was like this… After you get an ending you start again. That's what she's done… Only… You're 707. The reset doesn't affect you like everyone else… She's… 606, the reset itself. Seven… You… This is a game to her… And we… Are part of it now.”

Seven sat back in his chair, his phone tossed onto his desk as he ran his fingers through his red locks, “Then… What am I to do?”

“You have to continue like you did before… Contact V and tell him someone has joined the chat… Pretend you don't know her yet… That's all I can think of.”

“How long with this last?” He asked, his eyes closed as he faced the ground, his elbows on his knees as he frowned.

“Honestly… I don't know… She could stop at any given point or she could do it multiple times.”

“So what? I'm meant to fall in love with her every time only to see her happy with someone else… Or get the bad end?” He stood from his chair, glaring at the female at the other end of the room.

“Unfortunately, that is what will happen… It broke my heart to play the game like that... But… That's what happened… For me anyway.”

“You've played this… You said your were about to get the happy end right? You were nearly finished when the game stopped working!” Seven ran over to her, his hands on her shoulders and he shook her, “So I have an ending? I can be happy? I can get him back… Wait no… I don't need her to get him back, you know the game as well… You can help me find him!”

She stared at him, “I guess, yes… But she's your 606.”

“No… She can be with Jumin or Zen for all I care… She can reset as many times as she likes… But as long as I have you… I don't want her.”

And that's when she knew, she had fucked up the game.

Tell me your thoughts?

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger 707 #mysme 707 #mystic messenger fanfic #707s AU

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