#...unlike someone else in a few chapters...

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

CHAPTER 2

Synopsis: Childhood best friends, a girlfriend, and a love realized too late. As Minju watches you fall for someone else, she tries to stay by your side — until silence replaces laughter and distance grows. But when the truth about your relationship unravels, you’re forced to ask: Were you ever really hers… or were you always almost Minju’s?

Word Count: 4000+

Kim Minju X Male Reader

Sunday afternoon. Inside the mall. Your girlfriend is walking out of a bookstore — with him again. The same guy from her course. Close. Whispering. Laughing. Your friends — Jaemin, Seungmin, and a few others — watch from a table just outside

Jaemin stood up. Fast.

"Okay, I’m not letting this slide anymore."

"Bro—" Seungmin tried, but Jaemin was already halfway across the walkway.

She didn’t notice him at first. She was too busy laughing. Too busy touching the guy’s sleeve, letting him lean close to say something in her ear.

Then—

"Hey." Jaemin’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Your girlfriend blinked. The guy beside her flinched.

"Oh. Um— Jaemin, right?"

"Don’t ‘Jaemin’ me." His jaw was tight. He wasn’t yelling. But every word was sharp. "Where’s Y/N?"

She blinked. "At home?"

"Because you didn’t want him to come out today, right?"

"...I needed space," she said quickly. "He knows that."

"Space? To study?" Seungmin joined him now, arms crossed. "This what studying looks like now?"

The guy beside her shifted uncomfortably.

"Look—" she started, but Jaemin cut her off.

"Don’t lie. We’ve seen it. This isn’t the first time, is it?"

"I don’t have to explain myself to you," she snapped.

"You do when you’re messing with our best friend like he’s a damn placeholder."

She looked caught — a flicker of something in her eyes. Guilt? Or just getting caught?

"You think he won’t find out?"

"You think he won’t believe us?" Seungmin added. "We’ve kept our mouths shut for too long, trying to respect his choices. But this—"

"—this is the last time we protect you instead of him."

She tried to keep composure. Swallowed hard. "Y/N doesn’t know anything. He trusts me."

Jaemin leaned in, voice quiet but fierce. "Not after today."

"And if you don’t tell him… we will."

Later that evening. You're back at your dorm, lying on the couch with your phone, scrolling without focus. A playlist hums quietly in the background. The air feels… heavy. Off.

[Buzz.]

"Baby, I miss you. 🥺"

[Buzz.]

"Let’s go on a date this week, yeah? My treat. You pick where 🫶"

[Buzz.]

"I’m sorry if I’ve been too clingy lately. I’ll be better, I promise 😔❤️"

You stare at the messages.

Something twists in your chest.

Not because of what she said — but how she said it. Too sweet. Too sudden. Too unlike her.

After weeks of cold replies, snapping at you, getting mad over nothing — suddenly she’s sending hearts and “I miss you”s?

And then you remember the way Jaemin messaged earlier.

Jaemin [4:17 PM]

“Can we talk later? Just us. Please.”

And Seungmin’s reply when you asked “what’s up.”

Seungmin [4:19 PM]

“Not over text. Just… trust us, okay?”

You sit up slowly, phone still in your hand.

Your girlfriend sends another message.

"You’re online but not replying 😞 did I do something wrong again?"

There it is. That tightness again. The way she always makes you feel like you’re the problem.

But this time… something’s different.

You can’t name it yet. But your gut is louder than your guilt.

Something happened today. And for once — you’re starting to wonder if your friends aren’t just being protective. Maybe they saw something you didn’t.

Outside the mall. A breezy afternoon. You finally agreed to meet Jaemin and Seungmin — they said they wouldn’t talk about it over text.

"You guys have no idea what you're saying," you snapped, stepping back, fists clenched.

Jaemin’s voice was tight. Controlled, but pissed. "We literally saw it happen, Y/N. We’re not guessing. We’re trying to protect you."

"She wouldn’t do that to me."

"She already is!" Seungmin shot back. "You're just too deep in it to see clearly."

You shook your head. "You guys are unbelievable. You hate her, so you’re making shit up to—"

"Don't twist it," Jaemin growled. "We wanted to like her for your sake. But lying? Controlling you? Cheating? We’re done pretending it’s fine."

"Stop acting like you know my relationship better than I do!"

A few people nearby started turning their heads. You didn’t care. Your voice had risen. So had theirs.

Meanwhile: Across the walkway — Minju and her friends had just stepped out of a store.

Minju laughed at something Chaewon said— But her smile dropped immediately when she saw you.

There you were.

Arguing. Loud. Chest rising and falling. Eyes sharp.

Minju slowed her steps. "Y/N…?"

She couldn’t hear what was being said — but she recognized hurt when she saw it.

Then she saw Jaemin. And Seungmin. And the tension that wrapped around all three of you like smoke.

Her heart sank.

"What’s going on?" Yuna whispered beside her.

But Minju didn’t answer. She couldn’t move.

Not even when your girlfriend appeared.

[Back to you — still arguing.]

"You're blinded by this idea of her, man," Seungmin said. "You think that's love? Look at what she’s turned you into."

Before you could fire back—

"Y/N?"

Your head whipped to the side.

She was standing there.

Your girlfriend. Hair brushed, dressed nicely — not at home. Exactly how she said she would be.

Your throat closed.

"What are you doing here?" you asked quietly.

She hesitated. Looked from you to your friends.

But before she could say anything, you noticed something — A guy. Just behind her. Holding two drinks. Paused.

And the look on your friends’ faces?

Told you everything.

Silence hung in the air. Thick. Heavy. Unforgiving.

"Get her to talk," Seungmin said under his breath, stepping forward.

Jaemin didn’t need the push.

"You said you were at home," he began. His tone was cold now. "You lied."

She glanced at you, then back at him. "It’s none of your business—"

"Y/N is our business," Jaemin said, eyes sharp. "And I’m tired of watching you screw him over while he blames himself for everything."

"Look—"

"Tell him the truth."

Your girlfriend crossed her arms. "There's nothing to say."

Seungmin stepped forward. "Alright. Then we’ll say it."

"You’ve been meeting up with that guy from your class. The one you ‘barely talk to’ but somehow keeps showing up every time you ditch Y/N."

"And it’s not just once. It’s every time he couldn’t hang out with us. Every time you picked a fight for no reason."

"And you don’t even feel guilty, do you?" Jaemin said lowly. "You just wanted him to feel small. Keep him under control."

"I didn’t cheat," she spat, but her voice cracked.

"Then what do you call what we saw?"

She looked at you.

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. You were just… staring.

Not with anger. Not with hate. Just… tired eyes. Broken quiet.

"Y/N," she said softly, reaching for your arm. "I didn’t mean for it to get that far, okay? I—"

"So you did lie," Seungmin said, cutting in.

"I didn’t want to hurt you!" she snapped, almost pleading. "You were just so— so distant lately, and I— I don’t know— he was just easy to talk to—"

Jaemin scoffed. "Distant? You’ve been picking fights over nothing. Controlling who he sees. And now this?"

"That’s not fair—!"

"No," you finally said.

Just one word.

But it silenced everything.

"No more excuses."

She froze.

You looked down, then back up at her.

"You didn’t want to hurt me?" You swallowed. "You already did."

And with that, you turned around.

Didn’t yell. Didn’t fight. Just walked away.

Seungmin and Jaemin followed in quiet support, leaving her there with her guilt and the cold evening air.

From a distance, Minju watched it all unfold. Her heart ached. She didn’t hear the words — but she saw the way you stood. The way your shoulders dropped as you walked away. Like something inside you just gave out.

A quiet bench just outside campus. It’s evening now — golden hues long gone, replaced by cool indigo skies and flickering streetlamps. You’re sitting alone, hoodie pulled over your head, phone resting face-down on your thigh.]

You heard footsteps before you saw her. But you didn’t look up.

"Y/N?"

Minju’s voice.

Soft. Careful.

You lifted your gaze slowly. She was in a cardigan, hair tucked behind her ears, eyes searching yours.

"...How’d you find me?" you asked, voice low.

She gave a little shrug. "This is your usual spot when you need to think. You’ve brought me here before. Remember?"

You smiled faintly. "Yeah."

She didn’t sit right away. Waited.

"You can sit," you mumbled. "Unless you’re still mad I ignored you all week."

Minju sat beside you. Close enough to feel the warmth, but not too close to overwhelm.

"I'm not mad," she said. "You were going through something. I just… didn’t know how to be there without making it worse."

You nodded slowly, biting the inside of your cheek.

"I should’ve listened sooner," you whispered. "To you. To everyone."

Silence.

Then:

"I kept defending someone who… didn’t even like who I was when I was happy."

Your voice cracked slightly at the end.

Minju looked at you — really looked.

"Y/N..." she said quietly. "You don’t need to apologize to me."

You finally turned toward her. Eyes a little red. Tired. Soft.

But for the first time — open.

"I missed you," you said.

It came out like a confession. Like it had been sitting on your tongue for weeks.

Minju blinked quickly. Swallowed. "I missed you too."

You both sat in silence for a while. The kind that heals instead of hurts.

[Later that night — group chat with Jaemin, Seungmin, and the rest.]

You:

I’m sorry. For not listening. For pushing you all away. You were right.

Jaemin:

Took you long enough lmao But hey. Proud of you, man.

Seungmin:

We’ve always had your back. Even when you were being a dumbass.

You smiled at your phone.

Then… you tapped on her chat. The last one you needed to close.

You:

We’re done. I’m not going to list the reasons. You already know them. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. But it’s not me anymore.

Blocked.

You exhaled. It didn’t feel explosive. It felt... quiet. Like letting go of something you didn’t realize you were holding so tightly.

Then, without thinking — you messaged Minju again.

You:

Are you still up?

Minju 🐰:

Always. Want me to come over?

You:

Yeah. Please.

11:47 PM. Your dorm room is dimly lit, bathed in the soft flicker of the TV screen. A movie plays — something old, something comforting. The volume is low. The air is still.]

Knock knock.

You opened the door, and there she was.

Minju. In an oversized hoodie, a messy bun, and a tote bag slung over her shoulder.

“You really came,” you said, surprised by how warm your voice sounded.

Minju stepped in with a small smile. “You asked me to, didn’t you?”

You closed the door behind her.

“I brought snacks,” she said, holding up the bag. “And hot packs. Just in case.”

You blinked. "...How are you real?"

She laughed. That soft, breathy kind of laugh that always made you feel like things might actually be okay.

You both settled onto the couch — pillows fluffed, blanket over your laps, an old movie you both knew by heart playing in the background. You didn’t even pretend to care about the plot.

She handed you a cookie. You took it. Gratefully.

“You seem lighter,” she said, glancing at you.

You stared at the screen for a moment before nodding.

“I feel lighter.”

She didn’t say anything — but you felt her lean a little closer.

Eventually, your head found her shoulder. Slowly. Carefully. Like it belonged there all along.

She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just… smiled to herself and rested her cheek lightly on top of your head.

The movie played on.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want the night to end.

“Minju?” you murmured sleepily, voice thick with drowsiness.

“Hmm?”

“I think I’m finally breathing again.”

She looked down at you — soft eyes, soft smile.

And whispered, “Took you long enough.”

You didn’t reply.

Because by then… you were already asleep.

Next day. Campus courtyard. You’re sitting alone on a bench, sunlight trickling through the trees. You’re sipping iced coffee Minju made for you that morning. And then—your ex appears.]

"Hey."

You looked up slowly. It was her.

Your ex.

She had that carefully composed look again — like she'd practiced what she was going to say in the mirror.

"Can we talk?"

You hesitated. But then you nodded, just once.

She sat beside you, but you leaned a little away, keeping space.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” she started, voice quieter than usual. "About us. About… what happened."

You didn’t respond right away.

"I messed up," she said. "I got scared. I was jealous. I didn’t know how to handle your world — your friends, your closeness with Minju, all of it."

You still didn’t speak. She took a breath.

"I still care about you. I just… I wish we could start over. I wish I could’ve done better."

That’s when you noticed movement behind her.

Minju.

She’d been walking by — and saw the two of you. She stopped mid-step. Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t turn away. She walked over.

"Hey," Minju said calmly, hands in her cardigan pockets. "Didn’t know we were letting liars into this part of campus."

Your ex stood up slowly. “Oh. Look who it is.”

"Yeah," Minju said. "It’s me. The friend who’s actually been by his side. Not the one who cheated and tried to flip the narrative."

Your ex scoffed. “You’ve always wanted him. Don’t act like you’re so pure.”

"I wanted him happy," Minju said. Voice steady. Firm. “That’s the difference.”

"You’re just the safe choice."

Minju stepped forward — closer. Face calm. Eyes cold.

"No. I’m the one who never made him question his worth. I’m the one who didn’t try to shrink him when he started to grow."

"And guess what?" She tilted her head. "You lost him. You can’t guilt your way out of that."

You stood up now.

Both of them turned to you.

But your eyes were only on one person.

"Minju."

She blinked.

You took a step closer to her — voice soft but sure.

"I loved you," you said to your ex, "but you didn’t love me. Not really. You loved having control. You loved the power. You saw me like a project. An object to win."

Her eyes welled up.

You looked away.

Then turned to Minju fully.

"But you," you said, "made me feel like I was enough. Even when I wasn’t sure I was. Even when I couldn’t see it in myself."

Minju’s eyes widened just slightly — heart thudding in her chest.

"So no, you’re not the safe choice," you whispered to her. "You’re the right one."

A soft beat of silence.

And then?

Minju grabbed your hand. Firm. Warm. Honest.

Your ex stepped back, blinking rapidly. But she didn’t say a word.

She didn’t have to. You’d already made your choice.

“Y/N, slow down, you’re going to leave me behind,” Minju said through a laugh, trying to keep up as you pulled her toward the taiyaki stall.

“I told you they run out fast!” you shouted over your shoulder. “I’ve waited all week for this!”

Behind you, Jaemin and Seungmin were arguing over a map of the booths. "You’re holding it upside down!" "Maybe you are upside down!"

Minju’s friends trailed behind — Yuna, Chaewon, and Haeun — all chatting, sipping boba, and watching you and Minju with increasingly knowing smiles.

Taiyaki Stall

You bought two — handing the cuter, fish-shaped one to Minju without a word.

She blinked. “You remembered I like the red bean one.”

You grinned. “I remember everything.”

Minju looked away, cheeks warming, mumbling, “Show-off.”

Haunted Classroom Attraction

A girl screamed behind you. Loud.

Minju yelped and immediately grabbed your arm, clutching it tight.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” she whispered, eyes darting.

You leaned close and whispered back, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you… unless something grabs me first.”

“Y/N!” she smacked your chest.

A ghost popped out of a locker. You didn’t flinch. Minju screamed and buried her face in your shoulder, holding on for dear life.

You walked through the rest of the attraction with her half-hugging you the entire time.

"Okay… maybe this was a great idea," you said, smiling into her hair.

Outside the Haunted Hall

Seungmin was visibly shaken. “I don’t wanna talk about what I saw in there.”

Chaewon handed him a juice box. “You okay?”

He blinked at her. “…You brought juice boxes?”

She grinned. “You looked like you needed one.”

Jaemin elbowed you. “Dude, Seungmin’s done. He just fell in love.”

You and Minju both turned to see Seungmin awkwardly sipping the juice, trying to act cool, while Chaewon giggled beside him.

You and Minju shared a look — and burst out laughing.

Golden Hour – By the fountain

The sky was blushing orange. Music slowed to a more acoustic vibe. Couples took pictures by the lanterns and koi pond.

Minju leaned against your side, still holding your hand.

“This was the best day I’ve had in a while,” she whispered.

You kissed the top of her head. “It’s only the beginning.”

She looked up at you — eyes shining.

“No haunted classrooms next time, though.”

“No promises.”

The crowds had thinned just enough. Your friends were somewhere behind you, bickering over snacks or saving spots, but none of it really mattered now.

Because it was just you and her.

Minju looked up at the lanterns strung above the stalls, eyes reflecting every tiny flicker. She held your hand like she’d been doing it forever — no hesitation, no fear.

“Thank you for today,” she said, swinging your hands a little. “I didn’t think it’d be this fun.”

“It’s only fun when you’re around,” you said without even thinking.

She turned to you.

You froze.

Minju stared at you for a second too long. You almost panicked — until she smiled and looked away.

“You’re getting too smooth,” she murmured.

“I’m just telling the truth.”

Minju looked up at the sky. The first firework hadn’t launched yet, but you could hear the announcer getting ready over the speakers.

“Hey,” you said, quiet enough so only she could hear. “Can I tell you something?”

She turned her head, eyes curious.

You licked your lips. Took a breath.

“I think… I’ve loved you for a long time. I just didn’t see it until recently.”

Boom.

The first firework exploded.

Minju’s breath hitched, but not because of the sound.

You kept going.

“You were always there. When I was happy. When I was hurting. You never tried to change me — just... stayed.”

Minju blinked rapidly, eyes shining.

You turned, facing her now fully as the fireworks burst into color behind you.

“I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t feel this. I like you, Minju. A lot. And if you let me, I’d really like to be yours.”

Minju’s lips parted.

Then, without a word— She leaned in.

And kissed you.

Right there, under the glittering sky. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t movie-perfect.

But it was real. Sweet. Warm. A little shaky.

When she pulled back, her smile was trembling.

“I thought you’d never say it.”

You grinned. “What, the kiss or the ‘I like you’?”

“Both,” she laughed, nudging your shoulder.

Then, softly—

“I’ve loved you too. For a long time.”

Another firework bloomed behind you. But you weren’t looking at the sky anymore.

You were looking at her. And for the first time in forever—

Everything felt right.

[eviemonroeer]

The Monroe Effect: Chapter 33

Set during Season 6, Episode 17 of ER. Spoilers if you haven't seen the show.

Warnings: Angst, Anxiety, Mention of Postpartum Issues

WC: 1.9 k

ER story belongs to original creators, just adding on my own original charter.

Taglist: @pleasecallmeunhinged, @rainmg, @arigoldsblog, @queenslandlover-93, @hagarsays, @antisocialfiore, @snowflames-world, @guiltypleassure243, and @omgbrianab

MASTERLIST

At first, it seemed like things were going to be temporary. Stay with Grandpa and Gamma Carter until Carter was truly back on his feet and then go back to living in the apartment. That was the plan.

Or at least it was the plan until we started getting the hospital bills. 

You would think for receiving care in the hospital you worked at, for something that happened to you on the job, you’d at least have some kind of discount. 

Wrong.

I started crunching the numbers and there was no conceivable way we could pay these bills along with everything else we were currently paying for, especially my student loan payments. It would be a complete and utter waste of money to keep an apartment we weren’t staying in. And Carter refused to let his grandparents pay for any bill. So, we both hesitantly agreed to letting go of the apartment and for the time being, live full time at the Carter estate.  

My stomach was full of dread even before the movers arrived. Gamma hired a company that would come and completely pack up the apartment for us before delivering our things to our new home. I worked those last few days before my leave was up to sell the big furniture we wouldn’t be needing. I told myself it would be better to just get new stuff once we moved out anyway to try and make myself feel better. It didn’t really help. Gamma also took to renovating one of the guest rooms into a nursery for Meghan. Thankfully she took my design ideas to heart, and it was comforting knowing my daughter could actually grow into this room, unlike her old nursery, which was really a glorified walk in closet. 

But it was still a walk in closet in I place I’d lived for six years. That I had gotten on my own and made my own space. It was where we brought our daughter home from the hospital. The goodbye was harder than I thought it would be. 

Once we were inside the mansion, everything changed and changed quickly. There was always someone else there to do things for me. Breakfast and dinner was at a strict time. Laundry was done and put away by someone else. There was even someone there to open the car door for you. It was intense and awkward and suffocating. So, for the most part, I unpacked our rooms and tried to mind my own business; keep myself as small as possible and maybe I could get by unnoticed. 

I absolutely did not want to leave Meghan my first day back at work. I trusted Corrine, really. She had taken good care of Meghan on the couple of occasions I ventured out to shop or grab lunch with a friend. But this was completely different. Those times were merely excursions, an hour or two at the most. This was an 8-hour shift. My thoughts ranged everywhere from she’ll run out of pre-pumped bottles to she’ll completely forget who I was by the time we returned. Carter tried his best to reassure me, but I still cried as soon as we left the drive. 

“Well look who it is!” 

I forced a smile as Haleh, Lydia, Chuny, and Carol crowded around me. I looked back at Carter, who gave me a slight smile and pointed up, reminding me he had a check in with his doctors upstairs. I nodded and turned back to the girls.

“It’s so good to see you!” Lydia said, her voice cheerful. “How’s Meghan?”

“Oh, don’t ask her that.” Carol groaned. “She’s probably already wound up enough leaving her for the first time. I know I was.”

I scoffed and nodded my head. “Uh, Meghan’s great. Eating good, sleeping okay. She’s getting her tummy time in, but her favorite thing is when Carter bicycles her feet.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my wallet, handing them the most recent picture of Meghan I had inside. 

“Look at that.” Haleh cooed. “So adorable. And how are you?”

“Scattered is probably the best word to use. We moved into the Carter Family mansion, and it is taking time to adjust.”

“Oh wow. What’s it like?” Chuny asked. 

“Well, I’ve never lived in a place with so many bathrooms.” I tried to force a chuckle. “I’ll let you know if I ever get used to other people doing things for me.”

“You won’t.” Haleh scoffed. 

“Where are you today?” Lydia asked. 

“Triage, something I didn’t think I would ever be grateful for. But I’m not sure if I have the bandwidth for much else right now.”

“Well let us know if you need anything.” Carol said, giving me a reassuring smile. I nodded. If she could do it by herself with two babies, I could make it through today. 

“Chuny, I need you.” Cleo called out as she walked towards the ambulance bay. “Oh, Evie, welcome back!” 

“Thanks!” I called after her. I sighed. “Well, I guess we all better get back to work.” 

 

“Alright, someone will be with you as soon as possible.” I said, smiling to my most recent patient. I finished writing up their triage information on the chart and walked over to the admit desk, sticking it in the back of the holder. Today was going.......decent. Patients weren’t overly rude, which my still hormonal self was grateful for. I had a little bit of a leaking issue earlier around Meghan’s regular feeding time, which did require a new scrub top. But other than that, things were on track. Only six more hours to go and I could snuggle my daughter. 

I handed some more gauze to a patient with a bloody nose, before sending them to curtain one, when I noticed Carter walking towards me. The limp he had since getting rid of his crutches was a little more pronounced than normal and he looked very pale and maybe even sweaty. I had noticed he had dark circles under his eyes this morning, but they seemed worse. My heart constricted. How did I not notice it until now?

“Hey, Carter.” I stopped him, pulling him into an exam room. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Your limps getting worse. W-What did your doctor say?” 

“They said I’m doing fine and there was nothing to worry about.” His tone was growing agitated, and he grabbed the back of his neck. It’s something he always did when he was frustrated. “I’m good, Evie. Okay?” He took a deep breath. “How are you?” He redirected. 

I sighed and bit my lip. “Uh, I’m good. Had a little accident earlier, but I’m good.” 

He looked down and nodded. He must have seen I had changed. “Good. J-Just make sure you’re pumping when you need to and take a break if things get too overwhelming.”

“That goes for you too.” 

He nodded and cleared his throat before giving me a quick peck on the cheek and all but ran from the room. 

 

“Now, I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs.” I took my stethoscope off my neck and stuck my hand in my pocket, searching for a wipe to clean off the chest piece. I frowned when I came up empty. However, that was quickly wiped away when I looked back up at the woman I was currently triaging. “I need to run and get something very quickly. I will be right back. 

I slung the instrument around my neck again and went off in search of more wipes. I eyed the supply cart, my destination. “Hey you!” I turned into the trauma room, finding Dr. Romano. “Come here. I need an impartial observer.” 

I sighed and walked into the room, finding Cleo, Peter, and Carter all with him. “Oh, come on.” Peter groaned. “That’s a fax copy. You can’t even—”

“Quiet Peter!” He held out the aforementioned piece of paper to me out in front of me. “Is that a C or a P?”

I took a moment, squinting at the hurried writing. “Uh, it looks like a Q.”

He all but rolled his eyes, ripping the paper away from me. “Someone else who can’t read it.” 

“I prescribed bisacodyl.” Peter said firmly. “That’s what I ordered. That’s what I wrote.” 

“Then why is this patient currently undergoing an angioplasty for a life-threatening myocardial infarction?” 

Peter turned to Cleo. “You heard me day bisacodyl?”

“Yeah.” She confirmed. 

“Did you even bother to read the pharmacy label before you handed it out?” 

“There was a trauma coming in.”

“Oh! Oh, a trauma came in. Oh, well then that makes everything okay. When traumas comes in, we can just hand out whatever meds happen to be laying around.” 

“Dr. Romano—” 

“Carter!” He yelled. “What does this have to do with you? Nothing. So, shut up.”

“Can I go?” I asked quickly. “I have patients in triage who need me.” 

“The growing level of incompetence around here is frightening.” Romano said, turning back to Peter without giving us a second thought. “It’s a wonder we haven’t been shut down.”

“It was an honest mistake.” Cleo countered. I shook my head and pat Carter’s leg, turning to leave the room. I wouldn’t be missed and if he was so worried about stuff getting done, I would do my job. I could get the inside scoop from Carter later. 

 

I was absolutely giddy as I went over to the station and clocked myself out for the day. I was never more ready to go home in my entire life. My mind, body, and soul was ready to have my daughter back in my arms. Maybe I could figure out a way to get out of this dinner party so I could just spend the rest of the night with her. But I also didn’t want to leave Carter alone. I could tell today had been a little hard for him. We both needed a little extra support. 

I walked into the lounge and found Mark and Carter talking at the table. Carter was looking through some folder as I walked behind them and to my locker, getting out my stuff. Carter smacked his lips together with a tsk. “Yeah, I really wish I could remember him.”  He closed the folder. “I feel bad. Must’ve misdiagnosed.”

“He didn’t have any insurance.”

“Really? What are they gonna do?” 

“Well, they’re okay. They have it now.” 

“Oh, good.” Carter shouldered his bag and nodded his head. 

“Is there anything else you wanna tell me, Carter?” 

I closed my locker and waited off to the side as I watched them. Carter shook his head. “No. I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

Mark looked at him for a moment, and I could see on his face he didn’t really believe what Carter had said. “Have a nice party.” He finished and left the lounge. 

“Is everything okay?” I quietly asked, hesitantly walking over to him. He turned to me and the circles under his eyes from earlier had gotten darker. He bit his lips and nodded. 

“Yeah. Yeah, just a problem with an old patient. It’s fine." He grabbed my hand. “Let’s get you home to our daughter. I know you’re dying to see her.” 

He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it, before practically dragging me from the ER. 

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

Fic Writer Interview

Tagged by my dearest @theawkwardterrier - thank you for the excuse to do nonsense in between my last sessions of the longest Friday!! 😘

How many works do you have on ao3?

Nine

What’s your total word count?

297,842 words (I'll hit 300,000 total and 100,000 in Seaside in the next chapter so I'm feeling very 🥺)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

the best by far is you

Beside the Seaside

The Lost Ones

Soften Every Edge

When My Love Reaches to Me

Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I try to because I really love the community around sharing stories and appreciate the time people spend reading and leaving a nice comment. Sometimes I get overwhelmed with responding if I get behind on it and need to just do a reset with responding on the next chapter/story though.

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

In high school, I wrote a One Tree Hill fic that was very dramatic and soapy (not unlike the show) and I don't know that the ending itself was that angsty (I honestly don't remember), but I killed off one of the characters within the first few chapters and the rest of the fic was dealing with that and yeah, very angsty and over-the-top drama 😅

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I think Soften Every Edge is pretty darn happy 🥹

Do you write crossovers?

I'm not against it, but I haven't felt compelled to write one yet.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes, but I will say most of what I get now is more in the vein of feeling entitled to quick updates/being rude more so than mean/hateful (also with my fics locked to users, I can't get anon replies and that probably helps...).

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Before writing Outlander fic, no, and I only started because Jamie and Claire are so damn horny for each other all the time 😂 but I would say I usually write more m-rated stuff and only if it feels necessary for the story as part of their relationship or if I feel particularly inspired.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge beyond getting scraped and posted elsewhere.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I would love that if someone wanted to.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I haven't and I used to have a chip on my shoulder about this in a previous fandom that did a lot of co-writing and it felt very clique-ish, but I can't wrap my mind around the logistics of how that would work to write with someone else, so I think I'm okay now lol.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

I can't pick just one!!

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

Oof. I guess my super niche Smallville wip that I worked on and had several chapters written, never posted any of it and never finished it, so really, the only person suffering over the unfinished wip is me, but I still wish I'd been able to write that one and share it.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good with characterization and weaving in canon moments in an au.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Plotting sometimes, because I rely on more of a vague outline/direction that I'm going and have to just trust myself to find my way through the details and that can get tough.

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

I feel super uncomfy about butchering a language without realizing it, but at the same time, especially with Outlander, these other languages are an integral part of some of the characters, so I still want to include that aspect.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I think it was One Tree Hill or Grey's Anatomy, at least that I actually started posting. I was tinkering away with some other stories in a few other fandoms too, but I definitely lurked for a while and wrote in my noteboooks before I felt brave enough to share online!

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I want to finish my Avalance fic that I started in January because season 7 was so good and then the CW cancelled them on a cliffhanger and we never got to meet THEIR BABY and this will be my villain origin story!!! (not the fic though, the fic is super soft and sweet 🥰)

What's your favourite fic you've written?

I can't pick my favorite of this one either! Rude to even ask!! 😭

Tagging @walkinginland and anyone else who's interested, consider yourself tagged!

[potahun]

about 1141 flashback to itakura and haibara: mhmm ok ok ok ok this is how the sound of wind can still win.....;;;;;;

[ckret2]

Chapter 51 of human Bill Cipher is once more the Mystery Shack's prisoner: Dipper and Mabel try to figure out what the Axolotl's poem means; Dipper gets the hang of astral projection; and... whatever's going on up there happens.

####

Ford and Dipper came back into the shack through the gift shop; Ford didn't want to risk crossing paths with Bill. While Dipper went into the house, Ford went down—returning to the safety of his subterranean study.

Once Ford had put on the old black trench coat he'd worn during his multiversal travels and gotten comfortable at his desk, he pulled out Journal 5 to document the events of the last few days. In a cheap ballpoint pen, he wrote, I've lost my #1 Grunkle pen (and favorite coat) to the waters of Lake Gravity Falls. And then, deciding this didn't adequately express his feelings, he drew a small frown. That coat had served him well for decades, and he'd really liked that pen. It did write excellently, and it had reminded him of his gniece and gnephew.

He spent three pages documenting the eclipse—what happened, what readings he'd taken, what he and Dipper observed—and then another four pages talking about Bill. What he'd told them, why Ford had dismissed it; his claims about a trans-dimensional axolotl distorting gravity with its migration; the statue, the rescue, the breakdown.

The act of writing always helped Ford clarify his thoughts and untangle mysteries; it wasn't until he was writing that he realized the limbs Bill had said he couldn't feel were the ones that had broken off the statue.

He listed the rules of the chess variants he could remember Bill inventing. He drew Bill huddled in front of the board, grim, tear-streaked, exhausted; and then scratched out his face, embarrassed at the thought of immortalizing such a raw moment for his private viewing.

He wrote, There's still a slim possibility that the entire "eclipse," start to finish, was Bill's masterfully-orchestrated scheme to make us pity and trust him; but it's unlikely. Although Bill is fiendish enough, he isn't currently powerful enough, and his lies certainly aren't elaborate enough. If he could pull off such a byzantine ruse, then he could just as easily escape—and if he can escape, why hasn't he? Bill may be insane, but he's never been THAT irrational.

And so, even as twisted as Bill's idea of "friendship" is... for the very first time, I'm convinced that he was telling the truth all along when he said he wants me as his friend. It's not an act. He risked his life to save someone who's an active threat to him.

And at the end of it all—though I'm grateful to be alive in spite of my own stubbornness—do I like him any better for it?

Ford leaned back and shut his eyes, sifting through the inner tumult of anger and old hurt that defined most of his memories of Bill, looking to see if anything had changed.

There was a sore, tender spot in his emotions, a place beginning to rot with remorse; when he prodded at those emotions, he found that it was shame over his own harsh conduct of the last couple of days. But he was only ashamed of how cruelly he'd acted; he wasn't ashamed that Bill was the one he'd done it to.

Outside of that tender spot—regret over his own behavior—nothing else had changed.

No. I still hate him. I'm grateful to be alive, but I hate him. He hasn't undone anything he did to my family and me, and he never will. Forgiveness can't be purchased with favors.

I'm only relieved at the certainty of it. Bill has committed an act that can't possibly be a lie. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's shown me the truth; and the truth is he'd rather see me alive than dead. Whatever other lies he may tell, I can hold on to that fact.

Bill's miserable eyes peered out at Ford between the scribbles he'd drawn across his face. It was truly a pity that Ford had to hate him. Pity that Bill hadn't been somebody better. He could have been better.

Ford couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed that he'd filled four pages talking about the monster he'd already wasted so many more on. Bill had been right about him: You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. The only thing Bill didn't understand was that hatred and obsession weren't mutually incompatible.

####

"Hey, Dipper," Mabel said, unfolding the living room sofa bed. 

"Hey, Mabel," Dipper said, passing through living room on his way to the stairs. He climbed up to the attic.

He came back down from the attic. "Mabel. Why's Bill asleep in your bed."

"He really needed a nap," Mabel said.

"Okay but why on your bed?"

Mabel pouted. "Dipper, do you realize he's never slept on a real bed? Ever?"

Dipper tried to imagine sleeping on a couple couch cushions on the floor every night. "Yeah, okay, that does kinda suck." Even if it was Bill's own fault he wouldn't sleep in the living room.

By unspoken mutual agreement, having a Bill in the bedroom followed the same law as finding a centipede in the bathroom. The law was "that's the centipede's bathroom now." So once the folding bed was set up, they sat on it to serve as their hang-out spot for the evening and caught each other up on what they'd done the last couple of days.

After Dipper & Co. had left, Grenda had come over to take advantage of the low gravity to retrieve the kite that had been stuck in a tree near the Mystery Shack since last summer (it was, tragically, too tattered to salvage), and then they'd gone over to Candy's house to photograph each other performing feats of impossible strength. (Mabel would be sending some pictures to their parents to confuse them, and adding the rest to her summer scrapbook.) She'd spent the next day breaking the trampoline world record until Soos came outside and said gravity was probably too low for it to be safe to be up in the air anymore, if Bill's warnings about being off the ground when gravity hit zero were true; at which point Mabel had hung around inside air-swimming until she suddenly slammed against the ceiling, and then the ground. She was fine. She just had a couple of bruises. She showed Dipper her bruises.

In return, Dipper told Mabel about how their quest had gone: the checks for micro-rips, Bill's increasingly frantic warnings, the lake—

("You got to see a bajillion magical axolotls and I didn't?!")

—the cliff, the Axolotl, Dipper's near-death experience, and what he now knew about his out-of-body dreams.

"Seriously?" Mabel hissed, eyes bugging out. "And he had us looking up lucid dreaming books! What a jerk!"

"I know! He could have just ignored the whole thing, we didn't even think it was anything but dreams."

"And I'd thought he was being so helpful, too! Like he was really trying to make up for giving you 'nightmares'!" Mabel laughed in disbelief and flopped down on the flimsy mattress. "All that because he just didn't want us to know how it was really his fault? Biiill, ugh."

His fault. Dipper hesitated, wondering whether he should tell Mabel what Bill had said about Mabel's Fault; then decided against it. Bill had probably been telling the truth when he'd said he only wanted all the credit for Weirdmageddon.

But—Dipper did tell her about Bill saving their lives. He would have felt like a liar if he hadn't—like he was trying to trick his sister into thinking Bill was worse than he already was. He hoped Ford wouldn't mind; but how could he not tell Mabel?

"He could have just let you die and didn't?" Mabel turned that over in her head, processing this sudden shift in Bill's behavior. "Wow. I'm impressed."

He also told her about their previous encounter with the Axolotl. Considering the other lies Bill had told recently, anything he said about them meeting the Axolotl was dubious at best; but Dipper could remember the Axolotl, so maybe some of it was true, even if Bill had twisted as much as he could. ("The Axolotl said hi, by the way." "Aww. Tell him hi back!" "Yeah, I... don't know how to do that.")

Dipper laid out his journal between them on the folding bed, and Mabel read over the couplet a few times. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches from within birch trees'..."

"It's got to be talking about Bill," Dipper said. "Equilateral triangles have three sixty-degree angles. I just don't know why the Axolotl wanted to talk to us about him."

Mabel frowned at the lines. "I think... I remember meeting him too," she said.

"You do?"

"Kinda. Like in a dream," she said. "We were in some kind of futury space race car. And he had a really comfortable beanbag chair."

"Yes! I remembered the beanbag chair, too!" And he hadn't mentioned it in his journal. "This is great! Talking about it must... must cause us to remember, somehow. Maybe since the universe where we met the Axolotl doesn't exist anymore, our memories of it are... detached or something? Psychically floating around between dimensions until we try to remember them?" He took in Mabel's skeptical frown and shrugged. "I don't know!"

She scrunched up her face. "Ugh. Last summer's first-grader time travel was complicated enough. This is like college-level time travel. Maybe we can ask Bill how it works?"

She said it so easily, like she thought it was actually a good idea. Right after she'd heard about the lucid dreaming thing, too. "I don't think he'd help." Dipper lowered his voice. "He really didn't want Grunkle Ford and me to find out about the Axolotl—and he kept telling me not to think about what the Axolotl told me. He's trying to cover something up."

"Oo-oo-ooh." Voice dropped to a whisper, Mabel said, "Do you think it's some kind of Space Axolotl conspiracy?"

"It could be," Dipper said. "All I know is he was trying to tell us something important about Bill. Some kind of prophecy, or... maybe a warning...?"

He trailed off. Mabel had stopped listening to Dipper. She was rereading the couplet Dipper had written, moving her lips like she was murmuring under her breath—but whatever she was saying, it was much longer than the couplet Dipper had written down. Distractedly, she said, "Do you have a pen?"

"Yeah, here." Dipper quickly handed over the pen he kept in his vest.

Mabel clicked it, went to the bottom of the page, and wrote: A different form, a different time.

Dipper sucked in a sharp breath as the words snapped into place in his mind. "That's it! That was the last line! What else do you remember?"

"That's it," Mabel said. "It was free form poetry with a bunch of rhyme pairs."

"I don't think free form poetry rhymes."

"Pbbbt." Mabel blew a raspberry and shoved Dipper's face. "Whatever! You know what I mean." She pointed at the last line. "Do you think the poem's about why Bill's here? He time traveled to the Mystery Shack in a new body..."

"Exactly! Bill must be back here for a reason. He's got all those powers—or, used to, anyway—and he knows more about the multiverse than anybody on Earth... Maybe there's some kind of big threat coming, and Bill's the only one who can stop it, and—and the Axolotl wanted us to know...?"

"I like the sound of that," Mabel said. "That'd basically make him a hero, right?"

Dipper grimaced. "I mean. I guess? But we're talking about Bill. If he does help us stop a threat, it'd be like if a serial killer picked up a hitchhiker and killed him, and then it turned out the hitchhiker was an even worse serial killer."

"That still sounds kinda heroic to me."

"Pfff, okay." He looked at his journal. "But... what is he here to do?"

Mabel considered what they'd already written. "Maybe we can use him to spy on our enemies through birch trees!"

"Thaaat's probably not it."

"No, I think I'm on to something. I can feel it."

There was a lot of empty space between his couplet and Mabel's line. "There's more we're missing, though. Maybe the rest of the poem describes the threat? Or what we need to get Bill to do?"

"I can't remember anything else, though."

"Me neither."

They stared at the page together, waiting for something to come to their blank minds. Mabel looked at the fish tank. "Hey, Primrose! Do you know anything?"

The pet axolotl in the tank ignored her serenely.

Dipper said, "'Primrose'?"

"Yeah, last summer Grunkle Stan said her name is Freakface, but I thought she deserved a cuter name. She's primrose color!"

"Ford says he originally named him Nikola."

Mabel gasped. "Nikki..."

Dipper twisted around to look at the axolotl. "Do you know anything? Do you... get messages from the Axolotl's heralds, or anything...?"

Nikola slowly opened his mouth, and slowly closed it.

Mabel said, "Hey. The Axolotl's one of those dimension-crossy time-travely guys, right? He probably wouldn't have given us a prophecy in the wrong timeline and then made us forget it unless he knew we'd remember it in time in the rightdimension!"

"I guess," Dipper said uncertainly.

"So we don't need to worry about it! We'll remember it when we need to."

"Unless this timeline's going to branch, and the only one where we survive is the one where we put all our effort into trying to remembering—"

"Shhh!" Mabel put a finger over Dipper's mouth. "Uh-uh. No college time travel. We'll be fine!"

Dipper pushed her over. "Okay, but we should at least try a little to remember what the Axolotl told us."

"What if we work on it separately?" Mabel propped herself up on an elbow. "Instead of just sitting around thinking about it. And whenever we remember a line, we can tell each other and see if it makes anything click."

"That might be faster," Dipper said, stroking his chin. "We're already remembering different lines."

"Yeah! And that lucid dreaming book said something about focusing on a problem before you sleep so you can figure it out in your dreams! We can just work on it in our sleep and we'll remember it all in no time!"

Dipper laughed. "What? No way, I think lucid dreaming is just one of those made up pop psychology things. I didn't get it to work at all." Either it didn't work or Bill had deliberately recommended a terrible book.

"I did! I can remember like... eighty percent more dreams. And I can tell when I'm dreaming a lot more often!"

"Huh." Or, maybe Dipper just wasn't doing it right. "Maybe I need to start over from step one. Do you know where the book we were using went?"

"Over here!" Mabel had set a couple library books on the end table next to the sofa bed; she pulled out the second one, which had a glittery pink bookmark with a cat on it stuck two-thirds of the way through. "Just don't lose my bookmark."

"Thanks." He'd reread the first step before bed. "We should probably be getting ready for bed anyway, huh?"

"Seriously?! It's barely bedtime!" And when the adults weren't watching, official bedtime was an hour and a half before Actual Bedtime.

"I'm exhausted. I just hiked up and down a mountain and faced down death."

Mabel pointed at Nikola. "You faced down a big salamander."

"Close enough."

They went upstairs, brushed their teeth, went to their bedroom...

And stopped in the door. Bill was still asleep. "Oh. Right," Dipper said.

He was curled into a ball on his left side, facing the wall, covered with only the zodiac blanket and his borrowed/stolen top hat sitting on the side of his head. He didn't use a pillow; he'd pushed Mabel's pillows and dolls behind himself to form a squishy makeshift fortress.

"Please don't wake him up," Mabel whispered. (She'd already set up the folding bed for herself; she'd clearly planned on this.) "He's had a really really hard time the last couple of days, and I think he needs as much sleep in a real bed as he can get, and it's just for one night, and I'm sure he'd rather sleep than do anything evil—"

"He said something, didn't he?"

Mabel paused. "Yeah. I think seeing his body really messed him up."

Dipper sighed. "We were trying to keep him away from it." He didn't want Mabel to think they'd forced him to stare his own death in the face. "But he did that... eye thing and looked through the trees, and..."

Mabel nodded.

Well. Dipper couldn't kick him out now. For Mabel's sake.

As children, occasionally when they got hotel rooms with a bed too few, their parents would stick them in one bed with a barrier of pillows in between them. At age thirteen and without two crabby parents trying to get them to just go to bed after a long plane flight, they unanimously vetoed that plan. Dipper decided against asking Stan if he could sleep in Ford's unoccupied bed, both because he suspected Stan would just go upstairs and drag Bill out of the room and because he didn't want Stan to think he was scared of Bill. He wasn't scared of Bill. Not anymore. He could handle one measly night in the same room as him. Anyway, somebody had to make sure he wasn't unsupervised in their bedroom all night, right?

Dipper and Mabel quietly set a floor mirror and old lamp next to Mabel's bed, draped a sheet between them, taped on a pink poster that said "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" and was covered in stickers of triangular objects, and decided Dipper was adequately shielded. If Bill did get up during the night, he'd probably trip through the sheet and wake half the house before he got anywhere near Dipper.

Dipper went to sleep with a baseball bat in his hands.

####

"Okay," Bill said, hands on his sides, "what am I looking at here?"

The feral band members of Sev'ral Timez turned toward Bill, eyes reflecting in the dim light. They were squatting around Bill's petrified corpse like a pack of apes examining a sleek black monolith.

"Hey girl," Creggy G. said.

"Hey," Bill said. He looked down at himself. His onyx black feet hovered over the ground and the yellow glow from his exoskeleton illuminated the clearing. "Lemme cut to the chase, is this gonna turn into a raunchy dream? My corporeal love life is about as cold and dry as Antarctica, I keep hoping one of my dreams will get a little hotter and wetter—"

"Nah, G," Deep Chris said. "Mr. Bratsman got us fixed."

"Aw."

"We're here to pay you reverence for freeing our minds from the chains of the conventional," Greggy C said, gesturing to Bill's corpse. Leggy P was kneeling and bowing to it and Chubby Z was posing for it. "We want to help free you like you tried to help free humanity."

Bill's eye narrowed. He tapped a finger against the edge of one brick as he considered this offer. Finally, skeptically, he said, "Fine. I'll bite. Why should I think you can help me?"

"Because we can give you the understanding your heart's been missing, girl. You're just like us," Chubby Z said. "A horror never meant to exist, born of a dream to construct the perfect golden idol, forced to dwell within an unnaturally-fabricated human shell."

Bill tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm with you so far."

"We want you to join us," Deep Chris said. "Cavort with us in the silvan night, G. Shun the harsh light of the spotlight for the healing salve of moonbeams. We'll get drunk on the sweet fermented summer berries, uncaring of how the brambles prick our flesh. We'll dance in a frenzy of ecstasy and only sleep when the morning sun lifts the dew from the flowers and the sweat from our skin. It'll be straight Dionysian, boo."

"We can kiss the hot trees," Creggy G said.

Bill grabbed his shoulder. "Oh, you're the human that keeps making out with birch trees! I knew your face was familiar!" He paused. "So... are there any eligible ones around here?"

"Sure, girl, just downstream."

"If I'd known, I would've polished myself first."

"Say you'll join us, Bill girl," Deep Chris said. The band crowded around Bill to either side, posing around him—the backup dancers for the star singer. "You'd be one of us."

"We're already exactly the same," Creggy G said, holding up a mirror so that it reflected his and Bill's faces beside each other. In Bill's human face were two empty white eyes with pinprick pupils and pale blue irises, exactly the same as the eyes of the Sev'ral Timez boys.

He sat up with a gasp, hands flying to his face. There were still green boughs at the edges of his dreaming vision, blending into the wooden boards of the Mystery Shack's attic. Before sleep had fully fled his mind, he seized up the zodiac blanket draped over his body and stared into his embroidered eye.

The eye stared back at him. Through it, he could see his horrified sleepy face, and his normal slitted yellow eyes. His connection to the blanket's eye disappeared as he finished waking up.

He heaved a sigh of relief and flopped back down. He'd been lucid, but he hadn't been in control of that dream. He still needed practice.

He rolled toward the light of the window, groped around beneath it until he found his journal, grabbed up his crayons, and flipped pages blearily until he found the first blank one. He started writing down his dream, pausing only briefly as he tried to figure out how to translate "Sev'ral Timez" before settling on a sufficiently goofy way to misspell "several times" in Plaintext.

He made it halfway down the page before he stopped. Hold on. This wasn't his beautiful journal. These were not his beautiful crayons. He checked the cover and grimaced in displeasure when he saw a pine tree rather than a hand. Dipper's journal. Bill ripped out the page, ate it, and set the journal and Mabel's crayons back on the table  under the bedroom window.

"What was that," Dipper asked, "some kind of Morse code?"

Bill yelped and twisted around. Dipper's soul was hovering above Mabel's headboard, watching over Bill's shoulder.

"Hey! Back, foul ghost!" Bill snatched up Mabel's pillow and swung it at Dipper.

"Ow—Hey! How did you hit me, I'm in the mindscape—"

"I said back!" Bill swung again, chasing Dipper off the bed. "Back into your fleshy tomb!" He climbed off the bed, stumbled into Dipper and Mabel's trap, tripped through the sheet and probably woke up half the house.

He yanked the sheet off and flung the pillow at Dipper by its corner. "Now get back in your body, go to sleep, and leave me alone."

"I don't know how to get back in it. I just wait until it happens by itself," Dipper said, floating irritably over his sleeping body, arms crossed. "Why do you think I just wander around every time I have this dream?" He paused. "Right—it's not a dream, is it."

Bill sighed heavily. "Try putting your body on like..." He almost said like an exoskeleton, remembered his audience, and amended himself: "Like it's clothing. I usually start with the hands. Just like putting on gloves!"

Dipper looked at the cold fingers wrapped tightly around the baseball bat. "How do I put hands on like gloves? There's no opening or—"

"Just try it, would you?" Bill sat tiredly on the edge of Mabel's bed.

Dipper shot him an irritated look, but pressed his ghostly hands against his fleshly ones, passing through the skin until one set of fingers rested inside the other. A fingertip twitched. 

Bill gestured with one hand, continue. "Now the sleeves."

"I know how to get dressed." Dipper laid down in his body, forearm into forearm, shoulder into shoulder—until he was wholly back inside. He sat up, awake. "Huh."

"There, see?" Bill said. "And if you want to take it back off, just do the same thing in reverse. Like degloving your body from your soul!"

"Did you have to phrase it like that?" Still, Dipper tried it, peeling out of his body from the fingertips up. He left his body sitting upright as he hovered over it.

Bill chuckled tiredly. "Lookit your face, staring at nothing. Stupid looking."

"Shut up." He slid back into his body, more quickly now that he knew what he was doing.

"Great," Bill said. "Now that you know how to get back in your body, never do that again." He flopped back onto Mabel's bed and rolled over to face the wall. "It's a pain in my base having you wander around all night."

"Then you should've thought of that before you ripped my soul out of my body," Dipper grumbled. "Can you reattach me to my body?"

"Sure, easy." He lifted a hand to point down at his regrettably human form. "Not like this, though. Wanna help reattach me to my body?"

"Never in a million years."

"Then come back in a million years. There's nothing I can do for you until then." Bill dragged Mabel's zodiac blanket back over himself. "So sorry. Go to sleep. Leave me alone."

Dipper bet Bill could do it and was only saying he couldn't to try to trick Dipper into helping him. But he lay back down—clutching his bat again—and shut his eyes.

After a moment, Bill asked, "Where's Mabel? Sleepover?"

"Sofa bed in the living room."

"Right."

And then there was silence.

Several minutes passed. Dipper nearly fell back asleep. He heard Bill climbing out of bed and creeping across the room; but the footsteps didn't approach Dipper's bed, so he didn't open his eyes.

A few minutes after that, Dipper heard him come back, walking more heavily. He cracked open an eye to see what Bill was up to.

He was carrying Mabel, who was still asleep; his arms were trembling from her weight, but even at that Dipper hadn't known Bill was that strong. With a quiet grunt, he set her on her bed, then haphazardly tossed her sheet and zodiac blanket over her. He picked up his top hat from the bed and put it on; and then he wandered off, footsteps quiet as a ghost, and Dipper heard the creak of the door as he left the bedroom.

That was a lot nicer than Dipper had expected from Bill. Maybe he did care about Mabel in his own way.

Mabel rolled over and latched on to one of her dolls. Dipper shut his eye and fell back asleep.

####

(My favorite part of writing this was Bill dreaming about Sev'ral Timez saying the most absurdly flowery things imaginable. Anyway, let me know what y'all think about this week's chapter! And reminder that I MIGHT skip next week or the week after because the next couple chapters need heavier editing than usual.)

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. I think this would also count as slow burn. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission

Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

Thank you so much to @seleneprince for being the beta reader and editor of the English version.

previous chapter - Next chapter

Masterlist

Chapter Four - Too Many Looks!

After several days, the Batcave was suddenly filled with laughter as several masked figures came in..

— Nothing serious, probably just some entity wanting a milkshake or something.— Stephanie removed her mask, sighing in exhaustion.

— Yeah, well. I hope that “entity” also gives me back the hours of sleep I lost over this. — Terry glanced over his shoulder at Bruce with a hint of annoyance…noticing he looked more tired than usual, even overwhelmed.

— If it was an “entity” ordering a shake, it’s probably a glitch in the Batcave dispenser’s temporal condenser, — Harper said smiling, unlike the dark-haired boy, as she ran a quick check on her gear — I’m going to download the sensors logs; if there’s another “interdimensional creature” lurking around, I don’t want it to catch me off guard.

— I’m glad everyone’s here, — Alfred arrived through the elevator, greeting the vigilantes who had just come. Most of them were removing their gear and handing in their reports, the boy in the yellow suit simply nodded to Alfred and headed straight back to the elevator.

— Master Duke, she will be staying at Tim’s apartment temporarily.

— …What? — Duke stopped in his tracks, looking at Alfred in surprise. And it wasn’t  just him. Everyone else looked equally surprised. 

Well, at least some of them.

— Who? — Terry and Harper looked confused. Most of the female members had come with them, and Barbara had been helping as Oracle. So, who were they talking about?

— Avery’s daughter. Remember her? — Luke tried to jog their memories, though he looked a bit disappointed that the two of them clearly had no idea who you were, even though he at least remembered introducing you.

Terry ran through a mental list of faces and names he’d come to know since he started visiting this universe more often. He only had a faint recollection tied to that name.

— I remember the model… she gave me cookies. — He scratched the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward because he clearly had no clue who they were talking about.

Cassandra walked past everyone, approaching Alfred, her voice firm but tinged with sadness.

— She’s leaving? Why?

You knew Dr. Leslie already. She came at least once a month to give everyone a basic checkup, although you seemed more familiar with her than the others.

She confirmed Alfred’s diagnosis, so for a few days you were put on rest with a strict diet and, to your annoyance, it wasn’t just Tim worrying about you anymore, but Damian, and to your further consternation, Dick as well.

The doctor prescribed you two to three days of rest, but someone, you don’t remember who, (and right now it’s not your priority with everything you have to do) suggested it would be a good idea to keep you there for a week. That week would have been perfect for carrying out your plan to study the comics and gather information for phase two of your plan, but finding time alone proved almost impossible.

All week long you always had someone around you, starting with Alfred. You loved him, of course, but ever since you fainted, and knowing it was because of you skipping meals, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

— Young lady, if you don’t empty at least half of that plate, I’ll be forced to call Dr. Leslie to remind her of the importance of following medical instructions… again.

It was just typical Alfred worrying about you. It wouldn’t be threatening if it weren’t for the fact that you felt he wouldn’t leave your room until you ate every bite. You no longer went down to dinner in the dining room because they insisted you ate in bed. You could barely get up to go to the bathroom without someone trying to follow you or staying nearby. In theory, they had things to do, but somehow they always found a way to keep their eyes on you.

— Someone has to make sure your brain doesn’t rot while you lie around all day.

Ever since Damian arrived at the mansion, he hadn't seemed very enthusiastic about studying. You knew it took him a while to start studying and that, unlike you, he didn't study at home. Although, based on what you saw in the comics, he apparently didn't need to. You also didn't understand why he suddenly insisted on doing his homework with you around.

The comics never mentioned in detail what kind of place Damian came from, but the name “League of Assassins” and the fact that he was the way he was… told you a lot.

Damian never seemed interested in studying, so when he would come over with his books to sit beside you with the excuse of “studying together so you don’t turn dumb from resting,” it felt very odd. Although not as odd as the times he showed up with a pencil and notebook to draw—never letting you see what he was working on, but always picking moments when you weren’t moving too much. Once he even brought you new yarn and needles so “you’d have something to do” while he sketched. You ended up making a replica of Alfred The Cat with yarn and placing it next to the little crocheted Haley on your shelf.

— I… understand that you don’t want me around, but Haley can keep you company along with Titus and Alfred. You’re not going to turn down this adorable little thing, are you?

You really didn’t want Dick’s presence after he’d openly admitted to forgetting you exist, but you couldn’t do much since you couldn’t leave your room anyway. Besides, Haley wasn’t to blame for the kind of person her owner was, so you let her stay in your room… which gave Dick free rein to be there too. Each time Damian finished his time with you and went to the academy, Dick took his place. On the first day of rest he made no attempt. The hurt look you gave him must have stopped him…but only for a few days. It was barely over half a week before he tried everything to get closer. He never touched you or insisted on hugging you —you don’t know why—but his constant presence and need to talk to you was more than enough. It felt like he was forcing himself into your life.

— You knitted a Haley plush? How sweet. – It would be sweeter if he hadn’t been trying again to force conversation, sitting beside your bed and almost invading your personal space — How long have you been doing that? I also noticed you have a gymnastics book. Are you interested? — You were interested once, but you stopped after reading so many confusing lessons that sounded painful. And you're pretty sure you mentioned to him at some point that you were interested in knitting, although of course, he didn't listen. But at this point, you didn't blame him or hate him for it.

Yes, you felt betrayed and hurt by this family that you stopped calling your own since the day you fainted, yet you didn’t blame or hate them for it. They aren’t your real family—you know the painful truth of why you were never truly welcomed or treated like any other family member. So even if it did hurt, you’d never hate them.

What annoyed you was that in their eyes, you weren’t even a civilian worth keeping alive or giving minimum attention—unless something serious happened to you. Because now you had the full attention of those you once believed were your siblings, just as you wanted, but that’s not what you want now.

You’re certain they’re only waiting for you to recover to return to their daily routines. They feel guilty about your fainting, and besides, you don’t deserve this attention—Serelith does. Not you. You shouldn’t be here, with their… strange, affectionate attitude, their worried looks. Those looks weren’t meant for you, not even for a week. They weren’t yours; for a reason they never gave them to you. Those looks have always belonged to her. Not to you.

What you want, what you really want now, is to have enough time to gather what you need to live, to move to another country under another name and start over. You want them to stop trying to look at you. Their eyes don’t leave you for a second, and it bothers you more than their ignorant concern. At this point, you wouldn’t even be surprised if they took you from room to room in a wheelchair.

— You took one minute and fifteen seconds longer than usual to shower. Did something happen?

Tim hadn’t managed to keep you in his room, because as soon as he suggested it so he could monitor you constantly, Dick and Damian also demanded you stay in theirs, so you remained in your room while Tim brought his computer and a chair. He sat at your desk and worked on what you assumed was something related to his double life. You thought that, unlike the others, he’d be focused enough on that so you could do your own things in peace. It didn’t happen. Every time you tried to do something, he somehow anticipated it, dropping everything just to help you. If Tim was a nuisance during your panic attack, now he was worse after your fainting.

You didn’t have classes, even though you wanted to at least continue your knitting class. They wouldn’t let you—supposedly being in this state and doing school tasks could stress you more. Although you’d rather have a math class than be subjected to Damian’s lessons, Dick’s questions, and Tim’s concern.

– She’s eating much better, her blood levels are stable, there’s no sudden glucose drops, almost everything is fine.

– Almost? – Dick felt his heart drop to his feet when Dr. Leslie said that at the end of the week. He’d been one of the main causes of your condition; he was the one most terrified for you. If he hadn’t spoken with Bruce that day, if he’d stopped when he noticed your presence, you wouldn’t have fainted. He wasn’t even aware that you’d stopped eating. He should have stopped the conversation the moment he knew where it was going, he should have been there for you first.

– Don’t worry, her physical health is good. Her mental health…less so.

That wasn’t much comfort. Of course he was relieved about your health, but hearing the doctor’s hesitation about your mind stole any joy he felt. He could barely hide how sorry he was for what he’d caused you… Although he could see Bruce beside him looking worried too. Most might have missed it, but not him. After all, Dick had warned him.

– For the moment, she may show signs of severe anxiety. She should go to therapy to get a better diagnosis. I told you that part of the rest was to avoid the cause of stress as much as possible — didn’t you do that?

And that’s how you ended up clearing out your room to move to an apartment. 

You and Alfred are packing a few things from your room.

Just the essentials for a few weeks at Tim’s apartment: clothes and study materials.The first thing you slipped into your suitcase, once you were sure no one was watching, were the comics, hidden in a somewhat lumpy wool bag.

The final decision was yours. Dr. Leslie suggested you keep some distance for a while; she also recommended a psychologist. But honestly, you didn’t want to go. What would you say? That you’d seen a horrible destiny drawn in some comics? That you live with Gotham’s vigilantes and they left you to your fate? That you were switched at birth with another baby and your only proof is those few comic books?

Of course not, getting away from them for a few weeks was actually a better solution you thought, you'd have a respite from such a suffocating week. Alfred asked you directly, if you agreed to take some time away from this family, you could choose who to stay with.

You didn’t go with Dick because you still held resentment. And although you’d miss Alfred—and even Damian’s teasing—you were grateful not to have him with his notebook tracking you.

To you, Tim was the best option. You wouldn’t be near Bruce, and even though he’d brushed you off when the Joker struck and you’d once heard him call you “dramatic,” he’d never said anything hurtful directly. In fact, his previous indifference had hurt more.

Anyway, there were no other family members available at the moment; they left early two days before everything changed to who knows what. So you have no other options.

It was the first time you’d left Wayne Manor for anything other than shopping—and without Alfred by your side.

With your bags packed, Alfred took a couple and you grabbed the other two. Together you descended the stairs and reached the grand foyer, where the others waited: Tim and Damian glaring at each other, Dick with a downcast look… and, to your surprise, Bruce.

You’d already grown accustomed to not calling him your father.

The atmosphere felt heavy. It was the first time in days you’d seen Mr. Wayne outside of a passing glimpse in the hallways—or when you spied on him in secret. He hadn’t been around all week like the others; you weren’t even sure he’d been present during the time you were unconscious. Seeing him face-to-face after reading those pages, after learning the truth, was strange—but at least you’d spent the week resigning yourself to the fact that this man would never care for you as family… or even as a civilian.

Your real father barely appeared in the comic saga. You’d seen his face, you knew his name, but for now he didn’t seem like someone interested in his daughter. He didn’t even know you—or Serelith—existed. Though that brief glimpse in the comic might help you find him: a man with a single lock of hair falling over his brow. You wondered if he’d show you more compassion than Mr. Wayne ever would—they did seem to share one or two things in common from afar.

— How absurd. I don’t understand why she has to go with you. The manor is a better option— Damian grabbed one of your suitcases, nearly wrenching it from your hand as he stalked toward the car Alfred had prepared for you both.

— Oh, really? And who decides that—you? — Tim followed, yanking the other bag from your grasp before you could react. Their argument faded into the distance, leaving you behind with the two oldest while Alfred watched, clearly frustrated.

— Have they been like this all week, or has it been longer? — Even though Dick knew better than anyone that the two had a tense relationship, they’d set aside their differences years ago… at least enough to be in the same room without fighting.

— It’s recent, — Alfred replied, never taking his eyes off the warring teens. — Since the young lady’s episode.

— Oh, right. Tim mentioned it on a call. How bad was it? — Dick didn’t avert his gaze from the pair either, but he did glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

— Probably worse than we know. Master Tim didn’t want to leave her alone, and slept in her room that night.

The tension rose suddenly. Alfred stopped watching Damian and Tim argue in the distance. There wasn't much change in his sudden silence, just a slight tension in his fingers, gripping nothing until he spoke again, in a tone that tried to sound casual.

— All night?

— Until dawn — Alfred replied, simple and direct, but knowing full well what was causing it. —Apparently, that's what put young Damian in a bad mood. As far as I know, brothers argue about sharing toys, not custody.

Dick inhaled and exhaled. You and Mr. Wayne had witnessed everything. You don't know what he thought about it. You never knew him well enough, but what you do know is that Dick probably thought about the fact that you were very childish for staying with Tim. Not that you've heard anything from him, but the others said something similar. He probably had the same idea about you.

You wanted to leave quickly; being among them was suffocating. You were about to start walking past him, but Dick stood in front of you, blocking your way.

— If you need anything, anything at all, you can call me, I mean, call us. Okay?— He bent down to your level. He hesitated a little, but slowly placed his hand on your shoulder. It caused a slight shiver to run through your body.

—I don't have a phone. — Your answer came out colder than you intended. You knew you'd grown colder since that day. You'd noticed it unintentionally when you abruptly kicked Tim out of your class. You didn't mean to; you didn't want to be like that. You hated being like that, that's why you flushed the pills down the toilet at night. You loved laughing and running, but you just didn't have the energy these days. You hoped that distancing yourself, even with Tim around, would calm you down, like the doctor had said.

— Oh… — Dick knew you didn’t have a phone, you never had one, even so, right now I would prefer that you did have one, so as not to have an intermediary between the two of you and be just you. — …Ask Tim to call me then, don’t worry.

You just nodded. Dick stood there, staring at you as if he were imprinting your every feature into his memory. His hand felt heavier on your shoulder. You coughed a little, waiting for him to react. He did. It was just a slight movement of his eyebrows. He sighed and let go of you, moving away from you and standing up. His gaze shifted to Bruce, along with Alfred, a silent way of telling him that he should say something, also perhaps with a small hint of reprimand for having gotten them into this situation in the first place.

Bruce had remained at a distance from everyone, close enough to hear and see everything, but far enough not to be included. He doesn’t care, surely, you know that.

You don’t know, Dick and Alfred know Bruce well, they know it’s not like that.

In a few steps he was in front of you, his large figure overshadowing your much smaller one of a twelve year-old girl. He didn’t touch you,  just stared at you, which you were not able to understand.

— Have a good time — he said at last, his voice low and firm, without hesitation, with the same tone you expected from this man. — I hope that… you get better.

— Thank you — you answered, without thinking, without feeling anything. Only out of politeness. And before silence could take the room again Damian returned alone. Tim had stayed in the car waiting for you and Alfred.

Damian stood between both of you, separating your father from you, his annoyed gaze ran over you in the same way that Dick’s had before.

— It’s unnecessary for you to leave — He let out with the same dry tone that sometimes threatened to resemble Bruce’s. Deep down you wonder if Serelith would also speak that way… He extended a hand, showing you a small box, which you took with hesitation and, before you could ask him, he turned around and left.

How strange. If it weren’t because you know him you would think he went towards your room.

Still with the weird interaction in your mind, Alfred placed a hand on your back.

 — Young lady, it’s time to go.

You just nodded, letting yourself be guided to the car, sitting in the back with the box in your hand, Alfred settled in the driver’s seat next to Tim, fastened his seatbelt and started the car. Heading to Tim’s apartment, moving away from the mansion.

Bruce and Dick watched the car drive away, without moving from the entrance.

— Dick … You know what I meant by treating her as if she was dead.

— …I know.

Weeeeeeeeeell, another three weeks surviving solely thanks to Hamilton, Kpop demon hunters, and Shakira songs. I'm this close to putting this on hiatus—mainly because, like I said the first time I delayed the schedule, I like to have everything planned out before writing. And there’s one specific thing in the story that has no direction yet. It’s not important right now, but it’s bugging me a little.

On the other hand, once again I’m not totally happy with the result... But here it goes, I hope you all enjoy it at least. While we’re at it, someone on Tumblr asked if there would be a love interest. Honestly, I’m not really sure about adding one, even though the original manhwa has one. It could be useful, but I don’t know if they’d have a big role in the story. Still, I’ve been thinking a lot about it—especially after getting obsessed with a song that makes me want to base a romantic relationship around it. I have one or two people in mind, but I’d love to know if you have someone in mind or if you'd like one of the boys to shift from platonic to romantic later on. It wouldn’t change much of the plot aside from a few scenes, but suggestions are welcome! Now that I think about it, it's always a guy... but hey, if you’d rather it be a girl—or both—that’s totally valid too.

As always, thank you to everyone who leaves hearts, sweet messages, or comments about the story—you know I read them all even if I don’t reply... I think this is the first time my Tumblr note is the same as the one I posted on Ao3—well, not sure if you knew, but actually, the Ao3 chapter comes out a few hours earlier than the English one. Anyway.

Taglist (1/3)

@lettucel0ver @sirenetheblogger @mourart7 @yhin-gg @cssammyyarts @pearlyribbons @ottjhe @devils-blackrose @mindscape123 @rad4bean @cruzerforce4256 @allycat4458 @passingthroughlegume @bunbunbread @aaaashiiii @wizzerreblogs @ratterpatter @cluelessteam @kore-of-the-underworld @simpingpandas @rosy-myhouse34 @shqyou @kitkatq05 @charlenexoxo1 @astrid-ash @nisararelle @teamintwithice @bluepanda08 @k-anaru @totired0-0 @niamcarlin ​ @iwannaflyaway @overlyobsessivefangirl @mikusamsan @wishiwaswritingrn @random4137 @mallowryblog @darkmoka @starslightzz @hearts4mica @justonerandomreader @zhentheraven @lystaaae @oliviaewl @cynniee @burningkittenprince @gurllss @exactlynumberonekryptonite @jungkooks-tiny-waist

[reallyromealone]

Title: oh hey a mate(s)

Chapter: one

Fandom: obey me

Pairing: demon brother's x male reader

Warnings: suggestive themes, readers got truama, internalized gender hatred, anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of being a breeding tool, self hate, reader doesn't really understand sex, sexual themes, omegaverse, male reader, mentions of mpreg

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

"HE STOLE THEM FROM ME!" (sisters name) Screeched out in a rage as she threw things around "they were supposed to be MY mates! And he stole them! That whore stole them!" She was hyperventilating at this point as her body shook, feeling robbed of her alphas.

Of her life, the thing she wanted more than anything.

"I know sweety but maybe we can set you up wit--"" I don't want someone else! I want the princes!"

And she was going to get them.

She swore it.

'fuck you (name)'

Holy shit this place was big.

God he felt under dressed, especially beside these alphas who were dressed so fancy and perfect.

The floors were marble and two grand staircases winded on each side and paintings that had to be centuries old hung on the walls "we will have one commissioned for you soon enough... Maybe one with us all" Belphegor yawned as he wandered the halls "for now, let's get you settled in" he said and looked to a nervous looking Leviathan who nodded.

(Name) Was nervous as he walked beside the demon who seemed to want to be anywhere but here "I-im sorry if I wasn't who you were expecting... I'll try and not step on your toes" (name) whispered, anxiously fiddling with his fingers and looked down "i-i dont-- fuck... I'm really nervous and anxious and just I don't really talk to omegas often so I'm just--" the demon seemed panicked and (name) felt relief flood through his veins as he pumped out calming pharamones for the Alpha "hey... I get it, if it's any consolation... I'm not great with people either-- hell I think this is the first time I ever left my families property!" He laughed a bit but Leviathan was shocked at his words "you never been into the capital or even your home town?" He asked genuinely and (name) shook his head "nah, my parents didn't trust me going out there-- you know how troublesome an Omega can be"

What the fuck? That's all Leviathan could think as he looked at the Omega worried "I- you're not troublesome?" He whispered and (name) just smiled "I try not to be" (name) giggled a bit as they continued to (name)s apartment, the Omega expecting a quaint bedroom but...

"I think we went to the wrong room.... This is awfully big" (name) said softly to the envy demon who looked confused "you like your apartment?" Asmodeus popped out from nowhere and pulled (name) close with a flirty grin "we had the butlers being your things in, don't worry we didn't let them unpack... Pharamones and all that ~" he pulled (name) into the apartment and (name) felt overwhelmed by all this "there's a nesting room there~ if you need help don't hesitate to ask"

"A-are you sure?"

"Sure of what?"

"That this is for me?"

"You are to be our mate, I personally wanted you with me but Luci wanted you to have your own space... Something about acclimating" his words teasing and (name) chuckled but cut short when his stomach growled and the two demons looked curious "oh yeah! Humans need to eat for survival!"

(Name) Felt embarrassed as he silently cursed his stomach for exposing him like this as the demons looked at one another in a silent conversation.

They were definitely having a sibling meeting later.

(Name) Dissociated during the rest of the evening, eventually ending back in the rooms he was given, the size of his old house if not a bit bigger...

Everything was pristine as he took out his belongings, his prized possessions and small hobbies to occupy him.

A few heirlooms and books and his childhood stuffed toy 'this will go in my nest' he thought as he looked at the nesting room doors, two ornate doors in a rose gold shade, the apartment all light colors unlike the rest of the palace.

It was a strange contrast, almost like they didn't know what to expect so they just made what they thought humans liked. It was funny really, demons trying to understand what humans wanted or needed as he was doing the same, wondering what these demons wanted or liked.

Getting up he went to the nesting room and was overwhelmed by the nesting supplies he was given, piles and piles of blankets and pillows and soft things, his purring could probably be heard from outside the apartment as he snuggled into them, a sense of safety he wasn't quite used to washing over him.

He was excited to make a large nest, spending half the night making it perfect for him to rest in and just not think about the fact he was to be mated on his next heat to seven strangers that were also fucking royalty! Well there goes not thinking about it because here he was!

Also his sister! Holy shit she was mad! And like at his wedding she will be there! Fuuck!

(Name) Was just sitting there head in hands as he processed the fact that within 24 hours he was now engaged and now in the public eye!

(Name) Curled up closer into his blankets and let out a shutter of a sigh, he wondered if he would be able to do the things he enjoyed before... Would he be allowed to garden? Would he have to dress more Omegan? Or would he be able to wear clothes that were comfortable?!

He needed to walk, movement to process this.

Getting up he walked out of his apartment and into the hall, dark and grand, ceilings at least 15 feet tall and paintings lined, some he recognized as the siblings and some unfamiliar as he walked around curiously.

Somehow he made it to the kitchen "I hope they don't mind..." (Name) Whispered as he sliced an apple, careful and gentle as his stomach growled a bit.

"Can I have some?" A voice startled him out of his thoughts causing him to slice his finger "shit!" The voice said and (name) looked to see Beelzebub who in turn looked a bit startled as he took (name)s bleeding finger and put it in his mouth, the Omega looking thoroughly concerned as Beelzebub sucked on the blood "I feel like this is incredibly unsanitary" (name) whispered worried and beez released his finger "demons saliva can heal amongst other things, depends on the demon really"

"Oh " (name) said dumbly as he looked at his wet but healed finger "what else does your saliva do?" He asked curiously and Beelzebub smiled at the others cute and curious expression "ah, well besides healing my saliva can work as an aphrodisiac if ingested!" (Name) Looked concerned and Beelzebub laughed "don't worry, it only works if I were to like make out with you or eat your ass!"

And now (name) was flustered as the gluttony demon kept laughing at his embarrassment "so why are you up so late?" Beelzebub asked after calming down and sealing some apple slices and cutting up some more, handing (name) an orange "just... It's stupid"

"Oh please!" Beelzebub pushed and (name) sighed "I'm just... I'm having trouble processing this stuff, it's stressful and like-- I never left my property let alone this! My sister wanted to be with you guys and she's already insufferable, this is just worse! I'm just paranoid that you guys are going to realize that like this was a mistake and reject me and like the fear of being an Omega in general! Will I be able to do the things i enjoyed before? Will I be a breeding tool?!" He was hyperventilating now as Beelzebub panicked "hey hey, calm down! It will be alright and-- no we aren't making you a breeding Omega.... shhh" beez tried to calm him as footsteps quickly made their way to the kitchen.

"What is happening?" Lucifer and the others seemed startled as the smell of distress was heavy in the kitchen "he's worried we will strip him of his rights and make him carry our young" Beelzebub explained as he lifted (name) into his arms and set him on the counter "were demons but we aren't monsters" Satan said disgusted and Asmodeus smiled "we would never do that unless it's what you're into~" he teased the Omega as they crowded him "I know it's an incredibly hard adjustment but know we mean well, it's literally impossible for us to not fall for each other" it's true soulmates would eventually fall for one another due to the bond "and we are sharing one mate so that means you have seven people to love you" mammon said in a rare moment of genuine care "what do you mean?"

"Oh yeah, he knows basically nothing about secondary gender or soulmates" Levi said softly and the demons looked horrified "well I know what we are doing tomorrow" Satan said simply and (name) looked ashamed and couldn't meet their eyes, feeling stupid for his lack of knowledge.

"Well his town is backwards" Belphegor yawned and wandered off back to bed now that the problem was solved "goodnight...."

(Name) Was led back to his room by Beelzebub and Asmodeus and looked confused when they put sweaters in his arms "the smell of your alphas will calm you~" Asmodeus said simply and the two wished him a good night.

And for once?

He sleped peacefully.

(Name) Spent the next few days learning about soulmates and secondary genders, the two interlocking "when your heat comes, it will be dangerous for you to not mate with your soulmate" (name) read the book in his off time, the book explaining how the bonding is key to not cause rejection symptoms or a drop, he definitely didn't want that. Fuck how does he have sex? Fuck.

Time to go figure that out, he really felt behind on this shit.

(Name) Made home in the library as he looked for any books that would aid him "Hmm? Looking for sex books ~ didn't know our omega was like that" Asmodeus seemed to love just appearing out of thin air and scaring (name) who dropped the book "i-i it's not like that!"

"Hmmm? And what is it about? Oh you're so cute when your flustered!" He cooed and (name) huffed "I am trying to figure out like, how sex works and stuff... I wasn't exactly taught... Just put on suppressants so my family could avoid it" he just constantly felt ashamed with them, their faces of realization and pity as (name) tried not to cry "well, if you like I could teach you~ don't worry I won't touch you where you don't like" Asmodeus could get used to his omega so flustered as he got closer, his alpha giddy at his mate being untouched "the first thing one should know is their body after all~"

"I- uh... I'm not sure..."

Asmodeus let his lips barely touch (name)s as he caged him against a bookshelf and smiled, his tail flickering and (name) seemed a bit startled by it All as the demon gently kissed him "that was... Uh.." "your first kiss?"

"Yeah..."

"Did you like it?"

(Name) Could only nod as the lust avatar giggled sweetly at his adorable Omega "oh, you're going to fit in nicely here~!" He doted on (name) a bit "don't worry darling, we won't do anything your not ready for but if you're willing... To experiment a bit, I'm always a summon away" and with that he was gone, (name) left with nothing more than the smell of his pharamones, sweet Jasmine and warm vanilla.

It wasn't till after lunch that Lucifer brought him to the gardens, a small greenhouse and a garden plot stood "we had it cleaned up, you said you liked gardening" he said simply and looked down at (name) who looked like he was given the potion of youth "really? Thank you so much..." (Name) Was releasing the happiest pharamones and Lucifer kept composure but god damn did that boost his ego as an alpha, making his mate happy.

"Just clean yourself off after you finish" Lucifer said calmly and (name) beamed at this "of course!"

(Name) Puttered in the greenhouse and began planting things, thankfully it was early in the season so he had time to make a nursery for plants "oh, sor--" (name) immediately shut up as he saw Belphegor sleeping in a sun beam, cozy and calm. Looking around (name) found his cape that Satan had made for him and covered the demon with it "it's still chilly" he whispered and went back to work, unaware the demon was awake and watching intently at the Omega who was carrying heavy pots and sacks of soil around.

(Name) Kept quiet for the Alpha, he must be so exhausted to fall asleep in a greenhouse of places so it would be best to let him rest! Eventually (name) moved outside, it was less chilly but a slight chill but movement will keep him warm! Using twine he found in the greenhouse he sectioned spots of the garden plots for various things like carrots and garlic amongst others, they were still in the nursery but it's good to get things ready now, he reasoned with himself.

"Your Highness! It's quite cold!" A servant panicked as she saw (name) in nothing more than a shirt and pants and apron, dirt on his cheek "don't worry! I'm alright!" He reasoned but she was not having it and removed her cape "it's not good for an Omega to be cold like this!"

Before she could drape the cape on (name), he felt fur on his shoulders as Mammon smiled with a warning "don't worry, he's warm" his eyes telling the servant to leave and (name) looked confused "oh hello!" (Name) Smiled at the demon who felt annoyed at how sweet the other was, his bond making his heart beat fast "Luci wanted me to take you into town so get ready" he grumbled and (name) nodded, a simple smile on his face as he wandered to the palace "where's your cape anyways?! It's freezing for mortals!" He chastised and (name) chirped "Belphegor was sleeping and I wanted him to be cozy!" (Name) Couldn't explain why he felt so calm and comfortable with the princes but they made him feel safe, even if they were sometimes like angry chihuahuas.

"You're weird" mammon said with no bite as they walked to (name)s area.

The tailors and seamstresses worked tirelessly to put together some clothes for (name) and his new class, the maids commenting about how the seamstress always kept embroidered sleeves on hand as the brothers always tore clothes during training--- well save for Asmodeus and Belphegor who couldn't be fucked to do stuff like that.

(Name) Felt regal, a beautiful vest made of silk and embroidered with birds and roses and a linen powers shirt and nice pants and expensive boots "you look wonderful your Highness!" A maid commented, (name) growing fond of his personal maids who cheered him in, them all being mated and married betas.

(Name) Was curious as he looked around the city, never really interacting with so many people who looked at he two in awe, the guards keeping a fair distance as he looked at stalls "you seriously never been in a city?" Mammon said incredulously and (name) looked confused "no? It's not right for an Omega to be by himself around alphas, I would be a temptation" reiterating his parents words and Mammon was horrified at the omegas genuine belief that HE was the problem and not alphas who couldn't keep their hands to themselves "well we are unpacking that later"

He didn't even want to get into the family thing, remembering the chat he had with his brothers when (name) had his meltdown and the acceptance that their Omega came from a very problematic living situation but he seemed to be acclimating well.

Or at least he hoped.

Mammon was confused as (name) handed him a stuffed bunny "what is this?" He raised an eyebrow from behind his circular sunglasses "well we didn't get to actually court because of being soulmates so I got you all courting gifts" he chirped out innocently, remembering what he was taught by Lucifer and deciding to put it in action though he seemed to have gotten it backwards as it was supposed to be the Alpha who gave the courting gifts.

"I- uh... Thank you?"

(Name) Seemed pleased as they continued their walk through the cities market, a giant hub of the equally giant city as Mammon stared at the bunny that was made of fabric the same color as his eyes, a small detail that made him flustered.

He noticed (name) budgeting, a soft smile on his face "you know we have basically endless money, right?" Well mammon didn't, he was cut off and put on a strict budget but (name)? He still had his money privileges "that's your money, this is so much!" To (name) it was a lot of money as he did the budgeting of the house back with his family, this was ten times of what they made in a year! "I am fine with this"

Hell, how did they get the exact opposite of them?!

A nervous Omega who was innocent and naive and sweet as honey!

"Oh you are absolutely precious!" Asmodeus cooed at the stuffed rabbit that fit in his hands "I hadn't even thought of courting!" He said with exaggerated sadness and (name) watched the others alphas reactions, though it wasn't the fanciest courting gift, it was a genuinely thoughtful one.

"He was worried about spending the money, he literally budgeted it" mammon groaned and Lucifer snorted "you could do well to learn that" he said as (name) seemed reminded and handed him back the coin bag, the Omega barely dented it "I got a few things for my hobbies but I brought back the change!" He said sweety and Lucifer had cute aggression at that moment as (name) looked at him with so much pride "you know you could have spent all of this right?" He said a little slow, (name) nodding "but that would be rude, I'm spending all your money without care... I don't like that"

Seriously, how did they manage to be fated with the sweetest Omega?!

"He didn't even but himself actual things for himself! He bought things to make us things!" Mammon groaned out but they all knew he equally swooned at the fact their Omega was so sweet.

But also he didn't buy himself anything, Asmodeus has had to bring him to eat and Beelzebub would put food on it.

"Rural Omega culture is different than cities, they're treated more as a commodity" a maid explained to Asmodeus one night as she helped him get ready for bed, she herself being an alpha from the boonies "an inconvenience would be a better word though, everything your saying shows he was treated like how my love got treated, need to make them feel genuinely valued" she went to explain how omegas need regular scenting and assurance to keep mentally regulated and (name) probably never had that.

Which would explain why he seemed like he was constantly waiting for the next shoe to drop despite growing used to them.

Like it was all going to go away.

His dreams were often that, every night he dreamt of waking up in his old room as his sister lived the life she wanted and he was stuck in that musty bedroom where he would rot.

"Your dreams are noisy" Belphegor mumbled as he crawled into bed with (name) and held him close, pumping out pharamones as he thought smugly about the fact he's technically been in bed with (name) before the others. (Name) Snuggled in his chest and physically relaxed, chirping in his sleep as he clung helplessly to him and he was hooked.

He wanted this more and was already annoyed he would have to share with his brothers.

(Name) Let his mates to be plan the wedding though he and Beelzebub thought of food together, the demon horrified at how little foods he got to experience and made him try everything for the wedding and smiled at his happy face with good food "these are mirangue cookies! Like eating plaster that loves you!" He exolained and (name) basically melted at now delicious it was.

Beelzebub was more than happy to share food with him, his alpha wanting the Omega to be well fed to carry his pups after all.

They were all anxious for mating, their bond slowly making them VERY intense about (name) who after weeks, finally sat close to Satan as he read with him though (name) did struggle a bit "omegas being taught to read is laughable, I taught myself as much as I could" he explained and that's when Satan decided he would read for (name), the two spending an hour or two in the library reading together like how Lucifer spent his time teaching (name) new things when he wasn't busy or just dragging him along with things.

(Name) Was always well behaved, he thought of (name)s family and how they were... How did this come out of THAT.

But now, (name) had one worry...

Would he invite his family to his wedding?

[prinzrupprecht]

When someone else gives you gifts

Featuring: Okita, Sasaki, Loki, and Anubis ( part 3 )

I’m doing young Sasaki instead of 60 year old dilf Sasaki. For those that don’t know who Tatsunosuke was. He is an actual character in chapter 5 Chiruran.

Read part 1 and 2 for the other characters

TW: some possessive tendencies, and cute/fluff moments and hurt/comfort

Okita

Everyone from Kondo’s dojo always teased how Souji liked you even though he denied it. A part of you hoped that he does like you more than a friend. Deep down it always hurt hearing how he always said you two were just friends.

You decided to visit Tatsunosuke who was a sick young boy dying from a fatal lung disease. He reminded you of Souji a lot and he was nice to you. He was the son of a high-ranking samurai at the military centre. He was too far gone for any treatment to work. “Here, you shouldn’t move much.” You went to hand him a mug of herbal tea.

“I don’t think I’ll be here much longer,” he was breathing heavily and his condition looked to be worse than the last time you saw him. You didn’t say anything and thought back how he never looked down on you for being a part of another dojo.

He went to grab his wakizashi and looked down at it. The scabbard was red and the guard was silver. “I want you to have it and remember me when I’m no longer here.” He put it in your hands. It was painful but you silently accepted it. This might be the last you see him.

Tatsunosuke was like a younger brother to you but the others from Kondo’s dojo thought you were dating him which was embarrassing sometimes. Souji on the other hand never said anything about your visits with the dying boy. As you forbid your farewell with him and left to return back to the Shieikan dojo. You saw a few of the kids playing outside. “Where have you been?” A voice asked you from behind.

“Hi to you as well?” You saw how he looked irritated while giving you a murderous stare. You avoided the question. Souji knew but wanted you to be honest. Did you like Tatsunosuke? Were you seeing him as if you two were dating? What pissed him off more was the unknown wakizashi you were holding. It looked oddly familiar as if Souji hadn’t studied the boy you liked hanging out with.

“No need to give me that look, Souji-san. You know where I was at. Besides, where are those fan girls that normally come around here?” You weren’t making the situation better.

“They don’t mean anything to me unlike what he means to you,” he muttered while his gaze met with the ground. You wanted to say something else. You always found comfort with Souji more but Tatsunosuke was dying and didn’t have many friends close to him. He tried to move past you to go back inside the dojo and probably avoid you for the rest of the week.

“Souji wait!” you called out to him. He stopped and waited for you to say something without turning his head to look at you.

“He… he doesn’t mean as much to me as you do. He’s dying and doesn’t have much time left to live.” You wanted to grab ahold of his sleeve but the wakizashi gift still irked him. He would have to give you something better for you to protect yourself. Was he acting jealous over this boy? He met him once or twice and beat him without trying in practice training.

Souji unexpectedly turned his head and smiled. “It’s fine, I would get you something better for you to protect yourself. Maybe me perhaps?” Was this his awful way of flirting with you? Huh? Him protect you? That doesn’t sound too bad.

Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around him accepting that offer. “How about we put a label on us?” It was about time you two would stop denying it around the others and are official and he’d be your only gift.

Sasaki

During the closing years of the Sengoku period, you had met some interesting people and one in particular caught your attention. Sasaki Kojiro. He was a bit skinny but his determination to keep fighting had made you curious about this young man.

You were just some odd woman training in the same dojo as him. It was Toda’s dojo and it was owned by Seigen. You saw him enter the dojo late like usual and took a smacking by the owner’s nephew like usual. “Sasaki-san, you should take this dojo seriously if you want to get stronger,” you light-heartedly sighed.

You and him sparred a bit but he normally gave up and said you were stronger than him. It made you wonder if you were strong or if he was just weak. You saw how he sparred with Kagekatsu numerous of times and forfeits the matches normally. “Sasaki-san, why don’t you actually try and put in your all?” You pouted but he awkwardly laughed and said there was no point because if he were to fight you a hundred times you would still beat him. Huh?!

Sasaki was always one to follow you around like a lost puppy in the dojo which was cute and you admired that side of him. He wanted to get better but his confidence wasn’t there. His training lacked so you were certain he was either going to be kicked from the dojo or he would train elsewhere. You wanted him to stay and not slack off. You would help him if he would take your help but he doesn’t want it. He said it numerous of times.

After a few weeks had gone by of not seeing Sasaki you were growing more and more upset. Did he already quit? Give up with the sword? One of the members of the dojo gave you a kimono robe and said it was a gift for your hard work. The kimono was patterned and made with silk and not cloth. You had no idea whether to accept it but it was better than what you normally wore. Short baggy pants and shirts with no sleeves.

You had left the dojo to see if you could find Sasaki. You were worried someone could’ve killed him with the time he was gone. Yet after some time wandering the woods, you heard ruffling from a few leaves and saw a rabbit. Then what surprised you was Sasaki jumping to catch it from behind. “Wh—what the hell?! What are you doing?” You were furious how he was turning into some animal.

“Haha, what are you doing here? I was training,” he scratched the back of his head. You sighed and sat down on a fallen log.

“Sasaki-san, I was worried you were killed from the missing weeks you stopped coming back.” You mumbled and the truth was you didn’t want him to disappear from your life.

“I would… eventually return when I feel like it. Besides what is this? I have never seen you wear something like this before,” he walked up to you and touched the sleeve of the robe.

“Someone from the dojo gave it to me for my hard work. I don’t feel like I deserve it though, and you look like you need new clothes eventually.” You scolded him for always getting dirty.

“Oh well, I actually wanted to get you something… nicer. I guess someone else beat me to it.” Sasaki was giving up already? Your left eye twitched.

“There’s no limit to who can give me things. How about I take you somewhere to eat properly that isn’t raw bunnies and snakes?” You stood up and grabbed the front of his kimono. Sasaki admired how you were persistent and wanted to check up on him when no one else has.

“I don’t eat them raw… I still cook the meat.” He raised his hands up in defence.

“Agh, never mind. Let’s go somewhere and this time I’ll watch over you.” He didn’t say anything after that but a part of him was happy and he would prove to you one day that he would take care of you better than anyone else.

Loki

You were incredibly close to Loki and had long accepted him for who he was. His tricks never worked on you and you can easily tell if he shape-shifts into someone else. He wasn’t that unpredictable. You could tell he had a troubled past that he wouldn’t tell anyone, not even you.

As the two of you resided in the same Asgard palace, Loki liked to follow you around even if he was disguised as small animals that would not be in your peripheral sight. He couldn’t help but grow irritated by how some of the guards would joke with you and talk so freely around you.

One of the guards gave you a ring and this made Loki snap on the inside. This guard— was he proposing to you?! He didn’t want to out himself that he was spying on you or else this could strain your friendship. He wanted to kill the guard for trying to steal you from him.

He found you alone in the library reading and this was the time to ask you if you feel the same way as he did for you. Love? He couldn’t deny how utterly in love he was with you even if it was obnoxious or just infatuation.

You heard him enter the room and turned your head. “Loki? What are you doing?” Your calm voice eased his anger from what he saw earlier. Confusion was written on his face. You weren’t wearing the ring?

“Ya I— I was bored and wanted to see you!” He tried to give you one of his not-so-innocent smiles. He was hiding something and you knew it.

“What is it?” Your expression grew more serious and Loki grabbed your shoulders.

“It’s just— I want us to be more than what we are now." you couldn’t deny how you had never seen this desperate side of him. Was he playing with you?

“Don’t play with my feelings, Loki. Whatever this trick is—"

“I’m not playing any trick! I swear— I swear I wanted to kill that guard from earlier who tried to propose to you.” What?!

“You admitted to spying on me? And Balder wasn’t proposing to me, you idiot. It was one of those rings that can open portals for fast transportation.” You had no idea why Loki was so upset but he looked a bit more at ease. So he might’ve been telling the truth.

“So— sorry, I assumed too quick…” he was embarrassed but now you know how he feels when he’s around you.

You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. “You shouldn’t have hidden your feelings from me like how you hide yourself in different forms,” you smiled genuinely. Loki was frozen in place but reciprocated your comfort by keeping you in his arms. It was better than feeling as he did before assuming others wanted you just as badly as he did.

“How about I make you mine completely?” he tilted your chin up and gave you a smug look as if he was hinting at something else.

“We can take it slow, no need to rush things." you lifted the palm of your hand to touch his cheek. Even though he frowned at your words, he still had you at the end of the day.

Anubis

You were his, and he made sure everyone knew that. As you resided in the Aaru, the heavenly paradise for the Egyptian pantheon. Some of the other Egyptian gods didn’t like messing with the hyper-energetic god of funerals. He was strong and devoted to being your loyal guardian and companion.

He expresses his feelings a lot and doesn’t hide things from you. Something about him made you more drawn to the god. He saw something in you that even you couldn’t see yourself. Were you as perfect as he always tells you?

You didn’t believe it. As some moments passed, you found Bastet and Hathor whispering to each other in the main hall. They stopped and saw you staring at them. Bastet snickered and called you a pet. “I uhm… was looking for lord Ra—" you were interrupted.

“He’s not looking for you nor cares what you want. Tell me what it is and if it’s important I’ll relay the message to him.” Hathor stared down at you as she had her arms crossed. Bastet smirked and you knew in the back of your head that these two never liked you.

“Sorry.. it’s not important.” You lied as it wasn’t any use to talk to them. You needed to tell Ra that Osiris left the Aaru without permission. You went to leave but Bastet spoke up.

“What does my nephew see in you? Is it your pretty eyes? Face? Hair? Hmm… maybe something else? Are you two fu—"

“No—! It’s none of that. I— I don’t know exactly. We’re good friends! That’s all… I think.” You raised your hands up but Bastet wasn’t done interrogating you. Hathor pulled her back and told her there was no reason to start a fight.

Good friends? Bastet heard Anubis call you his consort on numerous occasions. Even Osiris and Set disapprove of his behaviours and obsession with you. Yet you called him a close friend? Or were you embarrassed?

“Here take this and think of it as a small courtesy thing, and go level your head a bit. Sorry about my sister.” Hathor passed you a bottle of red wine, but the worst thing was, that you had never drank before. Only higher authority gods were allowed to. You were just a simple deity of the pantheon. It was no wonder no one approves of you around here.

You walked back to your corridors with a frown on your face. Were the other gods right? You were unworthy of Anubis’s attention? It brought you discomfort for some reason and the fact he says he loves you a lot without thinking made you believe that he knew what the emotion was. Yet you wondered if you feel the same back? Some of the women and maids would try to get his attention but he acts oblivious to their advances.

You decided you wouldn’t drink since it wasn’t your thing. Anubis was lying on the bed in your room. “Why are you in my room?” You put the bottle on one of the stands in the corner. You didn’t expect him to be waiting for you, well it’s not the first time.

“I really really wanted to wait for you. I couldn’t find you so I decided to wait here instead.” He jumped off the bed like an excited animal. You couldn’t help but blush a bit at his excitement.

“Well, I ran into your aunts in the hall and Hathor gifted me this.” You picked up the bottle to show him and he stuck out his tongue in disgust. He was exaggerating. You quickly chuckled. You can tell he hated the taste of alcohol.

“Yuck yuck yuck! I should tell them to not give you this stuff!” He pouted but you sat on the bed and had already decided that you weren’t going to drink— at least not try it in front of him. Anubis looked unhappy and you had walked over to him and asked him if he was upset that they tried to get you drunk. He looked a bit flustered but he wasn’t entirely stupid. Part of the reason was that he doesn’t like others giving things to you. The wine could’ve had poison in it.

“It’s nothing! It’s nothing, let’s just cuddle!” He pulled you down on the mattress and was suffocating you with his arms squeezing around your body.

He soon forgotten why he was mad since you were with him in his arms. His soon-to-be wife for sure.

Note: this is the end of part 3! I saw a request in my box for Valkyries and it intrigued me that if I do a part 4, I’ll probably do side characters and Valkyries but they’ll probably be shorter than normal.

[band--psycho]

Poly!141 x Reader - Stop The Wedding (Part 8)

I hope you all enjoy this part 💛 just to warn you all in advance, this chapter is quite long!

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for all the continued support 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Catch up on the previous part here: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 9 /Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13

Warnings: Feelings of anger, confusion, jealousy, brief mentions of death/being killed/being shot, angst

COD Modern Warfare Masterlist /Taskforce 141 Masterlist /Join My Taglist

You didn’t know what to do. 

You couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard you tried to, your mind just wouldn’t shut off. 

You didn’t know who to believe…you didn’t know who you wanted to believe. 

You should’ve wanted to believe Phillip, you were going to be his wife after all; but if you believed Phillip it meant that he was right about your exes. 

Jealous exes. 

Bitter exes. 

It was a narrative made sense, that they were just twisting the facts to favor themselves, to put themselves in a better light. 

Meaning that they were happy to hurt you all over again. 

But there was something about how Phillip had reacted that caused you to doubt him…

You’d never seen him so defensive, so angry; so avoidant of answering a question. 

He went from not knowing who Johnny and Simon were; to knowing that they were your exes, but he would’ve known them before that. 

He lied to you. 

Did that mean that his version of the situation was a complete lie?

Did they try to kill him in retaliation for what he’d done to them? 

Did they just go round killing his men to get revenge?

Or was the only reason his men were killed was because your exes felt threatened. 

Or did the truth, as it so often did, lie somewhere in the middle of both parties' story. 

But if so why would he leave you here alone if they were so dangerous?

It didn’t make any sense. 

An aggravated groan fell from your lips as you grabbed your phone and typed a number you’d memorised by heart; a number that you thought you were never going to text again. 

"We need to talk; come to the house. No one else, just you" was all you typed out; blunt and concise; somewhat like the very man that the message was going to. 

You weren’t entirely sure why you texted Simon: maybe it’s because you’d already messaged and called Y/f/n and had no reply…and you just needed to talk to someone.

Someone who you knew wouldn’t lie to you. 

You didn’t even know if he was still going to be awake at this hour, though you doubted his sleeping patterns had changed that drastically. 

But you did know that he was there that night. 

That he’d be able to give you a detailed explanation of what had happened that night; a factual one. 

Void of much, if any emotion, unlike Johnny who you could tell was just a bundle of rage and hurt,Simon knew how to shut off his emotions in a way none of the others did. 

You were worried if they were all present again that you’d just get angry as they tried to persuade you out of marrying Phillip. 

That’s not what you needed.

You need to know what happened. 

Once you had Simon's version of events; the full version, not just a snippet like he gave you earlier, then you’d try to talk to Phillip again and get his version. 

And hone that your gut would guide you into knowing who was lying and who was telling the truth. 

~~~~~

Simon wasn’t surprised often, but your text, that had caught him off guard a little.

He was certain that you weren’t going to want to talk to any of them ever again; so when your name flashed on his phone with a text message, e had to blink a few times, to make sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, but it was real. 

He considered waking the others, but it was their first night home and they were all fast asleep. 

Johnny was snoring loudly next to him; he was pretty sure only a bucket of cold water would wake him up from the deep sleep he was in. 

John was lying on his back; one arm wrapped around Kyle who was lying on his chest, light snores leaving both of them. 

So much had been happening over the last few days; he wanted to let them rest. 

Especially seeing as you had specified in your message that you only wanted to talk to him. 

They’d have questions, wonder why they hadn’t been messaged and he had…of course he had suspicions as to why that was, but it wouldn’t be fair on them to tell them something he wasn’t sure was true. 

He could tell them everything when he came back. 

He wondered if Graves was there; if this was all a setup but that thought soon fell from his thoughts, this was his personal number. 

Not just anyone had it.

Only the people he cared about. 

And Graves certainly wasn’t one of those people; so unless he’d got it out of you somehow, Simon was certain the person that had messaged him, was you. 

He quickly got dressed, throwing on the black t-shirt and black jeans that he’d bunched up and thrown on the chair near the bed; and made his way out of the house. 

~~~~~

You saw the headlights of a car shining through the curtains in your living room; an unwelcome wave of anxiety washing over you as you rose to your feet. 

You were going to be alone with Simon in your house….it was only now that the thought dawned on you of how bad this would look if Phillip came home. 

‘What are you doing?’ You questioned yourself; like there was another person inside your head who was going to give you an answer. 

You could just not answer the door. 

Send Simon a message saying that you’ve changed your mind.

You could just believe your fiance. 

A knock at the door pulled you from the thoughts racing through your head and before your mind had even fully caught up with your actions, you were opening the door, letting Simon in. 

“Do you..uh want a tea?” You offered; trying to act like this situation was normal, in an attempt to try and ease your own anxiety. 

Simon raised an eyebrow, from where he stood in the hallway, “Depends? You gonna give me that berry infused shit again?”

You couldn’t help but snort at his words, “No,”

“Then yes,”

A few quiet moments passed as you both made your way into the kitchen and you made a tea for him, exactly how you remembered him liking it and a coffee for you

“Here you go,” you said, handing over the cup to Simon, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you did so. 

You remembered the quiet mornings or extremely late evenings you two would share when he came back from a mission. 

“Thanks,” he replied, the two of you falling back into a familiar and comfortable silence. 

Both of you trying to work out what to say.

“What did he say? Simon asked, breaking the silence.

“That you’re twisting the story,” you began, looking down at your tea, avoiding his gaze, “Said that things only started going bad after you and Johnny got hostile, that you killed his men….that you tried to kill him.”

Too many images of people you loved lying dead on the ground filled your mind. 

Phillip. 

Johnny…

Simon…..

“Is it true?”

“We did kill his men and we did try to kill him, yeah, and we’d do it again,” Simon confirmed, honestly, taking a sip of his tea before placing it down on the counter next to him, “But we only started getting hostile after he betrayed us and detained people we were working with from another team.”

“He had his orders,” you repeated John's words from earlier, your eyes meeting his. 

Phillip was a soldier, he followed orders, that’s his job.

A scoff fell from Simon’s lips, “From another man who betrayed us,”

You wanted to ask him what he meant; find out what other man had betrayed them. 

But you knew that there were some things that Simon couldn’t talk about, that none of them could talk about and you knew that based on the look in his eyes, that he could say no more than that. 

“Do you believe him?”

His question making the ring on your finger feel heavier than it did earlier, you set your tea down on the counter next to you.

“I should,” you whispered, fiddling with the ring on your finger, “I shouldn’t even be having this conversation with you.”

“Why are you?” Simon questioned, genuinely curious about why you were here; unable to stop his heart from feeling a flicker of hope. 

Hope that you weren’t going to go through with the wedding. 

Hope that somehow, someway, you could come back to them….

He could see how conflicted you were, could see it in your eyes and the dark circles that were under them. 

But he could also see it in your demeanour, nervous, worried, confused, like your mind was trying to process a million and one things at once.

“There are just certain things that are making me doubt him…” your started, with a sigh, leaning back against the kitchen counter “he knew you were my exes, but I’d never told him about our relationship, he said Y/f/n told him…which I can’t really imagine.” 

You took a deep breath before continuing, “He also couldn’t give me a straight answer about what happened,”

“Does that not answer your question?”

“No,” you answered quickly, because as much as you had your doubts, his whole story wasn’t a lie, Simon and Johnny did kill Phillips' men, and they did try to kill him too.

That was a truth that Simon had already confirmed. 

A truth that you couldn’t help but feel was purposefully left out of their original explanation of what happened in Mexico.

You love Phillip; you had to at least give him some benefit of the doubt. 

“I love him, Si, I can’t just turn that off.”

Part of you wished that you could. 

That you could just close your eyes, snap your fingers and shut off your feelings. 

Your feelings for Phillip and the feelings that were still lingering in your heart for not only the man in front of you, but for all of the others too. 

“We wouldn’t lie to you, love, not after everything we put you through,” Simon answered softly; and you were unable to call him out on the nickname he used for you, just like you had been earlier in the evening when he said it. 

You don’t know why you didn’t tell him to not call you that, when you were so quick to correct John when he called you sweetheart. 

Maybe it was simply because John was the one who broke up with you; his words, his voice, that replayed in your mind the days, weeks, months after the breakup. 

Whereas Simon; Simon just stood there, like Johnny, like Kyle not saying a single word, just watching. 

“So I should just blindly believe you guys over him?” Your reply to his words was harsher than you wanted; but your mind and heart were just at a loss of who to believe. 

And as much as you doubted Phillip; the man in front of you, as well as your other exes, had more of a reason to lie to you.

“Why should I believe the people that broke up with me without a single tangible reason over the man that loves me?”

The sting of your breakup was raw in your voice as you looked at Simon; he pushed away from the counter he'd been leaning against and walked directly to you. 

“We love you,”

His words cut through your heart like a knife, winding you in a way you didn’t expect. 

In a way you remembered dreaming about hearing days after John ended things with you; in a way that made your heart ache now.

“You don’t get to do that, Si,”your words weren’t angry now, just sad, hurt.

“You wanted the truth didn’t you, that’s why I’m here, to give you the truth you want,”  

So you dared to ask a question that had plagued your mind for so long, hoping that Simon would continue to tell the truth. 

“Why did John end things?”

Simon was silent for a few moments, a few moments that felt like an eternity before finally saying, “He was worried people were gonna try to use you to hurt us.”

He was closer to you now, closer than he was upon his previous visit.

“What?” The disbelief was clear in your voice; his words not giving you the closure you sought, but simply adding to an already overwhelming confusion growing in your mind, “What people?”

“I can’t tell you anything else…” his voice was low as he raised his hand to your face, his hand hovering just inches away from your cheek as he waited for you to move. 

But you didn’t. 

Couldn’t. 

Your mind was too busy processing his confession. 

“But we never stopped lovin’ you, Y/n, not for a single second,” he continued, allowing his hand to touch your cheek delicately, as though you were of glass and he was scared you might break, “Leaving you was one of the hardest things we’ve been through, which, considering what we do for a livin’ is pretty a fucked up thing to say, but it’s the truth,”

You were in complete shock. 

His words. 

His confessions. 

His touch; a feeling that until now, you had no idea you’d even missed.

“Si-” 

You realised how close he was to you now; closer than you should’ve let him be. 

Simon knew he was close to crossing a line he shouldn’t; a line that he couldn’t come back from. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss you, he did, badly. 

But he couldn’t do that to Johnny, John or Kyle, and he couldn’t do that to you. 

He knew you were already confused on what to believe, but now you had the truth. 

Well, as much truth as he could give you. 

You knew the most important truth, that they still loved you. 

You needed time. 

Time to process everything. 

“I should go,” he said softly, but he didn’t move an inch. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, your eyes gazing up his his, unable to not notice how quick your heart was racing inside your chest, “you should,”

He nodded at your words, turning around and grabbing his cup from the counter.

He quickly drank his tea and walked back over to you, placing his empty cup in the sink behind you.

“Thanks for the tea, love,” he breathed, placing a featherlight kiss on your cheek as he leaned past you, “We’ll be home for a few days, if you need us,”

That was all he said before he walked out of the kitchen and left your house.

You raised your hand, your fingers ghosting over your cheek where Simon’s lips had been moments before. 

He’d kissed your cheek. 

And you’d let him. 

You’d just let your ex kiss you on the cheek…

Simon’s confession shouldn’t have changed anything. 

Shouldn’t have changed how you felt. 

You love Phillip.  

But now, knowing that all this time that they’d done what they did to protect you….how could it not change things in some capacity. 

How could it not make you question things? 

They’d never stopped loving you. 

Simon’s admission made you question things about yourself.

Like if you really had ever stopped loving those men; or if you’d simply closed your heart and persuaded yourself out of loving them because you believed they no longer loved you. 

~~~~~~

Phillip hadn’t gone far; he was parked just down the road from the house; and it was a good thing too, otherwise he would’ve been noticed by the late night visitor you had. 

Simon Riley. 

Simon's visit confirmed what he was afraid of; that he was losing you. 

Maybe if the 141 knew the danger they were putting you in they would leave you alone; just like they were meant to. 

That’s what he’d been told when he took this mission...

All he had to do was marry you to hurt the 141 in a way that didn’t involve anyone getting physically hurt. 

But now they were poisoning you against; making you confront him about things you didn’t need to know the truth about. 

He saw the doubt growing in your eyes when he spoke to you.

Lying about Y/f/n telling him about your exes bought him some time; he thought you might believe that they could do that, knowing how much they hated your exes.

But given Simons visit, that plan clearly hadn’t worked. 

Meaning that he had to start thinking about what happened if you called off this wedding. 

What he had to do to you if you called off this wedding. 

That was a thought he hadn’t thought of in a while; there’d been no need to, up until a few days ago you were blissfully unaware of his connection to your exes, you were simply excited about planning the wedding. 

Phillip noticed his phone flash with a call from an unknown number; unknown to his phone, but he knew who was calling him.

It was the same person he’d messaged the moment he’d left the house after the argument you and he had had. 

“What’s happening, Graves?” An all too familiar voice questioned through the phone. 

“They found out, they’re trying to turn her against me,” he summarised simply; watching as Simon’s car pulled away from the house he shared with you. 

“Is it working?”

“Yes,” Phillip answered; knowing what his answer meant; but he couldn’t lie; it would only make things worse if he lied. 

“If this wedding doesn’t happen, you know what happens to her,” it wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

“Yes,” Phillip repeated; though his voice was much quieter this time. 

He knew what he’d agreed to when he took this mission on. 

He thought that he’d be able to keep his feelings under control, but he couldn’t. 

He fell for you. 

He'd come to terms with that; knowing that the 141 would probably be too worried about your safety to come anywhere near you again. 

But that hope was now gone. 

You’d seen them; multiple times.

He knew that they were intent on stopping this wedding; whether they crashed it and stopped it themselves or persuaded you to call it off. 

The problem was, when he agreed to this mission, to marry you to hurt the 141; there was an additional clause. 

A clause that if you called off the wedding for whatever reason, he had to find another way to use you to hurt the 141. 

He had to kill you. 

But not before making you suffer; until the point that you were begging for the pain to end. 

“Are you still prepared to do what needs to be done, if that situation arises?”

He wanted to say no. 

But that wasn’t an answer he could give. 

He agreed to this. 

Regardless of his own feelings towards you; you were his mission first. 

“Yes,” Phillip answered again, before the call ended. 

He didn’t want that scenario to happen. 

Taglist:

@mermaniaa @sunrise-willarive @imdeadontheinside786 @asterionex @pinkyyoshi @yaradigital @euriiverse @eternallyvenus @littlejoyfulthings @s-void @rivwritesiguess @lilyalone @salemlovespies @amongthe141 @z-wantstowrite @sleepybarnesbby @maryrhodalouandted @uraeus56 @skipping-throughlife @backalleytimetravel @fruitymoonbeams-blog @alejandro-vargass-wife @moon-on-the-crest @dasphinxone @iaozuyiling @magicwriterinspo @lilylovesliterature @tabbslouuformer @disasterofastory @famouspoetrydinosaur @yearninglustfully @therapyneeds @beautifuleaglealpaca @mischievousprincess01 @rite-te-suli-kireysi-ite @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @ontopofthefridge @rosecastiello @bookworm1767 @harrys-ravioli @hypertail @hahaifolded

[loveafterdeath-if]

Yeah, similarly to what another anon said, I was kinda hoping for this to be a story about moving on after losing a lived one, specifically your partner, which I thought was a beautiful and heartbreaking concept, and while we did get that in the first few chapters, it feels like this plot twist kind of defeats the whole point.

Though, unlike the other anon, I personally will probably continue reading because I think you are an amazing writer and because I love Ekissa. The only thing that makes me not sure about continuing is that the situation is a bit awkward, makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, so I was wondering about how you were going to manage it? Because MCs moving on process obviously gets cut short, but for those of us who are gonna romance someone else, we still need to finish that process, and one important thing when moving on from an ex is time apart, especially for one you were grieving not so long ago. Otherwise old feelings, nostalgia and a lot of other emotions get mixed up and that would probably lead to confusion. (Sorry, for the long paragraph, just a bit worried about how this is gonna continue)

It's heavy spoiler territory, but I'll have to address this for anon. And it'll be a long-ass response, so be prepared,

You are right about one thing, the whole plot falls apart if El is alive, doesn't it? And like someone said in the LAD discord "why love after death then". They didn't phrase it exactly like that, but you know what I mean. The plot does start with El, but it won't end with them. Idk how to explain without giving away too much, lol

There are clues that El isn't really dead in the first chapters. The flowers MC receives, and now players know El was the one offering them. The doc and Athiel never talk about death when discussing El. MC doesn't have the right to go to the funeral or even see El's body. Even L being called by Juliet at the beginning will have its importance. They're small details, nothing too obvious, but they're here.

I'll be honest, sometimes when writing Athiel talking with MC, I struggled to remember El wasn't dead because I tried to make it look and feel like El was dead, so I drowned a bit in that department.

The characters might seem like a lot, but each has their own purpose, big or small. Some are a breath of fresh air for MC since they're not caught up in all the drama and can be objective. Others are here because they'll play an important role later. Then there are those who serve as reminders of the past with El (like the neighbors). And some are just like those background characters in anime; you don't even see their features because they're just there to serve a small purpose and keep the intrigue going. They come and go.

Sorry, I'm talking too much. So how I'll manage it, is by—and it's where it's gonna get tricky—make MC aware of it as soon as possible. There will be a reunion between MC and El. The tricky part is showing that El won't remember MC, no matter how much/if the MC tries to jog their memory.

The past El is dead; the memories won't come back, and if any fragments do resurface, El won't feel the love they once had. It's more like a ghost of memories; their body remember, but it's more mechanical than actual feelings. Like an old habit that won't go.

MC will have to grieve the old El anyway, even with them actually alive.

In El's route, it'll be all about falling in love again, getting them out of this toxic relationship with their mother, helping them learn to love themself again, and living with someone who is El but not the El you used to know. They have trauma, the confidence they once had is gone, they're insecure and they're more reserved than before.

Juliet is like, the first villain before introducing the final boss. What I wanted to do was weave two kinda plots in the same book because I didn't want to make two separate books. Love After Death is Love After Death for a reason. The plan is to make the players realize that El wasn't the focus of this book in the first place.

I hope there won't have any inconsistencies in this story, but if you find any plot holes, you're free to let me know, and I'll do my best to improve. It's only with advice and constructive critique that I can do so. I'm sure there are blind spots I won't see right away; I'm only human😭

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 12 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Jinwoo stood outside the quaint greenhouse-like shop, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight before him. To anyone else, it appeared like an ordinary, if charming, flower shop nestled quietly in an inconspicuous part of the city. But he knew better. He knew that behind this innocent façade lay the entrance to your domain—one that he could only enter with your permission.

The last time he had brought up wanting to visit you on his own terms, you had told him bluntly: to access your domain, an outsider needed explicit permission each time from its master. For someone like him, who had grown accustomed to breaking into the dens of monsters and overcoming barriers, the thought of requiring an invitation had been oddly humbling. Yet, here he was, his hand reaching out to push open the glass door.

The moment his fingers touched the handle, the world around him seemed to ripple. The shop’s interior wavered like a mirage, Colors blurred together, softening at the edges, until he found himself no longer within the confines of the quaint flower shop but in the secluded tranquility of your garden.

The air was fresher, filled with the scent of flowers and damp earth, the sunlight softer than that of the real world. It really was a realm where time flowed differently.

He looked around, noting the serene clearing he now stood in. This wasn’t the formal entrance hall where he’d arrived before, flanked by towering columns and the majestic temple gate. No, this place was different—peaceful, secluded, as if it had been carefully hidden away within the vast expanse of your domain.

Only the floating fortress high above reminded him that he was indeed in the right place. He talked with you there before, in the gazebo surrounded by colorful structured blooms and ponds. Now that he viewed the grand fortress from below, its imposing structure casted shadows across the garden’s expanse like a protective embrace.

As he scanned the area, Jinwoo’s eyes fell on you a few paces away Butterflies danced around your figure as always, their luminescent wings like sparks against the backdrop of green foliage. You stood with your back to him, holding a bouquet of familiar red blooms— the vibrant scarlet of spider lilies unmistakable even from where he stood.

For a moment, Jinwoo froze, his mind flashing back to the vision he had been trying so hard to bury since before his descent into the Demon Castle. That vivid memory—you had held the exact same bouquet as this one. The warmth he had felt in that dream now surged back into his chest, leaving him almost breathless. But unlike the first time, he managed to suppress it quickly, clamping down on the surge of emotions before they could overwhelm him.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was witnessing something sacred. The air seemed to grow still, the butterflies lowering their flight as if in reverence. You knelt on the ground, your head bowed, the red blooms trembling in your grasp. Even the breeze seemed to hush in respect.

Jinwoo’s instincts screamed at him to remain silent. Whatever you were doing, it was not something he had any right to interrupt. He stood rooted to the spot, listening to the rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds that filled the garden’s serene ambiance, observing as a soft breeze rustled through the garden, lifting strands of your hair as if to underscore the quiet stillness.

Eventually, you rose, whispering something under your breath, the words too soft to carry to him, before turning to face him directly. Meeting his gaze with an unreadable expression, there was no surprise in your eyes, no shock at his sudden presence. The bouquet had vanished.

You walked toward him with the same calm, measured steps that seemed to define you. Jinwoo watched as you approached, your face betraying nothing. Deliberate or not, your form continued to obscure whatever had held your attention moments before. But as you brushed past him, gesturing for him to follow, he couldn't help himself—he turned his head to glance at where you had knelt.

There, nestled amidst the grass, stood a grave. The red flowers swayed in the wind like silent sentinels guarding a memory Jinwoo couldn’t fathom as he fell into steps behind you.

---

Back in the shop, he took a seat at one of the white, ornate garden chairs set up near a small round table, laden with a small assortment of snacks, pastries, and dried fruits. The sunlight streaming through the glass walls bathed the interior in a soft glow, illuminating the various blooms that lined the shelves. He knew it was all carefully cultivated, each element deliberate and intentional.

You were moving around the shop, adjusting the displays, tidying leaves and stems. “Will it be coffee as usual?” You asked, not turning around, though Jinwoo knew you could see him through the butterflies fluttering around the shop. They perched on pots and stems, their attention on him as much as on you. You continued tending to a nearby orchid with a practiced grace.

He gave a slight nod, and without missing a beat, you snapped your fingers. A dainty china set floated in from the back room. A coffee mug settling near him, while a matching teacup came to rest on the opposite side of the table. Hovering between, the teapot tilted on its own, pouring him a rich, dark brew before switching to fill the teacup with a lighter, fragrant blend.

Only once the teapot had finished its task did you finally joined him, your movements smooth and unhurried, sitting across the table with your own cup in hand. The delicate clink of porcelain as you took a sip seemed to signal the start of the conversation.

"I got my rank reevaluated today," Jinwoo began, breaking the silence.

"And?" You raised an eyebrow, your expression as inscrutable as ever.

Jinwoo filled you in on his meeting with Go Gunhee, and the offer the chairman had extended to him—one that he had declined. Jinwoo also mentioned his plans to join the Hunter Guild’s dungeon raid as part of the mining team to maintain his low profile.

Your expression was contemplative as you listened, taking small sips of your tea. As the original story went, Jinwoo wanted to see what an A-rank dungeon was like.

When he finished, he leaned back, studying your reaction.

“So,” he ventured, glancing around the verdant walls of your shop, “what rank would your garden be?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “I can’t say for certain. The system only gave me a brief description when I first claimed it, but I suppose it’s at least an S-rank.”

“Why not have your rank reevaluated, then?” he pressed.

There was a subtle shift in your expression.

"You have your reasons," you replied simply, "and I have mine."

And he could sense that this was as much as you would share with him for now.

Jinwoo’s reasons stemmed from a desire to level up, to get stronger through battles and continuous improvement. For you, though, reevaluation would serve no purpose—your goals, your motivations, lay elsewhere.

You kept your rank low not only to remain unremarkable but also to avoid deviating from the original plot. Fame and scrutiny were the last things you wanted, especially with the system’s influence ever present in your life. You would be harder to find, able to move without attracting attention. Plus, you can no longer level up, so as far as you know, your growth rate now was the same as any other normal hunter, so little change that it might as well be stagnant.

The conversation shifted into a more casual rhythm after that, with Jinwoo watching his shadows wander through your shop, their curiosity almost childlike as they inspected the blooms. The sight was oddly endearing—the way they reached out to touch petals with surprising gentleness, as though afraid they might crush the delicate flowers. Your butterflies mingled, guiding them among the plants.

They seemed at ease, and for a moment, so did he in this quiet corner of your world.

---

As the day wore on, the sky outside turned into a brilliant gradient of gold, red, and purple. You escorted Jinwoo to the shop’s entrance. Just as he reached for the handle—

“Wait,” Cupping your hands together, magic swirled between your fingers. In moments, a bouquet materialized—sunflowers, daisies, and lavender, their colors vivid yet easy on the eyes.

“Here,” You extended the flowers to him. “For your mother.”

Jinwoo stared at the bouquet, a mix of emotions flickering across his face. When he didn’t immediately take it, you tightened your grip, determined not to let your nerves show.

“I know you still don’t fully trust me,” you began softly, letting a touch of understanding creep into your voice. “And I know you’re aware that I’ve been keeping an eye on you.” Your butterflies floated into his line of sight, hovering near your shoulder as if in silent affirmation. “But know this—I respect your privacy more than you realize.”

Jinwoo remained silent, eyes flickering with something you didn’t really recognize.

“These flowers are enchanted to absorb harmful mana.” You explained. “I’ll call back the butterfly stationed with Mrs. Sung. As that child of mine has been stabilizing her condition, these flowers will suffice in their place.” When he still didn’t move to take the bouquet, you nudged it toward him again. “I’ll still check on her occasionally, but only as needed.”

For a moment, you thought he might reject the gift altogether, but just as your hands began to falter, he reached out and took the bouquet. You noticed the slight flinch when his fingers briefly brushed against yours, though his expression remained steady.

“I’ll trust you,” Jinwoo said at last, his voice low. “At least on this matter.” He glanced down at the bouquet before letting a faint smirk lift the corner of his mouth. “If you truly meant harm, you wouldn’t have gone out of your way to help us as you did.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and though you kept your face neutral, a small, genuine smile slipped through. “Then I’m glad I managed to convey that.”

Jinwoo took one last look around before stepping out.

“Thank you.” The words were spoken quietly, but they lingered in the air even after he disappeared into the evening. The glass door closed behind him with a final chime, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

This upcoming A-rank dungeon would be the first time he would encounter her—the one destined to become the light in his life.

A bittersweet feeling welled up within you, but before you could dwell on it too much, the bells rang again. You looked up to see a familiar head of blond hair peek through. Warm gray eyes lighting up as they found you, a radiant smile bloomed on the young woman’s face.

“(Name)!”

You returned the smile with a small one of your own as you greeted her. For a fleeting moment, your thoughts returned to Jinwoo and the future. But for now, you pushed them aside, focusing instead on the bright presence before you.

---

Jinwoo still wasn’t sure if putting his faith in you was the right decision.

He lay sprawled on his bed, the dim evening light casting long shadows across the walls of his room. He stared blankly at the ceiling, replaying the events of the day over and over in his mind.

The bouquet you had given him for his mother rested in a vase beside her hospital bed, the sunflowers, daisies, and lavender softly illuminated by the fading sunset through the hospital window. Jinwoo had stayed there a while after leaving you, watching his mother’s peaceful, sleeping form while the scent of the flowers filled the room.

The moment Jinwoo stepped into the room, the flowers’ scent seemed to amplify—not enough to cause discomfort, but definitely more pronounced than the previous subtle fragrance—and his mother’s complexion seemed to relax as well.

So, instead of the usual glow, you settled for more natural scent, and for the enchantment to be activated, it needed to be near its intended target—was that how you make it? It was so like you after all, to blend in and to take precaution of every possibility you could think of in that head of yours. To avoid falling into the wrong hands, for example, was just one out of many.

Now, with his body back home but his thoughts far away, he couldn’t shake the sense of disquiet that lingered in the back of his mind.

Trust. It was such a simple word, yet for him, it carried the weight of the world. Could he really trust you?

You were the first to extend trust between the two of you, back in that dungeon—a place where trust could so easily become a knife in the back. And yet, there you were, you had turned to him with those steady eyes, yet there was an openness that unnerved him. You extended not just your hand, but a fatal piece of yourself, to him.

That moment, he couldn’t help but wonder: were you reckless? No, he knew better. You were meticulous, thoughtful. Jinwoo had watched you from the corner of his eye in battle after battle, always noting how you seemed to be five steps ahead, anticipating threats and countering them effortlessly. Then, were you a fool? No, he knew that wasn’t it either. You were calculating, careful in every word and movement.

But then why, despite all that caution, why would you dare to show him your vulnerabilities? To expose your powers’ weakness on a silver platter unasked, practically inviting him to take advantage of it, if he were even the slightest bit more cruel?

Jinwoo was certain he didn’t know you. But you know him, maybe even deeper than he knew himself. Was that why?

He would’ve found it more believable if the system forced you into helping him. But it was made clear to him, multiple times, that it wasn’t like so. In fact, Jinwoo was almost positive that you couldn’t accompany him on certain raids because the system forbade you. And yet, you still found ways to assist him then.

Standing amidst the crumbling remnants of the stone golem, Jinwoo hadn’t known what to say. Back then, he chose the easiest, cowardly response—to stay silent. And it left the most bitter taste in his mouth.

His mind drifted further back, to when he was nothing but a pitiful E-rank Hunter struggling just to keep his head above water. You had been his lifeline, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

At first, he’d been suspicious—who wouldn’t be? Free meals delivered to his doorstep when he came home to Jinah’s worried face, mysterious donations that kept his mother’s hospital bills paid up to date when he was barely scraping by. The mysterious gifts that had arrived just when he needed them—medicines for his wounds, mana crystals and essence stones that he could still sell for decent cash, and the likes.

He had never seen you then, had only felt the faintest hint of a presence, like a shadow slipping away whenever he turned to catch it.

Those days had been hell. Waking up after collapsing in some remote corner of a godforsaken dungeon, healed but drained, with no one around. The bruises and cuts were always just nearly healed, and his exhaustion remained—a reminder that he had survived another day, but only barely. Living another day for his family had always been a relief, but there had always been the haunting possibility that the next close call might not have such a reprieve.

He hated it. Hated how he needed those mysterious interventions just to keep going. Hated the helplessness that came with relying on someone he couldn’t even see, let alone repay.

Yet at the same time… he had clung to that help like a drowning man grasping at a lifeline. those half-healed wounds and last-minute rescues—there must be a catch, there was always a price to pay, nothing in this world came for free—he just hadn’t known when it would come due.

But what choice had he had? He had been desperate. And in that desperation, he’d entertained the belief that perhaps, somewhere in the world, someone truly cared, selflessly, in a way that was almost painfully idealistic, for the hellish reality of the world that had beaten him down for his rank and lack of prospects.

After gaining the system, though, his outlook shifted as quickly as his strength grew. The mysterious aid in his mother’s hospital bills continued to arrive in his absence, and when he was caught up in instant dungeons, Jinah often remarked on the meals that still showed up during his long periods away. The quiet assistance seemed to have no end, no apparent agenda, and while it never fully left his thoughts, it had faded to the background of his life.

When he no longer needed to rely on invisible help to survive, it was at that moment that the heals disappeared. Jinwoo had chalked it up then that it was because he was often in dungeons managed by the system, where no ordinary hunter or person could get in. Could you believe he was foolish enough to believe that? That his mysterious benefactor was normal in any way?

When he’d finally agreed to Jinho’s deal, and as he grew wealthier through his own efforts, the donations, gifts, and meals followed the same pattern, and he was once again left without a single clue to its source.

There had been a strange feeling at the time, one he hadn’t wanted to admit to himself. Abandoned? No, the word felt too raw, too vulnerable. Yet, somewhere beneath his rising success, the newfound self-reliance, there was a sliver of emptiness he couldn’t quite ignore.

Something else had changed. The system itself had started acting strangely. Messages would pop up on his interface, unbidden and unsanctioned by the typical quest or informative-game-like format.

["Don't rely solely on brute force. Sometimes, retreat is necessary for a better strategy."] ["Focus on the core of the mana flow. It's not about quantity but control."]

Words of advice, encouragement, and strange observations—those cryptic phrases were always enclosed in quotation marks. And they were always signed, ‘by Trial Player [][][][].”

The blocked name, abrupt nature of the messages, it felt as if the system was glitching, borrowing someone else’s thoughts and slipping them into his notifications.

And this started happening right after all the mysterious aid ceased?

Jinwoo knew better than to believe in coincidences.

When he had finally met you in person, there was a strange déjà vu he couldn't shake. Tt was like piecing together the final fragments of a puzzle he hadn’t known he was solving, and also opening a new puzzle box altogether. Your presence was familiar, the system’s peculiar greeting had been a dead giveaway. And from that moment, Jinwoo zeroed in on you, observing your every move, waiting for you to slip up and reveal your true intentions.

Yet, if there was a hidden agenda behind your actions, it was buried deep beneath layers of genuine care. Whether it was out of obligation or something else entirely, Jinwoo had the sneaking suspicion that you would stay by his side, just as you had done when he was at his weakest, whether he wanted you to or not.

Now, sitting in the stillness of his room, Jinwoo pulled up his inventory and scrolled to the bottom, where a simple, broken set of daggers lay nestled among his spoils of war. He summoned them into his hands, the cold metal resting heavily against his skin. They were worn, chipped, and the blade edges dulled to uselessness, but they held an unmistakable sense of familiarity.

These daggers had been indispensable to him in his early days, in part because of their quality, durable beyond anything he could afford at the time, but also because the grip had fit so naturally in his hands, as if they had been forged with him in mind. And he now knew they were your creation.

Indeed, they had served him well until they finally gave out during one raid with Jinho—more from overuse than any fault in their craftsmanship. Jinwoo couldn’t bring himself to throw them away

The “Ordinary Daggers” the system had given no special description when he had saved them in his inventory for the first time.

He ran his thumb over the broken hilt, tracing the tiny, delicate butterfly engraving hidden along its base. A small detail he had noticed early on, but not knowing of its meaning until after meeting you. They were a symbol of your aid when he had nothing to offer in return.

But you had never once asked for repayment. Aside from confirming his suspicions the first time you meet, where Jinwoo basically cornered you to answer, you never brought it up after, never tried to use them as leverage against him. It made him wonder if he was the one overthinking things. Maybe, just maybe, your kindness wasn’t some elaborate trap.

The room was dimly lit, the only sound the faint hum of the city outside his window. As he sat there, the weight of the daggers in his hand was oddly comforting.

Jinwoo frowned. Trust was still a murky territory between the two of you, a minefield he wasn’t eager to tread, but one thing was clear: he was no longer the weak E-rank who had to take whatever scraps he could get. He was stronger now, strong enough to protect what was dear to him and pay back his debts, even if the other party didn’t expect it.

What could he possibly do to repay you though? Protecting you during their raids hardly felt like compensation. After all, he had been the one who insisted that you accompany him, and you had proven time and time again that you were more than capable of holding your own. In fact, more often than not, it was you who had subtly safeguarded him, providing support when he least expected it.

The spoils you collected from the raids might have been a form of compensation, but even then, it didn’t feel like enough—not to him. It felt unfair when he knew you only took what he didn’t need. Hell, you even asked for his permission. Every. Single. Damm. Time. The fact that you didn’t gain exp made it even worse.

Buying you something expensive would feel insincere. Jewelry? Clothes? Those options didn’t fit you and you weren’t the type to flaunt such things, even if you always dressed with a quiet elegance. You were far too practical for those trinkets, and besides, your craftsmanship far exceeded anything money could buy.

The thought of giving you flowers briefly crossed his mind, but he dismissed it just as quickly, scoffing. What use would a florist have for more flowers? Especially one who tended to an entire magical garden filled with blooms far beyond what Earth could offer.

But there was one thing he could offer, simple yet, something that might carry more meaning than any gift. The meals you had sent to him and Jinah, the home-cooked dishes that had warmed not just their stomachs but their hearts. You had cooked for him, even when he was a stranger. Maybe now it was his turn.

He had learned to cook well enough, decent, at least. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good plan.

Jinwoo slipped the broken daggers back into his inventory, as a slow, determined smile spread across his lips, his heart beat just a bit faster at the thought.

A meal prepared with his own hands. Not out of obligation, but as a gesture of gratitude. It would be something small, with a personal touch—something that couldn’t be bought or forced. It would be his way of saying thank you for all the times you had been there, even when he had never asked.

Now all he needed was the right moment to invite you. He couldn’t just casually bring it up during a raid; that would be absurd. No, it had to be… thoughtful.

Yes, that was it. Dinner, at his place.

A quiet evening where he could actually get to know you, the you outside the chaos of battle at least. And maybe, just maybe, over a shared meal, he could start to understand you better. The person who had saved him time and time again, yet expected nothing in return. And who knows? Perhaps, in the warmth of a shared meal, he would finally learn to trust you.

Because as much as he hated to admit it, he wanted to. More than anything.

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [10/11/2024] -

What do you guys think of Jinwoo's p.o.v. in this chapter?

Does the development feel too rushed? Abrupt? Too OOC, maybe? Or is it just right? Maybe needs some more details in the current, previous, and or future chapters' drafts? Any constructive feedbacks are always appreciated :)

Happy reading, Everyone! <3

[woniehugs]

OPERATION: FUCK SIM JAEYUN.

CHAPTER 1

—✧ summary: as a student, you were a huge academic overachiever, always wanting to excel in class and get the highest grades. as a teenage girl, you wanted to get some hardcore action. academics were stressful, and you needed an outlet for that stress. besides, it’s your second to the last year in high school. what could possible go wrong if you deviated and have a little fun? you’ve had your eyes on one guy for a while now, sim jaeyun. the handsome guy, the star soccer player, good at physics. now, you had another goal aside from finishing the school year as the top student: fuck sim jaeyun. one day, you get partnered together for a project, and one thing led to another, you end up in his bed. this might just turn your life for the better… or the worst.

—✧ pairing: jake sim x fem! reader

—✧ genre: highschool! au, fluff, pining (mutual? you’ll see), friends with benefits, casual relationship, smut (in later parts)

—✧ word count: 4.4k

—✧ taglist: @youreverydayzebra @witheeseung @w3bqrl , @freakywonbin, @enhafika, @enhacolor, @woniebuns, @cyberstephzz, @sumzysworld, @woniefull, @aanniikkaa, @faithnsstuff, @wonnienyang, @wonlluvie, @slut4hee, @hwaluvrsblog, @jakeswifez, @dreamiestay, @jiryunie, @nikibleist, @friurt, @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate, @jakesimfromstatefarm, @my10monthslovesimjae, @heefever, @milanco, @khaisdrz . send an ask if you want to be added!

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

the clock seemed to tick so slowly, and all you wanted to do was rip your head off out of boredom. mrs. smith had been droning on and on about physics for half an hour now. you had been listening of course, but only for the first 30 minutes before your mind drifted away.

midterms were coming up. you couldn’t wait to get it over with, looking forward to the week-long break ahead. you were exhausted, or no, that didn’t seem like the right word. you just didn’t feel like following your usual routine anymore.

wake up. go to school. listen to discussions. write notes. study. go home. study again. finish writing notes. review them. sleep. and the cycle repeats.

life had always been like that for you for as long as you could remember, maybe even since you were born.

now, you were burned out. or maybe just bored. yep, that seemed like the right word for it. just straight-ass bored. you wanted to deviate from your daily routine. anything to keep your mind off of everything, especially academics.

you knew you were doing well. you barely had to worry. you were more-so worried about your nonexistent sex life. for the past few months, you’d been really craving for some action. not out of peer pressure of course. you weren’t so sure if it just had something to do with realizations of a teenage girl or if someone just accidentally poured a dose of viagra in your drink when you first went to a club all by yourself. tons of overthinking happening there. that was months ago, so there was no way the drug could’ve lasted that long.

you’re not so sure who you are anymore, to be honest.

nonetheless, the truth is that you were a horny teenage girl who craved some action. no one in your school could have ever guessed that since you’re the goodie two shoes who’s almost always the top of her class and puts on extra work to earn extra credits from teachers. that excited you in some way. no one else knew about that fact but you.

at last, the bell rang. mrs. smith ended the discussion right on time (you weren’t listening anymore. did she say anything about laws of conservation of energy?). standing up from your chair, you quickly packed your things and left the classroom, on your way to the the soccer field. your safe haven, you’d like to call it.

why there? well, because the cafeteria was too crowded for your liking. you were claustrophobic (you just hated everyone). you loved being alone anyway, and you’ve always went there to eat lunch because it was peaceful and windy outside, unlike the cramped canteen that smelled of sweat and food so disgusting you would not dare put in your mouth again.

passing by some of your favorite teachers, you greeted them with a smile on your face.

you never liked being known as the ‘teacher’s pet’, because it made you seem like you were only close with the teachers for extra credit, when in reality, you really were just a friendly person. people just liked to talk and all. at this point in your life, you really just didn’t care anymore and let them say whatever they wanted to say. as long as they aren’t going anywhere near you, you’re sure you’ll survive this school year (like previously) just fine.

once you arrived outside, you sat yourself on one of the bleachers, the middle part to be more precise. you quietly ate your lunch, looking out on the field. the only sound audible was the clanking sound of your utensils. it was mostly empty, except…

a familiar figure caught your eye in the middle of the field.

munching on your food, you squint your eyes to try to make out who it was. a part of you was a 100% sure it was one of the school’s soccer players since he wore a jersey with a number and his last name on it.

05 sim

oh. you knew exactly who that guy was.

sim jaeyun. everyone in school calls him jake. right, everyone knows him. you’d be surprised if there was someone who doesn’t unless they were a transferee. jake was one of the few guys high school girls disgustingly swooned over. apparently, he was everything a girl could ever want.

looks? check. intelligence? check. height? slightly. athletic? check. hot voice? double check. sex god? triple check. or so that’s what you heard from those giggling girls that hangout near your locker every after class.

you didn’t get the appeal at first, especially since you thought he was just a good old nice guy who happened to be one of those who accidentally became popular because his looks. based on rumors, it turned out you were completely wrong.

you hate to admit it but as time passed, you did eventually find him attractive (and still do). you could see why everyone liked him. now that you wished you could feel what it’s like to be well taken care of by a guy who could not only make everything in your life better but also fuck the living daylights out of you, you couldn’t help but imagine jake being that guy.

“oh what the fuck am i thinking.” you muttered out loud, shaking the thoughts out of your head. you couldn’t believe you were having those kinds of thoughts while eating lunch and staring hard at jake.

you gaslit yourself into thinking it was fine and totally normal since he was the only guy you found good looking in your school, and happened to be in your view. you could eat him up if you wanted to—

god not again.

mentally praying to god to forgive you for those intrusive unholy thoughts you were having, you shut your lunchbox shut and grabbed your things. trying (a bit too hard) not to drop them, you scurried off and out of the soccer field, hurrying back inside the school to pull yourself together.

because what kind of girl, especially who everyone thinks is “innocent”, thinks of having sex with a guy, who probably isn’t even aware of her existence, and way out of her league, while eating lunch? you were definitely going insane.

“i need therapy.” you whined quietly to yourself, clutching your things tighter to your chest.

you were completely oblivious to jake catching a glimpse of you ever since you walked into the field. it was definitely better that you didn’t know about that because god knows what worse things you would’ve thought if you knew and stared right back at him too.

• • •

you weren’t so sure if god was by your side or against you at this point. was he secretly listening to your secret unspoken prayers of having an opportunity to talk to the one guy you’ve been thinking about (unnecessarily too distracted. you only ever pass by him in the hallways) for weeks? or did he just want to see you suffer for having sinned and going against what you were supposed to believe in?

you aren’t a very religious person, but you sure are debating now if you should become one.

because sim jaeyun is sitting right next to you in class, looking a bit too good-looking with his stupid ruffled hair and plump lips, since when did he have such clear skin and luscious hair?

life was so unfair. unfairingly amazing. this is one of the few moments where you silently thanked god.

two weeks after midterms, classes officially started for the final term. you were more than prepared and a bit excited to receive your grades, knowing you did well in the exams. what you weren’t prepared for was how sim jaeyun entered your classroom, with his bag slung over his shoulders, your teacher introducing him to the class, and how he’ll be moving to this classroom due to his excellent grades and performance during the midterms.

what the fuck. that’s all you were thinking the whole time your adviser was talking, while jake stood beside her in front of the class with that ridiculously handsome grin on his face. you weren’t so sure what to feel. pissed? relieved? thank the heavens above that this god of a man can finally know about your existence?

you shake your head, realizing you’ve been staring too long at your new seatmate before you turned your attention back to the board and listen. this was it. maybe god really did answer your prayers and provided you with the opportunity to do whatever you wanted for the past couple months. on a silver platter. a full-course meal.

side-eyeing jake, he catches your stare and you immediately look to the front again. why’s he staring at me? is there something on my face? why’d he have to have that look? it’s so annoying. please look away. you mentally ranted, tapping one foot lazily against the ground.

the entire session, you didn’t try to look at him again after that. however, that didn’t mean you weren’t thinking about him the whole time.

• • •

“y/n.”

were you daydreaming again? why’s jake saying your name in the middle of biology? you really should’ve slept earlier last night. you quietly blame the caffeine that was slowly leaving your system for this hallucination.

“pst. y/n.”

you blinked twice, slowly turning your head to your seatmate. okay, so he was calling you. that was a first. and hopefully not the last.

jake leans towards you and you felt your heart lurch a bit in your chest. god, y/n, pull yourself together! this is the first time you’ve interacted. you better not mess this up.

“i just wanted to ask if you had an extra pen? mine just ran out of ink, and mr. lewis is about to move on to the next slide.”

blah blah blah, proper name place name, backstory stuff. that’s all you were hearing in your head.

his voice really did sound sexy with that australian accent laced in it.

nodding your head at him, you open your pencil case to lend him a pen you didn’t use yet. it was your favorite brand. you would never let anyone else use it. but if it’s jake? you can buy him all your favorite pens in the world if it meant hearing him ask from you every day.

“here you go. you can have it.” simp. that’s what you were, and nothing has even happened yet. you like to cling to that thin string of hope that maybe something could bloom from this small exchange.

jake gives you a smile, as he took the pen from you. you feel his hand linger against yours for a bit before he pulls away. “really? thanks. i appreciate it.” he goes back to writing his notes on his notebook, and you take notice of the way he bites his bottom lip in concentration and squinting his eyes to see the slides on the screen better.

as for you, you were still listening of course, but also thinking about how you’d never have to squint your eyes or try too hard to see how charming sim jaeyun really is.

although, maybe you could try a bit harder if you wanted to test his and your bed chemistry in the near future.

• • •

no. it’s final. you’re going to die a virgin.

the old you would’ve never saw this as something bad or sappy since you didn’t really give a shit about that type of stuff. well, time has passed, things have changed.

“what on earth is wrong with me?!” you grabbed your hair in frustration, throwing a little tantrum in your bedroom. you’ve just finished doing your homework for the day and some extra reading for your literature class.

a month has passed since you’ve started interacting with jake, and you’ve been putting meaning in every single interaction you’ve had which was not helping with your little crush on him.

”i’ve seen you around. i hear teachers talk about you in the faculty all of the time.” so you knew about my existence before we interacted? you definitely like me.

”careful, pretty. there’s some freshmen fooling around in the hallways.” he thinks i’m pretty? full-on delulu mode.

”mrs. smith was looking for you. something about you passing an extra page of solutions way beyond the lessons discussed.” or was he finding an excuse to talk to you? those solutions were done out of boredom anyway.

”you prefer listening, don’t you? or do you just not want to talk to me?” are you kidding? i do want to to talk to you. i just prefer listening to your australian accent. besides, i could do something better with this mouth of mine.

not that you’ll ever admit any of those things out loud.

“no. i do not have a crush on him. i’m just ovulating.” you convince yourself, pacing around your bedroom in small strides. you clearly weren’t convincing yourself very well either. who ovulates for months?

was it still even considered a crush when there isn’t even a time in the day where you don’t think about all the things you would let him do (god would be disappointed) if you just talked to him first? listening was not going to get you anywhere. he might not approach you anymore.

you did not want that to happen.

at the end of your pacing session, you stopped being in-denial and come into terms with your feelings. not only were you extremely attracted to jake, but you also wanted to get laid. who else to do the job for you other than the sim jaeyun who definitely looks like he’d do an amazing job?

that gave you a new goal for this school year.

you opened your notes app on your phone and typed it out.

GOALS FOR THE SCHOOL YEAR:

- finish the school year maintaining my rank as a top student.

- fuck sim jaeyun. (badly want to be done!!!)

• • •

the buzz of chatter filled the classroom as mrs. smith talked about having a demonstration project that showcased the principles of electromagnetism. the whole term will be given for everyone to work on the project and present it before the final term exams.

a classmate raised their hand, asking if it will be done individually since it sounded like a huge project to do alone. for you though, you wouldn’t mind if that was the case.

mrs. smith smiled sweetly, motioning for them to put their hand down. “that was the next thing i was going to say. the project will be done in pairs. before any of you ask, i’ll be the one to choose your pairs. i have a list right here.”

you bit your lip in anticipation, the groans and complaints of your classmates filled the room. a part of you was nervous about who your partner will be because it was highly likely that you’ll be doing the project all by yourself.

unless…

mrs. smith started naming the list of project partners and you feel your heartbeat start to speed up when you realize your name wasn’t called yet, and half the class already was.

you kept your gaze on the board, barely listening anymore until…

“and last but not the least, sim jaeyun and y/n l/n.”

your pulse quickened at the sound of jake’s name. whispers and mutters could be heard among your classmates the moment both of your names were called. “isn’t that cheating, ma’am? you’re pairing two of the best students together!” one of your classmates blurted out, earning a few laughters.

that was a compliment you could take.

“i promise you, macky dear, the pairs were chosen randomly.” mrs. smith replied, assuring the class that everything was fair and square, even though you were also debating in your head if it really was.

you peek a glance over at jake, just as he turned and caught your eye. he gave a small nod and a friendly smile, sending your thoughts into a spiral. a huge part of you was excited, but a small part also was making you feel nervous of spending time alone with him outside of school.

mrs. smith turned her wrist to look at her watch, “alright. i’ll give you the rest of the period to discuss with your pairs. go on, everyone. chop chop!” oh god, this is it. you thought, mentally preparing yourself for what you were going to say. you needed to take the lead or you were going to go insane.

a screech of the chair against the tiled floor snapped you out of your thoughts, eyes widening a bit when you realize jake had moved his chair closer to your desk. you keep yourself compose, clearing your throat and dusting off imaginary dust off your uniform.

“hey again.” jake greeted with a grin, pushing his hair back, “have any thoughts on what we could do for this project?”

darn that gorgeous hair. “hey to you too.” a hint of a smile tug on your lips, mentally giving yourself a pat in the back for staying composed. “well, i was thinking we could build a model on electromagnetic induction. per se a simple generator that shows how changing magnetic fields can produce electricity.”

jake nodded thoughtfully, resting his chin on his hand. “i like it. we could even add a small light bulb to show when it’s working. as for materials, we’d need some copper wire, magnets, and maybe a hand crank.”

you blinked twice in amazement, finding yourself drawn in by the way he explained things. jake’s voice was steady and confident, and you couldn’t help but notice the easy charm in the way he carried himself, how his eyes seemed to sparkle when he talked about physics.

“i can get the copper wire and magnets. i know a shop downtown that has them.”

“perfect.” jake replied, his lips curling into a half-smile that made the room a little warmer (why were you sweating), and your thoughts wander to places you probably shouldn’t let them go.

“i’ve got some spare parts from my dad at home that we can use for the base and crank.” you wondered if his voice would sound different in a more private setting, if he’d be as confident about things that had nothing to do with physics.

okay there, y/n. hold your horses.

nodding away your intrusive thoughts, you force yourself to stay in topic and keep the conversation going. “so, when do you want to start? i’m free whenever.”

jake leaned back slightly against his seat, putting his hands behind his head. you clench your hands into fists about how incredibly hot you were feeling right now. why did him doing the barest of minimums make you feel like you were going to explode?

the thoughts. put them at the back of your mind. we’ll think about the way his biceps flexed against his uniform later. just not now of all times!

“hm, how about this weekend? we could work at my place.” you squeaked, grateful that jake didn’t seem to notice your reaction. “it’s quieter, and i’ve got a good setup and place for projects.”

“y-your place?” you repeated, mentally cursing yourself for stuttering. a mix of excitement and nerves running through your veins. this was totally it for you. “sure, that works for me. saturday afternoon?”

jake’s glance held yours for a moment longer before nodding, “yep. saturday’s good. can you give me your phone number? i’ll text you the address.” without a second thought, you gave him your phone number with ease. you were totally keeping things professional.

after he texts you the address, you changed his contact to his name. “i’ll be walking my dog before we get to work though. hope that’s fine with you.” jake mentions all of a sudden.

“no problem at all.” you assure him, having found a new interest at the mention of his dog. “what’s your dog’s name?”

“layla. she’s a border collie.” jake sits up from his chair, smiling even wider with the fact that you asked about his dog. “she’s a sweetheart, you’ll love her. you’ll see her this weekend, and don’t worry, she doesn’t bite.”

you let out a sarcastic scoff, “hardly doubt that. i have severe trust issues. the last time i tried petting someone else’s dog, i ended up with a huge bite on my wrist. definitely not something i would want to risk experiencing again.”

jake laughs, “really? that’s insane! i’ve never seen dogs that aggressive before.”

“when you meet a shih-tzu, you’ll understand.”

“trust me, layla’s really nice. she likes meeting new people and can get really clingy once she gets to know them.”

you smile, “we’ll see about that.”

with the project plans settled, there was a brief silence before you spoke up again, not wanting the conversation to end just yet. it was now or never.

“you’re pretty good at this kind of stuff. physics, I mean,” you started. “have you always been into it?”

jake shrugged, a hint of a grin on his lips. “i guess I’ve always liked figuring out how stuff work. always have, though most people just know me for soccer.”

that was true.

“soccer and science,” you teased lightly. “that’s a combination you don’t see every day.”

“yeah, well,” he said, leaning in slightly, “what about you? you’re always at the top of the class. do you ever get tired of being the overachiever?”

you laughed, a little caught off guard by the question, but you’re glad he seems to want to keep the conversation going too. “i guess,” you shrugged, “i’m used to aiming for the top in everything. but honestly, i’m kind of hoping for a little more excitement this year.”

jake’s gaze lingered on you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he could tell that there was more to your words than you were letting on. that was something you’ll never know for now.

you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear (not on purpose ofc), growing shy under his gaze and looking anywhere else but his face. “so, besides physics and soccer, is there anything else you’re secretly amazing at?” you asked with a playful grin.

jake raised an eyebrow, a spark of humor in his eyes. “well, if I tell you, then it won’t be a secret, will it?” he smirked before adding, “but, fine… i make a mean instant ramen. like, gourmet-level stuff. think: chopped scallions, the works. not to brag or anything, but i can easily add a soft-boiled egg without breaking it.”

you try to hold in your laughter at jake’s randomness but failed miserably. “how fancy. i guess that means you’re ready to survive college. instant ramen mastery is a pretty big deal.”

he chuckled, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “yeah, i’m prepared for all those ‘late-night study sessions,’ if you know what I mean.” his tone carried a hint of innuendo, just enough to send a jolt of heat to your cheeks.

guess those rumors of him being a natural flirt were true after all.

you tried to keep your composure, fiddling with your pen to distract yourself, and dropped it on your desk. “late-night study sessions, huh?” you shot back, trying to match his teasing tone. “i hope you’re as good at cramming… as you are at cooking.”

jake blinked, momentarily taken aback by your response before breaking into a laugh. “touché,” he said, his grin widening as he looked at you. “you know, you’re cute when you get all bold like that.”

there he goes again. the way he said it, like he was genuinely amused and maybe a little impressed, made your pulse quicken once again. there was something thrilling about the way he could fluster you so effortlessly, and the fact that you’d managed to catch him off guard, even for a moment, made it all the more fun.

gosh, you could hardly believe yourself right now. you let out a laugh, shrugging it off.

“don’t worry, y/n. I’ll keep my late-night ramen skills to myself… for now.”

you giggled, shaking your head. “deal. but if you really want to impress me, you’ll have to show off those ramen skills eventually.”

jake bit his bottom lip and chuckled. you could see a glint of playfulness still in his eyes, “we’ll see,” he said softly. it was a shock you haven’t said anything that would scare him away, thankfully.

WHAT THE HELL. STOP BITING YOUR LIP!

the playfulness in his eyes made it hard to look away, and for a moment, it felt like you were already friends. more than that, even (delulu). It was an easy kind of chemistry, one that made you wonder how many more conversations like this you’d have in the weeks to come.

ugh, i still got a long way to go, and you’re barely even getting there, y/n.

you cleared your throat, breaking the moment before it could get too intense. “well, i should probably start listing down other of the materials that we need,” you said, a hint of reluctance in your voice.

jake’s smile softened, and he gave a small nod. “right. we can’t slack off, can we?” he handed you your pen and notebook from your desk before you could. he steals a glance at you for a moment before dragging his chair back to its proper place. “i’ll see you saturday then. don’t be late, layla hates it when people keep her waiting.”

you laughed and waved him off. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

someone from the other side of the room calls jake, catching his attention. he nods at them, turning to you and nodding once. he stands up from his chair, giving you one last smile as he heads to their direction. you feel your cheeks heat up at his departure.

as soon as jake is out of your vision, you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy, smiling to yourself. the rest of the class continued chatting on around you, but it all seemed muted compared to the pulse in your ears. if today was any indication, working with him was going to be… interesting, to say the least. you’re partnered with sim jaeyun for goodness sake.

as you jotted down the materials list, you couldn’t help but sneak another glance at him across the room. this was just the beginning. you had a lot more planned than just a physics project.

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

©2024 ©woniehugs

>>>

[predestinatos]

forgive me, i've got an appetite — CL16 (18+) ⋆｡ ﾟ ⋆

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: reading week brings you and your academic rival closer than ever.

warnings & tags: MINORS DNI!!! smut, academic rivals to lovers, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, (a lot) of dirty (FILTHY..) talk, somewhat public sex (bathroom at a party), charles very dominant and hates losing, reader very sub and loves winning (it might change in later chapters!!), degrading, creampie, spit play.

note: i didn't proofread this and it's been a while since i wrote so i'm a bit dusty!!! please be patient i promise i'll be better. feedback would be much appreciated since it motivates me to keep writing.

Your heart raced inside your chest as the teacher walked across the room, paper sheets being carefully placed in front of each student, their faces of disappointment, relief, sadness and confusion arriving shortly after.

Your leg bounced up and down as the teacher got closer to you, a hint of a smile on his face, an indication that yes, it probably was good, but was it good enough?

You looked at the red ink on the sheet of paper he put in front of you, a “good work” escaping his lips. 98/100. Fuck.

It was good. More than good, even. But it didn’t quite matter, not yet, because there was a 2% chance the boy across the room had a better grade than you, and those odds terrified you. You looked at the teacher, who now walked towards him, same pride in his face, same silent comment you couldn’t hear but could guess, something along the lines of “excellent, Leclerc.”

You looked at him, his reaction. He smiled a smug smile, but not as confident as it had been on other times. At this point, you were sure you could know his results just by the facial expression he made as he grabbed the white paper, messily scribbled, so unlike your own clean paper. Lip bite and slow blink, 100/100. Smirk and immediate search through the paper for his one mistake, 99/100. A glance towards you and a nod that asked for your result, 98/100. Probably the most dreadful result to get. Smug smile with a half shrug, 97/100.

You won.

“Seven,” he mouthed from across the room, a small drop of hope his in eyes. You smiled, mouthing “eight” back, watching his reaction, waiting to complete the ritual you now shared. “Fuck you” he mouthed again, jokingly, as he placed his test in his bag and prepared to leave, the whole room filled with students hurrying to their next class.

You climbed up the auditorium stairs, leading up to the same door where you’d meet him. “Let me guess,” you started, barely looking his way as you walked alongside him, ready for the next class. “Theory fucked you over?”

“Don’t even mention it” he replied, before hurrying along to his dorm, a ‘later’ barely leaving his lips before he was out of sight. You moved along to your friends’ own room, where you had already left everything you needed for the night ahead.

“To a good reading week” you and your friends cheered, small shot glasses clinking against each other, part of the content inside them spilling before you downed the drink. It burned your throat, and you usually didn’t drink. In fact, this was the only one you were going to have for the rest of the evening, a celebratory act, a token of a good friendship and good grades.

The house was packed, and you weren’t sure whom exactly it belonged to, only that everyone in it was celebrating the same event, taking a collective breath of relief.

Between the talking, eating and drinking, a few hours had passed, the mood turning more carefree and light as people got tipsier and looser. You moved between the dancing bodies, the tight space feeling less claustrophobic and more comfortable now, finding a way to climb up the house’s stairs to the bathroom.

As you approach to open the door, someone else does it from the inside. His tall, broad figure almost crashes against yours, and the smell of weed hit you before you saw who it was. You looked up, about to complain, and your eyes met Charles’ now slightly red ones, the green in them fading behind his almost closed eyelids.

“Whoops” he said, his voice amused, happy, not the usual tense and focused one.

“Are you high?” you asked, the question leaving your lips with a smile, barely processing whatever dynamic you had going on.

“Mmmmmaybe” Charles said, jokingly dragging the word, exaggerating his ways but also proving the effect the drug had on him as he laughed at his own joke.

You patted him jokingly on the shoulder as a way to ask for him to move from the bathroom and let you in, but to your surprise, he remained still. “Charles?” you asked, as his eyes remained on you, an unreadable expression behind them.

“You should try it” he said suddenly, crossing his arms in front of his chest, shoulder against the doorframe.

“What?” you laughed, incredulous, barely registering what he had said. To your question, he merely pulled you inside the bathroom and shut the door, moving away from it in an attempt to let you escape, should you desire it.

“You should try some. I have an extra one.” he repeated, hand flying to the pocket of his jeans, removing a carefully prepared joint.

“Why would I?” you asked, now your turn to cross your arms across your chest, a mix of amusement and annoyance blending together.

“Because it’ll help you relax. It always helps me after exam season” Charles shrugged, a sheepish, lazy smile stuck to his lips.

“You do it after every exam season?” you eyes widened, and your own surprise annoyed you. You didn’t expect Charles to be the type to do something like that, though the reason why was unknown to you. You never saw him at hang outs or parties, at least the few ones you went to. It was implied, for you, that he simply was not interested.

He chuckled at your words, moving closer towards you as you spoke. “How do you think I survive the most stressful month of my fucking life?”

“And yet you still lost to me” you joked, analyzing how his t-shirt clung to his body tightly, how his rigid and strict rules for himself are visible in results, even when he tries to sedate them.

“Want a reward?” Charles’ voice was humorous but his eyes wee anything but. For the first time you met him, there was a hint of sincerity, an innuendo, a hint at something else that you could see. It was different, the way his head cocked to the side and his eyebrows rose, tongue playing with the inside of his cheek.

“What do you mean?” you asked back, voice almost a whisper, embarrassment over your loss of words causing your cheeks to go red. It was so sudden, this shift in energy. You could almost feel the sound of the music outside dimming, becoming softer in your ears as everything in the big bathroom became heightened. Every sound, every step.

Charles leaned back against the door and fiddled with the key placed there in order to lock it. He looked at you, looking for a hint of fear or regret, something that said you didn’t want to be there. You stared back, defiance in your eyes as you swallowed dryly.

“You know what I mean” his head hit the door softly as he stared at you, eyes exploring your body, your skin. You leaned against the washstand, both in search of something to hold on to and of a way to cross one leg over the other without him noticing too much. But he did.

His eyes went to your legs as you crossed them, then back to your face. He felt like a predator looking at his prey, hungry and knowing that she wanted it just as much as him. A hand rose to his face, his jaw, and he merely stared. “You deserve it, don’t you?” he continued, voice deeper, starving. “You’ve been so good. Better than me, even” Charles stepped closer and closer to you, slow steps that made your heart beat faster and deeper inside your chest.

He was now so close to you you could feel his hot breath on your skin, his hands on either side of you, gripping the marble of the sink, knuckles white due to his attempt at resisting. “You had to fucking remind me of that, didn’t you?” he whispered, one hand now raised, fingers hovering the skin in your arm like a test. “I hate losing,” a half-smile, eyes following the trail of his own finger as goosebumps spread across your skin.

Your heart was racing. The dress you were wearing now felt too tight and hot, sweat making the fabric cling to your body claustrophobically. “I love winning” you replied, snarky and disobedient, looking up at him from behind your eyelashes, a pleading expression written across your face.

“Aren’t you a little spoiled thing,” Charles replied once again, not giving away his own thoughts and emotions through words, though his body said otherwise: you felt his hardness against your stomach as he leaned closer to you, forehead touching yours. His words, his voice, his body, everything was already sending you over the edge, and you couldn’t help but let out a small whimper.

His eyebrows immediately raised at that, a feline smile spreading across his lips. He had caught you. “And needy too” his hand now touching your neck, thumb caressing your cheek as his eyes stared intently, deeply, at your lips. The intense gaze made you feel the urge to lick them, something subconscious telling you that you should. His thumb moved further ahead, reaching the corner of your lips and finally caressing them fully, roughly and softly at the same time, a juxtaposition of feelings only he could convey.

The pressure he applied suggested a silent request for you to open up - one that you complied with, desire clouding your judgement, your thoughts. You let him apply pressure on your tongue before sucking his thumb, the same pleased look in your eyes as you looked up at him. “Good girl” he muttered, eyes half closed not only by the drug in his system but by the sight of you. “Fuck you love this, don’t you?”

You could only nod in response, eyelids fluttering as you suppressed a smile, his thumb spreading saliva across your lips.

Charles was high. Not on drugs, or not only on drugs at least, but on you, on the view he had before him. He never imagined someone like you - so good, so organized, so innocent-looking, could be so alluring and intense. He felt higher than ever, his cock twitching inside his boxers and jeans, desperate to be wrapped around your cunt.

Without warning, his other hand pulled your dress up and your panties down, fingers glazing over your wetness. You were soaking. Part of you was embarrassed by how little it took for you to feel this way; empty, in need to be filled up by him, claimed; but another part was too far gone to tell. You moaned around his thumb which remained inside your mouth as he traced small, light circles around your clit.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he was as surprised by the words coming out of his mouth as you were, for he was not very vocal during sex, not like this. But he felt a strong need to be filthy, to let all of his thoughts out from his brain into yours, and test the reactions of your body as he went. “It’s this easy with you, huh? How long haven’t you been fucked properly?”

You were about to reply with “a month” but before the full word could get out, he tightened his grip on your face, pressure being applied to your cheeks as a way to call your attention to him. “I said properly.”

You didn’t know how to respond, but you didn’t have to, because before you could think of an answer, he inserted one of his fingers inside you, so slowly it almost caused you pain, your eyes watering at the need for more. “They don’t know what to do with you, do they?” Charles continued, hips grinding against nothing, a hint of his own composure disappearing. “They don’t know how to treat a pretty whore like you.” His lips were on yours now, biting them and letting his tongue swirl around yours messily and torturously.

Your fingers held on to his dark brown hair, pulling his face tightly towards you, his stubble now brushing against your neck as he sucked your skin while kissing it. “But I do. I know you just want attention. You want people to know you’re a good girl, so well behaved, so obedient” another finger slipped inside you, movements fast, the sound of your wet cunt filling the room, his hand gripping your waist tightly in an attempt to steady you. “Look at it” Charles demanded, your head lowering in order to witness the view: his arm moving rapidly and erratically, your legs spread wide for him, his veins forming an intricate pattern. “Fuck” you tried muttering, though you weren’t sure any coherent words were said.

“Yeah, what a mess” he tsked, mocking you as if he wasn’t flushed out too, as if his eyes weren’t dark and he wasn’t getting more incoherent himself. “You act all pretty but this is what you really like. Being a needy, messy, slut.” At his last word, he curled his fingers inside you as he applied pressure on your clit, a moved so sudden it made you spasm against the sink, one of your hands flying to your mouth in an attempt to shut yourself up.

But just as quickly as he did it, he removed his hand from inside you, leaving you empty and practically dripping over him. He was breathing heavily as he unbuttoned his jeans and lowered them along with his black boxers, a small precum stain already on them.

You gawked at it hungrily, parts of your hair clinging to your face, lips and cheeks wet from your own saliva, head cloudy and dizzy. Charles wrapped his hand around his erection, pumping himself a bit while looking at you. “God, you look so desperate… You want it?” at his words, your eyes met his again, pleading as you nodded, incapable of speaking. “Beg.”

His stern voice was laced with intense and violent lust, his eyes now so different from the ones you knew. He meant every letter of the word, his chest rising and falling with anticipation being proof of that.

“Please,” you started, your voice so quiet one could barely listen to it.

“Louder, baby,” his frame stood over you, ready to pounce at any minute, his tip now touching your entrance teasingly.

“Charles” was all you could say, a mix of shyness and lightheartedness fogging your brain. You bit your lip as he tsked, a small disapproval move of his head as he inserted himself fully inside you without warning.

This sent you into overdrive. His ravenous movements and heavy breath contrasted with your whimpers and inability to move properly, eyes rolled at the back of your head with arousal. You felt full of him and yet you wanted more. More of his hand on your thigh, gripping tightly, more of his other one on your neck, forcing you to look at him.

“I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” Charles said, a smile spreading across his face, enjoyment over your lack of clear thinking. “So fucking stupid you won’t know anything anymore.” Your hands held on to his back, scratching his skin in pleasure.

“And you’ll love it” he continued, knowing you were too far gone to be able to reply with anything but his name, “you’ll like that you’re becoming a dumb little whore.” The hand gripping your neck now tugged at your hair as he asked you to open your mouth.

You complied, feeling your cunt tighten around his cock and tears forming at the corners of your eyes. As you opened, he spat on your tongue, the act so filthy yet so erotic you moaned loudly, eyes wide as you swallowed.

“You love this don’t you?” his eyes stared deeply into yours with amusement and pleasure, his words combined with grunts, sweat forming on his neck. “You act all fucking pretty but you love being fucked like this,” he gripped the top of your dress and pulled it down, revealing your exposed breasts, nipples hard from exhilaration. “What’s my name?” he asked, though you knew what you’d reply either way, words failing you except for that one.

“Char-” you started, but couldn’t continue as he held one of your breasts in his hand, caressing its nipple aggressively. “Can’t even finish the fucking answer” he chuckled, getting off on taunting you.

“I’ll give you an easier one. What’s your name?” he asked again, and though you wanted to reply, you couldn’t, no words left your mouth except for one. “Charles-” you moaned, covering your mouth with your hands due to the sheer loudness of his name in your mouth.

“Wrong, baby,” Charles mocked, revering in the way your were completely lost, at his mercy, his. His mouth crashed against yours once again as his hips moved frantically, his cock slipping in and out of you with ease given how wet you were. You tasted blood on him as you realized he had bitten his own lips a couple of times, an attempt to resist, to stay longer, to delay the ending of the act.

The sound of his skin on yours filled your ears, tears streaming down your face as you suppressed louder sounds from coming out of your mouth. You were so close it was ridiculous, barely any coherent thoughts flashing through your mind, your whole being focused on pleasure only.

“Gonna fill you up the way you deserve it, brainless little brat” his words were more aggressive, more intense, his need to claim you, leave his mark, increasing with every thrust. “You want it don’t you?” he asked, the question so earnest yet so stern, his eyebrows betraying his dominant attitude for just a second. “Say you want it.”

He didn’t have to. You were ready to beg for him, to have your thighs sticky with his warm cum. “I want you to fill me up, Charles” you managed to say, after a couple of failed attempts, to which he replied by moving faster against you, his hand on your clit. “Fuck I’ve wanted to fuck you senseless for so long now” he said, eyes rolling at the back of his head now, words coming out of him slurred and dragged. “You deserve it; always fucking teasing me” he continued, his words sending you over the edge, a feeling of ecstasy flowing through your veins as you came around his cock, cunt pulsing and nails digging deep into his arm.

That was the tipping point for him. He cursed loudly as he moved deeper and deeper inside you, cum spilling out of his cock into you, filling you up. After a couple of seconds, he removed himself from inside you, taking a few steps back to admire the view.

You were flushed out, lips swollen, red pussy dripping with his cum, mascara running down your big eyes. “Fuck” he let out, looking like a mess too. “Who would’ve thought,” he said, smiling to himself, the Charles you were used to coming back slowly, almost like he had been like that the whole time.

“What?” you asked, your senses coming back to you, looking around for a way to clean yourself.

“Miss Smart Ass is a freak” he joked, a smirk on his face, the dimple on his cheek so visible it made him look innocent.

“Says you” was all you could reply.

“You want to turn this into a competition too?” Charles crossed his arms in front of his chest, veiny forearm showing. You couldn't help but stare in admiration.

It was your turn to laugh now, knowing this was a one-time thing. At least for now. “You wish.”

“Maybe I do. You still wanna smoke one?”

[butterbabyflapjack]

✧˖° Brian Moser x serial killer fem!reader

✧˖° summary:

The Ice Truck Killer’s back in town, and somehow he's stuck babysitting you; Miami's newest would-be killer.

Helping you out wasn't at all his original intention–he'd rather see you dead, you know far too much–but he supposes he could spare an evening to undomesticate that hungry beast inside you. Show you how to really live your life.

In which Brian helps you kill someone who utterly deserves it, and the kill room turns into a horny sex-fueled bloodbath.

✧˖° wordcount (chapter 2): 17k

✧˖° chapters: one, two, three, four, five

✧˖° ao3

✧˖° taglist: @Impala1967 @fan-goddess @ireallydontknowohcrabs

✧˖° warnings: serial killer fem!reader, reader insert, explicit sexual content, rough sex, passionate sex, fucking in a kill room, dark romance, dark comedy, canon typical depictions of blood and gore, enthusiastic consent, mutual pining, impact play, playing with your food, serial killers in love, banter, dirty talk, voice kink, trauma bonding, babysitting a serial killer, implied sexual abuse of a child (you're killing this mf don’t worry), torture (you’re torturing this mf don’t worry), Brian is his own warning, enemies to lovers, biting, daddy issues?, blood play, a bit of angst a dash of bloodlust & a heavy splash of spice, Brian loves to fluster you and he won't shut the hell up going about it, Brian survives season 1 in this house

✧˖° author's note:

im having too much fun with this, but also editing chapters this long inflicts psychic damage so please forgive the inevitable rough spots. i’m sure there are some but i’m so over editing. i tried making it shorter but every time i tried it just got longer its 17k 😭😭

anyway hope you’re ready for your date with a wanted serial killer💕

(there’s a few nods to the books throughout, including Brian’s little red car)

✧˖° chapter 2

You still can’t believe you’re actually doing this.

Accepting Dexter’s brother’s help–the Ice Truck fucking Killer, which you can still hardly believe. Begging for it, even; for him to help you kill someone.

The Ice Truck fucking Killer…

Even now, you have a hard time wrapping your head around it.

You’d dedicated so much time and energy into catching that serial fiend, and now he was practically your mentor. So unlike his brother, yet so strikingly the same. Dexter was hungry to know everything about a person before killing them; performing weeks, even months of diligent research on every facet of their beings. 

But Brian…

He hadn’t asked a single question about who he’d help you kill. It could be your own mother, for all he seemed to care. A wolf with a scent for blood. He gets a whiff, he doesn’t hesitate, he comes running.

He’d agreed to help you so much more willingly than Dexter had, and for that, at least, you’re grateful. It remains to be seen if you’ll be grateful for anything else.

It doesn’t matter that this man that you’ll kill’s not a killer. He still has this coming. Has it coming from you, and doubtlessly deserves so much more, so much worse, and–

The whirlwind of thoughts inside your addled head will not settle, will not calm; battering the walls of your mind into harsh, jagged edges of unease and doubts and questions upon questions and–

Struggling to swallow, you once more do your best to ignore that storm inside you. Sucking down a deep breath. Forcing yourself to.

You can do this.

The cards of it are already falling out of place, all around you, and you can’t pick them up again, can’t shove them back into their previous shape.

You don’t want to.

This is happening.

You’re killing this prick tonight.

It’s too late now, not to, and you don’t want to turn back–

You can do this.

You can do this.

You…

You’re at the precinct…

On a Saturday…

Today is already going so wrong.

You just needed to submit a slew of paperwork for a court case early on Monday. Just in and out; it wasn’t supposed to take long. Yet now it’s nearly noon, and your partner–a thick man with a thicker mustache named Pérez–well he’s here, too. The pair of you without lives, always working. And he’s droning on and on about something–probably where the two of you should stop for lunch, as if you’ll be here that long (you already are), but you can’t hear him. Anxious eyes flitting from him and Masuka, who’s joined in on whatever this conversation, in checking the time on your phone.

Your anxious eyes grow wider.

Shit–!

You were supposed to meet Brian at the hardware store twenty minutes ago…!

Ignoring Masuka’s lame attempt at a joke, you focus fully on your computer. Sending off a few last emails, finger nearly breaking through your mouse with every click, before you’re grabbing whatever papers you were working on and even some you weren’t, scraping the mess of them off your desk, shoving them into your bag and you’re sure they’re all crumpled but fuck it, this can’t wait, Brian can’t wait, you should have left already–

“Hey!” Pérez calls as you abruptly stand, his deep voice following after how you speed-walk through the glass-enclosed walls of the precinct. “I was talkin’ to you!”

“Gotta go,” you shoot back bluntly. “Talk to Masuka.” 

“Bullshit,” he calls as you continue speeding off. “You don’t got nowhere to be!”

And you don’t know why you say it. You’re panicked, maybe–haven’t thought out a decent alibi like you really already should have. But either way, you blurt back on harried instinct, “I’m going on a date–you know, trying my hand at a social life? You should try it sometime.”

The surprise of that must shut him up–as it should, you don’t date–because he doesn’t yammer after you any longer as you push out of the room’s heavy glass doors. Impatiently stabbing the silver elevator button before you so you can fully escape, all while inwardly smacking yourself because now Pérez is definitely going to grill you about a date that never happened first thing on Monday–about a date with a serial murderer both he and you chased after personally, along with everyone else on your team–about a date where you’re going to fucking kill someone and fuck–fuck–!

You’re bad at this. You’re so bad at this. You’re a homicide detective, you should know better, know what you’re doing, know what to look out for to not get caught, but instead you’re leaving threads that anyone could stop in and pull at–

You need to calm down.

Why are you so nervous– you weren’t this tense before last night.

This is Brian’s fault, somehow, you just can’t place exactly why. Doesn’t stop you from blaming him, though.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Slipping into your cheap, little car.

Driving out of the precinct’s lot.

In.

Out.

You’re meeting the Ice Truck Killer for a date where you’re picking out murder weapons. 

It’s not that big a deal.

Breathe.

In…

Honestly, you don’t even know why you’re doing this. The shopping part, at least; not the murder part. You have all the reason in the world to murder that vile excuse for a human being, but a shopping spree? 

Dexter’d left you a few of his knives. Not all of them, mind; just a select few, which was hard enough for him to do, you could tell as he left them. Those knives, what they do, what they have done… They’re an extension of himself. And you were grateful to him for having lent them. But when you’d received a call from an unknown number after leaving his apartment last night, you’d heard Brian’s deep, smoothly serrated voice on the other end.

“I’m surprised you pick up calls from unknown numbers,” he’d immediately teased, and just as suddenly you’d wanted to hang up on his smarmy, cocky ass. Only resisting because you do really need his help.

He’d said to pick a hardware store of your choice. To meet him there tomorrow, at twelve PM sharp.

“Why?” you’d asked, helplessly suspicious of him. Maybe because you knew what he was. Maybe because of something else you couldn’t quite name, just out of reach, its murky outline barely untouched.

“You want my help, don’t you?” he’d returned instead of answering, and you hated what his voice did to you. What it still does to you. Its silken roughness instilling fear and something else so very warm, unraveled and cloying and copper-sweet in the back of your turbulent mind. 

Luckily, your stifled lack of response must’ve been enough of an answer for him.

“You only get to kill a man once,” he’d purred in your ear, and you were glad he couldn’t see you worrying your lower lip. “You may as well do it right. Twelve PM. Don’t forget, my lovely protégé.”

But you did forget. Till twenty minutes past. And now you’re here, at Miami Lumber and Hardware, at 12:37 PM on the dot.

He’s going to kill you.

You’re halted a stuttered step whilst rushing through the parking lot as you think it, since it was only a figure of speech–but this is Brian Moser. He might actually kill you. It’s certainly not an improbability.

Once again reminding yourself to breathe, it still takes concerted effort to actually drag the air into your lungs.

You can’t help it.

Brian makes you nervous. This is just an unfortunate fact.

The man, is…

Cold. Calculated. Ineffable.

And yet, the way he’d held his brother last night, when Dexter had greeted him home…

Once you’d learned that Brian was Dexter’s brother, you couldn’t fully blame Dex for letting him escape Miami, not even after everything with Deb. It was fucked, but they were brothers; they were blood. But their closeness in that moment last night made you see, very clearly, that even monsters can have something resembling a heart.

And yet that heart is nowhere present when Brian looks at you. You can see that, too. The darkness of that viscid void which crafts him, reflecting light as a mirage, as a distraction; a light which from his dark cannot exist.

It certainly doesn’t make you any less wary around him. Not to mention how he might have some unpleasant feelings toward you for being part of the task force that ran him out of town, that even now would apprehend him. But it’s not like Dexter wasn’t part of that task force, too, so… 

Maybe he’d forgiven you.

You weren’t about to ask.

In any case. He’d agreed to help you. So maybe you should just be grateful for that and stop questioning everything ; just focus on the arduous task at hand instead of spiraling once again into doubt.

As you quickly approach the hardware store, you catch sight of a looming shadow standing just outside its wide, automatic front doors. A shadow you soon realize is Brian. Black buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up his lithely muscled forearms. Hands in the pockets of dark slacks. Onyx, browline sunglasses shielding his likewise onyx gaze, like he’s just too cool to give a damn, though really you suppose it’s just part of his disguise.

He looks good, just standing there. Effortless, modelesque. And the longish mess of curls that tease his jawline, along with the dark scruff of beard definitely suit him.

It somehow makes all of this so much worse that he’s attractive, and for a second you wish you were blind, just sightlessly bumbling into him.

His dark eyes must flit toward your slowing, cautious approach from behind his shades, because a cheeky half-smirk takes hold of one corner of his lips. Especially as his focus feels to drape over you.  Dropping languidly to the motion of your hands, unthinkingly clenching at your sides, which you immediately force to stop upon his notice.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he observes as you finally reach him, low and smooth as ambrosia on an unpolished blade, its edges always rough. “Thought you might’ve stood me up. And on our first date, too.” His brows are tugged in a light crease of woe above his handsome shades. “I was this close to having my heart broken.”

It’s ironic that his ‘cover story’ for whatever the hell this is the two of you are doing is that it’s some sort of ‘date’, too. 

Does that make it official?

God, you hope not. You can’t break your dating dry spell with someone you’ve tried apprehending.

“Pretty sure that’d require something inside your ribs to actually break,” you return; his smirk rubbing you the wrong way. Like he’s endlessly amused by the tragically Shakespearean comedy that is you. “Unlike whatever cobwebs are probably hanging there.” And, brushing past how he idles there watchfully, you’re already halfway through the automatic doors beside him when calling, “You coming or what?”

You barely hear his little chuff; half amused, half something darker, as the tower of him turns to swim within your wake. So much like a shark stalking after you that you’re tempted to drop the ‘too cool to turn around’ act and instead keep your vigilant eyes on him.

You’re still debating whether to turn or not when instead you’re physically jolted by him suddenly appearing right beside you; his smooth and lengthy steps easily outpacing the rigidity of your own. 

“So, little killer…” he slowly muses down at you, with a glint to his side-long smirk. Slipping his shades from off the bridge of his nose, before folding and tucking them in his breast pocket. All while you do your best not to look at him since every time you do you seem to lose your train of thought like some kind of idiot. “Where shall we start?”

Steps slowing to a halt, you peer about the overwhelming vastness of the giant store around you.

You have no idea where to start–wasn’t this whole thing his idea?

“You’re the one who wanted us to come here,” you mutter. Biting the inside of your cheek to somehow steady yourself before meeting the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t know what we’re looking for.”

He seems to assess you a moment, before he’s sliding one hand gently around your waist, which straightens board-stiff at his brazen touch. 

His smile grows as he eyes you, though by all appearance he’s just cordially guiding you by the small of your hesitant back toward the slew of bright red shopping carts bunched up near the front of the store. And though you’d like to think you’d smack his unwanted hand off of you, seeing as how you don’t need his help to grab a goddamn cart, you don’t really know what to think anymore. Somewhere, just… secretly glad? That he’s taking your reins of uncertainty? Leading them through whatever daytime fever-dream this ‘date’ is turning out to be.

Whatever makes this nightmare end more swiftly.

“Your teacher to the rescue, then,” he says, oh-so-helpful. Ushering you toward a cart, which you’re too mired by worry and doubt not to grab hold of obediently. Following where he steers you further into the massive store, and he’s won you over that easily, you guess. He’s your shepherd; you’re his sheep. But what are you supposed to do? Deny the help he’s giving? At this point there’s nowhere to go but down whatever darkened hole he leads you. 

Still. You won’t follow him down undefended. Stealing a glance, as innocuously as you can, at the Glock openly holstered at your right hip as he leads you deeper into the store, past the rows of registers. Its weight resting on your jeans a boon against that ongoing storm howling within you.

Brian seems to like the whole ‘obedient sheep to his shepherd’ thing, much to your chagrin. He smiles, anyway–a dusky crudeness to its soft shape–as his hand at last leaves your back, and instead he strolls alongside your cart casually.

You imagine the two of you probably look quite cute to someone who doesn’t know what the fuck is happening behind the scenes.

“Dexter told me he lent you some knives,” Brian says, conversationally. And he does make it sound so normal–like you’d borrowed them to fillet a fish, not a person.

This is the most fucked up small talk on a ‘date’ you’ve ever heard or hoped to be a part of.

He tsks his tongue in your silence, leading your way past a few aisles after glancing at their header’s above. And you don’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s your shepherd–you’re forced to trust him in wherever he’d guide you.

“Not exactly inspiring,” he muses. “He does get more creative, from time to time.” A shade of amusement hints his lips. “Very creative, really.” Though at length, he hums as if the state of Dexter’s a shame. “But he doesn’t play nearly enough with his food.”

“Is that why we’re here?” you finally find your voice. “Because you want me playing with my food tonight?”

He spares you a glance from how he otherwise scans all the inventory you pass. 

“It matters, how you kill a person,” he says. “At least, as I surmise, it does tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks away, like he doesn’t actually care about this conversation.

“This person,” he says at last, as he leads where you’ll follow. “That you’re taking care of. He deserves this. Right?”

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation.

At that, he smiles his low, warm smile down at you. Allows its shallow warmth to burn through that storm you feel.

“Well… I don’t know the details–don’t need the details–but I’d venture further this is punishment…” The idea seems somehow amusing. “Am I wrong?”

No. He’s definitely right. Though you refuse to think about exactly why you’ll punish that bastard tonight. It always makes you see red, steals away everything else, and you’re already hopelessly distracted in Brian’s presence. So perhaps it’s lucky he doesn’t care, doesn’t ask, so that at least you’re left undistracted by that.

You’ll worry about making that fucker pay for what he’s done when you face him tonight.

How you strive to steady yourself is disjointed as Brian takes a loose hold of the front of the cart; escorting you down an aisle of hammers and other blunt-edged tools. 

“So shouldn’t however you kill this person be a punishment,” he offers mildly, “in and of itself?”

You don’t realize you aren’t responding; haven’t spoken in a while. Have stopped your cart from rolling for who knows how long while your knuckles begin to go numb with how tightly they cling to its bright, shiny handle–not until Brian’s shadow is suddenly so close to your side. And, blinking rapidly, you twist up just in time to see him lean down to your ear. Murmuring hushed words, just for you.

“Fuck Dexter’s knives,” he breathes, the heat of it sparking each hair on your nape to attention. “Whoever this bastard is, he surely deserves the worst end you can give him. A quick death is far too nice. Don’t you agree?”

He’s the devil on your shoulder, but you’re in no position to disagree.

A flash of that man you’ll kill, Gary, flashes through your mind before you can stop it. Shoved away with such nauseating hatred that you push forth your cart with enough newfound purpose you’ve left Brian behind. Vindictively eyeing each item as you pass, before settling on a box on one row. Judging its label with a tense jaw before tossing it into your cart.

Brian’s caught up in no time, though he strolls in no decided hurry. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he seemingly eyes the box of the belt sander you threw in.

“Well, that’s certainly creative…” he approves with a side-long grin.

“I’m not sure I’ll use it,” you admit, keeping your momentum forward. Focusing as best you can before his mere presence distracts you again. “I’m keeping my options open.”

And though you try desperately not to look at him, hindrance that he unwittingly is, you hear his smooth smile as he says, “A woman after my own heart. Maybe you’re not such a horrible student after all.”

Your cart wheels stop just long enough to glower up at him; annoyed by how his height always towers over you. “Since when was I horrible? I’m doing everything you ask.”

“After showing up here late,” he says, maintaining the affable bedside manner of the prosthetist he used to parade as. “And asking far too many questions.” 

Reaching for the small of your back again, his fingers steal away your objections as they curl so slightly into the curve of your waist, speeding your heart with their gentle pressure.

He leads you toward a row of rubber-ended sledge hammers. Leaving your side to take one off the rack. Testing its massive weight between his surgeon’s hands. Speculative, before breezily tossing it into the cart, which rattles beneath the bulk of it.

“So…” he drawls, too politely; changing the topic to something else. “Were you on the task force to bring me in…?”

The answer lodges somewhere in your throat. Caught there more and more the longer he passively watches you. And okay. Maybe he didn’t forgive and forget the whole ‘you trying to apprehend him’ thing after all.

“So was your brother,” you point out in lieu of answering, which in truth is answer enough, just the version with you too chicken-shit to answer directly.

You focus on moving forward; gripping your cart like a shield that doesn’t help at all against how you feel his little smile crawling over you. Focusing on your feet–on his feet, striding alongside yours. Staring at those burnished leather Elkans he wears, nearly black, clipping mute vinyl floors, and though you have no idea how a man on the run from the feds has the means to pay for shoes that nice you make a point of not asking.

“True enough,” he says. “Doesn’t make either one of you less of a hypocrite.”

Disgruntled, your gaze turns sharply up to him. “Would you rather I just cuff your ass right now and take you into the station?”

He seems to find the idea of that funny; suppressing a hum that’s not quite a laugh. 

“If you think you can drag me in.”

Idly, he unhooks from its post in the rows and rows of tools a pair of small, yet sharp needle-nose pliers. Eyes alight with something as he regards you; thumb roaming the instrument’s blunt, metallic edge.

“What do you think, detective?” he asks. “Could I have these jammed in your trachea before you pulled your gun on me?” 

The weight of your Glock feels to burn against your hip, itching for you to grab it, though you stiffly don’t move. 

“Maybe,” you admit. Not daring to pull your gun right now to even the odds of a hypothetical–or at least you hope it’s hypothetical. “But it wouldn’t kill me right away.” Your voice is hard. “I’d still shoot you in the back as you ran away in those fancy shoes.”

He does laugh at that. Strong and warm, as he steals a glance at his leather Elkans.

“Don’t you like them?” he wonders with a sly little smirk.

And of course you do, they’re handsomely crafted, but he doesn’t need to know that. So instead of answering, you just push off down the aisle with the cart.

“Can we just focus on the task at hand?” you ask as you hear his footsteps closing through the distance after you. Turning out of one aisle and into the next, with no destination in mind other than creating more distance between you. “I don’t exactly want to be caught in public with you.”

“Yes, that might ruin your reputation down at the station, wouldn't it?”

“Just a bit.” You toss a few items into the cart whilst assuring yourself that you’re making this rich bastard pay for everything. Tossing in a few more pricey-looking tools you probably won’t even use at the thought. “Especially when I told my partner that I was on a date right now.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth that you vehemently regret their utterance, cause why did you just admit that? And just like you worried, like you expected from Brian at this point, he smells the chum of possibly humiliating you on the water and slips forward for a bite.

“You’re already telling your friends about us?” he asks, a cunning fox, and maybe you will go for your gun. “How cute… It’s a little soon for me to be telling people about our relationship, personally, but… I’m glad you’re so enthused.”

Your ears burn for reasons unrelated to severe embarrassment, you’re sure. “He asked where I was rushing off to and I panicked, okay?”

You hear his little sigh. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

The cart rattles as you toss in a few more tools at random. “I’m new at this.”

“Yes,” comes Brian’s musing. “You’ve made that painfully clear.”

Desperate to ignore the awkward heat crawling up your face, you slow past a row of different saws. The wheels of your cart dragged to a sudden halt before a vast array of chainsaws, which admittedly seem a little heavy for you to wield, seem a little much and are surely overkill, but...

Still. You’re oddly drawn to them. One hand already reaching to test the sharpness of a bright, hornet-yellow one’s row of exposed teeth.

Time feels to slow as you study it. With you so distracted that you don’t even notice how Brian’s stopped his ever-incessant, clever commentary behind you; merely enjoying the merciful silence.

“What do you think?” you ask at last, unturning, as you mull the idea of you with a chainsaw inside your head. And it’s not a terrible image… “Too messy? Or…”

Silence, from your ever-yapping, homicidal mentor. And at last you glance back at where he stands, just behind you. His dark eyes, shadowed by dark lashes, trained to the blade-teeth you touch, yet as though he’s staring right through them.

As your expression grows inquisitive, he blinks, dragged from the seeming depths that leave him lost inside his own head.

“Hm?” he absently hums, like he hasn’t heard you.

Your interest curiously traces what little his expression ever betrays to you. “What?” you ask of his uncharacteristic silence, though he just impassively eyes you.

“What?” he returns; innocuous, mirroring you.

Your brows furrow up at that leaden mask he wears.

“Don’t what me,” you counter. “I saw you thinking about something. And if you don’t tell me what that is, you’ll swiftly learn how annoyingly persistent I can be when my bloodhound brain grabs scent of something.”

He regards you down the length of his strong nose. Seeming taller than he actually is, which is already imposing. Eventually carding back his hair; dark curls tangled in his fingers with his incensed glance away. “You really are a headache, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely I am. Now tell me.”

With mild exasperation, his dusky eyes return to you. Their grievance soon to fade in place of muted speculation. “I was just lost in memories. Private ones, I might add. Ones I’m guessing Dexter never told you.”

You’ve never seen him so… tentative. Not even in this miniscule amount. And your confusion, just like your interest, slowly rises. “What are you talking about?”

He eyes you a moment more. Unreadable. “I’m talking about our mother, Detective Nosey,” he says. Gaze assessing yours, as if searching for something there, weighing if he should tell you. And you’re not sure what he looks for, if he finds it, though eventually he continues.

“She was butchered with a chainsaw,” he says at last, far too casually. Reaching past you to drag one lengthy finger along that chainsaw’s serrated edge in the absence of your touch. His eyes gaining that faraway look again. “Right in front of us, when Dex was three and I was four. Dismembered limb by limb, as that engine echoed off the walls, along with her begging us not to look, to close our little eyes, and we were left in the mess of it. The blood of three addicts and our mother–two inches thick by the time that engine finally stopped.” 

His finger slowly drags down the jagged length of the blade, while you listen on in growing horror. 

“They didn’t find us huddled in that blood-damp, hellish dark for two days, and by then the only reason I cared was in protecting my brother.” He exhales a little laugh with zero humor to it. “Apparently that’s all anyone cared about. ‘Cause he was adopted by the first cop on scene, and I–decidedly–was not.”

His dark gaze turns to you, and you cannot comprehend what lie beyond its blackish surface.

“So, to answer your question,” he says, so nonchalant in your speechless shock from responding, “It’s not a bad choice. Though certainly messy.”

You can’t seem to think. The story he’s spun sinking a weight in you, dragging your stomach right through the floor. Left with not knowing what to say, blown away as you are by the cruelty held within such an offhand confession.

“Brian, I'm…”

Your tone is raw. Quiet. And he smiles at you unhappily; hand falling loosely to his side, away from the blade that dismembered his mother.

“Don’t,” he cuts you off bluntly. “What’s done is done. Pitied apologies never help.”

“I know they don't,” you counter, voice stricken, and you swallow with the effort to make it more firm. “But that's… That's fucked, Brian. And… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

For a moment, he merely eyes you. Every line of his handsome face meticulously sculpted in place, held perfectly still.

“Are you expecting me to thank you for that?” he wonders at last.

You hate how vulnerable you feel, when he’s the one confessing something so traumatic that it surely formed him. His and Dex’s extracurricular pastimes sure make a lot more sense now.

“No,” you say, feeling stupid, feeling childish, that you’re so unwound by such a ruthless tale while he clearly is not. And maybe you should just let it go, should just stop talking, but you can’t. “I just had to say it.” You meet his watchful gaze, your jawline hardening. “And if I could kill the fucks who did that to your mother, I would. I’d hunt each one of them down. And I know I’m not the one who should make them pay whatever price for what was done, but I’d still make them pay it.”

Some part of you’s already planning how you might, how you could–if they’re even still alive, or if indeed there was more than one person involved–it doesn’t matter, you’d kill them all, assuming Brian hasn’t already. Almost tempted to ask if he has, all while Brian just observes you in a silence which draws on. Something beyond the indecipherable veil of him fixed on you, keen at your edges, as if gauging your scent; toying the curious touch of his attention across your unseen depths.

Eventually, he subtly smiles, and you cannot comprehend that smallest stir half-buried within his gaze.

“C’mon,” he says, taking your waist again; hand warm and smooth across your lower back and he steers you further down the aisle. “We’ll save the chainsaw for next time. I’ve something more easily controlled in mind for a first-timer like yourself. And if you don’t like that, you’ll at least appreciate what we’re grabbing at our next stop.”

And surely you’d halt if he wasn’t more-or-less forcibly guiding you forward.

Next stop…? 

This nightmare date isn’t over yet?

Your arguments that there won’t be a ‘next time’ where you’ll be swinging around a chainsaw are effectively snuffed by the way his knuckles idly trace up the length of your spine as you walk together. The contact light, yet utterly fatal in regards to your ability to think in anything more than jumbled sounds that resemble language. And as he gauges a few items as you pass, he lightly ‘ ah ’s’ whilst nabbing a box one-handed; tossing it carelessly into the cart atop your already mountainous treasure trove of murderous hardware.

You glance from that box to him, already questioning, “A reciprocating saw?”

“A Moser favorite,” he says, roguish. “Electric. No outlet required. Perfect for when working remotely.” And yeah, it’s pretty obvious he’s done just that before.

He guides you toward the checkout counter up front before releasing you from the seeming hypnotism of his touch. Smiling at the college-aged girl ringing up your vast array of items, and let me tell you, your stomach shrinks upon seeing all that gear laid out in front of you, like a line-up of your potential crimes laid bare. Your insides cinching tighter with every item slowly rolling down that sluggish conveyer belt as he lays them all blasély upon it, like it moves that slow just to mock you, to shame you.

Pliers, hammers, a hacksaw. The sledge hammer you saw him throw in. Some sort of hose, a nail gun, a hatchet, a multitude of various saws and drills. Tarps, of course, and some kind of large metal clamp (what is that for?), a dremel, bolt cutters, the belt sander (you regret picking that out now), a motherfucking chain? A chain? What, are you beating this guy to death with a chain now?

It’s like a loony toon assortment of bullshit, only missing an anvil, that you’re sure will get flagged if the body is ever found hacked into a million pieces by every piece of hardware known to man. ‘Cause, oh, how convenient–someone purchased a million kill tools the night before the mysterious thousand-tool killer took someone out, and that person’s definitely been recorded on the store’s many security cameras.

You should’ve worn a disguise. You’re such an idiot.

By maybe the tenth item, the cashier seems to think this purchase is becoming somewhat odd. Go figure. And she eyes each item that she scans whilst stealing more and more weirded out glances at Brian and you. Which probably isn't a good thing.

You try to squeeze yourself out of existence behind Brian’s towering form. Let him take the fall for this.

Meanwhile, Brian flashes her his most charming grin. 

“We’re taking up woodworking,” he says, without a care in the world. “Gotta make sure we have all the right tools of the trade.” His dark gaze lowly glimmers. “What do you think? Did we get them all?”

It’s the lamest excuse, and yet the girl’s cheeks visibly warm and she giggles at whatever look he must be giving her.

The following conversation is perhaps the most shameless and painful thing you’ve ever had to stand there and witness; a form of torture in itself, when it’s supposedly you who was to do the torturing.

“Y-yeah,” says the girl, scanning a bit more absently. It takes her five swipes to get a claw hammer with a giant and completely obvious barcode to register, what with how her eyes are glued on the ‘date’ you’re hiding behind. “What kind of woodworking do you do?”

“Mostly construction, but I dabble in the arts. Walnut and pine sculptures, that sort of thing.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“That sounds hard…”

“You just have to know what you’re doing~”

“You must be good with your hands, then.”

“Oh, I’m good with lots of things.”

“O-oh, like… like what? For, um, example?”

“I could offer a demonstration… You’d have to come out from behind that counter, first, though...”

She titters again and you think a vein on your brow might be close to bursting, though admittedly you’re not exactly sure why–her laugh must be annoying. Luckily that’s when he swipes his card for the outrageous bill–the front of which you note bears a name that’s not his, so as far as covering your tracks goes there’s at least that.

You lug what feels a million heavy bags into the cart whilst patiently smiling (grimacing) at your flirtatious construction partner.

“C’mon, David ,” you read the name on his card, already pushing the filled-up cart to go. But not before seeing him toss the flustered cashier a little wink before following after you.

Ugh. 

Gross. 

You’re storming out of the store, out into the parking lot as the cart wheels rattle before your way. Barreling forth in no particular direction and for no particular reason other than what you just witnessed inexplicably making you sick, when Brian’s hand suddenly latches around your wrist, arresting you solidly in place, jerking you gruffly to a halt right before the speeding blur of a giant, blue truck flies past the front of your cart by maybe an inch; the speed of it whipping wind against your startled face.

Frazzled, you merely stand there while your racing heart tries to escape your chest. Blinking far too quickly, before twisting your gaze back to Brian. Undoubtedly relieved by how he just saved you from slamming into a car–seriously, he just saved you? Yet even then, you force annoyance to your tone; perhaps to hide your embarrassment at just how irredeemably unfocused you really are right now.

“What?” you ask him sharply.

His eyes trace your face. Seem to note how your molars are grinding. And as you glower, he slowly starts to smirk.

Gods, you hate him.

“You’re walking in the wrong direction,” he says.

Which maybe you were, though you find you’re not fond of him correcting you right now. “Where am I supposed to be walking?”

He nods toward a little red car parked off in the distance through the lot. Pristinely polished. Expensive looking. “That one’s mine.”

“Of course it is,” you nearly roll your eyes at him. Twisting your wrist from his grasp in heaving the heavy cart forward again–after glancing both ways in ensuring you aren’t about to be flattened by a truck, this time. 

“You know,” you grouse as he walks right beside you, “you didn’t have to make sure that cashier’s still daydreaming about you tonight, considering the actual boat-load of homicidal gear we’re carrying.” And seriously, he didn’t have to lay it on so thick. “There’s no way she won’t remember you after that performance.” 

He keeps up with you so easily despite how desperate you are to outpace him, until eventually you just give up and push the cart at a normal pace. 

“As distracting as you awkwardly standing there was, I thought I’d better step in,” he says. “I was worried you might blurt out some sort of confession for a crime you haven’t yet committed under the scrutiny of her tiny-minded gaze.”

You feel yourself scowling. “I’m not an idiot.”

His soft lips purse like he somehow doubts that. Though all he says is, “Would you rather I have just let her keep forming ideas about everything she was ringing up amidst your incriminating, nerve-bitten silence?”

You bite your lip. Finally reaching his expensive car. “I guess not,” you admit.

He smiles down at you as you do your best to ignore him. “Good. Then stop being jealous.”

Your brows cinch hard at that, with you tearing your gaze directly toward him. Scoffing immediately, “Jealous of what? ”

With the way he scarcely seems to register your overt revulsion at the prospect, you wouldn't be surprised if nothing in life ever bothered him.

“Of me flirting with our cashier,” he says. Fetching from his pants pocket the keys to his flashy car, which chirps before you as its doors are unlocked, its small trunk automatically popped open.  

You take the opportunity to distract yourself by cramming bags into the trunk as though doing so were a timed olympic sport.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you say over the sound of shifting plastic bags, the thud of metal on car-trunk floor. “I barely even know you. If anything I was trying not to cringe out of existence hearing how shameless you are.”

You’re unprepared entirely for how he takes your waist from behind in both his hands; spins you around without warning. Nudging the backs of your wavering knees against the bumper of the car while he smoothly steps in, cornering you there, with little room left between your body and his.

He smirks at whatever your floored expression, trapped beneath the looming of his. Leaning down to your ear, pouring wicked words inside it.

“So what if I’m shameless?” he asks, amusement curled through his inflection.

When his lips just barely graze your ear, purely accidental, it's like a basilisk's spiked you with venom. Turning all of you to stone, your lungs helplessly forgetting to function.

“Don't be jealous,” he murmurs. “As delightful as that is, I’ll spare you the torment. You need to be focused, my woefully inept student. And besides…” he sounds to smile, “she’s not my type.”

He leaves you there just as suddenly as he’d pinned you. So effortlessly snatching away your ability to speak, as he turns instead to filling up the trunk you’re still teetering weak-kneed against. Left with the realization that his dark, graveled voice is as much a weapon as any in his arsenal of toys.

You’re still reeling as he pauses loading to instead open the passenger-side door for you; the sound of it drawing your flustered attention. Looking at you expectantly as you just stand there, trying to dislodge your heart from where it’s leapt into your throat.

“I’ll load the rest,” he says, careless as ever. “Get in.”

But you still won’t move. By choice, this time, not due to his unwanted effect on you. Warily glancing from opened door, to him; the leashless animal offering it for you. 

���I have my own car.”

“I told you, we’re not done shopping,” he lightly puts forth. “And it’s easier if we drive together.”

But you can’t shake how that seems like a really bad idea. Being alone with him. But what are you supposed to do? If he finds you too difficult to deal with, he might rescind his help from off the table, and you are partners in crime for the foreseeable future… 

Perhaps most convincing of all, in the end–what has you finally ungluing your apprehensive feet from off the asphalt–is the comforting weight of your gun, still strapped at one hip.

He can pry that from your cold dead fingers should he ever mean to take it from you.

Masking your hesitance, you drag yourself from where he’d pinned you against his fancy red car toward the seat he now offers. Cautiously watching that little smirk of his that spells trouble in half a million ways as he graciously closes the door after you, with you running one hand across the cool steel of your firearm the second the car door blocks it from his vision.

Gods, what are you doing? Getting in a car with the Ice Truck Killer?

You shake yourself–no– no –you can’t keep questioning everything. He’s Dexter’s brother–you’re fine. You’re doing what needs to be done–what you have to.

You tell yourself this, yet still nearly jump out of your skin as the driver’s side door is eventually opened, with Brian sliding right in.

“Hope you don’t mind a little breaking and entering,” he says whilst revving the car, shifting it into gear. 

Perhaps you’re too distracted to outright ask what that fucking means. “I think as far as potential crimes go, I’m a bit past a misdemeanor.”

“Wonderful,” he returns, with all the charm of a murderous Disney prince. And it’s clear Brian Moser’s a bad influence on anyone and everything trapped within the incessant pull of his orbit. 

No wonder Dexter drove him away. He’s too much of a risk.

And now he’s back, helping you –Christ, maybe this whole thing really is a terrible idea. And again, a war’s waged within you; one that results like it always does, in you reminding yourself for the hundredth time not to bite the dangerous hand that offers to help you. 

The song Brian flips on the radio is about as cheerfully opposite a song can be from someone who bleeds their victims like cattle. And as he pulls out of the hardware store’s lot, you glance back toward the trunk of the car; envisioning the cartoonish haul of bloodshed tucked away inside it.

“Are you sure we need to grab anything else?” you ask, with a glance at him. Which you immediately regret, because his rugged profile is…

Goddammit, why does he have to be hot? 

You tuck your traitorous gaze toward the window, staring at the world rushing by outside it. Spared for a moment from whatever this offensively attractive man does to you by merely existing.

“I could likely make due with what we have,” he says to the road; thankfully otherwise ignorant of you. “But I’m not going to. Our current haul’s for you, my impromptu protégé. This next trip’s for me, though you’re welcome to play with what we’ll grab there. I need tools to dispose of the body, à la Dexter’s requested style.” He tosses you a look, one brow quirked as if to dare you. “Unless you’d like to fetch me my old ones out of wherever you stashed them away in evidence for me…?”

Which– no– you would not. There’s too much risk involved in digging through the many boxes of the Ice Truck Killer’s things, even when you don’t know what else he has planned instead, where he’ll otherwise take you. 

“Would the barbies we confiscated be part of the required hardware you’d need me to steal?” you taunt instead of answering.

He simply exhales a small hum of amusement at that. Eyes on the road as a faint smile toys his lips. And in the end you suppose that playing with dolls isn’t really the strangest thing about him.

“Can’t we just see what Dexter has at his apartment?” you ask, assuming that’s not where he’s already headed. “I’m sure he has the right tools laying around somewhere.”

And it seems, in the maze of his mind, something’s chewed before being left unsaid.

“This’ll be a whole lot simpler if you just learn to stop questioning me right now, instead of making me steamroll your objections over and over again like you have been,” he says. Glancing away from the road; challenging you with a look. “I know what I’m doing. Unlike all others present.”

And though you fold your arms against him, you don’t otherwise protest. He’s not wrong, after all.

It isn’t until the pair of you near a mountainous scatter of buildings, erected high with white stone and sea-hued windows, that you realize the next destination of your homicidal ‘date’ is Miami’s Jackson Memorial Hospital–how romantic. Which you don’t really have an opinion on, until shortly remembering, like a kick to the gut, that he intends to steal god only knows from its highly secured, extensively monitored halls.

Your limbs are all stiffened with nerves as you turn to him while he breezes in through the hospital’s lot, one hand on the wheel whilst carelessly searching for a vacant place to park.

“We’re breaking into a hospital?!”

“We’re walking into a hospital,” he returns, smooth as sin. Though his merriment’s short-lived as he looks at you; dark eyebrows squinching up at whatever your expression. “Stop looking so paranoid.”

“I am paranoid,” you shoot right back at him; like it’s impossible that he doesn’t feel the same. “There’s a lot of security here, way more than some random hardware store. And although your little–” somewhat erratically, you gesture at his entire person, sitting there with one brow raised in watching you, “– disguise –is okay, it’s not that okay when there’s an ongoing manhunt for you by the fucking FBI–! ”

After weaving his car effortlessly into a spot, he watches you for a moment. Though when he should be slowly nodding in agreement, instead his lax expression falls unenthusiastically dull.

“You’re overthinking this.”

“You’re under thinking it!”

“Just follow my lead,” he more or less commands his ‘protégé’. Already stepping out of the car. Standing just outside it, for dragging moments; door remaining ajar, with only his long legs and dexterous hands in view. Before eventually he dips his height in glancing in at you as you stare across the middle console staunchly, refusing to get out.

“The longer you sit there pouting, the longer this will take,” he patiently says.

“I’m not pouting,” you argue, though you’re already riled enough into stepping gruffly out of the car. Unbuckling your belt as you do; stripping your holster off its length, before hiding your gun on your person; tucked away at the small of your back. All before making your way to the front of the car alongside where Brian waits for you. “I’m trying to make sure we don’t get caught.”

“Let me worry about that part,” he says; smiling as you unwillingly fall in step with him as he leads you toward that high-reaching tower in the distance, its glass shimmering like azure gems in the afternoon light. “Just focus on playing your part. We’re headed to an appointment. You, my timid, bumbling girlfriend, and I your dauntless, dashing prince.”

“I think you’re closer to a homicidal imp on my shoulder.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

The closer the two of you draw to the hospital’s broad and bustling entrance, the more cameras you begin to spot at the corners of your vision. Hidden lenses high on light beams, tucked near the corners of what seems like every wall. This place doesn’t take its security as a joke, and more and more it feels your panic forms a fist within your stomach, its fingers slowly tightening.

“Look…” you hear yourself saying, as offhanded as you can muster in that moment. Trying not to sound like you’re panicking, which you are, more and more with each step ventured forward. “I appreciate you helping me in whatever morally questionable way this is, but…”

Uncomfortably distracted, your words cut short as you spot through the crowd an overweight security guard, meandering just outside the hospital’s doors. A guard who glances at you and Brian, pausing just a moment, before idling slowly on.

You don’t know when you stopped walking, but by the time you tear your eyes away from the potential threat of him, Brian’s no longer beside you. It’s like you’ve only blinked, and he’s gone.

For some reason that’s even worse than having him near you.

“Brian…?”

Shit– should you even say his name out loud…? It’s a common enough name, and you two didn’t discuss using aliases, but–

What if someone puts two and two together upon spotting you and him? Hearing you say his name? Internally prying the longer hair and dark scruff off him, leaving only Brian fucking Moser behind?

Airway feeling tight, you scan the loose crowd of people before you until catching sight of Brian’s dark, wavy curls looming over everyone else's heads, and for once you’re glad he’s so freakishly tall. But as you spring forth to catch him, your steps start to drag once more, as the closer you draw toward those impending hospital doors the more it feels the world shifts out beneath you, and…

You can’t really think… You can’t breathe, you…

Are you having a panic attack…?

Are you seriously having a panic attack right now…?!

“...Bri… David…?!” 

You say it like you may otherwise drown, like he’s your lifeline, but there’s no way he hears you from his place so far ahead, even in such a thin crowd. And you need to just breathe, you’re overreacting–need to rein in your tenuous gaze from how it darts from lens to lens of every security camera, as if they’re all watching you, piecing together the company you keep.

“This isn’t… This isn’t a good…”

You’ve started backing up, now. Still staring at those hospital doors that loom before you, all while your heart slams into your ribs.

“–Brian–?!”

All at once, a large hand wraps around yours, leaving you no time to react as you’re brusquely swept aside before you can call after him a second time. And you choke out a little noise of surprise upon seeing Brian there, expressionless, dragging you toward a less crowded side of the hospital’s entrance.

He hauls you toward a small, manicured cluster of flowers and small palms, before steadying you within what seems a disapproving gaze, which certainly doesn’t make you feel any less like a panicking idiot.

“You’re entirely hopeless at this.”

You bite your lip to keep from biting something out more spiteful at him; still struggling to breathe. “You think I don’t know that?!”

At your heightened tone, he steals a glance at the foot traffic beside you before ushering you a little further away, further into the quiet. His hand grasping yours sliding slowly up the length of your arm, finding purchase near the crook of your neck.

It’s an oddly comforting motion, and you find yourself helpless but to peer up into the stillness of his eyes.

“Calm down,” he says, slowly, like he doesn’t fully comprehend why you’re so anxious. Like he’s never felt the dragging claws of nerves in his life. And though you’d normally expect him to mock you for falling apart like a moron, as you undeniably are right now, he at least seems genuine in talking you down. That, or you really are just that desperate to believe it. 

“Take a breath.” His thumb draws a single line just below your clavicle, whilst you struggle to do as he says. 

And, oh, lovely; here comes that mocking part you were so worried about, accompanied by him hiking a none-too-subtle brow at you:

“Not to make a tense situation worse, but if you’re this much of a mess just strolling into a hospital, exactly how are you expecting to follow through with your plans tonight?” But that’s not all. “And how do you work in homicide, for that matter? Aren't detectives used to working under pressure? Or did you blackmail your way into getting what you want there, too…?”

You’re not sure if you're wincing, bracing for the impact of his words.

…Is that it…?

…

That’s it.

For now, at least.

And you find yourself scowling. Hurt, which is of course ridiculous; you don't care what this bastard thinks. Though as you try to upsetly twist away, he only tightens his grip in response, keeping you captive before him.

Your scowl deepens before you’ve given up. He’s a lot stronger than you, and the last thing you need right now is to cause any more of a scene by punching him in the throat.

“I… Look, this… This is just… A lot,” you weakly defend. Warbling. You hate yourself. Feeling even more small than you already do with the way he’s always towering over you, and so you look away, pretending he isn’t currently holding you hostage. “Everything. Tonight. You, especially, I…” Struggling, you shake yourself. Frowning at the ground. At the sturdiness of his lithely muscled chest. “All of it. All Dexter’s and my week’s of planning. It’s all coming to a head so much quicker than I realized it would, and there’s already so many loose ends, nothing is as foolproof as I wanted it to be, and…” 

Breathe.

Again, you struggle to shake yourself. To keep your voice lowered and calm.

“I can’t… I can’t fuck this up,” you allege at last. Willing yourself to sound firm in this. “I feel like I fuck up so much, but I can’t mess up right now–not with this. There’s too much on the line, and not just for me. I can’t… My sister, I can’t…”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, not any longer. Fail even to realize you’ve stopped talking at all, until Brian’s thumb smooths along the skin exposed just above your neckline.

Your eyes, as if with minds of their own, are suddenly trapped in the hanging darkness of his. And you cannot for the life of you read his watchful expression.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asks you quietly. 

After moments more of wavering beneath him, you slowly grit your jaw.

“I told you we had a deal, didn’t I?”

His hushed gaze passes across yours. “You did…”

“And what was your end of it?” you ask him–quiet enough to escape other’s attention, yet honed with accusation. “That if I changed my mind, you’d sit there and laugh at whatever that rotten bastard twice my size wants to do to me?”

He doesn’t respond. Merely watches, without denying, and doesn’t stop you as you finally succeed in shoving his hand away from you.

“I’m fine,” you allege; willing it with all your mustered strength to be true. “Sorry to disappoint you.” And with that, you’re already walking out from under the looming shadow of him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The hospital’s lobby is a bright, massive dome poured through with natural light, filled by the bustle of so many people. Patients, doctors, nurses, social workers… Security guards…

You catch sight of the portly guard you spotted outside, now lazily surveying the trailing crowd of people who surround you in the lobby. Your footsteps halting upon once again spotting him, hands wringing helplessly at your sides, until you nearly chirp out some sort of half-choked shriek to have Brian abruptly swoop in, scooping your hand in his. Entwining his long fingers with yours like a lover in leading you forth before you can nervously dawdle there a second longer, deeper into the sunlit bowels of this place.

“Relax,” he says; guiding you toward a little gift shop. To a small, vacant table just outside the sandwich café that’s attached at its side. And as he pulls from it one of its metal chairs, ushering for you to sit, you obey only out of confusion whilst your mouth peters open to object.

“What are we doing?”

“Stay here,” he says, as gradually you bristle against how he watches you.

“You dragged me in here just to ditch me?”

He looks away. Barely paying you any mind as instead his interest travels across your surroundings. Seeming to take note of everyone and everything that passes through his vision.

“Would you believe me if I said I’m trying to protect you?” he asks at last, with barely a glance.

You stare up at him as he continues to ignore you. Not knowing what to say to that. Not sure if you believe him.

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether he’s genuine or not.

“I don’t need protecting,” you mutter at length. 

He’s studious as his gaze returns to yours beneath him. Weighing something unsaid behind the veil that leaves him such a mystery, before eventually offering you his graceful hand.

One corner of his lips hints up at how surprised you apparently look to have so easily convinced him.

“As the lady insists,” he says, quite simply. His hand remaining offered. “Off to our appointment, then, my love.” 

Even then, when he’s agreeing with you, you find you hesitate before actually accepting his help. Something just feels off about him, always – in some way hidden, with almost everything he does or says. But you have a part to play in whatever his plan in this hospital. The part of his girlfriend, so you take his hand like a girlfriend would and allow him to whisk you to your feet, his pianist’s fingers intertwining again with yours as he leads you through the lobby. Toward a broad, offshooting sunlit hall.

Down one hall, and then another, with your grip squeezing more and more tightly with every step he leads you toward some unknown end; one that might see you both arrested.

“Are you trying to make my fingers go numb?” he finally asks you, and you belatedly realize just how dry your mouth is, how tight you’re squeezing. Struggling to swallow just so you can speak.

“Where are we going?”

He slows a step in glancing at a directory on the wall, before ushering you down another hallway, and at this point if you were asked to escape this maze on your own you’d be too lost to succeed. 

“You’ll see.”

“Or you could just tell me.”

“That’d spoil the surprise. Besides, what did I tell you about constantly questioning me?”

Something changes in his gait, just a hitch, but it’s enough for you to follow his pensive eyes toward a man at the end of the hall; a man who is swiftly approaching. Wearing teal scrubs and surgical booties, and it’s clear he’s in some sort of hurry.

“Speaking of not questioning me…” Brian muses, eyes on the man and his brisk approach. “I promise I’ll make this up to you–”

“Make what up to me?” you already question beneath how he hasn’t stopped talking–

“–but in the meantime just try and trust me with this next part, won’t you darling?–”

And you definitely don’t trust him, that’s maybe the last thing that comes to mind when you think of him, but you don’t have a chance to say that before Brian abruptly pivots the both of you toward the bend of an offshooting hall; effectively slamming the two of you into the man rushing toward you.

The man grunts out in startlement as you choke back a cry of surprise–the brunt of impact tearing your hand from Brian’s, sending you careening to the floor. But before the tile floor can harshly catch you, Brian’s snaked his lengthy arm around your waist; scooping you up against his side again, like a small, baby bird beneath his wing. Coddling you there as though you’re hurt, as though you’re fragile; turning your harried face up to his with a gentle hand steering your cheek while he asks, with such a visage of worry, “Babe, are you alright?”

You blink up at him stupidly. So surprised to see such a convincing show of emotion you still somehow find hard to believe.

Brian searches your expression as though for wounds he might mend, before tossing a vindictive gaze at the frazzled man before you. “What the fuck was that?!”

He’s pissed. You’ve never seen him so irate. And the man in scrubs blinks just as stupidly as you do. His confusion transformed to concern, then shortly shifting till he’s tight and defensive. 

He doesn’t say a thing. Biting back, you soon guess, on arguing with a supposed patient.

“You need to watch where you’re going,” Brian again berates him, and the man at last succeeds in swallowing what seems his objections. 

“‘m… Sorry,” he puts forth gruffly. Like he’s too impatient to mean it; raring to hurry off again. 

Brian’s harsh expression eases just a touch whilst his hand around your waist gives your side a little squeeze, and you can’t deny you don’t exactly mind being this close to him…

“You know what,” he extends at length, exhaling a tautened breath. “...This place is pure chaos. I think we might’ve turned right into you–I’m sorry, man. It’s been a hell of a day.”

The man’s expression loosens somewhat in relief as Brian turns in gently assessing you. “You’re not hurt, are you babe?”

Gods, you hate whatever ingratiating, carebear-tone he’s using. But you roughly swallow down distaste before forcing out flatly, “I’m fine.” Very much hating whatever this supposed plan of his is.

There’s a glisten in his gaze, just for you; lost before he looks to the scrubbed-up man before you again. “You good man?”

The man nods, “Yeah,” clearly in a hurry to see this awkward situation end. And Brian, ever courteous, sweetly sends him on his way.

“Well…” he says, with a smile a touch too clever, his tone a touch too cloy. “Off you go, then~” 

The man’s jaw stiffens, though he doesn’t argue what sarcasm bleeds through Brian’s otherwise kind dismissal. Just biting it all back before bustling off again, weaving his way past the both of you, hurrying once again down the hall.

You glance back over your shoulder, watching and waiting for him to turn out of sight, before raising a glare up at your supposed prince charming. “What the hell, Brian? That hurt. ”

The curve on his lips is devilish. As, with the theatrical flair of a seedy magician, he presents to you a keycard with the scrubbed man’s picture on it.

“Borrowed this from our friend,” he says mischievously.

You kind of want to laugh at how proud he seems about that, but you stuff that down along with how you might be somewhat impressed with how quickly he was able to nab that while also catching you before you hit the ground.

“After throwing me into him,” you grouse instead of applauding him. “Like a human smoke grenade.”

He smiles at your pouting, not even denying it. Cooing in that fake boyfriend voice, “Baby, I said I’d make it up to you.” Regarding you with all the playful craft of the devil himself as you wriggle and twist out from how his arm’s snaked warmly around your middle, creating some much needed distance between yourself and him. 

“You’re the worst boyfriend I’ve ever had,” you sourly comment, to which he charmingly grins. Taking your hand again before you can stop him, steering you closer once more; your naval beneath his own, such is the height of him.

“Oh… Baby…” he croons, like he feels so bad for you. Smiling so dark and sticky and sweet down at whatever your flustered face is doing beneath his. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Our date’s barely begun, and I’m only going to get so much worse.”

Releasing you from the near-fatal enchantment of his grip, he wanders further down the hall without you. Tossing back a little look across one broad shoulder as you just stupidly stand there, too frazzled to move. Hiking a brow expectantly.

“Better hurry up,” he spurs you. “Wouldn’t want our scrubbed-up friend to find you here after realizing his keycard’s walked off all by itself, now would you?”

It’s enough to prompt your reluctance into moving. As, no, you certainly don’t want a stolen keycard being found in either of your possessions.

The further Brian leads you through the hospital’s inner catacombs, the less natural light there is, until there’s no light at all beyond the buzz of fluorescence overhead, washing out everything until your world is stale and lifeless. And as more and more employees brush by, all wearing surgical scrubs, the more querying glances you receive as you’re passing by. Yet still, no one stops you. No one questions beyond a glance. Something about Brian’s confidence stopping them. So it would seem you’re still allowed here.

That is, until you reach a set of heavy, double doors hewn of metal, slotted with miniscule square windows. A dead end, at which Brian flashes his stolen keycard without a moment’s hesitance; completely second nature to breaking in. Holding it flat against the little black box of the doorway’s electronic lock, which beeps and flashes green before those heavy doors drag silently, automatically open.

Stepping through them after Brian, who steals carelessly in, your nerves are met with a wave of cold air as you wrap your arms around yourself to keep from shivering. Trying not to look as apprehensive as you feel, to be inconspicuous. All while Brian skates down these sterile halls like a lizard on ice. Like to pretend is a familiar second skin, perhaps even more familiar than donning the suit of himself. 

He nods you toward a drinking fountain near a pair of wooden doors; one on either side of it. Pausing in ushering you near.

“Now, listen, my lovely pupil,” he says; a flute-playing charmer to his spiteful, sharp-fanged snake. “I doubt our friend has access to the women’s dressing room.” His voice falls to a low, gentle murmur as some type of surgeon walks by, though it doesn’t stop him from continuing. “And loathe as I am to leave you fidgeting in the hallway by yourself, potential mishap that you are, I need to fetch us our costumes.”

Your gaze darts nervously about. “Is all this really necessary?”

There’s no way this is necessary.

His eyes are on the passing surgeon’s back as he gently takes your upper arm, guiding you into that little crook within the wall which houses the doors and fountain, before he steals a glance about yourselves ensuring you’re alone.

“All these questions,” he lours, his deliberation back on you. “Sit. Stay. I’ll be right back–try not to miss me too much.”

You’re left to insipidly grumble, “Wouldn’t dream of it,” as he leaves to scan his keycard at the door for the men’s dressing room. Though he twists a clever grin across one shoulder before he departs.

“Oh, I think you might.”

You don’t have time to bite back with something witty before he’s gone, and he’s gone for much longer than you expected or are at all comfortable with, preferring to’ve never been dragged in and ditched here at all. Left with pretending to get a drink every time someone busily passes so they can’t see how out of place you probably look. Unable to come up with any clever reason for why you should be here, in what you guess is the OR. If anyone asked what you’re doing, if you work here, you’d have no way to prove whatever lie you’d spin that you do.

You’re about halfway convinced to just ditch this handsome fuck to whatever devilry he’s up to while you instead hide in the car, when the door he passed through is suddenly opened, and with a sharp glance at the sound of it beside you, you almost don’t recognize him.

He’s wearing cerulean surgical scrubs, which billow yet somehow accentuate his tall, leanly muscled frame. Sky-hued booties are tugged over his overly expensive shoes. A laptop-sized black bag beneath one arm, which you assume was thefted from some poor someone in the dressing room, the bulk of it stowed with something. And you can’t help but stare as he ties on the blue surgical cap around his messy web of curls, the jawline-lengths of which stick out at mussied angles. Because it's kinda dorky, but also kinda…

Cute. 

Okay? 

He’s fucking adorable right now. 

And you stuff away your thoughts on this disastrous fact as you can’t help but gobble down an unhealthy eyeful of him, before staring at the wall as though its blank canvas is the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.

He seems to take a moment to remember you’re even there. Though eventually he’s raised a brow at whatever your face is doing. 

Luckily, he doesn't further question whatever your discomfited expression.

“C’mon,” he says, leading your way down the hall. “Need to find you a place to get dressed.”

A small frown tightens your lips before you’re hurrying after him. “Why can’t I get dressed in the bathroom?”

“They’re attached to the dressing rooms,” he explains as you bustle to reach him. “I’m afraid we’ll have to get a bit more creative than that.”

Great.

Wandering through those chilled, barren halls, you try not to steal too many glances through the tiny windows of each operating room you pass, not wanting to look any more like a tourist. Morbid curiosity having you catch a few glimpse of surgical teams surrounding unconscious patients; short tapestries of teal and white and red.

Brian tries his keycard at a door opposite the rows of operating rooms, which flashes red, before he’s fluidly moved on to the next, which lightly beeps as he’s allowed entrance.

He sidles in just a step; gazing up, glancing down. And as you shift forth alongside him, you see a poorly lit stairway that seems a constructional afterthought. Quiet, empty, cavernous.

With a satisfied hum, Brian gives a small nod in motioning you follow him in. Leading your way down the stairs to a small, center platform. Both your footsteps echoing for many flights up and down this towering room, and the door feels to slam behind you with how hushed it is in here. And though you’re not exactly enthused at the idea of getting undressed in here, you suppose it's better than nothing, and does seem relatively unused.

Brian’s already shuffling through his leather bag as you meet him on the center platform, and he’s shortly offering you a pile of pilfered clothes the same color as his.

“Scrub up, doctor,” he says, with a playful lilt. “We’re expected in surgery.”

Though as you take the costume he presents, waiting for him to look away so you can do just that, you find he doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn from how you slowly, cynically eye him by even an inch. Appearing more expectant with every second, perhaps just as expectant as you, though clearly you’re expecting different things.

“Are you going to turn around?” you finally ask him.

His smirk’s so slight you barely notice it teased upon the softness of his lips. 

“What,” he says, like he’s harmless. “I’m surveying the scene. Making sure no one stumbles across you with your pants down. You’d probably tangle them ‘round your ankles and fall right on your face if that happened.” His handsome face dons a mockery of concern. “I’m protecting you.”

Heat rises up your cheeks. “Go survey the scene somewhere else!”

You’re both at once distracted by the sound of a door opening high above you, both your gazes jerking up as it sounds to creak open, then heavily shut. Echoing about these vacant halls without anyone actually sounding to step in. And after moments of you both still and silent, tautly listening in ensuring you’re still alone, Brian finally looks back down at you.

“Relax, will you?” he states. Grabbing the loopholes of your jeans; tugging you just a step closer as your eyes grow all wavery and big. 

Words are honey on his tongue as he asks, “If I turn around will you stop being such a baby about this?”

You bite your lip, hard, before grousing up at him, “Let go of me before I pull my gun.”

It might’ve been a joke, if you didn’t sound so serious. And though you’re not sure how a gunshot going off at Jackson Memorial is the best way to continue laying low, you could scrounge together some story of how you followed someone you suspected might be the Ice Truck Killer into this very stairwell, if you had to. Of how you had to kill that certain someone in defending yourself.

His expression doesn’t change as he seems to weigh your words, the possibility within them. The merest glint, like sun on black ice, reflected from the recesses of his ebony gaze.

“So touchy,” he slowly remarks, before eventually releasing you. Finally turning away; broad shoulders and slender waist facing the wall opposite you. “Hurry up.” And you take full advantage of the absence of his dangerous gaze to change your clothes as quickly as you can–shedding your pants down hasty legs, wriggling into the lower half of your scrubs and tying them round your waist. 

It isn’t ‘till you have your top pulled up over your head, bra fully in view, that Brian speaks again.

“You need to learn to loosen up, detective,” he says to the empty space before him. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

“Don’t quote James Howell at me,” you say, tossing your discarded shirt on the dirty floor before slipping the teal one over your head. 

He sighs. “Can I do anything without you being a bitch about it?”

When he glances back at you, it’s lucky for him you’re fully dressed, seeing as otherwise you would have slapped him. And you despise how your cheeks start to burn as his dark eyes trace over you, slowly down your form, stirring unwanted heat in their wake. As slowly, slowly, they fall to the bulk of your gun, tucked awkwardly beneath the waistband of your pants.

Eventually, his eyes return to yours. Somewhat playful as he asks, “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“The gun one,” you return without pause. “I’m not happy. Not to see you. Any more questions?”

He merely raises his brows like one might to an ill-behaved child. “You can’t bring that; it’s completely obvious you’re carrying. Someone will notice.” He offers his hand, nodding toward the clothes on the floor. “Give me your clothes,” he says softly. “And the gun.” He says it like an afterthought, but his eyes are intently on yours. “I’ll hold onto them for the time being.”

Yeah fucking right.

There’s no way you’re letting this wolf in sheep’s clothing disarm you.

“Not happening.”

His handsome smile transforms to something else. Something with less warmth reflected on it, though still genteel enough. “You're going to get us thrown into hospital prison,” he mildly jests, before adding more carefully, “Don’t make me take it from you…”

You're not even sure it’s a threat. It could just as easily be him joking. It’s impossible to tell with him, or with any beast who doesn’t bare its teeth before lunging.

You thumb up the hem of your shirt in snaking your fingers round your Glock’s grip. 

“How about I hold onto the gun,” you plainly suggest, “and you lead us the fuck on so we can get what we need and get out of here, hm?”

His gaze is a shadow. Something lurking in ice-carved trees, a prowling aura you cannot see through darkness. But eventually, that snow settles with the seeming warmth of his smile. The corners of his eyes gently creased.

“Can’t wait to see you on stage tonight,” he says. Giving you a courteous amount of distance as he’s smooth to brush right past how you warily watch him. Heading back up those steps toward the door you came in, taking them easily two at a time. “At this rate, you’re bound to give quite the performance.”

He lazily scans the keycard at the electronic lock pad near the door, which gains you access once more to the OR.

“After you, little killer,” he says; hands slipped nonchalantly in the pockets of his surgical pants as he leans back on the opened door in holding it open, carefully regarding you as you remain for a moment down the steps. 

His eyes never leave yours as you dip down to grab your clothes off the floor in stiff, wary hands. As you make your way slowly up after him, impatiently tucking away your hair within the sheer, blue hairnet he’d previously bequeathed you.

One lithesome hand is offered at your approach, to which you hand over your clothes, and you assume he stuffs them away inside his bag before following after you as you hurry out into the hall, anxious to have him too close at heel.

His prowling, lengthy steps easily catch up to you, and it’s clear you could never outrun him.

“This way,” he says, before leading you further down the hall. Mildly checking what lie past the windows of a few doors, while a surgeon and anesthesiologist pass making small talk. He pays them no mind, while you avert your gaze nervously, until at last he’s humming out a little, “Ah… Here we are.” Flashing his stolen card at a door which obediently chirps and pops open at his request, and he holds its way open for you.

“Ladies first,” he says, with the watchfulness of a wolf.

You wish you could grab your gun as you pass him, but you’ve made it this far without being caught, so you just swallow your never-ending nerves and hurry past him. Hearing his low, throated chuckle right behind you as he follows you in.

Even that drags its claws down your nape, leaving trickling trails of gooseflesh down your skin that tingle and tease until you haphazardly paw them off you.

You wander into some sort of sterile supply room; one with several operating rooms attached to it, divided off by heavy doors. Rows and rows of metal, rolling carts with shelving are laid out before you, along with white cabinets lining each wall.

Brian wanders in past how you stand there uncertainly like he owns the place. Like he’s been here before, though he hasn’t. Or, at least you don’t think he has. It’s impossible to tell with him; he's a night-drenched enigma.

He tugs open one metal drawer, which rolls fluidly forth, before he’s swiftly closing and opening another.

“Tell me if you see any hardware,” he says as his eyes take quick inventory of everything he sees. “Saws, drills–that sort of thing.” Pausing just a blip to regard how you’re just standing there instead of obeying your murderous shepherd, instead wavering in place, not knowing what to do. “Go on,” he spurs, the patient teacher. “Get looking.”

You glance around the cold, fluorescent quiet, before questioning in a whisper, “What if someone comes in here?”

“What if someone comes in here?” he returns, rather dull. Already focused once more on the hunt. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you look like a surgical tech. That was kind of the whole point. Just tell them you’re looking for saline flushes or a bag of dextrose or something.”

Saline flushes or dextrose?

…How many times has he done this before?

Cautiously, you get to searching, seeing no quicker way of seeing this perilous mission through. Unable to stop how you furtively glance around the too-bright silence at every little noise that isn’t Brian searching through drawers several shelves before you.

“Are you so familiar with this because you’ve worked in a hospital before?” you ask to distract from your nerves. “Or because you’ve made a habit of breaking into surgical units?”

You hear him slide closed a drawer and stride toward another. Completely heedless to the fully scrubbed male nurse who suddenly pushes into the room from one of the attached operating rooms.

The nurse glances at you both, before fetching a vial with a red lid from a cabinet right beside Brian. Walking back out again while you watch after him in anxious paranoia, and Brian seems not to notice him at all.

“Do I have to choose?” he muses, nonchalant, before exhaling a low and exclamative, “Ah- hah~ ”

You suppose he’s hit the jackpot, thank god–and, closing the cabinet you were sifting edgily through, you make your way over to see what he’s so happy about. Spotting him spare a short glance about before stuffing some sort of… is that a saw? –inside his opened bag.

He smiles at your questioning look.

“Oscillating orthopedic bone saw,” he explains, as though answering what you’ve failed to ask. As if that will suddenly make sense to you, when you still have no idea what an oscillating orthopedic bone saw is other than it’ll obviously make quick work of dicing marrow.

Why he couldn’t just use a regular saw for that, you fail to grasp. Then again, there’s apparently far more types of saws in this world than you’d ever realized before your adventures today. 

You see him grab a few scalpels. Some forceps of various size, along with some different metallic contraptions. One of which especially appears like some kind of torture device, and you expressely don’t question what it’s all for.

But he’s not done yet; by all accounts not having stealthed all this way just for nothing. He bags another sort of saw, like a thick wand with a small, circular blade at its fore, and something else you barely see beyond the tail of its electrical plug, before buckling closed his bag at last.

“I think we’re all done here,” he says. Motioning with his dark-scruffed, angular jaw back toward the door you came in. As if this endeavor was all so damn casual and not potentially life altering. “C’mon.” 

Your heart’s a skipping drum; your path from the hospital a restless dream. Neither one of you really talking as you follow him making his way so apathetically out of the hospital’s surgical unit. 

It isn’t until you’re out of the OR that he makes what you assume is the allusion of small talk whilst the both of you retrace your steps through this sprawling maze, which you do your best to keep up with as though not anxious at all about the slew of stolen medical gear you’ve got currently stashed away. And about halfway back to the gift shop (you think, such is your lack of direction), he nods you off to a patient bathroom to change, while he saunters off to do likewise.

You throw your scrubs in the trash, not knowing what else to do with them. Adopting once more your role of twitterpated girlfriend as he holds your hand and guides you, while you ignore how much comfort you draw from his touch. And by the time you’ve both finally breached the hospital’s doors, are tucked safely within the confines of his candy-red car once more, you’re so relieved you’re nearly giddy.

“Fuck I never want to do that again,” you exhale, while he gives you that little look you suspect is once more questioning why you’re such a headache about everything, which you promptly ignore. “Alright, drop me back off at my car.”

“Not yet,” he returns. Smirking at your incredulous glance. “We've still got some time to kill, amongst other things…” Gods, he thinks he’s so clever, doesn’t he? “And this isn’t a proper date if I don’t take you out to dinner before our show.”

Your stomach clenches at the mere mention of food, whilst he starts up the car beside you. “I’m not hungry, and this isn’t a date.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, lighthearted. “You can’t work on an empty stomach.”

“That’s precisely how I’d like to work tonight, thanks.”

“Why?” he asks, far too coy. “Afraid you might lose your dinner?”

Yes.

“No.”

A smile slowly spreads across his face as he shifts the car out of park; eyes on the road. “I know just the place. Reclusive. Romantic. ”

You feel yourself sinking lower in your seat as you stare desperately out the window.

Just what you need….

More time alone with this annoyingly good-looking freak.

“Fine,” you say flatly, but he lowers his lashes like that’s the most romantic thing.

“Are you always this in love with me?”

“I told you I’m not hungry.”

“Then you can watch me eat,” he returns, promptly ignoring your complaints. “I’m starving .”

The sun’s just beginning to set, molten hues burned against palm tree skyline, as Brian pulls into an alley lot beside some warmly lit restaurant and bar you’ve never heard of. The car wheels rumbling across old, cracking asphalt, before he weaves into a spot. Shifting his expensive car into park before getting out, and you sit there–tensely, silently debating in that war within yourself–deciding if you should just refuse to follow him on inside, only to jump as your door is abruptly opened for you.

How does he keep sneaking up on you like that?!

Lofting from on high, Brian offers you his hand, and he’s really going in hard on the date angle, isn’t he?

“Madam?”

Yeah. He really is. And he looks so cheeky about it, too.

But you just unbuckle your seatbelt and take his offered hand; adopting his beguiled tone as he helps you to your feet. “Thank you, darling.”

There’s the smallest blip before his smile spreads wider, showing teeth. 

It’s so disarming when he smiles like that. Like he actually means it.

“C’mon,” he says, good-natured. Ushering you on his arm through the dim-lit alley, out to where the front of the small establishment is radiating warmth and low, Cuban music. Its walkway strung rafters-to-lamp posts with strands of fairy lights that dazzle against the oncoming night. Muted laughs and clinking glasses gliding out into the night from inside.

It’s homey, this place. Like a hole in the wall where everyone’s a regular, and you just know the food is worthy of licking your plate. But it’s hard to enjoy the comfortable, intimate ambiance when it’s the Ice Truck Killer leading you toward the elderly hostess who pleasantly greets you both; who leads you toward a secluded corner of the room, to a booth procured for you at Brian’s request.

He doesn’t glance at the menu as he slides in opposite you, one arm spread along the ruby-pillow backrest of the seat you share, curved as it is around the darkwood table. “Ready to order when you are.”

You pick up the menu as if it might contaminate you, the idea of food so presently revolting. “I take it you eat here a lot?”

“You’d be hard pressed to find better Cuban food,” he says. “The pollo sofrito’s good if you’re in the mood for chicken.”

You never thought a wanted serial killer would be so casually recommending you meals like it were the daily special. And you don’t want to order a thing. But when the waiter arrives and Brian orders two pork cubano’s (guess he really is starving), you just read the first thing off the menu you see, not really registering what it even is.

It takes a long moment to notice the way Brian’s cleverly smiling at you across the table.

“What?” you ask, but he only shrugs. Arm still comfortably outstretched along the curving seat’s backrest.

“Nothing.”

Yeah fucking right he’s thinking nothing. You’re starting to suspect this man is always scheming. But instead of calling him out on it, you find you’d rather pick his labyrinthine brain about something else. Something you’re surprised you’re so curious about, the more it presses upon your mind, though you don’t know fully why. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow…

You’re just curious.

“Can I ask you something?” you wonder across the table, and he quirks a raven brow in your direction.

“Seems to me you already are.”

It’s enough of an invitation.

Still, you uncomfortably rub your arm. Tuck away a strand of hair to steady yourself, before pressing onward. All while he watches you with what seems a gentle, mounting interest.

“I barely knew who you were,” you say, “before… Well…” 

Before you were branded as the ‘Ice Truck Killer’.

You glance around, as if someone might be listening, might be privy to even your thoughts. Brian, meanwhile, doesn’t shift an inch from how his focus lies on you. And when at last your eyes return to his, it feels his own have never left you.

“I was at the hospital when Tony Tucci was fitted with the prosthetic you made him,” you say, in a slightly more hushed tone. Just in case someone might hear you, though you must admit Brian chose this table advantageously for a pair of would-be executioners like yourselves. “The grand reveal party, or whatever that was.”

His interest is visibly piqued; the curve of his rounded lips twitched in thought. “You were…? Huh… I don’t often forget a face.”

“I was only there for a few minutes,” you say, “and we never spoke.” Watching him closely as you add, “I saw you flirting up Deb, though.”

You pause, not sure if you’re waiting for him to respond to this, but he doesn't say a thing. And for a while, neither do you. The two of you merely observing one another from across the silent table. Attempting to peer inside one another, it would seem; to glean what secrets one’s words would keep out of reach.

“You guys seemed so cute together,” you murmur at length. 

His expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t deny, doesn’t agree with you. 

So you continue; left with no other recourse than to do so. 

“Was any of that real?”

Far-off dinnerware clatters lightly outside your mutual intensity. The soft chatter of restaurant patrons mingled with the low hum of Cuban music, drifting slowly past your ears. And it’s all you can hear for a while, as the man before you remains in watchful silence.

Eventually, he scarcely inclines his head.

“Not even remotely,” he says, with such bare conviction you find it hard to doubt his words are true. “She was a means to an end. Nothing more.”

Still, some part of you doesn’t believe that. Doesn’t want to believe that. You saw how much Deb loved him. What his betrayal put her through. Hell, she was engaged to the murderous bastard–was never the same after meeting him. 

He didn’t care at all for her? Not even in the slightest, most incomprehensible way?

“Why?” you ask, instead of denying what he’s told you. 

He barely moves. Scarcely appears to even breathe in how he watches you. “Why what?” 

Worrying the inside of your lower lip, you try again. Aren’t sure why this is even hard for you to word. “Why… How… How could you not care about her…? With how much she cared about you? She was completely in love with you.”

As you wait for him to respond, his expression slowly tilts into a frown. 

“She didn’t care about me,” he lowly says. “She cared about Rudy. A man who doesn’t exist. She cared for a ghost, whilst despising the animal hidden inside myself. The only thing she loved was my leash; the bars of my cage, and I don’t like hiding inside it.” His umber eyes trace across your expression. Calm. Unreadable. “I don’t want Dexter to hide, either. Nor you. Why lie to ourselves about what we are? It goes against the laws of nature.”

Some shade of discomfort, something sinister and tight, creeps up along your nape upon him placing you in the same league as he and Dexter.

“I’m not like you,” you faintly protest, and he smiles; a cruel, bare curve.

“Sure you’re not.”

You don’t know why that ties so many strings inside you, wrenching them all into knots. And as the food arrives, with you and Brian accepting your plates in polar opposite displays of enthusiasm, you’re still hopelessly unsettled. Toying with the pasta you apparently ordered, far from anything resembling hungry, while Brian picks up one pork cubano and eats in giant, animalistic bites like a man half starved, and if there was ever any reason to doubt he was a relative of Dexter, seeing him eat was all the proof you needed–better than a DNA test.

“You know,” he muses between wolfish bites, undisturbed by your previous conversation. “You keep saying you have to kill this guy.”

“I do,” you mull at the table, stirring your directionless fork across your plate, before glancing up at him. Seeing his dark brows lightly pinch for a moment.

“Why?”

For a moment, you can’t even register the question; confused, and surprised as you are that he’s asking. He’s always professed he didn’t care.

But now that he is asking, you’re hesitant to explain. Not wanting to relive what makes you see that vicious, unforgiving red; that makes you hollow and hateful and nothing else. 

You don’t want to talk about it. But words are already falling from your lips.

“My niece is the cutest kid,” you say, sounding very far away to yourself. Still stirring noodles you no longer seem to see. “She’s six. Ava. Quirky in this dorky, fun-loving way.” Your little smile at the thought of her fades. “Honest. Trusting.”

Too trusting; you push the thought away. Try to focus past that red which already bleeds along the edges of your vision, poisons your every heartbeat until you can hardly think.

“Her mom, my sister,she�� She’s a single mom. Always working. And I can’t babysit as much as I’d like.”

Your fork stops stirring; words ashen in your mouth. And you can’t seem to go on. Lost in a void of yourself.

In your silence, Brian’s nothing if not perceptive.

“What’d the babysitter do?” he quietly asks.

Your eyes flit up to him. Hand numb around your fork. 

You don’t want to think about it. Not until tonight.

“Does it matter?”

“Seems to matter to you,” he calmly returns; dark eyes never leaving you.

There’s a stone in your chest where your heart once lived. A foreign, ugly thing that doesn’t belong there.

“I found out he was… redefining the meaning of ‘story time’,” you hear yourself say, unwilling to go into detail. Such vile disgust raising its hands round your throat, smothering you, that feels like they could at any moment consume you. “Turned it into a game she didn’t like. One where he took all her clothes off...”

You’ve already said too much you don’t want to think about; you won’t continue. And Brian, ever watchful, doesn’t press for more. Though, after moments of dragging silence…

“You’re a cop,” he says. Hushed, yet quite bluntly. “And you and Dexter have been planning tonight for... what? Two weeks?” His expression is carefully unmoved. “Why didn’t you just arrest him?”

It’s like he already knows the answer. Just wants to hear you say it out loud. And though you’re loath to give him what he wants…

“Because I broke into his house, instead,” you find yourself admitting. 

Brian’s eyes are hawk-like. Perceptive to your every shift in expression. “Were you armed?”

You don't immediately answer. Or really answer him at all.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say. “He wasn’t home. But I found a bunch of hard drives under one of his floorboards while I waited for him.” You’re surprised your lip doesn’t bleed with how harshly you bite the inside of it. “One had my niece’s name on it.”

You don’t know when you dropped your fork, only that you’re no longer holding it, and as you glare at the table it feels your jaw might snap.

“Turning him in is too good for him,” you murmur, so lowly you almost can’t hear how every word’s afflicted by hate. “I want that bastard dead. I want to feel the life stripped from his pathetic body, piece by excruciating piece. Want to hear as he chokes and sobs and gags and begs for mercy he never gave, and make him feel all those terrible things he made all of those little girls feel, and then I want to personally ship what’s left of him to hell.”

You stare at the table for a long time. So long you forget where you are, who you’re here with. And when again you look at Brian, it feels his study never left. Remaining ever-watchful as he takes another giant bite of sandwich.

It’s almost funny how he can eat at a time like this. There’s no way, in this moment, you could register what hunger even is.

“The belt sander’s starting to make a lot more sense now,” he remarks between hungry bites. 

He’s so calm…

You should stay calm, too. Like he is. You’ll have to be in order to get through what you’re going to do tonight. But even knowing this, it still takes substantial effort to somehow shake yourself from this ugly beast that’s crawled inside you. To shed its cruelly comforting skin and continue being human, instead of whatever vicious creature it would see you transformed to.

He seems to notice you struggling, or perhaps he’s just bored of your strangled silence. Either way, he swallows his next famished bite before you feel him reach beneath the table. His fingers just barely brushed across one of your knees, soft across the fabric of your jeans.

It makes you jump, not expecting his sudden touch; your eyes darting sharply up to his.

He smiles slightly to receive such rapt attention.

“Don’t worry,” he says. And you find the stillness of him, the firmness, oddly soothing. Infecting your nerves and rewiring them into something more at ease. “He may not know it yet, but his road to hell is coming.” Slowly, he smiles as he watches you. “So long as you don’t chicken out on me, that is.”

For a moment, you can only stare. But gradually, his taunting scratches through that stifling weight which feels to press on your every surface, until you don’t know whether to cry or laugh, to scream or scoff or slap him, it’s all so overwhelming. But in the end, you’re somehow smiling, just like him. Its barest curve a mirror of his own.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you venture softly. “Seeing me fail. Watching what happens.”

You’re surprised when he doesn’t immediately agree. And you can’t deny in him a sort of avid curiosity. A sort of hunger. A primal thirst, as he eyes you quietly from across the table.

“Not as much as I’d enjoy watching you work,” he says at last.

There’s only you and him. This room, it’s noise, it’s chaos–all of it sinks away, far and deep into a void, until there’s nothing left. And all you see is Brian, watching you like that from across the table. And all he seems to see–right now, and since first sitting–is you.

[jackoquako]

Burning from the Inside

Yan! Batfamily x neglected! male! meta! Reader

Chapter one: Enter the Manor

I do look through the interactions with my fic and block profiles that only use she/her or say “cis girl”.

Summary: The first few months of living in the manor and your impressions of the inhabitants. Word Count: 2805 Reading Time: 11:14 (mins:secs) Notes: Uh yeah this was meant to be maybe like 1000 words max. Oopsies 😬. I thought I’d do an honorable mention of @sitepathos and their series Gold to Mold bc while the influence may not be obvious, that story was one of my main influences to finally write the story in my head. Also any OOC behavior can be chalked up to the characters being emotionally inept (Bruce), not fully capable of raising a child that’s not Robin (Bruce again), or deal with their own emotional baggage of not being Robin anymore (dick). Also it’s important to note that I do look through the interactions with my fic and block profiles that only use she/her or say “cis girl”. The idea of being used as a tool for someone else’s gratification makes me uncomfortable and this is my blog, I do what I want. No current release date for the second chapter, it’ll get done when it gets done I guess.. 🤷‍♂️😓 Warnings: written in first person, talks of a young child (11) dealing with depression but the word isn’t used. Aggressive behavior from an adult to a child, and neglect from a parental figure.

Navigation

Masterlist

Prologue | Chapter 1 (you are here) | Next Chapter ->

The first week in the manor was actually rather.. nice. The car Alfred had taken you to the manor in was a shiny black, the interior coated in an oil-like black leather that made noise when you moved on it. There’d been a bag of fast food waiting for you in the back seat of the car when Alfred ushered you in. You’d devoured the meal hastily- not out of any sort of food deprivation or malnutrition, but because it never seemed like you could sate your appetite. No matter what, you were always a little hungry, a little more ravenous than the other boys your age. He’d talked sparingly as he drove, rarely talking his eyes off the road. It seemed like he understood. Unlike the cops and the foster families and the social workers, Alfred didn’t say “I’m sorry” or “that must hurt”. He didn’t really say anything about it at all. 

He’d asked you what your favorite color was, what style of decoration you’d want for your room, if you enjoyed your current clothes and style or if you’d rather have something else, and other similar questions. It was slow going, moving your mouth to form answers. Since the house fire, you’d grown to be unlike your past self, retracting into your shell like a snail, and barely speaking unless absolutely necessary. He didn’t seem to mind silence, though. It made a knot in your shoulders, that you never noticed, come loose.

The ride wasn’t very long, or maybe it was, you didn’t pay much attention to the time. It didn’t feel like a long ride. You’d spent the majority of it resting your head on the car door and staring out the window, watching buildings and trees pass by. The squat, brick buildings of mom-and-pop businesses of the town you’d been moved to gradually gave way to towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, although that eventually fell away to a thinned forest and big houses that stood proud among manicured lawns. The houses faded away too, leaving miles of sprawling woods the only thing to look at. Watching the trees pass by was a rather calming experience, your heartbeat slow and steady in your chest. You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling that ever-present heat under your skin settle, like a cat laying in the sun. It never left, like a permanent fever, but it could calm down, it could go dormant for the moment. 

The car rolled to a stop and you opened your eyes. A mansion stood alone in the middle of the woods, a driveway leading up to it and ending in a roundabout with a fountain in the middle. The front of the house was framed by well-loved hedges and flower beds which bloomed with brilliant white and red flowers. The house- mansion- itself was a deep red brick, the stone worn by weather, and framed by snow-white columns of marble. It was imposing, looming over the surrounding trees. Alfred stepped out of the car and moved around to the side, opening the door for you.

“Master yn, we have arrived.” He said with that same kind, elegant manner he’d greeted you with, back at the social worker’s office. 

As you climbed out of the car, Alfred moved back to the trunk and opened it, grabbing your singular bag of belongings before closing the trunk. He walked to the pristine marble stairs that led up to the tall mahogany  doors, the gravel crunching under his shiny black shoes. You followed loosely behind him, looking around at the outside of the house. The thought hadn’t quite managed to break through the fog that always seemed to cloud your mind nowadays, but it suddenly dawned on you that this isn’t exactly a normal foster family. You hurried to the door when Alfred held it open for you, stopping only for a moment to glance down at the outdoor mat resting outside the door. It was black with a gold logo printed onto it; the logo looked like a highly stylized W with an E beside it. An unsettled feeling rested in your stomach at the sight of it and you couldn’t quite grasp why. 

Entering the mansion, you were struck with the smell of cleaner and, very faintly, cologne. It smelled like an expensive store, the kind of place you and your mom would walk past on the way to your usual shopping area. The entryway had an open doorway that offered a small glimpse into the rest of the manor. A grand staircase ran down the side of the wall, the room entirely lit by a chandelier hanging from the high vaulted ceiling. Alfred moves past you, closing the door behind you both, and talks while gesturing for you to follow him up the grand staircase.

He’d taken you down a long hall that was lined with closed doors, explaining where everything was located whilst walking.

“Now, Master Bruce’s bedroom is.. further down the hall.”

You must’ve given him a curious look as you both arrived at your new room. Alfred opened the door for you, allowing you to enter in front of him.

“He wishes to give you space during this time.”

Your stomach churned at those words. They were perfectly designed, like what a PR team would tell their talent to say after screwing up massively. It left a sour taste in your mouth and you couldn’t quite meet Alfred’s gaze after hearing that. You looked around the room as Alfred set down your bag on the bed. It was much larger than anywhere you’d lived before, considering both foster homes and your real home. 

Despite the size, though, the room was bare of any decoration. A single twin bed laid under the brightness of the single window in the room, only blinds blocking the sunlight. Along the far right wall stood a sturdy wooden dresser and mirror. The walls were a blank white wallpaper and the floor was the same shiny deep-colored wood as the hallway outside. There was no side table for the bed, no carpet despite how cold the floor would definitely get, no posters or paintings, just the bare necessities. It was the picture of utilitarian. Alfred spoke up, clearing his throat as if he was embarrassed.

“Unfortunately, we were unable to source more furniture before your arrival.” He said with the same elegance as everything else he’d said, despite his expression figuratively shouting how upset he was about what he was saying. 

It intrigued you more than it should’ve. You shrugged and went to the window, pulling down one of the blinds to look outside.

“It’s fine.”

It’s not. You didn’t turn to look back at Alfred as you spoke, nor did you look back when you heard his fancy dress shoes shuffle against the floor. You heard the door creak.

“I’ll let you settle in, sir.”

You heard the door shut behind Alfred as he left. The minute you were alone, you fell back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

The first few weeks had been rather boring, admittedly. You’d often stay in your room for days at a time, only wandering out to explore the house when you got bored of staring at the ceiling. You’d stroll up and down the halls, discovering the library, the private study that Bruce Wayne used, the various staff quarters, and more guest bedrooms than you thought was possible. None of it really excited you, though. A numbness had invaded your mind and made you into a living ghost, something human in name only. You no longer looked in mirrors and spoke very little, if at all. Not like there were very many people to talk to.

Bruce Wayne was as elusive as rain in the desert. He flitted about the manor, only ever coming home very late at night and leaving in the morning. You didn’t really want to know what he was doing so late in the evening, but you figured you’d find out about it someday. Secrets between you and your mom didn’t last very long, so most family secrets should be the same. 

The very few times you interacted with Bruce Wayne, he seemed distracted or discomforted by your presence, like he was seeing your mother, not you. If you happened to be in the kitchen when he came in, he’d stare at you for a long moment before attempting some sort of small talk. When you didn’t respond, he’d just leave. After the first three days, he avoided you completely. Maybe it was because you were both orphans or maybe there was just something unsettling about you, but Bruce Wayne didn’t want you in his house. Maybe he saw the same in-humanness that the foster families saw. Whatever was wrong with you was palpable, apparently.

Bruce Wayne wasn’t the only person in the manor who avoided you. 

Richard Grayson was, according to google, an orphan Bruce Wayne took in. Grayson didn’t care for your presence either. He was eighteen and seemed to be genuinely disgusted by you. Maybe he saw something too. Or maybe he was just a dick. The first incident with Grayson happened not too long after you moved in. You’d been wandering towards the direction of the kitchen when the front door burst open. He’d stood in the doorway, framed by the light around him, like an action figure in a commercial, all stoic and proud. You stopped to look at him and he looked back, like two animals spooked by the other’s existence. He’d scowled and glared down at you, crossing his arms as he approached. The rude dick left the door open behind him. 

“What are you, another one of Bruce’s new bratty orphans?” His words dripped with anger and annoyance, like you were ruining something just by the virtue of being here. He scoffed before you could even respond and stomped off. 

Luckily for you, though, Grayson didn’t live in the manor. He had his own apartment he’d disappear to for weeks. It was bliss, not having him around constantly. Living with Bruce Wayne already had your blood pressure high and your fuse short, but having someone as outright about their dislike of you- over something that you didn’t even understand- that made your blood boil. You had to physically stop yourself from launching yourself at Grayson every time he looked at you like you were a cockroach. 

But there were redeeming inhabitants in the manor. One of which was Alfred. He never forced you to talk if you didn’t feel like it, which you often didn’t. When you crawled out of your room for food once a day, he’d prepare a meal for you whilst telling you a story. You enjoyed his stories; the stories reminded you of your mother.

“Once, when I was in the SAS,” He’d begin, chopping vegetables into fine little cubes and tossing them into a pan. He’d grab fresh herbs from somewhere and begin chopping those as well.

“There were two new recruits.” He focused on what he was doing as you rested your head on your palm and stood leaning on the dinner table. “And they thought they were just the sneakiest men in the platoon.”

Once the herbs were diced, he’d add them to the sizzling pan, and stir the concoction. The action sent a flurry of floral scents in the air, filling the kitchen with an inviting aroma. 

Alfred continued whilst stirring the contents of the pan. “So the rest of us had dared them; said ‘if you’re really that good at sneaking around, then sneak up to one of the rabbits on base and put a ribbon on it.’”

“And by god, they did.” Alfred chuckled to himself as he turned off the burner and continued to stir, reaching over to the spice rack and picking out multiple bottles and sprinkling the contents into the pan. “They snuck out of the barracks that night and went out into the woods without any of us knowing.”

He gestured for you to sit at the bar and grabbed a plate from a cabinet, snatching a fork from an adjacent drawer. “By the time we all woke up and began our own duties, there were about twelve rabbits running around the base with little ribbon bow ties tied around their necks!”

Laughing softly to himself, Alfred scooped out the cooked vegetable stir-fry onto the plate and brought it over to you along with the fork. He’d sat with you as you ate, talking about other stories from his time in the SAS and his time working for Martha and Thomas Wayne. His genuine kindness made it almost worth it to be living in the manor.

The other inhabitant who didn't mind you being in the manor- and even seemed to like you being around- was Jason Todd. You’d met him while wandering around the manor like you often did. You’d just found the library for the first time when he popped up out of nowhere, appearing from behind a plush seat like a character from a horror movie. He’d bounded over to you like an excited puppy and began speaking a mile a minute. At first he’d put on this hyper-masculine deep voice that didn’t match his face or his age at all.

“Hey! Who are you?” He’d looked down his nose at you and you quickly realized that he, despite already being the same height as you, had stood on his tiptoes specifically so he could look down his nose at you. 

Fixing him with the same blank stare you’d used on everyone, you answered simply. That numbness you’d grown accustomed to made it hard to put energy into your voice. “(Y/N).”

He blinked once, then twice, and then the facade broke. His voice softened into what you assumed was its normal state and he slowly lowered himself to his usual height. Tilting this way and that, he examined you with an almost-suspicious expression. 

“Oh.” He suddenly light up with recognition. “You must be the other kid B took in. I’m Jason.” He pointed to himself with a prideful smile. “How come I haven’t seen you around?” The question was innocently curious, only prying on accident. 

You stared blankly, no response leaving your lips as you stood still. He tilted his head and frowned, shrugging as he looked away, feigning disinterest.

“Strong and silent type, huh?” He nodded to himself as he said the words, still looking at some random book on the bookshelf. “I can work with that.”

And he did.

Jason’s friendship was unlike your relationship with Alfred. In the fogginess of apathy- depression, you realized- he cut through the clouds like a lighthouse. He’d follow you around when you left your room, finding you every time like he had a compass implanted in his head or something, and it exclusively led to you. You’d be just wandering, sometimes taking paths you already walked before, sometimes carving completely new wear patterns in the carpet, and he’d sidle right up next to you and begin talking.

Just like Alfred, he did the talking for the two of you, but he was different. Jason would pause occasionally after cracking a joke, glancing at you to see if you laughed, smiling if he saw you reacted at all. It was like he understood you in a way Alfred didn’t, like he’d been in your shoes before. Sometimes while walking through the halls of the manor, he’d take your hand and lead you to some unspecified place. Occasionally it was the library, but most of the time it was places you’d never gone before, like the rooftop, the garden, and the theater room. 

Eventually, you learned through his one-sided conversations that Jason was only two years older than you at 13, and that he’d lived in crime alley. You didn’t really know where that was, but it sounded like a rough place to live. After a few months of being Jason’s unofficial sidekick, you began talking again. He never made a big deal out of it, but you could see his eyes light up when he finally got a response, even if they were one-worded at best. He’d cracked the hardened shell of emptiness that formed around your heart. The constant rejection by Wayne and Grayson didn’t help, neither did the gentle approach from Alfred, if you were being honest, but Jason had cracked it. He’d pulled you out of a ship you didn’t know had already sunk. And the first embers of happiness began to spark up again once more, even if it was faint. For the first time in a really long time, you had a friend.

And you had all the time in the world to get to know each other better. 

[narwhalsarefalling]

wait hey. i have an idea. they split someone elses quirk in half, and gave the destroying half to tenko, right?

(we know that this is chisaki because this panal is cut directly from chapter 158)

well. i think i know where the healing half went. it went to eri.

think about it- everyone said her quirk was a sudden mutation unlike either of her parents quirks.

i think eri and a few other children like touya and chisaki were backup plans. we already know touya was one of those 'backups,' and we have evidence of chisaki being the source of the destorying/repairing quirk that was split.

eri was just a more recent backup plan in case things went south at the LOV attack at USJ. since AFO was arrested shortafter, she kind of got lost in the shuffle and was just written off to be a similar "seedbeds of ferocity and hatred" as she grew up under chisaki's care.

she even has a similar backstory to Tenko already, having killed a member of her family by accident

that could be why her quirks so weird to- it takes time for it to remember how to "fix" things since its also not "destroying" things as a blueprint. since the quirk is split, it doesnt know how to "fix" things because theres nothing"destroying" things. so it has to rely on time itself to "fix". thats how i think overhaul's quirk works anyway- something needs to be ''destroyed" before being "fixed". its even said that her quirk is similar to chisaki's.

she also suffers from the same control issues tomura had. i bet that her being placed in the care of someone suspected to be another AFO project was not a coincidence. she could have been a very fitting replacement for tenko- she killed her parents with her quirk and was raised in an environment where she was seen as nothing more then a tool for things to end. it was only her determination that she was able to escape his grasp.

just like how chisaki was saved from the same place where Touya woke up from. I wonder if Touya's breakout triggered Chisaki's escape and into the hands of the yakuza.

and of course, saving Chisaki from an even worse fate