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Book the Second—The Golden Thread

[X] Chapter XXIV. Drawn to the Loadstone Rock

In such risings of fire and risings of sea—the firm earth shaken by the rushes of an angry ocean which had now no ebb, but was always on the flow, higher and higher, to the terror and wonder of the beholders on the shore—three years of tempest were consumed. Three more birthdays of little Lucie had been woven by the golden thread into the peaceful tissue of the life of her home.

Many a night and many a day had its inmates listened to the echoes in the corner, with hearts that failed them when they heard the thronging feet. For, the footsteps had become to their minds as the footsteps of a people, tumultuous under a red flag and with their country declared in danger, changed into wild beasts, by terrible enchantment long persisted in.

Monseigneur, as a class, had dissociated himself from the phenomenon of his not being appreciated: of his being so little wanted in France, as to incur considerable danger of receiving his dismissal from it, and this life together. Like the fabled rustic who raised the Devil with infinite pains, and was so terrified at the sight of him that he could ask the Enemy no question, but immediately fled; so, Monseigneur, after boldly reading the Lord’s Prayer backwards for a great number of years, and performing many other potent spells for compelling the Evil One, no sooner beheld him in his terrors than he took to his noble heels.

The shining Bull’s Eye of the Court was gone, or it would have been the mark for a hurricane of national bullets. It had never been a good eye to see with—had long had the mote in it of Lucifer’s pride, Sardanapalus’s luxury, and a mole’s blindness—but it had dropped out and was gone. The Court, from that exclusive inner circle to its outermost rotten ring of intrigue, corruption, and dissimulation, was all gone together. Royalty was gone; had been besieged in its Palace and “suspended,” when the last tidings came over.

The August of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two was come, and Monseigneur was by this time scattered far and wide.

As was natural, the head-quarters and great gathering-place of Monseigneur, in London, was Tellson’s Bank. Spirits are supposed to haunt the places where their bodies most resorted, and Monseigneur without a guinea haunted the spot where his guineas used to be. Moreover, it was the spot to which such French intelligence as was most to be relied upon, came quickest. Again: Tellson’s was a munificent house, and extended great liberality to old customers who had fallen from their high estate. Again: those nobles who had seen the coming storm in time, and anticipating plunder or confiscation, had made provident remittances to Tellson’s, were always to be heard of there by their needy brethren. To which it must be added that every new-comer from France reported himself and his tidings at Tellson’s, almost as a matter of course. For such variety of reasons, Tellson’s was at that time, as to French intelligence, a kind of High Exchange; and this was so well known to the public, and the inquiries made there were in consequence so numerous, that Tellson’s sometimes wrote the latest news out in a line or so and posted it in the Bank windows, for all who ran through Temple Bar to read.

On a steaming, misty afternoon, Mr. Lorry sat at his desk, and Charles Darnay stood leaning on it, talking with him in a low voice. The penitential den once set apart for interviews with the House, was now the news-Exchange, and was filled to overflowing. It was within half an hour or so of the time of closing.

“But, although you are the youngest man that ever lived,” said Charles Darnay, rather hesitating, “I must still suggest to you—”

“I understand. That I am too old?” said Mr. Lorry.

“Unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of travelling, a disorganised country, a city that may not be even safe for you.”

“My dear Charles,” said Mr. Lorry, with cheerful confidence, “you touch some of the reasons for my going: not for my staying away. It is safe enough for me; nobody will care to interfere with an old fellow of hard upon fourscore when there are so many people there much better worth interfering with. As to its being a disorganised city, if it were not a disorganised city there would be no occasion to send somebody from our House here to our House there, who knows the city and the business, of old, and is in Tellson’s confidence. As to the uncertain travelling, the long journey, and the winter weather, if I were not prepared to submit myself to a few inconveniences for the sake of Tellson’s, after all these years, who ought to be?”

“I wish I were going myself,” said Charles Darnay, somewhat restlessly, and like one thinking aloud.

“Indeed! You are a pretty fellow to object and advise!” exclaimed Mr. Lorry. “You wish you were going yourself? And you a Frenchman born? You are a wise counsellor.”

“My dear Mr. Lorry, it is because I am a Frenchman born, that the thought (which I did not mean to utter here, however) has passed through my mind often. One cannot help thinking, having had some sympathy for the miserable people, and having abandoned something to them,” he spoke here in his former thoughtful manner, “that one might be listened to, and might have the power to persuade to some restraint. Only last night, after you had left us, when I was talking to Lucie—”

“When you were talking to Lucie,” Mr. Lorry repeated. “Yes. I wonder you are not ashamed to mention the name of Lucie! Wishing you were going to France at this time of day!”

“However, I am not going,” said Charles Darnay, with a smile. “It is more to the purpose that you say you are.”

“And I am, in plain reality. The truth is, my dear Charles,” Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and lowered his voice, “you can have no conception of the difficulty with which our business is transacted, and of the peril in which our books and papers over yonder are involved. The Lord above knows what the compromising consequences would be to numbers of people, if some of our documents were seized or destroyed; and they might be, at any time, you know, for who can say that Paris is not set afire to-day, or sacked to-morrow! Now, a judicious selection from these with the least possible delay, and the burying of them, or otherwise getting of them out of harm’s way, is within the power (without loss of precious time) of scarcely any one but myself, if any one. And shall I hang back, when Tellson’s knows this and says this—Tellson’s, whose bread I have eaten these sixty years—because I am a little stiff about the joints? Why, I am a boy, sir, to half a dozen old codgers here!”

“How I admire the gallantry of your youthful spirit, Mr. Lorry.”

“Tut! Nonsense, sir!—And, my dear Charles,” said Mr. Lorry, glancing at the House again, “you are to remember, that getting things out of Paris at this present time, no matter what things, is next to an impossibility. Papers and precious matters were this very day brought to us here (I speak in strict confidence; it is not business-like to whisper it, even to you), by the strangest bearers you can imagine, every one of whom had his head hanging on by a single hair as he passed the Barriers. At another time, our parcels would come and go, as easily as in business-like Old England; but now, everything is stopped.”

“And do you really go to-night?”

“I really go to-night, for the case has become too pressing to admit of delay.”

“And do you take no one with you?”

“All sorts of people have been proposed to me, but I will have nothing to say to any of them. I intend to take Jerry. Jerry has been my bodyguard on Sunday nights for a long time past and I am used to him. Nobody will suspect Jerry of being anything but an English bull-dog, or of having any design in his head but to fly at anybody who touches his master.”

“I must say again that I heartily admire your gallantry and youthfulness.”

“I must say again, nonsense, nonsense! When I have executed this little commission, I shall, perhaps, accept Tellson’s proposal to retire and live at my ease. Time enough, then, to think about growing old.”

This dialogue had taken place at Mr. Lorry’s usual desk, with Monseigneur swarming within a yard or two of it, boastful of what he would do to avenge himself on the rascal-people before long. It was too much the way of Monseigneur under his reverses as a refugee, and it was much too much the way of native British orthodoxy, to talk of this terrible Revolution as if it were the only harvest ever known under the skies that had not been sown—as if nothing had ever been done, or omitted to be done, that had led to it—as if observers of the wretched millions in France, and of the misused and perverted resources that should have made them prosperous, had not seen it inevitably coming, years before, and had not in plain words recorded what they saw. Such vapouring, combined with the extravagant plots of Monseigneur for the restoration of a state of things that had utterly exhausted itself, and worn out Heaven and earth as well as itself, was hard to be endured without some remonstrance by any sane man who knew the truth. And it was such vapouring all about his ears, like a troublesome confusion of blood in his own head, added to a latent uneasiness in his mind, which had already made Charles Darnay restless, and which still kept him so.

Among the talkers, was Stryver, of the King’s Bench Bar, far on his way to state promotion, and, therefore, loud on the theme: broaching to Monseigneur, his devices for blowing the people up and exterminating them from the face of the earth, and doing without them: and for accomplishing many similar objects akin in their nature to the abolition of eagles by sprinkling salt on the tails of the race. Him, Darnay heard with a particular feeling of objection; and Darnay stood divided between going away that he might hear no more, and remaining to interpose his word, when the thing that was to be, went on to shape itself out.

The House approached Mr. Lorry, and laying a soiled and unopened letter before him, asked if he had yet discovered any traces of the person to whom it was addressed? The House laid the letter down so close to Darnay that he saw the direction—the more quickly because it was his own right name. The address, turned into English, ran:

“Very pressing. To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St. Evrémonde, of France. Confided to the cares of Messrs. Tellson and Co., Bankers, London, England.”

On the marriage morning, Doctor Manette had made it his one urgent and express request to Charles Darnay, that the secret of this name should be—unless he, the Doctor, dissolved the obligation—kept inviolate between them. Nobody else knew it to be his name; his own wife had no suspicion of the fact; Mr. Lorry could have none.

“No,” said Mr. Lorry, in reply to the House; “I have referred it, I think, to everybody now here, and no one can tell me where this gentleman is to be found.”

The hands of the clock verging upon the hour of closing the Bank, there was a general set of the current of talkers past Mr. Lorry’s desk. He held the letter out inquiringly; and Monseigneur looked at it, in the person of this plotting and indignant refugee; and Monseigneur looked at it in the person of that plotting and indignant refugee; and This, That, and The Other, all had something disparaging to say, in French or in English, concerning the Marquis who was not to be found.

“Nephew, I believe—but in any case degenerate successor—of the polished Marquis who was murdered,” said one. “Happy to say, I never knew him.”

“A craven who abandoned his post,” said another—this Monseigneur had been got out of Paris, legs uppermost and half suffocated, in a load of hay—“some years ago.”

“Infected with the new doctrines,” said a third, eyeing the direction through his glass in passing; “set himself in opposition to the last Marquis, abandoned the estates when he inherited them, and left them to the ruffian herd. They will recompense him now, I hope, as he deserves.”

“Hey?” cried the blatant Stryver. “Did he though? Is that the sort of fellow? Let us look at his infamous name. D—n the fellow!”

Darnay, unable to restrain himself any longer, touched Mr. Stryver on the shoulder, and said:

“I know the fellow.”

“Do you, by Jupiter?” said Stryver. “I am sorry for it.”

“Why?”

“Why, Mr. Darnay? D’ye hear what he did? Don’t ask, why, in these times.”

“But I do ask why?”

“Then I tell you again, Mr. Darnay, I am sorry for it. I am sorry to hear you putting any such extraordinary questions. Here is a fellow, who, infected by the most pestilent and blasphemous code of devilry that ever was known, abandoned his property to the vilest scum of the earth that ever did murder by wholesale, and you ask me why I am sorry that a man who instructs youth knows him? Well, but I’ll answer you. I am sorry because I believe there is contamination in such a scoundrel. That’s why.”

Mindful of the secret, Darnay with great difficulty checked himself, and said: “You may not understand the gentleman.”

“I understand how to put you in a corner, Mr. Darnay,” said Bully Stryver, “and I’ll do it. If this fellow is a gentleman, I don’t understand him. You may tell him so, with my compliments. You may also tell him, from me, that after abandoning his worldly goods and position to this butcherly mob, I wonder he is not at the head of them. But, no, gentlemen,” said Stryver, looking all round, and snapping his fingers, “I know something of human nature, and I tell you that you’ll never find a fellow like this fellow, trusting himself to the mercies of such precious protégés. No, gentlemen; he’ll always show ’em a clean pair of heels very early in the scuffle, and sneak away.”

With those words, and a final snap of his fingers, Mr. Stryver shouldered himself into Fleet-street, amidst the general approbation of his hearers. Mr. Lorry and Charles Darnay were left alone at the desk, in the general departure from the Bank.

“Will you take charge of the letter?” said Mr. Lorry. “You know where to deliver it?”

“I do.”

“Will you undertake to explain, that we suppose it to have been addressed here, on the chance of our knowing where to forward it, and that it has been here some time?”

“I will do so. Do you start for Paris from here?”

“From here, at eight.”

“I will come back, to see you off.”

Very ill at ease with himself, and with Stryver and most other men, Darnay made the best of his way into the quiet of the Temple, opened the letter, and read it. These were its contents:

“Prison of the Abbaye, Paris.

“June 21, 1792. “Monsieur Heretofore The Marquis.

“After having long been in danger of my life at the hands of the village, I have been seized, with great violence and indignity, and brought a long journey on foot to Paris. On the road I have suffered a great deal. Nor is that all; my house has been destroyed—razed to the ground.

“The crime for which I am imprisoned, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, and for which I shall be summoned before the tribunal, and shall lose my life (without your so generous help), is, they tell me, treason against the majesty of the people, in that I have acted against them for an emigrant. It is in vain I represent that I have acted for them, and not against, according to your commands. It is in vain I represent that, before the sequestration of emigrant property, I had remitted the imposts they had ceased to pay; that I had collected no rent; that I had had recourse to no process. The only response is, that I have acted for an emigrant, and where is that emigrant?

“Ah! most gracious Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, where is that emigrant? I cry in my sleep where is he? I demand of Heaven, will he not come to deliver me? No answer. Ah Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I send my desolate cry across the sea, hoping it may perhaps reach your ears through the great bank of Tilson known at Paris!

“For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name, I supplicate you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, to succour and release me. My fault is, that I have been true to you. Oh Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I pray you be you true to me!

“From this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend nearer and nearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, the assurance of my dolorous and unhappy service.

“Your afflicted,

“Gabelle.”

The latent uneasiness in Darnay’s mind was roused to vigourous life by this letter. The peril of an old servant and a good one, whose only crime was fidelity to himself and his family, stared him so reproachfully in the face, that, as he walked to and fro in the Temple considering what to do, he almost hid his face from the passersby.

He knew very well, that in his horror of the deed which had culminated the bad deeds and bad reputation of the old family house, in his resentful suspicions of his uncle, and in the aversion with which his conscience regarded the crumbling fabric that he was supposed to uphold, he had acted imperfectly. He knew very well, that in his love for Lucie, his renunciation of his social place, though by no means new to his own mind, had been hurried and incomplete. He knew that he ought to have systematically worked it out and supervised it, and that he had meant to do it, and that it had never been done.

The happiness of his own chosen English home, the necessity of being always actively employed, the swift changes and troubles of the time which had followed on one another so fast, that the events of this week annihilated the immature plans of last week, and the events of the week following made all new again; he knew very well, that to the force of these circumstances he had yielded:—not without disquiet, but still without continuous and accumulating resistance. That he had watched the times for a time of action, and that they had shifted and struggled until the time had gone by, and the nobility were trooping from France by every highway and byway, and their property was in course of confiscation and destruction, and their very names were blotting out, was as well known to himself as it could be to any new authority in France that might impeach him for it.

But, he had oppressed no man, he had imprisoned no man; he was so far from having harshly exacted payment of his dues, that he had relinquished them of his own will, thrown himself on a world with no favour in it, won his own private place there, and earned his own bread. Monsieur Gabelle had held the impoverished and involved estate on written instructions, to spare the people, to give them what little there was to give—such fuel as the heavy creditors would let them have in the winter, and such produce as could be saved from the same grip in the summer—and no doubt he had put the fact in plea and proof, for his own safety, so that it could not but appear now.

This favoured the desperate resolution Charles Darnay had begun to make, that he would go to Paris.

Yes. Like the mariner in the old story, the winds and streams had driven him within the influence of the Loadstone Rock, and it was drawing him to itself, and he must go. Everything that arose before his mind drifted him on, faster and faster, more and more steadily, to the terrible attraction. His latent uneasiness had been, that bad aims were being worked out in his own unhappy land by bad instruments, and that he who could not fail to know that he was better than they, was not there, trying to do something to stay bloodshed, and assert the claims of mercy and humanity. With this uneasiness half stifled, and half reproaching him, he had been brought to the pointed comparison of himself with the brave old gentleman in whom duty was so strong; upon that comparison (injurious to himself) had instantly followed the sneers of Monseigneur, which had stung him bitterly, and those of Stryver, which above all were coarse and galling, for old reasons. Upon those, had followed Gabelle’s letter: the appeal of an innocent prisoner, in danger of death, to his justice, honour, and good name.

His resolution was made. He must go to Paris.

Yes. The Loadstone Rock was drawing him, and he must sail on, until he struck. He knew of no rock; he saw hardly any danger. The intention with which he had done what he had done, even although he had left it incomplete, presented it before him in an aspect that would be gratefully acknowledged in France on his presenting himself to assert it. Then, that glorious vision of doing good, which is so often the sanguine mirage of so many good minds, arose before him, and he even saw himself in the illusion with some influence to guide this raging Revolution that was running so fearfully wild.

As he walked to and fro with his resolution made, he considered that neither Lucie nor her father must know of it until he was gone. Lucie should be spared the pain of separation; and her father, always reluctant to turn his thoughts towards the dangerous ground of old, should come to the knowledge of the step, as a step taken, and not in the balance of suspense and doubt. How much of the incompleteness of his situation was referable to her father, through the painful anxiety to avoid reviving old associations of France in his mind, he did not discuss with himself. But, that circumstance too, had had its influence in his course.

He walked to and fro, with thoughts very busy, until it was time to return to Tellson’s and take leave of Mr. Lorry. As soon as he arrived in Paris he would present himself to this old friend, but he must say nothing of his intention now.

A carriage with post-horses was ready at the Bank door, and Jerry was booted and equipped.

“I have delivered that letter,” said Charles Darnay to Mr. Lorry. “I would not consent to your being charged with any written answer, but perhaps you will take a verbal one?”

“That I will, and readily,” said Mr. Lorry, “if it is not dangerous.”

“Not at all. Though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye.”

“What is his name?” said Mr. Lorry, with his open pocket-book in his hand.

“Gabelle.”

“Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle in prison?”

“Simply, ‘that he has received the letter, and will come.’”

“Any time mentioned?”

“He will start upon his journey to-morrow night.”

“Any person mentioned?”

“No.”

He helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and cloaks, and went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the old Bank, into the misty air of Fleet-street. “My love to Lucie, and to little Lucie,” said Mr. Lorry at parting, “and take precious care of them till I come back.” Charles Darnay shook his head and doubtfully smiled, as the carriage rolled away.

That night—it was the fourteenth of August—he sat up late, and wrote two fervent letters; one was to Lucie, explaining the strong obligation he was under to go to Paris, and showing her, at length, the reasons that he had, for feeling confident that he could become involved in no personal danger there; the other was to the Doctor, confiding Lucie and their dear child to his care, and dwelling on the same topics with the strongest assurances. To both, he wrote that he would despatch letters in proof of his safety, immediately after his arrival.

It was a hard day, that day of being among them, with the first reservation of their joint lives on his mind. It was a hard matter to preserve the innocent deceit of which they were profoundly unsuspicious. But, an affectionate glance at his wife, so happy and busy, made him resolute not to tell her what impended (he had been half moved to do it, so strange it was to him to act in anything without her quiet aid), and the day passed quickly. Early in the evening he embraced her, and her scarcely less dear namesake, pretending that he would return by-and-bye (an imaginary engagement took him out, and he had secreted a valise of clothes ready), and so he emerged into the heavy mist of the heavy streets, with a heavier heart.

The unseen force was drawing him fast to itself, now, and all the tides and winds were setting straight and strong towards it. He left his two letters with a trusty porter, to be delivered half an hour before midnight, and no sooner; took horse for Dover; and began his journey. “For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name!” was the poor prisoner’s cry with which he strengthened his sinking heart, as he left all that was dear on earth behind him, and floated away for the Loadstone Rock.

The end of the second book.

#a tale of two cities #atotc weekly #charles dickens #september 10 #the golden thread

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renaissanceclassics · 8 months

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A Tale of Two Cities - Book 2: Part 30

In 45 parts.

Drawn To the Loadstone Rock

CHAPTER XXIV. Drawn to the Loadstone Rock

The August of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two was come, and Monseigneur was by this time scattered far and wide.

“But, although you are the youngest man that ever lived,” said Charles Darnay, rather hesitating, “I must still suggest to you—”

“I understand. That I am too old?” said Mr. Lorry.

“Unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of travelling, a disorganised country, a city that may not be even safe for you.”

“I wish I were going myself,” said Charles Darnay, somewhat restlessly, and like one thinking aloud.

“Indeed! You are a pretty fellow to object and advise!” exclaimed Mr. Lorry. “You wish you were going yourself? And you a Frenchman born? You are a wise counsellor.”

“When you were talking to Lucie,” Mr. Lorry repeated. “Yes. I wonder you are not ashamed to mention the name of Lucie! Wishing you were going to France at this time of day!”

“However, I am not going,” said Charles Darnay, with a smile. “It is more to the purpose that you say you are.”

“How I admire the gallantry of your youthful spirit, Mr. Lorry.”

“And do you really go to-night?”

“I really go to-night, for the case has become too pressing to admit of delay.”

“And do you take no one with you?”

“I must say again that I heartily admire your gallantry and youthfulness.”

“Very pressing. To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St. Evrémonde, of France. Confided to the cares of Messrs. Tellson and Co., Bankers, London, England.”

“No,” said Mr. Lorry, in reply to the House; “I have referred it, I think, to everybody now here, and no one can tell me where this gentleman is to be found.”

“Nephew, I believe—but in any case degenerate successor—of the polished Marquis who was murdered,” said one. “Happy to say, I never knew him.”

“A craven who abandoned his post,” said another—this Monseigneur had been got out of Paris, legs uppermost and half suffocated, in a load of hay—“some years ago.”

“Hey?” cried the blatant Stryver. “Did he though? Is that the sort of fellow? Let us look at his infamous name. D—n the fellow!”

Darnay, unable to restrain himself any longer, touched Mr. Stryver on the shoulder, and said:

“I know the fellow.”

“Do you, by Jupiter?” said Stryver. “I am sorry for it.”

“Why?”

“Why, Mr. Darnay? D’ye hear what he did? Don’t ask, why, in these times.”

“But I do ask why?”

Mindful of the secret, Darnay with great difficulty checked himself, and said: “You may not understand the gentleman.”

“Will you take charge of the letter?” said Mr. Lorry. “You know where to deliver it?”

“I do.”

“Will you undertake to explain, that we suppose it to have been addressed here, on the chance of our knowing where to forward it, and that it has been here some time?”

“I will do so. Do you start for Paris from here?”

“From here, at eight.”

“I will come back, to see you off.”

Very ill at ease with himself, and with Stryver and most other men, Darnay made the best of his way into the quiet of the Temple, opened the letter, and read it. These were its contents:

“Prison of the Abbaye, Paris.

“June 21, 1792. “Monsieur Heretofore The Marquis.

“From this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend nearer and nearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, the assurance of my dolorous and unhappy service.

“Your afflicted,

“Gabelle.”

This favoured the desperate resolution Charles Darnay had begun to make, that he would go to Paris.

His resolution was made. He must go to Paris.

A carriage with post-horses was ready at the Bank door, and Jerry was booted and equipped.

“I have delivered that letter,” said Charles Darnay to Mr. Lorry. “I would not consent to your being charged with any written answer, but perhaps you will take a verbal one?”

“That I will, and readily,” said Mr. Lorry, “if it is not dangerous.”

“Not at all. Though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye.”

“What is his name?” said Mr. Lorry, with his open pocket-book in his hand.

“Gabelle.”

“Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle in prison?”

“Simply, ‘that he has received the letter, and will come.’”

“Any time mentioned?”

“He will start upon his journey to-morrow night.”

“Any person mentioned?”

“No.”

The end of the second book.

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contemporaryartdaily · 4 years

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Group Show at From the Desk of Lucy Bull

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aikofanfan · 2 years

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Prompt 1: Gn!Amab!Mc x Lucifer

Summary: It’s just horny there is no plot. Maybe a little plot but not much.

A/n: This got way longer than I had planned so I took some parts out. Lol.

Send me a prompt!

You could tell right away something was on Lucifer’s mind. Not that he was being more up tight or anything like that, so that lead you to assume it was nothing serious more….hm. Simple? Mundane even.

So you didn’t feel the need to poke at him just yet or out right ask what was up. You’ll give him a chance to come to you or sort it out himself before jumping the gun.

Okay now it was a problem.

He wasn’t being snippy or grumpy so it must still be something mundane but he was quiet. He wouldn’t get all- well Lucifer like when one of the brothers caused trouble, at most all he did was sigh tiredly, give a stern warning and leave it at that.

Everyone was beginning to notice and you were starting to worry. So a little after dinner, you made your way to his room.

“Lucifer?” You knocked and hear a ‘come in’ from the other side. You let yourself in and find him at his desk, smiling when there wasn’t stacks on stacks of papers on his desk for once. Just him reading a book of some sort.

“Sooooo…” you trail off as you walk over to him.

“I’m fine.”

“Bull!”

“MC really. I’m fine.” He looks up to you, setting the book in hand down as he does so. You met his eye and he really did seem okay but you knew something was there. He didn’t look tired, not tense. Well a little but not as bad as usual.

“Luci are you sure? I can tell something is on your mind.” You walk around and stop behind him, resting your hands on his shoulders. “What’s on your mind?”

He lets out a chuckle.

“It’s silly and over all ridiculous.” He sighs. “Even you would think so.”

“Nonsense. Try me.” You grin. He hums before yanking you down by the collar of your shirt into a kiss, one full of hunger and want. When you pull away to breathe the look in his eyes is full of lust.

“I’ve been trying to find a way to ask you to fuck me.” He whispers against your lips. “Bend me over this very desk and fuck me.”

When your brain finally comes back online, with a flick of your wrist of simple magic, his door swings shut and locks.

“Well.” You began. “As you wish.”

You should’ve known the thing that was bothering Lucifer was something this simple. But he has his times where he doesn’t out right verbally say what he wants or needs, you’ve been trying to work on that with him. Oh well. That can be discussed another time.

“You must’ve been thinking about this for awhile. I’ve never seen your desk so empty before, Luci.” You say into his ear, leaning over his back, arms around his torso as you fuck into him. He only moans in reply.

“Luci~” you purr into his ear. One rough thrust and he was already coming undone. You follow soon after, holding him as you keep whispering to him. You were about to pull out but he stops you. “Hm?”

“Would it be selfish of me to ask for more?” He looks over his shoulder to you. You grin.

“Not at all.”

“You demons and your unlimited stamina.” You huff out. You had Lucifer in your lap as the two of you sat in his bed. Long since changed into your pjs a couple more rounds of sex dirtied your clothes.

“Oh? This is the first time you’ve complained about it.” He teased and laughs when you flip your positions around so he was laying on his back and you on top of him, kissing his neck a few times.

“Just do me a favor, Luci. Next time you simply want me to fuck you, just say so.” You state. “If it’s something you need or just want, say so. It’s never silly.”

“Alright.” He agreed.

“Just Lemme know ahead of time so I can stock up on energy drinks.”

“MC!”

“What??? I gotta keep up somehow! Ha! Get it? Keep up???”

Lucifer ended up kicking you off the bed but you saw how he had to bite his lip so he didn’t laugh.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me drabble #obey me lucifer #obey me mc #obey me smut #lucifer x mc

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chadillacboseman · 2 years

Text

Defiant

Pairing: Phil Callahan x F!Reader Warnings: Just some cute shit. Very boring. Obligatory warning for Callahan being a bastard cop (ACAB). Could possibly be triggering if you've ever been arrested. Word Count: Idk like 1.5k? Summary: Callahan breaks up a protest and brings you in. A/N: I completely forgot how to write while I was absent. Enjoy this hot garbage.

Not everyone was happy about the mall.

In fact, the crowd outside the mayor's office was growing by the minute- filled with Hawkins residents holding signs and shouting vitriol.

Callahan knew a volatile situation when he saw it. The crowd was a ticking time bomb. Mayor Kline grinned like a hyena from behind his wooden desk, blithely dismissing the concern as the noise from outside grew ever louder.

"Mayor Kline-" Hopper's voice had an edge as he pinched the space between his eyebrows in frustration, "This is a powder keg-"

His words were cut short by a crash as a large rock shattered his window and fell to the carpet with a muted thud.

"Christ!" Hopper shielded his eyes as the din in the street became overwhelming, "Callahan, Powell, get out there!"

Phil sighed and plucked his hat from the desk, placing it on his head as he and Calvin headed to the street. The crowd roared so loudly it was nearly overwhelming.

"Starcourt is killing small business!"

"Fuck you Mayor Swine!"

"Alright folks-" Phil raised his voice to a shout and the crowd quieted, "Look I get it. You're mad. But whoever threw the rock-" he gestured toward the broken window, "Needs to come forward."

Phil waited as a few in the crowd shifted nervously.

"Why? So you pigs can arrest them?" a defiant voice snapped his attention as the group parted and you stepped forward.

Phil swallowed, hard, as his eyes landed on your face- he'd seen you around town before, working at the diner or pinning flyers for fundraisers on the cork board at the station.

He'd seen you, but he'd never really seen you.

Christ, you were pretty.

"Phil?" Calvin cocked his head as Callahan stood, dumbfounded, his mouth slightly agape, "You were saying?"

Phil snapped out of his trance and placed his hands on his hips, "That's the idea, yeah. That's technically assault on an officer-"

"Oh, give me a break!" You folded your arms and screwed up your face, "Assault on an officer? More like assault on some asshole's window."

A few in the crowd shouted their agreement and Phil sighed in exasperation, "I'm guessing it was you that threw it?" he took a step forward and you tilted your head to look up into his eyes, narrowing your own as you stood your ground.

"And if it was?"

Phil felt a jolt in his gut as he stared down into your eyes, glittering like gemstones in the setting Hawkins sun.

"Then I'm bringing you in."

You shifted uncomfortably in the back of the cruiser, pulling pointlessly at the handcuffs that bound your wrists.

Fucking Callahan. What a prick.

You glanced out the window as the crowd shouted in protest. Your eyes fell on Lucy Briggs and you grinned, which she returned with a mouthed "thank you".

She'd thrown the stone, of course.

But Callahan didn't need to know that.

The driver's side door of the cruiser opened and Phil climbed in with a loud sigh. He adjusted the rear view mirror until he could see your face; you rolled your eyes and he shook his head.

"Leaving your buddy behind to clean up the mess?" you jerked your head toward Powell, who was still shouting over the protestors as he attempted to diffuse the situation.

"Somebody's got to take you in," he replied simply and you laughed.

"Don't feel like you need backup for little ol' me?"

"Do I?" Callahan cocked an eyebrow and you shrugged.

"Maybe."

The sun was finally setting in earnest when Callahan pulled away from town hall and began the drive to the station. By the time the cruiser hit the parking lot, the station was empty, lit only by a desk lamp in the bull pen.

"Come on," Phil wrenched your door open and motioned for you to get out, "Don't make me carry you." His voice was almost playful, devoid of the cop attitude he had displayed earlier.

"Oh would you?" you asked with mock excitement, "Carry me over the threshold, Officer Callahan. Like a married couple!"

"You know, you're lucky it was me who brought you in and not Hopper," Phil stepped back as you slid across the seat and planted your feet on the pavement, "He'd put you in a cell for the night for talking to him like this."

You didn't dignify that with an answer.

Callahan led you into the station and pulled out a chair in the bullpen for you to sit on. You did so awkwardly, trying to maneuver your cuffed wrists to be comfortable.

"Here," Phil retrieved the keys from his belt and removed the handcuffs, "Sorry...you probably didn't need those."

"You think?" you rubbed your wrists indignantly as he took a seat across from you and pulled out a carbon paper pad, "So, if you're not throwing me in a cell, what's my punishment?"

"A fine," Phil began to scribble on the pad as he spoke, "And community service. You can repair that window and paint a few parking lots. Maybe even some walls at the mall."

You could tell he thought he was clever for that one. The corners of his mouth ticked up ever so slightly as he continued to write.

Maybe it was your exhaustion, or maybe the lighting was that bad-

Callahan was handsome.

Had he always had the mustache?

"See something you like?" he glanced up from his writing and cocked an eyebrow.

You felt your face grow warm and he chuckled as you snapped your eyes to the floor.

Phil finished writing and tore the top sheet off of the pad, "Fine's due by the 19th. You can report to the station on Tuesday for your community service."

"Wonderful," you snatched the paper from his hand and stood, "Can I at least get a ride home?"

"Sure. I'll even let you ride up front."

You lived on the North end of town, in a modest house on Dearborn that you rented from Greg Hannover. For years, it had been a quiet street- good neighbors and low rent.

Then, some utility company flipped a fucking van at the corner of Elm and Cherry and everything seemed to go to hell in a handbasket in Hawkins.

"This you?" Phil pulled the cruiser into the driveway and you nodded. He shifted into park and you hesitated for a moment before opening the door.

You were never very good at swallowing your pride. You'd held grudges against people who cut you in line at the store for longer than you liked.

"Look, Callahan-"

"Call me Phil," he smiled and his glasses caught the orange glow of the street lights overhead.

"Phil...I'm sorry about the rock. It was stupid-"

"I know you didn't throw it," he cut you off and you blinked in surprise, "Come on. Only one person in that crowd can throw a laser like that. I know it was Lucy. She hit Powell with an egg last Halloween."

"What? No- it was me!" You sputtered and he laughed, a genuine, kind laugh that you hadn't heard before, "Stop laughing! I threw it!"

"Keep it up and I'll double the fine for lying to an officer!" Phil pointed in mock anger before bursting into a fit of laughter.

"You are such a prick-" you swatted at him and he bit back another laugh, "Next time, I will throw a rock!"

Silence fell in the cruiser for a moment as Phil caught his breath and tried to stifle his laughter. You moved to open the door, but he reached a hand across the center console and grabbed your wrist.

"Wait-"

You glanced down at his hand and cocked an eyebrow before letting go of the handle.

"Look, when all this dies down- when you finish your community service-" Phil tamped down the grin that threatened to form at those words, "Would you maybe let me take you out to dinner?"

You blinked and stared at him in the dim light, waiting for him to laugh or tell you he was kidding.

He didn't.

"I..." you paused and he looked anxious for a moment before you spoke again, "Sure-"

"But you're buying."

Phil watched as you trekked up the steps to your front door and offered a small wave before ducking inside.

He waited for a moment until he was sure that you were inside safely before letting out the breath he'd been holding.

And then, for the first time in years, Phil Callahan punched the air and let out a boyish cheer of happiness.

#phil callahan #officer callahan #my writing #maybe ill write a second part #idk

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mxvladdy · 4 years

Note

What do you think would happen if MC (in an attempt to keep it away from him) tucked Goldie under their boob?

[A bra is the best wallet but underneath even a C-cup boob is damn near Fort Knox (or the tower of London, I.e. Impenatrable fortresses)]

lmaooo. Let’s us gather round and pray for Mammon’s remaining sanity. What little remands. The himbo never saw it coming. I’m weak and got a little spicy at the end, apologies if that’s not what you wanted my heart was thirsty for ONE greed man;.;

A/N I originally called this work Tiity prison bc I have a sense of humor lol.

Hope ya like!

To say he is conflicted is an understatement. Depending on when and where you do the titty lockdown will change how he reacts.

If it's at school, he is a mess. I’m talking about the works. He’s red in the face, can’t focus, and sweating the whole rest of the school day. He is definitely torn between fighting his goldie withdrawals and making a pass at your chest.

He won’t do the latter, as much as he threatens it. He may be scummy but he has a code of conduct (most of the time). You get a kick out of watching him try not to stare at your chest and getting smacked by Lucifer when caught.

If it’s on Lucifer’s orders to keep his card away from him he’ll have a bit more control but will bitch the WHOLE day. Honestly, you might give it back just to shut him up.

He won’t outright grab your chest or physically try to snatch it. He’ll try to be sneaky about it. Dropping stuff and making you bend over to grab it. “I swear I ain’t try nothin’”. Right.

If desperate enough he’ll just downright pick you up off your feet and jiggle you like a piggy bank. Like I said, he has a code of conduct. It’s just kinda flexible sometimes.

“C-come on! Give ‘er back.” Mammon pleads, pulling off his classic bagger’s pout. Good thing you were immune. His toned arms cage you in, your back resting on one of the school’s marble walls. “How am I going to buy lunch?”

“I made you lunch.” You laugh. Ducking under his arms you make your way to the dining hall ignoring his flustered shouts. He’ll follow soon enough. The promise of your cooking and potentially nabbing goldie back was too great for him to ignore. Sure enough, he slinks in a few minutes after you. His shades now out and perched on his nose. Even hidden under the tinted glasses, you could see his flushed cheeks and darting eyes. “Better eat now, Beel is going to join us today.” You say around a mouthful of food. He whines but forces himself to focus on his quickly cooling food.

He follows you even closer than before after lunch, barely a hair’s breadth from your back. His clever fingers pinching and pulling at the bottom of your shirt in the crowded hallway. “Please~” He whimpers through his teeth after your swat his hands away again. “I swear I won’t use her.”

You plop down at your desk. “If you’re not going to use her, then she is safe where she is.” You stick your tongue out and give the boob hiding goldie a lovely squeeze. Mammon groans as if stabbed, teeth bared and fangs growing in a mix of frustration and want. “Babe come on. Ya’ killing me.” His eyes are glued to where your hand rests.

Before you can respond a leather-clad hand smacks Mammon across the back of his head. Mammon yips in fright. “I will kill you first if you don’t keep your eyes up at the board.” The cold warning from Lucifer was enough to shut you both up for the rest of the class. You watch him disappear when the bell chimes. His next period was across campus while you were stuck here for another hour. Your phone buzzes the moment his designer boots disappear out the door.

Pretty Boy: what did you do to Mammon?

You: I have no idea what you’re talking about.

You catch Asmo’s eye from his seat a few rows back from you. He winks at you, thumbs flying across his lit screen.

Pretty Boy: Bull- tell me your secrets. I haven’t seen him that flustered in eons, not since Helen paid a visit.

You: Got “asked” by Lucifer to keep Goldie away from Mammon for the day. A limited edition car he wants just got released. Luci is still paying off Mammon’s last shopping spree, so he’s on ice till tomorrow afternoon.

Pretty Boy: Ouch- you not telling him where it is?

You: Oh no. He knows exactly where it is. He is just too nervous to go for it.

You hear Asmo’s scandalous gasp behind you earning you both a glare from the professor. You bite your tongue to hide a chuckle. The professor turns with a huff, and Asmo starts up all over again.

Pretty Boy: Is it in your pants! Can I take a look ;*

You: No and No.

Pretty Boy: Ah- he was always a chest man. Good luck with that, he can hold out for only so long :)

What does that mean? You whip your head around waiting for an explanation text. Asmo has the gall to ignore you, busy reapplying his lip gloss. Even if he wasn’t looking at you, you knew that impish smile was for you. Turning back around in your seat you shiver, now you weren’t sure if you should be scared or excited.

The rest of the day passes quietly. Too quietly. It gives you the jitters. Every corner of the school could be a potential hiding spot for one conniving demon. You weren’t expecting him to attack you, not outright. Yet, you were expecting some sort of retaliation. The last bell of the day came sooner than you expected and it was time for afterschool activities. Packing your bag you wave off Beel and Satan, assuring them you would be fine to walk to the music and arts wing by yourself. They had their own clubs to get to anyway.

Making your way to your activity you feel the hair on the back of your neck began to rise. Something wasn’t sitting right with you. You look up and around. No one was in the corridors, not even a stray teacher rushing to the breakroom. Odd. You peak over your shoulder and frown. Even the air was still. Chalking it up to a probably very haunted school, you pick up the pace. Even if you didn’t believe in the ghost stories like Luke, it was best to just never find out. No matter what hallway you took or how fast you walked the feeling of being watched only intensified. Your flight or fight instinct kicked in.

Who could you call if you need help? Where in the hells was Mam- was that your pencil case? You skid to a halt bemused. There, in the middle of the floor was your favorite case. The calico kitty design stares up at you innocently from the floor. You open your bag to double-check. You could have sworn you had thrown it in there after last period. Did it fall out? Had you taken this path before? You approached it cautiously, bending down to grab it.

Strong arms wrap around your waist locking around you like a spring trap. They lift you up and up and up. It was so sudden you could do nothing but squeak in surprise, pencil case clutched tightly to your chest. Were you really going to die here? Caught in such a childish trap...wait. “Seriously Mammon!” The fear disappears, replaced now with exasperation. He grunts ignoring your words to shake you slightly. You yelp feeling goldie and your bra shift. “Oh, my Gods. Mammon! I know you can do better than this.”

“Shut up! I’m desperate.”

Unbelievable. "That's the best you got? Really, I’m kinda insulted." Mammon stops shaking you, his arms loosening enough for you to turn around to face him. He looks up at you batting his long lashes. “Put me down.” It wasn’t a pact order, but firm. He pouts but sets you back on the ground gently. Not before giving you a hearty squeeze. You catch his hand sneaking up the side of your shirt with a raised brow. "Why didn't you just make a grab for it in the first place?"

He scoffs turning pink. "'M allowed ta just cop a feel whenever I want now?"

"Absolutely not, not in public at least. I like you breathing."

“Could have fooled me,” Mammon chuckles. He glances around the empty hallway then back to you. A slow rolling purr starts deep in his throat. "Though, there is no one here now." Slowly his dexterous fingers glide back over your sides. His touch is searing on your shirt. You could feel goldie pulsing underneath the cotton of your bra. The plastic seemingly growing warmer than your skin as his hand travels closer. You do nothing, watching his face grow hungrier with each passing centimeter as he gets close to his prize. “What’s stopping me now?”

“Just you.” He stops at the side of your chest, eye wide and greedy. You could feel him trying to temper himself. His adrenaline, fear, lust, and his raw cardinal desire thicking the air around you. It all pulsed red hot in his veins and travels down to yours. He wanted more than just goldie now. His natural magnetism pulling you in closer. You wanted him, you wanted him to just take it- take everything. The pact mark slams shut, its heat snuffed out like a candle. "Mammon?" Had your teasing gone too far?

"Hold tight to her till tonight." He growls tapping your chest possessively. His many gold rings resemble talons as he drags his fingers across the stitching of your school uniform. "I'll come for her tonight," He leans in, smoke and leather clouds your sense. "and I'll be taking a tithe for all the trouble you caused me too." His husky promise sends a shiver down your spine, gut twisting in anticipation. Mammon's bright blue eyes jump over your shoulder, a frown grows on his beautiful face, he could hear footsteps approaching from your club room. Probably the angels looking for you. Brushing his lips across your cheek he parts, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Be ready. You know I always come to collect."

#obey me #obey me mammon #obey me headcanons #this was fun lol #requests

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newtonsheffield · 3 years

Note

Hi! Love your work. Fo you have anythong about Lucy and Gregory before he realised that he loves her. I think at one point you wrote about him thinking he likes Hermione from the reception, before he came to his senses 😁

Hello! I've really left you hanging on this one but as we know, I love and adore Lucy and Gregory and I just... need them today.

Ahhh Yes, Gregory was an idiot, And was not in control of the Bridgerton Family Brain Cell™️ on his first day in the office and being the sweetheart he is, who was desperate to put his love somewhere, he bestowed it on Hermione Watson at the reception desk, rather than the woman standing 2ft to her left.

So this is really Gregory + being oblivious.

Gregory Bridgerton had been, frankly very excited to find the love of his life, the moment he'd walked into his brother's now his as well, he supposed office. And honestly, she was stunning, with her blonde hair, and her green eyes, and her polite smile. Yes, Hermione Watson was beautiful. The only problem was she was wholly uninterested in him. She had a boyfriend, he'd heard from Lucy, but even so, every morning he'd stand next to her desk o wait for Anthony to arrive and Hermione would exchange pleasantries with her friend, and ignore Gregory completely. What am I doing wrong Lucy?! He'd whined across the bull pen at his coworker, tossing her a fruit salad chew and Lucy would look at him with the oddest mixture of pity and something he couldn't place and say Gregory, you need to ease up. The smile and the glasses and the bowtie are probably enough without you popping up everywhere as well. She looked away clearing her throat as though she felt awkward. You need to leave her alone and she'll wonder why. And so he resolved to try.

La la la Lucy! Gregory had sung at her as he met her in the foyer of the building, waiting by the lift, getting her to hold it for him to ride up together like normal. She'd rolled her eyes though smiled when she saw him, her perfectly manicured hand holding the button down. It's Wednesday Lucy so you know what that means! He'd said brightly add Lucy had answered without missing a beat New comic day. And it's been a while so I'm assuming Wonder Woman aaaaand Thor today? Her eyes had smiled at him, and he'd grinned back nodding excitedly. You know me so well. He's said, and their eyes had caught for a moment, a crease forming between her eyebrows something building between them until the lift door had dinged open and she'd made an odd noise as her eyes slid away from his when she turned to exit saying softly Yes, I think that's the problem. And she'd left him standing there wondering why on earth knowing a friend so well would ever be a problem.

Lucy hated to be that girl. Had spent her entire life being practical and logical to avoid being the sad girl in the romantic comedy who was hopelessly in love with someone who didn't want them. Well no, that wasn't fair. Gregory Bridgerton did want her, but he wanted her to be his friend and every time he said it the words stung at her. And he had no idea. Absolutely no idea just how handsome he was. How when he smiled at her it sent her heart fluttering and made her feel a little off kilter. How when he nudged her arm lightly to get her attention over something stupid Anthony and Kate were doing it seemed to burn at her skin. And worst of all, he had absolutely no idea that when he dropped a slice of cake or an iced coffee or tea on her desk when he got back from running Anthony's errands with no indication that he was going to do it and he smiled at her thanks and said What are friends for? It made her chest ache. Because the woman he was in love with was perfect the kind of perfect that she (and her Uncle) desperately wanted her to be. And so when he got confused and kissed her, for a minute she almost let herself believe that he'd realised that she was right there too. But of course he hadn't and he had no idea that imperfect Lucy Abernathy fell apart, shamefully crying into the arms of his sister in law.

This got a bit angsty, I'm so sorry!

#bridgerton and sons au #lucy x gregory #gregory bridgerton #lucy abernathy #gregory is an adorably oblivious little bean #and Lucy is just... in love with this nerdy boy #glasses gregory is the cutest and you know it #molly's asks and answers

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createdfromthestars · 3 years

Text

I’ve never posted my writing before

but my love for Tim Bradford has compelled me to post something! This has not been reviewed or edited by anyone but me! This is from Tim’s point of view and him dealing with Lucy being missing. Questions and comments are welcomed!

Tim Bradford prides himself on keeping a level-head even in the most dire of circumstances. It’s what saved him overseas, and it’s what’s saved him on constant close calls out on patrol. Officer Bradford keeps his head on straight, and the only time it’s ever swiveled was when Isobel was involved. That was, until he heard Detective Armstrong say that Caleb Wright did not exist.

“That’s impossible, I saw his social media page,” he said, with more force than he intended behind his words.

He could barely keep his train of thought together as Armstrong laid out the possibility that the name was nothing more than a cover, a red herring to lead them off his scent. Lucy had been missing for over thirteen hours and the last thing he had said to her was to grab a drink. He could feel the panic rippling under the surface, threatening to engulf him at any point. But he was a seasoned cop, he could keep his nerves at bay until she was found. He allowed West to think out loud with Armstrong as he calmed himself and tucked away any of the horrible thoughts that had started to form inside his mind. Lucy needed him at his best, and that wouldn’t happen if he kept allowing his darker thoughts to be at the forefront of his mind.

~~~~

“We know they left at 9:05…,” Tim shook his head as Sergeant Grey and Armstrong debriefed the precinct about Lucy’s situation.

“Las Torres, a bar, she just wanted to go for a drink,” Tim couldn’t believe that this was his reality. “No,” he threw back at himself, “she wanted to go home. You convinced her that she would be better off out with some guy she had just met!”

A flash from the day before jumped to his mind, of watching a random boy try and hand Lucy his number. His heart had beat loud and deep in his chest, his hand flying out to capture the paper before Lucy even had a chance to reach for it. It had been a long time since he felt jealous, but he quickly beat back the green-eyed monster by simply defending his actions while accosting the boy about his job. But now that jealousy had been replaced by another, disgust. In himself. Because he tried to cover up his moment of resentment by suggesting she go for drinks with someone. And who else but the guy who acted like he knew everything about police work from the two episodes of Law & Order he probably watched.

“We believe that Caleb is Rosalind’s protege, and he took Officer Chen,” Grey stated in a grave voice.

Tim could feel his breath catch in his chest. “Took, took, took,” it repeated over and over in his head. He felt sick to his stomach, his head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, anchored down by the hundreds of possibilities of where Lucy could be in that very moment. She was in the hands of a groomed killer, and the trail of bodies behind both him and his teacher were staring Tim straight in the face. All the kills were textbook, identical to each other in the way each of the victims had been killed. Tim could see exactly how Lucy was in this very hour, most likely already tattooed with today’s date, fighting off whatever drug was still in her system. His head swung forward, unable to even look at the board or the video of this disgusting man with his arms around Lucy, like he had every right in the world to be near her. He couldn’t focus on anything, not the words that Grey was saying or even his own thoughts. It was like his mind was the frayed end of a string, sprouting off in so many different directions. He didn’t say anything as he pulled out his phone and walked out, not even bothering to see if anyone noticed his sudden exit.

“Angela,” he thought, the only thing keeping him grounded, the only lifeline he could see in this mess of his world. His friend, probably his best friend, and her detective skills could help him with this puzzle. He needed her to be able to see a solution, because he was starting to feel the walls close in. There was a darkness that was shadowing his ever move, a darkness he thought he had escaped from when Isabel left. He dialed her number, praying to whoever that she would pick up.

“What’s up,” she answered after the second ring.

“Hey. Lucy’s been taken. I need you,” he said through a clenched jaw.

Saying the words aloud felt like a jinx, like if he never said those words, there was still a chance she could run through the doors and blame unbelievable traffic for her lateness. His breathing was shallower than it had been minutes ago, and it seemed like hours before Angela responded with a simple “On my way.” He didn’t know how to thank her.

~~~~~

He walked back into the bullpen as Jackson West stated “So we have less than 10 hours to find Lucy.”

“Holy shit,” Tim couldn’t keep up. They were talking in such a clinical manner that Tim could scream.

“This isn’t any other case,” he wanted to yell, “this is one of our own! This is an officer, my rookie!”

“My responsibility, Lucy…” he was spiraling. How could he have suggested a date with someone from a bar! He should’ve asked more questions while he was here, should’ve sensed that there was something wrong with him. He drilled into every one of his boots that they always needed to trust their instincts and gut. Yet, he couldn’t even see the potential murderer standing less than 10 feet away from him.

“You suggested the date, you pushed her to go out with him,” his inner thoughts were relentlessly reminding him, “if she doesn’t come back, this is on you.” He couldn’t swallow, the fear and confusion sitting on his chest. And anger, a rage was building up like none he’d felt before. But what he couldn’t figure out was who he was more angry with: Caleb or himself.

~~~~~~

“Useless,” he thought, slamming down the phone on another raving citizen who claimed they saw Lucy being dragged into a car by none other than King Henry. He had never wanted to punch a citizen so bad before. He looked up just as Angela and Wesley walked in. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Hey, thanks for coming in,” he said to Angela as he pushed back from the desk.

“Of course,” she answered, looking around at the current situation of the precinct. “Grey’s got you on tip lines,” she questioned, the disbelief evident in her tone.

“Nothing says ‘We got squat,’ like listening to the public,” he threw back, letting his irritation seep through. He knew that Angela would pick up on just how fed up he was with the whole situation. As Wesley took up his position at the phones, Tim turned to Angela and angrily said “This is useless. We should be on the street kicking down doors.” He just needed to move, to feel like he was doing something, anything, to try and get one step closer to finding Lucy.

“Who’s doors,” Angela questioned lightly.

He looked at her and quickly looked away. He saw sympathy and hopelessness in her eyes, and it was more than he could handle. The reality that Lucy was abducted by a man with two murders under his belt was pushing its way into every corner of his mind.

“I don’t know but I-I just can’t sit here,” he whispered. Suddenly the room felt too small, the lights too bright, the noises too loud. He turned around and stomped off towards the bull pen. He could feel the string unraveling even farther. He knew he couldn’t be in the middle of the room, with all the useless noise of the public.

“Wait up,” Angela called from behind him.

“I’m fine, just blowing off steam,” he didn’t even bother looking at her, he knew she’d hear him. His legs seemed to be on autopilot, he didn’t even know where he was heading.

“I get it,” she threw at him, “but you’ve got to get your head in the game.

Tim rolled his eyes to the ceiling, thinking that maybe he made a mistake in calling her in. He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed slightly “I don’t need a pep talk.”

“Then why’d you call me? Clearly you need to get something off your chest,” Angela’s voice was rough, but filled with concern.

Tim looked around, his thoughts moving a mile a minute. This is why he called her, because Angela would make him face facts he wasn't comfortable admitting to anyone. Not even himself. He looked away from her, trying to organise his thoughts for a moment, ignoring the ever constant “your fault, your fault,” that had been rattling around his brain all day.

“Look, she-she wanted to go home,” he said to her, his voice cracking ever so slightly. His throat tightened, making it harder to speak “Go to bed. I told her that she should focus on something else.”

As the words came spilling out of him, he could feel a stinging in his eyes, and his hands couldn’t seem to stop moving. He felt his lip tremble and tried to swallow the shame and guilt that he could taste in his mouth. But it was no use.

“She went out with Caleb because I told her to,” the blame evident in every word he spoke. He searched Angela’s face, dreading that after she heard the part he played in Lucy’s abduction that she would agree with his inner voices. And he wouldn’t even blame her because he even agreed with them. He was to blame. But instead, tears welled up in her eyes and she shook her head.

“You couldn’t have known,” she spoke with a tender conviction.

Her faith in him, as a cop and a person, pushed him even farther to the edge. He couldn’t understand it, because he no longer could see it, the darkness creeping closer, threatening to drown him in despair.

“But I should've, I'm a cop,” he emphasized, moving closer to her. He brought his hand up, “I was standing this close to the guy. Ok, right across from him and I never saw him coming.”

The words caught in Tim’s mouth for a second, he couldn’t figure out why he needed to prove to Angela that he was to blame. Maybe it was for the fact that the real person to blame was nowhere to be found, and he himself made for a close and convenient punching bag. His eyes didn’t leave hers, and he could feel them pleading with her to give him something, anything, reassuring. She merely stared at him and let him continue his thoughts.

“But she did though, she-” he looked away, remembering Lucy’s face when she questioned his advice. She seemed confused by his suggestion of a drink over a nap, and he should’ve recognized that she was more excited for her bed than the company of another.

“Some part of her didn’t feel right about this whole thing,” his eyes found Angela’s once more. As he talked and recalled Lucy from the night before, things began sliding into place in his mind.

He shook his head slightly and said, “She hesitated.”

He wouldn’t be persuaded, he had made camp in his thoughts, knowing he was to shoulder the blame forever. Because Lucy knew, her instincts had told her something was off, he was the one who couldn’t sense anything. Tim had allowed a quick flash of jealousy to blind him to the actual threat of Caleb Wright.

“And I-” his voice held little emotion as he came to the realization that he could never be forgiven, “-I pushed her right at him.”

#the rookie #tim bradford #lucy chen #chenford #tucy #Jackson West #angela lopez #personal #my fic

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bbykpoper · 4 years

Photo

𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔀𝓫𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 🍓

Inspired by this post 🌼

Pairing: professor!jongho x student!reader

Index: Hongjoong // Seonghwa // San // Yunho // Wooyoung // Mingi // Yeosang

･*:༅｡

The early morning sun hit the windows of your small room just as the alarm on your phone buzzed underneath your pilow. A soft groan left your lips as you snaked an arm underneath it to turn of the annoying buzz.

“Wake up sleepy head.” The soft whisper reached your ears, making you stir under the covers. “You’ll be late to class.”

“I don’t wanna.” You mumbled out.

“But you have to, otherwise I’ll throw you out of my lecture Miss y/l/n.” The soft voice chuckled and it was then that your eyes shot open and widened at the face in front of you.

“Welcome back to the world of the morning people Miss y/l/n.” The softest smile reached your eyes and you groaned into your arms as you looked over to your friends for help. “Come to my office after class.”

“Yes sir...” You huffed as he went on to continue his lecture.

“Why didn’t any of you kick me when I fell asleep?” Your soft whisper reached your seatmate.

“Sorry y/n, but you were sleeping so soundly I didn’t have the heart to.” She answered.

Lucy was the cute clueless blonde that ended up being friends with you after freshman orientation when she managed to trip over your foot on accident. She, just like you was a biology major and you guys were inseperable ever since.

“I just really wanted to see you get embarrassed so I did nothing.” Your other seatmate snorted through her quiet laugh.

Phoebe was a girl who first befriended Lucy, also through an accident in the student cafeteria along the second semester of your first year. She was such a laid back brunette that you two naturally got along and stuck together in most of your classes.

“Wow, you just really like to watch me suffer don’t you?” You mumbled her way and breathed a sigh of relief as the lecture continued without another incident.

“I just find it amusing how you have this large ass crush on our ecology professor.” Phoebe commented, booping your nose as she picked up her books.

“Hey, Professor Choi is an attractive man. If I was straight I’d go after him too y/n!” Lucy added as comfort to you.

“Gee, thanks?” You laughed at these exchange. “I’m gonna go off now to get a lecture on my behavior and maybe later we can grab a coffee or something?”

“Yeah, we’ll meet you at Sugarberry’s.”

You made your way towards Professor Choi’s office, tightening the pony tail on your head and mentally preparing yourself to zone out on his speech and just admire the man’s beauty. Just as you were about to knock on the door, it suddenly opened and a young man smiled at you, excusing himself and leaving. You shamelessly stared after the tall blond man, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the shape of his backside came into full view when he readjusted his shirt.

“Miss y/l/n.” The stern voice of your professor drew your eyes to him only to notice how he was now standing right in front of you. “Please take a seat.”

He moved and you shuffled inside taking a seat in front of his desk.

“How have you been Miss y/l/n?” He asked.

“Good.” You said.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?” He chuckled when you blushed intensly.

“Sorry about that sir, I had a project due yesterday and haven’t exactly had time to sleep.” You admited with a really strong blush on your cheeks.

“Well Miss y/l/n, I would’ve liked it better if you listened to my lectures instead of sleeping in the middle of it.” He said looking over at his window.

You being the curious little thing that you are peeked over to see the array of plants which were situated in his window, especially the one he was looking at.

“Are you growing a fennel in your office?” You giggled out loud when you noticed how his eyes widened in embarrassement.

“You know your way around plants?”

“Yes, I am planning on working in the greenhouses when I get my degree. I really do like plants and growing them.” Your eyes lit up with love as you spoke about your dream. “Even back in my appartement, I basically grow anything and everything I can and get on my roommates nerves because some of the devil ivy reached the bathroom.”

You stopped yourself when you saw how the man in front of you watched you with so much softness and awe in his eyes that the blush which reached your cheeks, spread out to your ears, burning them in the process.

“Would you be interested to join me on a little excursion this Saturday?” He suddenly asked you.

“An... excursion...?” You tilted your head and you suddenly spoke out. “As in a date?!”

“Oh God no!” He was really quick to deny that and it hurt you a little bit seeing him so quick to say no. “You are one of my best students, and I would like for you to join a small group of my top proteges this Saturday. We’ll be visiting the National Greenhouse and I think it would be a wonderful chance for you all.”

“Oh, I see.” You said, feeling the humiliation crawling up your neck. “Silly me.”

“Would you like to join?”

“Yeah, sure.” You slumped your shoulders.

“Perfect.” He clapped his hands together in joy. “If you don’t mind I’d like to get your number so that I can add you to our whatsapp group.”

“Yeah, neat.” You took his phone and begrugdingly typed your number. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No, that would be all.” He smiled, looking at his phone. “See you on Saturday.”

･*:༅｡

“So what, now you’re going to this outing or whatever it is with like five other students and him?” Phoebe asked clearly pissed off.

“Yep.” Is all that you could muster.

“But at least you have his number.” Lucy tried to lift your mood.

“But what does that even mean? Nothing.” Phoebe groaned. “She likes him for almost two years, is obvious around him as if she’s carrying a transparent that says ‘marry me’ and the only thing he does is allude to a date but end it as a social gathering for his proteges?” Her eye-roll didn’t go unnoticed. “A bunch of bull if you ask me.”

“Or maybe he is in a position in which he can’t openly ask you out.” A sudden intrusion of another voice made the girls look up and see the waitress come over with their order. “Men are dumb creatures and sometimes they simply need a push when it comes to feelings. My advice to you is to just simply tell him that you’ve liked him for so long and just see where it goes from there.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me back? What if this strains any type of relationship I have with him?” You asked the waitress in the cute and fluffy pink apron.

“Then at least you’ll know what you’re dealing with and will finally get the chance to move on.” She shrugged her shoulders and thanked them for the money they left her for the drinks, walking back to the inside of the shop.

“You know, that girl actually gives good advice.” Lucy commented.

“Must be nice being in a healthy relationship.” Phoebe muttered out watching the girl inside the shop as she smiled politely to some other customers.

･*:༅｡

Saturday had come by faster than you had liked and you dreaded to leave the appartment. The greenhouse group had decided to meet up at the bus station 12 p.m. sharp and from there professor Choi will drive you guys down to the greenhouse and the tour will begin.

And right now, it was 11.30 a.m. Your friends were over and had forced you to wear one of your many long dresses to fit in with the flowers you would see in the greenhouse. It was a soft green dress with a pattern of leaves spread out across it. You sighed for the umptenth time as Lucy had braided your hair in a loose fish braid and looked over at Phoebe who was admiring your roommates ability to ignore all the plants inside here.

“It will never stop to amaze me how you put up with all these plants Mina.” She said.

“It’s not that bad.” She smiled. “I have actually grown fond of them. And y/n takes real good care of them so I don’t mind them.” She laughed. “Plus they are a really good background for photos.”

Mina was a photography major who you shared your dorm with in your second year. You two bonded quickly and when you managed to finish the second year, decided that it’d be great to have your own appartment together. And here you were one year later.

“How are you feeling?” Lucy asked you.

“Nervous. Meh. Disappointed.” You stated turning towards her. “I’ve decided to listen to the advice the waitress at Sugarberry’s had told me. I mean honestly, what could go wrong?”

“The rest of the semester will be pretty awkward if you ask me.” Phoebe nodded her head.

“Like it isn’t now?” You snorted. “I’m just getting tired of having dreamy eyes for my damned professor and being treated like a project for him.”

“A project?” Both Mina and Lucy asked.

“Well this is that isn’t it? His empowering our future or what not. I appreciate the fact that this will help me get my dream job but I literally can’t take this anymore.” You slumped down into the couch.

“Well you better because you have less than ten minutes to get downstairs and to the station.” Mina pointed on the clock and you groaned grabbing your bag and stomping outside of the front door.

“Oh dear, I hope it all goes well.” Lucy commented looking at the other two girls.

Honda Hitomi, Danny Wellbridge, Jackson Wang, Joana Clark. The rest of your outing group was already gathered at the bus station located in front of your appartment complex. You had joined them all just a few minutes before professor Choi pulled up with his car. Joana was the first to call shotgun and sat next to him, while the rest of you evenly pilled in the back. Danny and Jackson in the far back, you and Hitomi in the middle.

“Oh gosh I’m so excited to see all the insects there!” Hitomi squealed in joy.

“I know what you mean.” Danny added from the back.

“I’m just happy about the plants. I heard they’ve updated their western exhibition and added some new types.” Jackson said.

“Really?” You turned to face him. You’ve seen Jackson around campus a few times before. He was the definition of a social butterfly and sometimes even hanged with Phoebe. But you never got the chance to personally get to know him before this trip. “Do you think there would be some rare types of flowers there too?”

“I don’t know. But it would be awesome.” Jackson said matching your enthusiasm. “Hey, you maybe wanna go together to look around?”

The conversation you two were having was caught by professor Choi and he observed you through the rear view mirror, a prominent scowl on his face.

“Hell yeah!” You nodded with a bright smile.

It wasn’t long before you all made it to the National Greenhouse and were at the entrance waiting for your guide. You evaded talking to professor Choi, directing your full attention to what Jackson was talking about, fearing that if you did speak with him now you’ll loose all your courage to confess later on.

“Students, this is Jeong Yunho. He’s an old college buddy that’s in charge of the Japanese garden in the back and he’ll be our guide today.” Professor Choi spoke up cathing all of yours attention.

“Please call me Yunho.” The man with the pale blue hair smiled at you all and waved. “I’ll give you the main tour and then I’ll let you wonder about on your own. I feel that that way you all will go where your interests pull you.”

The tour was wonderful and you and Jackson managed to bond over every neat little plant you could find. Hitomi and Danny gushed so much when you guys ran accross a caterpillar and you then commented on something stupid drawing Hitomi in and befriending her quickly. The tour had come to an end when you reached the center of the greenhouse area and Yunho turned to them all.

“You are free to go off now, but I’d like it if you went in pairs as to not getting lost. These place is large and it’s quite easy to turn the wrong corner.” He said nodding to professor Choi. “The greenhouse closes at 7 p.m. Have fun. I need to get back to work.”

“Thank you.” You all said in union.

“So, where do you want to go first?” Jackson asked as Danny and Hitomi scurried off towards the insect exhibition.

“How about visiting the South European-”

“Mister Wang you should go with Miss Clarck. Your interests seem to be the same and it would be best that way.” Professor Choi cut you off.

“But me and y/n agreed to go together...” Jackson stated.

“Yes, but this is a better suited pair.” He said with a cold smile which made Jackson look at you for help. “Shall we Miss y/l/n?”

This was your chance!

“Sure.” You nodded and looked at Jackson. “I’ll make this up to another day.” You added apologetically and went off after professor Choi.

“So where are we headed?” You asked him.

“A surprise.” He winked at you and it made you blush.

On the way to this ‘surprise’ you have left the greenhouse and moved on to more of a garden scape further back and it just made your heart stop at the beauty of it.

“The interesting fact about the National Greenhouse is that the Botanical Gardens are just a bit behind them, and this is in fact where Yunho works.” Professor Choi stopped and placed a hand on your shoulder pointing in one direction. “See, he’s right over there working on a bonsai tree.”

All the blood rushed up to your ears at the close proximity between you two. The whisper of words made your stomach churn and your legs weak. You needed to get this crush off of your chest soon, otherwise you’ll be stuck fawning over him forever.

As he guided you towards a small garden a flower caught your eye and you stopped getting a closer look.

“A youtan poluo.” You breathed out in a whisper. “And jade vines.”

“That’s right.” He smiled at your shinning eyes. “Welcome to the rare flower exhibit.” He chuckled. “Surprise.”

You looked around and noticed many more which you’ve only seen in books and on the internet. It was a magnificent sight to see and just the aromas which surrounded you had your head doing summersaults.

“I overheard you and Jackson talking in the back while getting here and I remembered Yunho telling me how they’ve updated their rare flower collection, so I thought you’d be happy if I brought you here.” You looked over at this man and his shy sunshine smile. And you’ve decided. It was now or never. “I was right wasn’t I?”

“I like you.” You stated, looking right at his eyes. Professor Choi looked dumbfounded an at a loss for words. The fast blinks were matching his rapid heartbeat but he was unable to form any words. “I’ve liked you for well over two years now professor. All those times you showed sympathy to me and ignored the fact I fell asleep in your class, or those times you would shyly smile when you noticed I was staring at you regardless of where we were. I know you figured this out already. But I just had to tell you.”

“I like you professor Choi Jongho.”

You looked at him with hope in your eyes as he stood there processing this information you had thrown at him. It felt like the minutes were going by in an eternal stupor of movements, his facial expressions changing as he came in terms with what just happened. You were scared, shaking and nervous. You really didn’t know what to expect. But surely you were not ready to get rejected.

“y/n...”

It was clear by the tone with which he said your name and the tears welled up in your eyes. Gosh, you were dumb weren’t you.

“Yeah, I figured.” You stated with a sad smile on your face. “It’s okay. I don’t expect anything from you. I was dumb to even say these things to you.” You sighed and gripped your dress for support. “I think it’s better if I go home now. Thank you for bringing me here today and showing me these flowers.” The tears were now feely falling from your eyes, you unable to control them. “It really did make me happy.”

You ran off without stopping. Not when he called after you. Not when you viciously passed by a worried Jackson. Not even stopping to look at the bus number that had just stopped and getting on it. You cried in the back, not caring about all the stares you were getting from the old ladies.

It hurt. Your heart really hurt.

By some dumb luck you had actually gotten on the right bus and made it back to your appartment complex, you made your way to your appartment and to your room, ignoring the worried roommate who was more than ready to throw hands with a grown ass man. You crawled into your bed, disregarded your plants and just wallowed in your self pitty for the rest of the week.

･*:༅｡

It’s been a whole week and you haven’t left your room except to shower ever since. Jackson and Hitomi had been blowing up your phone, worried after you had just ran out without a word. But you turned off your phone after the fifth call request from Jongho. He had tried calling you that night but you had fallen asleep and the next day when he did call you you cried more getting an earful from Phoebe.

Hell, you dreaded leaving your room just because you knew Phoebe would make you attend all your classes and yell at you for being M.I.A. for a whole week.

“She still hasn’t come out of her room?” Lucy asked Phoebe as they both collected their things to leave class.

“No. Mina leaves food out the door and y/n eats once a day just so she doesn’t die.” Phoebe sighed. “She even neglects her plants Lucy! She never does that. Not even when her grandma died.”

The two were just about to walk out of class when somebody approached them. Lucy’s eyes went wide while Phoebe took on the stance of a dog with rabies. It was apparent he wasn’t welcome.

“Hello girls.” Professor Choi spoke up.

“No offense, but we don’t want to talk to you sir.” Phoebe grumbled out.

“I know, but please hear me out.” He sighed in defeat. The two looked between each other and Lucy urged Phoebe to let the man talk. “I didn’t get the chance to answer y/n properly and she hasn’t been to my class this week. I’d like for you two to help me so I could talk to her and clear up this missunderstanding.”

“What missunderstanding? Her feelings aren’t a missunderstanding. They’re valid and came from the heart!” Lucy was quick to say.

“I know. But my answer was a missunderstanding.” He said sincerely.

Phoebe caught on pretty quickly by what he meant and narrowed her eyes while she got up in his face. She pointed her insex finger in his chest and harshly jabbed at it.

“I got my eye on you buckeroo.” She stated threateningly. “I know how to hide a dead body.”

Jongho gulpped as he, for the first time, took notice of those fierce eyes this girl had. He nodded furiously, almost cracking his neck. Phoebe pulled back and headed for the door, followed by a confused Lucy. Even Jongho looked defeated as he assumed they were leaving.

“Well? Do you want to talk to her or not?”

Mina stared at the plate full of food which she had left this morning. It was late afternoon now and she had just come back from her lectures but the plate was untouched. You haven’t left your room at all.

“y/n.” She whispered out as she knocked on your door. “You need to eat. I don’t want you getting sick...”

No answer. Just like before. She sighed and cast down her eyes as she picked up the tray. A sudden knock on the front door drew her attention and she went to open it, revealing Phoebe and Lucy with an unexpected addition.

“Her room is the one in the corner of the living room.” Phoebe said as Jongho took of his shoes. “He needs to talk with her and I thought you might want to hang with us while he does.”

Mina looked up at the man and nodded, understanding the need for privacy.

“If you manage to get in can you make her eat? She barely had a proper meal this week...” She handed him the tray of food.

“I’ll make sure.”

They left and Jongho went over to your door, noticing how it hand a small potted plant hanging off it. It was cute, something which really suited you. He knocked a few times but there was no answer. With a brave heart and hope that you hadn’t locked you door he tried the knob, happy when it opened.

The inside of your room was covered in darkness, streetlights seeping in through the large windows. Potted plants were in the window and Jongho noticed how they seemed to be lacking water. He took it upon himself to relive the plants of their thirst, leaving the tray of food on your desk.

“Go away Mina. I don’t want to eat.” The bundle of sheets spoke and caught his attention.

It seemed you had made yourself into a taco, some hair sticking out to indicate where your head was. He sat down next to you and placed his large hand on your head.

“Your roommate left a while ago.” He spoke up, catching you off guard. “Before you yell at anybody, I asked your friends to bring me over so that I can talk to you. And I’d like it if you listened to me first before throwing me out.”

Your body stiffened but you kept quiet. You were yet again on the verge of crying but were trying really hard to control yourself.

“I was surprised back at the botanical garden when you confessed your feelings for me. A lot of emotions went through my head and I was dumbfounded for any type of answer at first. I thought how it was wrong for one of my students to fall in love with me, how I should have stopped this crush you had the minute I caught on it... but I just couldn’t do that. I noticed you the first day you had walked into my class, the way your hair swayed with every small movement of your head, how you would soak up every bit of information I gave you like a sponge, even the way you’d chew your nails when stressed.” He sighed when he noticed you calming down and peeked out the covers. “I have liked you since day one y/n. But I though it was wrong and I couldn’t bring you in a situation where you would be involved with your professor.” He chuckled. “To be honest, I would have confessed when you graduated.”

“Really?” You crawled out from underneath the sheets.

“Really.” He nodded with a smile.

“But what does this mean for us now?” You asked, sitting up and letting the covers reveal you whole.

It was only then that Jongho noticed how your hair covered your bare shoulder. The tanktop you were weating hugged your body closely and the booty shorts did not help his eyes to not wander down your bare legs.

“We can try to make this work. You only have one more year ahead of you. As long as we don’t make it obvious I’m sure we’ll survive.” He stated a deep blush covering his cheeks.

“Are you sure?” You asked with a furrowed brow not understanding why he was suddenly so flustered. But then you noticed how his eyes wandered down your body and suddenly you got self concious. “Are you sure that it won’t be-” You pinned him down onto your bed, stradling his waist. “-troublesome for you?”

Jongho gulped and you brought your face closer. It was too cute not to tease him seeing how he got so flustered he began fumbling with his words.

“It may be troublesome if another man come up to you but I think I can handle him.” He said, his face suddenly turning serious. With as much as little effort he flipped you over, so now the positions were reversed. “Just as I can handle you.”

You held your gazes steadily as he lowered his face, mere inches from your lips. But nothing lasts forever. Especially when you don’t eat properly for a week.

Your stomach grumbled loudly and you blushed at the sound. You were hungry, and he knew it. He laughed and pulled you up, bringing over the plate of food Mina had left him.

“I think that it’s best you eat first. And then we’ll figure something out.”

You nodded shyly as you ate slowly, enjoying the comfort he gave you with his caring nature.

･*:༅｡

“Wake up sleepy head.” The soft whisper reached your ears, making you stir under the covers. “You’ll be late to class.”

“I don’t wanna.” You mumbled out.

Jongho chuckled as he climbed into bed with you, messing up the sheets even more. He peppered your face with kisses as giggles left your mouth and you finally cracked open one eye to look at him.

“Did you water the plants?” You asked him, noticing how he had some dirt on his cheek.

“Yeah. Mina asked me to model for her for her graduation project just as I was doing it.” He said, wiggling under the covers so he could hug you. “She wants to portray love.”

“Yeah, she told me last night that she was inspired by us while we were planting strawberries on the balcony.” You reached out to kiss him. “I told her I’d do it, but that she should ask you too.”

“Well good because I answered yes.” He smirked kissing you back. “I’m glad you confessed when you did. Because otherwise I couldn’t be apart of something so wholesome.” He smiled wide. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You answered matching his smile. “I’m just glad I listened to that waitress’ advice. Because you really wouldn’t have been a part of something so wholesome!”

#ateez imagine #ateez #choi jongho #ateez reactions #ateez fic #strawberry

138 notes · View notes

mariacallous · 5 years

Text

“Jean Harlow’s Wedding Night” from Wendy Wasserstein’s “Bachelor Girls”

A man I was engaged to asked me to meet him in Paris. Credit Suisse was putting him up at the George V, he said, and wouldn’t it be pleasant to spend a few evenings together?

Well, that’s not really how the story goes. Actually, this banker I had been dating for two months was planning a business trip to Paris. I knew that New York would be unbearable without him since my career, my friends, my apartment, even my cat failed to provide me with a sense of fulfillment equal to what I felt in his company. So I managed after about three hundred phone calls, and after five days of putting all my other work on hold, to secure a writing assignment in Paris: “A Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Paris in the Springtime,” or whatever.

So that my banker friend wouldn’t dare think I was in Paris just to be near him or that my magazine assignment wasn’t my first priority, I arranged to stay at the Plaza-Athènèe. After all, I mean, why would a person with a room at the Plaza-Athènèe be desperate to spend the night at the George V?

Before my friend arrived, I spent three days in Paris thinking about him. I thought about him at the Musèe Rodin, at the Jo Goldenberg delicatessen, and at a showing of Back to the Future with French subtitles. The day before he arrived I wrote him a note from Madame de Staël, which I ripped up; a note from Simone de Beauvoir, which I ripped up; notes from Empress Josephine, Marie Curie, Desiree, Simone Weil - all of which I ripped up. Finally, I composed a simple and discreet note from myself, and left it in an envelope with his name on it at the front desk of the George V.

My banker friend liked my note. He called to thank me for it and invited me over to see his hotel suite. We stayed together that night in Paris. We ordered up champagne and salmon steak, and my friend asked whether I would mind if he watched the soccer match on TV. I didn’t mind. I’d been anticipating this moment for days. I could easily feign interest in those hyperactive men bobbing balls off their heads.

Eventually we went to bed. It was one of those torrid experiences when I wished I could be replaced by Debra Winger in Urban Cowboy. If only I could pretend he was the mechanical bull at Gilley’s. If only I had that kind of stamina. I was completely and totally smitten.

At 6 a.m. I rolled over on the 38,000-thread cotton sheets and felt him gone. I looked across the room toward the gilded rococo desk - there sat my friend, wearing jogging shorts and a Duke University T-shirt, lacing up his Nikes. His lanky runner’s body and his still youthful locks of curly hair shone in the morning light. I was convinced that I loved him more than any man I’d ever known.

I pulled a sheet around me and walked over to embrace him. I wanted him to know how very safe and protected he was with me, I wanted him to know that he didn’t have to run away at 6 a.m. As I went to press my lips to his head, he smiled boyishly and looked up at me with his very smart and very dear dark brown eyes.

“Honey, I’ve met someone new.”

Suddenly I became preposterously funny. I chatted on and on about the room service at the George Cinq; about the croissants, the waiter, the plates, anything that entered my mind. I had gotten as far as the Ayatollah Last Chance Diet when I finally made him smile. My hurt, my expectations, were none of his business. I wanted to keep the situation light. I wanted to keep it funny.

Most of the time I don’t feel particularly amusing. This is odd only because if you asked almost anyone of my acquaintance to name my outstanding characteristics, the answer you’d get most often would be, “Oh, she’s very funny.”

As a child, given a Saturday afternoon choice between Audrey Hepburn getting kissed in Technicolor on the “Million Dollar Movie” and an “I Love Lucy” rerun in which Lucy and Ethel dress up yet again to perform at Ricky’s Tropicana Club, I would invariably choose Lucy. I was one of those youngsters who cover their eyes and squeal “yuck” when in the end the boy gets the girl. Usually this was because the girl was so boring and what the boy loved about her was that she was so boring. If nothing else, Lucy and Ethel at least got to be lively. At least they were permitted to have runs in their stockings.

I first realized that other people found me funny when in the second grade, after careful practice, I brought down the classroom with my comedic routines on our prospects for lunch. (Vegetable Chop Suey was a highlight.) Through the next several years my satiric gifts allowed me to form alliances with rival “most popular girls in the class” because I was considered good company and had absolutely no interest in vying for their title. I was an elementary school Falstaff.

Being perceived as funny served me well even when it got me into trouble. My comments about Mrs.Haskell, our seventh-grade teacher, whom I was put on earth to single-handedly torture, were apparently so scathing that for an entire semester I was forced to stay after class two hours every day. But I didn’t mind. I still arrived home in time for dinner, and I got a good early start on my homework.

Anyone who is considered funny will tell you, sometimes without your even asking, that deep inside they are very serious, neurotic, introspective people. In other words, Eddie Murphy has the heart of Hannah Arendt and Joan Rivers is really J. Robert Oppenheimer.

Personally I don’t spend much time thinking about being funny. For me it’s always been just a way to get by, a way to be likable yet to remain removed. When I speak up, it’s not because I have any particular answers; rather, I have a desire to puncture the pretentiousness of those who seem so certain they do.

Therapists have on occasion told me to check my impulse to entertain - to stop being funny - and to allow my real emotions to surface. Sometimes this is helpful. But other times the ability to move beyond and above the sadness, even the tragedy, of a particular moment is one of life’s greatest survival mechanisms. There is nothing even vaguely amusing about the truth of the Holocaust, about AIDS, or about the human race’s capacity for self-annihilation. We should be grateful, then, that the minor mishaps of life, such as my ill-fated rendezvous with the banker, can be jostled into a wry position.

That morning in Paris I wasn’t just funny; I was angry, I felt hurt, I had been misled. Of course, I blamed it all on myself. If only I had worn red instead of that floral print, or Opium rather than L’Heure Bleue. If only I had left the note from Madame de Staël.

Later, as my friend showered and got dressed, I joked that I’d better get back to writing that news-breaking magazine article, “No Sex and the Single Girl in Paris.” There’s nothing like a self-deprecating exit line to ease the pain of an unenchanted parting. That morning I could think of many places I’d prefer to Paris in the springtime.

Usually, in fact, I do fall back on work. Work is a way of losing oneself that has plenty of advantages. Work is a way of shutting out ambiguous sentiment. Work is one way out of having to be preposterously funny. But work requires concentration, and, frankly, that morning I felt like Sputnik in orbit.

As a break from an afternoon of countless abortive beginnings, innumerable bottles of Perrier, and repeated rereading of The International Herald Tribune, I decided to call my banker friend at his office just to say hello. I wanted him to know I was fine about it all, and that despite the failure of our romance I wanted to stay friends. Oh please!

“Hi,” my voice squeaked in an unexplored octave. “Just calling to say hi.”

All he said was yes. But it was that kind of “Dear Occupant” yes that one reserves for unsolicited magazine-subscription offers. The more distant he sounded, the stronger my compulsion to entertain.

Soon I was at full-tilt boogie. One-two-three anecdote. One-two-three anecdote. It was a good thing I didn’t know any Chernobyl or Natalie Wood jokes or I would have pulled those out, too. Finally I blurted that if he wasn’t busy or “like had finished his work,” I heard of this hilariously hip restaurant that was a favorite among radical deconstructionist Marxist Chanel models.

He laughed. I had broken through.

“I would love to.” He was almost jovial. “But I have a previous engagement. Actually, right now I’m waiting for the party to call and confirm. Thank you for thinking of me.”

If I were really the clever girl I pose as, I would have said “You’re welcome.” Instead I let him go with a polite “Well, if your plans change let me know.”

I immediately took a taxi to the Jeu de Paume. Fine, as long as I was in Paris I might as well be there for a better reason than a one night stand with “Thank you for thinking of me.” Despite this blow I was still a resourceful and sensitive person. This was apparent because in a time of turmoil I chose a museum over an impulsive shopping spree for, say, Hermès scarves - which, by the way, I don’t really care for.

But no sooner had I arrived at the early Degas collection than I felt a darkness that wouldn’t leave me. I found myself sitting in front of leaping pink horses and sobbing uncontrollably.

In the hope that a rush of endorphins would kick in and calm me down, I left the museum and, to avoid the stares of passersby, retreated to a corner of the Jardin des Tuileries. As i sat there sobbing amid the tourists, the dog walkers, and the students wearing backpacks, I felt as if I’d somehow come in touch with my true self. For a funny person, I felt frighteningly empty. And it wasn’t because i was unlucky in love, alone in a foreign land, or overwhelmed by the beauty of great paints; it was just me - plain, honest, and empty.

And as soon as I recognized this, I heaved another heavy sigh and remembered that I had promised to call my friend Patti in New York to relay every sordid detail of my Paris sojourn. I decided I’d name the evening “Jean Harlow’s Wedding Night” as a tip of the hat to Jean’s unconsummated nuptials. The thought of recounting the story to Patti - from the Brazilian soccer match to the Duke T-shirt at 6 a.m. - cheered me up immensely. With a few minor nips and tucks, my account of the episode could make an amusing cautionary tale.

I wiped my face and went back to the Jeu de Paume. I even hummed a little Cole Porter on the way. I am, after all, a resourceful and sensitive person, and I love Paris in the springtime.

#ooof #this one hit hard #this one hurted a bit #forgive me y'all but I'm back on my (Wendy Wasserstein) bullshit

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aconitemare · 5 years

Text

Hiya! So, I don’t usually travel down abo lane, but I have been just so. in love. with empires’ young alpha Jason from this post. So, here’s a fanfic for a fanfic. Probably not where you were going, but this is where my mind wandered as I was thinking about your drabble. Thank you so much for your wonderful writing <3

Jason drums his fingers on the island counter — smooth, black marble, something out of a Home Goods magazine — as the sizzle and pop of Alfred’s pan accompany the mouthwatering smell of seared onions and green peppers. Dinner will be ready soon, Alfred assures him and Bruce. Bruce insists he is just as hungry as Jason but won’t allow either of them to even eat a protein bar. Steading off the hunger would be rude when Alfred has gone to the trouble of creating them such a wonderful meal.

Bruce doesn’t sit on the stool next to Jason but rather stands on the other side and scrolls on his tablet. Occasionally, Alfred will request that he pass over a utensil or a bottle of seasoning, which Bruce will silently oblige without looking away from his screen. Jason picks at his nails, a habit he hasn’t broken yet even though Bruce has him keeping them at stub-length these days.

“Are you excited for high school, Master Jason?” Alfred inquires. He leans over the stove and gives the pan a slight flip.

Jason rolls his eyes theatrically. “Oh, yeah, totally psyched for homework and peers. Woo,” he says flatly, delivering a solitary, sardonic fist pump.

Bruce finally looks up from his tablet to smile archly and raise a thick eyebrow. “It won’t all just be homework, you know,” he says, “although the homework is important. You’re an alpha now,” he reminds. Something in that statement makes Jason curls his toes; he can’t tell if it’s excitement or anxiety.

“What of it,” Jason asks warily.

Bruce shrugs, innocent. “Well, it’s after one presents that most of their lasting social connections take place. One has a stronger sense of self and can better navigate relations with others.” He makes a show of glancing at Alfred surreptitiously before folding his arms over the counter and leaning towards Jason. “Including the more — romantic of relations.” Then Bruce winks in good humor and straightens up again.

Alfred shakes his head, although he is smiling. “Don’t pressure him, Master Bruce. He’s only fourteen.” He turns the dial on the stove off and turns his attention to the next pan. “Your guardian was quite the omega-killer from the moment he presented. Ugh, he used to come home once a week with a new crush, swooning over the pretty omega in math class with the brown eyes or the one who — and I quote now — ‘smelled like blueberries.’”

Bruce nods, pointing to Alfred. “That was Lucy Tyler. I remember her, actually,” he informs.

“As I’m sure she remembers you,” Alfred replies. “Just remember, Master Jason, not to let your peers pressure you into behaving like a dog just because everyone is starting to present. The best bonds occur between two partners who have known each other for some time and whose appreciation for the other extends beyond the hormonal.”

Jason wrinkles his nose at that last bit. “Gross,” he says decisively.

“Gross, indeed,” Alfred agrees. “Just think about that feeling you get hearing me talk about hormones, and let this memory guide you as you decide whether you want to have The Talk as often as Master Bruce and I had to have it.”

Bruce chuckles. It pleases Jason when Bruce finally holds his finger over the tablet’s power button and lets the screen go black.

Jason shrugs. He doesn’t want to keep talking about hormones. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I already have my omega, so I can wait him out.”

Bruce and Alfred, who had been grinning each other, simultaneously turn to face Jason at his admission. “You have an omega?” Bruce says dubiously, to Jason’s confusion.

“Yeah. Dick,” Jason reminds, because he’s fairly certain everyone knows Dick has been comforting him through his presentation. He’s finally coming out of it, thank God, only just a lingering headache and some awkward sensitivity rather than the heavy fever and painful skin sensation that had characterized the past few weeks. Dick had been with him through the majority of it, rubbing his arms to relieve the intense pressure that built beneath the flesh, laying cool clothes on his forehead, letting Jason nuzzle his throat and breathe in his scent so he felt less combustible. Obviously, Dick is still kind of above him, not just in age but in experience, has the whole vigilante-thing down pat and lives in a cool apartment shaped like a T. But Jason will catch up eventually, that’s the unspoken agreement, and then he’ll be there for Dick, too.

“Dick?” Bruce repeats.

Jason nods, slowly, like Bruce is dumb. He tries not to be irritated — he knows his anger flares up too easily, and that’s been especially true the past two months — but it’s hard. He hates when others aren’t on the same page as him and has to slow everything down, find out where he lost them. “Yeah. That’s why he’s with me all the time, helping me through the whole presenting-thing. He’s going to be my omega.”

Bruce gazes at Alfred, which is rude, so Jason snaps his fingers near Bruce’s cheek impatiently. “Hey, I’m over here.”

Bruce whirls his head around. “Stop,” he orders, the word hitting Jason like a dart stabbing the bulls-eye. Jason’s hand immediately drops. “Do not do that to me. That is disrespectful.”

Alfred has turned off the stove completely. He walks over to the island, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Master Jason, is that what Master Richard told you? That he’ll be your omega?”

The question halts Jason’s ready response. Dick never said that, no, but why else would he be there for him? Well, Jason suspects that Bruce has had a lot to do with Dick’s constant presence, making sure there was — well, an omega to keep Jason level. But that just proves Bruce and Alfred are aware of the situation, right? Was Dick supposed to outright say he cares — in that way omegas care for alphas?

Jason tries to bite his nails, but Bruce gently knocks his hand aside, which is for the best since he’d just be biting reddened skin now.

“Jason,” Bruce says. His voice is firm. “Dick has an alpha.”

Jason feels his heart drop into his stomach.

“Master Bruce — ”

“He does. I don’t know how long it will last, how serious they are — Dick is young, and he keeps me out of his life as best he can — but I don’t think he is waiting for you.”

“That’s a tad harsh, sir,” Jason hears Alfred say through the blood pounding in his ears. Alfred’s voice is much softer than Bruce’s when he continues, “It’s true that Dick is currently preoccupied with an alpha on his team. But that doesn’t detract from the friendship he has with you.”

“Please,” Bruce scoffs, “if it weren’t for me dragging him here half the time, Dick would never show his face.”

So Bruce arranged everything, then. Dick was never here for Jason from the start.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, and now there’s anger undeniably in his voice, “that is most certainly not true. Your current feelings aside, Master Richard cares for the boy. Now if you could please step outside yourself for a moment — ”

Jason doesn’t want to be here anymore. He feels exposed, all his feelings hanging out to dry on a clothesline for everyone to see. He’s an idiot and now Bruce knows he is. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay,” he mumbles before pushing away from the table, hopping down from the stool, and tearing off across the kitchen, into the dining room, and up the stairs. He ignores Bruce’s shout in favor of his bedroom.

Upon reaching his door, he slams it shut and locks it, even though Dick told him last week that the weeks are more a formality and Bruce would find a way in if he wanted to. Jason might actually want Bruce to find a way in, but right now he doesn’t want to want that, nor does he want Bruce to know he stupidly wants someone to comfort him again, so he locks the door.

Bruce doesn’t come for a while. Jason is pretty hungry by then. He wishes he was allowed snacks in his room because he still doesn’t feel like going downstairs, especially not after disappearing for an hour because he was the last to know Dick doesn’t want him to be his alpha.

He wonders who Dick’s alpha is, if they’ve been an alpha for a long time, if they have a strong sense-of-self or whatever. If they’re nice to him, or if they’re one of those alphas that used to slam Jason into walls for his money and push their omegas around on the street so everyone could watch. He hopes Dick doesn’t think he’s like that, or ever going to be like that. A worse thought arrives, however, that Dick might not even care what Jason is like.

A knock sounds at the door.

Jason suddenly becomes aware of the sticky tears on his face and how pathetic he looks, tucked into the corner of a wall. He sucks up through his nose, rubs his face dry, and quietly pads over to his bed to look more casual. Then he relocates to his desk because no one ever cries at a desk. “Come in,” he says once he’s settled.

The doorknob twists to no avail. “It’s locked,” Bruce says from the other side of the door.

Jason snorts. “Like you don’t have other ways of getting in,” he counters. Should have a book open or something? Make it look more believable that he was totally not crying over those dumb, stupid hormones Alfred talked about?

“No ways that come to mind,” Bruce responds. Jason pauses. He grabs a book Bruce gave him, one with Dale Carnegie written on the spine, and cracks it open before heading for the door. He unlocks the door and swings it open. Bruce stands looming over him, although he is no longer the formidable tower he was when Jason first arrived just a year ago. Jason has sprouted up like a beanstalk, or so Alfred says.

“Sorry about dinner,” Jason mumbles, partly to get the awkward apology over with, partly because he genuinely is ashamed. The whole thing is embarrassing.

“Don’t be,” Bruce immediately waves way. Jason steps to the side so Bruce can come in. Straight away, Bruce wanders towards the desk. “I see you’ve started reading the book I bought you,” he mentions. Whether he’s pleased doesn’t show in his face; he merely appears contemplative.

“Oh, yeah,” Jason says. Quickly, he tries thinking of another topic to switch to before Bruce can ask him if he likes the book. Fortunately, Bruce doesn’t seem overly interested in that path of conversation.

Bruce folds his hands behind his back. His gaze all but physically seizes Jason. “I can understand where you misunderstood your friendship with Dick. You had a high fever during your presentation — higher than most people experience, though still perfectly within the range of normal — and even if you didn’t, touch goes a long way psychologically during the first cycle.

“Truthfully, as physically prepared as I was for your presenting, I don’t think I was mentally prepared. I should’ve put more thought into sending Dick as often as I did.”

Jason has backed into his bed now, so he sits down with a flump that probably gives away how upset he still is. “You forced him to comfort me,” Jason surmises.

Bruce visibly winces. “Not exactly. I should have never given you the impression Dick didn’t want to see you.” Bruce pauses here to take a deep breath before smoothing down his shirt and sitting beside Jason on the mattress. “Honestly, if it were just because I told him to, I doubt Dick would’ve visited at all. We’re not on the best of terms right now,” Bruce confesses.

Jason widens his eyes and says, “No way!” as sarcastically as he can manage around the concrete in his throat. He swallows the lump down afterward. He wants to cling to Bruce’s assurance that Dick cares, but in the back of his head is the entire Teen Titans team. Half his mind is on this conversation with Bruce, the other half trying to deduce which one could be Dick’s alpha.

Bruce chuckles nonetheless at Jason’s quip. “Yes, a surprise to all, I’m sure,” he muses. Then Bruce’s expression sobers. Their eyes lock. “Listen, Jason. Feelings are only going to complicate as you get older and your presentation settles. Life is going to complicate in general, for a myriad of reasons, and the least of those complications is going to be over some omega.” Bruce nudges Jason’s arm with his own, smiling sympathetically. “The worst part is that omega problems sometimes do feel like the greatest problems you have because they fire all these signals — ” Bruce taps a finger on his head — “in your brain. But you’re Robin now. That will always be your first priority. Dick lost sight of that. Don’t follow his example.”

Jason nods, but he might’ve lost track of this conversation. He can’t tell if they’re still talking about him thinking he had a claim to Dick, if there’s some other thing Jason messed up on with Robin. That makes him anxious, but he doesn’t dare ask about it. He doesn’t want to call attention to what might be one of his flaws, especially if they might cost him the mantel. “Okay. Yeah,” Jason agrees and licks his lips. He gets the impulse to lift his fingers to his teeth, but somehow catches himself this time. There’s just the twitch of his fingers, barely perceptible.

Who’s he kidding, it’s Bruce. But he doesn’t lift his fingers. That’s what counts.

“Hey, uh, who is Dick’s alpha?” The burning question nearly flays his throat on the way out.

Bruce half-smiles and ruffles his hair. “Don’t let this keep you up at night, okay, hotshot? You’ll come into your own, don’t you worry.”

Jason shoves Bruce’s hand away but returns the smile. “I’m not worried. I’m hot. Plus, I’m Robin, dude.”

And Dick is Nightwing, which is almost as cool, and leads his own superhero team, which is even cooler. But Jason doesn’t feel like getting into that, not when Bruce is obviously trying not to make a conversation about Dick about Dick. It’s whatever.

“That’s the attitude,” Bruce praises. “Now come downstairs and eat your dinner. It’s cold, but we can warm it up and I bet it will still taste stellar. Alfred’s a fantastic chef, no matter how humble he pretends to be so we compliment him more.” Bruce says with a wink as he stands.

Jason stands, too, breathing in through his nose again to make sure there’s no leakage. “I’m starving. Also, I’m telling him you said that.”

Bruce opens the door he had closed earlier behind him. He looks at Jason, scandalized. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Dick still thrums in the back of his mind, but Jason can keep him quiet long enough for dinner, probably.

#jaydick #jason todd #dick grayson #fanfiction for the void #dc #abo cw

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fallen029 · 5 years

Note

Miraxus Vampire AU? Pretty please?

The house sat high atop a hill, as Gothic as it was decrepit, a wrought iron gate wrapping around the sprawling property. It served it’s purpose, separating the tiny town in the valley from it’s contents, but truly, it was a bit pointless. No one step foot on the property.

Not willingly, at least.

That’s the villagers informed them of, when they answered the request. For fifty years, they’d suffered in relative silence, so they claimed, but no more. The house had been rather quiet, for half a century, if not more, and honestly, they claimed, the storied history of the Strauss Manor began to feel just like that; a story. A fable. Something their parents had terrified them with because their own had done the same to them.

The fear that surrounding it had begun to die down until, the youngblood of the tiny village didn’t fear it at all. Not when they reached their teens. It became a bit of a game, really. To see who could sneak away from their homes in the middle of the night, make the short trek up the hill and to the property. First, who could touch the gate. Then who could open it. Would someone step a foot in? Next thing you now, a few of the local teens were breaking into the mansion.

“It was horrific. The scream.” That’s what one of the women in the village insisted to Laxus Dreyar as he stood there, as full of disbelief as he was excitement over this new interesting case. Thieves, bandits, highwaymen; boring shit. This? This was something new. Something he’d never heard of before. He tried not to show his interest too heavily, given the villagers seemed so freaked, but as that woman sobbed over her tale, it was hard not to just rush right out to begin the investigation. “The boys, they came running back, fast as they could. Three of them went. My son, the boy next door, and another, but he…he did not return.”

“Why,” Freed, one of Laxus’ three understudies began, “did no one go and look? Up at the mansion? Surely you do not believe-”

“Stagnancy,” another in the crowd, a man, insisted, “breeds complacency. We forgot the stories. We stopped believing. But… They are there. In their mansion. They were asleep, but now, their slumber is over.”

“Uh-huh,” Evergreen, the only female of the ground, hardly glanced up from filing her nails. She wasn’t nearly as excited about traveling all the way out there for what she was sure was just a tragic accident. Teens playing around in a rundown building. Nothing good ever comes from that sort of thing. They’d find his body in the basement or something, having fallen through a hole in the floor, and that would be that. “Stagnancy. Sure.”

“But,” Freed continued to insist because he always seemed so serious about everything, “if you had just gone to look-”

“Even to look,” the woman insisted to them, “is to be cursed. They will come down from their mansion, when it is time to feast, and they will…will… Please, you must help us. You must do something. These…monsters will-”

“They’re not monsters.” That came from Bickslow, the last of the bunch, who’s tongue wobbled out of his mouth in his excitement. It wasn’t able to be contained, not in him. No way. He’d only dreamed of something like this his entire life. From the time that they got the request, it was all he could do not to die right then and there because he would never be happier. Not an ounce. “They’re vampires.”

Freed didn’t believe in vampires. None of the other believed in them. They were just a silly little ragtag team of young adults who’d met a few years back, all through Laxus. He was running a little business in a small town, taking on odd jobs and requests from the villagers. Anything from repairing a sprinkler system to solving petty crime, Laxus was down with it.

He had to be. Any source of money was all he needed. He’d been kicked out, in his late teens, of the group home his grandfather ran for unwanted children. There was no hard feelings there. Not anymore. At one time, his grandfather thought that Laxus could assist him in running the joint, but… Laxus just had other plans.

Or at least he was forced to when he found himself out on the street with only the skills he’d picked up from the group home to keep him company. He knew all the ins and outs of fixing plumbing issues, laying drywall, all sorts of things about electricity and getting the shit shocked out of him. He could figure out who stole from Gray, one of the typical troublemakers at the home. It was usually just Natsu, the other troublemaker. He could resolve rifts between the whiny little shits like Lucy and Cana, stop bullies like Erza from forcing the other kids to do terrible things, like actually learn how to read.

He could have run the fuck out of that place. Got all those kids homes.

But…he and his grandfather just couldn’t get along.

And maybe he didn’t want to get them homes. Give them a home, even. Not when he was still all fucked up about his own parents. His grandfather, Makarov, he was good at making amends with his demons, fucking up his own son how he had. He raised up other children, even his own grandson, in retribution and he found it.

Laxus just…had to do something different. Find his own path.

So he moved away and started his own business. With the only skills he knew. He settled spats around town, fixed anything that broke, and grew his brand. He picked the others up along the way.

Freed was the first one. A smart little shit that worked at the library Laxus frequented, when he was checking local records (land disputes were common), and he was treated like crap by the head librarian. Laxus saw talent though. And someone that he could get to do all the readin’ and stuff that he didn’t want to.

Evergreen was a bit different. She, uh, well, she and Laxus, well, uh, well… Well. They were gonna hook up one night, after Laxus met her at a bar, but she was just so fucking depressing. Atop the alcohol that was already dampening the mood, they ended up just sitting around on his couch after sloppily making out and she mentioned that she was looking for work and, well, he wanted someone to stick around the little building he’d begun to rent out, to be a receptionist or whatever. He needed one he wouldn't’ be tempted to, uh, ‘harass’ or whatever and, well, Ever was no longer someone he was interested in.

At all.

Then Bickslow, that freak, that fucking freak, Laxus had no idea what the fuck happened there. One minutes, the weirdo is standing in the little office, preforming some sort of circus act, it seemed like, juggling these little wooden babies, as he tried hard to convince them that he should be allowed to join up, because who didn’t need an acrobat in their act?

“We’re not an act, you dingus,” Evergreen had complained over from her desk as she fanned herself. “We’re- Hey!”

“You’re,” Laxus told him with a handshake after the Mohawked man threw one of the wooden dolls right at Evergreen, hitting her squarely in the face, “hired!”

They were a strange group, to say the least. But over the past few years, they’d become his group. His business was booming and they were getting requests from all about, high and low. If you wanted it, they could do it for you. Help build a house? You’re in luck. They could slap some wood together. Need a party clown for your gross kids birthday? Not only was Laxus great with kids, but it was literally the only talent Bickslow brought to the table. And now, apparently, after receiving a desperate letter in the mail, they were vampire hunters.

“This is so great,” Bickslow hyped them up as they hiked up the hill and Evergreen had only come along because how could you pass up a vacation from a rinky dink town to go tour a mansion? But even as the building only loomed in the sunlight, she could tell it was not somewhere she’d like a glimpse inside. “Actual vampires. You know, we had some of them, in the circus, that my parents worked in.”

“Bull shit,” Ever told him and Freed only sighed because he didn’t want to hear about the stupid circus again.

It was all Bickslow talked about. His tragic, tragic backstory. Tent fire, bunch of deaths. You could only hear it so many times before it just got to be too much.

“We did,” the man insisted with a tongue wag. “You believe me, eh, boss? Vampires?”

Laxus just walked along, heavy boots crunching everything in his path. With his headphones in, he could hardly hear those morons and their banter. They were his group, his team, his people, his friends, but damn were they annoying.

The sun was high in the sky as they arrived at the wrought iron gates and there was no fear in any of their bellies. Just a mix of interest and wonder as the three who didn’t believe couldn’t understand how those down in that rundown little village could let such a massive mansion fall into decay. Shameful, really.

“Vampires,” Bickslow whistled low, “definitely live here.”

Reaching for the gate, Laxus easily opened it as Evergreen muttered something about tetanus.

“They’ll be in their coffins,” Bickslow was going on. “Sleepin’ away the daylight hours. We just open it up, ya know? The lid? And then we jab ‘em! Right through the heart. Crinkly old bastards, vampires are. The ones at my circus-”

“I do not,” Freed complained, finally, aloud, “want to hear any more about your circus.”

“Talkin’ is my copin’ mechanism.”

“Then find,” Ever retorted, “a new one.”

“I used to talk to myself a lot,” he whispered softly. “Before you guys.”

Laxus was only focused on the fact that the yard was so overgrown and, as he walked through the high weeds, he could feel little burrs sticking to his jeans as he went about. His eyes were only across the property though, focused on the heavy wooden doors rather than the broken out windows and the sun chipped paint.

“They said, down in the town,” Bickslow went on then, “that they see lights now. Now that those kids woke up the vampires. Ah, man, we shouldda came at night. Just one night. To see. Before we kill ‘em. I’d like to meet one, one day, you know, a vamp-”

“I thought,” Evergreen complained, “you just spent forever and a fucking day telling us about how you had met one?”

‘W-Well, I just meant-”

“You’re so full of shit, Bickslow, that-”

“Let me explain! Sheesh, boss, can you believe this? Won’t even let a man explain himself. Some people-”

“There is a person!” Freed was rarely one to exclaim, but he had to then, in shock. The others were all focused on the house, but his eyes had drifted, across the yard, over to the big oak tree that grew with little abandon, with no one to trim it. There, at it’s base, sat a young teen, staring right over at them. “I bet that’s the boy. The one who they have been missing.”

“Hey!” Laxus finally spoke as he turned to yell out to the boy. “Kid! We’re lookin’ for ya. Your family’s real worr- He’s a runner!”

“On it, boss!” Bickslow took off then, through the high grass, chasing after the kid who only ran around the house, obscuring the others vision. Freed was the next to give chase and Laxus cautioned them as Evergreen only rolled her eyes.

“I told you,” she said to Laxus as they stood there and waited for the pair to either come back empty handed or with the teen in tow, “that there were no vampires. Don’t you feel silly now? For coming all the way out here?”

Snorting, Laxus only crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Waited some more. Even more. Eventually, he and Ever were glancing at one another.

“Hey, guys?” Laxus called out as he began to walk then, the direction in which they’d run, Evergreen groaning, but not following. “If you can’t get him, that’s fine! Just come back and we’ll go explain down in the village, yeah? Freed? Bickslow? Look, morons, you’re not gonna freak us out, so just come on. The sooner we get out of here, the better. This places gives me the damn creeps. Those fuckin’ villagers are spooked about something, that’s for sure, and I’d really like to not stick around for them to turn on us or something. Who the hell lives like the middle ages? Huh? Didn’t even see any damn electricity in the whole damn village. Oil lamps like the stone ages. Something’s not right here. Something…”

He was just talking to himself then, he knew, as he rounded to the back of the overgrown property only to find no one there. Not a soul. His blood ran cold and something wasn’t right, because they wouldn’t have chased the kid into the woods, would they have? Maybe…inside? Turning to look at the back porch, Laxus considered walking up it, to the door there, and trying it, but something else caught his eye.

Cellar doors. They laid raised from the ground, no doubt housing a set of stairs that led to a little basement like room beneath the property. An old mansion like that, having a cellar wasn’t too spectacular or anything. But one of the doors was open and maybe the teen had gone down there? And Freed and Bickslow followed? And…

He stood over it then, Laxus did, a sick feeling forming in the pit of his stomach as he did so. He felt transfixed, no longer on finding his cohorts, but rather on climbing those rickety stairs down, deep into the earth, and looking for himself. What was beneath there. It felt like something was calling to him, drawing him deeper and deeper into the darkness and he had a flashlight, pinned to his belt, which he turned on once he got down to the bottom of the stairs. Shining his light all about, he found the landing beneath the stairs just to be empty. The wall before him, however, housed a door, and trying it, he felt his breath jumping out of his breath as the knob turned with the difficulty of age and lack of lubricant.

It was so cold down there. Damp. It was dusty and gross and no doubt at least one venomous spider was hanging on a web somewhere, just waiting for a schmuck like him to come around to infect, but he moved forwards into the new room regardless. It felt mostly empty as well, but there stood, on raised little platforms, three long, wooden boxes. No. Not boxes. He couldn’t say what they were because it would freak him out too much, he might panic, but he knew.

He fucking knew.

“Stakes,” Bickslow had insisted before they left town for the jobs. “We all need stakes.”

He’d whittled them, out of wood himself, the acrobat insisted, and made them both promise to drive them through the hearts of anything they thought didn’t have one.

“What,” Evergreen had complained, “does that even mean?”

Who knew?

But Laxus did, in that moment, as he approached the three coffins. Shining his light on the center one, he knew what he had to do. Reaching out, his hand fell on the splintering wood and lifted slowly. A body was in there. Slender. Feminine. But just as he was about to shine his light over the face, to get a better look, he felt something behind him.

“Ever?” he asked as he start to twirl around, but no, it wasn’t. IN a split second, he could tell it was the teen from before. “Hey, what-”

He struck Laxus, hard, in the back of the head with a blunt object. And then the man saw nothing.

His eyelids were heavy and he was groggy and the world felt like it was spinning at the man opened his eyes. Laxus could smell something sweet in the air, scented candles burning, soft and delicious and Ever was into that shit. Aromatherapy. She burned all sorts of things in office.

Did he fall asleep at work again?

“Are you awake?” There was a soft sigh of an unknown woman then, from somewhere else in the room, and Laxus felt like his head was pounding. “Good. I’ve been waiting for some time. And I don’t like waiting.”

His head lulled to one side then and, as he blinked away the blurriness, he could make out a woman sitting there, on the edge of a bed, a wine glass clutched in one hand as she stared over at him with bright blue eyes.

Her shocking white hair only highlighted just how pale her skin was and had he slept with this woman? Fucking hell, what a pick up. He’d been in a bit of a slump, since his last break up, and even surrounding towns hadn’t really produced much for him. His drunk ass had followed home a lot of less desirable, but this…man, this was something even Evergreen would have to admit was pretty damn amazing.

As he moved to raise his hand though, to his forehead, to stroke back his hair and maybe even stand, he found this impossible. Panic filling him then as he tried to move, tried to get up, Laxus found he was chained to a chair and fuck, it all came back to him as the woman only rose, glass still cupped in her hand, and giggled, softly, sweetly, and…and…

“Where the fuck,” he growled at her as in the glint of the moon shining in through an opened window, she flashed in a toothy smile, long, pointy fangs and all, “are my friends?”

“Take a breath, my dear. My, don’t you just look ferocious when you’re angry though?”

He was seething, still trying desperately to break his chains and what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. How was he here? Why was he here? Was this a dream? It had to be, right? He’d hit his head on a beam or something, down in the cellar, yeah, and then…then…

“You have no idea how…happy and pleased you’ve made me,” the white haired woman was telling him then as she only came closer. “Showing up on my doorsteps like this. I would assume it a gift from a god, but then, I’m not exactly friendly with most gods.”

“What,” he growled as she was before him then, grinning happily down at him, “are you?”

“I’m timeless. Ancient, yet newborn with each passing day. A true beauty. A-”

“Abomination.” He turned his head when she ran her cold fingers down the coarse stubble that laid along his jawline. “You are an-”

“Hush, my love.” She looked away from him then, down at her cup. “There will be plenty of time for such things later. Such spats. Hateful, hurtful comments. It always comes, eventually. Before the end. And I will end you. Look-zus, was it? That’s what the green-haired man told me. A gift as well, he will be. A much better servant for the coming decades than that horrible teenager. Ugh. Boys. I need men. Real men. And look, two have just fallen perfectly into my lap.”

He spit, Laxus did, hitting her square in the cheek. For a moment, he saw it. A flash of something darker within the white haired woman. But then it was gone and she only reached up to touch her cheek, ghosting her finger tips over the sticky saliva there.

“Oh, my golden dragon.” That time, her hand came to run her fingers through his hair and he froze, as she leaned down, the gleam of the single fang she was showing him then, as she turned her head, blinding the man. “Hair like…lightning. I saw you and I just knew. I knew. Deep within myself. I knew that I had to keep you. Laxus. Hmmm. It feels heavy on my tongue. Yoru name. Nice. And heavy.”

“If you’re going to…eat me,” he whispered tersely as he shivered in the cold night air, “then just fucking do it.”

And she laughed that time, more than she giggled, removing her hand from his head and taking a step back.

“What exactly do you think you’re here for, Laxus?” She went to the window then, staring out of it with a long sigh. “I feel you have misunderstood my intentions.”

“You’re a…vampire.” The word felt childish and foolish, even being presented with all he was.

“If that’s the word you choose, sure, I suppose I am.”

“Then drink my blood and be done with it.”

“I do not mean to…feed on you, Laxus.” She huffed some, glancing over at him. “I have not your friends either.”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s the truth.” Shaking her head some, she whispered, “I had no intention of harming that boy that came here. Boy.”

It was her turn to spit, down on the ground, by her feet. He took stock of her then, Laxus did, from head to toe, from her striking dress to the way it was cut, just right, at the top, to extenuate her…well… It felt gross and weird to be so turned on as he could only really consider his death.

Still, the woman only said, “We stopped hunting them long ago. After my brother’s…accident. And I never enjoyed it anyways. Those people. Vile. Inbred. Gross. I hunt far from here and hardly ever come home. Just to check on my siblings. My brother’s…accident made it difficult for him to do much. My sister stays and cares for him and they have little desire to mess with those wretched people either. But then they come into our home and what is supposed to be done, I ask you? My sister, Lisanna, she did all she knew to. She didn’t feast on his gross, sick blood. She turned him. Into a servant. It’s what I’ve done with your green-haired friend. With him now, I have little need for the teen. Let’s just say my last…helper caught a bad break. Your green-haired friend will do just fine.”

“Freed…you fucking monster.”

“He’ll be much happier now, than he would have been, before. As a mortal.” She shrugged some. “Smart man, he is. I can always tell. That other one though…that boy…the jester-”

“Bickslow.”

“I did not turn him. I had no need.”

“What do you mean?”

But she offered no explanation.

“That woman,” she went on instead, “she was a tricky one, but my brother will be quite pleased.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you, my love, must learn quickly how to talk properly to your mistress. Least you make me angry.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, Laxus.” But her eyes were locked on the moon. “How many days will it take to break you? Not too many, I hope. Else I might get angry.”

“Why haven’t you turned me?” he asked then and he started shaking again, in his bolted down chair in the bedroom of the sullen vampire. “Like my friends? What the fuck are you going to do to me? Huh? Answer me! You fucking-”

“My brother doesn’t mind servants. And my sister…she was still…young, when we became… She has no need for me.” She downed the rest of her cup then, the woman did, before turning to look at him fully again. “But even queens of darkness have needs, my love.”

Jerking one last time, hard, against his chains, Laxus was spent and, bowing his head, he tried hard not to weep. She made a noise then, int eh back of her throat, before coming closer.

“Oh, poor Laxus.” She ran her fingers through his hair again, but he refused to lift his head. He couldn’t. “You never should have come here. Yet I am so glad you have.”

He slept uncomfortably through the night and into the next morning. In the light of day, Laxus spent as much energy as he could, pulling at the chains and cursing, but he felt hopeless then and, without any food or water for over twenty-four hours at that point, he felt a bit weak too. Or…had that woman given him something?

When he awoke again, it was to the night, and she was in there once more, the woman. But she wasn’t alone.

“-change the linens and there is a river, on the back of the property, for you to wash things in,” she was listing to Freed as he stood by, nodding in all the correct places. “And your friend…Bickslow was it? He must be fed. He is not…turned. I do not know if he can be trusted to make a trek out to get himself supplies, so if you would do so for him, this would perhaps be the most helpful. He seems…off. Yet, Lisanna seems quite taken with him. He will make a nice little playmate for her, I think. And…will need you to procure me a specific brand of wine. It is only sold in- Your friend is awake.”

They both turned, Freed and the woman did, from where they stood by her dresser. Laxus could only blink though as he felt tears well in his eyes. Freed’s however, was void. Dark. Different.

“Freed, man,” he whispered softly, “what the fuck did she do to you?”

He glanced to the woman, Freed did, and when she nodded, he only moved forwards.

“Mistress has been kind of enough to grant myself and Evergreen life eternally, so long as we serve her and her siblings faithfully.” Bowing to the man, Freed assured him, “There will be no greater joy in my life than-”

“We’re fucked, man. Fuck. Fuck. Where’s Bickslow? Bickslow!” Laxus throat burned and he turned his head back, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Where are you? Bicks-”

“Oi, boss, what’s with all the noise, eh?”

The bedroom door opened then, but it was just out of vision for the man. Still, he heard his voice then, his clear voice, not like Freed’s, Bickslow.

“Bickslow.” That was a new voice. And in to the room came another woman, the younger sister, no doubt, that the woman had spoken of. “You have to knock. Sis, I’m sorry. He’s not very trained yet-”

She just huffed some, the woman did, as she lifted a wine glass from where it sat on the dresser and pressed it to her lips.

“Ah, sorry ‘bout that, Ms. Boss.” Bickslow came further into the room, his back to Laxus as he saluted the vampire. She merely nodded at him. “See, the main boss here, he’s known to get in his head a little bit, yeah? Just give me a sec, and I’ll-”

“Bickslow, what the fuck is going on?” Laxus tugged at his chains as he saw another one of them, a white haired vampire, come to peek at him. She was younger than the main one he’d been speaking to. Early twenties at most. She grinned, bemused at him. “Are you insane?”

“Well…yeah, boss, but not about this.” He gestured about then, between the two sisters. “There’s never been nothin’ I wanted more than to meet some real life vampires. Or werewolves. Are those real?”

“They’re not,” the younger woman answered for him. Then she looked to her sister. “Right?”

But the older merely shrugged, her blue eyes still on Laxus. The golden haired man felt like he was going to faint.

“Well, Lisanna here, she was gonna turn me into her little slave and let me tell you, I bow unwillingly to no man!” But then Bickslow winked. “Willingly though, I found the perfect siblings to bow to. My Ms. Boss over here, my mistress. Queen of the night! Darkness! A what a beauty-”

“Uh, Bickslow.” The younger one didn’t seem to pleased. “I was the one that was going to turn you.”

“Of course, Lissy.” And he was quick to nod at her. “The kid here, well, she appreciate it. My jugglin’ and jokes. My flips and turns. It’s gig, yeah? She says I can be her own personal jester. I’ll always be an acrobat at heart, of course, but if only Ma and Pa could see me now. What would they say? Huh? What-”

“You fucking psycho,” Laxus growled at him and he would have hit him, if he could, but alas, his chains only felt heavier by the minute. “Bickslow. Fucking sick.”

“You do what you gotta do,” the man told him then, solemnly, with a shake of his head, “to survive.”

“I’m not going to be that way.” Laxus dark eyes found the main woman’s then. “Like him. Submit to you? Fucking sick. Never. You better just kill me. Or let me go. Whatever. Freed, Ever…they’re gone. And Bickslow want sto be here, fine. But just let me go and I’ll never come back. I’ll never-”

“Boss, you’re the lucky one.” And Bickslow beamed at him. “Can’t ya tell what she wants you for?”

“Lucky?” The youngest, Lisanna, was not feeling the vibe her jester was putting down. “You know, suddenly, I’m a bit hungry-”

“Ah, nah, Lissy, you ain’t ever even seen me do a back flip off the upstairs banister out there. Don’t ya wanna at least see that first?”

And they were chasing one another out of the room then, Lisanna and Bickslow, while Freed stood by emotionless and the woman, the mistress, only continued to take sips of her drink.

“I won’t do that. I swear it. Submit to you. Like a little bitch. You’re a little bitch, Bickslow,” Laxus growled after the man, but he was long gone. “Pathetic. I’m not pathetic. So just kill me. Do it! Kill me!”

She finished her glass, the woman did, before looking to Freed.

“Leave us, if you will, please,” she said simply as he bowed deeply to the woman before doing so. “And draw me a bath, if you would. There’s a well on the property. Then heat up the water over the- You understand, don’t you? Smart man. I appreciate you so much already.”

When he left, Freed drew the bedroom door closed and they were alone once more. Advancing on Laxus, the woman’s eyes stayed locked with his and he was going to spit at her again. He wanted to. When she leaned down so that her face was even with his though, he felt something different bubbling up instead of him.

“You,” she whispered as, with one hand, she reached to paw at the front of his jeans and, with the other, she moved to stroke at his jawline again, “will do as I say.”

He’d heard about it before. The hold that vampires had on the opposite sex. They could control them. Charm them. That’s what must have happened to him. Yes. She charmed him. Fucking vampire. Demon. Abomination.

But as he found himself falling into bed with her, his mind didn’t feel fogged. It felt clear.

Fucking gross.

The whole thing.

Awaking alone in bed, Laxus felt wrong and different and his mind was all cloudy, but when his blinked the blurriness away, he only sat Freed, standing there, by his bed.

“The Mistress has left a short list of things for you to do today.”

Not his bed. Right. Shit.

“Fuck your mistress.”

“Our,” Freed corrected and his voice was cool as he stood, hands clasped behind his back, “Mistress.”

“What the fuck did she do to you, man?”

He had no answer for him. Instead, the green-haired man merely said, “She wishes for you to go down into the village and inform then that you found their boy. The teenager.”

“I can’t return him to them as one of her servants.”

“He is not any longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“He had an accident. In the house. The other teens go spooked and ran away, leaving him there. “

“Freed-”

“You will find him with his neck crushed, downstairs.” Turning to walk away, the other man added, “Carry him to the village and tell them there is no vampire. But you will return, to this mansion, afterwards. Tell the villagers you have decided to live here, along with your friends, as a returning the body to them. If anyone causes you trouble, leave. The Mistress will deal with them harshly, should this be the case.”

“Fuck that. And fuck you, Freed. Do you hear me?”

No.

Freed would never hear again.

Eventually, Laxus shoved out of bed and stumbled back into his clothes. Then, storming out of the room, he set out to end things, once and for all. But at the bottom of the staircase, he found him there. Bickslow. Just sitting on the bottom step, playing absently with a little pearly white kitten.

“The kid, Lisanna,” he explained without being asked, “as a cat that just had a litter. Was never a cat person, but she let me name them. This one is Pappa! Then there’s one named Poppo and Puppu and-”

“Bickslow what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“A lot of things, I guess, boss.” He sighed some and looked tired as he didn’t even glance after the man. “A lot.”

“You understand what’s happening here, right?” As he got to the bottom step, Laxus only walked around Bickslow before turning to face him. “Freed…poor Freed, but Evergreen is being controlled and…raped. I guess. By these monsters. Do you understand that?”

“He ain’t rapin’ her, boss. I’ve seen the brother.” Bickslow snorted. “He just cries and sobs about his injury and how great his sister is and all this and that. Lisanna finds him borin’ and so do I. Ever just sits beside him all day and listens. I think you’re the one that got raped, actually, boss, if we’re being technical. The rest of us are just prisoners.”

“I didn’t… Shut up! And you’re not a prisoner.”

“Nope,” he agreed with a nod, Bickslow did. “’cause I’m the smart one.”

“Is that what you think?”

“That’s what me and my babies now,” he insisted as he nodded over to a box nearby where, when Laxus glanced in it, he found the rest of the kittens snoozing peacefully.

Fucking hell.

He found the body of the teen in the entryway and Laxus felt bad for the teen and what they’d done to him, but he couldn’t help him. He hadn’t been able to the whole time. But as he stepped over him and walked out the front door of the mansion, he hoped to help the entire world. Rid it. Of the evil.

This time he took the steps down two at a time into the cellar and it was pitch black down there, but he found his flashlight, down on the ground, in the coffin room. Flicking it on, he went to hers first. The Mistress. Threw it open and he was going to drive a stake right through her heart. End this. He had to end this. He had to…he…

Falling forwards, he rested his head, instead, into her chest, burying it there, like he had the night before and he was a goner, he knew. Charmed. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t do it.

“She will not be pleased,” he heard softly from behind him, the voice of what was once his most trusted friend, “if you do not do as asked.”

What choice did he have? Being charmed and all.

They were going on a trip. Him and her. A few days later. The Mistress insisted upon him accompanying her and Freed was going to stay behind, to be certain of things. Lisanna griped some, as she felt like she was being given a babysitter or something, but her sister only insisted and Laxus had yet to meet the brother, but he felt like that was for the best.

“You will meet me,” was all the Mistress instructed Laxus, “in Livingston. A town three over. Close to the bay.”

“Meet you?” he asked with a frown. “How will you get there?”

But she said nothing and as he set off into the night, he could have sworn her heard the shrieking of a bat overhead.

It was nearly sunrise, when he arrived, and Laxus was at least a bit curious as to how this would all play out, but the Mistress had an apartment there, in town, which she took him to. A coffin awaited her there.

“Freshen yourself up, for the evening,” was the one instruction she left him with. “We will be going out.”

He had so many questions. A lot of them. Ones that had been tugging at his mind for days at that point. But charmed and all, he could merely do as she asked.

When they left that night, they went even further out, to another town, taking the train there. When they arrived, the Mistress took him to a bar, where she mostly ignored him. Until, eventually, she told him to go rent her a specific room at a specific hotel.

“Wait for me there.”

And, well, charmed.

He was sitting at the desk when she came in. With another man. Laxus stared at her in shock and started to protest, as well did the man she was with, but she silenced both before they could even speak.

“He watches.” She eve shrugged. “He likes it.”

“He what?” the newcomer questions, but she just rolled her eyes, the Mistress did, and whispered something the blond man didn’t catch, and in the dim light of only the candles Laxus had lit, per her instructions, he saw the other man’s eyes…change. To something different. And the newcomer just nodded, following the Mistress as she led him over to the bed and shoved him right down.

Laxus didn’t want to though. Watch. It felt…wrong and gross and he was kind of, maybe, just a little…jealous?

Was that it?

He didn’t have long to contemplate it. The Mistress had shimmied out of her dress and the man had only tugged the shirt over his head before she pounced on him and it seemed so passionate, their hungry kisses. As he squared his jaw, Laxus found himself watching with dark eyes.

But something happened, when they broke apart. It looked like she was going back in, for another kiss, but her head missed and when it found his neck, Laxus could only hear the loud wail of pain from the man as, presumably, her teeth sunk deeply into his flesh.

Everything that had happened over the past few days felt sick and made him much the same, but this? This was by far the worst.

It went on for a few minutes. Was this…feed? He was horrified at the thought.

When she finally lifted her head, the bottom half of her pale white face was stained red with dripping, thick, hot blood and Laxus rose, to his feet, frozen afterwards though, as she merely got to her feet herself.

“Once a week,” she told him simply, “we shall do this.”

“Always,” he found his voice, softly, “men?”

“Whatever you’d like, my love.”

And he could only nodded, softly, as she wiped at her face with the back of her hands, smearing the blood across her.

The sickness was gone, as bad as that sounded, when she approached and he reached for her, and it was just so good, as they fell into bed together with the lifeless man beside them and he was fucked, he was so fucked, it was all fucked.

“The body…” Laxus questioned, softly, when they left that night, to rush back to the apartment, so she could hide out the daylight hours from the safety of her pine box.

“I have an…arrangement,” she offered simply. “Here. With the owner. Do not be jealous, Laxus.”

He wasn’t sure of the implication (or okay, fine, maybe he was), but still could only nod dumbly and they went along, in the darkness.

The Mistress instructed him to go back home, in the daylight, and she would meet him there. Laxus still felt dazed and almost as if the whole thing was a dream and he could run off, he could have, the whole time. He could have gotten on a different train, walked another way, gone anywhere else.

But he didn’t.

He went back to the Strauss mansion just as his mistress commanded.

“We old money. True,” the woman explained as she and Laxus sat together, on the couch in her room, sharing wine under the moonlight, “old money. I laugh now when I hear the term. The old houses, families, all who I knew growing up to rule the world? Gone. Disappeared. Yet we remain. My siblings and I. The last of the Strauss. Of the old days. Mama and Papa were good, hard workers, even with all their riches, and they raised us to be the same. When they got sick, I took over. A woman. A young woman. I was spit on by some, but who laughs now? Everyone else, dead. Their children, dead. Their great-great-greats all dead. For centuries. And I endure.”

“How did you…”

“Turn?” She hummed, deeply, softly, before whispering, “It’s not a pleasant part of the story. I feel in love. With an older man. He swept me off my feet. In the matter a matter of three days. He came into town, met me, and I was going to give it all to him, right then and there. I did, I suppose. In less than a weekend, he had me in his bed. I was so smitten. I thought it was a lovebite of some sort, at first. But no. You have options, Laxus, with thissort of things. Drain the blood, turn them into mindless little servants or…you can turn someone. And he turned me. How happy he was, with himself. Grinning. ‘Now,’ he told me, ‘you will be young and beautiful forever.’ And I have been ever since.”

For a long moment, they both sat there. Then, after a sip of her drink, she spoke again.

“Do you have family, Laxus?”

“A grandfather,” was all he could offer her. “And…these kids that I kinda helped him take care of.”

Nodding slightly without probing deeper, she said, “A shame. I could not leave my siblings behind. I turned them, when I explained to them, and I still ran my business the best I could. From the shadows. The night. I became an eccentric. All three of us did. An interest. Intrigue. It worked for a decade. But…then…why does she not age? Good genes. Old family secret. Another decade. How strange, how odd, the youngest still looks so…young. Another decade and another and we had to move. Somewhere new. Start fresh. We did this for awhile, but it only grew harder and harder and when we returned, eventually, to our family home, it sat alone atop the hill and the village beneath was filled with fearful little creatures, stuck int eh past that we’d long moved on from, my siblings and I. But my, did they make the perfect feeding ground. Who would believe them? That vampires lived atop the hill that overlooked their sleepy town?

“We fade in and out of it. Interest in them. Currently, for the past century, has it been? Less, perhaps? I found their blood revolting and their men of little interest. I must travel to find real men. Usually. But you just stumbled upon me. Found me. I’d say it was fate, but what is fate anyways? A human concept. And I have not been human in many, many moons. I’m a monster now, fine, an abomination. But I didn’t choose this. Look at me. Look, Laxus, like I command. Tell me I’m not beautiful? Desirable? What man does not want that? Eternal beauty. But it takes a special man to see passed the power. And the ones who do…they ask me eventually, to do to them what was done to me. To turn them. Do they not understand this curse? This terrible, sick curse? Disgusting. I do away with them quickly. Tell me, you do not wish to be cursed, do you, my love?”

“No,” he whispered softly, truthfully. “No, I don’t.”

“Good.” She even nodded as she tossed back some more wine. “You will age, grow, and die. How lucky, mortality is.”

“What happened to that man’s eyes?”

“Hmmm?”

“In the hotel room.” He grit his teeth from the thought. “You told him that I wanted to…watch and he was creeped out, but then you whispered somethin’ to him and-”

“Oh. That.” She even rolled her eyes. “It’s a gift, yes? That glazed over look men get around me. And women, I suppose, if I so choose. A…tool.”

“You,” Laxus whispered softly as his stomach dropped, “charmed him.”

“That’s it. Yes. I charmed-”

“I don’t have that look.”

“Hmmm?”

He rose then, from his seat, and looked all about for a mirror of some sort, but he could find none. Instead, he went to the window and, softly, was able to see his reflection in the pane. “My eyes are normal.”

“Yes,” she agreed softly, bemused, almost. “Why wouldn’t they be, silly?”

“I… The only reason that I’m doing all this is because… Haven’t you charmed me?”

“I told you, my little golden dragon. I don’t like to keep men around who must be forced to.”

“I don’t…I didn’t… I’m not doing this because I want to. Any of this. You hear me? You’ve forced me. You-”

“You’ve done nothing that you’ve not desired.”

“That’s not true.” Turning to look at her, he saw the disinterest etched on her face. “Look, I…I’m not…evil. I’m-”

“No one is evil. No one is good. We all do what we must. It does not bring me any joy, any pleasure, the things I do. Well, except, of course, for when it does.”

“I have to get out of here. I have to. I-”

“You could have,” the woman reminded. “I’ve let you have freewill. And yet you always come back. Why? Laxus? I have no hold over you. It seems like…maybe…you want to-”

“Shut up,” he growled darkly and he punched it then, the window before him, slicing up his hand and spraying glass all about outside.

“You just make your friend’s work harder,” the woman tsked and he shook with rage. “You’re so strong. You must continue to train, you know? What were you training for before? Or were you a laborer? It doesn’t matter. I like men kind of…brutish. Like you. Eventually, one day, you and I will no longer enjoy one another. And I will be forced to end you. It’s all part of the deal, Laxus. You understand. Don’t you?All loves come to an end.”

“I don’t love you.”

“Of course you don’t. And I don’t you, yet, my love.” She giggled again and he hated it so much. That giggle. It would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. “I need you to work tomorrow, on getting the yard in order. I can give you the money, if you need it, to travel out to get supplies. But you will return to me, Laxus, always. You know this, yes? I don’t need charm. I will make certain this occurs.”

“You’ve ruined my life.”

“I’ve changed your life, is a better word for it.” She hummed that time, getting to her feet to come over to him. “You will learn to like it. The revulsion goes away, with repetition. And tell me, Laxus, will you ever find a woman more desirable?”

He shook his head, slightly, as she moved to grab his wounded hand and bring it up to her lips, pink tongue poking out to run across the slices he had in his fists there. As he opened his mouth, slightly, and seemed at a loss, she only raised her eyes and spoke something to him for the first time.

“Mirajane,” she whispered and he could only nod.

“Mirajane.”

“We’ll be so happy together, I’m sure, Laxus. You have your friends here, to keep you company, and I my siblings. So long as you recall your place, there’s no reason for this to not last for a good, long time. Wouldn’t you like that?”

No, he wanted to say, but “Yes,” fell from his lips and as hers came to be pressed against his, and he should have never come. To that sleepy, old fashioned town. To that Gothic, decrepit mansion on the hill.

But he had.

And now he could never leave.

#Miraxus #Mirajane Strauss #Laxus Dreyar #Lisanna Strauss #Bickslow #Freed Justine #Evergreen #thunder legion #Fairy Tail #AU #Vampire #What the fuck did I just write?

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