#Did anyone ever refuse to eat/drink something you had touched because of your caste?

[dragonnwriter]

Inviolable Bindings

AemondxAegonxFemOC

All Chapters Here!

Chapter 20

The sound of wood clunking into the fireplace jolted Viserra from her restless slumber. One of the servants had taken it upon himself to feed the slowly dwindling fire, and it was then she noticed there was no daylight yet coming from the windows.

Trying to shift her body, she soon discovered that the arm she had been resting on had gone numb due to the prolonged pressure. Her neck also ached and felt a bit stiff. Adjusting her position, she cast her gaze upward along the familiar leg beside her. Aemond's eye remained closed, his head tilted back in the chair just slightly. It was the most peaceful she had ever seen him look, she thought, his sharp features were relaxed and could almost be considered delicate.

Moving carefully not to wake him, she navigated through the uncomfortable tingling in her arm, a sign that sensation would soon return. The servant responsible for tending the fire appeared to hastily retreat as she rose to her feet. Puzzled by the peculiar behavior, she had to remind herself that these were not the chambermaids that were familiar with her.

Her instincts quickly brought her attention back to Aemond. While his body had not moved a muscle, his eye was now open and looking right to her. The furtiveness of his conduct was almost inhuman, something akin to a predator that was always watching the behaviors of other living things around them.

Aemond straightened his posture and quietly cleared his throat while she watched. From the way he was moving, she guessed he had felt just as stiff and sore as she did upon her waking. Breaking her eyes away from the prince, she looked to where she had last seen his brother. Aegon was snoring lightly, hair tousled and leg draping off of the side of the sofa. He certainly did not seem like he would be waking anytime soon.

What piqued her interest was finding the bedchamber doors were now open, having previously closed them herself when leaving the sleeping children earlier that night. Viserra stood still, quietly debating whether or not she wanted to peek inside the room and instigate an interaction with another. It was as if Aemond had read her mind because he was suddenly standing behind her looking in the direction of the bedchamber as well.

"We should see if my mother and sister are awake; someone clearly is," he whispered close to her ear. Shivers traveled down her spine upon hearing his drowsy voice; he had been closer than she had initially realized.

Looking back over her shoulder, she gave him a nod as he brought himself around her. Viserra followed close behind, careful to keep her feet light and not disturb anyone else that still slumbered. They had only entered a few steps into the room before Alicent appeared out of the darkness and into their path. She quietly shushed them and guided Aemond back out.

“Do not wake your sister,” she whispered, taking care to close the doors behind her ever so gently, “You do not know the lengths it took to coax her into sleep. The Mother has granted mercy upon her to allow just a few hours of rest before waking again to this nightmare.”

The unsightly hands of the dowager queen gripped Aemond’s upper arms and it seemed like she might collapse at any moment. He brought his large hands under her forearms, supporting her at the elbow. Viserra noted that her face looked especially worn there in the candlelight, the dark bags under her eyes aging her at least ten years. It was the face of a woman that had grown up too soon and held all of the family’s responsibilities on her shoulders.

“Your Grace, might I fetch you something to drink or eat. You have been caring for your daughter but has anyone helped you?” Viserra asked while taking a step closer to them. Part of her wanted to reach out with a gentle touch, something the woman most likely did not experience enough.

“No, no.” Alicent refused, shaking her head, her face scrunching with the thought of eating. “I cannot fathom the thought of anything in my stomach at this moment. Your kindness is appreciated. I have just…” She paused and opened her large doe eyes to look right into Viserra’s, “…seen too much tonight.”

Aemond cocked his head to the side, attempting to pull his mother’s gaze back up to his, “Mother, you looked the Stranger in the face  and still prioritized caring for  your child. Come, sit and rest.”

Alicent had looked back up to her son, almost as a child would to their own parent. Viserra watched as he guided her over to a chair and she seemed to ghost alongside him until she sat. Her round eyes settled on her eldest son in front of her, still sleeping and emitting just the faintest of snores.

“Aemond, it is imperative that we do not let tonight be the start of your brother’s downfall.” Alicent almost begged, looking again to her dutiful son.

Aemond nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder, “While I think he is capable of that even without losing a child, he might now see the seriousness of this all with more clarity.”

Viserra winced hearing Aemond’s cold words. But they were not untrue, no matter how harsh it sounded coming out of his mouth. By the expression on his mother’s face, it was apparent she did not disagree with him either.

“I will help him also. The King does seem receptive when I approach him on more…difficult topics.” Viserra chimed in, taking a step towards them both.

At first Alicent did not respond, but turned her head and worried expression in Viserra’s direction. However, when she looked back to Aemond, he simply nodded as if to approve of her declaration.

“Aegon seems to take direction from Viserra well, Mother,” he paused, briefly unsure of how he would address this topic without giving his mother too much information on what had been happening behind closed doors. “She and I will both do our best to keep him on track and headed on the right path.”

Alicent breathed in slowly and looked back to Viserra who stood waiting for her response. “I must trust that you and Aemond will succeed, the peace of the Realm and our family’s survival depend on Aegon’s ability to rule.”

“I understand. You have my word,” she promised, trying to reassure her that her intentions were indeed honest.

Hardly any more words had been shared between them until the sun began to fill the window with the morning’s light. It did not take long before the doors to the royal chambers were thrown open. Otto Hightower and two of the Kingsguard walked briskly into the room. The sudden busyness seemed to jolt Aegon awake as well as draw the others’ attention towards them as they arrived.

“The Keep has been secured but we have not yet located those responsible for the attack.” Otto announced, looking at his weary daughter who responded by catching her head in her hands and letting out an audible sigh.

It was a disheveled Aegon who responded next, a different fire lit within his tired eyes, “Fucking hell, then you are not looking hard enough! Double your search efforts.”

For a brief moment, all of those in the room looked to the King, surprised at the tone of his voice and sudden interest in the matters at hand. Aegon then stood to face his grandsire, his posture relayed his irritation while waiting for a response.

“Your Grace, we are looking diligently. The efforts have not been abandoned.” Otto spoke surely, though he seemed surprised at the confrontation. “The exits to the city have all been barred and guarded as well. No one is to leave.”

“Good. Now round the council. I would like to discuss plans for getting Rhaenyra’s head on a spike.” Aegon’s voice was dripping with the desire for vengeance.

Otto nodded and bowed at his king, doing his best to accommodate his sudden interest and involvement in the current matter. “As you wish.”

As the Hand turned to leave the room, Aegon spoke once more, “Aemond and Viserra will join us at the table. Do make sure there is a seat for them both.”

The way Otto’s body suddenly tensed up was obvious to anyone who was watching. He slowly turned back and bowed once more, making sure to look at the other dragonriders standing in solidarity behind their king.

As the chamber doors sealed shut, Aegon directed his gaze toward both Aemond and Viserra, his eyes serious with determination. It was a side of him that Viserra hadn't witnessed before and it gave her hope that he might not falter and retreat from his responsibilities.

“I will snap each of her sons’ necks then take her head myself.” Aegon breathed the threat as he ignored his mother's arrival at his side. She placed her hands on one of his arms.

“Aegon, we must think each action through with great care. No rash decisions can be made when we are still securing all of our allies.” The words that the dowager queen spoke were wise and sensible, but it was something Aegon did not want to hear in the moment.

Pulling his arm from his mother, he did not acknowledge her words. While he knew she always meant best, the anger he had felt within did not allow for any feelings of compassion or careful consideration. Instead, he took a step towards Viserra and offered her his own hand.

From the corner of her eye, Viserra could see Aemond’s posture stiffen at the gesture. Looking up to meet Aegon’s gaze, she took his hand with a small curtsey. “It would be an honor to sit in with your council, my King.” She had hoped the words would satisfy him  and he would not so openly show his affection for her.

Viserra noticed that Alicent’s breathing had quickened while watching the interaction, trying to decipher the meaning behind it. Though exhaustion was apparent by just looking at her face, the dowager queen was intelligent and always observing…especially when it involved her children.

“The Prince’s death will not be in vain.” Aemond promised, seeming to cut the building tension between the four of them standing there.

“Thank you, brother.” Aegon spoke, letting go of Viserra’s hand and coming to stand in front of him. The two seemed to share an unspoken understanding before Aegon walked away to go sit by the fire. He quickly brought his head to his hands while the warmth of the flames licked around him.

Viserra then turned to look at Aemond to see if he shared the same curiosity as she did for the King’s new determination. Though he did not reveal much in his expression, he took a step towards her, his warm body only inches away. She felt just the slightest bit of uncertainty in her gut, but his presence there seemed to wash it all away.

The moment when they would fly and fight in war drew near, and the anticipation stirred both a bloodthirsty excitement and nervous butterflies in her chest. Exercising a measure of self-control, she refrained from leaning back into Aemond's warmth as he stood behind her. Surely she did not want to send their mother into a fit while observing yet another unseemly interaction between Viserra and one of her sons.

After some time, Otto returned to the room announcing that the council had been summoned. The three dragonriders accompanied the Hand to the council chamber while Alicent stayed behind to watch over Helaena. No conversation took place on the walk there, but the energy was tense. To her surprise, the anger that radiated from Aegon did not seem to waver the entire way.

As promised, there had been two extra seats at the table when they arrived. The other council members rose to bow as the King walked through the doors. Aemond and Viserra took to the chairs directly to Aegon’s right while Otto stood in the spot where Alicent usually sat.

The meeting promptly began and Aegon had been determined to dive right into planning their next move. It was apparent that the others on the council were not used to the level of involvement from their king. His inexperience and desire to seek revenge had to be talked down more than a few times. It was only wise that their next move needed to be carefully calculated. The pretender queen and her husband would surely expect some sort of attack and they would be ready for them.

Otto had spoken of the attempts to secure a few more allies before bringing their dragons to the warfront. He brought the unfortunate news that the Prince of Dorne had recently refused their offer and they still were waiting on the response of a few others. This information displeased Aegon, who interpreted it as inaction on their part. He snapped quite a few times at his grandsire, pushing for him to focus on a plan to attack the Blacks instead of writing more letters.

“We might be matched in dragons, but we have Vhagar. Not to mention Aemond and Viserra as riders and fighters.” Aegon argued, irritated that they couldn’t just show up to Dragonstone and eliminate their enemy. 

“In due time, Your Grace. But we must be sure our odds will lead us to victory, not failure.” Otto reasoned, earning a scoff and rolling of eyes from Aegon.

Viserra paid close attention to the discussions happening at the table. Intuitively she did not place trust in a single council member there. But distrust aside, she was in agreement with the majority’s opinion that an attack at this time would be foolish and leave King’s Landing vulnerable.

There were still a few ravens that had not been returned from southern cities, allegiances that would best be confirmed before making a move as large as the one Aegon wanted to see executed.

It was obvious that his drive for vengeance needed to be channeled into something more productive while the city strengthened its banners. This was something she thought best to be handled behind closed doors. Thinking that either training with the sword or dragon riding to fill his time would suffice.

“Have you sent word to my father?” Viserra asked, this being the first time she had voiced anything in the meeting. The room went quiet, and Otto looked to her, pausing for just a moment.

“Indeed. We are eagerly waiting on word from Volantis. With Dornes’ declination to involve itself in this war, it would be of great usefulness to have another wealthy ally available to call upon.” Otto explained. This was somewhat surprising news, though she did not put it past him to reach out to her family without speaking to her first.

“I will also write to him, it might make your case stronger to have his daughter state her words as well. The Free Cities do not typically dabble in Westerosi politics.” Viserra explained, knowing the support would most likely come in coin only, “My father would indeed financially aid in support, but Volantis will not spare its own men if you have requested them to fight. The best you will get is funding of sellswords.”

Otto nodded, seeming to accept her words with only a little consideration. “Your opinion is appreciated, I will keep that in mind.”

It was a mistake to think he knew the city better than she did herself, she thought. She was a daughter of a high born man involved directly with the city’s dealings. Having been privy to much of her father’s knowledge, she might have followed in his footsteps if it weren’t for the fact that her love and skill for the blade secured her fate on the battlefield. It was the utter disregard that Westerosi men had for their women that had them assuming she could not bring anything valuable to the table. In time, she would prove them wrong.

The rest of the council meeting did not take much more of their time. It was obvious that Aegon felt unsatisfied with the lack of plan in place to avenge the death of his son. He had left with a fuss after finishing off the drink in his cup, leaving most of the council members sitting in an awkward silence, only communicating with their exchanged looks.

Otto had pulled Aemond aside for a moment before they took their leave, something Viserra reminded herself to ask him about later. They left shortly after to look for Aegon, the two of them were quickly informed that the King had left with haste for his dragon. Aemond had initially wanted to follow his brother but Viserra had convinced him otherwise.

“Let him work out his troubles atop his dragon,” she suggested while bringing herself in front of him, both to physically stop him from following but also to draw his attention to her. “You and I both know dragonback to be a place of solace.”

He wouldn’t deny this, but the thought of his emotionally distraught brother unsupervised on dragonback caused him some concern. “I do hope he doesn’t fly to Dragonstone to try and burn it to the ground.” The annoyance in his voice was obvious.

“Your brother is reckless, but not a complete idiot.” Viserra replied, though she was not completely convinced of her own words. Part of her had some reservations, but the alternative was to chase him down and she felt it would not end well for any of them.

Aemond’s mouth twitched as if he had wanted to say something in response. She suspected he did not quite agree but chose not to argue at that moment. “It would be wise for us to check in with my mother and Helaena, I fear that she may struggle to recover from last evening’s attack.”

While the change of subject was purposeful on his part, addressing his sister’s well-being was of no less importance. Viserra nodded in agreement and let Aemond lead the way back in the direction of the royal chambers.

There had not been much conversation between them on their way back. A certain eeriness was felt in the castle walls as well. The reassurance that the keep had been cleared and secured did little to ease the strange and uncertain energy that filled the air there.

First reaching the King’s chambers where they had left the women and children earlier on, they were found to be empty. Hoping they had moved the Queen back to her own rooms, both Viserra and Aemond shared an unspoken nervousness while climbing the stairs to find them.

The guards posted out front of Helaena’s chambers were the first sign that they did not need to worry about any more foul play. Letting out a breath neither one realized they had been holding, they waited as the guards opened the chamber doors.

Alicent was sitting on the sofa watching over Jaehaera as she quietly played with a toy on the ground. A sleeping Maelor was held in her arms and the same worried expression danced across her face. The worry seemed to soften as soon as she laid eyes on Aemond and a small smile was forced to her lips.

“How is Helaena?” Aemond asked as soon as he was a few feet from his mother. The concern over his sister was endearing, each interaction Viserra had observed between the two showed the younger brother seemed to take looking after her quite seriously.

Alicent shook her head and replied in a whisper, “She is not well. I cannot get her to speak to me. She only mumbles in riddles and will not leave the seat in the window sill.”

Viserra looked at the exhausted worry on the dowager queen’s face and for the first time, felt the stirring of fear within her own heart. Helaena was sensitive and gifted. What if the girl could not be pulled from her tortured mind after witnessing such a horrific thing? She tried to shake the thought from her own conscience, knowing that Helaena’s gift would be an instrumental piece keeping them all alive.

“Would it be alright if I took myself to see her?” Viserra asked, watching as Alicent’s attention shifted over to her. The hesitant pause and pursing of her lips gave way to her disapproval, but it was Aemond who spoke up in her favor.

“I do believe Helaena connects with Viserra in a way that we cannot, Mother. I will go with her,” he pushed, trying to wipe the worry and fear from his mother’s face.

“Please do not say anything that will upset her further.” Alicent begged, looking again towards her son with pleading eyes.

Aemond nodded then came back to stand next to Viserra. “You heard my mother, let us be quick.” He brought his arm out as if to usher her onward towards the bedchambers. Not needing to be told twice, Viserra quickly walked past them and entered through the doors.

The sight before her was exactly as Alicent had described it. Helaena was sitting in the window seat, her empty eyes looking to the wall she was facing. There was no indication that she had even acknowledged their presence as they came in. Walking slowly and carefully, Viserra approached her cousin, watching for any sign that her company was unwanted.

“Helaena,” she said softly, lowering herself down so her presence was not perceived as intimidating. “I know this is all so much.”

With caution and just the slightest bit of hesitation, Viserra brought her hand to Helaena’s that were resting in her lap. The moment their skin made contact, she turned to meet her eyes. Her previously empty gaze seemed to light up just a little and for a moment, Viserra thought she would say something. Though the words seemed on the tip of her tongue, Helaena did not make an effort to speak. She studied her eyes, trying to see if she could read through her silence and anything that was shown through her pupils.

“My dear girl, I am listening. If you have something to say, anything at all, my ears are open,” she encouraged, letting her fingers wrap around Helaena’s hand to hold it in a comforting.

“We will all fall down,” she mumbled, her cold stare and ominous words sending chills down Viserra’s spine, “One by one.”

Trying to decipher another meaning out of the words besides the obvious, she looked back to Aemond who didn’t seem quite concerned as she did. Swallowing nervously, she brought her eyes back to Helaena and gave her hand another squeeze.

“Tell me what we need to do.” Viserra asked, though her request was not answered. A moment of silence was the only response she would receive on that matter.

“Where is Aegon?” Helaena finally spoke, her own hand coming to rest upon Viserra’s.

“He left to ride Sunfyre.” Viserra replied, feeling somewhat encouraged that she was beginning to engage them in conversation, “Aegon is quite upset as well. I believe him to be handling this in the best way he knows how.”

Once again, Helaena did not hurry to give her a response, she did however, hold tightly to her hand. When she finally spoke, the words were said quietly. “If you leave him, he will burn.”

“What? Aegon?” She asked.

The words were not what Viserra had expected, though she was not sure that she could even predict what would come out of her mouth at this point. Helaena seemed to know much more than she ever let on and she had to just assume there would be no secrets between the two of them. It bewildered her that, over the years, not even one person had tried to decipher her riddles.

“Do not fail them.” Helaena breathed, looking to Aemond briefly before meeting Viserra’s eyes again.

“I do not intend to fail them,” she replied, bringing her free hand up to join the others.

Not entirely following the conversation, Aemond approached them both, joining Viserra in crouching down in front of his sister. His expression was one mixed with concern and confusion.

“I do not understand,” he admitted, looking to her and hoping she would further clarify the words she had just spoken.

“Do not get in her way.” Helaena’s tone was sharp yet her face bore no indication of frustration or anger.

“What?” Aemond furrowed his brows.

“Do not get in her way,” she repeated, but this time her voice had softened and it seemed almost like an afterthought.

Aemond looked to Viserra, hoping she might also clarify what the words meant, but they did not push her any further. Without warning, Helaena’s demeanor seemed to change, suddenly withdrawing her hands from Viserra’s and bringing her eyes down.

Viserra watched as she put an invisible wall up around herself, knowing now that they would not get any more insight from the dreamer. The brief moment of clarity had passed and she withdrew back into her own mind. Standing slowly, Viserra watched as Aemond hesitated for a brief moment before following in suit.

“Thank you Helaena,” she said honestly. Though something in her worried that Helaena knew of a darker fate than they had all hoped for. She was able to push the thought away for now, but could not shake the feeling of uneasiness that came over her.

Helaena did not speak again, giving them no indication that she had even heard them in their departure. Once exiting the queen’s bedchambers, Viserra found herself deep in thought. She paid no attention to Alicent and the children before taking her leave. Aemond had stopped to talk with his mother for a moment, letting Viserra depart without him.

Quietly, she waited in the hallway. Helaena’s words seemed to confirm that there was something extraordinary about the pull she had felt towards both Aemond and Aegon. Though if their fate was dark, why would they both depend on her so much that a dreamer would almost demand her not to fail them?

Aemond eventually joined her in the hall and she had half expected him to question her about his sister’s words. Though once he reached her side, he did not make any mention of such. Still reeling on the words herself, she quietly walked by his side while they made their way back into the main area of the keep.

It almost felt as if it were the beginning of the end, something that both frightened and excited her. Viserra had always felt her purpose would be important in this life, utilizing her training in a war for the Iron Throne seemed to satisfy that thought. While it seemed as if chaos continually danced around them there, she finally could sink into the feeling that she was somewhere she belonged.

[deepspaceclawstation]

Maybe I should just blacklist the word 'reservation' for my own mental health

[that-vigilant-yaksha]

Requested by Anon: can I request hcs with xiao, albedo, and childe x reader (separately) about the reader asking them to play truth or dare, just the two of them? it went slightly towards nsfw because the reader teases the character a lot and thus SEXUAL TENSION!!

Pairings: Albedo x GN!Reader ; Childe x GN!Reader ; Xiao x GN! Reader

Warnings: Sexual Content! Nothing graphic but mentions of sexual acts

A/N: My first request! Thank you for asking! I had so much writing these. Teasing these beautiful boys and how they might reacting to it during a game of truth or dare.

You were bored. The reality didn’t match the fantasy you’d had when you decided to accompany Albedo up to his camp in Dragonspire. He actually wanted to focus on work, instead of you.

Which honestly, you shouldn’t have been surprised by. The man was obsessed with his work.

Sitting on a stool, you simply stared at his back as he pondered over the pinned papers on the board. How could one man look so sexy while reading? But you were still bummed that he wasn’t paying attention to you.

“Hey, Albedo?”

No response.

“Albedo?”

Still nothing.

Getting off the stool, you snuck over him, admiring and hating how focused he was. “Albedo!” You nearly shouted his name, throwing your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his back. “Let’s play a game!”

He agreed to play only to satiate you, because although his work meant a lot to him, he also had such a hard time saying no to you. You’ll have to explain the rules to him, as he’s never played before.

Once he has a basic understanding, Albedo plays the game seriously. He leans toward truths in the beginning. He asks strange questions, sometimes pertaining to his work. It was cute, and you let him get away with it.

But when it was his turn, you teased him endlessly. Truths were riddled with leading questions, and dares were filled with some kind of touching or kissing. You started out small, daring him for a kiss or asking for the truth of how much he thinks about you when you are apart.

Albedo isn’t stupid. While at first, he isn’t fully aware of what you are doing, he quickly puzzles it out. He’ll play dumb, calculating the best way to deal with you being so brazen.

And when he does. Oh, you are in for it. You leaned toward dares, wanting to see how far he’d take it. You’re obviously fake innocent smile as you waited to hear what he’d dare you to do only fueled him to make the dare something dirty.

“I dare you to touch yourself.”

You.exe has stopped working.

You were not prepared to hear those words come from his lips. But he was staring at you without an ounce of joking, completely serious. Your silence prompted him to tilt his head. “I believe that’s within the rules, yes? Are you refusing my dare?”

Oh, you were in for it. It was freezing up in the mountains. And he wanted you to expose yourself and masturbate? The thought did thrill you, and you realized that this was an inevitable outcome.

You comply with the dare, and things only become more heated between the two of you. Dares becoming the only thing you both chose, becoming bolder with each one.

“Perhaps next time you’ll think again before attempting to fool me, hmm?”

Occasionally, late at night, you could find Childe at Northland Bank, on night duty. He needed no assistance from the other Fatui, as the single Harbinger was more capable than a dozen of his subordinates. You weren’t supposed to bother him while he was working but you’d caught him talking to himself in different voices, showing how utterly bored he was.

 In your hands was a bottle of wine and some snacks you’d swiped from Wanmin Restaurant. Childe wasn’t the best influence on you, apparently. You tended to do some shady things after spending more time with him. “I come bearing gifts.”

Childe is absolutely thrilled that you came. He hates having to be on guard, all alone. He’s a sociable person. “Oh, I see you brought some wine and food too.” You were always a treat to be around, and the Harbinger found himself wanting to spend time with you.

The two of you spend a little time talking and drinking, snacking, and more drinking. The wine had gone to your head a little, and you thought perhaps his guard was a little down after an entire bottle. “Wanna play a game with me?”

He’s ready when you suggest a game of truth or dare. He’s played with his younger siblings often and he loves the idea.

Childe takes the game very seriously but wasn’t ready for you to take such bold actions against him. He finds it utterly adorable that you are trying to trick him. But he allows it for a little while.

He’ll pretend to not notice that your dares are getting more and more intimate, and he’ll play dumb when you ask him to tell you the truth on how much he cares for you.

It’s the tipsy side of you that is unaware that is totally playing with you, biding his time before he could turn the tables on you. Childe is the puppeteer, and you are simply the marionette, but you were always unaware.

I dare you to kiss me anywhere but on my lips. A test. To see how far the harbinger was willing to go. You'd expected the neck, maybe. Where he'd find that sweet spot to nibble on. Or he might try for your chest, as a way to return your taunts.

The world flipped, and you were flat on your back against the floor. Blue irises staring at you with such intense lust. His mouth hovering above your most sensitive part of your body.

"Ah, the look on your face is so adorable. I could just eat you up."

And he follows through with his promise. Both of you secretly glad that he always works alone. Otherwise, someone might overhear all the pretty noises you make for him.

You liked taking overnight trips to Wangshu Inn, begging Boss to go along with your little white lie that the inn was full, and you had no room to stay in. Which meant you made a plate of Almond Tofu and went to the top floor to find the resident Adeptus.

“Xiao, I made your favorite,” You said, casting a glance around the seemingly empty balcony. He was here. You could tell, since you spent so much time with him, despite his constant complaining about tainting the human world.

“You are trying to bribe an adeptus? Humans are so brazen.” But he lacked the typical irritation that he had when speaking to anyone else. He could fake it all he wanted, but you knew he liked being around you.

You snickered, offering him the plate. “Inn’s full, so you’ll let me stay with you, right? You wouldn’t want me to sleep out here in the cold and get sick, would you?”

Xiao sighed, but accepted the dish. “I would not wish to see you fall ill. I’ll allow you to stay the night, as long as you behave.” He hadn’t intended the words to be received as you took them. 

The more you thought over it, the more you wanted to twist them just a smidge. Alone in his room, you sat on the bed and waited for him to finish eating. “Xiao, let’s play a little game! To pass the time.”

What is this game you speak of? It sounds childish. He doesn't partake in silly human games.

But your bottom lip sticking out in a pleading fashion paired with your big puppy dog eyes, and the adeptus caved, unable to say no to you.

"I surrender. Explain this game to me."

 Honestly, bless this man. He tries so hard, but he is taking the game way too literally. You have to explain again that he can ask whatever and dare anything. It's easy to take advantage and get away with a lot of teasing.

You start out with daring him to let you sit in his lap and touch his hair, and for the loner Xiao, this is considered a treat. It's rare that he lets you be so affectionate.

 You up your game and start asking for lingering hugs and kisses. Just give a few wiggles in his lap and you'll have him turned on. He's a bit embarrassed but finally catches on after some questionable dares. Why were you wanting him to kiss your thighs? Not that he minded because he quite liked them.

It's so cute how unaware he is. He's got a band of pink across his cheeks, finding it harder and harder to resist you. Until he finally understands what is going on. Bless him for being so naive to human teasing.

"I see." He'd ponder his next move and be brutal about his execution. You choose dare simply to see how he'll react. "My dare for you is this. Strip, completely."

 You eagerly comply, doing it ever so slowly. Revealing your bare skin bit by bit. His golden irises watching every moment.

 Xiao is quite annoyed that you managed to confuse him for so long and get in a lot of teasing. He plans to skip your turn for a while, giving you more and more risky dares until the game ends but the night has only just begun.

[plant-flwrs]

Hiii, i love your writing. I was wondering if you could do a remus lupin imagine. Were its mutual pinnin but they dont know the other like them. And sirus gets tired of it and takes pollyjuice to look like remus and get you to confess🥺

under the mistletoe // remus lupin

masterlist!

a/n: oh my god i’ve been non-stop reading atyd and it is my new obsession. it’s completely canon to me now. ty for ur request! i used they/them pronouns because you didn’t specify, so i hope that’s alright <3 oh! also! im gonna try this new thing w my fics to see if they flow better that way; instead of just jumping in time i’ll put a little indicator (-). wanted to try it out, dunno if i’ll keep using it. i’m so excited for christmas and this put me in an even more christmasy mood omg

summary: Staying at Hogwarts for the holidays seemed like the best way to avoid distractions, but with the Marauders there, distractions were guaranteed. Especially when your crush on Remus proves to be incredibly distracting.

cw: underage drinking (hangover vomiting), swearing (harmless, classic Sirius things)

(8k) (haven’t written this much in so long wow i forgot i could)

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The Gryffindor common room was your most favorite place in Hogwarts. It was warm and comforting, and you had some of your best memories there. With just a glance around the room you could feel your entire school career in just one room. 

Though, now that you were in your sixth year, it wasn’t the leisurely place it used to be. 

All around you, books touched any bare surface there was. N.E.W.T.’s were sooner than you’d like, sooner than anyone liked, and you were filled with anxiety. You knew your strenuous studying was a bit soon, but you felt like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders.

You felt so stressed, in fact, that not even Lily Evans could convince you to go home for the holidays that Christmas. 

“Exams are months away, Y/n!” she sighed as you fell down onto the couch beside her, narrowly returning before curfew from the library, “You ought to enjoy Christmas.”

“I will enjoy it. Here,” you said, rolling your head back and closing your eyes.

You felt sore, as if you had run a marathon, but you had been locked away in the library all day. 

Part of you, the smallest part, blamed Remus Lupin for this newfound obsession. Your fellow Gryffindor, the most studious boy in your year, was the initial reason for your new studying habits. You had started going to the library in an attempt to steal glances at him, an innocent crush that you most definitely let overcome you.

Remus had always gone to the library, you knew that, but ever since your O.W.L.’s he seemed to take extra pride in his work. You couldn’t blame him for secluding himself in the library, for that was the only place on campus that it seemed his rowdy friends did not go. 

“You can’t enjoy Christmas alone,” Lily tutted, pulling the massive textbook off your lap and putting it on the table in front of you.

“You’re staying for the holidays, too?” 

Sirius had just bounded down the stairs from the boys dormitories, his usual mischievous smirk on his face. 

“Yes, they are,” Lily answered for you, turning to look at Sirius as he hovered behind you near the stairs.

“Well, that’s lucky,” he said, acting as if he had a secret he took pride in no one else knowing.

“Why is that, Sirius?” Lily sighed, becoming annoyed.

“Remus, James, Peter, and I are staying, too,” he said, smirk turning into a boyish smile.

“You are?” you opened your eyes and turned to face him, finally.

He met your gaze and nodded excitedly, seeming to already have the Christmas spirit in him.

“So you won’t be alone!” Lily said excitedly, then turned towards Sirius with a more dull tone, “Not the best company, but at least not alone.”

Sirius scoffed in mock offence, scrunching his face up with imaginary tears as he stomped back up the stairs. 

“God, that lot is so bizarre,” she groaned, turning back to you on the couch to see you dozing off.

(-)

Snow fell on the grounds of Hogwarts, and you gazed at it from a fogged up window in the library. 

Lily had gone, Mary had gone, Marlene had gone, just about everyone had gone. You had never stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays before, and you knew not many people did, but you expected more than there were. 

No Slytherins had stayed, which was a welcomed absence from those who did. You knew the two Hufflepuffs that remained, but only because you had classes with them in your fourth year. The Ravenclaws that stayed, there couldn’t have been more than five of them, were often holed up the in the library with you. There were the most Gryffindors, five, including you and the marauders. 

You were almost surprised that James had gone through with staying; Remus had mentioned wonderful things about the Potters and the Christmases they hosted. Still, he was here, cheerful as ever.

As your eyes blurred with tiredness and the window became nearly too fogged to see through, you sighed in frustration.

You missed your family, you missed home, and you really regretted staying at school. You decided to give yourself the day off from studying. With a glance down at your watch, you saw it was nearly lunch time anyways. You had slept in and missed breakfast, coming straight to the library, and your stomach felt empty.

You made your way to the common room, wanting to drop off the heavy books you had accumulated. Mumbling the password to the portrait, you stumbled through without noticing the rowdy conversation coming towards you.

You ran right into James’ chest, stumbling back and already mumbling an apology.

“Y/n?” he asked happily, as if he had been looking for you.

“Hey, guys,” you sighed, forcing a polite smile when all you really wanted to do was collapse on the couch and sleep for days.

“Sirius told us you were staying, but I’d thought you’d changed your mind. Haven’t seen you since the holiday started!” James’s booming and joyful voice made you want to cringe away, but you couldn’t manage anything less than a small smile at his kindness.

 “I’ve been in the library,” you explained, chuckling at the horrified look on three of the four faces.

“You’re worse than I’d thought,” Sirius started, cut off by a sharp elbow to the ribcage by Remus, which only seemed to encourage him.

“We can’t have that,” James finished for him, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Oi,” Remus started, casting a sympathetic smile at you as he tried to stop his friends from potentially insulting you.

“Why don’t you come have lunch with us?” Peter squeaked from behind James as he glanced at the two dark-headed boys for some sort of approval, “We were just on our way down.”

“What a great idea, Wormtail!” Sirius boomed, earning himself another elbow to the side from Remus.

You glanced nervously at the boys in front of you, trying to discern if they were setting you up for a joke or teasing you. 

“You don’t have to-” Remus blurted out, his cheeks pink, “-I mean, if you’re busy with your studies. I know how hard your working-”

“Nonsense, Moony!” James smiled, levitating your bag off your shoulder and easily landing it on the floor somewhere behind him, “they have to eat!”

You chuckled, ducking your head down as James slung his arm around your shoulder and escorted you back through the portrait hole. 

You felt lighter immediately. Whether it was the absence of your heavy bag, or the way the boys’ easy conversation and laughter felt so inviting and warm, you did not know. 

The self-pity you had been feeling only a moment ago seemed to go, too. James kept his brotherly arm around your shoulder all the way to the Great Hall, where he split his path and sat across from you. Sirius followed you down the isle, continuing his teasing conversation with Peter. James sat between Remus and Peter, his smile never faltering. He acted as if eating lunch with his mates and their tag-along was the best thing he had ever done. 

Remus was quiet, almost shy, but you knew that. You had known him your entire time at Hogwarts, and the crush you had on him seemed to last that whole time. You had seen him come out of his shell as the years went on, but he didn’t seem nearly as comfortable as when he was with his friends. 

You stifled your laughter with the back of your hand, blushing slightly at Sirius’s rude joke as he bumped his shoulder into yours. You looked down at your plate, pushing around the mashed potatoes that had grown cold.

“Sirius!” Peter yelped, his eyes wide in shock as he nervously glanced to you.

Sirius had made a crude joke, you knew that, but you hadn’t heard it. You and Remus had been meeting in short bursts of eye contact and the small action alone was making your spine shiver. 

You looked up from your potatoes, seeing the boys fading with laughter and delve back into their food. That was something you never understood about boys; they sat down, ate and ate until they were done, and then got to talking. You, Lily, Marlene, and Mary could talk for hours while you ate, but the boys seemed unable to do more than one thing at once.

The thought brought a fond smile to your face, and you felt something bump against your shin. Looking up from your plate, you met Remus’s eyes again. 

“What’s got you smiling?” he asked, his voice kind with a teasing nature behind it.

James looked up from his plate in the middle of shoving what had to be an entire chicken breast in his mouth, and began cooing at you as your cheeks flushed.

“’M just happy you lot stayed,” you blushed, refusing to meet Remus’s eyes, “would have been dreadful without your company.”

Sirius, without missing a beat, threw his arm around your shoulders and drew you into his chest. His large hand went to your head, ruffling up your hair. You cringed away, giggling and attempting to lay your hair smooth.

Everyone’s cheers in agreeance died down, and James roped Sirius into a heated discussion about Quidditch as Peter hung onto his every word. 

“‘M happy you stayed, too,” Remus mumbled from across the table, his head ducked down as a blush was creeping up the back of his neck.

You fought the urge to break the eye contact, giving him a smile so wide that your cheeks burned. 

You all returned to the common room with full stomachs and wide smiles, courtesy of James, who had just announced his newest plan at getting Lily’s attention. You just finished listing off all the reasons she would hate it, and he clambered through the portrait hole with a dazed smile that a lovesick puppy would have.

You trailed behind the boys, watching them all fall onto comfortable couches and armchairs. You looked at your limp backpack indignantly, choosing instead to follow them. 

You curled up in an armchair that was across a large couch occupied by James and Sirius and to the left of another armchair occupied by Peter. Peter leaned forwards to rest his elbows on his knees, setting up a new chess game for him and Remus to play. Remus sat on the ground, eyelevel with the board. He noticed you looking at him and gave you a kind smile that made you look away, blushing. 

The night was spent in leisure. You had barely wanted to get up for dinner, even Sirius suggested making Peter go down to the kitchens so they wouldn’t all have to go to the hall. In the end, you all went, having just as much of a good time as you did at lunch. 

You wished them a goodnight after you fell asleep watching Sirius and Remus levitating the most valuable things they could find in the room, sending Peter into anxious fits every time they pretended to loose their balance. You groggily walked up the stairs to the dormitories, leaving your homework downstairs with a satisfied sigh. 

For a few moments before you fell asleep again, Remus’s brilliant and bright smile was burned behind your eyes. 

(-)

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sirius groaned, throwing himself dramatically onto the couch with a huff.

“Shud up,” Remus groaned, falling into the armchair you had been sitting in. He could smell you on the chair, your scent floating into his nose like it was intoxicating.

“Really botched that one, mate,” James said with a chuckle, picking up a few of his Quidditch magazines off of the floor and putting them back on the coffee table, where Peter had accidentally knocked them off.

“Romance is confusing! How was I supposed to know?!” Remus groaned, lifting his head from his hands with a desperate look.

James gave him a knowing smirk, and Sirius groaned again.

“It was obvious! You always offer to walk a romantic interest home,” Sirius said, twirling his wand in his hand.

“They were just going upstairs,” Peter mumbled, seeming to agree with Remus.

“It’s alright, Moony,” James said, standing from the couch with a look of determination, “you’ve got all week to seduce them.”

“Shud up,” Remus groaned, repeating his request from earlier.

His eyes fell to the stairs you had climbed moments ago, remembering the peaceful look on your face as you slept, the adorable stretch you did once you woke up, the tired way you climbed the stairs, and that beautiful smile you gave them when you said goodnight.

Remus decided to stay in the common room for a bit longer once his friends had went upstairs, trying to force every second from the time you spent together that day into his memory permanently. 

(-)

You woke up feeling more rested than you had in weeks. The sun was barely in the sky when you opened the curtains, your unusually empty room flooded with orange light. You dressed quickly, donning muggle clothes that you found incredibly comfortable. 

You went down to the common room, seeing that the mess the boys had made last night was either cleaned by them or house elves. There was no sign of life in the Gryffindor tower, besides yourself, so you assumed the four were still soundly asleep upstairs. 

You found your backpack, overflowing with loose papers, and shrugged it onto your shoulders. You had decided to get some work done today, seeing as your day off the day before was not scheduled.

You ate a quick breakfast in the empty hall, finding it odd and strangely discomforting to be in such a large room by yourself. It felt as if you were out past curfew.

The library was the same case. Madam Pince was not even at her desk yet, and you settled into a table by the window. You opened it a sliver, enjoying the cold winter air that seeped into the room. The sunlight warmed you, and the wind was gentle enough to not rustle your papers. 

You dove into your work, feeling considerably better than yesterday, or the past month. Your muscles were loose, and the pressure you had been putting on yourself was no longer there. One night of fun proved to be harmless, and so did the marauders. 

You smiled at the thought of it, at the thought of your little day with Remus. He had been so kind to you, so funny and charming. You had never liked someone as much as you liked Remus. 

You found your gaze drifting out the window, looking past the castle and Hagrid’s hut and out into the Forbidden Forest. You couldn’t think of anything but the curly headed, dirty blonde boy. The way his eyes nervously darted to yours, his sheepish smile. The way he could easily make James, Sirius, and Peter fall into doubled-over laughter, almost as if good-naturedness came to him as easily as walking did. 

The sun rose in the sky, and it was almost time for lunch. Even with your mind distracted, you had gotten done more work than you had expected. You decided that if the boys asked you to have lunch with them again, you wouldn’t decline.

It was as if your thoughts were read, because just as you were organizing your papers to put them away, Remus walked into the library. You fumbled a bit, realizing you smudged some fresh ink on your newly written Potions notes. You didn’t care, though, smiling widely and waving Remus over.

“Alright?” he asked groggily, rubbing his eyes as if he had just woken up.

“Yeah, you?” you couldn’t help but stare at him. His voice was deep and thick with sleep, and he pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his slender hands. He had a muggle novel tucked under his arm, and he put it on the table as he sat down across from you.

“Eh,” he started, looking at you with slight amusement, “James woke up at the crack of dawn to go to the pitch, and he woke up Sirius when he did. Sirius is a git if he gets woken up before noon.”

“That’s not a surprising piece of information,” you chuckled, setting down your papers and getting comfortable in your seat again.

“Yeah, best to stay out of the dorm when Sirius is in a mood. Peter went to ask for some extension on a paper he forgot to do,” Remus smiled fondly at his friends flaws, opening his book and propping it on his knee, “so I figured I’d come find you.”

“You found me,” you opened your ink bottle and dipped your quill into it, going over your Potions notes and fixing the smudged ink.

You were a bit disappointed by Remus’s reasons for coming to see you. Part of you had hoped he missed you, or enjoyed your presence. But the truth was that you were his only other option for company. Your chest deflated slightly as you stole a glance at him only to find him deeply invested in his book. Many conversation starters bubbled in your throat but you couldn’t bring yourself to voice any of them.

It was about an hour of silence in the library before Remus suggested lunch. He helped you pack up your things, humming under his breath as he led the way out of the library. 

Lunch was soup, which you didn’t mind too much. Sirius was already at the table with James when you arrived. Remus sat next to you, across from his friends.

Sirius had his head propped up in his hand, lazily bringing soup to his mouth before dropping the spoon into the bowl with a clatter as his eyes fluttered shut. James rolled his eyes, shoving the bowl of soup away from him and wiping up the splattered mess from the table. 

James eagerly dove into a cheery conversation about his solo Quidditch practice, and Remus reluctantly listened. You felt as exhausted as Sirius looked, even though you had a wonderful nights sleep. You hadn’t felt so tired until your upsetting thoughts about Remus, but now you could barely keep your eyes open. You hadn’t been sitting for more than ten minutes, your soup was barely eaten, but you just wanted to curl up in your dorm.

Peter came into the hall, filing down the row where you had Remus were sitting. He was getting close, and you stood.

“Here, Peter, have my seat,” you said, slowly standing as James’ face contorted with confusion. You could see him working out pleas for you to stay, and your heart warmed a bit. 

“I’m gonna have a lay down,” you excused, not waiting for Sirius’s head to lift from his hand or for James to suggest all of you walking back together.

As you walked away, you heard Peter begin to chat about his essay extension. 

(-)

Remus knew he had done something wrong. He knew it. 

You had seemed happy to see him, you smiled at him, you were friendly, but at some point he said something to make you close off. He was looking forward to spending the morning in the library with you. He had made up the excuse of getting out of the dorm, knowing that with Pete and James gone and Sirius out cold, it would be fairly peaceful. Remus, however, wanted to see you. 

You looked heavenly dressed in casual muggle clothes with the morning sun lighting your face. He was happy to sit with you, but you didn’t seem happy to sit with him. 

He wondered if you were bothered by him and his friends. If yesterday hadn’t been as fun as he thought it was, and if you just wanted to be left alone. He felt a surge of annoyance with James for being so forward, but quickly drowned that out. It wasn’t James’s fault. 

Remus stared into his bowl of soup, not listening to Pete as he complained about the essay he had to write. 

James indulged Pete, listening to his complaints with sympathy as he dipped his bread into his soup. Sirius, however, could not be bothered. 

He had come to attention when you left the table, watching your hunched shoulders and nervous hands pushing your hair off your face. He had even caught your sad glance over you shoulder at Remus before you finally turned to go upstairs. Sirius was thinking, he was thinking hard. He could read you and Remus like an open book. He had known you liked Remus since you started showing up to the library whenever Remus did, no matter how subtle you thought you were being. 

Sirius looked at his friend, confusion knitted in his eyebrows as he hunched over his food. He gasped silently, catching James’s attention, as his eyes lit up with an idea. 

(-)

For the next couple of days, it was not hard to avoid your fellow housemates. James and Sirius seemed to be sneaking off as often as they could, clutching their cloaks close to them as if they had something underneath them. 

You avoided Remus, who presumably only had Pete to keep him company now, by staying in your dorm. The library wasn’t the only place you could study, and you spread your books all across Lily’s bed. You had begun to enjoy studying in your dorm, it was private and quiet, with no Madam Pince staring you down from her desk. 

It wasn’t that you disliked the marauders’ company, because you didn’t. You really liked hanging out with the boys. You had just wanted to prevent any more heartache when hanging out with Remus. You had obsessed over your last interaction in the library, convincing yourself it would be best to stay away from the boy as to not attach yourself any further. 

It was nearing the weekend, Christmas on the upcoming Saturday. You didn’t want to be in solitude on Christmas, but your pride prevented you from asking to hang out with the boys. You didn’t know what Sirius and James were up to, and you didn’t want to know. You didn’t feel like hanging out with Peter, because being in his presence alone made you just as anxious as he was. And Remus, Remus was an entirely different story. Just seeing Remus made your heart race unnervingly. 

On Thursday night, you crept down the dormitory stairs and into the common room. You stopped and waited to hear for Peter and Remus, but it seemed they were still in their room. You were going down for an early dinner, hoping to eat quickly before everyone else came down. 

You seemed to be successful, your plate was nearly cleared and there was no sign of anyone else. You were serving yourself pudding, your favorite pudding, when someone sat across from you.

You looked up. Your throat closed involuntarily, and your spoon froze on it’s way to your mouth. You straightened your back, eyes widening at the sight of him, and wiped your mouth nervously with your napkin.

“Hey, Remus,” you said, smiling politely at him as he began to dish himself food, “where are the rest of the boys?”

“Just me,” he said, his voice sounding a little higher than usual.

“Are you alright?” you watched him carefully as you noticed his posture was straighter than usual.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, looking at you now.

You looked at him, squinting your eyes. He seemed off, but you figured he could be nervous without his friends around.

“Okay,” you trailed off, returning to your pudding.

“Haven’t seen you much, recently,” he said confidently, the usual softness in his voice absent.

“I’ve just been up in my dorm,” you said, still gazing at him cautiously.

“Don’t want to spend time with Sirius, James, and I?”

You bit your lip, looking at him with a serious expression. Remus never excluded Peter when he was talking about his friends, but Sirius often did. You noted it, unsure what that could mean. Had Remus asked Sirius on advice at how to talk to you? The thought made you suppress nervous giggles. 

“No, it’s not that,” you felt your cheeks warm under his blatant stare, “you know how crazy I am about the N.E.W.T.’s.”

Remus chuckled under his breath, slowly eating his pudding. This was also weird, because Remus usually devoured any food in front of him as if he was a starving animal. 

“Remus, are you sure your alright?” you squinted at him, dropping your spoon and propping your chin up with your hand.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said nonchalantly, squinting back at you.

He had remarkably less patience and ease than usual. 

“Okay, well, I’m done eating. I think I’ll go back to the tower now,” you stood slowly, watching his face contort with urgency.

“Wait!” he called, standing too, “wait, come sit for a second.”

You joined him again, clearly suspicious. You wondered if he was distracting you while the boys set up a prank.

“I need to ask you something,” he whispered seriously, leaning closer to you over the table.

“What?”

“Do you fancy me?” he smirked at you, mischief in his eyes. 

At first you wanted to shrink away, blush madly and sputter out lies to conceal your true feelings. But you didn’t. You kept his stare, a blank face looking into his daring one. You decided to make a guess.

“Sirius?” you said confidently, so it didn’t sound like a wild guess. You knew it was crazy. Surely, Sirius would never transfigure into his best friend to eat dinner alone with you and ask him about your feelings for him. Surely.

“How did you know!?” he asked, his voice now completely Sirius’s instead of his weird imitation of Remus’s voice. 

“What!?” you questioned back, surprised that you were right, “It’s actually you, Sirius?”

Sirius’s face, well, still Remus’s face, dropped with disappointment, upset that he gave himself away. 

“Yes,” he mumbled, moving his hand to tuck his hair behind his ear, only to remember Remus’s hair wasn’t that long.

“What are you playing at? How did you do this?” you motioned your hands at him, sounding more amazed than angry. 

“Polyjuice Potion,” he said mischievously, his eyes meeting yours at the tone of your voice.

“That’s really advance stuff, Sirius,” you said, slightly impressed as you leaned back and crossed your arms.

“I had some help,” he said sneakily, and suddenly what he and James had been sneaking off for made sense.

“Are you two planning something? Testing out the costume on me?” you said excitedly, hoping the boys would let you in on whatever prank they had planned.

“Well, about that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “you sort of were the plan.”

You looked at him, confused. It felt weird to be talking so casually with Remus, and you fought the urge to blush every time he looked at you, knowing it was actually Sirius.

“I know you fancy Remus,” Sirius said, sounding a bit guilty.

This time, you could not resist shrinking away and blushing. You looked down at your lap, feeling incredibly embarrassed.

“But,” Sirius started again, his voice oddly comforting and kind, “I know Remus likes you, too.”

Your eyes shot up to meet Sirius’s, your face becoming somehow even more flushed.

“You were trying to get me to admit it to you? That I like him?” you asked him, heart racing.

“I just wanted you to confirm it,” he said, sounding even more guilty, “I didn’t want to try and set you two up if you didn’t like him back-”

“Set us up?!” you interrupted, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” he said casually.

“How do you plan on doing that, then?” You tried to sound annoyed in an attempt to hide just how excited you were.

Sirius had waved over James immediately, who has hiding behind a pillar in the courtyard looking in on you and Sirius. The two began talking almost as animatedly as two schoolgirls stricken with an exciting prospect of romance. 

You watched, lazily propping your chin on your hand as they rambled on about the ways they thought you should confront Remus.

James had been quite keen on them influencing Remus to confront you, and Sirius reckoned you ought to “grow a pair” and kiss him yourself. James was nearly affronted by the idea, insisting on a classic and romantic gesture from Remus’s behalf. 

Either way, you couldn’t fight an embarrassed blush that seemed permanently glued onto your cheeks. You swallowed heavily at any mention of kissing, which was being discussed at length. You had half a mind to stop the hopeful ramblings, but James and Sirius were Remus’s best friends, they had to be somewhat right about his feelings for you.

The conversation got remarkably easier, too, once the potion had warn off and it was Sirius in front of you instead of a fake Remus.

You looked into the courtyard, enjoying the cold air lofting into the room through the open doors, when you noticed Remus and Peter entering the room. The cold air had been helping in cooling your cheeks, but at the sight of Remus’s wide and carefree smile, they warmed immediately. 

“Shut up!” you mumbled harshly to the still ranting dark-haired boys in front of you, kicking them each in the shin for good measure. 

They looked offended, but Sirius caught your eye and smirked once he realized why they were silenced.

“Have you guys eaten already?” Peter asked, sounding disappointed as he sat next to you and saw your empty bowl of pudding. 

“Just had an early lunch,” James said merrily, moving to scoop himself another bowl of pudding after he had eaten an entire lunch while he and Sirius were talking, “but we’ll stay while you guys eat.”

You swallowed hard, looking at James with wide eyes as he quirked an eyebrow at you. You were planning on leaving the second Remus sat between James and Sirius, right across from you, but now you couldn’t be so obvious. 

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Y/n,” Peter mumbled from beside you, stuffing his face with a large heaping of peas.

You looked to Remus almost automatically, only to see him looking questioningly at you. You couldn’t resist the small smile that flirted on your lips as he averted your gaze quickly.

“I can’t get much work done with you lot around,” you teased, clearing the table in front of you and resting your elbows there, “I’ve been in my dorm, most days.”

“What about for Christmas?” Peter pried curiously, “Will you leave your dorm for Christmas?”

“Of course they will!” James boomed from across the table, causing a few tired looking Ravenclaws who were just coming in to glare at him apprehensively, “Starting Christmas Eve, they won’t be able to get rid of us.”

“Oh,” you looked to him, eyebrows raised in entertainment, “I won’t?”

Remus looked between you and James with an excited smile.

“Of course not,” Sirius said for James, picking a carrot off of Peter’s plate from across the table.

“For a limited time,” James said mysteriously, “you will have the honor of becoming a temporary Marauder.”

“They what?” Peter said from his goblet of pumpkin juice, causing some to splash back in his face.

“Peter!” Sirius groaned, annoyed with the boy, “Get in the holiday spirit!”

“Don’t worry Pete, just for a limited time. The holidays are a season of extending great charity to others,” James said, talking with humor in his tone.

“Charity?” you repeated, an amused smile on your face.

“We don’t let in just anyone,” Remus said, looking only at you.

When your eyes met his, you felt all the air leave your lungs. Your jaw clenched in an attempt to gather some sort of consciousness, but all you could do was look back at Remus. 

“That’s true, ‘tis a great honor,” Sirius had raised his goblet in some sort of toast, and you had barely noticed until Remus was raising his glass.

You broke the contact, finally, and sputtered for a moment before you could find your goblet on the table. You rose it, hoping to lower it quickly as you noticed a slight tremble in your hand. Remus connected his goblet with yours gently, looking at you again while you were intent on avoiding his eyes. He had some sort of knowing smile on his face, and you felt very exposed to him. It felt like he was reaching in your chest and squeezing your heart for his own pleasure, and it scared you to know you could not tell him to stop. 

(-)

Christmas Eve was very celebrated amongst the boys. 

So celebrated, in fact, that Sirius insisted Christmas morning was a day for hangovers. 

He had brought out the firewhisky fairly early into the afternoon. James had looked at him with nervousness, but nonetheless took a heaping sip when offered a glass. You sipped casually, not feeling all too comfortable with the chaos that seemed to lurk in Sirius’s eyes. 

By the time the sun was beneath the horizon, Sirius and James were dancing some sort of Irish jig on a table, and Peter was very angrily talking to himself in a mirror. You and Remus, neither of you having very much to drink, sat comfortably on a couch, watching the night unfold.

“Why aren’t you drinking with them?” you asked Remus, glancing at his full cup and tensed shoulders.

He glanced down at you, nervously biting his lip and running a hand through his hair. Oh, how you wanted to touch his hair. 

“I don’t really feel like being hungover on Christmas,” he said, noticing your full cup as well, “what about you?”

“I don’t think Lily would ever forgive me if she found out I got drunk with you lot on Christmas Eve,” you teased, smiling to yourself at the fond thought of your friend.

“I miss Lily,” Remus remarked simply, bringing his cup to his lips and taking a large gulp.

“Me too,” you sighed, doing the same and hoping it would ease your nerves, “she wrote to me yesterday. She’s having a lovely Christmas. Her sister is being awful, but that’s per usual.”

You and Remus shared a knowing smile, both thinking of the complaints you had heard from Lily about her sister. 

“Have you written back yet?”

“No, not yet. I was going to wait until after Christmas,” you were waiting to write Lily back so you could thank her first for the undoubtedly wonderful present she got you. You didn’t know how, but Lily Evans always gave the most thoughtful presents. 

“When you do, tell her we miss her,” Remus said softly, his cheeks beginning to flush pink as he watched with a smile his friends dancing. 

You nodded, ducking your head to hide a smile.

“Oi!” James yelled, stopping his dance suddenly. 

You and Remus froze as he looked at the pair of you, each wearing an entertained smile. James hopped off the table with ease, as if he was not drunk out of his mind and as if the table wasn’t a good four feet off the ground.

“Come dance,” James said once he finally reached the both of you, though, only offering you his hand.

He waved his wand at a muggle radio they had in the corner, and the volume increased. Sirius smiled widely, refreshing his drink with the dwindling amount of firewhisky left. You cautiously took James’s hand, letting him spin you as you giggled.

James caught Remus’s eye, the blonde boy watching you with adoration. James pulled you close, resting one hand on your shoulder as the other held your hand, and leaned in close to your ear.

“Moony is watching you,” he slurred, sounding excited, “I reckon he’ll make a move tonight if Sirius doesn’t finish all the liquor for himself!”

James pulled away, giggling once again like a schoolgirl. You could not help his infectious laughter, your forehead falling onto his shoulder as you laughed loudly. As if on que, Remus stood and walked with determination to Sirius. He took Sirius’s goblet and downed it, smiling widely and accomplishedly afterwards. He climbed on the table with Sirius, who had long forgotten about his stolen alcohol, and began awkwardly moving his lanky body in a way that could be called dancing in the most generous of terms. This made you laugh even more, and James had to nearly fully support your weight as your knees buckled with your hard laughter.

It was shaping up to be a lovely Christmas Eve.

(-)

Christmas, as Sirius had predicted, was a morning for hangovers. You had barely glanced at your mounds of presents at the foot of your bed, instead throwing on your warmest sweater and going immediately to breakfast.

It had been decorated, as it had all week, with great care. Today, however, the tree had been alit with wonderful and delicate decorations, sparkling under the enchanted ceiling. The entire room somehow smelled of pine, and the warm feeling of a fireplace shot down your spine when you sat down.

You cradled a cup of tea, hunching over and fighting the urge to fall back asleep at the table. You couldn’t bear to look at food yet, regretting the glasses you drank once Sirius had found that second bottle of firewhisky. 

There was no sign of life in the castle, besides the lovely decorations, and you found yourself grateful. 

It was as if, however, that you cursed yourself the second you thought this.

“Merry Christmas, Y/n!” James shouted from the entry way of the castle, his loud voice assaulting your ears even from such a distance. Beside him, Peter, Sirius, and Remus cringed away in pain, shrinking down and walking past him into the hall.

“Bloody. Fucking. Hell,” Sirius groaned once he sat down next to you, his head hitting the table as soon as he was still.

Remus sat on the other side of you, going at once for heaping servings of the hot food. You swallowed the vomit in your throat at the sight of so much food, forcing your eyes deep into your tea. James happily sat down next to Peter on the other side of the table, patting his friend merrily on the back. Peter winced audibly, a pained look on his face.

“How are you not hungover?” you whispered once you were sure you would not vomit.

“He never gets hungover,” Remus groaned from beside you, his mouth full of beans.

“Never?” you repeated, wincing as you reached for more tea.

“Never!” James said happily, obviously enjoying his wonderful, wonderful gift.

“Oi!” Sirius groaned, his head still buried in his arms.

James smiled.

“Eating helps, really,” Remus said from beside you, glancing an earnest look at you as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Mmmmm,” you groaned in response, ducking your head down as Sirius was doing to avoid vomiting.

“What a lovely Christmas this will be!” James said, earning a unanimous groan in response.

(-)

Getting back to the tower was a slow and painful process that included many bathroom breaks and headaches. You and Sirius had both ducked into the loo twice each to vomit, and James supposed it had something to do with climbing the stairs. Peter was limping for some reason, though you could not remember him hurting either of his legs the night before. Remus was nearly as recovered as James, just looking a bit tired.

After you were sure you had emptied your stomach of the tea you drank for breakfast, you were feeling a bit better. Your legs felt a little wobbly, and Remus must have noticed, because he offered his arm for you to steady yourself on as you walked along. Your mind was so foggy you almost had not noticed, but his strong arm beneath your fingers was enough to clear you up a little. You held him close to you, hoping the hangover was excuse enough. James gave you and encouraging smile, nodding enthusiastically. You were sure Sirius would be giving you a smirk if he wasn’t basically crawling down the halls. 

Once you reached the common room, Remus had not retracted his arm. In fact, he had interlocked his hand with yours, still with your arms looped, and led you over to a couch. He sat very close to you and still did not remove himself from your grasp even as you were sitting. You felt so comfortable and warm next to him, you could not help but close your eyes and let your head fall on his shoulder. 

(-)

James retreated upstairs with Peter. Peter had wanted a quick and undisturbed nap, and James returned downstairs a few moments later with his practice Quidditch robes on. Sirius had collapsed on an armchair the second he crawled into the room, and showed no indication of life as he fell into a deep sleep. James gave Remus an encouraging smile and two thumbs up, but did not dare to speak in case you weren’t asleep. Remus rolled his eyes, but was truly quite happy with the position he had found himself in.  

Your arms were looped, hands intertwined, and your head rested delicately on his shoulder. He leaned his head against yours, breathing in the smell of your shampoo. 

He had wanted to stay there forever.

(-)

When they all awoke, James was out of his Quidditch robes and in a thick wool sweater. He was polishing his broom with what looked like a new polishing set, perched on the armrest of a couch across from you and Remus. You had woken up when Sirius did, his loud yawns and stretches filling the room. When you lifted your head, you bumped into Remus’s head, and he woke up. Your cheek felt sore from pressing into his strong shoulder, and you looked down at you hands to see them still interlocked. You were sweaty and tired, but Remus looked down at you sleepily with complete happiness.

“Happy Christmas, you lazy bones,” James tutted like a mother would, putting down his broom and standing.

“Happy Christmas,” Remus said, smiling widely. 

You sat up, removing yourself from Remus. He untangled your arms, removing his hand from yours. You felt sad at the absence, looking down at your lonely hand. Remus was looking too, and when you met his eyes he bit his bottom lip. With some slight hesitation, he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you in for a side hug. You lingered, and he made no move to pull away, so you stayed there, tucked under his arm.

“I never looked at my presents this morning,” Sirius said, standing from his chair and motioning for James to follow him.

“Neither did I,” you said to Remus only, hearing the other two retreating upstairs.

“Want me to walk you up to your dorm?” he offered, adjusting his body so he could see your face.

You uncurled from him, nodding excitedly.

You stood from the couch, walking over to the stairs. You waited for Remus, watching as he slowly stood and stretched. You leaned against the door frame, supporting yourself on your hands behind you. Remus came over to you, walking slowly with a sleepy and dazed look on his face.

“Happy Christmas,” he repeated, only to you this time.

“Happy Christmas,” you said, smiling at him as he leaned against the door frame opposite of you. 

It was a narrow space, and there were only a few inches between you two, but neither of you made any movement. You wanted to go upstairs and see what your family had sent, what Lily had given you, what all your friends had given you, but you couldn’t tear yourself from the handsome boy in front of you. 

Your eyes danced all over his face, admiring his curly and unkempt hair that fell into his dark and kind eyes, his sharp jaw that you wanted to run your fingers across, his soft lips.

You were both so entrance in each other, that neither of you had noticed the greenery sprouting from the door frame above you. It was mistletoe, sprouting from the wooden door frame between you and Remus. Remus noticed, his eyes darting up at it. He looked down at you, seeing you had not noticed it, and chuckled.

This seemed to snap you out of it, and you stood upright, coming closer to Remus. You looked up at the growing plant, eyes widening when you saw the red berry forming before your eyes.

“Mistletoe?” Remus chuckled, entertained as he reached up and brushed it delicately with his slender fingers.

“Is it?” you managed to say, watching his hand.

“It is,” he said, retracting his hand and bringing it to rest on your cheek.

He gently cupped your face, pulling you close to him until your chests met and neither of your backs were touching the door frame. You closed the distance, meeting his lips with urgency and desperation. You didn’t care if James thought Remus ought to kiss you, you wanted nothing more than to kiss Remus. And Remus wanted nothing more than to kiss you. His other hand came to your waist, pulling you flush against him as his hand on your cheek moved to the side of your neck. You reached up and slid your hands from his shoulders to this neck and into his hair, feeling the soft curls between your fingers as you had wanted to for so long.

Remus pulled you impossibly close to him, as if he wanted nothing to come between you, until his force was moving you to lean against the door frame. The feeling of the wood was unexpected, and you gasped into Remus’s mouth when you felt it. Remus took this as an invitation to deepen the kiss, and you allowed him, sighing softly as his tongue explored your mouth.  

“Mistletoe?!”

You and Remus broke apart, his hands still on you even though your bodies were no longer touching. You both looked up the stairs, seeing James, Sirius, and Peter looking down at you.

Sirius had the most mischievous smirk you had ever seen, sure that it would make Lily’s skin crawl if she saw it. James seemed so content that you’d think he’d just been kissed and Peter anxiously twirled his fingers as he averted your eyes, obviously feeling bad for interrupting. 

“Mistletoe,” Remus said, his voice husk and his lips wet. It took a lot of will power to not sigh at the sight of him, or pull him in by his collar and kiss him again. Instead, you looked up at the boys like a deer caught in headlights.

“You owe me ten galleons,” James said to Sirius, causing Sirius to groan.

“How do you know he kissed them?!” Sirius complained, digging in his robe pockets for the money.

“He didn’t, I kissed him,” you said, looking up at Remus and licking your lips nervously.

“Hah! Hand it over, James,” Sirius gloated, removing his hand from his pocket and holding it out to James.

James groaned, still a smile on his lips, and handed Sirius the money.

“You didn’t think I’d kiss them first?” Remus asked Sirius, pulling you into his chest in a loving and protective way.

“Sorry, mate,” Sirius said with no remorse in his voice, climbing down the stairs and pushing past you and Remus.

James and Peter followed him, all fiddling with some new gift they had gotten. You looked up at Remus, deciding your Christmas presents could wait until Boxing Day, and pulled him out of the door way. You fell onto the couch, Remus following you, and you fell easily into conversation with the boys. Remus wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. 

[whisperlullaby]

Just Say It And I’m Yours- Ch.5

Summary: Steve is away on a mission and Connor asks you out again and this time you don’t have a reason to say no.

Words: 1766

Warnings: None? Pining, Steve being dumb...just buckle up he’s gonna be dumb for a while. Allusions to toxic family life. (if I missed anything let me know)

A/N: Super special thanks to @river-soul for being the best beta! Thanks to @dreamslikeaheartbeat for the phenomenal banner. If I missed any warnings let me know and please if you’re a minor DNI. 

Tag: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @bestofbucky @loveyou5everr @purselover2 @sweeterthanthis​ @freyagreyson​ @saiyanprincessswanie if you want to be on my taglist send me a DM. If you want to be taken off my taglist also send me a DM.

The weekend went by in a blur. You were heartbroken when Steve told you the almost kiss meant nothing, could mean nothing. You dreamt for months about the feel of his lips on yours and now you would never know what it would be like to kiss him. Steve didn’t want anything more than a friendship with you and after drinking your sorrows away for a weekend you reaffirmed your resolve to be his friend. He was trying to find himself, just like you, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask for more than he was willing to give. After spending all of your free time with Steve, he became your person, and when it boiled down to it you would rather have this version of Steve in your life than try to force something more and lose him altogether. 

You knew the toxicity of being forced to do something you didn’t want to do just to make someone else happy. Not just from working in your chosen field, but from your family life. You lived your whole life to please your family only to realize one day that it wasn’t what you wanted at all. When you told them you had a different path you wanted to take they cut you off and cast you aside. It was the best thing to ever happen to you because it let you have the freedom you needed to learn more about yourself and figure out who you wanted to be. 

That experience left you feeling self-conscious and compliant, ever the people pleaser with poor boundaries. You were determined to move past those feelings even though it was going to be a long road, you owed it to yourself. Being forced to move to a new city was a blessing as it allowed you to grow into a person you felt more proud of. You met Steve a week later and between feeling confident for the first time in years, and Steve looking at you like you hung the stars, you were beginning to feel like you finally found where you belonged. When he told you that you could just pretend the kiss didn’t happen you swore you heard your heart shatter. But you found yourself once before, you could do it again. It’s not like you lost Steve completely, he just needed a friend more than he needed a partner. 

So, you steeled yourself against the heartache. Steve needed to get back to his Captain America duties and you needed that distance to figure yourself out again. He had told you that he was going to be gone for at least a week doing recon work, which meant for the first time since you met him you wouldn’t have Friday movie night.

It turned out to be fortuitous that he was gone because your caseload doubled for the week. By Friday you were up to your elbows in paperwork when Connor walked into your office.

“Hey there, darling. You look busy.”

You looked up and narrowed your eyes. “Yeah, it’s what people who are invested in the wellbeing of others look like. Busy.”

Connor snickered. “Well, I just wanted to know if you wanted to get dinner tonight. No shop talk required.”

You froze. You were expecting it, of course, Connor asked you out every week. This time was a bit different though since you knew Steve didn’t feel the same way you felt about him. Truth be told, part of the reason you always turned Connor down was on the off chance Steve would ask you out. You deserved a chance to be with someone who wanted to be with you too. You were hesitant but you needed to start getting over your crush on Captain America.

“Sure Connor,” you sighed. “Why not? Give me 20 minutes and I’ll meet you outside.”

Connor perked up. “Yeah, whatever you need. It’s not a no this time?”

“It’s not a no this time. I just have a few things I need to finish up,” you tapped the pile of paperwork.

“No problem, I’ll bring my car around.” Connor practically skipped out of your office.

When you heard the door click shut you pulled your phone out and sent Steve a text.

“Hey, I know you’re busy but could you and Bucky come over tomorrow night when you get back? It’s been a long week.”

You flipped your phone over not expecting a response when your phone chirped.

“Of course, doll. I’ll let you know when we land and we’ll come over.”

You let out a cleansing breath. If you were going to tell Steve about your date, you were going to need a Bucky buffer. 

////////////

It was around 8:00 pm when Steve and Bucky got to your apartment. You didn’t miss the way you felt relief wash over you when you saw Steve standing outside your door. After they hung up their coats they each pulled you in for a hug. Bucky’s was quick and he placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. Steve squeezed you tight, almost as if he was afraid to let go, swaying as he stood there. You melted into his embrace for a moment before pulling away.

“I’m sorry for missing movie night, sweetheart. I hope it doesn’t happen again,” Steve lamented.

“I hope it doesn’t either.” You nodded, moving into the kitchen. “Thirsty?”

“Sure I’ll take a beer if you have one.” Steve plopped down on your couch.

“Same here sparky.” Bucky sat in the recliner putting his feet on your coffee table.

You gave him a quizzical look. “Sparky?”

Bucky looked at Steve then back at you. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re like a firecracker, so, Sparky.”

You let out a bubbly laugh. “Alright, tinman, whatever you say.”

Bucky pouted as you handed him his beer and kicked his feet off your coffee table. You handed Steve his and watched him drain half the bottle as you sat down.

“You better use a goddamned coaster or I swear to god you’re buying me a new coffee table.” You threw a coaster at Steve’s face just before his glass hit the table. 

 He laughed as he caught the coaster and placed it on the table under his glass.

“So, what’s new? I have to admit I got a bit nervous when you asked us to come over when we got back.” Steve raised his eyebrow staring you down. 

You began to fidget. Your eyes shifted between Steve and Bucky trying to figure out the easiest way to tell them about your date last night. You caught Steve’s eyes as they filled with concern. He knew you better than anyone so you knew that fidgeting was a dead give away that something wasn’t quite right.

“Doll, is everything okay?” Steve reached out and touched your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you rushed out. “I just, um, Connor asked me on a date. Since you were on a mission, I said yes. We went out last night.”

You looked up at Steve searching his eyes for anything to give him away. His hand fell from your shoulder and you heard Bucky choke a little on his beer. Steve’s eyes snapped towards his friend as he leaned down to pick up his own drink. You had hoped Bucky’s presence would make the news a bit more casual so you wouldn’t feel the heaviness fill your chest like lead as you waited for Steve’s reaction.

“Oh, Connor? Isn’t that the guy that irons his jeans?” Steve joked. Only it wasn’t really a joke, Connor really liked ironing.

“I mean yeah, but that seems like a livable concession.” You rolled your eyes. “Besides it’s not like I have any other suitors.” You cocked your head thoughtfully playing with the rim of your glass. 

“How did it go?” Steve was staring at his hands. If there was anything you were an expert at, it was reading Steve Rogers like a damned book and he was avoiding your eye contact for a reason. 

“It actually went really great. He took me to that French place across town, you know the one that looks way too pretentious to eat at. We have a lot more in common than I thought.” You bit your lip before you continued. “I wanted to know if my dating him would bother you. It would definitely limit my free time and I know how much you love my company. Though I think Bucky’s starting to feel left out.” 

You chuckled when you heard Bucky scoff and turned your head to stick your tongue out at him.

Turning back to Steve you tried to catch his eye. “I just want to know if there is absolutely any reason my dating Connor would make you uncomfortable.”

Steve considered your question for a minute. He had no reason to tell you who you could and could not date, especially after he told you he would rather be friends. You had almost hoped that he would admit to the sparks clearly happening between the two of you. You were taking measured breaths waiting for him to say something. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky staring Steve down as if he was trying to have a silent conversation. Steve took another sip of his beer before turning to you.

“I think you deserve to be happy. If Connor can do that for you then I am happy for you,” Steve said, pursing his lips.

You felt tears spring to your eyes and willed them back.

“Great, cool, okay.” You gathered the empty bottles and ran into the kitchen. “I’ll get us some refills.”

That was it. You knew you weren’t going to be able to convince Steve to fight for you, and you owed it to yourself to give Connor a shot. As you grabbed new beers out of the fridge you reminisced about the times when you and Steve would stay up late sharing your favorite songs, how when you saw a kid lose his balloon Steve bought the vendor out just to cheer them up, and how he knew exactly how you took your coffee after the second coffee run you made together. 

You hoped Connor would be able to give you some of those happy memories, but there was a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you something wasn’t right. You pushed that feeling down a little bit further, refusing to listen to it. It was probably just the part of you still hung up on Steve and nothing a little time wouldn’t fix.

[shingia]

hii ! I love your writing and this is going to be my first request on this site so i'm a bit nervous. May I request your angst prompt #6 with either akaashi or bokuto (or anyone you want but I just love them gah) and something accident related if possible (but if not it's fine!), i'm an angst sucker ;-; thank you and have a nice day!

MEMORY - BOKUTO X READER

hi !! dw it’s completely ok to be nervous about your first request, i was literally shaking when i first sent mine ! and thank youuu it’s always nice to know that my work is appreciated 💕 i had no idea of which boy to choose but i never wrote angst for bokuto so here it is, i hope it’s what you had in mind ! <3

-> angst prompt #6 “stop saying my name like it’s the last time” (that one HURTS omfg)

-> bokuto x gn!reader | Angst with a capital A | word count : 2K

warnings : car accident, mentions of blood, hospital environment

bokuto always thought it was funny how a smell, a sound or a sight could hold enough power to trigger memories that he thought had been erased by time. 

but no smell, sound or sight was ever needed for him to remember the day he first met you. how the purple lights of the bar were slowly dancing on your skin, casting shadows that made your features look different every time he casted guilty glances at you. he remembered the feeling of his sweaty palms when he asked for your number, and how you had to blink exactly four times to read his messy handwriting on your arm.

all these seemingly insignificant details were kept safe in the depths of his mind, patiently waiting to resurface every time his heart needed them. but if these kind of memories were kept so vivid by choice, others - much darker - had a terrifying way of imprinting into one’s brain…

it was a bright april afternoon, the kind of day that made people forget about their worries, and bokuto had just finished what he considered to be one of his best practice. as usual, his heart swelled with excitement at the thought that he would tell you all about it as soon as he’d step foot in your house, where he was just heading.

but the sudden vibration of his phone in his pocket made him stop dead in his tracks.

he was not particularly stressed by phone calls, but something about the way his heart dropped made his hands start shaking and his surroundings blurry ; something was off. he hesitated a few seconds before getting the phone out - maybe it was cowardice, but his body already knew that he was not ready to handle what was coming at him.

the voice he heard on the other side of the line was undoubtedly yours. the vibrations, the tone, the pitch, he had heard it whispering sweet nothings in his ear way to many times to be mistaken. so why did it take him so long to admit that it was well and truly you, calling him for what looked an awful lot like a goodbye ?

although pain and fear had grabbed you by the tongue, you miraculously managed to tell him about the poor driver that had been distracted by his kid - too distracted to see you crossing the road on your way to the store, and too slow to hit the brakes.

your voice was weak, so weak that bokuto did not even hear the last thing you said before passing out on the warm asphalt. and so he started running, as fast as humanly possible - if not more - because he knew he was only two streets away from you, and he knew that he would never forgive himself if he arrived too late.

bokuto had many preconceptions about the way he would ever react to an accident. panic, anger, sadness, incomprehension… but nothing could have prepared him for what it truly was. in one second, his mind had time to produce hundreds and hundreds of questions, and they all remained unsolved until his eyes finally laid on you, or more like what seemed like a nightmarish version of you.

a woman was frantically screaming, a hand over her mouth like it was of any use. behind her, a young girl was staring at the blood stain on the white car’s bumper, eyes wide in terror. and in the car, a giggling toddler was happily chewing on his teething ring, having no idea that today had changed his father’s life forever. the latter seemed stuck in a cataleptic trance, and it seemed like the first aider was not going to get anything out of him.

bokuto was ready to beg on his knees for the ambulance driver to allow him on the ride to the hospital.  he had a thousand ways to prove that you were the love of his life : the picture of you in his wallet, your matching key rings attached to your respective bags, the crumpled receipt of the necklace he had bought you a month ago, the one that was now hanging loosely around your dreadfully immobile neck. but just a glance at his despaired eyes was enough to understand that he deserved his place by your side in what would probably be the worst moment of your life - and his.

three paramedics were too busy putting you on a stretcher for bokuto to even catch a glimpse of your face. and the fact that he was left alone with his imagination made him want to throw up. yet when his eyes finally laid on your bruised and bloody features, it felt much, much worse than anything his imagination could have thought about. his heart skipped more than one beat at the thought that maybe he had arrived too late.

but no, your eyes fluttered open while the medics were still yelling orders at each other, meaningless words that were only background noise for bokuto. his hands gripped the edge of the stretcher, even though they were longing for the touch of your skin, no matter how scratched and wounded it was.

« hey, hey, stay with me, alright ? » he articulated in a hoarse voice as your hand found its way to his cheek. seeing that, one of the medics started reaching for your arm - you had too many broken bones for him to allow you to move so carelessly. but one of his colleagues, a tall woman with the kindest eyes, stopped him before his fingers could wrap around your wrist. and the look she gave him was screaming for his indulgence. ‘let them’.

although the opaque windows were filtering most of the ambulance lights, faint beams of red and blue were still dancing on your face. it was true that bokuto did not need anything to trigger his memories of the first time he saw you, but the alternation of the two colors on your features were a bitter reminder of the purple neons that had lightened your face in that bar, where everything had begun.  and so were his sweaty palms, warm and shaky against your wrist which he had grabbed as carefully as if it had been made of porcelain.  but the blinks of your eyes looked nothing like when you tried to guess the numbers he had written on your arm. they were desperate movements of your lids that were painfully trying to stay open - because if you had one last wish, it was that bokuto’s face would be your last sight.

your facial muscles only allowed a few painless movements, and luckily for the both of you, a faint smile was one of them. « h-how was practice ? » you asked, the left corner of your lips curling upwards. he let out a sorrowful laugh, ignoring the tears that were prickling his eyes as he started to kiss your palm at an alarming pace, like he was so desperately trying to get something out of the feeling of your skin against his lips.

« you’re gonna be okay, i promise… i love you » he told you, eyes intensely locked with yours like it was the first time these words were leaving his mouth. « i love you. so much. i love y- i love you. so fucking much, i really love you » he repeated like a prayer, words mixing up in his mind that was too focused on your eyes to think clearly about anything else.

« kou… listen to me » you whispered, still trying your best to keep your smile when it felt like every fiber of your body was being torn apart. your thumb caressed his cheek, but so stiffly that you knew it probably did not even feel like your touch. « thank you for everything, for being you and for loving me. i love you too, and you deserve to be happy… »

no. this didn’t feel right. this wasn’t a promise of love, it had the bitter taste of goodbyes, of words that are said just to alleviate the pain of the living. « don’t say it like that, please » bokuto pleaded, hating himself for ordering you when you were in such obvious distress. but for the first time since that god-sent night at the bar, he hated the sound of every word that had left your mouth. he would have given anything to go back to just a few seconds ago, when you were still joking about his practice. because back then it didn’t feel like you were going to leave.

« you’re gonna be ok. i love you, kou », you said in an almost maternal tone. « stop saying my name like it’s the last time ! » he exclaimed with such vigor that even the medics stopped for a second. but you didn’t flinch, your eyes were still kind and peaceful. and they still were when your thumb progressively started moving, and when your lids slowly closed.

──

the hall of the hospital was cold - in every sense of the word. akaashi was nervously playing with the lid of his coffee, sat upright on a chair even though his legs felt restless. bokuto, on the other hand, had refused to eat, drink or even sit for one second until he had talked to one of your doctors. it had now been almost two hours - and every second felt like torture.

but oddly enough, akaashi was the first to react at the sight of your surgeon that was coming towards them at a frustratingly slow pace.

« how did it go ? » he asked, the joint of his hands white from holding his coffee cup so tight.

« they made it. our nurses brought them to a private room where they will be watched v- »

bokuto didn’t need to hear more. he had no idea of which room you were in, but it didn’t matter - the hospital was not that big, he’d find a way. he always found a way.

running like a madman, he couldn’t even hear akaashi yelling at him to come back. his heart was throbbing with happiness at the thought that you were patiently waiting for him in a room. safe and sound.

he had spent so much time hammering the most terrible scenarios in his head that he had almost started to believe some of them were true. in a sense, he had already felt how it would be like to live without you - and he was now promising himself to never feel that pain ever again.

tired of running around without knowing where he was headed, bokuto eventually asked a nurse to indicate him the room you were kept in. and, although it did not respect the hospital’s privacy policy, she gave him without thinking twice ; because just like every other member of the staff, she knew about the boy that had spent hours crying and waiting for his loved one. her eyes were blurry with tears when he thanked her about three time before heading to the said room.

and there you were. laying on your back, staring at the ceiling with your fingers fiddling with the sheets - just like you always did when you waited for him on his bed.

« oh thank god » bokuto breathed out, taking a few seconds to admire your features before running to your side. his hands were still wet from his tears and his eyes were red and puffy, but he had never felt so happy to hold you. his lips immediately found their way to your hands, completely ignoring the strong smell of betadine, and they stretched in a grin at the familiar feeling of your fingers that seemed so tiny against his.

when he finally looked up at you, he felt like the luckiest man alive. just the sight of you breathing was something he had started to give up on. your chest was slowly heaving and your eyes blinked exactly four times before an embarrassed chuckle left your lips :

« excuse me but… who are you ? »

@toworuu @catwithangerissues

[cpcoulter-official]

This is Me Trying

For a long moment, he scanned the trees and bushes, through the sidewalk, up and down. Satisfied it was empty, or reasonably so, he stepped back from the window and drew the curtains slightly, allowing a few lances of sunshine through.

As he turned to scoop up the electric kettle, Julian said from the counter, “It’s fine, don’t worry. No one followed me or saw me.” He never even looked up from the drink cupped in his hands.

Oz just smiled faintly as he poured hot water over the teabag in his own cup. “You gotta admit, there’s no way to really be sure when it’s someone of your caliber.” He walked over to the kitchen island and took the seat across the corner from his unexpected guest.

Julian didn’t answer. Oz gave him a few charitable moments of contemplative quiet as he steeped his own tea. He took the bag out with care, adding sugar generously, before reaching over to take his guest’s cup and swapping it with his cup. “This looks like it’d be better for you. You’re expecting too much out of your coffee from the way you stare at it.”

“What is this?” Julian asked with a mild grimace when he took a bracing sip.

Oz was pleased; getting some emotion out of him was good. “It’s herbal. Supposed to calm you. I wouldn’t know, I don’t drink it a lot.”

“Like you need any more calming…” Julian snorted and took another sip. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Oz replied, setting down his own drink. “So...are you...going to tell me what brings you to San Francisco?” He smirked slightly before taking another sip. “Without even a call to warn me that I was going to have an Oscar nominee sitting in my kitchen?”

“Don’t be like that,” Julian made a face at him. “That never mattered to you.”

“You’re right…” Oz laughed, hoping it was contagious enough to crack a smile from the other boy. He looked around again. “...but seriously, you need to tell someone where you are. You didn’t even bring a bodyguard?” He looked at Julian with a furrow on his brow. “Given what happened...I’d expect you’d have your own Secret Service at this point.”

Julian’s hands tightened around the cup as he stared into it. “...yeah, my handler thinks I’ve gone to see Berkeley.”

Oz lit up at that. “Are you? Did you change your mind? You’re going to college?”

“Do I look like I have time to go to college…?” Julian retorted, barely moving.

“You never know,” Oz replied with a smile. “You always make time when it matters to you.” He paused before adding with a sigh, “Which is why...I know there has to be a really good reason you’re sitting in my kitchen right now.”

The pause felt heavy, and Oz wasn’t used to that with this particular person. He remembered how Julian used to laugh in the same way light reflects from glass; it would scatter in echoes on the walls and you didn’t have a choice but to smile. Because he seemed so...young.

And looking at this boy, sunglasses on his messy chocolate-colored crown, oversized merch sweater from the last Haven tour, flushed from the sunny outdoors but heavy-lidded, and lashes smudged dark onto his cheeks--he looked younger than ever.

“I just...thought I’d come by.” Julian whispered.

It sounded like a secret. Like everything about this visit. Like everything about the two of them.

“...you look tired,” Oz remarked quietly. “You haven’t been sleeping well?”

“...sometimes I think I sleep too much.”

“Not back to work yet, are you?” Oz asked, concerned. “You don’t look to be in any condition to go back work the way you do.” That, and nothing in the news and gossip rags suggested that Julian Larson had ever even stirred out of his house. At least not from what Oz knew.

“I want to…” Julian sighed, stirring the cup as though the dredges would answer him. “...it’d be something to do. I don’t want to be inside anymore. Like…” The way he stared out to the sunshine outside made it seem like he was looking through worlds. “...I want to be somewhere else.”

There was a pause, and then Julian looked at him with a faint smile. “You were the first person I thought of.”

At that, Oz had the humility to blush as he looked away from that familiar smile. He remembered back when he was free to kiss it when he wanted, but never really took advantage of the fact. Now it just felt like something glimmering in the distance that he could admire and not touch. And he was alright with that.

What he wasn’t alright with was the reason it was here again. “I’m flattered, J. But...I’m just more worried about you than ever now.” He sighed. “Everyone’s heard about what happened to you, and then not much about you since.”

“You’ve kept tabs on me?”

“Hard not to,” Oz smiled. “You left an impression.”

“And what did you hear everyone say about me?” Julian asked, almost sarcastically.

“That you were healing, that your manager said that you’re resting, that your mother is looking after you, that rumor has it you’re going to a spa in the Netherlands for therapy, that you’re going to be okay…” Oz leaned back with a smile. Then he was serious again. “But you’re not okay.”

“I’m not,” Julian admitted. He hesitated for one more moment, and then maybe his internal walls started to crack, as it all came rushing out. “I can’t stay home and...watch my mother worry about me. Stare at me with that look on her face. I can’t eat another plate of aggressively healthy organic recovery food. I can’t...deal with cameras with the telephoto lenses around the corner down our street. Watching for me. I don’t...know how they knew where I go for physical therapy and I want to throw my phone every time there’s an update about an in-depth interview request or...or…an appearance at Oprah or...or…” He let out a shaking breath. “They said this was all in my head, it’s all up to me about getting “better” or that I’m so talented that I shouldn’t waste it and I need to get better, all that, but everyone’s doing things around me and looking at me and expecting me to do...something... It’s just…” He closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his temples.

He looks so young.

Oz smiled sadly. “...it’s too much noise, huh?”

“It’s...everyone wanting a piece of me.” Julian braced his elbows on the counter and stared into the distance again. “...I don’t even know if I want me. Or if I can be the me that everyone wants right now.”

“Nobody has the right to demand that of you,” Oz replied softly, after charitable consideration. “You shouldn’t be made to feel like you owe them anything.”

“Is that why you quit…?” Julian asked.

“I never quit,” Oz bristled back at him, and for the first time, that familiar laugh scattered onto his walls. “I’m just not as intense about my filmography as you. I do still work, you know.”

“S’not what your IMDB page says.”

“You’ve kept tabs on me?” Oz teasingly mimicked him. But he smiled. “I do theatre these days. You should try it. You’d be amazing at it.”

“What’s college like?” Julian asked with a soft smile at him. “Do you like it?”

“It’s alright,” Oz laughed, indulging his need to change the topic. “I’d rather be on the stage. But having a degree is an important part of my fallback plan, and it’d make my parents feel better, so I trudge through it.” He smiled warmly at Julian. “You don’t need a backup plan, though. You’ve always known what you wanted and where you wanted to be.”

Those beautiful brown eyes just stared at him, looking big and a little haunted. “...do I?”

“You do,” Oz replied firmly, taking his hand and giving it a firm squeeze. “You always have. And if you don’t yet...well… you’ll figure it out.”

“I’m trying,” Julian’s voice started to waver, his hands cold and they shook. “I’m trying so hard but…I can’t see it yet.”

“You will,” Oz replied, staring back at him. “Julian, you… You know, you’re literally the weirdest kid I know? I have never in my life met anyone like you. When we were...when we were still a thing, I was intimidated by the fact that you had such a clear, definite goal in front of you. And it was a crazy stupid goal too, a freaking EGOT by age twenty-one, like—” he paused for a moment when he heard Julian let out a laugh, “—seriously, like in what universe does someone your age, my age have that insane goal with a refusal to accept any other outcome, and you were so intense about it that you were literally within reach of it, huh? And there was just me, like, happy to just get another casting…Hell, I could’ve done Youtube and been happy. I kept asking myself, who are you, why is this person going out with me, like…?”

He smiled as he waited for Julian to wipe his eyes. Then he added, “...you’re a freak in the way that… you figure it out. All the time. Like how a cat always lands on its feet. I mean I’m not going to say all your choices are great, but…” He shrugged. “You get there. And I know you’ll figure it out when you give yourself the chance to.”

“Cat…” Julian smiled faintly, looking as though he were remembering something. It was a pause before he suddenly said, “You know my mom got me one? Like...supposedly he’s an emotional support cat but I think she just got him for me for...companionship purposes.”

“Always good to have a friend,” Oz replied with a grin. Then he blinked in realization. “...is that why you came to me?”

“...I didn’t know if you’d care, if I dropped in without telling you,” Julian gave him an almost apologetic smile. “But I just...needed someone away from...all that.”

That was big. Bigger than Oz had expected. Julian Larson was not someone he knew to really need anyone. Even when they worked together in Something Damaged, it was like the show needed Julian and not the other way around. He even knew everyone’s lines better than they did.

“I’m just...trying to get better,” Julian whispered, reminding Oz that he’d gone quiet. “I thought...going to someone away from all this would help.”

Oz smiled and squeezed his hands reassuringly. “See…? I told you you’d know where to go.” He received a small smile for that. “Screw what everyone wants you to do. What do you want to do? Where do you want to be?”

It was like the question frightened him. Julian’s eyes were wide and he looked like he was looking for an answer. But was it really the question that worried him, or the answer?

Softly, Oz said, “Forget their expectations of you. And forget what you’re expecting of yourself. You haven’t let anything or anyone down. All this...it’s...just a setback. You’re getting back to your feet, that’s what it is. So… if there’s someplace you want to be, just for right now, or the immediate future… You should be there. Like when you picked to be here suddenly.”

He gave Julian an intent stare. “When you think of where you want to be...where’s the first place you think of…?”

Julian was very quiet as he stared back at him. But Oz knew, behind those brown eyes, he was seeing something or someone. A place or a person. Something. Like he was seeing an instant flashback. Julian did know where he wanted to be. He always did. Oz knew that well.

But wherever it is… it may not be a place he can be in just yet.

So he smiled instead. “Hey. You don’t have to go there this second. You don’t have to look so afraid. I’m not going to throw you out my door to go. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like.”

“...I guess not.” Julian managed to smile.

“Well, if you’re not going anywhere for a bit, then…” Oz poured him another cup of tea, beaming at him and trying to lighten the mood. “So...tell me about your new cat, and I’ll tell you about theatre.”

“I would like that.”

~~~

[annkdarar]

The Little Things You Do

Turns out Anders isn't that much of an asshole after all...

Words Count : 1,839

Pairing : Anders Johnson x Fem!Reader

Warning : NSFW→Mentions of sex, brief mentions of period sex, menstrual cycles, sex jokes (ofc)

Author's Note : This is my very first Anders fic and I'm so nervous I'm literally SWEATING. I hope you guys will like it.

Also thanks @laurfilijames for proof reading this. You're the best!

The office was still plunged in darkness when you came in. It was no surprise, really, for Anders was always late. There wasn’t much that the man actually cared about, and sometimes you wondered if his company was even one of those things. 

You turned the light on, revealing a pretty much empty room, and you walked over to your desk with an exasperated sigh. There were still a ton of things left to do, emails to be sent and names to research. And many other things Anders was too lazy to do himself that you had been assigned to do.

As you sat down, you felt the faintest pain in your lower stomach, causing you to frown. Of course, that very morning, you had been graced by mother nature’s monthly visit. If only it could have waited until the next day when you wouldn’t have had a million things to do. 

Ignoring the upcoming pain, you turned on your computer and got to work, which was easier said than done. With each passing minute, the pain became stronger, heavier, more intense, and you had to stop every now and then to take a breath. You forced yourself to focus on the too-bright screen, typing endless courtesies to men and women who wouldn’t even work longer than a month with you due to your boss’ unnerving and arrogant behavior.  

To say the man was an asshole would be the understatement of the year. Yet, you were fond of him. Not only because of the occasional festivities you and him would partake in, in the privacy of his bed. No, that was just a bonus. Oh, you did want to punch him, quite often, but you also wanted to remind him to drink some water when it was really hot outside and not forget to get enough sleep. 

Another spark of pain pierced through your body and you closed your eyes, burying your face in your hands with a loud groan. The day was going to be long, extremely, and painfully long.

Caught up in your suffering, you didn’t hear the door opening. Or perhaps you did hear it but decided to ignore the loud steps that filled the room. You didn’t flinch when you felt a presence behind you, so close that the warmth of Anders’ chest spread through your back.

“Working hard, I see.” His hot breath crashed against your ear and you rolled your eyes, dropping your hands off your face. “Wanna know what else is hard?”

“Bearing with your existence?” You replied, turning around to look at him.

Somehow, he always looked professional with his white button-up shirt and black tie hanging from his neck. If you didn’t know him, you would say that he was a pretty respectable man. But that, he wasn’t.

He brought his hand to his heart with a pout, in a faked hurt expression. “Ouch. But no, I was thinking about something a bit more...Fun.”

“Not today.” You cut him off, spinning your chair to face the computer’s screen again. You read the email you had typed once more before hitting the send button and getting on to the next one. 

“Actually, I think today is a pretty good day.” He insisted, grabbing your shoulders. “What would you say about coming to mine later on tonight? Pick up where we left it last time?”

With an annoyed huff, you wiggled out of his grip. “I said not today, Anders. I’m on my period.”

“Nothing we haven’t done before.”

“Yeah, but today it hurts like hell.” You explained. “I’m not in the mood for sex. At this point, it will be an achievement if I even survive the entire day.” He snickered and mumbled something you couldn’t understand as he walked away. 

The first half of your day went...okay. The pain was strong, but nothing you couldn’t handle. It was around lunch break that it got worse. The pain had gotten into your lower back, causing you to wiggle in your chair in an attempt to find a comfortable position. The food you had brought along didn’t look appetizing anymore, and you picked at it without eating anything.

You thought the pain had reached its peak but oh, how wrong had you been. You began to feel nauseous, and soon enough, you find yourself running into the bathroom to empty your stomach from what remained of your breakfast. Rinsing your mouth, you closed your eyes. You were exhausted, and there were still several hours to go before you could leave.

A knock on the bathroom door startled you and you almost choked on the water that filled your mouth. You spat it out in the sink and opened the door.

“You look terrible.” Anders pointed out. “How about you go home before you throw up everywhere and soil my floor, uh?” 

The thought of refusing his offer and staying to keep working crossed your mind. But you quickly nodded as another wave of pain washed over your body. Without another word, you grabbed your belongings and rushed out of the office. 

The ride home was equally terrible. Despite turning the heater on, you felt cold. And of course, the traffic was slow. Everything was against you today. At least, Anders had the decency to dismiss you, even if it was only to keep his floor clean.

“What an asshole…” You cursed. Was your anger towards him, the cars in front of yours, or the excruciating pain? You didn’t know. 

When finally, finally, you reached your apartment you almost fell down several times as you rushed in and exchanged your work clothes for a sweatshirt. And when your head hit your pillow, it was like a spell had been cast upon you, and you fell asleep almost immediately, your knees pressed to your chest.

The sound of your apartment door opening dragged you out of your sleep and you sat up abruptly. Inside your chest, your heart was pounding. You weren’t waiting for anyone to visit you. Panicked, your eyes scanned the room for your phone. It was nowhere in sight. You had probably left it in your car when you had rushed inside. If someone was breaking in, you wouldn’t be able to call for help.

“Someone there?”

The familiar voice made you sigh in relief and you flopped back down, one hand on your chest to try and slow your heartbeat. “Bedroom!” you yelled. 

After a  few seconds, your bedroom door was pushed open and the light turned on, causing you to close your eyes. 

“You could’ve taken your clothes off, now I’ll have to do it myself. Not that I mind of course.” The bed dipped under his weight as he came to rest above you, his elbows supporting his weight on each side of your head. 

“I told you I wasn’t in the mood for sex.” You groaned, pushing at his chest. He moved to lie next to you and you looked at him intently. “How’d you even get inside? You don’t have the key.”

“I don’t. But I saw your neighbor and kindly asked her to let me in.” He explained with a wink.

“Great, now that I know how may I know why you came here?” You asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I texted you in case you had changed your mind but you didn’t answer. So I came here. More questions or are we ready to go?”

“You fucking suck, Anders.” You said, turning your back to him. 

“No, that’s your job, darling.” He retorted, poking your ribs. You clicked your tongue and reached behind you to punch him, causing him to laugh. “Also, brought you this.”

Anders dropped something close to your stomach. Something hot and soft. You looked down at the hot water bottle and pulled it against your belly, its warmth spreading in the area. 

“You got me a hot water bottle?”

He hummed and scooted closer to you. He pushed your hair away from your neck and leaned down to press gentle kisses to the sensitive skin. You tilted your head to the side to give him better access and closed your eyes. Anders’ hand found its way on your hip and traveled down your body slowly. His fingertips brushed against the naked skin of your thighs and went back up.

“Anders, I swear to God if you even try to go anywhere near my underwear, I’m chopping your dick off in the next twenty-four hours.” 

He groaned and pulled away. “You’re no fun, really. I came all the way here to take care of you and that’s how you treat me?”

“Why don’t you go out then? Find someone to replace me.” You said, bringing the blanket higher on your body.

Gentle, yet strong fingers grabbed your face and you were forced to look at him. His blue eyes were on yours, soft, but intimidating. Sometimes, he looked as if he was reading right through your soul, and you hated it.

“No one can ever replace you.” He said, his voice filling your ears with a pleasant buzz. “You understand that? No one.”

You nodded eagerly and he let go of you, a smirk painted on his lips. Hesitantly, you grabbed his arm and brought it around your waist, keeping his hand close to your chest.

“Stay?” You asked quietly, placing your head back onto your pillow. 

“Depends,” he said. “Can I touch your boobs?”

“Go away, you perv.” you groaned, pushing him away. He laughed again and dragged you against his chest.

“Ok, ok. Just kidding.” 

It was comfortable, to just lie down with him. You felt warm, and the pain was not as intense as before. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, but you wished it would happen more often. You were beginning to drift off to sleep again when he spoke.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked, putting his hand onto your stomach. You gave him a small nod and you felt his fingers digging slightly into the soft skin.

The moan you let out as he started to massage your belly gently could have been mistaken for one from an adult movie. It felt good, extremely and utterly good. You leaned closer to his chest, almost purring under his ministrations. This definitely soothed the pain.

“Oh, God, don’t stop.” you moaned, grabbing his wrist in case he was considering pulling away.

“The name’s Anders, but as you wish, darling.” he said jokingly, and you pinched him. Not harshly, of course. You were too tired to fight for real and you didn’t want to hurt him.

And now, it didn’t matter that he was the biggest asshole to ever walk the earth, nor that this was way more intimate than sex. At this moment, you felt safe, he made you feel safe. And good, oh so very good, as he massaged the pain away. And if he was still holding you the next morning when you woke up, well, neither of you mentioned it. Not yet.

[chris-evans-indian-fanfic]

Longing

Chapter 1

Description: Chris Evans becomes obsessed with you when he realises he can't have you. Eager to be with you in some form or the other, he starts writing fanfiction, where both of you are passionately in love with each other. But what happens when his imagination starts to merge with his reality in his subconsciousness?

Warnings: This entire mini-series will contain smut, bad language and angst. ONLY PROCEED IF YOU ARE 18+

This first chapter is inspired by the GIF below from @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18 's ShamelessHoesForChris writing challenge. Click here to know more

A/N: I do not know Chris Evans personally. This fic is a work of imagination and should only be used as such. It doesn't comment on Chris or anybody else personally. It is also not meant to destroy his reputation or paint him in a bad light. I admire the guy and he really seems like a genuinely nice person. Again, I repeat, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION SO TREAT IT AS SUCH!

A/N 2: I did search quite a lot on the internet and didn't come across a fic like this. Which makes me nervous and also kind of excited that I get to do something unique? Please please give me your criticism and feedback on this! Would love to hear your thoughts.

A/N 3: I have used a few big words throughout the series because this fic is from Chris' POV and we all know that he's a bit of a wordsmith 😅 I had never even heard these words before in my life. So please let me know if I have used them in an incorrect manner. 

My Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

The best thing about shooting Defending Jacob? Chris got to stay in his house in Boston. The worst part about working on the set? He was currently stuck in a room engulfed in hot, angry flames of fire. The fire had abruptly started due to a short circuit and spread across the set in the blink of an eye. Coughing, Chris doubled down on the floor, his breathing becoming more laboured with each second. 

The smoke stung his eyes as he looked around for a fire extinguisher. He tried calling for help, but only small grunts managed to escape his lips. Just as he was on the verge of losing consciousness, he heard a voice. Your voice.

"Is anyone here?" you called out, your voice faint in his ears. "Hello?" 

Chris tried to shout again, but only sank further towards the floor.

Luckily, you opened the door of his room and found his almost crumpled body on the ground. Using the fire extinguisher, you managed to douse as many flames as you could, while also covering Chris with a thick blanket. As the room was still filled with smoke, you pressed a wet towel on his face, asking him to breathe through his nose. 

Slowly, you managed to drag him out of the room and into the corridor, the fire reduced to embers in most places thanks to your fire extinguisher. Chris being a heavy man, you tried your best to support his weight as much as you could, your body almost stooping to form a right angle.

Just as you thought you might be in the clear, you heard a crack from above. Looking up, you realised that the ceiling was about to cave in and so, on impulse, you pushed Chris out of the way, as portions of the false ceiling fell on you, knocking you unconscious. 

Chris, in his state, vaguely realised what happened, before he lost his balance and fell to the ground a few feet away from you, his left arm stretched towards your limp body, as if reaching out.

Sirens of the firetruck and the ambulance filled the heavy air. A deep groan escaped his lips as he attempted to crawl towards you, a failed effort. Where did it all go so wrong? he thought. I was supposed to be the one to save you angel! You should be falling in love with me!! And break-up with your good for nothing fiancé! 

Overwhelmed with emotions, Chris started drifting off to sleep, your name leaving his lips in the form of a desperate whisper.

🔥

8 MONTHS AGO

Chris met you for the first time at the table read for Defending Jacob. You didn't strike him as anyone special. Being the Junior Assistant Scriptwriter for the series, you were just in the room as a formality. It was your job to jot down the minutes of the meeting, and have the parts of the script marked which were supposed to be changed slightly. 

You managed to stay invisible for more such meetings. An introvert by nature, you kept to yourself even when the shooting started. 

It was in the Week 4 of the shooting when Chris actually started to notice you. He realised you were always absent from his house parties, never stayed around on the set for after-work shenanigans and, you never hung out with any of your crew-mates for a drink.

What really drove his attention towards you were your random acts of kindness. He once saw you feeding a homeless man in the alley behind the set. Unknown to you, it was where Chris often hid from his cast and crew to smoke. 

Then there was the bit with setting up of a mobile blood donation camp on the set, which was completely your idea. He had also seen you distribute fliers for animal adoption centres and NGOs who fought for climate preservation.

You always made sure everyone on the set ate before you did, and the ones who couldn't due to work, you were sure to help them and share their load so they could have lunch.

But one particular incident made him see that you were no ordinary woman. 

It was a particularly tough day on the set. They were shooting the 35-second sex scene between him and Michelle. While these scenes looked easy on the screen, they always made Chris feel uneasy about himself. "What if my body is not upto the mark?" , "I don't want to hurt Michelle in any way" , "God I hope I don't touch her inappropriately by mistake" and more such troubling thoughts clawed at his mind. After the scene finally ended, he felt the lustful eyes of the crew feasting on him, admiring his body on display. 

He hurried towards his van, avoiding to look at anyone, until his eyes met yours for a total of 5 seconds. He expected to see the same smirk to be reflected in your eyes as everyone else's. Instead, he saw a completely different emotion. He saw sadness, sympathy, and most importantly, recognition of his discomfort etched on your face.

After that, Chris started to keep a close eye on you. You always wore comfortable clothes, with loads of pockets. Yet somehow, they always fit you well. He also noticed that you always got your own lunch, refusing to eat the food available on the set. 

A few days after filming the sex scene, he decided to try to speak with you. Palms sweaty, he headed towards you and gently said your name. 

"Hi," he said, and stopped. 

"Hello Mr Evans," you greeted him back, a little surprised that he knew your name. 

He continued to look at you, bright cerulean eyes bearing into yours, apparently lost. You blinked twice, unfazed, and a little uncomfortable, "Can I help you sir?"

Chris shook his head slightly. He was so used to women fawning all over him, that your utter lack of excitement on seeing him deterred him a bit. 

He cleared his throat, a little flustered, *Ahem yeah… I wanted to ask… something… karaoke!" he managed to mumble, "It's karaoke night at my house. Tomorrow. Will you come? At night?"

"Umm… No Mr Evans. I am sorry I will not be able to make it," you politely declined while taking a small step back.

"Oh. Uhh… well we can have it any other night if you want," he cleared his throat again, sweat starting to gather on his forehead as he noticed your movement, "You never visit any of my house-parties."

You smiled a bit, "I like to go home early. I want to spend as much time as I can with my fiancé and my cat."

Chris raised his eyebrows at that revelation, "Fiancé? I… I don't see a ring."

"That's because there isn't one," your smile widened as you pulled the chain around your neck and revealed a locket. It was an intricately carved sunflower locket, with small, delicate curls nestled inside the petals. 

Chris glanced at it with disdain. It looked hand-made, cheap, "Is that… is it made from clay?"

"Yes Mr Evans," you beamed at the locket, admiring it with love and pride, "My fiancé is a potter and he made this himself. It took him over 6 hours just to carve all the petals. But he still made it because he knows how much I love sunflowers."

"So he's too poor to give you an appropriate ring?" Chris snapped at you. 

Offended, you looked at him in shock and anger as he continued. "You deserve someone who can afford to give you an expensive engagement ring. Not some cheap craft project."

You grit your teeth at his comment, "Unlike some people, I don't look at the price of the gifts, I look at their value. While this," you held the locket in front of his eyes, "is worthless for you, it is priceless for me."

You placed the locket back inside your shirt and walked away. Chris stood rooted at the spot, biting his cheek hollow. He hadn't meant to drive you away. He had just wanted you to see him as a prospective partner. 

As he turned towards his trailer, an idea popped into his head.

🔥

Next Friday saw you and your fiancé walk into the bowling alley. The production house had organised a "Bring Your Partner to Work Day" and you both were excited to step out of your routine lives. 

A few people on the set recognised your fiancé Aiden from his YouTube channel. Kenneth, an Assistant Set Designer, drooled over him, "Maaahhnnn! I love your pottery videos! They are so calming dude. How do you make them so relaxing?"

The ever shy and soft-spoken Aiden gushed at the compliment, turning a shade of red which you always found adorable. Aiden was almost the same height as you, with a lean figure and a kind, freckled face. Your friends always told you that Aiden's looks were nothing to brag about, but you disagreed. Because for you, this man was the most handsomest, cutest and sexiest person in the world. 

And you knew he felt the same way about you. That's why, even after being together for almost 5 years now, you two still looked at each other with heart eyes.

As the party progressed, you made sure to avoid Chris, and so far, you were successful. That was until he softly said your name. 

With dread in your stomach, you and Aiden turned around to face the man. Aiden knew of your previous encounter with Chris, and tried to square his shoulders as much as possible, but Chris' towering physique and personality literally made it impossible for Aiden to appear tough.

You gave Chris a curt nod and received a sweet smile in response. 

"I believe I owe you an apology," he confessed, "I am sorry. My behavior that day was inexcusable." He paused for reaction, but looking at your hesitant faces, he continued, "It was quite a hectic day on the set and I guess I took it all out on you," he looked towards you, "You know I am capricious by nature. It takes me some time to become gregarious. But," he raised his hands in the air, "I repeat, the way I acted was inexcusable. I am sorry."

He extended his arm towards Aiden, "You are a porter I believe."

"Potter, sir," Aiden corrected while shaking his hand and introducing himself.

You bit your tongue, knowing that Chris was mocking you with his false apology. 

He invited Megan to join the conversation, "Megan loves handmade ceramics. Maybe she would be interested in your work."

Introductions were made again, and as the conversation pursued, it arrived at the topic of your marriage.

"Have you guys decided on a date yet?" asked Megan as Chris looked at you. 

"We are planning to get married as soon as the shooting ends for DJ," you smiled.

"Oh really? Wow that's… unusual," Megan tried her best to hide her surprise.

"We don't know exactly when will the shooting end," Chris said with a frown on his face.

"That's not an issue Mr Evans. We are actually planning to get married at the courthouse," revealed Aiden.

"You know if money is an issue then we would be more than happy to help you guys out," Chris offered in a sincere tone. 

"Oh no no Mr Evans. Money isn't an issue," you clarified, "We have decided to donate the money we had intended to spend on the wedding."

"But thank you so much for the generous offer, we really appreciate it," Aiden added with a sincere smile.

"You know a lot of couples are doing that nowadays. It's a trend I believe," Megan commented, "Where are you going to make the donation?"

"The local orphanage where I grew up. We both love kids and, it just seemed to be the perfect choice," Aiden beamed at you. 

You mirrored his expression while Chris scowled. "I think everybody should get the wedding of their dreams, and you" he stated, pointing towards you, "deserve much more than a courthouse wedding. Don't you want to get married in a beautiful church? Walk down the aisle in a gorgeous white gown? And get married to a man who can actually fulfill your wishes and desires?"

Squaring your shoulders, you looked at Chris dead in the eye, "I am marrying the man of my dreams Mr Evans. The wedding ceremony doesn't matter to me. What does matter is the beautiful life we will begin together. Now if you will excuse us," you linked your arm with Aiden's, "we need to leave."

Chris watched you leave as Megan tried to distract him with something else. Tonight did not go the way he had anticipated.

He left the party shortly after you, directly heading for his home. Standing under the cold shower, he tried to reason with himself. He was acting out of character. There was no reason for his behavior. You had made it ample clear that you loved your fiancé and that nobody in the world could sway you.

Then why was he so hell-bent on claiming you as his?

Because she's perfect for you, a voice answered him. 

Yeah, but she belongs to someone else, he argued.

So what?, the voice urged, Fight for her. You saw her wimp of a fiancé. You can break him into two pieces without breaking a sweat. She is made for you. Just you, and nobody else.

"I… Just… No," Chris stammered loudly as he shook his head, trying to get rid of the voice in his mind.

He tried to meditate, but it didn't work. Dodger too, was unable to distract him. Even his books on self-help and mental health were of no use.

As a last resort, he opened his laptop, but his fingers halted at the search bar, the cursor blinking back at him.

He was too tempted to search for you again. The last time he had Googled you, he had been satisfied with the results. You often volunteered with a few NGOs, coordinated multiple donation drives, visited orphanages and taught underprivileged children. His heart had melted at a particular photograph- you were holding an 8-month-old girl in your arms, while looking over a painting drawn by a 4-year-old boy as the child looked up at you with a toothy smile. 

It reminded him of everything he wanted to have, but still couldn't. 

He closed his eyes and started kneading his forehead with his palms. Everybody he knew always only had the best things about him. Right from Scarlett to Mark to Olivia to every fucking person he had ever worked with, everybody said he deserved to have a loving wife, a stable family. 

And yet, here he was, on a Friday night, home alone with a beer bottle, on the verge of anxiety. 

Was it just anxiety though?

Who the fuck is Aiden and why does he deserve to be with her? the voice in his head was back.

They love each other, they want to get married, Chris reasoned.

He doesn't hold a candle next to you, the voice persisted, People love money more than they love others. She will come to you. But you need to let her know you are available. You need to take her to-

"No," Chris interrupted the voice loudly, "No. This is unhealthy. No."

Reaching for his phone, he searched for his therapist's number, when the voice chuckled, You really think a shrink is going to help you with this? Eh? They are only going to ask you to fuck another pussy, or read more books. And I will be damned before you touch another book about trees. 

Chris shook his head again, but in vain. Unable to find the number in his contacts, he turned to Google for the second time that night and started searching for therapists in his area. The voice tut-ted, Yeah, as if the psycho doctor is going to shut their trap about Chris Evans crying over a girl.

Chris almost crushed his bottle in frustration. He couldn't let the voice take over. Not now. Not after working his ass off to get where wanted in his career. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the screen again and came across the headline- "Why Do People Write Fanfiction?" The word fanfiction seemed vaguely familiar to him. He was going to ignore the article and scroll downwards, but the brief underneath the headline made him stop- …mostly, people write fanfiction to stay in touch with the characters they love," says leading Psychologist Andrea Williams.

Intrigued, he opened the article and started reading. Then he opened another, and another and by the time he was done, he had read 6-7 articles on the concept of fanfiction and what it entailed.

Sighing, he opened a new word document. He was reluctant to type a letter, let alone a whole fictional story. He had tried everything and yet, you chose to occupy a rent-free space in his mind. 

Now all he needed was a reference.

He minimised the document, and opened a new tab on his browser. His hesitant fingers typed the words - Chris Evans Fanfiction - into the search bar, and he instantly winced.

Millions of search results were displayed before him, and as he read the descriptions of each one of them, he realised that 99% of these stories were porn. There was no sugar-coating it. On the 5th page of the search results, he luckily found a story sans the erotica. It was a cute one-shot about him going on a first date with the reader. He read it with squinted eyes, afraid that a sex scene might jump out of the blue, but luckily, nothing of the sort happened. 

Chris liked reading it. It was an innocent story filled with romance. 

But the only problem? It was written from the reader's point of view. He checked a few others, and realised they were all written from the women's perspective, not his.

He sat back in his chair, turning his head such that he was looking at the ceiling, contemplating his options. 

You want her, the voice whispered.

Reluctantly, he typed the first word that came to his mind. Your name. 

Chris rested his chin on his palm, wondering where to start. If this were fiction, would tonight have gone different? Would you have visited his house for karaoke that night? 

Tapping his fingers on the desk, he bit his tongue in thought. Thinking it was better to start at the beginning, he started typing from his POV-

The first time I saw her I thought she was pretty. I saw her during meetings and the shooting. Then one day I saw her giving food to a homeless man-

Deleting his words, Chris shook his head. This was insane! Right? You were a real human being and it was unethical of him to write this! He needed to learn to handle his feelings. 

If you don't have the balls to fight for her, then be with her in the stories you write. Grow a spine Evans, whispered the insulting voice.

Hesitating, he tried to write another paragraph, which ended up getting deleted. 

Try again, the voice coaxed him. Pour your heart into this. Write better. 

Taking a sip of the beer, Chris started typing again-

It was lunchtime when I saw her arranging some equipment on the table. Her back was facing me as I carefully approached her, afraid to startle her. I breathed in her scent, light, floral and fresh, before whispering her name.

She turned around, a bit surprised to see me, but she smiled nevertheless. Oh gosh her smile. I had seen her smile a few times on the set, but in person, it took my breath away. 

"Hi," I managed to greet her shyly. She matched my response.

"I was wondering if you would like to sing karaoke with me? There's a karaoke party tonight at my house if you would like to come," I asked her hopefully.

Her expression turned remorseful as she apologised, "I cannot come Mr Evans. My fiancé won't let me."

Imagine my surprise when I found out about her fiancé. "I didn't know about your fiancé. Why won't he let you come?" I asked her, concerned as she started sniffing a bit.

"He's… he's very strict Mr Evans. He doesn't like it when I go out with my fri-friends or co-workers," she shared between her light sobs.

My heart broke into pieces on hearing her confession. I had often noticed her taciturn behaviour on the set, but I had no idea about the reason behind it.

I raised my hands to cup her face. I was itching to wipe her tears with my lips, but instead, I used my thumbs. 

"I want to help you. Please let me," I requested.

"Nobody can help me Mr Evans. I am stuck with a monster." She pulled a chain from underneath her shirt and I got a glimpse at the marks on her neck. "Aiden gave me this chain and locket instead of an engagement ring. He said it will be better than a ring. And now he-" she started sobbing harder. I pulled her into my chest, running my right hand through her hair as my left hand soothed her back.

"And now he uses it as a leash," my angel whispered, horrified, "he says I do not deserve a ring."

I hugged her tighter and thankfully, she buried her face in my chest, "You are no longer stuck with him. Are you listening to me?" I bent my face to bring my lips near her ears, "I will make sure that you are free of him."

She shook her head, reluctantly pulling away from me, "No Mr Evans. I cannot-"

"Yes you can," I interrupted her. "You are going to come to my house for karaoke tonight. Message Aiden right now, and tell him that I will be dropping you home. Okay?"

After some coaxing, she agreed. I held her close as she typed out the message, her hands shaking around her mobile phone. Finally she clicked on the SEND button.

I brushed a kiss on her forehead, "Wait for me in the back alley after the shoot, okay? I will pick you up from there."

She nodded gratefully in response.

I couldn't wait for the shoot to be over that day. In my eagerness, I even messed up a few takes, mumbling over my lines like an idiot. But eventually, I got through the day. 

I was excited when I picked her up after the shoot. I could see she was nervous and maybe a little bit scared, but she still entered my car anyway. So I made small talk with her and tried to put her mind at ease.

Finally, when we reached my house, she was in awe. 

"This is the most beautiful house I have ever seen Mr Evans," she gasped as I led her inside, "I don't think I have ever seen anything like it before!"

I chuckled, "I am happy you like it. It… it just feels empty sometimes, you know? I find loneliness ubiquitous in this house."

You looked at her puzzled expression and smiled. "Ubi-what was that word Mr Evans?" 

"Ubiquitous," I replied, "it means something that is present and is found everywhere."

"Ahh okay," she nodded, "thank you for teaching me."

"I will accept your gratitude only on one condition."

She tilted her head ever so slightly, "And what would that be Mr Evans?"

I smiled as I slightly bent down and held her hand, "You need to start calling me Christopher."

Visibly flustered, my angel looked down at her feet. "I-I can't Mr Evans," she said in a low voice.

"Why can't you?"

"I respect you too much sir," she confessed.

"Hey," I gently nudged her forehead with mine, "I want you to say my name. Please?" 

I stared into her eyes as she met mine. God.

There was something about her eyes that was absolutely riveting. The depth of her eyes pulled me in towards her as I read the plethora of emotions hidden within them. Her gaze searched my face for malice, deceit, but only found love and trust in return.

I slowly cupped her face as her breath hitched in her chest. I could feel my own heart race. Bringing my face as close as I could to hers, I whispered, the distance between our lips fast closing, "Please."

She parted her lips ever so slightly. I felt her warm breath on mine as she obliged, "Christopher."

I closed my eyes as I heard the most melodious symphony, my name draped in her sweet voice.

I dipped my head to kiss her, feel the shape of her lips, but she stepped back.

"I-I am st-still engaged Chris-Christopher," she stammered.

I straightened myself, my hands no longer cupping her face, "I understand. I am sorry. Would you like-"

Before I could finish, a car honked outside. While I was curious at the intrusion, her eyes widened with fear. 

"That's him," she gasped, "Aiden is here. He found me."

"How is that possible?"

"He has a location app installed on my phone through which he tracks my location," she revealed, visibly shaking at the thought of greeting her fiancé.

"Stay here. You will be safe inside. Let me handle him," I said, squeezing her shoulders.

I walked out of the house and towards the car. The vehicle didn't look in good shape, it's owner even more so.

Aiden manually rolled down his window and spat on the ground. Fumes of cheep alcohol and stale cigarette smoke escaped through the window. "Where is she?" he hollered.

"That's not your concern anymore. She's breaking up with you," I crossed my arms and stood facing him. "If you know what's good for you, you will leave her alone and stay out of her life."

Aiden exited the car at that threat, the door of the vehicle rattled as he opened it. "She said that?" he scoffed, "Color me surprised, I thought the little mouse had no fight left in her. Bring her out here. I want to hear," he wriggled a finger at me, "whatever the fuck you are saying from her own fucking mouth."

"Not going to happen Aiden. You followed her here against her own wishes. Now scoot off before I call the cops," I warned.

"You think I will be scared of some Hollywood prick who shits diamonds?" he sneered. 

"No. But you should be scared of the law. You are currently harassing the owner of this private property, not to mention you have clearly abused your girlfriend mentally, emotionally and physically. So be sensible," I took a step towards him, "and fuck off."

"STOP," she shouted as she trusted towards us. She stood in front of me, as if to guard me from her monster of a fiancé, "Please don't hurt him. I will come with you. Just let him be," she pleaded with him as he smirked. 

Before he could react, I pulled her behind me, making sure my body was shielding her from Aiden.

"She's a gold-digging bitch. You stay away from her," he pointed at me as he tried to reach her. 

I pushed him away once and kept my hand on his weak, thin torso. Turning my head, I asked her for the last time, "Are you sure you want to go with him? I can save you. I will protect you, provide for you and keep you happy!" I urged her.

She looked at me with hope and helplessness. Slowly, she glanced at Aiden who looked like he was ready to commit murder. Sobbing uncontrollably, she removed the chain with the sunflower locket and threw it at his feet. 

"Leave me alone," she managed to mumble at him.

Furious, Aiden growled and tried to pounce at her. Fortunately, I intervened on time and punched his sorry excuse of a face into the ground. 

She gasped as Aiden fell with a thud. Embarrassed, he slowly got up and dusted himself, muttering under his breath as he sat inside his wreck of a car. 

"Don't bother coming back to gather your stuff! I am burning it all tonight you cock-sucking bitch!" and with that outburst, Aiden was finally gone.

She was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably at what had just transpired. I wrapped her in my arms to let her know she was safe. Within moments, I felt her ease into my body. 

I closed my eyes and smiled, my nose buried into her hair. My angel was safe. My angel was mine.

Chris blinked his eyes as he re-read his story. He already felt a whole lot lighter, his anxiety at ease, and mind exhausted. Clicking on SAVE, he finished the last of his beer and went to sleep, hoping that this was the end to his problems. Little did he know about the horrors that awaited him, behind the door he had just opened by writing that fictional story.

__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__

Permanent tag: @donutloverxo

Chris Evans and his characters taglist: @onetwo3000

This story: @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @carpediemm-18

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Taglists are open! Just comment, send an ask or a message!

[cryinginthebackseat]

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with. 

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Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.  

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

                                                         fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel​ @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass​ @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

[charmingly-evil]

The Intervention - Bensler Fanfic 

Summary

Seeing their clear feelings for each other and frustrated at their inability to act, Kathleen stages an intervention with Eli and her siblings to bring Elliot and Olivia together. It starts with a date, and ends with a family. Bensler. Can find the link here 

...

They talk to each other as if no one else is in the room.

This is the thought that passes Kathleen’s mind as she watches Elliot and Olivia from the kitchen. She and the rest of her family are over at Olivia’s apartment for dinner, something that has been occurring more regularly since Finn’s wedding.

It started when Elliot dropped by one afternoon to discuss work and (according to Eli), didn’t come home until late that night. Then he was away the next evening. Apparently, Olivia’s washing machine had broken and despite her protests, Elliot insisted on fixing it.  Between ordering and waiting for new parts to arrive and taking lengthy breaks playing with Noah and catching up with his former partner, it took Elliot two weeks to repair the washing machine.

By then, Eli began dropping by, first to check in on his father, and then to play with Noah – catch, chess and cricket - not the first person in the Stabler family to adore Olivia’s son. Soon, it became tradition for Olivia to have Elliot and Eli over every Saturday evening for dinner. Eli was guarded towards Olivia at first, the woman who seemed to have this unique ability to ease his father’s tempers and draw out his deepest thoughts and feelings. Then Noah won over his heart, and he began to warm to Olivia, appreciating the tender care she showed towards him and his dad, treating them as if they were family. His care for her grew as his father told him about how Olivia saved his life and his mother’s, the day he was born.

Tonight, Olivia had invited Kathleen over for dinner, encouraging her to bring her siblings too.

Now, Kathleen is supposed to be decorating the last few touches on a cake she made, but instead she’s watching Olivia and Elliot who are sitting on the couch together, so close that their thighs are almost touching. Olivia’s holding a glass of wine in one hand, her other hand lightly touching his arm. She’s laughing at something he said. Kathleen watches the way he stares at her, as if he’s lost in her eyes. Kathleen sees the way his cheeks lift into a rare smile when she speaks, warming his entire features.

It's like they’re the only two planets in the solar system, orbiting each other’s space.

Kathleen whirls her head around her, seeing her siblings just feet away from the couple, playing with Noah. Can no one else see this?        

Kathleen brings the cake, plates and forks over and places it on the coffee table in front of Oliva and Elliot. The clang of the tray hitting the table alerts her siblings’ attention, however

Elliot and Olivia still seemed to be wrapped up in their own conversation.

Kathleen interrupts. “Dessert’s ready. It’s a butterscotch layered cake.”

Olivia lifts her head up, her eyes widening with delight at the fluffy layers dripping with caramel sauce. “It looks delicious Kathleen, thank you for making this.”  

Kathleen smiles and begins dishing out the plates as her siblings and Noah come over, taking their place around the coffee table. “It’s soothing. It’s helped to invest in these hobbies, you know? Since mom died.” Kathleen turns to Elliot and says, “Dad, I tried to open the champagne you brought over but couldn’t find the bottle opener.”

“You shouldn’t need the bottle opener. I’ll grab it.”

Kathleen waits for Elliot to leave before taking her place next to Olivia. “Thanks for having us over Liv.”

Olivia smiles as she reaches for a plate, seeing Noah’s eager eyes already devouring the cake, almost impatient for a piece. “Of course. We should have done this sooner. I’ve just been swamped with work…” Olivia cuts and hands Noah his slice of cake with a plastic fork, gently warning him, “Don’t eat it all at once, remember what happened at Lachlan’s birthday party.”  

“So has Dad, busy at work I mean,” Kathleen continues. She glances at her father, who is holding the bottle with one hand and searching for new glasses with other. She almost rolls her eyes. It’s a crime in his house to pour new wine into tainted glasses, just another habit he picked up from Italy. “I wanted to say that things have improved. Dad’s been seeing someone, a trauma psychologist. Eli says he’s not coming home late at night anymore and is eating and sleeping. He even calls me on his breaks every now and again to check in.”

Olivia’s smiles and she gently squeeze Kathleen’s arm affectionately. “I’m glad. He told me he was seeing someone and making progress.”

“I notice he’s been a lot happier these past few weeks too, since he’s been seeing you.”

Olivia raises her eyes, taken back. Kathleen leans forward and continues. “You’re good for him Liv. Just…things he can’t share with us, he shares with you.”

“You know I’ll always be there to support your father.”

“I know. It’s not just that…” Kathleen pauses, unsure of how to say it. “I see the way he looks at you…that day after the intervention, when he told you he loves you,” Kathleen doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath Olivia takes. “I asked him about it. He refused to talk about anything from that night. Eli thought it might have been a mistake, a comment he was directing to all of us. But I know he only meant it for you. He’ll never admit it though.”

Olivia swallows, feeling the weight of what she’s saying. She sees the urgency in her eyes. Olivia takes a steady breath. “Kathleen, Elliot and I care about each other a lot. But that night, he was under a lot of pressure…and I honestly think that pursuing any sort of relationship is the last thing on his mind.”

Kathleen shakes her head. “He meant it Liv. He’s just too scared to say anything. Look, I’m not saying you need to do anything about it,” Kathleen pauses, glancing at Elliot once more, who is pouring champagne into two glasses. “You deserve to be happy. You both do. And I know if mom could talk, she would say the same thing too.”

Olivia’s eyes bloom with surprise, sure she misheard her.

Kathleen reads her surprise look and squeezes her friend’s hand. “I just don’t want you to think that anything is standing in the way. Not from me, or anyone in this family.”

Then Kathleen goes to settle in-between her brothers, absorbing herself in their conversations, just as Elliot returns.

Elliot hands her a glass of wine as he settles on the couch, his eyes shifting between Olivia and Kathleen. “That looked like a serious conversation.”

Olivia blinks once, then twice, recomposing herself. She passes him a small smile. “Oh, it was nothing. She was just telling me about her holiday plans.” Olivia lifts her glass up to her nose and breathes in the fruity aroma. She takes a sip and closes her eyes, letting out a blissful hum when she feels the smooth liquid run down her throat. “Borolo. Another favourite from Italy?”

“Yep. And judging from your smile, one of yours too?”

Olivia pinches her lips together and shrugs, a hint of a sparkle in her eye. “It’s growing on me since you started coming over.”

Elliot breathes out a laugh. “I’m not surprised. I checked your cupboard; you’re still drinking ten-dollar wine.”

Olivia scrunches her nose and casts him an irritated look. “Hey, just because I’m not a wine snob.”

Elliot raises his hands defensively. “It’s hard to go back to drinking American wine when you lived an hour away from one of the best wineries in Rome.” Elliot pauses to take a sip, reminiscing. Then he turns to Olivia and says, “You would have loved the wine tasting their Liv.”

Olivia sees a spark in his eye as he starts to talk about Italy, lifting her heart. A distant memory drifts into her mind when Elliot last tried to talk about Italy, “You would have loved Rome Liv…” before she cut him off.

Tonight, Olivia leans in closer and says, “Tell me about it.”  

Olivia nods and smiles as he talks, in awe at the beauty of Italy that he’s painting for her. But another part of her mind is replaying the conversation she had with Kathleen and her recent moments with Elliot. I see the way he looks at you…

It’s ludicrous, stupid for her to think that anything could ever happen. She shouldn’t want anything to happen. It took her years to get over Elliot and the heart crushing pain he brought her. Anyway, what they have right now is good, perfect. He’s back in her life, more settled than before. Olivia feels like she has a family. She doesn’t want to gamble that away.

Yet Olivia can’t help but wonder what would happen if she took a chance and risked it. Once again, she replays Kathleen’s words.

I just don’t want you to think that anything is standing in the way. Not from me, or anyone in this family…

…

“Did you see the way they were looking at each other?”

Eli rolls his eyes at his sister. They’re back at his father’s apartment and Elliot insisted that it’s too late for her to drive home, and she spend the night at their guest room. She’s sitting at the end of Eli’s bed as he rummages through his closet, searching for his pyjamas.

“Not this again Kathleen. Did you spend the whole night watching them?”

Kathleen wants to chuck one of his dirty socks at her brother. “Doesn’t this frustrate anyone else? They have feelings for each other but are too scared to act. And even you admitted that Dad’s been better, happier since he’s been seeing Liv more.”

“So what?” Eli asks as he bundles his pyjamas together, turning to face his sister. “Yeah, they might like each other. And I’m glad she’s helped him through his grief. But why do you care so much?”

Kathleen casts him a harden look. “You’re going to college in a couple of years. Aren’t you worried about how Dad might cope without you?”

Eli pauses, he hasn’t considered this before.

Sensing him thinking, Kathleen quickly continues. “I’m not at home anymore, neither is Dickie. When mom was here, it might have been okay, Dad wouldn’t be alone. But when you leave, he won’t have anyone. Aren’t you worried about how he’ll cope?”

Eli’s face darkens as he recalls all the evenings his dad would spend at work, overworking himself to forget about his grief and pain, focused only on finding his mother’s killer. He remembers his exhaustion, irritability, sudden anger outbursts and the long periods he would go without sleep or food. Then he remembers the car crash.

Eli winces at the memories. “Okay, I get your point. But Dad won’t be alone, he knows he can call me, us. He doesn’t need another woman just because mom’s not around anymore.

Kathleen studies her brother for a moment and can see his deep fury. Suddenly, she realises just how hard this must be for him, to see Olivia stepping into their father’s life and possibly taking her mother’s place. He doesn’t know Olivia like they do, he just sees her as another woman.

“It’s not just about Dad finding any partner,” Kathleen says softly, grabbing his attention. She tries to gather the thoughts in her head and sighs softly. “Olivia’s not just his partner, but his best friend. We all considered her to be family. You know she was there with mom during the car crash, the day you were born? She saved her life.”

Eli’s face darkens once more. “Yeah, dad told me.”

“And there were times when mom couldn’t get through to dad, when he was working too late, too caught up in his work…It was Liv she encouraged him to speak to, and Liv who reminded him to come home.”

Eli shakes his head, his frustration growing. “Doesn’t it bother you that dad could be moving on with someone else so soon?”

Kathleen nods slowly, understanding him. “It would if it was anyone else. But this is Liv, and she makes him happy, whole. I think they could both make each other really happy, and I know mom would want that too.”

Eli gives his sister a hard look before sighing. His anger slowly diminishes as he exhales, understanding settling within him. “Didn’t dad leave Olivia though and ignore her since we left New York?”

Kathleen hears his point. “You’re right, and I don’t think they’ve spoken about that yet, properly talked about it…” She lowers her eyes, thinking. “But they like each other, they just need a gentle nudge and the reassurance from us that we wouldn’t discourage their relationship. I’m not saying we do anything extreme,” she quickly adds, seeing the panic in his eyes. “I just know if we can just get them into the same room together to talk things through….”

Eli doesn’t look convinced. “Have you spoken to Maureen about this?”

Kathleen shrugs. “I know I can get her on board. Dickie too. They just want Dad to be happy.” She pauses, looking thoughtful, then casts her brother an eye glinting smile. “So, did you want to hear my plan?”

[writersplanetarium]

Facade: Discordant Dinner Date

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

I will admit that this is heavily influenced by the short story lol. I hope you enjoy!

“What’s your favorite food?” Aelin asked.

“I thought we agreed no questions.”

“I said I wouldn’t ask Remelle questions. Besides, we’re not even there yet.”

“I don’t have a favorite food,” he said, “I just eat whatever is available.”

“So whenever you go to the store you just, what? Get whatever’s on sale? Or you stop at the first restaurant you see?”

“Pretty much,” he said. There was a long silence between them and Aelin looked over at him.

“Aren’t you curious about my favorite food?” She asked.

“I already know it,” he replied, “That cake.”

“Aww you remembered,” she said. He rolled his eyes. “How’d you know I liked it anyway?”

“You’d ask for it at every cast event,” he replied, “And I was the one who put the laxatives in it that one time.”

“I fucking knew it! I knew there was something wrong with it. You’re such a bastard,” she said, and a little self satisfied smirk came over his lips. She let her gaze continue to linger on him. He hadn’t particularly tried dressing up. He didn’t look amess, but not like what most celebrities usually looked like going to dinner. Mistward wasn’t all that picky though, so his jeans and button up wouldn’t get him thrown out. He looked good enough she doubted anyone would really notice anyway. The sleeves of the green button up were rolled to his elbows and the top two buttons were undone. It was just a fact that he looked good. She certainly wouldn’t be the only person to think so. It wasn’t that weird of her to think an obviously good looking man was good looking. Right? 

“Mistward makes some of the best hazelnut cake ever. You have to have a piece of it tonight.” She said it to him, but it was more for her to steer her off the train of thought she’d started down.

“Pass.”

“Come on,” she said, poking his arm, not thinking about how his muscles barely even gave under the pressure, “I swear one bite and you’ll rethink your entire outlook on food.”

“I’ve had a lot of food,” he said, “All of it likely more tempting than some chocolate cake.”

“You’ll be eating those words, buzzard.”

“Sure,” he said flatly.

When they arrived at Mistward, Rowan parked about as far from the entrance as they could get, despite there being open spaces.

“Why?” She asked, “I’m in heels, Rowan. Heels.”

“Why would I want to go looking for the car? Or risk having someone hit it.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Besides, it’s an extra ten feet. It won’t kill you.”

“I’m going to make the costume deparment get you a pair of these one day and make you see just how far ten feet can be.” She fixed a small piece of hair that had fallen out of the coronet she’d braided her hair into. Rowan looked over at her.

“It’s fitting,” he said.

“What is?” She asked.

“For you to give yourself a crown,”

“Oh whatever,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. She reached up touching the ends of his long silver hair, “I could make yours match. Even add in little tiny braids-”

“In your dreams, Princess.” He pushed her hand away. She grinned, lacing her arm in the crux of his elbow.

“Indeed.”

When they made it inside they found that they were, unfortunately, not the first people there.

Aelin looked over the group and was not surprised to find Remelle scowling at the decor. She was beautiful, but dressed for a clearly more fancy restaurant, her icy blonde hair loose without a single strand out of place. They looked to have just sat down, and the glare in her cerulean eyes at the waiter as she snapped at him there were too many chairs certainly diminished the beauty she had. She’d conveniently left both chairs open right beside her.

“Actually there’s just enough,” Rowan said. She looked up, a pleased look coming over her face.

“Rowan. I’ve missed you,” she said, jumping from her seat as she walked to them, offering him her hands. He took them, reluctantly from how stiff he was, but didn’t more than hold them for the moment before dropping them.

“Benson, Essar,” he said, nodding to the other two people at the table. Benson spared her a glance, unlike Remelle, with dark eyes that left her feeling... oily. And while Remelle was beautiful, Essar was who Aelin envied with her curves and light brown skin. Rowan took Essar’s hand a bit more freely and Remelle frowned, but quickly recovered.

“Come sit,” she said, setting her hand on his back to try and usher him over to her seat, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I remember when we didn’t go a day without seeing one another. Oh I miss those days.” Rowan didn’t budge at her nudging.

“This is Aelin,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

Essar was the only one who offered her a hello. Aelin couldn’t help but wonder why Rowan chose Remelle over her. She seemed much more pleasant. Rowan took the seat on the end, clearly intending for Aelin to sit beside him, but Remelle shoved her way in before she could, leaving her to sit beside Benson.

Rowan gave a small huff of annoyance, but stayed seated anyway.

“So how did you two meet then?” Essar asked.

“We’re costars,” Aelin answered, “We’ve been working on the same show for a few seasons now, but the friendship is new.”

“Just friends?” Remelle asked, “Well that’s not very surprising. I mean that accent of yours is already grating on me, I can’t imagine having to hear it everyday.” Aelin gritted her teeth, looking over at the woman, then Rowan. 

Trust me I know. But I have to be nice for Maeve. He said without words.

“I think it’s pretty,” Essar said.

“Of course you’d think so, Essar. Your upbringing wasn’t as refined as ours.” Aelin caught Rowan gritting his teeth now too, his knuckles white, and she understood all too well why he didn’t want to be here on his own.

They ordered their drinks as Remelle continued on with her insulting remarks and snips towards everyone but Rowan, whom she showered in affection. Aelin was surprised she hadn’t sat in his lap outright with how close she’d moved her chair. Rowan kept catching her gaze whenever Remelle would say almost anything, and Aelin could almost laugh as she returned the look.

Not enjoying having a woman throwing herself all over you?

I’d rather be anywhere else right now.

Come now, she even offered to take you out again. How could you refuse that? Especially after she’s offered four times like you didn’t hear the others.

Funny.

Somehow Aelin made it through ordering. She knew most of it was due to Essar. Aelin found she liked the woman very much. She’d finished her third glass before she finally had an excuse to leave and use the restroom. All the water she’d been drinking in lieu of talking was getting to her, and Rowan was begging for an out.

“If you’ll all excuse me for a second,” Aelin said, “I’ll return in a minute.”

“Don’t rush,” Remelle said with a withering smile.

“I need to be excused for a second as well,” Rowan said, prying himself from Remelle’s hold. Aelin held in her laugh as they walked away. “It’s not funny.”

“It is so funny,” she said.

“She was a mistake,” he said.

“Clearly not enough of one to realize the first time,” she replied.

“It was... over the course of us working together. Then I came to my senses. However, she’s never been able to let it go. But it’s over.”

“She clearly thinks there’s hope.”

“There’s none,” he said, “She’s bored, and just wants what she can’t have. But it’s over. Completely.”

“Right,” Aelin drawled trying not to laugh as they reached the space between the bathrooms. There was a waterfall built into the wall the glowed and trickled between them.

“Laugh. I dare you,” he said, looking over at her.

“I’m not laughing,” she replied, holding it in.

“You want to. I can see it all over your face. I will throw this water at you if you so much as giggle,” he said. She couldn’t help it though. He stuck his hand in the water, getting a handful, which was a generous amount with his huge hands.

“No, Rowan!” She said through her laughs, backing up, he didn’t stop following her though, “You’ll ruin my shirt.” She hit the wall and he stood close, so close she could feel the warmth radiating off of him. Could smell him. He smelled like pine and snow.

“I warned you-” 

“Oh!” They both looked over to find Remelle standing there. She looked between Aelin and Rowan, sizing up the situation. Aelin realized how this must look, and hoped it wouldn’t spell trouble for Rowan with Maeve.

“What do you want?” Rowan asked.

“Well I needed to powder my nose too,” she said, pouting, “But clearly I’m interrupting something.”

“You know I was just going to head into the bathroom,” Aelin said, dipping under Rowan’s arm, smirking at him, “But you know how things go.” Rowan glared after her and she just gave them a little wave with her fingers.

When the door closed behind Aelin, Rowan looked over at Remelle flatly.

“Do you have a thing with all your costars?” Remelle pouted.

“You said you needed the restroom, so go,” Rowan said sharply, turning away from her.

“Is that how things are, then? You’re going to be so cruel to me forever?” She asked, catching his arms, “I heard you were here and I came to see you only to find out you’re spending your time with that? I mean if you have such a liking for your costars, Maeve might want to know such a thing.”

“How did you even know I was here?” He asked.

“Maeve told me,” she replied, “She knew how I missed you. But I must say, we’re all shocked to find you with someone so beneath you.”

“It’s none of your business,” he snapped.

“I’m just trying to be a good friend, Rowan.”

“Well you’re not my friend,” he said, “And the only reason Aelin is here is because she heard about it and likes the restaurant.”

“Benson will be glad to hear it. He’s been looking for someone to warm his bed while we’re in town.”

“Benson will lose his most valuable parts if he so much as looks at her.”

“Well that doesn’t sound very friendly,” Remelle said. It took everything in Rowan to remain calm. “But I’ll ensure the message is conveyed.” Rowan just pulled his arm from her hold and walked into the bathroom.

When he returned to the table, he saw everyone else had already returned and Benson’s eyes were firmly fixed on his plate before him. He also saw Aelin must’ve made it back first, because she was seated in Remelle’s former chair. Rowan resisted a smile at the irritation evident in Remelle’s form.

“So, Aelin,” Essar said, “Have you been enjoying your time on the show?”

“It’s been great,” Aelin nodded, “Grueling, but great.”

“I’ve seen a few episodes. I’ve rather enjoyed it,” she said, “You and Rowan have very good chemistry.”

“Too bad it’s going to waste,” Remelle said, “I mean, what was it you said Rowan? About being only costars?” Clearly the quip was meant to wound Aelin, since she assumed there was more between them, but it didn’t strike like she’d thought it would.

“Well Rowan and I didn’t like each other for the longest time,” Aelin said, “As I’m sure you may have heard a few months ago. But we’re on friendly terms now. It’s too bad you don’t have anyone vying for yourself, Remelle. Must be lonely.” Rowan knew that one struck exactly where it was meant to.

“I like to keep my options open,” she said, “But a poor thing like you must have such an awful time finding men. I mean I heard about what happened to your poor boyfriend a few years ago. Those kinds of things certainly can wreck a woman for a while.”

Things were about to go very bad.

“Remelle,” Rowan said sharply, seeing the wrath in Aelin’s eyes. She turned to him with an innocent look, speaking in the Old Language. 

What? I’m simply stating the truth.

“Speak the common tongue,” he said.

“Oh, my bad,” she said, looking over at Aelin, “I forget sometimes not everyone is so well educated.”

The food arrived just then, sparing whatever response was about to blow out of Aelin. Remelle frowned, looking at the food.

“My, this is... homely.” She reluctantly took a bite before frowning. “Oh, my. Rowan, how can you stand to eat such food? It’s a chore to even take a bite.”

“I perfer this to what I ate back in Doranelle,” he said.

“No need to be nice. They should be honored to have a celebrity even sitting here. If their food is foul, they need to know so people don’t come flocking here only to find disappointment.”

“If it’s so disappointing you can go back to Doranelle,” Aelin said with a sharply polite smile, “And if you stay I’m sure you’ll be able to find something nice to say, unless you want this food caked on your face as thick as your makeup.”

“Why I never-” She set her hand on Rowan’s. “Rowan, do you hear what this woman is saying to me? I demand she leave at once.”

“Take your hand off him,” Aelin said with a lethal calm.

“You have no room to go demanding things-” Aelin grabbed her hand, twisting it back. Remelle cried out in surprise, and perhaps a little pain.

“You’ll keep your hands off him,” she said, pushing back more, “And you’ll learn a little respect, or I’ll break your fingers like carrots. Yeah?” Aelin looked over at Rowan. “Rowan?” Remelle was trembling with something close to fear in her eyes.

“You can release her. I’d like to eat,” Rowan said. Aelin let go and Remelle stood, running out crying.

By the time dinner finished everyone was so eager to leave Aelin forwent her dessert. When they climbed back into his truck she looked over at him.

“Was I too harsh with her?” She questioned.

“She had it coming,” he replied, a small smile quirking on his lips, “I’ve never seen you so vengeful though.”

“Oh whatever,” she replied. He laced their fingers, a mockery of what Aelin had done to Remelle.

“You’ll learn a little respect, or I’ll break your fingers like carrots,” he teased.

“I cannot believe you slept with her,” Aelin said, leaving their fingers laced, gently squeezing his hand.

“You’re telling me,” he replied loosing a long breath as he leaned back in his seat.

“All that and I didn’t even get my cake,” she said, leaning against the dash.

“What a travesty,” he replied.

“I think I have the ingredients though. We could make it,” she offered.

“Not happening,”  he said.

“You owe me,” she replied, “Imagine what would have happened if I’d not come.”

“Not. Happening,” he replied. She pouted, but gave in.

It was two hours after he’d dropped her off at home that he got a knock on his door. He opened it to find Aelin on the other side with a suspicious looking piece of cake in her hands.

“I should have known,” he said.

“Just try. Please? It’s still warm, even.” She looked so proud. He rolled his eyes, but took it. He ate a bite and nearly vomited. He had no idea how she went so wrong, but wrong it was. “Good right?” She asked. He nodded despite himself and quickly ate the rest just to get it over with.

“Thank you,” he said. She gave a gleeful smile, turning to walk back to the house. He could see her taste some of the remnants on the plate and gagged, spitting it out. She looked back at him and he barely managed a laugh before he had to run to the bathroom and empty his stomach.

Tagged:

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[kiara-carrera]

leah and jj + hugging while walking for the touches ask game?

season 2 spoilers for everything up to the bonfire episode (where this it set)! this is both canon and not canon because i will in fact adjust all of my ideas at least seventy-four times whoops ... we’re also gonna ignore the fact that the hug while walking lasts exactly one line, a true blink and you miss it kind of nonsense. is this well written? no, but that’s not my strong suit anyways.

18. hugging while walking: leah + jj

“I’m just saying — I don’t trust her. And I really don’t think we should be leaving John B alone right now, especially with her.”

Around them, the annual bonfire was in full swing. Music was blaring, drinks sloshing out of solo cups and dripping down the arms of kids too slow on a shotgunned can, bodies clustered in the middle as friends danced and chatted the night away. The bonfire was like a Boneyard party — neutral ground where Pogues and Kooks could (mostly) coexist for a night of getting shit faced and making terrible decisions.

Instead of being up in the mix, Leah found herself off to the side, a frown on her face as she watched John B get yanked into a conversation with a girl from their school — Yvonne, a junior like them, and also someone John B had gotten fairly familiar with the previous year, before dads began disappearing at sea, gold cropped up in wells, and mysteries and murder landed on their doorsteps.

Even if the relationship (marriage?) between John B and Sarah hadn’t just fucking exploded — okay, wait, maybe that wasn’t the right word to use all things considered. Either way, she would have been having the exact same reaction. Because like most of the people John B and JJ had gotten involved with over the years, Leah couldn’t fucking stand the sight of her.

JJ snorted from beside her, watching on as Leah glared across the party where John B had all but been wrangled into a conversation with Yvonne. “Remind me what your problem with her is again?”

Her head snapped towards him, finally breaking her one-sided glare session, regarding JJ as if he’d suddenly grown another five heads. “You’re kidding, right? Do you not remember how fucking exhausting she was when John B was doing ... whatever the fuck that thing he had with her last year was?”

“He was banging her,” JJ said bluntly, laughing when Leah wrinkled her nose. “And no, I don’t.”

“Figures, because you’d always run off with Pope and leave me alone with them. Like, she was fine at first until she started getting super weird and territorial over him with me, which was fucking weird because they weren’t even dating and also newsflash — I was so not trying to steal John B from her. It’s John B. I’d rather eat a bar of soap.”

“John B can handle himself,” JJ told her, taking a sip from his drink. He’d already had half a beer that he’d failed to shotgun and had scored a solo cup from some kid in their year. “He’s probably going to be bitching about missing Sarah to her the whole time anyways, and I know I’m not spending my night babysitting him with you.”

Leah raised an eyebrow at him, reaching out to snatch his drink from his hand. She grinned when he made a noise of protest when she took a small sip. Grimacing at the taste, she told him, “This tastes like lighter fluid, first of all. And who said you had to hang out with me tonight?”

Another grin broke out on her lips, watching as his eyebrows knitted in confusion at her words. There was just the tiniest hint of a frown that she might have missed if she hadn’t been watching him as closely as she was or if the flickering lights of the bonfire hadn’t casted a decent amount of light to where they were standing.

She wasn’t expecting him to turn it around on her though. 

His confusion disappeared at the drop of a hat, a somewhat cocky expression tugging at the corner of his lips as he replied, “Figured you wouldn’t be complaining about that.”

Embarrassed heat crawled up her neck at his words, eyes narrowing at him. Leah wasn’t sure why she expected JJ to not be a teasing dick about everything — perhaps it was the way he’d been far to eager to put his mouth on hers the other day that made her think they were on the same page.

Apparently not.

Everything was just weird. Between the kiss the night Rafe and Barry crashed John B and Sarah’s welcome home party and everything that had happened between then and now it was just ... it was like her world had been thrown off-kilter. They’d barely talked about it. Every conversation either got ruined, interrupted, or ended in a kiss. She wasn’t complaining about the third one, but it felt entirely too vulnerable to not know where she stood.

Did she like JJ? Yes. Did JJ like her? ...Wildly undetermined. On the one hand, he definitely liked the physicality of it all. But there was still that horrid little voice in the back of her mind that worried. Worried because he’d never actually been in a serious relationship, had never looked for one. Worried that she’d divulged too much too soon and that he was trying simply for the sake of their friendship.

She’d already seen the way Kiara and Pope had fractured. She didn’t exactly want to be the star of the sequel.

It was already hard enough accepting that her feelings for JJ were far beyond anything platonic. It was hard having to go around knowing what it felt like to have his mouth on hers, his hand tangled in her hair as she tasted weed and Natural Light on his lips. It was hard enough to know that there was something there, but not knowing what that something was.

He’d told her to stop putting words in his mouth, to stop jumping to conclusions about how he was feeling, but what the fuck was she supposed to do when it seemed like this was all just some weird way to pass time?

It was just her luck that she was shit at feelings like this and that she just had to go fall for her friend who was quite possibly worse than her.

And now he was fucking teasing her. Yup, saying shit to him was starting to look more and more like a colossal fucking mistake.

“You’re a dick,” she muttered to him, cheeks burning as she turned to go find Kie or Pope.

Leah made it all but two feet before two familiar arms wrapped around her waist, JJ doing his best to prevent her from going any further.

“Lee Lee,” he whined in her ear. “C’mon, it was a joke.”

“Must have forgot to laugh,” she replied, beer sloshing around the cup in her hands as she tried to keep moving. But his arms were wrapped around her in a bear hug, his boots shuffling in the dirt behind her converse.

“Jesus,” he muttered, finally tugging her to a complete halt, groaning in annoyance a little as she refused to turn around to face him. But she’d stopped trying to move forward, still wearing a frown as he released her and circled around her to be face to face once again. “Done pouting now?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I’m gonna shove you into the bonfire.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Not really into that, but thanks.”

Another flush of heat, this more out of annoyance than anything else, rose to her cheeks. “Can you be serious for like five seconds and stop making it your night’s goal to annoy me?”

The seriousness of her tone made his smile falter just a little bit. “Oh, c’mon, it was a joke. I wanna hang with you tonight, you know that.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t see me standing around anyone else, do you?” He glanced around, as if trying to prove his rhetorical point.

The tiniest, most traitorous of a laugh escaped her, but she quickly doubled back with a semi forced frown. “Too late, your friendship privileges have been provoked for the night.”

“What about macking privileges?”

The frown? Gone. Eyes? A little wide. Heart? Well, she was lucky her ribcage was there to keep it from popping out of her chest like a fucking cartoon.

A little flustered, she told him, “Funny, JJ, should consider being a comedian.”

“Not joking.” His tone was as serious as his words, more serious than he tended to be, especially at a party which surprised her, but it was the next thing he did that really caught her attention.

Leah knew that JJ was annoying when it came to getting what he wanted, but nothing really could have prepared her for the way his hands pulled on her arms, tugging her close to him, closer than she had any right to be as his friend.

Leah knew that no one at the bonfire around them was playing a lick of attention to them — the Pogues had been a hot commodity for all of two minutes when they’d arrived, a bit of attention of the newly freed John B, but that spectacle had gone stale all too quickly. And yet, her heart didn’t seem to care because there was something daunting, exciting about him treating her like this in public.

She knew from experience that JJ was nonchalant about PDA, making out and dancing with people at parties before with not a care in the world. His standing close to her and tugging him into her like he was some fictional pretty boy starring in a cheesy teen rom com shouldn’t have made her feel as special as it did but this was just different.

It was him and it was her and there were so many things about this situation that seemed like they’d only ever exist in vague daydreams. It seemed like there shouldn’t have been a universe where he’d look at her like the way he was right now, with anything more than friendship.

“We can even ditch,” JJ told her with a grin, eyes sparkling just a bit in the firelight. His hands slipped from her arms to her hips smoothly, like being nonchalant about this kind of shit came all too naturally to him. “Me, you, and the lighter fluid.”

She was certain that he could see her sour mood diminish embarrassingly quick as she asked, “Oh really? To do what, exactly?”

“That all depends on how you wanna spend your time tonight,” JJ answered, giving her one of his easy, mischievous smiles, that fucking smile that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

Leah wasn’t sure how long she’d cared for him like this. Maybe it had only been a few days, maybe since Midsummers, or hell, maybe it had been forever, her subconscious just waiting for that perfect moment for it to click that her joking I hate you’s were laced with something else, something more.

“Know a good place, too,” he added, gesturing his head towards the tree line past the wall, into the woods where most people only vacated to for hookups, which definitely didn’t go over her head.

“If you’re taking me to where you take all your bonfire party hook ups to, I’ll pass,” Leah remarked dryly. She didn’t intend the words to come out slightly bitter, and she thought she passed them off as joking as she could, but she couldn’t ignore the twist in her chest at the thought.

Before all of this, she wouldn’t have even batted an eye at JJ possibly having secret bonfire hookup spots, but now? Now the thought made a ball of lead form in her stomach.

“I mean I took Pope there once when I didn’t want to share my good weed with anyone.”

This time, she didn’t try to hide the laughter that bubbled over her lips. “Oh, perfect, I get to see where you wander off with Pope, wonderful.”

“So you’re in?”

She pretended to ponder it for a moment, but it was clear to just about anyone — especially JJ who knew her better than anyone in the world — that she’d had the answer sitting on her tongue. “I guess I could spare you a few minutes.”

JJ grinned at her, once again shooting her that fucking smile and she wasn’t sure if it was that or the way he replied with, “That’s my girl!” made her feel like she could fucking conquer the fucking world, off-kilter or not.

[delicatelyherdreams]

Pragma(tic) 3: Her Head Aches

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 3758

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 2: He Becomes a Trespasser

Landing on your front stoop once more, you felt thoroughly exhausted and exasperated. You’d used all the energy you had stored for dealing with the living and you weren’t going to need to interact with anyone outside of the Underworld for a year or two at that point. Brunch had been nice, but then dealing with that James? Oh boy, were you spent!

You still couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to come down to the Underworld. You’d heard of mortals and younger gods being naive, but that was a whole new level of idiocy. And for what? A simple ruby? 

You heaved a labored sigh and turned to look over your kingdom. You hadn’t gotten the chance to reapply any spells to your father’s cage in your mad dash to save the young prince of spring, and now it was just another thing to do on your list. Gods, that incident had really screwed up your schedule. 

From your spot on the mountain, you could see two figures making a beeline through the Asphodel Meadows from Tartarus: a large dog and a woman. The woman was running frantically, keeping pace with the dog.

Your stomach plummeted. Crap. You’d forgotten you’d sent Cerberus to get Peggy. They’d probably gone back to the cave and didn’t find you there. You could only imagine how worried they were when you were missing.

Peggy and Cerberus quickly scaled the steep steps that led up to your mansion, the elevation and distance being nothing to them. 

Peggy barely stopped in front of you and she grabbed onto your wrists, lifting them up to inspect your body. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice coated in her British accent (she’d spent quite a bit of time in London from the 1920s to the 1940s and the accent had stuck and never left). Her brown eyes scanned every detail of your face, checking for any traces of golden ichor. 

You let her do her work, simply nodding your head and saying, “I’m fine, Peggy.”

“When Cerberus came barging into my home without you… I thought he’d gotten you.”

You shook your head. “My father would have a hell of a time corrupting me, Peg. No, what had happened was some idiotic god wandered down here and had gotten stuck in Tartarus. The spirits had him and I’d thought something bigger was going on. That’s why I sent Cerberus for you. But nothing is the matter. I dealt with it.”

“Some god?” Her brows furrowed. “But how would he have—” She narrowed her eyes. “The Dikteon Cave.”

“Bingo.”

“But I’d thought we’d closed the rift the best we could and layered on protection warrants.”

“We did,” you confirmed. “But gods, if they’re determined enough, can still slip in.”

“What did he want?”

“A ruby. Probably to amaze and impress some girl.” You rolled your eyes and waved your hand dismissively. “But I took care of him. Sent him home to his chaperones and gave him the chastising of his life. He won’t be back any time soon.”

Peggy nodded, her gaze shifting from you to the cave on the other side of your kingdom. “Did you get a chance to…?”

“No. I need to go do that now.”

“Do you want me to come too?”

“No. You can stay here. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be coming back shortly after for a drink.”

She couldn’t stop the snicker that fell from her lips. “Something strong?”

“Nah. Probably just some wine mixed with nectar. Can you crack out the 1918 Cabernet Sauvignon for me? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Of course. Just promise me you won’t drink the whole bottle this time?”

“Ah, I can’t do that, Peg.” You gave her a sly smile. “After dealing with my sisters, an imbecile, and my father, I might just need to get wasted. But that’s why I have you; to make sure I don’t do anything stupid.”

“Mhmm. Sure. Come on, Cerberus,” she said, beckoning your dog to follow her into your house.

He followed after her, his tail wagging with excitement at the idea of hanging out with Aunt Peggy.

As the door closed behind them, you descended the staircase to the ground at the foot of the mountain and made your way over to the cave. Your bident materialized in your hand as you went, driving the spirits away from you. 

Tartarus was as cold as ever, making you shiver and goosebumps rise up on your skin. It was empty and evil and it made your heart spasm, but you had to go on. You made your way through the cave, following the tunnel until it opened up. The pit sat in the middle of the chasm; wide, expansive, deep, and extensive. The Phlegethon ran down into it, illuminating the walls of the pit until it was swallowed up by nothingness. You never liked to get too close to the edge, so you stood a good five feet away. Staring down into the pitch-black beneath you, you thought you could almost make out the bottom, but you knew that was impossible. It was too deep to see the bottom from up there. 

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You had a task to do, and nothing was going to distract you from completing it.

You began to mumble spells in a tongue so dead that you barely remembered the meaning of the words you spoke. It was the language of the first titans, taught to you by your mother. The words coming out of your mouth conveyed your wishes to bind, to entrap, to keep, and to lock away. They came from the ancient magic you had used when you sealed your father away the first time. 

Your voice trickled down into the pit, the power it held no doubt soaring to the cage your father lay trapped in and strengthening, replacing, and adding to the protection around it. It wouldn’t take more than five seconds for your spells to reach their destination. You could always tell when they started to work because someone would answer.

Sure enough, a cold chuckle echoed out of the pit and a snide voice said, “Well, if it isn’t my favorite daughter. You’re a bit late today, aren’t you? Did something happen? Are you finally going soft on me?” His tone was mocking and not concerned in the least bit. 

You stiffened but continued to murmur your spells. You hated it when he tried to talk to you. It only distracted you, but you knew that was his goal. He always tried to disrupt your enchantments in hopes that he could weaken his cage.

Deep, booming laughter rang out of the pit, shaking the cave ever so slightly. “Why do you never talk to me, my daughter? It’s so lonely down here. If you insist on seeing me so often, you might as well make conversation.”

Ignore him.

You closed your eyes, blocking out everything other than the rituals you performed, muttering those words that had become second nature to you, trying to hurry up and finish. The sooner you could get out of there, the better.

“How was your day? I heard a commotion coming from the cave earlier. Were the spirits finally rebelling against you? Have you lost your touch?”

You exhaled sharply. 

“How is your mother doing? She never visits me. My darling, traitorous wife, who decided she loved her children more than me. Speaking of them, how are my other daughters? Are they reveling in the kingdom they stole from my brothers and me?” You could feel the malice in his words. There was always malice and hatred when he talked about you, your mother, and your sisters. He despised you with every ounce of his being, though he would always claim differently.

“You know, my love, if you were to release me, I could do so much for you. I never hated you. I was only afraid of you. You were destined to overthrow me and I couldn’t let that happen. That’s why I had to eat you. But I’m so sorry. If you were to set me free, I could be the father you always wanted. I know you, (y/n). I heard all your cries and pleading. I know you only wanted a father; know you wanted me to be a father for you. I know you wanted us to be a family. We can be that now. All you have to do is stop with your spells and set me free. You can do it. I know you can. I can give you all the love you craved. Just let me go.”

You refused, your voice growing in volume and intensity.

His anger rose from the pit, trying to grasp onto you. “Let me go! Release me!” He was done with bargaining for the day, turning to demanding and threatening. “I will kill you, (y/n). You’ll see. One day I will get out of here and when I do, you will be the first to feel my wrath. I will lock you in my cage, torment you with your failure, and keep you imprisoned for all eternity. You will never have known pain like the pain I will give to you.”

Blah blah blah.

You’d heard it all before, and, frankly, it was getting old.

You finished your spell, casting the last enchantment and finishing with your weekly ritual. 

You could hear Kronos groan as his restraints tightened. You took a deep breath and leaned forward, looking over the edge and staring into the pit, a satisfied smile on your face. “Not today, old man,” you whispered before turning your back to him and walking out of the cave towards your mansion. 

Peggy was sitting on a long couch in the lounge that sat just right of the entryway. Black furniture adorned the room with a single crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, casting light over the space. A long black couch faced a wall of windows that overlooked Elysium. A low black coffee table which sat in the middle of the room acted as the focal point for a comfy armchair you had picked up decades ago and still loved, the long black couch, and a fireplace that burned with red flames on the other wall in the room. A wine glass filled with red wine that was tinted with the unmistakable gold of nectar sat on the coffee table and a large television was mounted to the wall above the fireplace. It was on low, a mortal sitcom of sorts playing. You couldn’t be bothered to learn its name, and it seemed that Peggy only had it on for background noise. Her attention was otherwise diverted to the dog whose head was on her lap. 

She rubbed at his ears absently, only looking up when you closed the front door behind you. Her brows were creased and her lips taut with worry. “Are you alright?” she asked again, like she did every time you came home from the pit.

“Will be after a drink.” You took a seat in your armchair and reached forward for the glass of wine on the coffee table. The glass was chilled against your fingertips—you always did like your drinks “as cold as your heart”—and you lifted it up to your lips. The sweet taste of nectar mixed with rich wine filled your mouth and you swallowed it eagerly. 

Peggy eyed you with a sharp laugh. “If you’re not careful, the other gods might think you’re an alcoholic.”

“Meh, they’ve had two thousand years to call me one. If they haven’t done it by now, they won’t ever do it.” You sighed and shifted in your chair, shrugging your shoulders and straightening up. “Now, do you want to hear about my day or not?”

She snickered, only resting her elbow on the arm of the couch and her chin in the palm of her hand. “Sure. You tell me all about your day. How’re your sisters?”

“Same as always,” you said with a fond smile. “Carol is still pretending to be the eldest and is still a great queen, Nat is still a smart ass but great. They’re still my family.”

“Mhmm. And, now will you tell me a bit about this god that got into Tartarus. You said he used the Dikteon Cave?”

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “James, god of spring. Demeter’s kid.”

“Demeter? (y/n), she has a real name you know. It’s Win—”

“Winnifred,” you finished. “Yeah, I know. He corrected me too.” You shrugged. “But, frankly, I don’t give a damn. If it pisses her off to call her Demeter, then great. It’s not like she’s going to hate me less for calling her by her real name.”

You and Winnifred went way back. She was almost as old as you were but fell short by just a century or two. She was the goddess of agriculture and the harvest and pretty much the protector of all life. She was kind to most of the Olympians; strict and stern if anything, but kind nonetheless. She was usually polite so long as you were kind back, but she was also really protective of her charges and plants. Naturally, she hated you. Why wouldn’t she? You were the goddess of the Underworld; you oversaw anything and everything death related. She blamed you exclusively for the death of her plants and all the life on earth (despite your attempts to explain to her that you were not the goddess of death and instead just ran the Underworld and those who were actually dead). She seemed to believe that you were pure evil and had a personal vendetta against her. She hated you.

You didn't care much for her either. Ever since she decided it was your fault that plants died and harvests were bad, she’d been nothing but a bitch to you. You were not one to take anybody’s shit without a fight and so you weren’t the nicest back to her. But if she was hell-bent on being on your bad side and treating you poorly, then you weren’t going to bend over backward to be nice to her. If she was going to be mean, you were going to be mean back. After all, you shouldn’t have to deal with that. You were a queen, one of the original three gods, and she was just some second-generation goddess with a fragile ego that was easily threatened. 

“Anyways,” Peggy said, diverting the conversation away from Demeter and turning it back to her son, “you found him at Tartarus and kicked him out?”

You nodded. “I also might’ve threatened him, but that’s beside the point.”

“You what?”

You laughed as you looked around the room for the bottle of wine. Your glass had run empty and you wanted some more. You spotted it back on the rack and held out your hand in its direction. Moving on its own accord, it plucked itself from the rack and floated into your waiting hand. You uncorked it and began to pour yourself another glass.  “Relax. You know I’d never follow through with it. Torture is so not my style. I just scared the kid. Whatever the case, I think I did the trick. Hopefully, he’ll never come back. But now we’ve got a perimeter issue on our hands.” You brought your glass to your lips and tilted your head back, taking another sip. “He got in way too easily. Some of our charms must be wearing off. We’re going to have to redo those. If something as menial as a young god can get in, then who knows what else can.”

“You’re not thinking…?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “The remaining titans—Helios, Atlas, Epimetheus, among others—they’re either loyal to us or trapped in their own special prisons. But who knows?” Your brows knit together. “One day they might decide that they wanna break their fathers out of jail and mine right along with them. One day they might decide that they’re above the gods, rebel, break out of prison, set the old titans free.” Your lips formed a thin line and your hand tightened into a fist. “They’re stronger than gods, they could break in through the cave easier.”

“So what do you plan on doing?”

“I dunno. More charms. New charms?” You snickered to yourself and looked out towards Elysium. “Maybe pull some of the old warriors from paradise to be on guard duty if they want it. Just imagine it: arming a bunch of dead guys with weapons from their time and putting them in armor. Ha! The old guys would get a hoot out of that.”

Peggy hummed with a smile. “Yes, I could imagine old Magnus from the Roman era and Eddie from 1942 pairing up together for guard duty. Frankly, I think the men would enjoy a little spice in life. I’d ask them if they’d be willing. It might throw any intruders off their rhythm if they were met with a small militia of ghosts.”

You stared at her, your eyebrows raised and an amused smile playing on your lips. “Did you just reference John Mulaney?” 

“Well, I suppose I did.” She smirked at you. “You’re not the only one who can make pop culture references.”

You chuckled. “I guess you’re right.”

She opened her mouth to make another comment, but she was cut off by a thud overhead. The impact of something hitting the roof rattled the chandelier, causing the crystals to cling together and ring out over the silence.

A slow smile crept over your lips and you leaned back in your chair. “It seems we have a visitor, Peg.”

She nodded, a smile to match yours taking over her own face. “He’s never here at this time. He must want something.”

You snorted. “Yeah, no joke.”

Knuckles rapped against the front door, the visitor’s way of asking for entry.

“It’s open!” you called, turning your torso to face the door.

It swung open to reveal a taller man, with brown hair, a slight stubble, and blue eyes that sparkled with mischief. He was dressed in dark pants and a tight black, short sleeve shirt with arm-guards strapped to his forearms. A quiver of arrows and a bow were slung haphazardly across his back. He wore a lopsided grin and tilted his head to the side. “Morning, ladies,” he said, his demeanor nothing but cheery. “D’you miss me?”

“Clint!” Peggy cheered, her smile only widening at the sight of him. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“Heya, Pegs. If I’d known you were going to be here, I would’ve brought you flowers or something.” He sauntered into the lounge and stole a seat next to her.

Cerberus barked at him, his tail wagging with excitement. He turned his head from Peggy and trotted over to Clint.

Clint’s eyes brightened at the sight of your dog. “Hey, boy! Gods, you’ve gotten so big, haven’t you?” He ran his hands through Cerberus’ fur, knotting his fingers in it and shaking his head. “I want a dog like you so badly, but Laura says no.”

You hummed. “M’sorry, Clint, but Cerberus is the only one of his kind. I don’t know of any other dogs that can grow to the size of a mountain with three heads. He’s unique, and he’s mine.” You turned your gaze down to him. “Aren’t you, boy? Aren’t you mine?”

He pulled away from Clint before dashing over to your side and plopping his head down in your lap.

Content to pet your dog and stroke his fur, you once more looked up at Clint. “Well, I like a surprise visit from our favorite messenger god as much as anybody, but I do have to ask what catastrophic event brings you to my door at this time? You never come unless you’re having trouble with a spirit or you want to use the damned for target practice. Considering the fact that it’s Pierce’s day to reap and you just got some target practice in, I’m assuming it’s neither of those; but then I have no reason for your being here.”

“You’ve got me. I’m not here for either of those reasons, but just to satisfy my curiosity.”

“About what?”

“Oh, about whether or not you kidnapped a certain god of spring.”

You sneered. “Is that what the rumors are?”

He nodded reluctantly. “Look, (y/n), I know you’re a good person and you’d probably never do something like that, but the sprites are talking and I wanted to get the story from you so I can go and squash those rumors before his mom hears them. You know that she’s not pretty when she’s angry.”

“And you know that she is practically powerless against me and is no threat.” You wrinkled your nose and rolled your eyes in a scoff. “I did not kidnap him, the idiot came down here of his own will. I rescued him from Tartarus and threw his ass out. He has no place down here and I will not tolerate trespassers, no exceptions.”

Peggy snorted.

“What?”

“No exceptions? Really?” She turned towards you and rested her chin in the palm of her hand, giving you a sympathetic smile. “Need I remind you about that Orpheus fellow?”

“Hey, that was a special case ‘cause I was feeling generous. Never again.” You shook your head. “Clint, you can go back and use your Hermes-voodoo-messenger skills to tell the nymphs and sprites and whoever that has the audacity to accuse me of kidnapping that he came down here himself and I will not be subject to false accusations and lies. Also, tell them not to gossip and spread rumors. It’s not good for the soul. I should know. I just inspected one earlier and—oof—did that soul gossip a lot.”

Clint let out a hearty chuckle. “I’ll be sure to pass the message along.” He leaned back in his seat, lifting his arms over his head in a large stretch. “Gah! How quickly do you want this message spread?”

“ASAP, Clint. I don’t want anyone thinking the borders are going soft or that they can just waltz on in and do whatever they please. That is not how I run my kingdom and that is not how I will ever run my kingdom. Peggy and I are taking certain precautions, and there will never, ever, be another invasion again.”

Next 4: His Mind Runs Wild

[binbrookfairqueen]

The Homoerotic Subtext In Victorious: Jade and Tori

I’ve done a lot of nothing during quarantine. The same old same old, wake up at noon, eat something, find the homoerotic subtext in every straight film/show/video game I come across. Isn’t that how we all spend our afternoons? 

It started with Taylor Swift, and the wlw undertones in all of her newest songs. Despite being in a long term relationship with a man, she penned lyrics like “those days turned into nights, slept next to her, but I dreamt of you all summer long” and “what would he do if he found us out? he’s gonna burn this house to the ground,” So of course I went from hating on all of this straight media, to searching for queer scraps in the background of these art pieces. From the new summer Disney flick, Luca, to the characters in my newest copy of Red Dead Redemption 2 on Xbox One. 

I always loved Victorious, it’s been one of my favorite shows since I was a child. The strange humor, the funny remarks. Always wondering why I liked the sassy, demanding Jade instead of the swoon-worthy womanizer Beck.

So, in quarantine, when I heard that Victorious was coming to Netflix, I re watched the entire show and couldn’t help but notice all of the queer innuendos, and rather flirty scenes between female actors. Of course- I’m not the first person to ever notice this. The homoerotic implied relationship between Tori Vega and Jade West had been shipped plenty of times and edited to oblivion by young, gay teens.

Since this is all news to me, I thought I’d go through every episode of Victorious and tell you what is gay about it, from a lesbian’s point of view. 

Pilot

I never noticed how queer coded Victorious is, especially this very first episode. The sexual tension between the girls is almost too much, I have to drink some water every few minutes.

It’s clear to me that Jade is taking advantage of new girl Tori, and trying to establish her superiority because of her own fears and insecurities.

[Tori bumps into Beck, spilling coffee all over him] Tori: Oh my gosh! Beck: Ah, it’s cool Tori: No, here- I think it’s coming out. [Tori attempts to rub the coffee stain out of Beck’s shirt] Beck: You might be making it worse, actually. [Jade enters] Jade: Dude, why are you rubbing my boyfriend? Tori: I-I just spilled coffee on- Jade: Get away from him. Beck: Relax. [Beck kisses a reluctant Jade on the cheek]

Our very first introduction to Jade West is her making sure everybody knows Beck is her boyfriend. Multiple times throughout the episode, she cuddles up to him, picks him as her partner, and kisses him in front of the whole class. There’s a straight explanation to this, but there’s also a queer one. Jade is insecure in her attraction to girls and feels as though she needs to prove herself and everyone else that she does, in fact, like men.

Sikowitz: Jade, you will captain the first group of the day. Choose your actors. Jade: Cat, Eli, Beck, and Tori. Tori, why don’t you go wait in the hall? Tori: Uh, okay. Jade: I have great news that’ll cheer up this whole family. I went to the animal shelter and got us a dog. [Pulls Tori into the classroom by the arm] Tori: Uh, yep! I’m the new family dog. Woof. Jade: Uh oh, looks like this dog has bugs in her fur. [Jade strokes Tori’s hair] Tori: Uh, woof? Jade: Oh, it’s okay! I read on the internet that coffee works great for getting rid of fur bugs. Beck: Maybe you shouldn’t- Andre: Jade- [Jade dramatically pours the coffee on Tori’s head] Jade: What’s the prob, dog? [Tori runs out of the room, contemplating quitting Hollywood Arts]

Jade not only wants everyone to know that she’s straight, but she also wants everyone to know that she possesses a dominant personality, and isn’t afraid to get dirty. In this case, she does all that she can to make Tori’s day a living hell, all because she touched her boyfriend.

I don’t recall this as normal straight girlfriend behavior, there’s gotta be a fear of being outed rooted down deep in Jade’s bones- right?

The episode leads to a scene whereas the two girls are arguing, and there are only a few notable lines:

Jade: Just where did you come from? Tori: Kangaroos. Jade: Lousy animals, Kangaroos, they're awkward and dirty. Tori: Maybe they learned from you. [The classroom tenses, the girls getting more and more angry] Jade: No one talks to me like that. Tori: Obviously someone should. Jade: Please run in front of a bus! Tori: Quite obnoxious of you to say.

Jade: Really? Tori: Sure was.

Jade: Thanks. [Sarcastically]

Scenes get tense as the girls grow closer to each other, getting more and more upset.

But it’s also a lot like playing cat and mouse.

Day 1, Jade picks Tori for her team, day 2, Tori picks Jade for her team just to spite her. The submissive trying to declare dominance, whilst the real dom notices the attention seeking. When Jade says that no one speaks to her like that, and Tori proceeds to comment that someone should, a sexual tension is cast into the air. It’s obvious to any viewer. 

The condescending flirtatious “Really?” Followed up by the bold “Sure was.” Is very queer coded. No one talks like that to someone they don’t find attractive. C’mon.

Author’s Conclusion: Jade feels the need to be angry and rude to anyone who threatens her heterosexuality. She possesses a fear of being outed, and does whatever she can to maintain a normal relationship with a man. But even her attraction to girls and her dominant personality can’t hide, as her actions reveal the closet to be made of glass.

Tori Goes Platinum

Tori: “Everyone else was coming to cheer you on, so... Figured I would, too. And you look way better in that than I would have.”

Jade: “This isn’t right. This was supposed to be your night. I can’t do that to a friend.”

- Jade is the most concerned person in the room when Tori begins acting differently after landing a gig at the Platinum Music Awards. Leading a class wide discussion, Jade discusses Tori’s change in behavior and provides her own evidence and proof to back up her statements. When Tori enters the classroom, Jade confronts her without hesitation, and seems to be the only person who cares enough about the pop stars well being. (Authors note: Only someone who truly cared about another would notice when they’re acting different and confront them to try and fix the problem...)

- When Tori refuses to wear the ridiculous outfits the record label provides, her opportunity to perform at the Platinum Music Awards is stripped away. Jade is asked to fill her place, and despite saying yes, she hesitates for a moment. These matter of seconds prove Jade has some kind of moral in her mind telling her that doing this would hurt Tori, and hurt their relationship.

- Beck and Tori don’t realize that they are still on video call with Jade, and the two almost kiss. Tori backs away, the following conversation takes place.

Beck: “Then why can’t we kiss?”

Tori: “Kissing your friends ex boyfriend...”

Beck: “Since when are you and Jade friends?”

Tori: “We’re kind of friends, I think. And kissing her ex boyfriend... I can’t do that to a friend.”

Despite the overuse of the word friend, this is still a sweet moment, and when Jade overhears this exchange, she realizes taking this opportunity away from Tori isn’t the right thing to do.

- 

[sugarcookiesandsins]

Charmed [Episode 5]

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The next month passed relatively calmly as you integrate yourself into the lives of 7 boys who wanted nothing to do with you. You seemed to clash with them on every topic, and you wondered if you would ever be able to live here without having to test the meal for any extra additives.

True, they couldn’t harm you, but there was a lot that could be done to a person without having them die as a result. The most you were fearful of was a kind of truth serum that you knew the boys had. In truth, you were sure that you weren’t supposed to find out about it until after they had successfully managed to use it on you but fate works in mysterious ways and you stumbled upon Jin making it in their sterile kitchen, isolating the benzodiazepines from bottles of Versed. It was their own blend, incorporating higher concentrations of midazolam than the legal dose.

You had never seen it in action, but you were also not willing to call their bluff so you remained on edge, watching everything you ate and touched that could have been handled by your worst enemies. It was an odd kind of life in that high-rise penthouse; isolated, yet not? 

You had once thought that nothing could beat escaping the depression of your one-bedroom studio, but among the richest of the rich you could only feel more clearly the ice of the tile seeping into your bones. It was jarring and made your skin crawl with the lifeless feeling that the place gave you. It made you wonder if the high life was worth it to you. You were happier in that run-down noodle house with the cranky mother figure who glared at you every time you sat down at her counter. Still, she never meant it and served you your favorite without having to ask.

It seemed odd that the both of you had a connection, despite the limited conversation that passed between the two of you, there was a subliminal communication that was always accompanied by the spiced scent of bone broth.

It seemed however that whoever controlled the boys thought that the eight of you had had enough bonding time and it was time that they used you for their own dirty means. Namjoon got a call ordering all of you to BigHit headquarters promptly at lunch time. It made you roll your eyes at how particular Namjoon was about being on time.

You couldn’t help but snicker at little minnows trying to act like the sharks of the ocean. Everyone who had looked into BigHit knew that the company had undergone a coup almost 10 years ago, resulting in the death of many of the party line type members who wanted to continue the orthodox ways of the mafia.

Included in the death count were the boys fathers, but it seemed they agreed and followed the new orders down to the fine print. Betrayal by the younger generations should be expected, expecially if the older fellows refused to adapt to a modernizing international spectrum.

Walking through the front doors of the building, you worked hard to maintain the neutral expression on your face. It seemed the hatred you had for this place ached to be let out, but with the seven guard dogs surrounding you, the need was strong for placidity.

Even the silver letters that spelled out ‘Law Office’, made you shiver in frustration. That’s where your father built his life and where his workers abandoned him to get gunned down in cold blood.

[MYG]

He knew this place, intimately.

It wasn’t hard not to notice the small shiver that ran through Eli as he stood beside me. We had been walking through some of the employee’s offices when he seemed to pull into his body, hiding.

This coming from the same man who had stared 6 gun barrels and could only think about getting a drink meant something. This place meant something to Eli; I knew there was more to him than meets the eye. I know that BigHit can be intimidating, but Eli was brave to the point of being stupid and yet somehow had survived this long with the kind of detached happiness that pissed off people without trying.

It was a rare combination, but he worked with it…or it worked him somehow. By the time we had gotten to the stairs, he had returned to his old self; eyes wide with curiosity as he took in the office.

It was fake. They were all fake, but then again aren’t we all.

They continued in relative silence, save for the quiet greetings that passed between the boys and their connections within the company. Pretty soon the proverbial warning bells rang as the doors closed behind you, and you stared down the head of the BigHit mafia. Clad in his expensive tailored suit and looking way too smug behind the large glass desk, your fingers twitched to grab your semi and put a bullet between his slimy eyes.

“Welcome Eli.” The smile that broke over his face looked unnatural and you hated it. “It seems my boys have finally caught you.”

The air seemed to crackle at his words and this interaction gave you more than enough information. It seems that his boys don’t like to acknowledge failures, though that was already evident from Jungkook’s obsession with perfection. But neither were you the type to admit to something that never happened.

“They didn’t catch me. I turned myself in.” You avoided any use of honorifics or even of using his name so you would have to implement those. No one in BigHit deserved your respect as far as you were concerned. “I was getting bored of seeing them suffer and decided to be benevolent.” Casting a side glance at the men in the room, whose spines had gone stiff, you couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.

“Have they told you why?” You saw the man’s eye twitch and you couldn’t help but entertain the thought of how far you could annoy him before he reached his limit. Everyone has a breaking point after all.

“No they haven’t, but I’m sure you’re going to.” You knew exactly what he wanted out of you. But you played dumb like you always did.

“First of all, I want to welcome you to the ranks of BigHit.”

“First of all, I would like to reject that welcome as nowhere have I agreed to join BigHit.”

It was an outright refusal, but nothing less would do. The only way to leave was to die, and you really weren’t in the mood to fake your own death.

“Loyalty to BigHit would give you a lot of name in the circles.” He tried to coax you, promising higher pay and more stability; very contradictory for a mafia but then again before the incident you and your parents were very happy. The elephant in the room became part of the family having a seat at family dinners.

“I’m not the loyal kind.” Those words could be taken in one of two ways. A declaration of Eli’s independence from BigHit, which would be the safer option, or a threat that if Eli did join BigHit, that he would have no issue betraying them for his own gain. This would not sit well with anyone who ran a business as secretive as BigHit did.

The tension in the room rose to new suffocating heights. But Yoongi only saw Eli, with that aloof smile on his face; the eye of the storm and a bastion of peace. He looked happy to be the root of the tension, and on some base level, Yoongi understood that he loved causing trouble. That was his element and his strength.

Letting the words linger for a bit, you let out a laugh to dissipate the mood. “Why so dark faced,” Eli giggled. “I only mean that it wouldn’t be good strategy to tie myself down to a single company.”

The rest of them only stared. Here was a man who looked down the barrels of six guns simultaneously and only thought of his thirst. He just made a jab at the most revered mafia boss in Seoul and was now laughing it off like he was with old friends. For a moment, Namjoon didn’t know whether to fear or respect the blonde male.

“Besides,” Eli still wasn’t done with his dueling of words,” I don’t even know how good your boys are.” One side of his mouth fitted perfectly into the seams of a half-smile, haughty, arrogant and nothing less than a taunt.

The boys that flanked you on either side understood that this was your war to win with their boss and intruding would be the worst decision one could possibly make, so they kept their mouth shut. Still, their fists clenched as they silently swore to make you eat your words one day. You would see that they were not ones to be belittled.

“I’m sure my boys will show you that their previous failures are not the status quo.” He smiled, not forgetting to emphasize the possessive implications of his words.

“Now, despite your refusal to swear fealty to BigHit, we would like to hire you to help our boys with a job. The pay will be generous if you succeed, but if not I’m sure none of them would mind putting a bullet in your head for me.”

You laughed along,” They were all too willing to do it last week, so no. I’m sure they won’t mind. Then again, who says I won’t thank them for doing it.”

It was a shallow threat, but they didn’t have to know that. For now, you left the boss with the layout of the building and a vague sense of you being a suicidal motherfucker. Those were the worst, because the concept of risk did not exist to those all too willing to let death take them.

Moving forward, you made your most bold move yet. Pulling out the chair that stood on the opposite side of the desk, you took the liberty in sitting down. Psychologically speaking, you were trying to reduce his control of the space. With the room being his office, you understood that he felt some possessiveness of the room and expected complete control of the people who were in it. Taking a seat without his invitation and without asking permission was in direct conflict of his control.

“So, now that I am considering agreeing with you, who or what do you want me to steal?” Calm and collected, you propped your elbows on the desk and leaned forward, staring straight to his dark, beady eyes.

With a deep breath, he reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a folder. It was a plain manila folder with papers seemingly stuffed haphazardly into it. They seemed to be from various sources.

“The target is a hard drive that the government owns containing all the evidence they have regarding BigHit’s illegal activities.” His teeth gritted slightly as he spat the words out. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out exactly how much that fact displeased him.

The real question was why he would want to steal it. Considering the organization is still running and angry protestors, the government hadn’t released the information so what was the point in having – and then it hit you.

“They’re blackmailing you! Oh, that’s adorable!” Leaning back in the upholstered chair you cackled at the idea of the playground politics going on around you. The corners of your eyes crinkled in the most childish way but the glint cut through the boys like steel. They hadn’t learned much about you in these last few days that you had stayed with them, but what they did come to understand is that you prescribed to your own definition of the world in a way that was admirable.

The grimace that came over the boss’s face was forced. In the depths of his eyes, you could see that you had struck a nerve with him. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to show any remorse. True, he was not the exact man that had doomed your family, but considering his position, he had tom have been around for it and that still blacklists him in your book.

“So where is this supposed hard drive, or do I have to do all that for you as well,” you questioned him. From the chair, you watched as he got up and retrieved a manila folder from a file cabinet.

It was stuffed with multiple documents from various sources, some pages were torn and yellowing at the edges. Others were crisp and white, but each was carefully tucked away into the folder.

With reluctance, he handed the folder to you. In a way you expected more attitude from him, but that only proved to you how much BigHit needed you to help them. If these guys were willing to tuck their tails between their legs then this must be serious indeed.

Still, they deserved no sympathy from you; none of the men in this room deserved any empathy from you for that matter.

He waited as you gingerly opened the folder and quickly scanned through the documents in front of you to get an idea of what you were going to be dealing with. 

[PJM]

The room was quiet as Eli breezed through the haphazard scraps of paper before him, blue eyes shifting from left to right as he took in the information that the papers would have to offer. For a moment, I wondered what was going on in his head as he put together an image of the task in his head.

As much as I hated to admit it, I would have no choice but to listen to the head of blonde curls in the future. I may be able to obtain the equipment and set it up, but Eli would have the plan that would, hopefully, keep them all alive.

In the last few weeks, I had kept my distance from him, or as Jin hyung liked to call it, denial of the interloper that had made himself at home with is. This had also given him a chance to observe Eli from afar. The boy, for that was really what he was, had been boiled down to just being stupidly lucky, and knowing it. He courted death like an old friend, expecially with the workout stunt he pulled. Sure, the task itself wasn’t that hard when taking into the account the gap between the two opposite walls, but that wasn’t even taking into account the mental acuity it would take to come up with something like that on the fly.

I looked up at the quiet sigh that left Eli. He smiled softly, as if the papers were an old friend.

“It’s impossible.” 

What he was sending the boys on, was a proverbial suicide mission.

“What?” The man behind the desk paled for a moment, and you could almost see the sweat starting to grow around his hair line.

Holding back a growl, you tried to enunciate every single syllable to make it easier for him.

“It is im-poss-i-ble.” You focused your stare on him, refusing to back down. “These boys may be willing to put their lives on the line for you, but I’m not going to.”

“You have no choice,” the man spit out through gritted teeth. His fists clenched against the wood of the desk. “You either help us or you die.”

“And who’s gonna kill me? You? With the gun in your top-left drawer? Or one of the boys behind me? Who I’m gonna be keeping alive in this death trap,” you spoke, shaking the folder for further emphasis. Despite wanting to continue to push your acting skills, you let it be for now. “Still, I’ve taken a liking to them, so I’ll do it.” Getting up, you turned your back and started walking out, ending the conversation on your terms. 

[KNJ]

“He’s taken a liking to us? Since fucking when,” Jin whispered to me as we walk out of the office. It wasn’t commonplace for hyung to curse, but there was really no better way to express it. Since we had first met him, one of us had been at his throat constantly. Heck, Jungkook tried to shoot him that first night and damn near made him fall 50 stories that first morning.  

But he lied.

Looking up ahead, I watched Eli as he lead our little pack with his head buried in the back in the folder as he took a more careful look at all the information in there Behind him, Jimin kept a watchful eye on Eli as he moved on auto-pilot through the building. Then again, that is the wonder of a thief’s brain. Memorization and quick thinking tend to come easier to them.

I followed the boys into the car, waiting for someone, mostly Eli, to break the silence. He brought back that sad smile that he had on in the office before.

I shrugged out an answer for Jin as we got to the receptionist and the front door, “Who knows? For now, we just do what we do best. Play along and take precautions.” 

“I pity you all sometimes.” His voice was quiet and pensive, fingers still moving as they flipped through the pages on his lap.

“We don’t want your pity, so stop.” Jungkook’s voice was low and forceful. It made sense, he was a warrior and pity was weakness.

“You still haven’t learned, have you? I make my own decisions.” Eli’s voice never wavered in spite of the glare that Jungkook was shooting at him. “Anyways, I wasn’t lying when I said that he was sending you on a suicide mission. This is going to take a lot of training and coordination between the lot of us, so if you want to stay alive Kookie, I suggest you and Jimin start listening to me instead of fighting.”

Eli’s voice never wavered once, nor did his eyes leave the papers spread out on his lap. Despite this, the boys could see the way his eye trembled. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t seeing them. He was seeing the layout of the building and the way the operation would carry out.

The ride after that was silent, save for Eli asking for a pen from one of the boys as he jotted down notes on the manila folder. The chicken scratch was in shorthand, so none of the boys could read it, and they tried.

“Is that even English,” Taehyung questioned as he looked on over one of Eli’s shoulders.

“A variation of it yes,” Eli chuckled, and for the first time tore his eyes away from the documents. “Though I doubt you’re understand it.”

The other boys were silent as they watched the interaction between the two. Eli had always been slightly on edge around the boys, but for a bright and shining moment as he laughed, he relaxed.

Taehyung looked back into Eli’s eyes, bright and blue and clear, and smiled. It was the same smile he used on girls in the club, wide and white and big. “Teach me?”

“I can’t.”

Taehyung felt the world around him crack.

“It’s converse. Only thieves know it and none of you are thieves.”

The world cracked a little more. “I am a thief for your information. I have stolen more wallets and phone then years you’ve been alive.”

“What you are is a pickpocket. There is more art to being a con than that,” Eli mused as he gave off a melancholy sort of smile. “Material theft is nice an all, but there are far more interesting targets on a person; their thoughts, ideas, dreams.” A pregnant pause as all the boys listened despite their best efforts. “Their love.”

The seriousness with which he had thrown out that last item threw them all for a loop. Silence reigned as they all focused on the implication of his words. They didn’t have any time to respond as the car slower to a stop in front of their high-rise home.

Stepping out first, Eli did not hesitate in trudging ahead, through the doors and towards the elevators. Following him, with a more subdued pace were the boys, their conscious still turning over the words they had heard whilst on the road.

It raised more questions than it answered for them, yet that seemed to be the trend with Eli. Just when you thought you had figured him out, then he throws you for another loop or leads you by the hand down another rabbit hole of new mysteries. Infuriating as it was, somewhere deep down, the boys knew that they couldn’t blame him.

He only did what all good survivors of their dark world did; protect himself from others. If no one knows you, then they can’t hurt you. It was a hard lesson for some to learn, and those sods that didn’t, learned to face the consequences real quick.

The boys had seen more than their fair share of failures in their lifetimes, both their own and the shortcomings of others. They saw what was left of them when reality stripped them of their soul; it wasn’t a pretty sight to say the least.

The rest of the short walk to their front door was silent, each boy still having Eli’s words careening wildly through their heads. Eli immediately disappeared into his room, still scribbling his shorthand on the folder as he studied the notes in the folder.

The next morning, no one went for training or for a run. Eli hadn’t even come down for dinner the night before, choosing instead to lock himself in his room. He only deigned it important to appear for breakfast, dark circles just slightly more evident and ink blotches marring the baby soft skin of his hands.

He maintained a strict silence, maybe it was due to the stack of food, or it could be attributed to the cogs in his head that were still turning.

After mostly working his way through his plate, he took a sip of water and cleared his throat. From a silent breakfast, the others in the room turned to face him.

“It’s going to be rough, but it’s possible.” Setting down the silverware, Eli rubbed at his temples with his palms, continuing to speak into the silence with a slight muffle. “A shit ton of work, cooperation, and trust.”

“Trust,” Jimin nearly spat out. “You expect us to trust you?” Within his voice you heard all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t, but first and foremost, how could the boys trust you when that their entire lives centered around distrust.

All of them, especially Jimin, were wronged by the world until they learned to play their cards close to their chest and treat everyone as an enemy until they were proven a friend. This was the cruel reality when growing up as child of crime, expecially when being trained to reign over it.

Namjoon watched silently the showdown between you and Jimin. The tension between the two of you poignant enough to catch the attention of the others who may have otherwise been preoccupied with their breakfast.

He only sipped on his coffee silently as he contemplated what it would be like to function with you as part of his group. Being the defacto leader meant that he had the responsibility of understanding the dynamics of the others and the risks of introducing anew member. From the get-go, their bond was impregnable, having grown up together and suffered through their lowest together.

“Yes I do.” Eli’s voice was hard and left no room for argument. “Because if we don’t then we’re all going to die.” The words somehow seemed colder coming from the man that they all found to have the sunniest disposition, even when facing the leader of the local underworld.

“Let’s get to work then.” Yoongi was the last person who you expected to stand up for you, but then again it also made sense. He was the investigative genius of the group, but he also seemed to have the most sense of self-preservation among the boys. Did he want to work with Eli? No. But did he need to? Yes, so why bother wasting time.

Eli only nods in response and makes his way briefly back to his room to grab some papers before joining the others who had migrated into the living room. Spreading the papers on the coffee table, you begin to explain the death trap BigHit had assigned you all to rob.