#I mean it clearly was already rotting from within but it was quite sweet before the flaws started becoming glaringly obvious | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vifilms · 2 months ago

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before i start the yap, i would just like to say this is like the third sevika fic i've read and might i just say, my bar for sevika fics are set extremely high now. from the beginning to the end, the pace in which this was written was absolute perfection. i enjoyed reading every single line. this one had me hooked from the first desc of the reader. you have no idea what that means, coming from a tall girl — we love it. there's so many nuances, the detail GOD THE DETAILLLSSSS. i'm a sucker for them, that's no secret, but they really do shine in this fic in every single way. the sweetness in this fic is rotting my teeth, too sweet if i have one more bite i will simply perish. gladly, i will though. seriously, i cannot say this enough this is such a knock out of a fic. this is literature that everyone should aspire to write. there's so much raw emotion in this, the overwhelming themes of loneliness, truly feeling like you are going to be alone, feeling unwanted, and never feeling like the choice. i'm a bit of an emotional writer, tbh i kind of get off to it but that's another conversation, but that's why this one hits me in the gut so much. sorry this reblog has taken five years, i really want to read this one slowly and intentionally, soaking in each paragraph. gotta say, clearly, it didn't disappoint one bit. now off i got to more specific yapping as i cite my favorite little paragraphs that i will be thinking about for awhile.

it’s not that you’re not pretty, but you’re just so different from babette’s girls. you’re bigger and taller than them, trading in the slim curves of their bodies for thick muscle that coats your thighs and biceps. and you act differently, too. you’re not as sweet as them, and it honestly baffles you that they can always manage to treat their rudest customers with the utmost respect.

okay, you got me, m'already within .001 seconds of reading this. we need strong, big, and tall readers. i'm thankful for the contribution. also, not having the sterotypical perfect reader is such a breath of fresh air. not everything in life is so black and white, hence people get mad, irritated, and sometimes bite back. that's just life and this is already breathing such realism into it already......and managing rude customers......the greatest challenge one could face. sinking my fangs into this and gulping every once of soul and pumping it into my lifeless corpse (yes imma vampire) i love you wrote reader not fragile or small

we need the representation of bigger and taller readers with these bigger and taller women. at the end of the day, most fanfiction has physical descriptors, whether it’s intentional or it just slips on. small women has always been the standard and i like you are giving us this. all sizes matter and you did it in a way that was done so beautiful. i quite frankly could not get enough of it.

it’s not a real family, but it’s the closest you’ve ever had. they look out for you and you do the same for them, quick to drag away any of the old men who harass them and scare them away with the sharp edges of your knuckles.

i love love love love looovvveeeeee the aspect of a found family. as someone who is a queer who has a family who isn't the most supportive, a found family is so important. it's needed for survival for the queers who don't have a family who loves us unconditionally, but we do have a family we choose who will loves us for who we are. i think it's really beautiful how this is woven within the story. it adds such a beautiful layer to the struggle of being alone, bartending, trying to support yourself. no one can do it alone and emphasis on it is really such a touching moment. honestly, my favorite detail i've read in a long time. can you tell.....i cant stop yapping about this. god, this really just blew me away into another atmosphere.

the girls don’t hear you, to your luck, too busy smooshing their brightly colored lips over sevika’s to see which color suits her the most, while she trembles and blushes with a vibrator between her legs. you practically run to the end of the hall to escape the noise, sitting against the wall and twiddling your thumbs in an attempt not to cry.

um ennabear????? sos????? m'literally fainting this is entirely too sexy for me to handle. i'm literally in shambles. vibrator to cunt you will always be so sexy to me. this is so fucking gay, right from the beginning and im fucking jorking it. i'm fr stull picturing this um!!!!!! anyways, yeah, i'm fucking gay and loving every single moment of this.

you settle for both. crying into your pillow as you shove one of your hands down your pants. the release is satisfying, but only for a quick second before you’re wishing it were her, or anyone really. the water temperature in your apartment building is awfully cold, and you shiver as you scrub yourself down. your nipples pucker and harden as you run your hands over your body, imagining sevika touching you instead. any attempt at sleeping is useless, your mind races with different possible scenarios. you might be upset that she’s not in love with you now, but what if she caught you staring at her while she was still dressing herself, or even worse, lingering outside of that room and listening to them get her off? at least she doesn’t hate you, right?

the angst! m'such an #angstdyke and i never get to indulge in it, thank you for providing me with the service. 'cause havent we all gotten off to someone we wanted but couldn't have.....it's actually a little too real. it's the desperation of wanting to be the object of desire instead of the one doing all the yearning. the power of jealousy and lusting is one heinous bitch. sometimes, all thoughtful reasoning vanishes before our very eyes and we can only accept the fate we have been subjected to. delicious. also, not to mention the guilt and shame that follows off to getting off to someone you believe you can never have? it's almost like a tortured, pervy, sliver of yourself being pushed to the brink as you try to rid yourself of the yearning nature that takes over. GAHHH. this is written so well. i love it so much, ennabear.

she’s such a sweet soul, and she’s so wise it makes you want to take notes on everything she says. she tells you crazy stories, laughs, cries, and gives you advice before returning to her office for the night. so you’re left alone, eyeballing various flavors and liquors into you glass in attempt to make a cocktail that’s sweet enough for your little fairy.

this is such a small a silly thing, but i love the fact reader is close to these women when they are under the guise of these characters being with sevika even when they like sevika. we love to see it! jealousy can have healthy limits. i know that's right. hehe, yeah, we love it.

“your favorites aren’t in tonight,” you warn her just as she steps in. “one of ‘em caught the flu and spread it to the rest.” “shit,” she huffs, “d’you think i could have a shot with the hot bartender?” you scoff at this, cheeks heating up involuntarily. “i’m not a hot bartender, just a regular bartender. and i don’t offer any… services, if that’s what you’re wondering.” “agree to disagree.” she winks, planting herself at the stool right in front of you. “and no worries, i’ll take a whiskey.”

okay sevika comin in hot. cum in me. ha. ha. what? who said that? :sideeye: but fr, she said i'm done so fucking bad let me flirt with you now that i have the courage. if sevika called me hot, i would NAWT know how to function. i'd be the little sparks when you pour coke on a live battery. fr chat, i would not be surviving this conversation. also, i really admire the line of sevika being forward as a dom but backing off like a sub. it really showcases the layer of duality in within her. yes, she's fucking sevika and could pull anyone she wants with her hot ass self, but it's always different when you geniuenly like someone. it's easy to get caught up and lost in the moment, almost as if her moves are caculated, trying to get an inkling of how you feel. it's such a cute interaction. whether it was intentional or not, m'eating it regardless. NOMNOMNOMNOM.

“you haven’t seen me dragging old perverts out of here by the hem of their t-shirts, that’s why.”

HELLLLL YEAHHHHHHH. READER CARRYING THEIR OWN WEIGHT. THEY SAID BACK THE FUCK UP I GOT IT, THIS DUMB ASS BITCHES. I'LL THROW THEM OUT. #heheslay

you giggle again and punch her flesh shoulder over the counter, praying it’s not painfully aware how strongly you’re blushing right now. “no way you’re sitting here telling me about how badly you wanna get in my pants, when you just kicked out your own prostitutes.” she shrugs, the scars on the side of her face slightly scrunching up as she smiles. “i can’t help it,” she laughs. “you charm me too much.”

#SCARMENTION. oh. ohhhhhh. m'acting like a complete fool right now. the dialogue in this fic is so entirely well placed and polished. what the fuck. this actually goes so hard....i'm hard. but honestly, i'm still at the scar mention and i will be there for awhile.

for once, you sleep soundly, your mind is at a perfect balance to do so. giddy enough to not be overcome with anxiety, but embarrassed enough to have some sort of weight in your gut, not letting the butterflies carry you away. you’re in such a deep sleep, that you’re not amused when the phone rings again. peeling the comforter off of you, you rise and yank the phone off of the wall, getting deja vu from only a few nights ago.

the butterflies carrying you away. this line is so cunt. i just needed to point out the cuntiness. it’s for dykescience. yesyes.

“i missed you,” she sighs, heading straight for her usual barstool. “i… missed you too. did they tell you they weren’t gonna be here tonight?” you ask.

ohhhhhh she’s already down so bad……babe asking what are we after one conversation 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 it’s the definition of lesbianism and dykeculture and i’m all here for it. truer words have never been spoken. yes, i also get obsessed after one conversation. the line of lust and love is actually so fine. i think time is the real teller of what’s real and what isn’t, who stay and who leaves, anyways, im getting off topic into a completely different topic. disregard my nonsense (ray’s version) but fr this made me giggle 😭 sevika down bad and she hasn’t even had the power of our pussy yet. subby sub sevika……come out come out whenever you areeeee. i see youuuu. i see the slivers of her being presented through the dom nature….i see the vision.

you slide her a usual glass of whiskey, and she thanks you. “i never got to tip you last night.” she frowns.

THE TIP REFERENCES IN THIS ENTIRE FIC. ITS MAKING ME LAUGH SO HARD. is my humor that of one as a grade school boy? possibly. but i will still giggle. hehe. like when you’re in class and stupid boys can’t take it seriously bc of the innuendos, yeah that’s me. anyways. moving on lets pretend i said none of this. but fr. the tip references have me like 💀 we love the enna humor making an appearance. i’m eating it all up. a gourmet dish served guys. come and read this…..or else 🔪🩸

it isn’t long before you have her pinned against the countertop, shoving your tongue down her throat as she whimpers into your mouth. a loud crash echoes through the room, and you shiver as soon as you feel the whiskey splattering against your pants. “fuck,” you grunt. she whines when you pull away to assess the damage, but the glass isn’t shattered too much, and there’s only a small puddle under your feet.

THIS IS SUCH A SILLY MOMENT. I APPRECIATE YOU SM FOR THIS. YOU HAVE NO IDEA. bc when shit gets heated yeah dumb shit is gonna occur, it’s just life. no need for the whiskey though, this romance already has me wet. relax, won’t need the whiskey lubricant tonight. oh god yeah i’m just getting delirious now. but fr, i love this too much one might say. it’s really raw. a true tribute to just how life and circumstance is. sometimes you just gotta roll with the punches even when you want it to be perfect, sometimes it just isn’t but it doesn’t mean it’s any less important or invaluable. delicious. delicious. delicious. delicious. i need to lick it clean off my fingers it’s saur good. i’ll say it over and over until im blue in the face. yeah. y’all can hear me until i completely lose my voice. this piece of literature it’s too good for me to shut up about. #sevikarealnesserved

with her arms bound, you have more freedom to undress her without her squirming and getting in your way. as soon as her pants are off, you notice a dark, wet patch in the center of her boxers. “like what you see?” she teases. you gulp and nod, suddenly unable to form any words. “get the strap.” she demands. and who are you to say no to her?

YES FUCKING MA’AM. YOU DONT HAVE TO TELL ME TWICE. THE FUCK. slobbering over her dark wet patch. um!!!!!!! anyways!!!!!! can’t let horny ray out she’s a menace fr.

something comes over you. something rough and dirty and animalistic. you yank the strap off, hardly bothering to unbuckle it beforehand. she whines again, wishing she still had your cock plugging her up, but she can’t complain when you sit your cunt on top of hers, your shared mixture of slick making an unholy wet smacking sound. never in a million years did you expect sevika’d be such a sacrificial angel, a dirty slut with needs.

a sacrificial angel in dead, a dirty slut with needs. what a fucking bar. brb getting this tattooed along my spine. who are the real enna fans……yeah. that’s right. suck on that. um. okay. but fr this is so sexy, we love the smut at the end. it’s giving desperate fuck we have both been waiting for, so much so i’m gonna nut in minutes on your cunt. the first fuck after awhile always hits as does this. beautiful.

you smack her shoulder playfully, ducking down and settling yourself on her lap for a final makeout session before you have to give up your top duties for the night. not like you care, though, because her arm can do some pretty cool tricks, and she tips you well nearly every night from now on.

THE TIPS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 PLEASE MY STOMACHHXHXHXB. I CANT TAKE THIS MADNESNDDJD. all in all, this is so well rounded from start to finish. a perfectly shaped circle with every single word balanced inside of it, each line wrapped around the other so beautifully. such a stunning piece, but that comes as no shock to anyone.

always a treat ♡

SACRIFICIAL ANGEL

ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ good evening sevika nation, continuation of this because y’all are enablers who are bad for my screen time… just kidding aaaah i love you horny freaks and i don’t know what i’d do without you <33

cw: bottom dom!sevika x pervert!loser!reader, a tiny bit of voyeurism (if it even counts as that), reader bartends at the brothel, sevika is suchhhhh a flirt, found family trope????, strap usage, bondage, tribbing, etc etc etc. i really am all over the place with this one 🤦 hope u enjoy anyways

word count: 6.8k

you’d been bartending at babette’s for about 3 months when you first saw her. cracking her knuckles as she sauntered in with a wolfish grin, her long torso and even longer legs making her easily tower over the girls she came to see. never once had you felt jealousy toward them. in fact, you thought they had a harder job than you did— dealing with drunk old men who practically abused them and then left without sparing a tip wasn’t a job for just anyone. but now? you’ve never wanted to be one of them more.

sevika comes in a few times a week, such an admirable woman to be in a place like this. she’s always sporting a scowl or a smirk, depending on her attitude for the day, and a fresh new scar or coating of blood on her knuckles. but there’s something you know about her that hardly anyone else does.

sevika doesn’t come to the brothel to fuck, she comes to get fucked. it’s almost impossible to miss, but nearly every night you watch her stroll in with her perfect posture, and then watch her stumble out of the doorway, practically tripping over her feet as she tries to zip up her pants and button up her shirt before anyone can see her half-naked body. hickies and bright red lipstick smudges paint her neck, and she’s still panting as her unsteady legs wobble themselves out of the door and down the street.

the first time you saw her this way, you had to take a breather behind the bar before you got so dizzy you returned home, faking an illness. she turns you on so much it’s hard to believe. and oh, how you’d kill to see what happens behind those closed doors.

to see sevika, all six feet of her warm brown skin and tight muscles on display, legs spread as wide as they can as her sopping cunt sucks in one girls strap, while another shoves a gag in her mouth, taking her hands and tying them together with a scrap of rope. how she’d completely submit to these angels, letting them use her however they please until her vocal cords give out and she’s laying in a pool of her own cum. and how she’d cover herself in that “scary lady” facade again as she leaves, thinking that what happens in that room stays in the room, although you know her secret. and you see it every night, whether it’s real or just another one of your perverted daydreams.

and so she walks in tonight like clockwork. the building is practically empty considering the time, one of the only benefits of working this late is to see her. she never looks your way, though, and why should she? she practically gets fed free drinks from her friends at the last drop, and it’s borderline disgraceful for her to have eyes for a woman like you when she has these gorgeous dolls promising to take good care of her.

they whisk her away in an instant. you’ve gotten to know these girls pretty well, they’re all sweethearts who crowd around your bar at the end of their shift. crystal, the shortest one, is so good with her words it’s baffling. she can smooth talk anyone into anything, and her friendly flirting never fails to make you giggle. monica, the oldest one, is so witty it almost makes you jealous. your jokes are nothing compared to her quick remarks, and she could easily take you in a fight if you didn’t have a few extra inches on her. ivy, the fairy, as you all call her, is the sweetest little nymph you’ve ever met. she often shares her extra tips with you when times get tough, and she’s always quick to offer you a helping hand behind the bar when you get swarmed.

you watch as monica tugs at sevika’s choker like it’s a collar, dragging her away as the other two girls practically dangle off of her muscular arms. it must be a form of torture, watching them disappear behind those doors again. but you sigh and flip over the record that’s slowed to a stop on the turntable, hoping the sweet, melodic jazz will numb your brain long enough to survive the final hours of your shift. you sweep the floors, rinse out the glasses, and wipe down the bar.

without anything else to do, you sit and stare at the big stained glass window in front of you. your mind easily wanders, imagining your warm bed at home, the leftovers you’re gonna devour later, and sevika, as always. if only all of your money could purchase her attention, but even then attention doesn’t always equate to fondness.

your boredom gets to the best of you, and you wander out from behind the bar, peering down the long hallway. in hopes of what? nobody else is in here besides you, sevika, and the girls— not even babette. there’s really no point, but you carry on walking nevertheless. the empty rooms are somewhat eerie, they’re usually so full of love and lust, but now restored to their pristine condition.

you pause in front of the only occupied room of the night, standing just a few yards away from the door. it’s almost silent, but a light giggle breaks the silence, and you almost keel over and sob right there. red-hot jealousy floods your veins, and your whole body trembles as you try your hardest not to let a peep sneak past your lips.

so that’s why you wanted to take a stroll down the hall so badly. you fucking perv, you think to yourself. lucky you didn’t get your ass caught, get a damn grip!

bolting upright, you decide to return to the bar. babette want’s a new recipe anyways, might as well do it right now, and if you mess up a few times it’ll be an excuse to get plastered on the clock. with your head in your hands, you begin your trek back to the lobby. what an evil, evil curse comparison is.

then the curtains fly open a few feet in front of you, and you almost audibly gasp at the distraction before you stifle it with the back of your hand. sevika gets playfully pushed out of the room, her tits on full display as she fumbles with the buttons on her shirt. you swear you black out for a second, or maybe even a full few minutes, who’s counting?

she giggles to herself and sighs as she gets a few buttons closed, her weakened legs wobbling under her weight as she carries herself down the rest of the long hallway and out of the door. you follow behind her slowly and silently, careful not to go to fast or make even the slightest noise.

she doesn’t see you as she slips out of the door, mind too hazy to think about anything other than the pure pleasure pumping through her veins. as soon as the coast is clear, you dash back behind the jar, pouring a few mixers in a glass and swirling them around in an attempt to make it seem like you were doing anything.

monica, ivy, and crystal trail out of the room after a few minutes of catching their breath. the fairy takes a seat in front of you, smiling and giggling as monica wipes some dark brown lipstick off of crystal’s neck.

“that woman is crazy,” she laughs. “what’re you making?”

“i dunno, just something new.”

“good! we need something sweeter on the menu.”

“you’re only saying that because you’re sweet and you like other sweet things.” you tease.

“of course, that’s why i like you so much. and besides, all of the drinks here are catered toward old, cranky men.”

“yeah, because that’s who all of your customers are.” you say, rolling your eyes.

“not all of them,” crystal cuts in. “and certainly not her.”

“did she tip you well?” you wonder.

“oh, fuck yeah, she always does.”

“i think she’s the richest woman in the whole city.”

“damn,” you smirk, not wanting your jealousy to peek out through your face.

“it’s okay, we’ll buy you something special.” monica winks. you roll your eyes, although completely embracing the way they spoil you.

as soon as the girls are out of the door, you finish locking up before heading out too. you’re so full of emotions, you have no idea which one to prioritize. should you cry into your pillow as soon as you fall asleep, jealous and angry that you’ll never get to have sevika in the way you want? or should you celebrate the fact that you almost saw her completely shirtless, and replay that image in your mind until sleep takes you?

any attempt at sleeping is useless, your mind races with different possible scenarios. you might be upset that she’s not in love with you now, but what if she caught you staring at her while she was still dressing herself, or even worse, lingering outside of that room and listening to them get her off? at least she doesn’t hate you, right?

to your luck, the phone rings, a free excuse to be awake at this time of night. you rise and walk to the other side of the room, yanking the phone off of the wall as the cord curls and hangs down.

you yawn. “hello?”

“i can’t come in today,” ivy’s voice crackles through the speaker. “i’m coming down with something, and i think monica is too. maybe i got it from her or, or gave it to—?”

“it’s okay, sweetheart.” you assure her. “get some rest, do you need me to come over?”

“no, crystal said she’d come take care of me. but thank you.”

“okay, call me if you need anything. i love you.”

“i love you too,” she yawns, her voice sounds thick and congested. “and tell my regulars i love them, you could always cover for me if you want.”

“oh, fuck off.” you laugh. “i’m not gonna cover your shift as a prostitute, but get well soon.”

“okay, thank you, sorry if i woke you up.”

“it’s okay, i wasn’t sleeping anyways. i’ll check in soon, okay?”

“okay, bye, goodnight.” she sighs, and you slot the phone back against the wall.

and so the day passes agonizingly slow without any support. it’s a friday, so as soon as it hits 3pm, people flood in to get a good start to their weekend. there are a few girls who you’re friendly with, but you don’t get to know them very well since they’re always leaving at the beginning of your shift. babette comes in, though, and she sits and chats with you to keep you company.

after about an hour of this, you give up and rinse your glass out with water. none of their regular customers come in tonight, which is strange because usually fridays are their busiest nights. sevika comes in though, she must not have gotten the memo, but you’re not about to complain.

“your favorites aren’t in tonight,” you warn her just as she steps in. “one of ‘em caught the flu and spread it to the rest.”

“shit,” she huffs, “d’you think i could have a shot with the hot bartender?”

you scoff at this, cheeks heating up involuntarily. “i’m not a hot bartender, just a regular bartender. and i don’t offer any… services, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“agree to disagree.” she winks, planting herself at the stool right in front of you. “and no worries, i’ll take a whiskey.”

an eerie silence fills the room, the same one that always lingers in the brothel. you’re practically dying to say something, but you don’t know what to say other than something stupid and embarrassing.

sevika breaks the silence, though, saying “they talk about you a lot, you know.”

“do they?” you pretend to be shocked, but they’re your family, your sisters. of course you talk about each other, who else do you have to be proud of in a world like this?

“yeah. apparently you’re scary as hell but you can crack some mean jokes.”

“sometimes,” you admit with a shy smile. “although it’s mostly just when i’m half asleep at the very end of my shift that i let that side of me come out.”

“will i be lucky enough to see it?”

“maybe if you hang around long enough.”

“you could keep me waiting ‘til the end of time and i’d still be here.” she says, almost too nonchalantly.

you roll your eyes and slide her her whiskey, propping yourself up on your elbows as you study her up close for the first time ever. her mechanical arm is extremely detailed, each nut and bolt have a different important job that can’t function without the others. like you and your sisters.

“although, i have to admit,” she finally says. “i don’t see how you can be scary.”

“you haven’t seen me dragging old perverts out of here by the hem of their t-shirts, that’s why.”

“does it happen a lot?” she asks.

“hell no, you think i let those fuckers live to see another day? to come back in here?” you laugh. “absolutely not.”

“so there’s the humor.” she notices.

“yeah,” you smile. “except i wasn’t joking. and i bet you’d do the same if you’ve ever encountered them.”

“oh, trust me, i have.” she recalls with a grunt. “dumbfucks littering the streets yet topside is concerned about us.”

you hum in response. “it’s really not fair… can i ask you a question?”

“fire away.”

“why do you come in here?” you start. “i mean— no shame, i work here, but you couldn’t have found a better brothel?”

“i dunno, i don’t really care for the better ones. plus, i’ve known babette forever, literally. she’s been around for so long, i enjoy supporting her and her workers.”

“yeah, that checks out.” you sigh, babette really is a sweetheart, she might be the only good thing left about the undercity. “but isn’t it hard not to fall in love with them? how do you do it?”

she pauses for a moment, calculating her answer in her mind first. “i love them and everything they do for me, but i’m not really, into them like that.”

“oh, i’m sorry for assumi—”

“no, i do like girls,” she assures you. “just not them. i like my ladies with a little bit more meat on their bones.” she says with a wolfish grin, eyeing your body up and down.

“oh, you stop it!!” you grin back at her, a warm, tingly feeling flushing over your body.

“i didn’t call you a hot bartender for nothing, but i don’t date for looks, anyways. actually, i don’t really date in general, but maybe i just haven’t found the one.” she says, putting a suggestive emphasis on the one. she slides her empty glass toward you and rises from her stool. you’re sad to see her go so early, especially when she just started flirting with you, but oh well. you can’t force her to stay.

“i better head out, silco’s got me going up to topside tomorrow morning for god knows what. thanks for the chat.” she announces, sliding a few coins your way.

“good luck with that.” you smile. “and if you ever need a drink, you know where to find me.”

she chuckles at you as she shoves the door open, and you see something in her smile that you’ve never seen before. a small gap in between her two front teeth, the cutest little addition to her scary, stoical face. as soon as she’s out of the door, you sit on the ground behind the bar and hold your head in your hands again. jesus christ, was that the love of your life flirting with you? if only she knew how much you liked her.

the idea of calling the girls and telling them what just happened tempts you, but they don’t know that you’re head over heels for her. and what if they are? what if one, or even all three of them see her as more than a customer? you don’t wanna make things weird, so you stand up and head to babette’s office to bid her farewell for the night.

her office is small and dimly lit, but cozy. she smiles at you warmly as you step inside, quickly thanking you for your time earlier, and wishing you a good night. all of your dread seems to float away from your body as you walk home, the bitter frost of the night doesn’t sting your fingertips, but instead the butterflies in your stomach warm them.

if you thought your sleep last night wasn’t restful, tonight is so much worse. not that you mind, though, because the thing keeping you up is sevika’s deep voice repeating things like i didn’t call you a hot bartender for nothing. and you could keep me waiting til the end of time. you can’t help but giggle into your pillow like a lovesick fool, and when the time rolls around again, you can’t wait to go to work. which is something you never thought you’d feel.

you spend your trek to work enjoying the afternoon sun and the birds that chirp into the atmosphere. the girls are all feeling better today— which is a little strange considering it’s only been 24 hours of them being sick— but you don’t question the kinds of drugs they take. they love their job and you love them, so why complain?

a few stragglers hang around your bar as the afternoon turns to evening, and you get a few extra coins from a couple who tips very generously. but your eyes are fixated on the clock, counting down the hours until evening turns to late night, when you get to see sevika. you wish you could ask about her, get to know her more, but who would you ask? you don’t know if she has friends, although she works for silco and practically babysits jinx, but there’s no way in hell you’d ask them, in the rare case you ever come across them.

so you have to settle for her seeking you out behind the bar, which you pray time and time again will happen again. and it does, somewhat, because when she walks in the door tonight, she nods at you with a flick of her head and winks.

sevika winks at you.

the marble countertop of the bar catches you as you almost fall forward. god, i want her to do that again, you think. you sit up on your stool, squeezing your thighs together and widening your eyes in an attempt to be able to see straight. your sisters snatch her away again, but fuck, she looked at you.

for the first time since she started coming in, you don’t feel jealous. you feel hopeful. sevika knows you now, and she likes you, even if she’s not obsessed with you in the same way you are with her. the back of your hand muffles your smile, you can’t wait until her 60 minutes are up and you get to see her again, and you really hope she winks at you again. or does something even better, like blows you a kiss, or gets down on one knee with a ring, or recites you a personal love poem.

but the gods are on your side tonight, because the four of them saunter out of their suite about half an hour early and come to surround your bar. they all have this awkward expression on their faces, one that says they’re guilty and they need your help keeping a secret. you push it aside though, because they probably just think it’s weird that you’re seeing them in such a vulnerable state. you don’t think it’s weird though. you work at a brothel, for fucks sake, and you’ve seen some pretty crazy things, and it’s not like you’re a virgin, although you admittedly don’t have much experience.

“glad to see you all are feeling better,” you greet. “and sevika, welcome back.”

she smiles, her mech arm rattling slightly. the girls all exchange a look at each other, “yeah, thanks.” crystal says, reaching up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around your neck in a hug. monica nudges ivy as she giggles, and sevika grins into her lap, human fingers fiddling with her metal fingers.

“oh fuck, don’t tell me you guys are in trouble again.”

“no, nothing like that.” crystal assures you.

“then what’s with the looks? you guys all look guilty as hell.”

“we’re just glad to see you again, that’s all.” monica smiles, one of her perfect, dark curls falling into her face gracefully.

you cringe, painfully aware that none of their stories are adding up. “so… can i get you anything?” you ask.

“well, uh—”

“not for us—”

“maybe lat—” they all say simultaneously. sevika is silent, giggling as quietly as she can into her lap, and completely avoiding eye contact with you. she looks up and raises her eyebrows at them, a silent signal for them to… do something.

“i think we’re gonna go now, but you two have fun!” crystal says, and they all run back down the hallway, giggling and tripping over one another in their heels as they do.

“what on earth is up with them?” you ask sevika.

“it’s nothing,” she says with a laugh. “or… maybe it’s something? i’m not too sure either.”

you slide her a glass of whiskey, just like you had last night. “this one’s on the house.”

“will you at least let me tip you?”

“well, i’m not saying no.” you grin, and she smiles at you again, and you hope that image of her is burned into your memory forever. she’s beautiful, it’s not hard to recognize that, but it’s a different feeling when you get to admire her up close. like a painting, you see images and replicas of them everywhere, but seeing them with your own eyes is always breathtaking. you can see every brushstroke, every small detail you hadn’t before, and it really comes to life.

“how long have you worked here?” she asks, derailing your train of thought.

“only a few months, but i’ve been bartending for longer.”

“you do an amazing job.” she compliments, flashing one of those grins at you again.

“oh please, you practically live at the last drop, and i poured that whiskey straight out of the bottle.”

she shrugs and rolls her eyes, “shut up and take the compliment.”

you have no choice but to giggle, and if sevika wants you to shut up, you shut up.

“i meant what i said last night— about you being a hot bartender, even though you didn’t seem to believe me.”

“why should i believe you? i wasn’t aware that you knew i existed until last night.” you retort.

“wish it were the same way for me, all i’ve been hearing about is you for months.”

“not my fault you like them so much.”

“i do, but i like you too.”

“i still don’t offer any services, if that’s what you’re getting at.” you say, letting her down easy, although you’d gladly offer her your services, you just wanna play with her for a while.

“of course not.” she smiles. “not unless you change your mind.”

you almost choke on your own spit. your heart pounds in your chest, and you’re 100% sure she can hear it right now. you giggle and hide your face in your hands, trying to keep your mouth shut for a few seconds before you leap over the bar and jump her bones.

“is that what they put you up to? to come sit here and flirt with me?”

“well, i’m not saying no, either. but i’m being genuine.”

she shrugs, the scars on the side of her face slightly scrunching up as she smiles. “i can’t help it,” she laughs. “you charm me too much.”

“sevika!” you almost shout, completely baffled and astounded at her flirting. your mouth hangs open as you think of what else you can say, but nothing comes to mind.

“it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, but i think you should at least know the effect you have on other people.”

you lean forward on the counter, holding your warm cheeks in your hands. “you should know the effect that you have on people.”

“i do, i’m very aware of it. especially from you.” she taunts leaning forward until your eyes are only inches away from hers. you peek up at her and almost faint, again, because her eyes are such a pretty, soft silver. and her lips are so pretty too, angular and smothered in a rich, deep brown lipstick. she notices you staring at her lips and smirks down at you. “can i kiss you?” she asks.

“i— wha—? yes. please.” you say, desperation and lust lingering in your voice. and her lips are on yours before you can even register it. suddenly all of the thoughts running through your mind, and there are a lot of them, cease to exist. because her lips are on yours, finally, and they’re so soft. she tastes spicy, almost, like tobacco and whiskey, but there’s a hint of something sweet, like honey or cinnamon.

she pulls away first, although you wish the two of you could be conjoined at the lips for the rest of time. “i wanna do that again.” you manage to choke out.

sevika chuckles at you, “not right now. not when you look like you’re about to faint, or die, even.”

“i’m sorry.” you whisper, holding your head in your hands.

“for what?” she asks, a twinge of concern in her voice.

“for making a fool of myself.” you laugh, hands covering your eyes as you refuse to look at her again, because maybe you will die.

“i can’t disagree with that,” she teases, and you can hear the smile in her voice. “but it’s no big deal.”

“sevika. get the fuck out of my bar before you kill me.” you threaten.

“alright.” she obliges, “but i’ll be seeing you tomorrow, whether you like it or not.”

“get! out!” you whisper shout, lifting your head up to meet her gaze for the last time tonight.

“leaving right now.” she laughs, turning on her heel to exit the building before you faint in her arms.

it takes you a few minutes to reorient yourself, but you take a few deep breaths and small sips of water before the girls come clambering out of their room again. you’re dreading the conversation that’s about to come, especially because you’re not sure if they’re up to something or not.

“sooooo…” ivy prompts. “how’d it go?”

“nothing happened. nothing important, at least.” you answer with a groan, starting to tidy up the lobby before you leave for the night.

“really?” monica frowns. “is that why you’re wearing some new lipstick?”

you sigh and roll your eyes, there’s no getting out of this tonight. “just tell us, please! we wanna know!” ivy begs.

“yeah, we won’t make fun of you too much.” crystal adds.

“okay, yeah, she flirted with me until i got dizzy, and then she kissed me to make it even worse.” you admit. “but i know you fuckers had something to do with it.”

“well, yeah. we had to give her the confidence to do so. she’s had a crush on your for like… forever.” monica grins.

“you guys are liars!” you laugh, exasperated. “stop fucking around with me, please.”

“we’re not fucking around with you, we’re being honest. and you should go home before you start freaking out.”

“i can’t go home yet, i need to finish closing.”

“we’ll do it, get the hell out of here!”

and how could you say no to that? so you leave, and you smile the whole way home as you replay that moment in your head. it was just like you imagined, minus all the parts where you embarrassed yourself. but it doesn’t even matter, the love of your life kissed you. on the lips. even better than her winking at you. better than you could’ve foreseen.

“hello?” you ask with a little bit of sass in your voice.

“we can’t come in again, we’re sick… again.” crystal says.

“all of you? but you were fine yesterday.”

“well, it got worse or something, i dunno, but you’re on your own today.”

you sigh, already dreading the fact that your shift is gonna drag on without them. oh well, at least sevika promised she’d be there. “okay…” you bark. “get well soon, call me if you need anything.”

“yeah, bye, good luck!” she almost squeals.

you trudge back to bed, willing yourself to get a few more hours of sleep, although it’s nearly noon and you should get up soon. you ignore the clock, shoving your face in your pillow in an attempt to block the sunlight out from your eyes. but now you can’t sleep, you’re thinking about how you and sevika are gonna be alone together again, but this time you’ll have to face yesterdays events.

when your alarm rings, you groan, and then take a second to scream into your pillow, praying your apartment neighbors don’t worry too much. you dress in your usual work uniform, black shirt, cargos, non-slip shoes. sevika must see something really special in me, you think, because there’s no way she’s choosing me over everyone else in this town.

for breakfast, you guzzle down half of a protein shake followed by two anxiety pills, and then you brush your teeth for an extra few minutes today, just in case. and maybe you accidentally sprayed more perfume than you usually do, but nobody needs to know that. you shove your shoes on, mentally preparing yourself for what could be one of the worst days of your life.

strangely, suspiciously, yet to your luck, none of ivy, crystal, or monica’s regulars come in to visit them. you start to suspect they did it on purpose, although it seems impossible. but if they did, those girls are crazy and you don’t deserve them. in fact, the brothel is empty nearly the whole day. as soon as the other girls clock out, nobody comes in at all. not until sevika shows up when she usually does, and she’s the first drink you pour all day.

“i missed you,” she sighs, heading straight for her usual barstool.

“i… missed you too. did they tell you they weren’t gonna be here tonight?” you ask.

“uhh— yeah, they did. but i wanted to spend my evening with you, anyways.”

“oh, well i’m flattered. but i didn’t know you kept in touch with them like that.”

“well…” she starts, looking to the side in an attempt to conjure up something to say. “never mind.”

you slide her a usual glass of whiskey, and she thanks you. “i never got to tip you last night.” she frowns.

“yeah, sorry, i kinda freaked out on you.”

“it’s okay, i’m sorry if i’m weirding you out or if we’re moving too fast or anything, but i did mean it. i meant what i said and i meant to kiss you, i wasn’t drunk or anything.”

“i meant it too, although i wouldn’t have overreacted if i could’ve helped it.” you giggle, suddenly completely aware of the fact that you’re flirting with her again. right now. and she kissed you. and now you have something together.

“i was thinking i could tip you tonight.” she smirks, eyeing you up and down again.

“oh, please. you know you get free drinks from now on.” you say, rolling your eyes at her kindness.

“i’m honored, although i was thinking about a different way to repay you.” she says, licking her lips as she slowly starts to walk toward you.

you’re frozen in place, your knees tremble as you realize what she means. her nose brushes yours as she finishes approaching you, and you can’t help but lurch forward to connect your lips to hers. she kisses you back with all of her might, and you almost slip and fall as she slides her tongue into your mouth. she tastes even better now. stronger and deeper and sweeter, and you start to crave it as soon as you taste it.

“mmmh…” she whines when your mouths meet again. “let’s take this somewhere— mph!! somewhere else.”

and that’s how you find yourself stripping her naked with your teeth, the two of you sprawled out on a heart shaped bed. her shirts are always short and extremely revealing, but you still gasp and twitch when her abs are finally revealed to you. her v-line is thick and deep and it leads a perfect trail to her dripping hole, as if her thick, dark happy trail wasn’t enough.

“the rope.” she chokes out, and you don’t waste a single second, tying her hands together and then above her.

you manage to buckle it up before everything really catches up to you. she’s smirking below you, watching as you pathetically ogle her thick shoulders, puffy, brown nipples, taut abs, and quivering, wet hole. “so? are you ready?” she prompts. as soon as she says the word, you can’t control yourself. you slide into her incredibly easily, slick dripping down her ass and making a puddle underneath her already.

your hips snap into hers, it’s messy and uncoordinated and you don’t really know what you’re doing, but sevika loves it. she’s on cloud nine, writhing and whimpering and squeezing her eyes shut as you pound into her. “mmm, sevika, is it good? am i doing good?” you ask.

“so good.” she assures you, panting. “so fucking good, gonna make me cum and we’ve just started.”

“fuck!” you gasp, and you’re squirming on top of her as your own orgasm hits you like a train. it came out of nowhere, but it’s the most intense one you’ve probably ever had. as if all of those times you’ve desperately rubbed your aching clit to the thought of her were for nothing.

“keep going.” she whines. “please, you’re doing s-so good for me, i’m so fucking close.”

her hard clit twitches when it meets yours, and she moans so loud you’re sure it can be heard outside of the building. at least nobody else is here, inside, or you two would get busted. “how long have you wanted to do this?” she asks.

“f-for such a long time.” you admit. “i’ve been needing it so badly, sevika.”

“how… how badly? hmm?”

“you don’t even know.” you whimper. “i would listen to you in here whenever i needed it the most. and sometimes i’d watch you leave half undressed and wish it was me who did that to you.” you slide herself against her as deeply as you can, and you’re practically humping her like a dog at this point. the pair of you only get more soaked until sevika’s clenching her legs around yours, locking you in place as she cums so hard she can’t see straight.

as soon as she comes down from her orgasm, she says something quick and muffled like “ididitonpurpose” but you don’t quite hear it.

“i did it on purpose to fuck with you.” she sighs, repeating herself more clearly now. “i’ve had my eye on you for such a long time, i thought you’d eventually pick up on it and make a move, but you never did. so i started fucking with you instead.”

“what?” you ask, completely appalled. “are you kidding?”

“no, most of the nights i’ve spent here has been me and the girls plotting on how to fuck with you the hardest. notice how none of their other customers are here? and how they mysteriously recovered from their illness for a day until catching it again?”

“wait, so is this a prank?” you ask, brain fuzzy from having sex with sevika but also from finally piecing things together.

“well, not this.” she says, gesturing with her head to your mutually nude bodies tangled together. “but they helped me plan the evening, yes.”

“you… fucker!” you shout, a light giggle following after. “am i really that blind?”

“i guess so.” she shrugs. “now, are you gonna untie me so i can show you what my arm can do, or are you gonna sit there with your jaw open like that.”

author’s note: tehe haiii i didn’t wanna add this at the beginning cause i always yap too much, so if you made it all this way THANK YOU FOR READING 🤭 i luv you guys so much and i love our little sevibear… apologies for teasing the hell out of this and taking forever to finish LMAOOO oops. anyways special shoutout to my 3 favorite mutuals (you know who you are) for giving me motivation to finish this, i love you guys the mostest mwah mwah mwah y’all are wayyyyy too nice to me and i appreciate you more than you know <333 comments and reblogs are very appreciated!!!! lmk what you thought!!!!!! thanksssss 🫶

#i realize this is longer than most fics but #i loved it too much 🤭#what if i said this was top 5 fic of the year #what then #idc what fandom you are in READ THIS RN #ASAPFUCKINGPRICKY #my dyke heart enjoyed this very much #common enna w

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sly-merlin · 4 years ago

Text

KILLING ME - 13 | n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre : angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au.

warnings of this chapter : mentions of brutality described in previous chapter, mentions of strained breathing, curse words. For future chapters, major character death(s).

words : 4.5k

summary :

“life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”

“ curiousity got the cat hitched”

K.M masterlist

K.M 12

taglist : @kpop-choco @moon-yuta @kawaiiayasan @btm-taeyong @exfolitae @lanadreamie @cheersskznct @hyuckiesgf @theworld-accordingtocasey @yiyi4657 @sorrywonwoo @sillywinnergladiator @minejungwoo @leesalts @mal-nakamoto23 @ro2424 @itlittlefangirl @nctzens-world @bl--ankhaeji @simplybree @ncttboo @jeaneteflo @nuoyii @bralessmermaid @minhoseyeliner

In the silent room, the sound of taeil's shoes reverberated as he paced back and forth. Of the seventeen men standing in the living room, most had their heads hung low while some paid side glances to Jaehyun and ten as they fell prey to Taeil's anger.

"Last time!" Fingers pointed in the air, taeil asked in a dangerously calm voice, "don't make me repeat myself. Who left the door open?"

Messing his hair, jaehyun began,

"We didn’t know she was still there in the basement. Usually she’s out by-

“just answer me already.” Taeil shouted in exasperation.

“we don’t clearly remember. Me and ten were busy interrogating him.'' Jaehyun's voice was barely above a mumble but it still managed to reach everyone in the parameter.

Taeil turned to ten, furiously rubbing his forehead, impliedly asking for a reply but he merely shrugged in shame.

“Since when you have been butchering people with doors ajar for everyone to see?” the volume of his voice sent shivers to each and every presence in the room. Taeil never lost his calm, this was, after all, his metier. But he knew when to let go of his usual demeanor and nobody plucked up the courage to question him either.

“we didn’t do it deliberately. It was a mistake. An accident. Why are you drawing this so much.” jaehyun daren’t raise his voice above a whisper but his words were alarming enough

“You all need to recall the rules we stand by. What if jisung had gone down? Would you throw the same lame excuses even then? Won’t you be sorry if he or chenle or sungchan had seen a human being cut open like that? you and ten are both equ-

“we are ready to apologise to her okay. I’m not running from responsibility here. Nobody i-”

“Accepting a mistake is not even the bare minimum. We don't need your hollow apology if you don’t mean it. just because she’s understanding doesn’t mean the blood would leave her head. There’s a reason those rooms are forbidden for some of us here.”

Jaehyun’s unexpected raspy chuckle earned multiple gasps from the room. Taeyong was about to reach him but taeil stopped him by a show of his palm.

Jaehyun pinched his nose before barking,

“when jisung and chenle are told not to enter forbidden areas, they actually do listen but your pretty sweet y/n never does that. she’s just reaping the fruit of her own reckless behaviour again. it’s not my mistake that she’s so damn nosy all the –

“WHAT IF IT WAS NARA AND NOT Y/N JUNG JAEHYUN? WOULD YOU HAVE SPILLED SAME BULLSHIT IF IT WAS HER?

Taeil knew he shouldn’t have said that. Jaehyun’s darkened eyes calmed Taeil instantly as he realised he too had crossed a line.

as he angrily took a step forward towards taeil, jaehyun was abruptly halted by johnny and taeyong as they kept the two men apart. The reason for the argument left Jaehyun's mind, the mere mention of nara was enough to blow his fuse. He was furious yet he didn’t resist the boys and let his sharp breathing convey his message to taeil.

“Stop it you both. Go back to your rooms everyone.” Johnny announced, hands still holding Jaehyun's arm and torso, almost hugging and shielding him from taeil. “let it go jae. Just calm down. Please.”

Everyone remained glued to their feet, too afraid to make any noise. Huffing loudly, Jaehyun pushed Johnny away. Jaw clenched, chest heaving in rage, he furthered himself and instead of going for taeil’s neck as everyone has thought, his hand reached for the vase and the very next moment, the beautiful curved glass met the ground, shattering into innumerable pieces, right where taeil stood.

“JAEHYUN”

Taeyong roared watching younger and the older staring each other down.

“never compare nara to her.never!” With a perilously low voice, jaehyun glowered at taeil. “measure them up on the same scale again and you won’t be alive to regret again!”

Jaehyun stormed out upstairs. Soon after, without saying or expressing anything, taeil left too, masking his emotions just like usual times.

“when are they going to talk this out. It’s been three years already.” Johnny mumbled more to himself but everyone heard him and each and every presence in the room understood him.

Sleep despised you. Even sleeping pills had turned their back on you. Sprawled on the bed, you prayed to some magical being to descend and help you but no matter how humbly you pleaded, there was no end to your misery.

"He was a drug supplier, one of the accomplice of importing life threatening drugs in korea. He had it coming when he refused to tell us about other handlers. What you need to know is we have done a favour by taking his life."

Taeyong's words were seeded into your head. Your fear was fine, he had told you. He also said you’d forget about it in no time but he couldn’t mark when the “no time” would end. The vision of what you witnessed was quite blurry by now but the awful feeling in the pit of your stomach chose not to leave you yet. From what taeyong explained, that man was a mere pawn. A hidden syndicate was exporting deleterious drugs and they were just trying to find out the people behind it.

The only thing you had gathered was that just like every normal entity, criminals like neos weren’t fond of any sort of competition. With a pack of sleeping pills given by xiaojun, meant to help you sleep through the night, you were dropped at your house by dear Mark who kept stuttering explanations while driving. They have never killed anyone innocent, Mark said and kept it repeating in different possible ways a sentence could be transformed into.

You weren’t sure if you believed him yet. But even the mere thought of getting used to the brutality was horrendous than what you had seen once.

Two days later, at black neos. 9: 50

“when do you want us to sue them y/n?” mr. jung questioned, rotating his walking stick by the wooden head.

Sitting on the sofa, just beside him, you wondered why you were always so conscious of all the eyes directed at you. or maybe you were distracting yourself from answering the man. Among all the things, his way of showing his care was not settling in.

one amusing revelation was that Jaehyun's father, mr. jung or senior jung, as hyuck called them, was the only person with the capacity of putting a noose around all the valiant necks that were ever present in the house. The wrinkles of old age held enough authority to shut each and every young mouth, including yours even though you kept your quiet.

And he adored everyone, johnny, yuta and haechan among his favourites of course. He was also persistent and you were struggling with coming up with an answer because of this very trait. He kept asking you and your eyes remained transfixed on the papers bunched up in your hands, that were shoved into your hands upon your arrival. They opened the chapters you always had doubt about but no corroboration.

You had no home, the reason you were sent into that orphanage in the first place. The little kid that witnessed her parent’s death in front of her eyes didn’t understand why her parents took so long to wake up or why they never did when she waited for so long hiding among strangers or despite having a home, why she was sent to a place where she knew no one. There was no answer to why you never saw your uncle and aunt again and why they never came to take you back. As you grew up, you gave up on them. the car crash had crushed every relation you had with the home you once dearly loved and now you were conflicted with the new information that was thrown your way. your uncle and aunt were under illegal possession of the house that allegedly belonged to your father and after his demise, to you. but what would you gain by going back? Bricks and cement could never compensate or alleviate the pain that you had learned to live with. Even with law on your side, tormenting them would be of no benefit to you. So you said what you had decided years ago.

“I-I don’t want to sue them.” you replied meekly, eyes still fixated on the thread holding the legal papers together.

A sound of disapproval caught your ears as mr. jung spoke against your decision,

“no y/n. Those leeches abandoned you to rot in an orphanage and are living comfortably with insurances and the house that belongs to you. all that money could have been used for your future. You don’t need to be afraid of them. kun would provide you the finest lawyers and within two hearings, they would be in jail for committing fraud and trespass. And as a lawyer yourself, you should know better than to let them go off like this.”

Everybody heard but no one spoke.

“no.” you raised your head to face him and swallowed hard before continuing, “I do not want to meet them”

“don’t you want to go back there? that’s your home.” Somewhere from your left, Johnny spoke.

“never.” You refused immediately. “the people who live there were never my family. They never wanted me a part of their family. I’m clearly not their blood. The people who adopted me are not alive anymore. Those who loved me left me years ago. For a ridiculous sum of money, they didn’t even say their goodbyes to me. I was left there thinking that maybe one day someone would come. But money wins over love. It always does. And i don’t give a shit about them. I have learned to live on my own. I never needed their love. And I certainly don’t want more of their hatred.”

Inhaling sharply, you spat your speech in a single breath. Your words weren’t emotionless still you didn’t feel them like others did.

“I think we should bury this matter.” this time your voice was polite.

They nodded.

Mr. jung, however, wasn’t done.

“Okay so no one would mention this but keep these papers with you. you never know when this might come handy. After all, you are the sole owner of those properties your father left. Now you see, we grease the palms of officers so we can escape the shit we create for ourselves but people like your family are worse than the devil hi-

Multiple coughs halted his train of words. His breather was immediately fished out of his pocket and handed over to him. once he regained his senses, he begin again,

“never mind. Family must be protected y/n and those who fail to do so slaps the most precious value away from them. it’s not necessary that you should cherish something when it’s really out of your reach. at least i can die peacefully knowing that you all would settle down finally. If yuta can leave his chaser personality to find love, there’s hope for everyone here and speaking of yuta, when he’s arriving?”

“in two hours”

Your eyes widened and a hiccup escaped your throat. You voiced out a hum of surprise, gathering everyone’s attention.

“You weren’t told?”

You football sized eyeballs told mr. jung that you certainly weren’t aware.

“I guess I just spoiled a surprise then. Forgive me, I'm old and I am also hungry. Show some courtesy to your guests and feed me and y/n.”

Hyuck jabbed at him before they all got up to run for their seats in the dining room. “You are old. Why do you even need to eat anymore. Go to himalayas, eat snow and acquire some peace. That’s what old people should do!”

Everyone seemed too occupied with their bickering to pay you any mind so you dragged a reluctant taeil to his room, demanding answers for the latest drama they had launched in your name.

"I'm so sorry about that. The day after reception at the office, uncle suddenly asked about your family and that got me curious too so I ended up searching in deep and that led me to this whole discovery. I swear i never meant to breach your privacy y/n." Taeil pleaded in a low whisper as he locked the knob.

"Why would he do that though?"

"He's just too sensitive when it comes to families. He even told me to find your real parents but I got no luck there because you were adopted from an open adoption center from a different country. I found no information on them but I'm sorry about that." His ramble was again reduced to a murmur..

Playing with your fingers, you signed heavily before replying,

"Thank you for your effort but you should have asked me first.”

"Did you perhaps know anything about their schemes?"

"Right since I learnt about the adoption laws. I couldn't have been adopted without a security registered under my name. Maybe that property was the house where they are living right now"

"I'm sor-

"When were you going to tell me about that little whiny bitch? He's coming back in a few hours? I have to live with him again? " Scrunching up your nose in disgust, you bellowed.

"Yeah. He and taeyong had a long love chat yesterday. He was indeed being dramatic so i wonder what happened between them that he agreed. But he's coming back yeah. It was inevitable anyway. I don't know how you want to approach this but I'd say don't choose conflict. Eventually you have to live together so why try to break each other's necks. I've said this before and I'd say it again he-

"He's not that bad? I don't understand how easily you forget that I'm in this predicament because of that man. How can you expect me to make peace with that fucking piece of shit who had his gun pointed to my head since very first day?"

"Are we that insufferable?"

"Don't change the topic"

"I'm not changing it.You said predicament. We are also part of it right. Do you really hate us that much?"

Your eyes softened, reflecting his tone. No, they were just mildly bearable. And no, there wasn't any need to admit it either.

"Taeil, you sound like the voice of reason here. Taeyong seems fishy too but he's too unpredictable. He's like a chameleon. Others don't seem to have any power in your stupid hierarchy I've come to notice so it's you right? You are the one who told taeyong to marry me to that poopface and spare my life. It is definitely you.” staring him right in the eye, you pointed your forefinger at him.

"Please do me a favour and don’t use your brain too much y/n. I already have too much on my plate. I don’t need another one. If you don’t want our uncle to die due to a heart attack caused by your and yuta’s actions, stay shut. Now let’s eat before they gobble down everything.”

Our uncle! Yeah sure, you thought.

14:00

Standing alone in the kitchen, fidgeting with your hands, you tried your best to eavesdrop but nothing coherent met your ears. You indeed expected the army of men to have a party when their estranged soldier would arrive but the welcome outside sounded more like a hue and cry. The screaming indicated anything but happiness.

Your dilemma ended when you heard your name being called, the voice belonging to senior jung. You couldn't understand why he loved shouting when clearly his lungs couldn't take anything in higher volume.

Walking into the living room, you saw everyone seated in a very civilian manner but their conversation was difficult to hear amidst the babble.

“Come sit” Mark, who had gone to fetch yuta from the airport, spoke.

As you took the seat next to taeil, your eyes fell on the raven haired man and met his own. If his blonde hair shrieked peril, the black softened all the darkness his previous hair projected. Mayhaps, it was the black rimmed glasses he wore. You didn’t even know he had eyesight issues. He looked different.

He might have looked non-barbaric for a few seconds but his intense eye roll with the twitched lips upon meeting your eyes caused you to scowl. That’s when you noticed the elbow crutch on his left arm leaning against his outstretched leg. Nothing seemed wrong. You sized up his both legs with a crease of confusion forming on your forehead. You might have been looking too hard for your unasked doubt was answered by none other than yuta himself.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

You scrunch your nose at the politeness that dripped from his lips, the honeyed words clearly in contrast from the uneasiness he felt while uttering them. Though the words were directed at you, he never regarded you directly and you weren’t sure how one was supposed to act in such a pretentious setting.

“No, definitely not a scratch.” Mr. Jung interrupted your internal unrest, interpreting your silence to be worry for the boy. “His left thigh is bandaged so it needs a lot of care. You might need to take some days off given how much movement hurt him. and you! I know you don’t want to worry her but lying around won’t work. she can’t tend to you unless she knows where you need care.”

He mildly instructed him as you found yourself staring at yuta’s brown cargo pants which hid whatever injury was being mentioned. The said words were dodged by your ears even before they’d have entered. The problem laid with the response that was expected of you. you couldn’t have possibly replied to him your true intentions that included ducking every wifey duties you were supposed to fulfil but like everyone else and as taeil had explained, you didn’t want the blood of an old man on your hands so you just played along.

“yes.”

That was enough for playing, you decided. Your quietness, for the first time won't be subjected to judgement as the dejection was expected.

“I think you both should go home now. I have some business to sort out here.” he got up and walked past you, not before petting your hair lovingly. He also smacked yuta on his head and mumbled something on the lines of how he should have enjoyed his last overseas trip and whatnot.

Once he, taeil and taeyong were out of sight, chatter started again. hovering over yuta, they dropped questions like he was in some interview and you remained seated, waiting for their next request they were possibly going to annoy you with.

“did you like france?”

“what the fuck! you didn’t tell me about the hair colour. Now I want to change mine too!” that was ten.

“why are you wearing pants if your thighs hurt?”

“I’m sorry for laughing at you earlier.”

Right when you thought you were specialising in drowning the sounds, Johnny's voice caused you to jerk your head towards them. Not the voice, maybe the question he asked!

“dude! Where did you exactly fall from? The room is on the ground floor and your work didn’t even require you to switch places. How can you break your leg while monitoring the local cells?”

Only two sentences were needed for the laughter to escape the confines of your stomach and the realisation that you actually thought about a bullet or a knife being the reason of the harm only elevated the amusement you felt. understandably, you became the center of their attention.

“who the fuck are you laughing at?” yuta sneered.

“you.”

The twisted bitter smirk on yuta's face told you that he still needed some good time getting used to your unfiltered tendencies but by the suppressed snickers that chenle and hyuck let out, their voices recognisable to you by now, you were sure at least a few of them were enjoying your jabs as much as you did.

"Fuck off." He finally barked, breaking the harsh eye contact.

"Happily!" You remarked, raising yourself from the cushioned seat.

"Where are you going y/n?" Intersected jungwoo.

"Home. Tell mr.jung that college called. It's Saturday so I've to visit the library anyway."

"Wait I'll drop you both."

Glaring at Johnny, you wordlessly challenged him to repeat what he said.

"Yes. You and him are not leaving alone. Uncle is still here. God forbid if he decides to stay the night, we won't have answers for him." He rather whispered to you.

"That sounds like a problem for you. My pact was over as soon as I saw that face. And I can guarantee you the feelings are more than mutual from that side too." Rolling your eyes towards yuta, you said.

"No no no! You can't do that yet!" Johnny came closer and continued his whispering, "please y/n. I promise he'd behave. Uncle did so much for you, can you help us this one last time? And yuta was returning anyway. If not today, then four days later. Please? You'd do that for me right?"

Sometime while talking, his fingers had found your hand and you weren't sure if he was aware of it or not.

But you were. And that had caused a little temperature problem in your whole body as you felt warmness enveloping your whole being.

And it seemed like your ears had stopped working too.

"Y/n! Are you hearing me?"

"Are you fine?"

His hand on your cheek broke your trance and your eyes darted away to look at his eyes, finding the same worry in them. Why was he so genuine, you thought.

"Are you sick?"

He questioned again, to which you only stuttered.

"No. I'm fine john. What were you saying though?"

"I said yuta needs to go back home. Please. He can't stay here even if we don't want him to be alone."

Somehow, you found yourself mindlessly nodding at his words. A cheeky contagious smile appeared on Johnny's lips, your own slightly curving on both sides. He backed away after caressing your face, the action more noticeable to others than he probably had intended.

"Let's get you home baby boy." Johnny snickered at yuta earning a slap from him.

"Fuck off bitch. At least feed me something before I leave. I'm hungry!" He screeched, hitting Johnny's leg with the end of his stick.

"What about the jjajangmyun you had in the car? How can you still be hungry?” Mark chirped up innocently.

"Oh come on. Don't make excuses.I'll bring some food in the evening." Johnny offered when yuta was busy giving a stink eye to mark.

"I too need some compensatory food john.”

“What the fuck do you mean compensatory? You live in that house because of me! Don’t imply yourself as the owner of that place!” you rolled your eyes for the nth time at yuta’s words, dismissing his words with the action.

“Why dont you donate your eyeballs to someone like me who can actually make better use of them. Instead of rolling them to the back all the time, I shall happily play tennis with them.”

“If my habits annoy you that much then why are you going back to breathe the same air as me. I’d be more than happy if i don't have to see your cursed face daily!”

“Stop you both.” Johnny's back shielded your view as he spoke. “He’s still here! Renjun, go and run a checkup for him and tell me how bad his leg is in actuality or is he just crying like a baby.”

In defeat, you sat down again. Fifteen minutes passed and despite being sleepy, you tried your best to listen to donghyuck’s ramble of something that jeno did the other day. All you heard was how jungwoo and jeno had a fight over piggyback rides and after that every word was transformed into a chant of word sleep as it hit your ears. Though it was early afternoon, the whole week had been nothing but tiring.

Once again your relaxation time was robbed off by none other than yuta. Maybe this was the end of your peaceful days.

Hopping off, you hurriedly whisked away before Johnny and Jungwoo could say anything to you. Two men were enough for towing the baggage.

As you stripped yourself off your jeans, an exhausted cackle left your lips when Johnny's words echoed in your head. During the car journey, he gave you some instructions in case of some emergency. That emergency being yuta! Not that you were going to put up with any of yuta’s demands, you listened to them anyway. Amusingly, yuta wasn't injured due to falling from stairs. He was getting drunk on the roof of a random building when he had launched himself into a sharp edge of a railing that gave him stitches all over his left thigh. Now he was as good as an exhausted car freshener.

As they settled him down, you didn’t bother going out even for a second. Choosing sleep over your much needed trip to the library, you tucked yourself into white sheets as the light breaths from air con lulled you to sleep.

17:00

Sitting in the library, your fountain pen ran along the plain pages like you were writing a well known story and not your thesis. The words were flowing like water and you felt no difficulty as you finished pages with the speed of light. Everything was going smoothly. You felt happy. And suddenly your hand stopped moving. It was glued to a single point, the nib leaking out on that spot. Next moment, your thoughts were muddled and a distant shuffling distracted you. The more you tried to move your wrist, the more forceful the noise became. Your breathing got heavier and your body jammed, the whole weight punching onto the weak muscles of the hand.

Your attempts never stopped but the noise did and it transformed into loud thumping coming right from your heart.

You tried to inhale but something stopped you.

Then you heard the calls of your name.

Rapid and loud.

Your body jerked forward and your breath finally returned as your eyes opened.

You had woken up from a dream. You were still in your room and the loud thumping was the loud banging on your door.

“y/n! Are you sleeping?”

Registering his words, you replied in a groggy voice.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Your phone. I left mine in the medical room. I need to call Mark right now.”

Whining loudly, you fell back on the bed. It was only due but flailing your arms and legs like a kid in a toy store, you let out a screech full of annoyance, cursing on your fate.

Were you really going to babysit him now?

****

Stay safe everyone. 2021 is just 2020 with a change of pajamas😑wear your mask and force others too🌝

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dulce-pjm · 4 years ago

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takes two to tango

word count: 3.0k

genre: fluff, absolutely tooth-rotting

summary: hoseok solved his problems and got the girl. he’d worked up the courage to ask you out and now life couldn’t be better, living as your boyfriend. but what’s the point of dating if he can’t even kiss you?

Damn. Hoseok was a real loser, wasn’t he?

Three weeks, three fucking weeks of dating you and he hasn’t been able to kiss you once.

He’d thought the hard part was over when he was finally able to spit out that he liked you before finals and asked you on a date. After a semester of desperate pining and you being completely oblivious to his flirting attempts, he thought the worst was over.

But alas, no.

Your one-month anniversary was rapidly approaching and Hoseok has yet to lock lips with you.

Maybe it’s stupid to be so caught up over such a small thing. But Hoseok likes you and he really doesn’t think it’s too much to ask for and he’d just really, really like to kiss you.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried. He’d gone through all the steps, even resorting to the cheap tricks he’d used in high school. But the timing was always shit or something stupid got in the way. It felt like the universe had it out for him, putting the chance just within his grasp before promptly yanking it away in the most inconvenient (and sometimes embarrassing) manner possible.

Should Hoseok be grateful for the time he’s already gotten to spend with you? Yes. And he is. You’re spectacular. A joy to be around. You kept him guessing and laughing and happy.

Actually, he’d actually kind of already gotten his wish. You’d kissed him on the cheek in joy after watching your team win whilst on an ice hockey date. You turned out to be surprisingly (and scarily) competitive, which Hoseok found all the more adorable. Despite being a small gesture born from the exciting moment, he’d found himself giggly and shy, melting from the attention. That night, while walking you home in the cold, he’d snuck a quick peck on your forehead before bidding you good night. He found himself wishing he’d done more as you disappeared behind your door, smiling to yourself.

But Hoseok was human. He was greedy. He just wanted one, small, teeny weeny little thing. And that thing was to kiss you on the lips, goddammit.

You weren’t his first girlfriend. He isn’t an amateur at this.

So why was it so fucking hard?

His first attempt was on your second date. Which, admittedly, might be a little soon but it actually wasn’t even his attempt. It was yours. The two of you were ice skating when he kept catching you staring at him.

“What, is there something on my face?” You’d giggled, reaching up your hand and lightly tapping his nose.

“You just look cold. And very cute.” Despite attempting to maintain a cool facade, the compliment had Hoseok reeling. His cheeks only grew warmer as you leaned upwards, eyes becoming half-lidded. He’d grinned, ducking down to meet you halfway.

It was perfect.

Until your skates suddenly lost traction and you slipped, lips colliding with his shoulder instead of his face.

Caught off guard, the both of you tumbled to the ground. In a movie, it might have been even more romantic. But in reality, falling on ice hurts like a fucking bitch. It took an entire minute for you both to get back on your feet, laughing and shouting from the pain along the way.

Cold and traumatized and bruised, the two of you shuffled back to the entrance while clutching onto each other for dear life, kiss long forgotten.

You both swore never to go ice skating again.

Hoseok’s actual first attempt had been at a small Christmas party. Hoseok’s Christmas party, in fact. It was for a small dance exercise class he led every Monday through the university. It was through that same class that he met you, actually. You and several of your friends were regulars, and soon he was smitten. He wasn’t sure whether it was your laugh or your smile or your unending optimism that drew him in, only that he had fallen for you and hard. You two, along with the rest of the group, had naturally gotten close over the past semester, so Hoseok decided to give the group one last hurrah together via a small Christmas party just after everyone finished their exams.

While everyone else was pigging out on brownies or getting drunk off of cheap beer or karaoke-ing to the best of their abilities (which was pretty god-awful), you and Hoseok were camped out in the corner, trying your best to put together a gingerbread house.

You were failing magnificently, but that didn’t make the activity any less fun. Hoseok was in charge of holding the pieces while you piped icing, with you naturally taking every opportunity to swipe bits of the white fluff on his nose and cheeks and forehead. He’d cried out in protest, promising to exact his revenge, but he cared too much about this stupid gingerbread house to move his hands and risk the whole thing collapsing.

But before you could even get to the decorating stage, the whole thing shattered. Literally shattered. You blamed it on Hoseok, claiming he’d been gripping it so hard that the pieces snapped in two. He, in turn, blamed it on you for being such a distraction.

While the two of you were playfully bickering, one of your friends snuck up behind the table with a bunch of mistletoe.

“Kiss already, ya lovebirds!” she’d cried, clearly having one (or three) too many beers. The entire class was painfully invested in your relationship, so it only made sense that they’d also tease you about it relentlessly.

The two of you glanced up at the green leaves and then back at each other. A pitchy rendition of ‘Silent Night’ echoed throughout the room. Hoseok smiled and leaned in, muttering something about “tradition” and “giving the people what they want, Y/N.”

His eyes fluttered closed as his lips approached yours, his last thought being how nice you looked and how warm his heart felt.

It was perfect.

And then you wiped a massive blob of thick white icing across his entire face. He’d gasped while you and the rest of the party burst into a fit of giggles.

“I’m sorry-” You choked on your laughter, tears sprung from your eyes. “-Hoseok, the opportunity was just too good! You should have seen your face!” He didn’t have it in him to be mad at you, not when your laugh was that adorable.

Instead, he’d rubbed his frosting-covered cheek all over yours for revenge as you screeched and struggled against his grip. By the end of the night, both of your cheeks were aching from laughter.

But still, no kiss.

At your annual New Years’ Party, he’d tried a different strategy: being slick.

The two of you were pleasantly tipsy but not quite drunk. And the alcohol gave Hoseok just enough courage to try kissing you again.

While perched on two barstools around your kitchen island, he’d casually thrown his arm around your shoulder while you were babbling about some story a friend had told you. He’d tried to listen, he really did, but what was a guy supposed to you when you looked as cute as you did?

“I mean, what are the odds? They saw each other in standstill traffic, Hobi. Isn’t that so romantic?”

“Mhmm.” Feeling the weight of his arm, you moved to look his way and felt your face getting very hot very quickly with the way he was gazing at you.

“Hobi?” He was much too caught up in how soft your lips looked from here, slightly parted and inviting. Everything about you was soft and sweet.

His eyes flickered back to yours, shimmering under the mood lighting.

He shifted forward, not loosening his gaze for even a second. He was going to relish every second of this, every second of you.

It was so perfect.

But in his drunken stupor, Hoseok hadn’t quite noticed the way his barstool was wobbling until it was too late and he tumbled to the floor.

You immediately freaked, rushing to his aid. While your concern was genuine and made Hoseok happy that you cared for him, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. The mood was dead once you lugged him to the couch and, despite his protests, insisted he lie down for a while and instructed him to not touch any more alcohol, worried that he’d injure himself further. The night ended kiss-free and with Hoseok falling asleep before the clock struck twelve, missing the countdown.

But last weekend? Now that was the final straw.

The two of you had decided to catch a drive-in movie, some silly rom-com. You’d suggested a holiday-themed horror movie, but Hoseok was quick to shut that idea down. Not only was he a coward, but he wasn’t sure how the hell he was supposed to be romantic when there were demons threatening to jump-scare him every three seconds.

As the two leads finally began confessing their feelings in the final act of the movie, Hoseok looked to you. He found you staring right back, as if you knew this was coming.

His hand lifted to cup your cheek as the male lead cried “I love you!” Your hands slid behind the back of his neck as your eyes shut and the two of you grew closer and closer, lips mere millimeters apart. Hoseok could smell your lavender shampoo and cherry lip gloss, could even count your lashes from here.

It was so fucking perfect. The epitome of romance. As the two leads passionately confessed, Hoseok and you were about to share your first kiss.

And then some idiot fell asleep on their horn, sending the obnoxious, blaring sound echoing throughout the drive-in lot. Hoseok shrieked, absolutely startled to the core.

“For fuck’s sake!” he’d cried, throwing himself back in the driver’s seat.

You’d found immense humor in his pouting and tried to tease him back into his old self, but the moment was long gone. Hoseok cursed the male lead for being able to get his girl when he was so clearly suffering. You held his hand for the rest of the film and jokingly critiqued it on the way home. But it wasn’t enough. Hoseok had just one thing he wanted and he couldn’t even accomplish that.

And now, he had a vendetta against the whole fucking universe.

He was going to kiss you if it killed him. And it was going to be perfect.

He’s chanting that thought like a mantra as the two of you are taking a very romantic stroll in the park, hands intertwined and bodies huddled together to conserve heat in the winter weather.

“I can’t believe we only have one semester left,” you murmur, clutching your coat closer to your body. “I still feel like a kid.”

“Based on your eating habits, I’d have to agree.” You gasp in shock, slapping his arm.

“Hey! What do you have against Lunchables?” Hoseok laughs at your offended look, finding you all too endearing.

“It’s not the Lunchables I have a problem with. Lunchables are great. It’s the cheese and peanut-butter crackers you’re crazy about. It’s disgusting.” You roll your eyes and groan, tired of this argument.

“For the last time, I didn’t know they were cheese flavored and they taste good!”

“Why else would they be orange, Y/N?” You shake your head, refusing to indulge him any further. “Disgusting.”

The two of you approach a quaint bridge crossing a babbling creek. The sky is colored with purples and pinks and oranges, reflected across the water. A few kids are playing by the shore, much to the disdain of their parents. Hoseok feels his chance approaching.

You both stop and lean against the bridge railing, watching the sunset. You nuzzle against him, taking delight in his warmth.

Hoseok studies the way the light reflects off of your face, the way a small smile creeps across your lips. You’re beautiful. Hoseok feels immensely lucky to have had you for this long. There’s a growing part of him that wants to keep you forever.

“You’re so pretty-”

“It’s so pretty-”

The words are uttered at the same time, you staring at the sky and Hoseok staring at you. When you meet his eyes, the two of you can’t help but laugh quietly to yourselves. Timing’s always been funny for you, huh.

As the sun peaks farther behind the horizon, Hoseok tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. You can’t fight the grin on your face as Hoseok wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you in.

This is perfect. This is the moment Hoseok has been waiting for. He’d suffered for three miserable weeks, but it was all about to be worth it. There’s absolutely nothing that can shatter the happiness in Hoseok’s heart.

“Oh my god, is that a dog?” You’re torn from Hoseok’s embrace as you dash across the bridge. All he can do is sigh and grasp at the cold air you’d occupied seconds before.

When he turns to see where you’ve run off to, he finds you plopped on the ground loving on a fluffy black and gold mutt. You crane your neck to face him.

“It doesn’t have a collar, Hobi. I think it’s a stray.” The dog jumps excitedly against your chest, tackling you to the ground and licking at your cheeks and nose and mouth. Showering you with kisses before Hoseok’s eyes.

Lucky bastard.

Hoseok doesn’t have the heart to be mad. You’re too damn adorable. And the dog is pretty cute too. The puppy jumps from you to Hoseok, hopping excitedly and running between his legs.

“Hyper one, aren’t you?”

He begrudgingly takes the creature into his arms and hauls you to your feet, mumbling that he knows where the nearest animal shelter is. You trail after him, doting on the animal the whole way. Hoseok sighs, accepting the fact that he’s not getting his kiss tonight. But he thinks he’s okay with that, what with the way you’re talking in your animal voice and gushing over how cute this dog is.

God, Hoseok’s such a loser. But he’d like to hope that he’s your loser now.

“I miss him already!” you cry as the two of you stumble out of the shelter. Startled by the chill, you quickly take his hand, but even that can’t bring Hoseok the joy he wants.

“He’ll have a nice and loving home soon, don’t worry,” he soothes, ruffling your hair. He does his best to smile, but it comes off strained and fake, and you notice. Your lip immediately puffs out at his sulking.

“Is there something wrong?” Guilt fills Hoseok’s chest at your genuine worry. But he’d been acting strangely since New Year’s, he knew, so he figured at this point he owed you an explanation.

“Well...” Hoseok ponders the situation, trying to put together the right words. “Ireallywannakissyoubutshitkeepsgettingintheway.”

“I- what?” You’re staring at him in utter confusion. Hoseok sighs as you lean in closer, trying to decipher his words.

“I’ve been trying to kiss you for three weeks now but it never works out!” he shouts into the cold night air, relief filling him as he finally gets his biggest worry off of his chest.

You’re silent for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound sweet and loud and in any other case, infectious. Hoseok pouts, wondering how you always manage to find the humor in his suffering. The sun is long set but he can still make out your cackling figure in the lamplight.

You regain your breath before pulling him closer to you, still giggling between your words.

“Why didn’t you just ask?” It’s a genuine question, Hoseok supposes. He’s about to answer, but that’s when you say something that sends him over the edge. “It’s just a kiss, there’s no need to take it so seriously.”

“Of course it’s serious!” he exclaims, making you jump. He quickly lowers his voice, looking at the ground sheepishly. “Well- I only mean that I’m serious about you. So I just wanted it to be nice and romantic and perfect because I care about you a lot and you deserve that, okay? And I know that we’ve only been dating for a few weeks but I really-”

When Hoseok lifts his eyes, you’re whipping your head around wildly, as if you’re being stalked or something is about to pop out from behind a corner.

“Y/N? What are you doing? Is something wrong?” After a few more seconds of your paranoid glances, you meet his eyes, a cheeky grin plastered across your face. You shrug innocently.

“I was just checking to make sure nothing could possibly interrupt us.” Hoseok freezes, jaw dropping slightly. You find the expression hilarious but decide to keep that to yourself. And then Hoseok is smiling like an idiot and pulling you close and running a hand through your hair.

Your lips barely brush against his when you suddenly lean your head back, making Hoseok cry out in frustration. You can’t get far though, not when you’re wrapped in his arms.

“Just for the record,” you say, lifting a single finger between your chests. “That was the most romantic and perfect thing you could have said before our first kiss.” Hoseok rolls his eyes. You choke back a giggle at his impatience. You watch the puffs of condensation leave his lips, considering torturing him for longer, but you don’t. “Now, please continue.”

With your permission, Hoseok does the one thing he’s been waiting all too long for. Despite his pent-up frustration, he kisses you softly and slowly, relishing in every second and every touch.

After a long minute, he pulls away, gazing at you happily. You stare right back, unable to wipe the stupid grin off of your face. You’re content and lovestruck and stupid together. Until a large gust of chilly wind hits you and the two of you are screaming and tearing off back to your respective apartments.

It certainly wasn’t perfect. Maybe a little sloppy. Certainly not like Hoseok would have planned it.

But it was with you. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#bts #bts scenario #bts fluff #bts fanfic #hoseok fluff #hobi fluff #hoseok fanfic #hoseok scenario #ngl im so proud of this one #this was the concept i toyed and changed with the most but now im in love #dedicated to my lovely friends who inspired and helped build this story #the shortest but def the sweetest #enjoy!!!!

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encntada · 5 months ago

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his words carry a deeper meaning. and she notices straight away how it weighed on his smile and shrouded his eyes, " xavier… " his name passes her lips with a frown following closely behind, " you do all that you can. " that night in the alley, he'd done more for her than she could ever truly repay. he looked into her pleading, frightened eyes and spared her life. sure, his companion had added the cruel stipulation of captivity but without xavier's restraint her body, drained of its blood, would be rotting beneath this very castle. forgotten. " and you've already done so much for me. " the gifts, the rose bush, that lovely dress… she was grateful for it all, more than he could ever know but her life ? for that alone, she felt herself forever indebted to him. " oh, i know ! " an idea sparks suddenly, " i've gotten really good at making little birds out of paper. maybe i — i could make you a few. " her small frame now energized from excitement. " i know it isn't quite as nice as this picnic but… it's something, isn't it ? something for you."

the honey cakes prove to be a worthy first choice as the sweetness lingers on her tastebuds, " very ! " their laughter rings out in a rare harmony. such a carefree, joyful sound was scarce within the walls of the castle. " well, at least you still have very good taste. " tucking her curls behind her ears, lydia takes stock of her options once more contemplating her next choice. this decision is swift as she reaches for a bit of bread and cheese. great care is taken to assemble the perfect bite, popping it into her mouth she finds herself satisfied once again ! the bread was soft and miraculously a bit warm while the cheese was creamy and flavorful. " i know i've already said this but, i can't thank you enough for all of this. " his true nature comes as less of a shock to her now that she has become well acquainted with and has grown quite fond of it. but she is still moved by his care and kindness. he was so far away from the monster his condition could have led him to be.

" mhmm. " though uncertainty swirls in her stomach as a moment of pause stretches between them. ninety years is only a long time when you have no context of what that means, wesley's voice crept in eerily through the silence whistling amongst the wind. he was right, she hadn't realized what she was asking of xavier, how distant or non existent his memories of that time must've been. her lips part to retract but he speaks before she can. brown eyes soften as his words create the perfect picture of what was so clearly a beloved memory. it was easy to feel as if she were there, too. " that sounds like a perfect day. " her response is a whisper hoping not to disrupt the delicate air of the moment. her hand journeys slowly across the blanket until the tips of her fingers grazed his. the coolness of his skin against hers sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, " thank you for sharing that with me. " another piece of him to hold carefully in her heart, " i know i don't know a lot about picnics yet but, i'm starting to think that the most important thing—after the food, of course— is who you share it with. " she smiles, " i'm sure your brother knew that, too. "

"I'm glad." His voice mixes with the chirping of the birds as they return to the nearby trees, and through his perfect posture, there is an ease in his expression, a softness behind his eyes that he hadn't let himself feel in the last week. Since that night in the alley, it is like Xavier has had to battle balancing two versions of himself. The more he has gotten to know this one, the easier it is to lean into the kinds of feelings that he associated with his life in the before.

Shifting in his spot, Xavier shakes his head in reassurance. "I don't need anything. I'm just glad I could do something for you," he says, shrugging. Only Lydia could look at one half of the duo initially responsible for her captivity and wish she could do something for him. "I wish I could do more." Guilt touches his smile. No one should have to live like this. A life within the walls of this castle is not about living at all. After almost 150 years, Xavier would know.

As she weighs her starting point, he is content to sit back, letting his focus shift back to the people of the town who are all rushing in the streets as they carry on with their day. Xavier wears a smile as he watches, one that only grows as Lydia settles on the honey cakes. "Good?" His chuckle is a rare careless sound that trickles from his lips as he watches. "They looked promising. I was hoping the taste would live up to everything the baker had to say about them, but I'm quite fine. I've come to terms with it." With a dismissive wave of his hand, Xavier nods toward the rest of the picnic. "It is just nice to see someone else enjoying it. It would be wasted on me." There was a time, or a few decades, that he refused to accept his new dietary preferences, but once he realized how drastically his taste had changed, he stopped forcing himself to eat human food. There are still times that he misses it or at least misses the feeling he had when he ate, but Xavier has lost so much since then.

"My brother?" Considering his earlier comment it shouldn't surprise him so much to hear his brother mentioned, but for a moment he only nods. "I remember everything," he says finally. "It was a day not unlike this. Sunny and bright. We had just snuck out to the fields, far enough away where no one could easily spot us." His family's estate was large enough that the brothers knew just where to hide to remain out of sight. "We stole food from the kitchen and found berries in bushes close to the forest and ate it all in the dirt, surrounded by tall grass in the field." Xavier smiles. "It was... a perfect day. Though, not quite as neat as our picnic today, I'm afraid."

#erstwhles #◟ ⋆ threads › LYDIA HAWKINS #i could cry 🥺

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bangtan-sonyeonddaeng · 5 years ago

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Part 5

Summary: Soulmates have different ways of being connected to one another. Sometimes it’s through being able to write on their arms and having it show up on their soulmates. For others it was having their first words spoken to one another permanently tattooed into their skin. You had a unique connection with yours, one that you really hadn’t ever heard of happening before. Whatever song was stuck in your soulmate’s head was also stuck in yours and the same was for them. When Yoongi realizes one of his songs is playing on repeat in your head, he immediately takes to writing songs to communicate with you in hopes it will finally bring you two together.

Genre: Fluff. Just pure tooth rotting, sweet fluff.

Whew this was a long one. 4.5k words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

As you stepped off the plane you couldn’t believe it. You were finally in Seoul, the same city as your soul mate. That alone felt indescribable. It was a happiness you had never known. The past day was hectic. Trying to book last minute plane tickets and a hotel room. You didn’t even know how long you were going to be staying here depending on how well things went with Yoongi. You booked your hotel for a week just to be safe, knowing you could cancel if you absolutely had to. You considered coming alone, but your friend was very insistent that they go with you. You were traveling to a foreign country to meet your soulmate. Your friend wouldn’t miss this for the world, but also wanted to be there as a support and help in any way they could.

You arrived to the hotel and unpacked your belongings and immediately flopped down onto the bed.

“Jet lag sucks.”

“Indeed it does. I feel like I could sleep for the next 10 years.” Within moments your friend was snoring and clutching the pillow tightly. You giggled quietly to yourself and pulled your phone out to see if Yoongi had posted anything else. There were no new songs, but there was a new post from him. It was a selfie of him and oh gosh he looked so adorable it made your heart flutter. The caption underneath the photo just said “I can’t wait to see you.”

A bunch of army had commented underneath that they couldn’t wait to see him too. Their tour was starting in a little over a month. You knew what the real meaning was behind the photo. And you quickly typed a reply.

“I can’t wait to see you too. It’s such a short time away.”

You set your phone down and were about to try and sleep for a little bit when a notification went off. ‘I’m not Min Yoongi’ had sent you another reply.

Isn’t it late where you are at now? What are you still doing awake?

You glance at the clock and see that it is only 8:00 pm. You have a long way to go until morning.

Actually I am in Seoul right now. So it’s only 8:00 in the evening. Besides, how do you know where I live? You stalking me?

Ah no! no! You just um… always seemed to reply early in the morning here. So I figured it was late wherever you were.

Yoongi face palms. Smooth save, Min.

Ah okay. Makes sense I guess.

So what are you doing in Seoul?

Hopefully meeting my soulmate.

Oh! That’s exciting! I hope everything goes well for you two.

Me too. I hope everything goes the way I am thinking it will but.. we’ll see.

Well if you were traveling all day aren’t you tired? Shouldn’t you be in bed?

Yes I should be but I can’t sleep. I’m too anxious.

I’m sure your soulmate feels the same. But they would want you to get your rest and take care of yourself.

You’re right. I’ll try my best.

What usually helps you sleep?

Um.. well this might sound silly but I fall asleep easily to Yoongi’s songs and videos of him just talking? His voice is so soothing.

Huh.. I see. You like his voice then?

Yes. Very much. It almost feels like.. coming home after a long trip. Just that comfort of knowing you are home.

Yoongi blushes at this and the sweet compliments.

Maybe he’ll surprise you and do a vlive or something.

Hah, I can only wish.

After that you don’t get a reply. You do however, get a notification on your phone that Yoongi is doing a Vlive. You laugh to yourself as you realize that there is no way that account wasn’t him at this point. You pull out your phone.

You know for someone who isn’t Min Yoongi you sure called that one right.

It’s just a voice live, you hear his phone go off and then hear him quietly chuckling into the mic. You don’t receive a reply but don’t anticipate you will at this point. Yoongi says something in Korean to start that you don’t quite catch what he says, but then he repeats himself in English.

“I heard from some of you that you like my voice and it’s calming to you. Since it’s nearing the end of the night I figured this would be a good way for you all to relax and unwind after a long day.” You smile to yourself and put your headphones in, quickly drifting off to sleep. You wake up a few hours later. When you glance at the clock you see it’s after midnight. You groan and sit up, looking over to the other bed to see your friend completely passed out still. You’ve always envied how deeply they seem to sleep.

As you sit there, the anxiety begins to come back. How nervous you are is finally starting to settle in. What if he doesn’t like you? What if you don’t get along? What if he was hoping his soulmate was someone famous? Are you good enough for him? Your leg starts shaking back and forth before you can’t sit still any longer. You crawl out of bed and slip your shoes on, quietly heading out the door as you don’t want to wake up your friend. You walk outside into the fresh air and find that it is helping you calm down to be able to just walk.

You don’t know where you are heading, but you have your phone with you and can easily find your way back to the hotel with the GPS. You put your headphones back in and just walk. You are listening to the playlist you had made of the few songs Yoongi had wrote for you and continue wandering and humming along. After you listen to all of the songs at least once you come across a bench with a man sitting on it. You don’t pay him any attention and walk on by, lost in your own world. You don’t make it very far before you feel a gentle tug on the bottom of your shirt. You turn around and see the man looking up at you. His bottom half of his face is covered and he’s wearing a beanie and heavy coat. Clearly he doesn’t want to be seen. You panic for a second thinking maybe he was going to mug you before he says something to you.

“What?”

“Ah, foreigner?” You nod.

“I said it’s dangerous to be outside alone this late.” He repeats in English. Your heart nearly drops to your stomach. You know that voice. You’d recognize it anywhere.

“Yoongi?” His eyes widen at that and now he seems to be the one panicked.

“Shit.. Are you a fan? Please don’t tell anyone you saw me and don’t freak out and scream. I go out late to avoid people for a reason-”

“Yoongi stop. It’s me!”

“Am I supposed to know you? Please don’t tell you’re a sasaeng. Wow this is just my luck.”

“It’s y/n!” Yoongi freezes and drops his hand to his side and he looks a little angry if the way he furrows his brows at you is any indication.

“Funny joke. Haha okay what do you want? An autograph?”

“No I’m serious Yoongi it’s me! We’ve been talking on Twitter back and forth! Ah wait no I’m sorry that wasn’t Min Yoongi I forgot.” You say with a smirk on your face.

“I… There’s no way. Let me see your phone.” You pull it out and unlock it, then hand it over to him. He opens up your Twitter and goes to your notifications and sure enough, there’s your conversations. “Oh my god.. Y/n it’s really you.” He hands your phone back and just stares at you in shock.

“Um.. So… what-“

“No, no! Absolutely not! I did not spend all night writing that song about us meeting for the first time for you to just bump into me on the street. I refuse.”

“Yoongi! You can’t fight fate-“

“Like hell I can’t. Watch me.” He stands up and grabs you, turning your shoulders around to face away from him and gives you a gentle push. “Now you march your cute little butt back to your hotel and we can try this again tomorrow.”

“Yoongi, oh my god.” You burst out laughing and your shoulders begin to shake with you how much you are laughing. You can hear him chuckling behind you before his hands move down and wrap around your waist, pulling you into a back hug.

“You have no idea how happy I am to finally have you here. I have never felt so many emotions in my heart at once but they are all good and they are all because of you.” You let your hands move down and your fingers play with his where they are resting on your waist. “But I really want to do this right. So please. Let’s pretend this first encounter never happened. And I’ll see you tomorrow at the river.. okay?” You smile and nod your head.

“Okay, Yoongi. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Can we meet earlier in the afternoon though instead of the evening. I-“

“Ah! Nope! My song says a crisp autumn EVENING. Not day. You’re just going to have to be patient now go on then!” He lets go of you and you let out a giggle but continue walking down the sidewalk. You don’t miss the footsteps trailing behind you on the way.

“What are you doing? I thought you said you didn’t want to meet until tomorrow? Now you’re following me back to my hotel? Scandalous. We haven’t even had our first date and you’re already-”

“Yah! Shush. I just want to make sure you make it back safely. I wasn’t kidding when I said it’s not safe at night time. Pretend I’m not here.”

“Okay.” You smile the whole way back. When you reach the hotel lobby and turn around he’s already gone. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much as you walk back to your hotel room. You open the door quietly and shuffle back in, kicking your shoes off and collapsing into bed. Your friend is awake now.

“Where did you go?”

“Just for a walk. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah, too anxious to meet him for the first time?” You laugh to yourself.

“Yeah, I was. But the walk really helped me. I think I am really ready to see him now.”

“Good! Now get some rest! We have a big day ahead. Well you do anyways. I’ll just be hanging around here anxiously waiting for you to get back and tell me every single detail of your first meeting.”

“Sure thing. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight y/n. I’m sure Yoongi is going to love you. You have nothing to worry about.” You roll over onto your side and before long you are about to drift off to sleep when a noise from your phone brings you out of your drowsy daze. You see it’s a notification for twitter. Yoongi, sent you a message.

By the way, you’re absolutely the most beautiful person I have ever seen.

You smile and your cheeks heat up, feeling a warmth in your chest as you finally drift off to sleep.

You don’t wake up until late afternoon. The jet lag, coupled with the anxiety you felt last night before meeting Yoongi and being up late had allowed you to sleep for a long time. You probably would have still been asleep if your friend wouldn’t have woken you up to go eat lunch. You don’t tell them that you already met Yoongi, having promised to pretend like it never happened and you intended to keep your word. You spend the day exploring the city, even going to the Line Friends store and picking up a few items to spoil yourself a little bit. You walk around and eat until it’s now starting to get dark outside.

“We should probably head over to the park now. I’ll ride in the taxi with you there but then after I drop you off I’ll head back to the hotel.”

“Wait why don’t you just wait for me? What if something goes wrong and-“ Your friend flicks your forehead.

“Y/n don’t start that nonsense. You two are probably going to be out together all night. Just text me and check in. Let me know how everything is going, alright?” You nod and hug your friend tightly.

“Thank you for coming with me, and pushing me out of my comfort zone. And annoying Yoongi with your horrible songs. If it weren’t for you I probably wouldn’t have met him.”

“Hmmm, yes you would. Fate would have made sure of it, but I will take the praise anyway.” Just then a taxi pulls up and you both get in. But when you arrive at the park only you get out. You wave to your friend as the car pulls away. The butterflies in your stomach feel like they are going to fly out of your mouth at any moment. You walk along the riverside, admiring the views and listening to the sounds of the crickets. You notice up ahead all of the flowers and your pace quickens when you notice Yoongi standing in the middle of all of them. He spots you and immediately starts waving. But you ignore it and keep walking. He stops waving and tilts his head in confusion.

“Y/n!” He yells your name but you still continue walking along the path towards him. “Are you going to say hi to me or not?!”

“Huh? Sorry do I know you?”

“Are you serious right now?”

“We’ve never met before. How do you know my name?” You are trying so hard not to laugh when it finally clicks with Yoongi.

“Ah yes you’re right. My mistake. Are you here to meet with someone?”

“Yes. My soulmate told me to meet him among the cosmos.” You say with a smile. Yoongi is absolutely beaming as he reaches down and takes your hand in his.

“Well then that would be me. I’m Yoongi. But you must have already known that if you heard my songs for you.” He brings your hand up to his lips and gently kisses the back of it. The shock it sends through you almost brings you to your knees.

“I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you soul mate.” Yoongi’s gummy smile widens further before he pulls you tightly into his arms. His hug is bone crushing, making it slightly hard for you to breathe but there is no way you would ask him to let go. Your arms are around his neck pulling him impossibly closer to you. He nuzzles his face into your shoulder and you feel your sweater dampen. You pull away in shock.

“Yoongi why are you crying?”

“Why are YOU crying?”

“I am not!” But you know you are. You can feel the tears streaming down your face and your voice cracks when you talk. “Okay I definitely am.” You both laugh and reach up to wipe each other’s tears away. You spend a few moments with your hands gently ghosting over each other’s faces, wanting to commit the way it feels to memory and make sure that the other was actually there.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here. I never thought we would ever find each other. When I learned that our connections were through the songs we had stuck in our heads, I just lost all hope of ever finding my soulmate.”

“To be honest for a while there I did too. It wasn’t until I first heard your music that I knew. I just felt it immediately that you were my soul mate.”

“I felt that too. When I read your comments on my songs it was like every cell in my body was calling out to you. I just… God I still can’t believe it.” He grabs you and pulls you into another hug. You both stand there for a while, just enjoying the feeling of each other’s warmth. Yoongi is the first to pull away but he doesn’t let go of your hand as he leads you on a short walk over to one of the benches overlooking the river. You sit next to each other in a comfortable silence.

“I’m not dreaming am I?” He wonders out loud. You reach over and pinch his side and he jumps away from you with a startled yell. “What was that?!”

“Proving to you that you aren’t dreaming.” He begins to laugh at that and the sound still makes your heart race. “But I know what you mean. It still doesn’t feel real.” Yoongi sits back down on the bench and laces your fingers together again, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Okay I gotta know. What kind of music do you really listen to?” You let out a snort at this.

“All different genres. Definitely not most of the ones that were stuck in your head though.”

“And that was your friend’s idea?”

“Yes. They thought it would be funny to mess with you a little bit. At least show that I have a sense of humor so you at least had some idea of what kind of person I was.”

“Honestly I just thought you were a person with shitty taste in music.” You both laugh playfully at that.

“How did you get the idea? For the songs I mean?”

“Ah, Namjoon gave me the idea to talk to you through song writing. For the past.. hmm month or so? The guys have really been helping me try and think of ways to find my soulmate. I think they were tired of seeing me mope all the time. They all had found theirs so easily I was just.. stuck.” Your heart clenches, knowing that feeling all too well. You squeeze his hand as a comforting gesture.

“I know what you mean.” Yoongi returns your squeeze.

“But hey everything worked out okay in the end right? We’re finally here with each other. I want to know you better. I want to know everything. What you’re passionate about, what things you like and dislike. Where you’re from, about your family, what your childhood was like. What-“

“Whoa there. We have all night Yoongi there is no rush.”

“We um.. have more than a night though right? Like… I know we’re soulmates fated to be together and all that but you still have a choice. Do you want to keep seeing me?” Yoongi seems insecure and unsure of himself now as he plays with the rings on your fingers and refuses to meet your gaze.

“Of course I want to continue seeing you! Why would you think even for a moment I wouldn’t?” He sighs and tries to untangle his hands from yours but you just hold on tighter.

“Being in a relationship with an idol isn’t easy y/n… I don’t think you fully understand what all of this is going to entail. You’re never going to have a moment of privacy. Even when we go out together on dates someone is almost always going to figure out who I am.”

“Well no one has so far tonight right? I think you just need to wear a mask and hide who you are then it won’t be so bad. Especially if we go out at night or go to more secluded places. I know dating an idol isn’t going to be easy but I don’t care about that. I just want to be with you. I’ll take all the good and bad that comes with it.” Yoongi stops trying to hold himself back any longer. He moves his hand behind your head and tugs you in closer to him so he can finally connect his lips to yours.

The kiss is sweet, gentle but loving. It’s like he’s pouring the years of emotions he’s felt towards you into the kiss. There isn’t any sparks or crazy fireworks. Everything just goes quiet, and suddenly it’s like you two are the only ones in the world right now. Yoongi pulls away after a few short moments. Even for just a short kiss you both are a bit breathless.

“Wow. I didn’t know kissing your soulmate would feel like that.” He says in between breatths.

“Me either. That was… perfect.” Yoongi smirks.

“Perfect? Wow am I that good of a kisser?” You playfully smack his arm and he laughs. You two spend quite a while talking on that bench. Asking questions and getting to know each other better. The moon is hanging high in the sky and all the stars are shining on the two of you. The wind starts to pick up and you shiver. “Ah are you cold, sweetheart?” He takes his jacket off and drapes it around you, although you did feel your face heat up at the petname. You hope Yoongi doesn’t notice your blush and will just assume it’s because you’re cold. “We can go now if you want to.” You shake your head back and forth quickly.

“No! I mean.. I don’t want to leave you yet.” His expression softens at your confession.

“Well.. We can go back to my place? If you’re comfortable with that?” You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively at him and he moves away from you. “Not like that!”

“I’m kidding, Yoongi! I’d love to go back with you. Even if we don’t talk at all. Even if we just sleep it doesn’t matter. I just want to be around you.”

“I’m glad you feel that way because I was thinking the same thing.” He stands off the bench and takes your hand to lead you over to the car that was waiting to take the two of you back to his house. You send your friend a quick update text, to let her know everything was okay and going well. They send you back a bunch of heart emojis and you slip the phone back in your pocket. On the way up to his door it doesn’t sneak past your notice that he hasn’t let go of your hand the entire time you two have been together.

“Do you like holding hands?” He blushes and looks away, busying himself with entering the code into the door so it unlocks.

“Um.. Yeah I do. Does it bother you?”

“Not at all. I love it actually.”

“Do you want any tea or anything to drink to help warm you up?”

“Mmm, no. I just need you.” With how much Yoongi has been smiling he’s beginning to wonder if his muscles are just going to be permanently stuck.

“Do you want to go lay down? Maybe watch a movie?”

“That sounds perfect.”

You are both laying down now, in his bed. You are actually laying with Yoongi, your soulmate. Your head resting on his chest while he was a tight grip around your waist. You are starting to fall asleep when you feel his grip suddenly tighten around you. You lift your head up to look at him.

“Everything okay?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah. Sorry did I squeeze you too hard?”

“No I just thought maybe something was wrong and you wanted my attention.” Yoongi shakes his head, but bites his lip as if he is thinking deeply about something.

“It’s not that I was upset or anything.. I just wanted to make sure that you were actually here. And that I’m not hallucinating, or just imagining all this. It still doesn’t feel real. I thought I had met my soulmate before. I was so sure but it turned out it was just someone using me for my fame.. And I was so desperate to just have that connection with someone that I ignored all the warning signs. And I know you aren’t like that. I know for 100% certain you’re my soulmate but…“

“But that nagging voice in the back of your head just keeps questioning things?” He nods in confirmation. You sit up and adjust yourself so you’re facing him. You take his face in your hands and make sure he is looking at you and can see the sincerity in your eyes. “I completely understand why you are worried. Believe me. But I would never do anything to hurt you. I would never use you like that. I promise that I am here, that I am real.” You grab his hand and place it on your heart. He closes his eyes and lets himself just feel. Your warmth, the gentle thrumming of your heart beat, the sounds of your breaths. It helps ground him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. If you ever have doubts or are worried about anything you can always come to me. I want to be there for you.” Yoongi smiles that gummy smile that is going to quickly make you fall head over heels in love with him in no time if he keeps directing it at you.

“Thank you y/n.” He pecks your lips and then pats his chest for you to lay back down. Pretty soon your breaths even out and you’ve fallen asleep. Yoongi holds you just a little bit closer, and places a kiss to the top of your head. “I already like you so much and it kind of scares me. But I am going to give you my whole heart, angel. I hope you’ll keep it safe.”

“Don’t worry I will.” Yoongi jumps.

“I thought you were asleep!”

“I was but I am not that heavy of a sleeper remember? I woke up when I heard you talking.” Yoongi blushes but snuggles closer to you.

“Do you want to meet the other members tomorrow?”

“I’d love to! Can I bring my friend too?”

“Of course. You all are going to be a part of the family now we might as well all meet one another.” You smile at that and nuzzle into his chest. You both fall asleep quicker than you ever have before, finally feeling the comfort and safety of being in each other’s arms.

Tag list: @anoesjkaax @just-call-me-trash-can @thestral-balerion @xcastielbabyangelface @rukinamukami @r-e-d-i-s-h @heartblackerthancoffee @rosita7703 @jacjacwashere @purpletigertaetae @woodstockisjustlikealittlekid @supernatural-bangtanboys @loveyoongles @barbikatherine @atulipandarose @bookluver01 @cioccocalderoni @lyoongx

@its-yagirl-raelynn it’s not letting me tag you :c

#yoongi x reader #reader x yoongi #bts #min yoongi #suga #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #suga fanfic #suga fluff #bts soulmate au #yoongi soulmate au

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somedrunkpirate · 4 years ago

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in the dark we travel (Geraskier Sci-fi au ficlet)

Rating: T | Wordcount: 3,4 | No major warnings | pre-slash, first meeting @geraskierfunday prompt: space

//let me know if you want of this because I have too much lore for a oneshot//

Read on ao3 or continue reading below

The stench of the holding bay almost makes Geralt turn on his heel.

It burns through his nose, coming in waves so overwhelming they should’ve been visible in the air. His senses are a dubious gift as he does not only smell it long before anyone else, but can distinguish individual notes within the cacophony of abomination. The acidic sharpness of cheap hovercraft fuel; the rot of biological waste; and then that sickly sweetness of pink oil, a byproduct from the favourite spirit boosters of all the rich kids and trip tourists partying up above. It’s the most prominent smell by far and it makes Geralt want to gag.

Intergalactic travel on this side of the Tenements is always a gamble.

Jackpot would be a merchant ship, where at least the conditions have to be sufficient for whatever cargo is on board. The fact that this usually results in better living environments for the stragglers sleeping between the boxes is entirely incidental. All in all, a good deal for everyone involved— except for Geralt, sometimes. Most merchants have no desire to have him on their ship. Luckily most are scared enough to let him anyway.

A draw— earning back your bet — would be a scavenger ship. Though sleeping among scavenged ship parts and stolen goods is less comfortable than proper cargo, the experience at least comes with a sense of adventure. Playing cards with pirates; fist fights between mercenaries; drinks with old timers. For many the opportunity would be once in a lifetime.

The drawback, of course, is becoming accessory to whatever crime the scavengers end up committing during your stay. And Enforcers don’t give one shit whether you sat in the cargo hold or shot the blast cannons yourself. Geralt has enough problems to keep track of to enjoy being blamed for other people’s crimes. Scavengers are insufferable, as a whole, but the most annoying are the ones that get caught.

So, in a sense, it is only fair Geralt loses the gamble. He’d been complaining about a win or a draw anyway, and the universe does so like to remind him there is no one smiling upon him. He ran out of luck years ago.

The smell only worsens when the great metal doors open to the loading dock, and the familiar bright orange of a Garbagecraft is revealed.

Various levels of frustration, despair and anger are voiced in groans and clicks. The crowd stops as a whole, yet unwilling to accept their collective fate. Roach’s ears flicker at the unrest, her two right front hooves scrape at the metal flooring in agitation.

Geralt pats her neck, careful not to get sliced by her sharp mane, and shushes her. “It’s alright. Shh. Good Girl.”

Some of the would-be travellers— two Pervuvians, a Human and a Sketh — push their way through the crowd and gang up around the dock boy who had led them here. They begin to chow him out in various languages, but Geralt catches enough to get the gist. Give me back my money or you will feel my wrath, insert threat specificities here.

As they become more and more creative, Geralt sighs and gives a quiet command to Roach to stay at the edge of the crowd. She makes a noise that Geralt chooses to interpret as agreement, rather than the frustration regarding her current situation that it probably was.

Geralt edges around the crowd to get a better look of the situation, his hand hovering above the hilt of his energy blade. The Pervuvians are part of a larger crew, seven total, standing off to the side with their limbs crossed. The Sketh is carrying a T-1 Blaster openly, which means she’s likely got something even more illegal under that travel robe of hers. The Human is an older man; his eyes almost folded away into his wrinkles. Not a threat at face value— which isn’t a whole lot, in Geralt’s experience. He’s proven right when he activates his perm-mod, focusing his vision, and the blue and white overlay lights up around the presence of an illusion.

He only has to strain his eyes a little before the glimmer dissipates and Geralt can see the true form of the being looming beside the dock boy. A Dizan, neon glyph tattoos and all.

Geralt suppresses a groan, and grabs the handle of his silver sword instead.

Even if he’d wanted to consider suffering teleportation in favour of two weeks sleeping among trash, the choice has now been made for him. The duration of the travel should be enough to see if this one dabbles with the ways of the Ancients, and how far they go if they do.

Though, if they’re willing to kill a kid out of frustration, Geralt has his answer too.

The shouting gets progressively louder and begins to attract more people. The whole of the Pervuvian crew has joined by the time Geralt manages to reach them.

It’s not that the crowd tries to block his path — the moment the flash of his eyes reaches theirs, most have the common sense to cover and step aside — there is just nowhere they can go. The whole platform has started to fill up as more travellers climb out of the drainage pipes. And the other half of the dock is claimed by the large containers, being loaded on one by one.

And yet, the immature show of aggression has managed to claim a small open clearing in the middle of the platform, as people press into each other trying to get outside of the blasting zone. Quite literally, as the moment Geralt breaches this unspoken border, the Sketh puts her hand on the trigger.

The boy goes pale. “Please! I do not have it. You must go to Kestra, the dock master, if you have a complaint.”

Geralt flickers a quick look to the Dizan — still frustrated, but passively so, eyes sparking with interest between the Sketh and the boy — and assesses his options. He grabs his energy blade and activates it.

It doesn’t make a sound, but the purple glow should be obvious enough to the Sketh once he—

“Friends! Please calm yourselves.”

A young man slides in front of the boy— in front of the blaster — hands held open in a placating gesture.

Geralt swears internally and deactivates his blade. The Sketh has her hand on the trigger, but hadn’t aimed the blaster. Even if she’d pulled while Geralt subdued her, it would’ve gone wide, cascading over his head.

But the man, standing taller and a step closer to her, has it pressed right against his heart.

He doesn’t seem to be aware of this fact, smiling brightly at the Sketh and then at the crowd at large. It seems so out of place— so confident, that even the Sketh is taken off guard and takes a step back reflexively. The barrel is no longer touching him, but the shot would be equally deadly.

The man is handsome, though garishly colourful compared to everyone in the vicinity. He looks like he’d gotten lost on his way to Erilisis Boulevard and somehow ended up in a sewage-cum-space station, of all places.

Despite his appearance, he carries himself with ease, even familiarity. There is no sign of an illusion to explain his reckless confidence— Geralt checked. If this is all an act, the only thing the man is playing is himself.

“I understand that the recent actions of our honourable Tin Men have us all on edge, as it is their overbearing application of the law that has many of us seeking out new sights in the first place!”

A few murmurs of agreement rumble over the crowd.

“I assume that most are not here out of free will, but rather out of necessity,” the man continues with sympathy. “We are leaving behind friends, family, business— life. No one should expect any of us to be happy, never mind calm.”

Nodding. Someone whistles, others hum. They’re listening.

The man’s face changes, his passionate expression becoming wry. “And look, I also am not eager to sleep among the left over drab of Zevos’ finest.” He pauses and then continues with a sly smile, “Never mind with all of you stinking up the place.”

Some smile, some even chuckle.

Geralt has to work to maintain an expression of neutrality.

The Sketh still has her hand on her blaster, but her finger has slackened, as if she’d forgotten that she was about to pull the trigger. The tension of the crowd at large is easing; the sharp border around the clearing is melting away. The man, with a few words, has them enthralled.

The man seems to be aware of this, because his attention slides off the crowd in a split second. His posture changes. From the wide and tall stance of a stage performer, he slackens slightly-- pulls in and leans forward, almost intimate. He’s looking at the Sketh, his voice low and almost gentle, but there is an order hidden under the kindness.

“Come, scivan. I know the stench is worse for you, but this might very well be the last ship of the day cycle. And with the Enforcers dogging the Magistrate’s tail, the whole operation could be shut down any moment. We cannot afford a delay, none of us can.”

And that is when Geralt realises the man does have a perm-mod after all. Not an illusion patch like the Dizan, but a rarer and much more volatile augmentation: a speech-mod.

Where temporary speech mods might translate your words for a day, or make your singing slightly more passable for single performance, a permanent speech mot does not add anything to the user. It just enhances what is already there.

If you’re good— if you are truly a master of tone, words and whatever fucking else comes with skilled communication, the Ancient Ways are nothing in comparison. Violence is obvious. Ancient crafting leaves traces of some sort behind, even if it is just merely the use of something else. But talking— speech, it takes nothing, it leaves nothing. It is as fleeting as a memory, an experience. Done well, you don’t even remember it, because you don’t know you’re being convinced in a manner more potent than normal interactions.

At least, the ones Geralt has come across prefer an art of subtlety. This man, quite clearly, is more like the ones who wear their speech mod openly, shimmering on the back of their necks, some curving down to their throat in graceful lines. Entertainers, singers, writers; all whose persuasion and manipulation is seen as harmless— made safe in the illusion of fiction.

And yet, despite the apparent taming of danger, they have been given the same title of a specialized class that once lived on the planet called Earth. Those who were able to leverage their seemingly frivolous talents to gain access into the highest courts; become confidants of Kings while serenading them to sleep.

Bards.

Geralt has always found it ironic. To expect these people to only use their powers for entertainment and laughter, named for a group that ostensibly did the same more than a millennium ago, while conveniently forgetting an important fact.

Most Bards were spies.

Gerat carefully sets his thoughts aside when the Bard moves. His focus returns fully to the situation at hand.

The Bard is reaching out to the Sketh, slowly, carefully-- recklessly, idiotically, completely careless of the danger, of setting her off.

She flinches when the Bard’s hand touches her fur covered arm— the one holding the gun.

Geralt takes a careful step closer. His hand hovering over the activation pad of his blade.

He’s quiet, but the Bard clocks him— a glance, eyes unwavering, before he focuses on the Sketh again and says, low, “Let this go.”

There is a breath. Geralt waits.

“Fine,” she spits out. “But I claim best bunk.”

She isn’t looking at the Bard’s face— doesn’t catch the relief before it's drowned out by a companionable smile and a hint of satisfaction. Geralt does. Geralt sees all of it.

The man’s expressions are as garish as his clothing. He is too animated-- too bright-- to belong in a place like this. Amongst people like this. These are people who lie through suppression, not misdirection. Even if it's all false, it is out of place. But it isn’t-- false. Parts of it are genuine, and Geralt doesn’t think it's a mistake. The Bard doesn’t mind people seeing him. It’s disconcerting.

The Bard claps his hands together and turns back to the crowd. “You heard her, the show is on the road!”

As if on cue, the platform shifts and rumbles. Walkways start to extend from the edges toward the sides of the ship. Doors shift open with heavy sighs of pressurised air. The dock boy takes the distraction to get the fuck out of dodge, though he throws a grateful gaze to the Bard as he slips away. The Bard’s smile goes incrementally brighter.

“Now,” he says, raising his voice, “Those with smell sensitivities should have priorities to the upper decks. Let’s show those fuckers we aren’t as inconsiderate as they make us out to be, eh? Behave and you might be treated with an entirely free performance of Craven Roses!”

At that, the Bard bows to a scattering of applause. The promise of potential entertainment brings a measure of good cheer among the passengers— any travel without warp-speed is an exercise in boredom regardless, but the trip between Zevos and the outer ring of Xadan is especially notorious for it. After the purple glow of the Zevos System is left behind, the following week of utter darkness is enough to drive anyone cabin-crazy. The appearance of Xadan eventually brings light. It isn’t pretty, but it's at least something. A measure of progress, watching Meteor Border come closer and closer.

The worst is never the dark, it's feeling like nothing is happening. That you’re moving, but will never arrive.

Geralt shakes his head to himself. He can deal with that. He’s used to it— whether he is in a spacecraft or walking on solid ground. But most people aren’t. Geralt would prefer not to suffer through thinly veiled innuendos posing as a passion play, but the alternative might be even more tedious. He has a sense that this won’t be the last time the Sketh will become a problem.

At least, for now, she isn’t his concern. He clicks his energy blade back on his utility belt and is about go back for Roach when a voice calls out—

“Witcher!”

The Bard.

Geralt stops. He doesn’t turn around. “Few know to call me that.”

The Bard circles him and grins. “Ancienthunter is a bit of a mouthful, if you ask me. Witcher is more of a statement— a strange word for a strange profession; as old as the beasts you’re hunting.”

Geralt snorts. “Funny you say that, Bard.”

“Jaskier, and thank you,” the Bard-- Jaskier says grandly, seemingly unaware of how very much Geralt did not intend it as a compliment. Or maybe he did and doesn’t care. “What a twist of fate, is it not? Two men out of time, on the edge of the universe.”

Geralt snorts and begins to walk.

Jaskier rushes after him, slipping deftly between people to keep up. “Wait!”

“I’m not here for your tales,” Geralt says. “Find another audience.”

Jaskier huffs and makes an affronted sound, but persists. When Geralt eventually breaches the edge of the crowd, he’s caught up, a little out of breath.

“Come on, Witcher. Let me just— I’ve heard of the adventure of people like you and I was wondering—“

His voice cuts out and his eyes go wide, when Roach comes out of the shadows. Mouth agape, he stares.

Geralt reaches out for her lead and turns his back on Jaskier. He’s not interested in seeing the inevitable terror— or, if Jaskier is as reckless as he seemed to be in front of a blaster, anger. Geralt puts a hand on Roach’s neck, knowing that one sign from him and Jaskier wouldn’t have a chance for either. Not that it would help his case.

It’s quiet for so long that Geralt almost thinks Jaskier managed to retreat in complete silence, but when he turns, he’s still standing there, mouth agape.

“I thought—“ he says, and there is no terror. “I thought they were extinct. I thought you— Witchers had hunted them all.”

He isn’t afraid. He is awed.

Geralt thinks of the busy stalls in Kae’r Mor, the gentle huffing, soft rumbling and kind eyes that follow you as you pass through the halls. Dozens of lives saved through secrecy, protecting a species deemed undeserving of existence, merely because some had used them in horrific ways.

He thinks of Vesemir, furious, as Geralt took Roach from her stall.

—selfish. Your actions put all of them in danger, and you know it.

But one survivor shouldn’t — can’t — be able to ruin it. He’s careful, he avoids the corners of the galaxies where they’re most known. Where they’re more than just a story. He can lay the blame all on himself: it shouldn’t be hard to understand one monstrous creature having bonded with another.

He just hadn’t been able to leave her behind. Not if he wasn’t certain he’d ever be back.

“Amaureen,” Jaskier says, quietly, startling Geralt out of his thoughts. To hear that word spoken in such a way— with wonder, is disorientating.

“Does she have a name?”

“Roach.”

There is a stunned silence, and then Jaskier laughs. “Not what I expected for a creature straight out of legend.”

Geralt shrugs. “She likes it.”

Jaskier smiles and then looks at Roach again, hesitating. “Can I—“

“You can try,” Geralt says, gruffly. But he centers himself, trying to project calm— not trust, he can’t lie in this, but he shows her what he saw. Jaskier talking down a crowd, levity cutting through a knife through the tension. Light in a moment of darkness.

Roach huffs and holds still as Jaskier’s fingers brush her snout. His eyes go impossibly bright, and his breath catches when Roach, unprompted, presses against his hand.

“She likes me,” Jaskier says, too surprised to be smug about it.

Geralt doesn’t respond— doesn’t disagree. He feels unbalanced, put off. None of this— none of this is going like it is supposed to go.

Roach responds to his distress, stepping back with a huff.

Jaskier takes his hand back, doesn’t press for more, and says, “Thank you.”

As if that is something people say after touching an Amaureen. Geralt feels a headache brewing.

“Hmm,” he says, and tugs on Roach’s lead. They begin their walk to the farthest end of the ship.

Jaskier doesn’t take the hint.

“How did you find her? Have you had her long?”

“None of your business, Bard.”

“Jaskier, or Dandel, on stage,” he says blithely, “and okay, fine, but you have to understand. This is momentous. I’ve always known there was something off about all those tales. How could a bond-species suddenly turn against their riders? Why all at the same time?”

Geralt makes a noise of warning. Roach’s mane bristles.

“Okay, have it your way. Something else then.” There is barely a pause before he asks, continues, rapid-fire and passionate: “Have you ever encountered a hag? I’ve been hearing about one running a spirit bar in the Dekolijn but that could be a myth. Do they have the intelligence to do such a thing or are they more beast-like?”

Geralt’s jaw tenses, glancing sideways to glare and growl— something, he doesn’t know what, because the moment he turns, he sees something else.

The Dizan, watching them with interest.

For a moment Geralt’s stomach drops— Vesemir was right. He should never have taken Roach with him.

But then he realises that the Dizan isn’t looking at Roach.

They’re looking at Jaskier with a considering look in their eye.

Resignation falls like a heavy cloak around Geralt’s shoulders. He forces his expression in a blank slate and allows Jaskier to follow him, giving occasional one word answers like breadcrumbs, that lead him into the ship— away from that pale white gaze.

As they walk through the bowels of the ship, bile in the back of Geralt’s throat, his nose burning, and a headache in full bloom, one thought circles around in the forefront of his mind, over and over:

He should’ve gone with teleportation after all.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #witcher #the witcher #geralt/jaskier #witcher fic #myfic #alternate universe scifi #in the dark we travel

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selfships-in-spanish · 5 years ago

Text

–A fleeting encounter

I’m posting the Vampire!Hank ask as a new post because for the love of everything, Tumblr doesn’t let me take out the read more out of the ask’s header. It’s glued to the ask bubble and there’s no way to get it out... Ugh, this hellish site.

Here’s the original ask:

Your AU’s keep me alive ❤️ however, the Vampire AU is currently my new drug. Vampire Hank is such a weakness! I love imagining Ona meeting Vampire!Hank for the first time and she’s both seduced but also cautious of him 👀 imagining Hank giving a deep menacing chuckle at how this little human amuses him 🥴

BUT AHHHH THANK YOU ANON!!! I’m sorry for having so many AUs but I just enjoy all the ideas you guys come up with, and I absolutely love creating content for them!! Vampire!AU is something I want to delve more into, because it’s dark, it’s dangerous and we all love our damn vampires, don’t we all.

I’ll get over my phobia of blood for you guys, I got you all (seriously, I see blood and/or needles I go down to the floor. And I’m diabetic. FUN! )

But… Au within an Au? Ona is still a cop? Hank & the boys are a vamp family and Mr.Anderson is out having a nice hunt evening?

AUception it is.

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She’s tiny.

That’s not hard to be when he’s a giant mass compared to anyone, strong and robust, but the difference is still funny.

She has a lovely voice and he wonders if her blood will taste sweet too.

Hank observes the situation in a table near his barstool: her tight smile and bored eyes, her way of picking the food on her plate and how the almost empty wine glass was more interesting than the conversation and man in front of her. The man probably thought he was doing a fantastic job and would get laid tonight, but the girl’s face told another story.

What a pity that courting and wooing was out of fashion; it was always nice to be and feel appreciated.

The girl looked around the restaurant, not being able to bear another look at the guy. They crossed looks, and from Hank’s magnetic gaze, she was unable to look away. Hank smirked, pleased he had her attention now. He made sure to look intently at her as he took a sip of his drink, appealing to her curiosity. He winked.

Hank’s smirk widened when her cheeks reddened, quickly looking away and getting herself busy with her own drink, looking everywhere but him.

The pretty human tried to keep on with the conversation, tried to concentrate on the man in front of her rather than the mysterious silver fox, and it amused Hank to no end. He was a patient man, and he knew he would taste her eventually. It made the wait worthwhile.

Her date stood up, excusing himself to go to the bathroom. The girl nodded and sighed once the man was out of sight and hearing range. The waiter came immediately after she finished her glass of wine, leaving another one and a small folded note. She frowned.

“From the gentleman over there.”

The girl looked over where the waiter pointed, eyes widening when she saw who this gentleman was. Hank chuckled to himself, raising his own glass in acknowledgement and waiting for her to reciprocate the far away toast. She did, holding his intense gaze the entire time with a slight blush on her cheeks.

Now that he had her attention, it was only a matter of time and patience.

Hank was a patient man.

She looked away, shyly, when she put down her own glass, wiping her mouth delicately with her napkin. When she glanced over the mysterious gentleman again, he pointed to her table, that smirk still painted over his lips. Ona looked down, noticing for the first time the folded note that the waiter delivered with her glass of wine. Ona opened it, finding a handwritten note in a beautiful cursive hand.

“It looks like you need to break free from that cage, little bird. In case you want a more refreshing conversation, I’m having a smoke outside. H.”

There was also a number at the bottom of it. Huh. Silver fox was going strong.

Ona’s date was back and she hastily hid the note in her purse. The man grinned at her and she smiled back, trying so hard to keep up the façade. She felt bad for even considering going outside when she already was with someone, but the guy clearly was after a very certain and particular thing she was not going to give him, and this was becoming a huge, disastrous mess.

“Sorry sweet cheeks, Mother Nature called. Anyways, as I was saying…”

Ona tuned out, fearing her brain would rot if she listened to the guy mansplaining once again how to do her job. Going out for a dinner date with a fellow detective, even if he was from another precinct, had been another terrible idea. Why on earth did she say yes? Oh yes, Tina. Tina bet her, and Ona never stepped down from a bet in a display of a true stubborn spaniard as she was. It was practically in her veins.

Mr.I’m-the best-at-my-job kept going on, not even leaving her room to say her own thoughts about the matter. He kept drilling on, laughing at his own jokes while Ona merely smiled to keep the appearances. Gods, what a self-centred asshole. An involuntary sigh escaped her lips. Mr. My-teeth-are-whiter-than-snow frowned, shutting up.

“Sorry, am I boring you?” He didn’t sound sorry at all, more annoyed than anything.

“No, sorry. Just a little dizzy.”

“Huh. Well, like I was saying—“

“Actually, do you mind if I go outside for a minute? Some fresh air may help.”

Before Detective Asshole could say anything else, Ona stood up, grabbing her jacket from the chair and walking to the front door of the restaurant.

Nightly cold air greeted her, making her sigh pleasantly this time. She was actually starting to feel a throbbing inside her head. If that guy called her sweet cheeks again or said “as I was saying”, Ona would make him choke on his food, make that juicy olive in his cocktail get stuck in his throat and make it look like an accident. Ona let a smile grace her lips, enjoying the scene in her head.

“I thought you would never come.”

“OH JESUS FUCKING CHRIST—“ Ona jumped, startled when a deep, purring voice spoke next to her. Her heart was threatening to beat out of her chest. She placed a hand over it, trying to will her heart to a more even pace. The voice chuckled.

“Such blasphemous curses.”

“If you are a believer.” Ona looked at the owner of the voice, brows rising when she saw the mysterious silver fox.

True to his word, he was outside with a lit cigarette between his lips. Now that she was closer, Ona could see how full the beard was, but also well kept. The man smelled of expensive cologne, and judging by his clothes, he did have the money. Neat and clean haircut, spotless coat, leather gloves and blue eyes twinkling with amusement, although Ona could see a glint of something behind it. It made her uneasy but also curious.

“Out of the cage, then, little bird?”

“I needed fresh air indeed,” Ona crossed her arms. “But didn’t you promise a refreshing conversation?” Curiosity won.

The gentleman looked inside the restaurant where her date was.

“That bad?” He said, nodding in her date’s direction and brows raised.

“That bad.” Ona let herself snort.

The man stepped closer, holding his hand out.

“I’m Hank.”

Ona took it, squeezing it with enough force to let the man know she was not easily swayed. She wasn’t a Detective for nothing. She also had a mean punch. Hank looked pleased at her grip.

“Ona.” Hank’s hands were big. He was big. And she noticed right that instant how tiny she was compared to him.

“Nice to meet you, Ona.” She tried not to squeak like a tiny mouse.

“So, what brought you to the enlightening company of Mr. Boring Date over there?” His voice was like velvet and Ona felt it brush her ears like a soft caress.

“A bet.”

“A bet?” Hank’s amused chuckle made her pout. “I hope you win it, then. Considering…” Hank nodded towards her date’s direction.

“Yeah, gonna get some cash. And favours.” Ona joined his chuckle in the end, thinking about Tina’s smug face when Gavin discovers that no, Mr.Suit-&-Tie didn’t manage to get inside Ona’s pants. She could already see her new shiny toaster on her kitchen’s counter. “So, what’s a man like you doing in a place like this, all alone?”

“I’m not alone right now, am I?” Hank winked. Ona raised her brow.

“Is this how you pick up potential dates?”

“Are you considering yourself a potential date, then? I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”

“Wha–wait no, wait!” Ona could feel her cheeks getting hotter. She was a grown up woman and would absolutely not blush. No sir. “I didn’t say anything about a being a potential date!”

“You asked me if this is how I pick up potential dates.” Hank’s amused voice wasn’t helping her at all.

“I’m not– ugh! Don’t turn my words against me!”

“I’m so sorry, darling, you just made it so easy and I really couldn’t resist.” He stepped closer. He took out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Ona. She shook her head.

“No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

“Smart lady. Don’t fall into that. And it comes from someone who smokes like a chimney.”

“Then you should quit smoking. A man your age…” Ona teased him with a smirk of her own.

Hank snorted. If she really knew his age… but that’s a secret for later. He was only here to scout, to see what both Connor and Richard meant by a very strong-willed and capable Police Detective catching their attention, but if he got a taste… he wouldn’t complain one bit. Connor and Richard once got a whiff of her blood when their paths crossed in one of her police investigations, getting hurt while having to run after a suspect. Needless to say she did apprehend the suspect despite the cut on her leg. The fire in her eyes drew them in.

But, that didn’t mean he couldn’t play a little with this cute, tiny human. Hank was not stupid, she was pretty, and that’s something he absolutely read in Connor and Richard’s faces and attitude. When they found someone pretty and capable, they put their entire attention on them. She was a lucky lady.

“I’m going to make a proposition to you, Ona.” Hank blew the smoke upwards, mindful of not letting it hit her. Ona was silently grateful for that.

“An indecent one?” Ona chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head slightly to the side, curious.

“Ah, only if you want it to be, darling.” Hank purred out the pet name. Ona didn’t know she could blush even more.

“I-I—“

“You make teasing you so easy,” Hank stepped even closer, just tiptoeing on Ona’s personal space. She could smell the expensive cologne, but could feel no warmth radiating off him. Strange. “But that wasn’t what I was going to proposition to you. What about you give me one night?” One night with me, and then you can judge if I am that old.”

Ona felt her heart beat faster. Her mouth felt dry all of the sudden.

“Well?”

“I barely know you.” But she felt curious. And daring.

Hank raised his eyebrows, chuckling. She was a stubborn one. Connor will have fun with her.

“Well, what a better chance to know each other than to have a nice dinner together and drinks after?”

Hank made sense, in a way. He was the one interested in meeting her, but she wouldn’t admit out loud she wanted to know more about this mysterious man. Puzzles such as this were a thrill for her, she didn’t become a detective for the paperwork, but for the adrenaline rushing through her veins when faced with a dangerous case, a bloody trail begging to be solved, the satisfaction of seeing behind bars those who thought they could best the law, best her.

This man was a mystery begging to be solved, too.

“You know what? Give me your phone.”

Hank’s smile was radiant and just a touch from being predatory, pleased she accepted. He handed his phone to her, watching in satisfaction as she typed her phone number there.

He couldn’t wait to rub that fact on the younger vampire’s faces. While Richard kept pinning like the romantic dumbass he was, and Connor made excuses to bump into her investigations just to catch a glimpse and a whiff of her scent, Hank managed to get a date. How wonderful their enraged faces are going to be. Thank God he was an older and stronger vampire, more experienced too, or they would have torn him into shreds.

“I can’t believe I’ve done this, but… there you go. Call me.” Ona handed the phone back, which Hank took with a sparkling smile, showing perfect teeth with a little gap between the front ones that Ona found endearing.

“Of course I will, darling. Better when your romeo isn’t there wondering why his tricks ain’t working, huh?”

“Oh my god, I forgot about him!” Ona gasped, horrified at herself. Hank barked out a laugh, whole body shaking with it. Ona glanced at the restaurant’s window and then back to Hank. “I-I have to go. Like, right now. Shit.”

Hank took her hand and kissed the back of it. Ona was taken aback from the act and felt her cheeks redden.

“Go, or I’ll keep you here longer.”

Ona let out an undignified noise while Hank chuckled, taking her hand back and choking out a “bye” as she turned around and got inside again. In her shock she didn’t notice the frozen cold touch of his lips against her skin.

Hank stomped out the butt of the cigarette, taking out his phone and going through the contact’s list. His eyes twinkled in amusement.

“Ona 🌊”

Hank walked back to his car, whistling a random tune with a spring in his steps. It was a pretty name, very fitting also.

Connor and Richard were indeed not pleased that Hank passed his hand over their faces. He dangled the phone in his hand, knowing how the brothers wanted to throw his phone to the fire and stomp on its ashes.

“Don’t you dare taste her first, Hank.” Connor’s lips were pressed into a tight line.

“I wouldn’t even think about it, knowing how much you want her.” He did want to taste her blood, but he wasn’t that evil towards the brothers.

“You will regret it if you do.” Richard’s icy stare would have sent shivers down his spine if he knew he couldn’t fight him and win.

Hank groaned, tired of the silly possessiveness they felt towards the human. He went to the mini bar and poured himself a drink.

“I won’t drink her blood, for now, but if you don’t move your goddamn asses, I will be drinking something else.”

Hank felt the poisoned daggers the brothers were stabbing him with their eyes. They were enamored by that tiny human, and couldn’t think straight when her blood was present.

“If you don’t want me to do neither, do something yourselves.”

Connor and Richard stood up, lips curved into a snarl and their fists tight. They disappeared into their own rooms, probably to sulk. Hank sighed, shaking his head.

He had a dinner date to plan.

#dbh #detroit become human #hank anderson #rk800 #rk900 #hank anderson x oc #hank anderson x reader #rk800 x oc #rk900 x oc #vampire hank #vampire rk800 #vampire rk900 #vampire au #mius writes

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strawberriestyles · 5 years ago

Text

Part 4: The Gap

(BANNER BY THE GODDESS HERSELF @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which you try to resolve the case of a fraternity’s haunting in a single night.

Read previous parts here.

Word count: 2.1k

Author’s note: Only one part left!! Hope this has gotten y’all into a creepy Halloween mood. Please let me know your thoughts!! XX

The stairs are no longer empty. You nearly trip over the bodies strewn across the steps and there’s an abundance of cussing when you stomp on fingers. But you still reach the first floor without falling. Harry’s fingers remain intertwined with yours as he leads you through the pitch black dining room and into the kitchen, somehow weaving you through the crowds of invisible people.

“’S through here,” Harry says when he stops you. “Are yeh ready?”

You open your mouth, but before you can speak the power clicks back on. Music blares and lights glow. There is a loud pounding from the basement. You wrap your free hand around Harry’s arm before the door beside you bursts open so violently that you jump.

“Sorry, ref,” says a man coated in paint and makeup—a rotting zombie clad only in a thin pair of boxers. He flashes white teeth at you. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Happy Halloween.”

He slams the door behind him and rushes into the dining room, announcing that he fixed the power. Harry chuckles, blinking furiously against the returned light that glares at the two of you. “Now are yeh ready?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Wonderful.”

He twists the knob and pulls open the door to the basement. Past the first few steps, you can see nothing, and already you can feel the chill of the air. Harry flicks a light switch just within the stairwell, but nothing happens. He tries twice more before he turns to look at you and his exasperated smile shifts into a frown, a crease forming between his brows.

“That the sweatshirt yeh picked?”

You glance down at the paint smeared across the pouch pocket and shrug. “Yeah, why?”

“’S not mine.”

“What do you mean?” You return his frown. “It was in your closet. And it smells like you.” You press your nose into the fabric at your shoulder for emphasis.

“I dunno how it got there. Never seen it before.”

“Must be one of your brothers’,” you suggest, raising a brow. “Do you want me to take it off?”

“No, ’s fine.” He throws you an easy smile, but you can still see that it bothers him. That knowledge is satisfying, somehow. “D'yeh wanna go first or would yeh rather me?"

You narrow your eyes at the amused look that passes over his face. Your hands pull away from him as you step down the first few wooden stairs. They creak beneath your weight. You can feel Harry following you, and though he’s left the door open, the music from upstairs seems to fade as though each step places another wall between the two of you and the party.

At the bottom of the stairs in the nearly nonexistent light is a short card table, and to your relief a flashlight rests atop the surface. The sight reminds you of your phone, which you now realize you’ve left in the attic. You kick yourself as you reach for the flashlight, but you’ve barely curled your fingers around the handle when the door at the top of the stairs slams shut. You stumble backward and Harry catches you against his chest.

“This is getting ridiculous," you mutter into the darkness.

“I agree.” He thumbs at the the crooks of your elbows through your hoodie.

“Look what I found, though.” You click the flashlight on and shine the beam around the closest corner of the room. The floor and walls are nothing but cold concrete, and somehow that awareness makes you even colder. Your bare legs prickle with goosebumps.

Harry drops his hands from your arms. “I’d say we should split up again, but that’d be a little hard with only one light, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You curl one arm around your body as you spin to survey another area of the room. “I don’t think I’d wanna split up, anyway. It feels weird down here.”

“Weird how?”

“Like—” you begin, but your teeth begin to chatter before you can finish. “Like something’s off. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just uncomfortable.”

“Well, yeh’re the expert here. I’ll take your word for it.” His hand slips into your free one, and you squeeze his palm appreciatively.

“I’m a student, Harry. I’m not anywhere close to being an expert.”

“’S close enough for me.”

You smile as you take a step around the stairwell, shining a pool of light upon the floor as you move, but when a shadow moves out of the corner of your eye you stop again. “For fuck’s sake,” you whisper. “Harry, maybe you should go first.”

He lets out another chuckle, more apprehensive than any of his previous laughter, and holds out the hand that’s not intertwined with yours. You pass the flashlight over to him as he moves in front of you, stepping gingerly across the concrete. You follow closely behind him, tightening your grip on his hand and burying your other fingers in his sleeve.

“Does it always smell like this?” you ask.

“Like what?”

“Damp.” You press your nose to his back in an effort to block out the other scents. “Rotting.”

“I don’ smell anythin’ like that. But I also don’ make it a point to hang out in the basement."

“I can see why.”

Harry’s light falls over odds and ends, cylinders of string and bottles and cans of paint, a springboard and rusted metal bed frame leaned up against the wall. It could be simply mundane, if not for the faulty lights and the chill feeling and the smell of something old. And the fact that it’s Halloween night. That reminder doesn’t escape you. You find yourself wondering when the house was first built and if every Halloween is as creepy as this one.

“Oh, what’s that?” you ask.

“Wha’s what?”

“There.” You point into the distant corner. Harry swings the flashlight beam back around to follow your finger.

“What are yeh lookin’ at?”

“You don’t see that gap in the concrete?”

Harry moves closer, pulling you behind him, the light bobbing with each of his steps. When he stops, you peer around his shoulder. Directly in the corner, where two concrete walls should meet, there is a space. It’s certainly wider than any type of crack would be, but not nearly the width of your shoulders.

“Well, shit,” Harry says after a contemplative minute. It’s more literate than anything you can come up with right now. “D’yeh think ’s like a portal, like in Ghostbusters?”

“Again with the Ghostbusters?”

“Well, ‘m just sayin—”

“No, Harry, I don’t think it’s ‘like a portal,’” you retort in a terrible mock of his accent.

“Okay, be nice.” Harry glances at you and then returns his gaze to the ominous space in the wall. It’s a moment before he speaks again. “I don’ know about this.”

“What?”

“I don’ think we should go in there.”

“Why not?"

"I have a bad feelin’. A really bad feelin’, love.”

“Harry.” You let out a frustrated sigh and step forward so that you can see his face, cast in shadow. “Do you know how weird tonight has been? But exciting, too. Probably the most exciting night I’ve ever had. And I don’t want to just quit when we get to the good stuff.”

“The good stuff? I thought the good stuff happened in my room. Maybe we should just go back to that.”

You roll you eyes at the grin that stretches across his face. You can still see his discomfort in the strain of his limbs and the wide set of his pupils.

“Harry, come on. Don’t back out on me, now. Look, I’ll go first.”

You let go of him and skirt around his stony form, slipping sideways into the narrow crevice. Your breasts barely squeeze through the opening, and the tight fit makes your pulse spike. About two feet in, you pause, second-guessing. Your hand reaches back in the direction you’ve come and Harry’s fingers brush your knuckles.

“Y/N, I don’ wanna go in there,” he whispers. “I don’ want you to go in there. I don’ feel good about this.” He tugs on your arm until you reach the opening of the gap and he can see your face more clearly.

“Harry, please,” you whisper back. “This is what I’ve been studying for. Let’s just look. Maybe it doesn’t even lead anywhere. But what if it does?”

“Tha’s what ‘m afraid of,” he mumbles.

You examine the planes of his face, the worry that’s set into the creases and divots. Reaching out your hand, you grip his collar and pull him toward you, dragging his lips to meet yours. This kiss is nothing like the ones that you shared up in his room, all heat and hurry. This one is slow, gentle, sweet. At this speed, you can appreciate the pressure of his mouth and the smooth skin of his lips, you can appreciate the tickle of stubble along his chin as it meets yours. He licks the taste of you away when you break the kiss and smooths a strand of hair back from your forehead.

“I’ll keep you safe,” you tell him. He smiles warily at you. You bite your lip. “Look, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. But I’d rather not go by myself.”

“No, no, I’ll come. ‘M not gonna let you go in there alone.”

You give him a swift nod and then turn your head again, squeezing through the passage slowly, steadily. There’s a moment of darkness and bated breath before you can hear Harry following you, the flashlight scraping against concrete, its beam wobbling, casting your shadow forward and into the area ahead of you.

“How much farther?” Harry asks after a quiet minute.

“I don’t know.” You squint into the space. “I can’t see anything but—Fuck!”

Harry shouts as you scramble back into him, chest constricting and breath speeding as you remember how closed in you are.

“Wha’s wrong?”

“I ran into a spiderweb,” you mutter, almost whimpering as you try to wipe sticky strands of web from your cheek. You can only hope that there’s nothing crawling over you. When you peel as much off as you can, you take a moment to steady yourself, huffing deep breaths.

“Yeh wanna go back?” Harry asks when you still don’t move.

“No, I… No.” His fingers brush the back of your hand where it rests against the cold wall. “Okay,” you say more to yourself than to him, and then you continue shimmying through the corridor. You don’t even notice the opening of the passage before you trip out into a wide, concrete room. Harry bumps into your back where you’ve stopped.

There’s a musty, putrid scent in this room, this hole in the wall. Damp air presses in around you. Harry flashes his light up at the ceiling, illuminating countless sparkling webs, some abandoned, many inhabited. You shiver.

“What is this?” you ask.

“Was definitely a portal. D’yeh think we’re in Hell?”

“Harry, please shut up.”

You take a few steps forward, Harry close on your heels, and when your foot slips over the edge of the floor, he’s close enough to catch you by the arm. But it’s the shoulder you’ve already hurt, and the sudden pull on the muscle makes you shriek. “Fuck!”

“Sorry, ‘m sorry!”

Your leg dangles into open air, body tilted forward. Harry’s fingers are curled tightly around your elbow. The beam of the flashlight dances over the sudden end of concrete where you balance on one foot. There is an open pit before you and Harry is all that keeps you from tumbling downward. But then the light finds something within the pit. At first it appears to be nothing but a shapeless lump caked in dirt and dust. But almost immediately you realize your mistake.

Beneath the dirt is the clear pattern of red plaid. There is a glint of white bone. And there, settled to the side, is a skeletal hand, bare knuckles extending from the holes of fingerless brown leather gloves.

The pressure on your elbow does not slowly diminish; it disappears all at once. Your balance shifts and before you have the chance to react you’re scrabbling at air and falling, falling. The milliseconds feel like hours. You land with a crunch in the deep pit and a hysterical, pained scream slips from your throat. There’s a loud smack as the flashlight lands beside you. Then there is only pain and your hammering heart and your cries. Your vision swims with the agony in your right leg. And when you can control yourself enough to think about something other than that pain, all you can process is the heavy weight of being utterly and completely alone.

Part 5: Ghost Grave

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #see through

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sserpente · 6 years ago

Photo

A/N: Request from anons and @wingardium-letmefuckyou. I feel like this is so different from what I usually write when it comes to Loki (you’ll see what I mean, I guess) but it just… happened. Hope you’ll like it. Happy Easter, everyone! ♥

Words: 3626 Warnings: smut, quite a bit of angst

Avengers assemble. Rolling your eyes, you shook your head, grinning at your phone screen where Tony’s message had popped up. You were flattered he considered you an Avenger now but then again, he was only a few yards away in the living room, stretching out his feet on the sofa and sipping a glass of whisky. Nothing serious, nothing to write home about… you shrugged. It was flattering nonetheless.

As a, what the people around you would probably call you, witch, it had taken you quite a few weeks to prove them you were no hostile being, mainly because your powers reminded them a lot of those of a certain God of Mischief who had also taken up quarters in the compound, ever since his grand resurrection before Thanos’ demise.

Oh, the abhorrent expressions on their faces when Thor had insisted on bringing him back, on changing the past and save his only brother even though adopted. You were glad he had. Loki was by far the most fascinating being you had ever met and you had to admit, you admired his seidr, his many tricks and magic inspiring you to improve your own skills and you wondered, regularly at night when one of your hands sneakily disappeared between your legs, whether Loki was as talented in bed as he was in creating illusions. Who were you going to blame? You wanted to have sex with him, without a doubt.

You blinked. Focus. Tony’s message. Right. Sighing, to scare the naughty thought away, you made your way into the living room where the majority of the Avengers had already gathered around the huge leather sofa, waiting for Tony to tell them his news.

“Happy Easter, everyone! Thank you all for hiding in your rooms and not come out except for coffee on this ambiguous holiday…”

It was then you sensed a barely noticeable movement in the corner. Inconspicuously, you glanced to your left, spotting Loki leaning mutely against one of the stone pillars with crossed arms, a few feet away from where your new friends had gathered.

Nobody else had discovered him as of yet. They were all busy groaning at Tony’s sarcastic words and truth be told, you couldn’t really blame them. When one fought aliens, monsters and supernatural Nazi organisations on a regular basis, family holidays like Easter, Christmas and even New Year’s Eve became rather insignificant. To you, however, it had caused the exact opposite. Holidays were one of the few occasions of the year where you could at least pretend to have a normal life and celebrate with family and friends, even if that involved silly little traditions.

Tony seemed to be thinking the exact same thing… or maybe it was just young Peter Parker who had convinced him.

“So FRIDAY and I have organised a little Easter egg scavenger hunt.”

“Seriously, Tony?” Rhodey interrupted. Natasha only chuckled and Thor looked as confused as ever. Amused, you studied the various reactions in the room. Pepper’s was by far the most adorable. The hormones, probably. Pregnant women always imagined doing these kinds of things with their husbands and children. The fact that Tony was about to be a father was probably another reason for this childish Easter egg hunt.

“Seriously. Get in pairs of two. There’s chocolate eggs hidden all over the compound and they all contain clues that will lead you straight to a plane ticket to the Bahamas.”

Rhodey’s mouth fell open. “You’re joking.”

“Would I be joking about the Bahamas?”

Startled, you took a step back when Sam rushed right past you to team up with Wanda, hoping that her mind reading skills would get him some sort of advantage. Next thing you knew, the Avengers erupted in a huddle of enthusiastic voices. Steve decided to search with Bucky, Natasha and Bruce were the perfect match anyway, Thor tried his luck with Peter Parker and Rhodey promised he would win this trip for Happy and himself.

Being the newest member, you were the only one left and while you certainly wouldn’t mind searching alone, it was both a wicked and naughty idea forming in your mind that had you turn around and finally react to the blue gaze staring daggers into your back.

“Are you just going to stand there, Loki?” You loved how his name rolled off your tongue. Like a sweet praline melting in your mouth.

“What is this nonsense?” He asked quietly, approaching slightly. “Why would he hide eggs for you to find?”

You shrugged, suppressing a giggle. Loki was not wrong, the way he said it, it actually sounded quite crazy.

“Not real eggs, silly. Chocolate eggs. It’s a common Easter tradition.”

“And what is it? Easter?”

“It’s a Christian holiday. It celebrates the resurrection of Jesus Christ.”

Loki frowned, clearly taken aback. “I see… why eggs?”

You laughed. “Good question. I think they’re meant to symbolise said resurrection and then people made up stories about the Easter bunny hiding them for children to find.”

“Easter bunny…” You had to admit, he looked pretty funny when disturbed. Chuckling, you looked up at him, the Avengers around you scattering around the compound. They had learnt quickly to simply ignore the God of Mischief’s presence, if anything because he usually made himself scarce and refrained from any kind of social interaction except for the occasional chat with his brother. That made it all the harder for you to spend time with him.

“Search with me. I could use a trip to the Bahamas.” Maybe you took pity on him and you couldn’t care less about those plane tickets. An Easter egg scavenger hunt, however, was the perfect opportunity to get closer to Loki. You wanted to kiss Tony for the chance.

And much to your surprise, Loki nodded in joyful anticipation. The prosperity of stealing away a dreamy vacation by the beach was too tempting to be ignored. He briefly considered leaving them to you if he won but to simply rip them into tiny little pieces out of pure spite seemed much more alluring. Loki was very well aware that every single one of them had attempted to persuade Thor to leave him to rot in the depths of Hel, trapped in the afterlife when he had sacrificed his own life in order to put an end to Thanos’ schemes. It would be a small, insignificant triumph—but a triumph nonetheless.

“Let’s start in the kitchen.” While the microwave, the fridge and the coffee machine posed excellent hideouts for small chocolate eggs, your main goal was it to stall him. Summoning things was not your speciality, you had to focus hard to achieve a decent result. Pretty soon, however, you realised that Loki was a natural. The chocolate eggs he found within a matter of mere minutes either came with a letter or a blank. Quickly, you ushered him into the hallway and through the backdoor into the sunny garden behind the compound where he spotted another chocolate egg hidden in a bush next to a vast flowerbed.

You had only found one letter thus far, quite useless when it came to the actual scavenger hunt and still, your heart beat faster and faster the closer you came to the massive apple tree blooming beautifully around the corner, close to where you had hidden your own surprise for the God of Mischief.

“Do you celebrate Easter?” He suddenly asked, genuine interest resonating in his voice.

“More or less… I grew up with it, my parents used to hide chocolate eggs for me to find every year. I’m not… well, I believe I stopped being Christian when I turned to witchcraft.”

“And why is that?” Loki smirked triumphantly when he picked up another chocolate egg. A blank, still, he seemed rather pleased with himself when he threw it in the tiny basket you had conjured to carry them all.

“I took interest in various other beliefs, with paganism leading the way. Rune magic and ancient seidr is what harmonises with my body the most. I was consequently starstruck when I faced you and your brother for the first time—actual Norse gods I had read so much about over years of practise.”

“Most of these stories are twisted truths, some of them utter lies.” Loki claimed. Any moment now, he would find it. Bracing yourself, you smiled your sweetest and most irresistible smile. Becoming a witch had made you confident and you made sure to use that to your advantage.

“Maybe… but they never lied about your abilities, now did they?”

“What—” Loki frowned. He had walked around the tree now, spotting the green and golden egg hiding on the grass next to a few condoms. Truth be told, you could not be certain Loki would defer to your unsubtle invitation. There was, after all, a chance he would rudely reject you. In fact, you had never seen Loki initiate any form of social or body contact. But you were willing to take the risk.

“My… whoever designed this egg must have an exceedingly good taste for colours.”

“I meant to decorate it with green and gold jewels too but you see, materialising objects I imagine in my head never turn out the way I want them to.”

Loki spun around. “It is yours, then?”

“I don’t care about that stupid scavenger hunt, not really. But I’ve wanted to be alone with you for a while. You never leave your room, you know.” Leaning against the tree for some sort of support, you listened to your rapid heartbeat and awaited his reaction. Loki simply narrowed his eyes at you.

“Alone with me?” He repeated, almost mockingly. “Is this a subtle request for me to ravish you… right here under this tree?” Gosh… his voice rushed into your ears like liquid gold, saying such depraved words. You held your breath when he closed the small distance between you, pressing you against the trunk so you could feel the strong muscles dance against your clothed skin. Almost thoughtfully, his left hand came up to caress your face. His demeanour changed. Gone was the dominant and intimidating god you had read about, replaced by a young prince unsure of how to deal with your sudden confession.

“You seem so… surprised.” You whispered.

His honest answer startled you. “It must have been a while since a woman took interest in me instead of my oaf of a brother… especially after all that happened since his first, failed coronation.”

It was a painful sting that went through your heart, guilt washing over your body. Your Easter egg was no more than a stupid metaphor for a cheap Tinder match, a quick fuck you would get over with and then on with your life. You had never honestly considered your feelings for Loki to grow beyond sexual attraction. You admired his skills and you worshipped his powers and wit… oh, you would be all too willing to kneel before him and tend to his Easter eggs before focusing your attention to his surely thick and long shaft, to lick over his length and suck on his tip until he rewarded you with his godly seed… without a doubt, Loki would taste delightful. But romantic interest? Potentially falling in love with the mischievous god? You had never considered yourself to be that kind of woman. Not since you had dedicated your life to witchcraft.

“Trust me, I do not want Thor. I want you. Right now.”

If Loki was suspicious, he did not show, his vulnerability vanishing from his stunning blue eyes. You would not claim he had his emotions under control… not if he let his guard slip so easily upon unexpected affection. But now, his smirk was downright malicious.

“Be careful what you wish for, little witch.” He purred into your ear, sending pleasant shivers up and down your spine. His mouth found your neck, brushing lightly over the sensitive skin until you squirmed in joyful anticipation.

“What are these for?” He tilted his head, eyeing the condoms on the ground.

“The condoms? For protection. I have no desire to get pregnant today.”

Loki hesitated. Then, he chuckled.

“Are you familiar with contraception spells?”

“N-no…”

“I shall take care of it, then.” And with that, he captured your mouth in a wet and passionate kiss, lips devouring yours in such a devastated manner you moaned against him, granting him perfect access to slip his tongue past your lips and start a playful fight with yours, battling for dominance.

This first round would be a quick one, you both knew that. Exhibitionism was not your style, neither was it Loki’s. When he claimed a woman, he wished to do so in private. There were not many things he could call his own—but he certainly would when it came to the pleasure of a beautiful naked maiden underneath his strong body.

He growled when he busied his hands with your skirt, sliding it up your thighs so he could tend to the annoying piece of thin fabric separating him from your delicate quim underneath. Without hesitation, he ripped it off your body and tossed it aside, his long fingers taking only a split second to find your wet folds and fondle them excitedly.

You gasped when he parted them to coax your clit out of its hiding place, getting you all worked up and aroused for him—not that you needed any more stimulation; but Loki of course knew how to please a woman. It was something a man did not forget, even after years of confinement.

Moaning loudly, you let your head fall back, exposing your neck to him. Loki eyed you down greedily, studying each of your reactions so intimately you felt a strange, longing sensation in your belly. Like butterflies, fluttering around nervously.

“This will not do…” He decided nonchalantly. With but a flick of his wrist, your clothes vanished. You felt the all too familiar tingling of seidr dancing over your skin, then the cool spring breeze having goose bumps decorate your limbs, your nipples hardening both from the sudden temperature change and your imminent arousal. “Hmm… much better…” Loki mused. All you managed in response was another, blissful moan.

Oh, happy fucking Easter. You sighed when Loki removed his fingers from your sex to free his aching and pulsing member from his tight leather trousers, barely sliding them down his pale but well-defined thighs. And seeing his erection was no small thing. He truly was a god and you longed to taste that long shaft and please him with your mouth until you gagged because of his sheer length and girth.

You squealed when Loki lifted you up to position himself between your legs, smirking hungrily when you spread them even further in his tight grasp. Clearly, there was no need for him to prepare you any more. With but one eager thrust, he impaled you with his hard cock, sheathing himself so deep inside of you your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your muscles gripping him tightly, unwilling to let him retreat entirely. Loki withdrew almost completely still, torturing you with slow and deep strokes. He took his time, appreciating the warmth of a tight cunt squeezing him so delightfully, greedy for his seed. And he was about to give it to you, about to give you what you had asked for.

Loki’s angle allowed him to hit your hidden pleasure spots with every single stroke, carrying you up towards orgasm on a cloud of pleasure. Moaning relentlessly, you dug your fingernails into his armour, allowing him to bury his face in your neck and inhale your scent, leaving passionate love bites in his wake.

By now, he was rutting into you like a wolf in heat. Loki seemed to forget himself. Tension, desperation, fear and frustration all appeared to seep from his body so suddenly he realised with a start what he had been missing out on. To have a woman desire him, willing to give and receive pleasure…

“L-Loki… I-I’m… I’m going to… ahh…”

“Come for me,” he ordered, looking you dead in the eye, urging you on, fuelling your arousal. “Come. Now.”

It felt like he had pressed a button, his naughty words rippling through you along with the endless waves of pleasure caused by the strongest orgasm you had ever experienced. Screaming his name, your toes curled as Loki fucked you through your climax almost violently, unwilling to stop and let you catch your breath. By the time he was about to reach his own peak, you were ready to cum yet again. And Loki’s shaft pulsing and twitching inside of you as he spurted ropes of his rich cum inside of you, filling you up nicely, was enough to push you over the edge once more. Spasming around him, you milked him for all he was worth, the pleasure unwilling to subside until he slipped out of you satisfactorily, watching with delight and pride how his seed dribbled down your inner thighs, staining your body. He sure did enjoy claiming a woman…

Carefully, the God of Mischief set you back down on your feet, making sure your knees would indeed support you before he let go.

“God… that was… wow.” It was better than you could have ever imagined. You were filled with energy you could not describe. Myths of Loki and his seidr had already given you strength but Loki himself… you felt like a new witch.

“Indeed it was.” He chuckled, tucking away his softening member. He did not look flustered in the least. You, on the other hand, were panting as if you had just run a marathon. Closing your eyes for just a brief second, you magicked some clothes back on your body, feeling Loki’s blue eyes on you with every movement you made. You shivered when his hand came up to caress our face yet again. There was hope sparkling in his eyes.

“Have you ever seen the Northern lights? With your own eyes?” He suddenly asked.

You frowned. “What?”

“I realise that we started this in the wrong order and I shall make sure to remedy that mistake and court you properly, my little witch.” My little witch. You were his little witch now.

“Um… Loki… we are not… going to… are we?” Your heart was aching. This had been about sex and lust… not the beginning of a romantic relationship. Was it not clear? You swallowed thickly, looking up at him hesitantly.

He paused, lifting his chin to feign confidence.

“Ah. I see.” He said eventually. “You merely wished for carnal satisfaction and you received it.”

You had hurt him. When you had thought you had done him a favour by dragging him straight into Stark’s stupid scavenger hunt, you had achieved the exact opposite. And it finally dawned on you. Loki wasn’t craving sexual touch. He was craving emotional touch.

“Loki, I just… I’m not the kind of woman who… I mean, I don’t…” But why, now, did it hurt you so much to have disappointed him? Those feelings tumbling around in your belly, what in the nine realms, were they on about? It was a fuck. A meaningless fuck you would not mind to repeat… or was it? Biting your lower lip, you remembered Loki’s cheeky smirk. Your heart seemed to skip a beat upon the mere imagination of him being playful with you.

“It had to be me, no? The Norse God of Mischief, the one you had read so much about. Tell me, was it exciting?” He asked, scornfully and condescending now.

“It… the best sex of my life.” You admitted ruefully.

“Well. I am pleased to have bestowed this life-changing experience on you. You will be disappointed to hear you were a rather ordinary and nearly boring companion.”

He stroke back immediately, choosing hurtful words to distract from his own pain and inflict the very same on you. It did not matter if they were true or not, you both knew they hit home.

“Loki, I’m sorry… I… I didn’t mean it like that, I just…”

“(Y/N)!” You flinched when you heard Tony yell your name. Jogging towards you, in no rush, really, he came to a halt a few feet before your trembling form.

“There you are. Rhodey won, the scavenger hunt is over. We’re all going to the Bahamas though. You better start packing.”

“Come with me.” You heard yourself mumbling when he had gone but not before shooting Loki a suspicious glance. “I’m not going without you.”

“Whatever for? You have what you wanted.”

Those feelings. Could it be? Were you… falling in love with him?

“No,” Frantically, you shook your head. “No, I don’t. Please, Loki. I’m sorry…”

“There is no need to apologise, my little witch.” My little witch. Oh no… you definitely did not want to let this breath-taking god go. He did not have to explain it. There was no need to apologise because this was what people always did. They used him and then tossed him aside when they had no need of him longer. They claimed they loved him and then revealed their true intentions. By the Norns, what had you done? You had never wanted to hurt him like this.

“I think… I should be the one courting you. Please… let me prove it to you.” You choked out, holding back your tears. You were falling in love with him. If he turned his back on you now and left, never looking back, your heart would shatter. Broken, you tried for a reconciling smile. Your heart almost leaped out of your chest when Loki sighed.

“You should go and pack your things, my little witch.” My little witch. Your smile widened, genuinely.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I’d be flattered if you supported me on KoFi! kofi.com/sserpente (or hit the “Support me” button on my blog) ♥

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themoonandotherslikeit · 5 years ago

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Something More Than What I Had- Part Three

Part Three- Acts

“Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved.” Acts 4:12

Castiel’s homosexuality wasn’t a secret, by any means. He never tried to hide it, but he also didn’t go out of his way to come out to anyone. It was hard enough being taken seriously in the police force without adding being gay into the mix. It was a big factor when Cas decided that he didn’t want to have a relationship. His job was his life. Normally when someone would ask him questions about his sexuality, he would avoid it at all costs. So when Dean asked, and the words I’m gay spilled from Castiel’s lips he felt a little shell shocked.

The moment that Dean kissed him, though, that all melted away.

He wouldn’t have imagined a back alley behind a restaurant as romantic, but despite the dumpster and the fresh smoke on his lips, it was. Dean leaned over him like he was a goddamn quarterback, and Castiel was the homecoming queen. He leaned in and kissed Cas like it was his job. It was urgent, Dean pressing his lips against Cas’ with a pressure that kept building.

He could feel himself sigh against Dean’s mouth as he opened his lips to invite him in. His arms went around Dean’s torso, his fingers trailing over the flannel shirt and resting against his spine. Their tongues brushed, and Castiel felt his insides light on fire. Their noses bumped slightly as he tilted his chin up to allow Dean better access to the kiss. He had a distinct whiskey taste on his tongue from his dinner drink, and it was quite literally intoxicating.

Dean pressed into him more, their chests connecting, legs tangling. Castiel stole one last look at Dean before closing his eyes and succumbing to to the feeling of being kissed. His chin was rough from his evening shadow, scraping against Cas’ neck as his lips hovered over his pulse point.

The kisses were warm against his throat, collarbone, and at the collar of his shirt. Dean’s deft fingers worked Castiel’s buttons down, leaving a hot, wet kiss in his wake. He felt his nipples perk up in the cold air, as the gentle droplets of rain settled on his eyebrows.

He hadn’t even noticed the rain, but if he was being honest, he didn’t give a shit. Not while Dean’s surprisingly soft fingers grazed over his chest, down his stomach, landing at his waistband, and gripping it tightly. He could feel Dean’s lips trail down his chest, capturing his nipple with a heated lick. His head lolled back, pressing against the brick of the building. He cursed under his breath, moving his hands from Dean’s back and into his hair.

His hands halted at a hat, soft wool fabric, like a pageboys. Had Dean been wearing that the entire time? Surely Cas would’ve remembered… his thought process quickly melted away as Dean’s tongue left a saliva trail from his nipple down his stomach.

He felt like all his breath would escape his body, and he tossed the hat away mindlessly to massage his fingers into Dean’s hair. He wasn’t the kind of man to accept any sort of sexual favors in a back alley, but he wasn’t sure if it was physically possible for him to tell Dean no.

Dean kissed and licked along his waistband as his fingers went to work, running along the length of his tightening groin. He could feel warm liquid dripping from Dean’s lips and onto the front of his pants. With one fluid motion Dean unbuttoned his pants, sliding them lower on Cas’ legs. He sucked in his breath as he felt Dean’s fingers grip his thighs tightly.

Another raindrop fell on his face, and a small wet pebble hit his bare thigh, then another. Shit, it’s hailing. “Dean we should-” he began, letting his eyes flutter open, but when he looked down at Dean he stood frozen.

A set of bright blue eyes looked up at Castiel, ruffled hair from the discarded hat, and a dark, full beard that glinted red in the street lamp. His unbuttoned henley was coated in deep, wet blood, his detective badge hanging loosely around his neck. When he opened his mouth, blood ran from his lips. “It’s okay, Detective. Just let me,” he slurred, offering a big toothless smile. He wasn’t Dean, and it wasn’t hail. It was teeth.

Castiel’s chest and waist were covered in blood, he fell backwards, his back hitting the brick wall as he tried to stumble away. His grip was tight, his fingers hard against Cas’ thighs. “Let go of me!” He looked around, frantically trying to find an escape, a way out, something.

The man kneeling in Dean’s place ran his tongue over one of the only remaining teeth in his mouth, the entirety of his front covered in wet, hot, sticky blood. The tooth wiggled before falling out, and as it crashed to the ground, a fly flew from his open mouth, buzzing around Castiel’s face. “Don’t you want me, Detective?” His voice was distorted; it didn’t belong to Dean. He walked to Castiel, closing the space between them, his breath was on Cas’ mouth, and it smelled like something rotting.

He put his hands on the man’s chest and shoved him as hard as he could, gagging from the smell, but the grip he had on Cas was absolute, sending them both falling, his stomach in his throat, as he watched the blackness within the gaping, open mouth, as if it was going to swallow him whole.

He sat up in bed, the feeling of falling yanking him out of his nightmare and placing him safely back in bed. His heart was pounding, and he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Fuck,” he muttered, immediately jumping as his cellphone rang at his bedside table. His stomach dropped as he saw Dean’s name on his caller ID. He declined the call, silencing the ring, and placing the phone facedown on his bedside table.

A week later

“Whatcha workin’ on?”

“Dean?” Sam asked, looking up from his paperwork. “Mugging gone wrong. The woman wouldn’t give up her wedding ring. Single gunshot wound to the head.” From the scattered papers surrounding him, Dean figured that his brother was drowning in paperwork.

“That’s the pits.” He held up a brown paper bag with a smile. “Hadn’t heard from you in a few hours. Thought you might be hungry.”

“You thought right.” Sam grinned. “What’d you get?”

“Burgers,” he said wryly. “From the good place.”

“Sweet,” his brother grabbed for the bag greedily. “I missed breakfast, and the coffee is eating at me.”

“Yeah, can’t drink too much of that stuff or it’ll stunt your growth,” Dean said distracted.

“Not sure there’s any real concern for that,” Sam chuckled, his arm was already digging in the bag, his eyes glazing over.

“Hey, where’s Novak? He around?”

“Why?” His younger brother eyed him over the paper bag.

It’d been over a week since the dinner, and Castiel was avoiding Dean. When they’d seen each other it’d been brief, but full of longing looks and sideways comments. Dean would call, and be sent to voicemail. He didn’t know what the fuck he did wrong, but he was over it. He wanted to get Castiel’s attention, and the best way he knew to do that was showing up where he couldn't be avoided. “Just curious.” He shrugged, his eyes scanning the precinct.

“Oh. Right. Uh, he’s around here somewhere. Maybe in the evidence room,” Sam said. He was already giving his lunch longing looks and couldn’t be bothered.

“Hm,” Dean said, licking his bottom lip. “Where’s the bathroom? Figure I’d hit the head before I get out of here.”

“Sure. It’s back that way,” Sam said, loosely gesturing. His gaze was fixed back on his paperwork, his burger at his lips.

Dean had always been good at directions, it was probably due to all of the cross country travel after he graduated high school. It was a writer’s quest to never sit still. He fought the stories, following them endlessly, without a GPS. So he was able to find the evidence room easily. Plus, it was clearly labeled.

He opened the door, exposing a dark room, lit only by a single bulb in the center of the room. There were shelves full of boxes that were labeled with dates and names. It felt crowded, but Sam was right. Castiel was tucked in the corner, pouring through papers in a box. He turned to the sound of the door opening, the light from the hallway spilling in.

The detective squinted. “Dean? What’re you doing here?”

“Oh shit, this isn’t the bathroom, is it?” He joked, pulling the door shut behind him, sealing them off from the rest of the world.

“What gave it away?” Castiel deadpanned.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Dean asked, his words spilling over Castiel’s. The older Winchester wasn’t known for his subtly, and he knew it.

Castiel pressed the file in his hands to his chest, covering his heart. “What makes you think I’m avoiding you?”

He groaned, crossing his arms. “Cas, I’m annoying. I know that. Okay? It isn’t my first time being avoided.” Dean smiled sadly. “Was it the kiss? You’re not into it? You could’ve just said...”

“It’s not...” Castiel sighed. “It isn’t that. I just don’t… date.”

“Funny,” Dean smirked, taking a step closer to Cas. He took the avoidance as an invitation, at least until he was told otherwise. “I don’t remember asking you on a date. Pretty presumptuous, Detective.”

“That’s a valid point.” Castiel sat down the file, his eyes flickering away from Dean’s. He hated when Cas did that. He was always looking away, when all Dean wanted to see were a set of blue eyes fixed on his own.

“So, it’s going out that worries you?” He raised his eyebrow, letting his arms and defenses down. “Because we don’t have to go out.”

Castiel considered this, scratching his chin. “Are you propositioning me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Detective? So naughty.” He pursed his lips, the familiar flirt bringing him all the way to where Castiel was standing. “But no. I thought maybe we could... I don’t know. Hang out? Watch a movie? Something low key.”

“You want to hang out with me?”

“That surprise you?”

“Yes,” Castiel said carefully. “I don’t exactly have friends, Dean.”

“Charlie is your friend.”

“Charlie is an enigma.”

“True. She’s a firecracker.”

“To say the least.”

“So,” Dean began, cornering the detective against the shelves as his fingers brushed Cas’. “What do you think? I can come over. I make some damn good bacon cheese fries.”

“You want to come to my apartment?”

“I figured you wouldn’t want Sammy to know that we are friends.”

“Is that what we are?”

“I’d like us to be.” Dean shrugged. His stature was casual, his shoulders relaxed, but his gaze told a different story. His green eyes were intense and unwavering against Castiel’s. They hungrily flickered to his lips. He didn’t want to be the detective’s friend, but it was a start.

“Seems like your motives are innocent enough.” Castiel’s tongue shot out to run across his own dry lips, and Deans tongue copied the motion on his own.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “I have the evening off tonight,” he said carefully.

“What a coincidence.” Dean grinned mischievously, his eyes memorizing the way Castiel looked in the single-bulb lighting of the closet. “So do I.”

Later that afternoon

At Dean's knock the door opened, and his eyebrows quirked when he saw how relaxed Castiel looked, wearing a pair of jeans and a police academy T-shirt with no shoes, his hair looking tousled. He is so fucking cute. “I brought the stuff,” he said smiling widely, his eyes darting back and forth as if he was hiding something suspicious. He held up a shopping bag full of shredded cheese, bacon, chives, sour cream, ranch dressing, and frozen french fries. “Hope you have beer.”

“I do,” Cas said, opening his door a little wider. “Come on in.”

The detective’s apartment was plain, to say the least. The walls were cream colored, the picture frames were far and few between, and still held the smiling faces on the stock photos inside them. “Nice place,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. It was cramped, and void of color. He was sure if he looked around the side of the couch he would find that it still had its tags on. The apartment reminded him of who Cas pretended to be.

“I don’t spend a lot of time here.”

“I can see that,” he laughed, pushing past Castiel into the kitchen. “I’m assuming you have a pan to make these in?” He shook the bag of frozen fries.

Castiel nodded and pointed to the cabinet next to the oven. “Help yourself.”

He smiled to himself, pulling out the pan. Cas’ cabinets were wonderfully organized and most of the pans looked unused. He placed the pan on the counter and turned back to the detective who was picking at a string on his shirt. “So, I was thinking we could watch some True Crime, or is that too on the nose?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, looking up from his string. “Too on the nose.” He cracked open a beer and handed one to Dean with a smile.

He laughed and nodded, preheating the oven. He dumped the fries into the pan and stuck them in the oven. “They’ll cook for ten minutes, and I’ll add the cheese.” He pressed his beer to his lips and took a swig. The cool foam trailed down his throat, and he turned to Cas, leaning against the counter.

“So...” Castiel said, shifting his weight awkwardly. His movements reminded Dean of the way he looked on the dance floor at the club.

“Is this awkward, Detective?” He chuckled and eyed Castiel who looked up at Dean through his dark eyelashes, following the curve of Cas’ lips, down his throat, and onto his too-stretched-out collar on his academy shirt. He was usually so put together, and there was something intimate about seeing him like that, in his own element, close to falling apart.

“A little,” Cas admitted. “Like I said, I don’t date.”

“Thought this wasn’t a date.” He raised an eyebrow, smirking a bit, as he stepped a little closer to Castiel.

“It’s not,” Cas said avoiding his eyes. Deans heart ached seeing the detective so shy and excluded. He wanted to break him open and see everything inside that he was hiding.

“I have an idea,” Dean said suddenly, walking into Castiel’s living room. He glanced around before finding the one thing he expected to find. He grinned widely. “How’d I know you’d have one?”

Castiel followed him right to the record player, his cheeks pink. “Perhaps I’m too predictable? Too old fashioned? Charlie says I’m an old man.”

He smiled back at Castiel, a glint in his eye as he shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s it.” He squatted down and looked through the records. They had a lot of the same taste in music, and he couldn’t have asked for anything better in a partner. “Bingo,” Dean said, pulling one out. “Awesome.” He ran his fingers along the record. It wasn’t a new album, but the record cover looked pristine, recently purchased, or perhaps never listened to. “I’m glad they’re still making albums on vinyl.”

“It’s the only way to listen to them,” Castiel agreed, his hands shoved In his pockets. “It keeps them from sounding so electronic.”

“Exactly.” He smiled back as he stood up, and put the record in place. “I even like the time in between songs. That lull.” It was like magic, putting an electricity in the air. It insisted on feelings, tugging at his chest.

Your eyes are moist, you scream and shout as though you were a man possessed. From deep inside comes rushing forth, all the anguish you suppressed.

“Why this one?”

“Well, I’ve seen your regular dance moves,” Dean grinned, reaching his hand out to Cas. His palm was facing up in an invitation. “Now I want to know how you can handle a slower song.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking at his hand. “You want to... slow dance with me?”

“You know, for a detective, you’re kind of dense. Isn’t it your job to put two and two together?”

“Shut up,” Cas snarked, taking Dean's hand, and let himself be pulled closely.

Dean placed his hand on Cas' lower back, just above his belt, feeling Cas' warm body through the soft fabric of his t-shirt as they gently started swaying in the living room. It was awkward at first, Castiel was stiff, and Dean was actively trying not to press up against him.

It’s never too late to start all over again.

But the song was getting to them. Dean loved that fucking song. “You know, Detective, this was a ploy for me to hold you. Ya know that, right?” His fingers stroked along Cas’ spine, pulling him just a little closer.

“I figured as much.” Castiel smiled, looking into Dean’s eyes.

The blue of his eyes was so soft, calming, and fuck, his eyes were dark blue at the edges, fading into lighter blue around the iris. Their chests brushed and he squeezed Cas’ fingers in his. Damn his eyes are so blue. “And you’re okay with that?”

“You’re annoying,” Cas clarified, squeezing his hand back gently. “But I have to admit... You’re one hell of a dancer, Dean.”

“Sweetheart, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he said, spinning Castiel a few times, watching his eyes widen in surprise. His messy hair seemed to whip as he spun, his lips open in an almost gasp. He pulled Castiel close before spinning him out again, clearly showing off. The detective let out small bursts of laughter from his normally-closed lips as if he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He looked like he was having fun. When Cas was spun back in, Dean captured those lips with his own.

“Well, fuck me sideways, Detective, you’re one hell of a kisser,” Dean said with a huge grin as he tried to take in the fact that he just kissed Castiel. That he started something, but in the darkness of the alley behind the restaurant they were still hidden from sight. They could still take everything back if they had to.

“You know how to ruin a moment, don’t you, Winchester?” Castiel asked him breathlessly, their noses still brushing.

“Just stating the obvious.”

“So am I.”

“Does that mean that you don’t want to do it again?” Dean tilted his head to the side, trying to ignore the fact that his brother and Cas’ co-workers were waiting for them back in the restaurant.

Castiel placed a hand on either side of Deans face, running his thumbs along his cheekbones and jaw. “I didn’t say that.”

Dean had kissed a lot of people, and slept with almost as many as he’d kissed, but Castiel hadn’t, he knew that much. Cas was choosey, and he was choosing Dean. That meant something, so he kissed the detective tenderly and with care. It wasn’t like he was trying to fuck, but like they were getting to know each other. It wasn’t a date, it was better than a date.

When the timer went off, Dean pulled himself away from the detective’s embrace, reluctantly walking back to the kitchen. He added the cheese and bacon to the fries and popped them in for another five minutes. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving.”

Dean turned to him, and Castiel pulled him into another kiss. This one was urgent, needy. Starving was exactly right. He felt Cas run his tongue along his bottom lip, begging for entrance, for connection. So much for slow.

Dean didn’t mind, and he eagerly opened his mouth to allow Castiel to taste him. He could feel the kitchen counter pressing against his back, Castiel’s chest tight against his. Cas licked into his mouth, and Dean smiled a bit in return. Maybe I was wrong, Dean thought with a smirk. Maybe the detective doesn’t need to be handled with care, after all.

Snaking his hands under the academy t-shirt, he ran his fingers along Cas’ soft skin, counting each rib. Castiel’s protruding ribs only confirmed Dean’s suspicions that he didn’t eat enough and worried too much. There were just too many criminals that he couldn’t put away; that he couldn’t catch.

The timer dinged, letting them know that the fries were done. “Let me get them, so they don’t burn,” Dean said against Castiel’s mouth. The detective nodded with a whine, backing up. His lips were swollen and pink from being kissed, his pupils wide. Dean couldn’t help but smile. He looked beautiful. Dean always thought that beauty was exclusive to women, but looking at Castiel in that moment proved him wrong. The detective was just unapologetically beautiful, and Dean wondered if that was what Cas looked like in the morning, right when he woke up. He wondered a lot of things.

He turned to take out the fries with a pot holder and put them on the stove top. “They smell good,” Cas commented as his phone rang in the other room. “Excuse me.” He flattened his hair from where Dean ran his fingers through, as if whoever was calling could see.

“Sure thing.” Dean saluted him lamely, and dolloped some sour cream on top of the fries. He hummed the tune to the record that they’d been listening to, the same record that was on a lull, humming static between tracks. He could hear Castiel talking quietly in the other room, before returning. He didn’t look right, his shoulders tight again, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Actually, no.”

“What’s wrong?” Dean looked at him fully then, he really looked at him. Cas’ eyes were back to a squint, any joy behind them were replaced by something else. Concern, maybe? Something serious.

“There was another murder.”

“What? Shit, who?”

Dean watched Castiel’s head spin behind his eyes. He looked pale, green. “Remember the courthouse?”

“When we went to get burgers? Yeah. How could I forget?” He held Castiel’s forearms to keep him steady. “Maybe you should sit down...”

“No,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “It was him.”

“The guy who got off? He killed someone?”

Castiel shook his head insistently, his voice shaking. Dean couldn’t tell if it was from anger or fear. “No. He was the one killed.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Dean tilted his head to catch Castiel’s eyes.

“It was the same M.O. as Crowley.” Castiel licked his bottom lip, trying to gather up the words to explain. “This isn’t a coincidence. We think we have a serial killer on our hands.”

“Cas, you really don’t look so good... maybe you should...”

“No.” He pulled away from Dean and ran his hands through his hair. “I have to go to the scene. Sam’s already on his way there.”

“Let me come with you,” Dean said, putting a hand on the Detective’s shoulder. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

At the crime scene

“What have we got?” Sam asked as he stepped over the crime scene tape.

“Male, late forties. Stab wound in the chest. I’d place time of death from roughly six hours ago,” Eileen said. She didn’t bother signing because she still crouched over the victim, and her hands were examining the wound.

Sam squatted in front of her, the vic between them, so she could catch his lips easier. “You think it’s the same weapon as last time?”

“No doubt.” She pointed at the wound. “See these? Definitely made by the same weapon. It’s unique.”

“Should make it easier to find.”

“In New York? Nothing is easy to find.” She gave him a cheesy smile, glancing at him through a loose piece of hair that escaped her messy ponytail.

“That’s because usually I’m not the one looking.”

“Cocky.” She smirked and signed, cute .

He winked and signed, same. “You too,” he mouthed.

“Aw, are you bonding over a crime scene?”

“Dean?” Sam perked his head up to his brother. “What’re you doing here?”

He stood with his hands in his pockets next to a frazzled Castiel, who was still wearing his loungewear with his gun and badge on his hip.

“Saw the detective on my way over and figured you guys could use my expertise,” Dean said flippantly, as he actively avoided looking at Castiel.

“What expertise?”

“Rookie, what’d you figure out?” Cas asked him, his voice strained.

“Not much, honestly. We were just getting started. How’d you hear? It’s your night off, man, I could’ve handled it.”

“Captain told me. This is personal,” he said, kneeling next to the body. “Certainly looks like the same M.O. as before.”

“Eileen says it’s the same weapon,” Sam agreed, pointing to the marks around the wound with his pen. “She says it’s a unique knife. Possibly one of a kind.”

“Have you checked for a verse yet?” He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers. “Get me a pair of gloves.” Sam glanced around before locating the black rubber gloves, handed him a pair, and Cas slid them on.

The man was wearing a simple white button up shirt that showed the blood soaking into the thin fabric. Cas squinted and slid his fingers into the breast pocket of the shirt. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, and stood up carefully unfolding the page.

“For the one in authority is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for rulers do not bear the sword for no reason. They are God’s servants, agents of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer. Romans 13:4.” Cas’ eyes flickered up to his, before Sam’s eyes settled on the back of the verse.

“Wait, Novak, look.” Sam moved closer to him. “Look at the back of the page, there's something else. It’s blank, and the Bible doesn’t have blank pages.”

He raised an eyebrow and flipped it over. He held up the page to show Sam. There was another page pressed gently to the back of the Bible page with the circled script. He carefully peeled the pages apart, to avoid causing any damage. The page was typed, unlike the crude ME that had been written on the last message.

Cas squinted at it, all of the color draining from his face. “What the fuck?” He mumbled, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“What is it, Novak?” Sam asked, sitting up straighter.

“Castiel, what is it?” Sam asked slowly, watching his mentors lip twitch as he read whatever was on the page. Castiel sucked in his breath, shoving the page at Sam. He stood up completely from his crouched position, turning away from the scene. His hands held himself up, pressing against his knees as he retched, emptying his stomach into a nearby bush.

“Hey,” Dean said, helping Cas to hold himself upright. “I gotcha, Buddy. Let it out.”

Sam held the page in his fingers. Suddenly it felt incredibly heavy, like his bones could splinter under the weight. His eyes flickered down, to see what sent Novak spinning out of control.

Dear Detective Novak,

Sam looked up at Castiel, emptying the contents of his stomach as Dean stroked his back protectively. “What the fuck,” he murdered, echoing Castiel’s earlier comment.

Dear Detective Novak,

What does it mean to find salvation? Do you know, Detective? What exactly gets us into Heaven vs Hell? I don’t have the answer to that. Perhaps I should say a Hail Mary, or look for penance within the community. I am sure you would like to get that revenge yourself, but you are unable. That is why I am here. I saw your face in that courtroom, Detective. You did all that you could, but yet he still walked away. The system is broken.

God has eradicated people before, so I hope you do not hate me for this. Do you recall the floods? The death of the first born children in Egypt?

Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. Ephesians 6:11.

I am doing God’s work, Detective. You must know that by now.

Raguel

“Holy shit.” It was so much worse than Sam expected. “Castiel, I...”

“Rookie,” Cas gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His partner stared up at him through bloodshot eyes. “I need a list of everyone that was at that goddamn trial, everyone who was in and out of that courtroom. He was there. The fucking killer was there.”

Later that evening

Castiel was hunched over his kitchen table, wearing his reading glasses in the low light. Photos from the crime scene, copies of the letter, the Bible verses were strewn about his kitchen table. He ran his fingers over one of the photos, along the burned wings on the grass. What does this mean?

His eyes burned, he’d been staring at the information for so long that there couldn’t be any other way to see it other than the ways he’d already scribbled out on his yellow legal pad. The familiar pounding at his temples kept time with the ticking clock, reminding him of every minute, every second that the murderer was still out there.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, Detective. I think it’s time you get some rest,” Dean said gently.

He felt Dean’s strong hands squeeze his shoulders moving the throb from his temples, straight into his aching muscles. Dean had insisted that he would go home with Cas, make sure he hydrated and got some rest. He was more than a little restless after the case, and when Sam finally called it quits, Castiel went home to continue working. “Can’t.” He chewed on his pen, squinting at the pages.

“Waiting for those wings to take flight?” Dean asked, leaning over his shoulder to look at the photo. Dean’s thumbs rubbed deep circles in his sore muscles, causing him to groan and lean into the ache.

“Huh?” His eyes - heavy, sleepy, burning - flickered to Dean's.

“You’re just really staring at them, is all.”

“I just don’t understand it,” Castiel sighed, defeated, placing the photograph back down.

“They look like angels.”

“Yes, but why? What’s the purpose?” He took off his reading glasses, rubbing his eyelids. He stuck the earpiece of the glasses between his teeth and bit down absentmindedly.

“Maybe it’ll come to you after you’ve got some rest.” Dean squeezed his shoulders again, leaning down and placing a kiss on the place his thumb had been rubbing. Castiel let out a breathy sigh at the feeling of Dean’s gentle lips against his shoulder. “Because you look like hell, Cas, I know you’re tired.”

“Nobody asked you,” he grouched, even if just a little half-heartedly.

Dean leaned down and kissed the top of his head, sending a warmth that radiated at his crown. “That’s true, but someone’s gotta say it.” Castiel was silent and still, just staring blankly at the pile of evidence. It all seemed so forgiven. He didn’t understand it any better than he had hours before, if anything he may have understood it even less. “You want me to go?” Dean asked into his hair, the words vibrating against his scalp. Castiel could feel his breath, warm and close, and he finally gave in, melting a bit into Dean’s touch. He sighed and turned in his chair, resting his hands on Dean’s hips. “No, Dean, I don’t want you to go.”

“Come to bed.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” He asked, attempting a tired flirt.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dean grinned back at him, leaning down to kiss him. It was quick, soft, and exactly what he needed. “But no, I’m too fucking tired. Let’s just sleep.”

Castiel’s eyes flickered back to his papers with a frustrated pit of longing growing in his gut. He knew Dean was right. He couldn’t even see straight enough to read, and the coffee was making him jittery. He was no good to anyone tired. The case would still be there in the morning, and hopefully by then he’d have the names back from the courthouse. “Fine, but don’t you try to fucking cuddle me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Dean said with a small smile. His fingers laced with Castiel’s and pulled him to the bedroom.

From the moment that Cas met him, didn’t take Dean to be the sleep-only type, he seemed more like a bang-your-brains-out, make-you-scream-for-god type. There was something different about the man who’d been rubbing his shoulders and slow dancing in his living room. He was unexpectedly soft, a sheep in wolf's clothing.

His bedroom was dark, apart from the moonshine that melted through the blinds, causing lines of white light to dance across their forms. They slid under the sheets, Castiel laying on his right side, facing the window and Dean followed suit, his arm propped under his neck. Castiel could feel Dean’s eyes on his back, his finger tracing the length of Castiel’s side, and resting on his hip.

“You don’t sleep much, do you, Detective?”

“What gave it away?” His voice was rough on his raw, coffee eaten throat.

“I thought the grumpy look was because of me. Now I think you’re just tired.”

“A little of both,” he said with a snort, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as Dean’s fingers circled his hip again.

“What keeps you up?”

“Lots of things. This apartment, the job, the ones that get away,” he said as if it could ever be that simple.

Castiel felt him inch just a bit closer, a warm breath against his neck. He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the pillowtop of his mattress. He remembered his mother laying with him as a child, tickling his back with her fingertips to lull him to sleep. The familiarity of Dean’s touches gave him an ache deep in his chest, but he still felt himself nudging closer to his touch.

“This one didn’t get away though, Cas. He can’t hurt anyone else.”

“You’re right,” he said with a pained voice, guilt weighing on his chest. “Am I a monster for being a little happy that he’s gone?” He felt like one.

Cas felt Dean’s fingers trail up his arm, and his hair raised like there was an excess of electricity in the room, like the air right before a storm. “No. He was the monster, Cas, not you. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

“But it was done for me.”

“Maybe it was just done for the greater good?”

“It doesn’t really matter why. A man is still dead.”

“Hey, look at me.”

He rolled over to look at Dean, feeling the sting in his eyes as they welled up. He wasn’t a cry baby, but looking at Dean’s kind, understanding eyes made him desperately want to let it all out. Men weren’t supposed to show their emotions, be strong, it was a rule that Captain Novak had taught him growing up, boys don’t cry, Castiel, and boys sure as shit don’t kiss other boys.

Dean wrapped an arm around him, stroking his back. “This isn’t on you. He was a bad person, and he got ganked. You didn’t knife him, did ya?”

“No, of course not. How could I have? I was with you.”

“Wasn’t accusing you, Detective. I just meant, how can this be your fault if you didn’t kill him?”

He swallowed hard, sucking his emotions back into his gut. It was hard not to believe Dean when his breath was warm against Cas’ lips, and his eyes reflected glints of green against grey in the moonlight. “I guess you’re right..”

“I am right.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to Castiel’s. “And the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispered in response, pulling Dean closer, and he buried his face in the took of Dean’s neck, leaving a soft kiss on his skin. “Now let’s sleep,” he mumbled, his body finally screaming out for rest, screaming out for a moment of fucking peace, of anything other than the fear and pain that swirled in his gut.

“Deal.” Dean started to pull away, but Castiel wrapped his arms tighter. “Thought you said no cuddling, Detective,” Dean teased, smiling in response as he snuggled in closer, letting his chin rest on the detectives head. He murmured, “Don’t worry, Sweetheart, I’ve got you. Rest easy.”

Castiel clutched Dean in exhaustion, as if the man could pull all of his pain out of him like a sponge. Then Castiel allowed himself to do what he hadn’t done in a long time, he fell asleep in the arms of a man, a man that he was quickly slipping, tripping, falling in love with.

Later

Castiel was running, his feet slapping the concrete. He leapt to avoid a pothole, a rat skittering away at the smack of his shoes against the asphalt. He was in pursuit, his heartbeat pulsing in his throat. He pushed harder, wishing he didn’t use so much starch on his pants. He could feel the fabric scratch against his legs, he was too stiff, he couldn’t run fast enough. He wasn’t going to make it there in time.

He pushed himself, turning into the alleyway as he watched the leg of his perp disappear around the side of the building. New York City was a maze of buildings, and he was the mouse. He pushed harder, his lungs and muscles screaming out in pain. He had to get there. The pounding of the perp’s feet sounded further away, like raindrops on a window. Which way did he go?

The alleyway felt endless. No matter how hard he ran, or how fast, he never got any closer to the end. The old brick buildings on either side of him felt infinitely tall, reaching up to the sky, far above where the rain began. He wondered if they ascended into heaven. The further into the alley he ran the closer the walls came, his elbows bumping and scraping against the bricks.

The muscles in his legs felt like they were ripping, tearing. His pants held on tighter, more stiff. His knees could barely bend, but he forced them. He hoped that they wouldn’t snap in half. His arms scraped against the brick, breaking through the fabric of his clothes and his skin. Blood started dripping down his arms, onto his hands.

How long had it been? A minute? An hour? It felt like he had been running for as long as he could remember. It was like being on a treadmill, endlessly going forward. He pushed, and pushed, and pushed, pulling out his gun from the holster on his back. His elbows hit the walls. He couldn’t move forward any further; he was trapped. The walls caved in closer and closer, crushing his arms, his ribcage. The pressure increased at his temples, and the alleyway seemed to morph in front of his eyes, wave and shift as his vision blurred. He gasped for air as the figure he’d been chasing turned to look at him. He couldn't see a face, it was bathed in darkness, and the body was barely visible against the brick. All he saw was a bright, white-toothed smile glowing in the darkness.

The smile split open, cracking up the cheeks, up past the cheekbones, exposing countless fangs, and Castiel expected to hear the same echoed words that he heard every night. “Cas, get the fuck out of here!” But instead, the mouth began to laugh. It was a low, tantalizing cackle, small at first and then increasingly louder. It was like a taunt, and he struggled against his restraints. The figure approached him, unbothered by the tightness of the walls, and leaned in with its shapeless face as if to tell him something, and when it opened its mouth to speak, Castiel’s ears were assaulted with the continuous beep beep beep of his morning alarm.

One week later

“How long does it take to get a fucking list of names?” Castiel asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was sick of bureaucracy, rules, and fucking red tape. They weren’t making any progress, and the weight of Azazel’s murder was almost more than he could manage. “Anything on the name that was signed at the end of the letter?”

“Actually, yeah,” Sam said, pulling out his laptop. He typed in a few things before turning the screen toward Castiel so he could read it. “Check this out. According to my research, Raguel is an angel. He’s mainly in Judaic traditions, but he’s considered the Archangel of Justice. His name literally means Friend of God. He’s known for justice, fairness, harmony, vengeance, and redemption.”

Castiel scratched his scruffy chin. He needed to shave, but that required him to be at home, which he’d barely been in the last few days. “Fits the motif alright.” He let out an angry sigh, his fist colliding with the desk, causing his coffee cup to shake. “But it doesn’t point to anything specific. The guy is using a Christian Bible. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“I know you’re feeling a little lost,” Sam said, leaning forward, meeting his eyes. A silver crucifix slipped from his shirt collar, catching Castiel’s eye. “But we are doing all we can.”

“Right,” Cas said, his eyes locking on the chain around Sam’s neck. His throat was dry, tongue sandpaper. “And what we can’t do is left to God, right?”

“That’s one way to look at it. Keep positive. It always helps me.” Sam offered an encouraging smile, slapping his shoulder.

“Novak, Winchester, how is the serial killer case coming?” Captain Singer asked, as he came out of his office, Charlie following at his heels. He looked older every time Cas saw him, his beard more and more peppered, and his eyes tired under his official cap. He wondered if that’s what he looked like to Sam, to Dean.

“At a standstill, unfortunately,” Castiel said with a huff, a little like a petulant child. “Waiting for documentation from the courthouse, they’re dragging their feet.”

“Then I guess you’ll have some extra time to take another case,” the Captain said, dropping the file on Castiel’s desk.

“Thanks Cap.” He forced a tight-lipped smile.

“I live to please,” Captain Singer said dryly before turning to return to his office.

“Ooooo, another case?” Charlie asked, perching herself on Castiel’s desk.

“Apparently.”

“What’s wrong, Cassy?”

“Don’t call me that,” he complained, rubbing his face. To say he was tired would be a vast understatement.

“I think it’s time for lunch. Don’t you?” She poked his nose with a smile. “Bobby! I’m going to take my lunch now. Don’t miss me too much!” She grabbed Castiel’s hand. “Let’s go, Cranky.”

“I’ll get my coat,” Sam said with a smile.

“Nope, sorry Winchester. This is a gays only date.” She laid her head on Castiel’s shoulder, and he shot her a look .

“Alright, fine. I’ll order take out and start on the case,” Sam sighed as he picked up the file off Castiel’s desk.

“Good job, Rookie,” Charlie said, standing on her tippy toes so she could ruffle his shaggy hair. “Now let's go, Grumpy.”

Castiel forced a strained smile and grabbed his coat to join Charlie. He was glad that she was forcing him out to the office, if she hadn’t he would’ve had vending machine food for lunch. Again.

“So,” she began as they exited the precinct, pulling her coat together to combat the brisk air.

“What?” Castiel walked with his hands in his coat pockets, enjoying the rays of sun between the clouds.

“What do you mean, what? Don’t act so innocent!”

“Charlie, I assure you, I don’t know what you mean.”

She turned toward him and punched his shoulder. He rubbed where she hit with a frown, her knuckles causing a minor ache to trickle through him. “You’re really denying it? I came by your place to check on you the other night, and I saw a sexy piece of man meat in your window! You had a sleepover with the other brother!”

Castiel felt heat creep up his neck, and he popped up the collar of his trench coat to hide it from view, as if he could hide anything from Charlie. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Holy shit, Cranky! How are you still so disgruntled if you’re having sex?”

“We are not having sex!”

“Okay, I’m so sure. What, did you just sleep? Am I really supposed to believe that?”

“Actually, yes,” he said, straightening the collar on his coat.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

“What’s wrong with him? Is he straight?” Charlie raised an eyebrow, stopping at a cart on the street to get a hot dog. “You won’t hear me say this twice,” she murmured to him before turning to the vendor with a large grin. “One weiner with all the fixin’s please!”

“I’ll have the same,” Castiel said dryly, ignoring Charlie’s waggling, insinuating eyebrows.

They walked a little further down the street, hot dogs in hand, to find a set of stairs to sit and eat. Charlie settled in, letting her legs stretch out in front of her, her back pressed against the railing on the stairs. She crossed her legs at the ankle and stared at Castiel, while he avoided her eyes. “So, am I going to have to beg you for the details?”

Castiel sighed a little too dramatically, sitting down by her feet. He stared at his lap, and the poorly distributed ketchup on his hot dog. “I guess not.”

“Out with it before I explode!” Charlie was about to jump out of her shoes, her feet wiggling in anticipation.

“Okay, okay!” Castiel rubbed his face. “The night we all went to dinner? When I left to go to the bathroom, I went outside to smoke… he came outside and we kissed.”

“Oh my god! I knew it! So he is gay.” She wrapped her arms around Castiel in a bear hug, almost spilling her hotdog toppings on his coat.

“Enough with the affection,” he complained, unable to hide his smile. Charlie was his weakness, there was no pretending otherwise. “He’s bisexual, I think.”

“Sorry.” She pulled back and smoothed her shirt before taking a big bite of hotdog. “So, then what happened?” She asked with a full mouth.

“Then I avoided him, because I don’t have the fucking time for a relationship. Like I’ve been saying.” His back straightened at the faint, chilling memory of his nightmare.

“But?”

“But he sought me out, and he made me cheese fries. We danced to Steppenwolf on Vinyl.” He looked off into the distance, and ran his tongue along his bottom lip, a new memory warming his skin. “He made sure I went to sleep after I found out about the second victim, and I did. I slept for the first time in a long time.”

“Without nightmares? Oh my god, Cas!” She punched him again with a big grin. Her eyes were glistening beneath her eyelashes. “He’s the guy, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know about that,” Castiel said dismissively. He couldn’t ruin it all by telling her about his nightmares, about how suffocating they had been, about how not even the green eyed journalist who said all the right things and wore the night sky in freckles on his cheeks wasn’t enough to completely quiet his demons.

Charlie reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his, causing him to look at her. “Either way, I’m happy for you. I know I joke a lot, but you’re my best friend. I just want you to be happy.”

“I know,” he said as he squeezed her hand in response, pulling it up and placing a kiss on her middle knuckle. “I’ll be happy when I catch this son of a bitch, promise.”

She grinned widely in response, a red curl falling into her eye. “Then let's brainstorm, I’m not much of a detective, but I do the Times Sunday crossword in ink.”

An hour later

“Alright, what did you surmise about this new case while I was away, Rookie?” Castiel asked Sam when he returned from lunch.

“We’ve got a female victim, Naomi, who was bludgeoned with a typewriter. Her head was completely smashed in. Seems her husband is a famous writer. Some guy who goes by the pen name Metatron.”

“Did you question him?”

“No one can get ahold of him. He’s fled. Looks like a milk run to me,” Sam said, showing Castiel the case file.

He flipped through the case, and by the general look of it, the kid hit the nail on the head. “He does look pretty suspicious. I’ll give you that. Put out an APB.”

“Already done.”

“Good job, Winchester. You can take point on this one.” He nodded, just a little proud of his protege. He’d already come leaps and bounds since their first case.

“Cas, this came to you from the courthouse!” Charlie said, walking to his desk with a stack of papers.

“Finally!” He said, pulling them from her hands. Something was finally going right! He sat down at his desk, laying the pages out. He scanned the names on the papers, looking for anything that stood out to him. Former criminals, anything that fit the M.O., or religious figures. He flipped the page, running his finger along the names. They were in alphabetical order by last name. He tried to make note of anyone worth questioning, which could be the whole list. Perhaps Azazel’s daughter finally did the deed? Although, it wouldn’t make sense in conjunction to the other case. No one seemed to fit the profile in his head.

Religious. Connected to him. Involved with both vics. Likely male due to the size of the previous vics.

His hands tightened on the page, his palms sweating. The second to last name on his list made his blood run cold. “Rookie, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure thing, Novak. What’s up?”

His eyes flickered up to Sam’s, as he stood up from his chair. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were in the courthouse during Azazel’s trial.”

“Oh.” Sam’s eyes widened. “Well, I didn’t really think it was relevant.”

Castiel swallowed hard. “You didn’t think it was relevant, when I asked for the name of everyone that was in the courthouse that day, to tell me that you were there?”

“I...I didn’t... what exactly are you asking me, Detective?”

“Maybe we should go into the interrogation room and talk.”

Sam backed up a bit, his eyebrows high on his forehead, his mouth open in surprise. “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like a man that jokes, Winchester? Now are you going to cooperate, or do I need to cuff you?” He almost growled, his shoulders pulling back in defense. Questions swirled in his brain, and he felt like he was chasing them. He was in the midst of a windstorm, standing directly in the eye, looking at the cause.

“No, uh, of course not.” He put his hands up in surrender. “I’ll answer whatever you want, Cas,” Sam said softly. “What do you want to know?

Read Part Four

Masterlist

Art by @cryptomoon

6 notes · View notes

thatgalacticrabbit · 6 years ago

Text

Tonight

Sure, we got a look back at that night, but what is happening now that Lewis has failed his plot for revenge? What happens when Vivi finds out?

A small continuation of my previous work, That Night. This time, we see through Lewis’s eyes.

Arthur’s eyes had met his and the anger, the feeling of betrayal, his reason for coming back into this world for vengeance had suddenly vanished. Lewis felt his human-like facade fall, and he returned to the skeletal body he had known since his death. The anchor that was once thumping excitedly against his chest fell silent, and the sound of it’s cracking echoed through the artificial cave he had built for his perfect “revenge”.

Arthur may have been his murderer, this was without doubt, but was he? Sweet, shy Arthur who had cried over once accidentally hitting a raccoon on the highway? The very same Arthur who had built a miniature wheelchair a small hamster, doomed to die without his mechanical assistance?

It was like the moment was frozen, Lewis watching Arthur’s eyes fill with tears, watching his body go limp as he accepted his fate.

He couldn’t do it.

His skeletal form moved on it’s own accord, lunging down into the pit below.

For one moment Lewis thought he was too late, mere inches away from the sharp end of one of the many stalagmites that would have run itself through Arthur with ease. His form felt warm and light against the skeleton’s chest, his breathing was hard and fast as his intact hand gripped Lewis’s tie, clutching it in such a grip that the larger man was certain if he had a throat, he would be choking him.

Before the magenta spirit could speak, the living man gasped out.

“I’m so sorry.”

For the second time that night, Lewis was stunned. This man had put an end to his life, taken away everything. Why did he look so fatigued? So surprised? There was no possible way he hadn’t known.

“God, Lewis, I am so so sorry, I wouldn’t…”

Arthur went limp, and for a brief moment, Lewis panicked. He rested his skull against his chest, listening.

Breath. A heartbeat.

Arthur Kingsmen was still alive.

Why did a thought that had made him earlier that night so angry now fill him with a joy he had never known?

Lewis felt the scene he had painted around them melting away, gathering in a circular puddle around the two before seeping it’s way back into the anchor on his chest through the many new crevices provided by it’s shattering. It faintly pulsed as the last drop slipped inside, before slipping back into the bleak gray it had taken.

The spirit could only hold Arthur closer as he drifted to land on his knees, settling into the now empty, ordinary trailer he had twisted into his fate.

He hated the man in his arms now. Arthur was one of the few people he had come to trust since appearing in their hometown with no memory, no home, and certainly no friends. Vivi and him were the only ones that he had known he could talk to about anything. So why couldn’t he just kill the bastard and move on?

A deadbeat slithered it’s way out of the anchor, cooing softly as it curled around Lewis’s shoulder before gently nuzzling it’s cheek against the unconscious blonde in his arm. It dipped itself beneath Arthur’s mechanical arm, hanging lifelessly at his side, and tucked itself against his cheek. It’s golden glowing eyes looked up to the skeletal spirit, nodding firmly as if to answer his innermost thoughts.

Dammit, he still loved the idiot. The one who had pushed him to his death, forcing him to take this form now. The thought made him angry, and he felt his body heating with his flame just thinking of that night. The deadbeat squealed softly, warning him of the figure shifting uncomfortably in his arms in his “slumber”. Why did this man deserve his love, after all he had done to him?

Lewis froze.

Did he really, though?

Arthur had never been the kind for confrontation, even back in high school, he remembered having to stand up for the smaller man. The mechanic was older, yet it took the help of the biggest boy in the grade below him to keep him safe.

Lewis could never hold it against him, he knew the type of life he had led up until that moment wasn’t the greatest. He flinched at remembering all the late night talks. Arthur had been through so much. Yet still, everyday, the older man had drove Lewis and Vivi home or to work in that old beat up van he had built himself from the old parts his uncle had lying around. He was a kind soul, though anxious, and with a certain sadness in his eyes Lewis couldn’t quite place, he trusted this man with no doubts. Until that night he had died.

How could such a soft and well-meaning man turn to cold-blooded murder?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the clattering of the trailer’s door opening. A familiar blue form slid inside, dragging along her tiny white sidekick, who was now, well, not so tiny.

Vivi slammed the door shut, panting and wiping the blood from the scratch on her cheek and allowing the hand holding the metal baseball bat to fall to her side. “You and I are going to have a very serious, very long talk when we get out of this, you understand me?” She pouted at Mystery, placing a hand on her hip. Mystery smiled innocently before his eyes flicked back towards Lewis. His ears flattened, and a deep growl emitted from his chest, stepping between the spirit and his ‘owner’.

Vivi was quick to react, striding past her not-dog and rearing back with her bat.

“You have exactly three seconds to drop the gorgeous mechanic before I bust that skull of yours wide open!” She shouted, snarling and doing her best to appear intimidating in spite of the two foot height difference between her and the ghoul.

“V-vi, let me explain, I- Wait.” His once apologetic stature went rigid.

“What did you just call...HIM?” He growled, deep within his chest.

So that was the reason. He wasn’t even dead for a year yet and Arthur had already swung in to take advantage of Vivi and her grief. He remembered the night in the cave, the shocked look in her eyes. They were so, dreadfully grief-stricken. She was the last thing he saw when he hit those rocks. She was his reason for staying! Now she believed that Arthur was her-

“I WARNED YOU.” Vivi shrieked, moving to swing her bat.

A skeletal hand caught the weapon, the grip bending metal. The magenta slits peering at the much smaller woman from within his skull pierced through her form.

“So that’s what he’s got you thinking, huh?” He hissed, stepping forward. “You two are the happiest couple on Earth, there’s never been anyone else? Someone who loved you both so damn much, he rose from the fucking dead to see you two again?” The words flowed with ease, despite his now very loud shouting.

“What, so you could just kill him!?” Vivi was not stepping down, snarling right back at the skeleton. “If you’re this ‘Mystery Man’ that Arthur’s been searching for for months, then you sure as hell aren’t acting like you care about him!”

Lewis tensed, and his free arm fell down to his side, trying to come up with some snippy reply. his floating irises flicking to the unconscious man in his arms, still being held securely by the deadbeat. He had been searching for him? Did he not know he was dead? How could that be, he was there, he knew-

Vivi, however, did not give him time to formulate his response.

“Arthur has turned every rock on this side of the state to find you. He refuses to tell me your name, but I’ve seen the maps, I’ve seen how much he tears himself apart for you!” Vivi hissed, raising her bat to point at him, and perhaps to find some distance between the two. Mystery was already slinking in beside her, prepared to defend his “owner”. “Arthur Kingsmen clearly.... clearly loved you to death, and beyond that...” Her voice grew sullen, and the bat wavered.

Lewis took notice, and his anchor’s broken beating slowed.

“Vivi... do you, do you love Arthur?” Lewis asked softly, unsure if he was angry or... relieved?

“I, I, well, er- That’s none of your business, ghost man!” She snapped back to attention, despite the tears in her eyes.

“As your former boyfriend, I believe it is.” Lewis couldn’t help but find himself smirking lightly. Well, as much as his skeletal form would allow.

“Well, W-wait, hold up, excuse me?” Vivi squeaked, her face flaring red. “I-I dated... you? Like, alive, or as a ghost, h-how did that, erm, I-” Mystery’s eyes widened, and his tails lowered as he squinted at the spirit, trying to find any sign of deceit.

“No, Vivi. When he was alive.” Mystery’s serious tone was somehow soft, and sad.

Lewis allowed his flames to flow over him, allowing his mortal form to take shape. His familiar outfit, including the ascot, his purple jeans, it all felt so... right, being in his own clothes instead of his ‘death suit’.

“Lewis..” Mystery rumbled, sitting down rather obediently. “You... you came back.”

Vivi’s eyes widened, suddenly turning a deep magenta before the color dissipated in a fog. She held her head, shaking herself from the stupor before once again meeting Lewis’s eyes. What the ghost hadn’t expected of course, were even more tears.

“Lew, Lew baby, where have you been?” She whispered, the bat falling from her hand and clattering to the floor, slowly stepping towards him. Then came the newer memories, flowing back in. Her gaze hardened, and she balled her hands into fists. “Lewis... you... you tried to kill him. You tried to kill Artie, our best friend.”

The ghost’s heart dropped at that. “Yes, I... had a poor lapse of judgement, absolutely, but... Vivi, he killed me. He left me to rot in that damned cave, for months. I was alone. I was angry, I wanted to find someone to blame.” His eyes fell to Arthur, still sleeping in his arms. “Even if part of me knew it made no sense... This guy couldn’t hurt a fly...”

“And then, you... you wiped my memories of you? How did that help the situation, Lewis?” Vivi’s voice rose, her knuckles turning white. “You left Arthur alone too! You left him thinking you were alive, and now...”

Mystery cleared his throat then, flicking his tails. “Correction, Vivi. The event itself wiped all memories of Lewis from both yours and Arthur’s mind. Not Lewis. He was too inexperienced as a spirit at that point to understand mind manipulation. Perhaps part of his essence helped, hoping you could forget the entire ordeal and move on, but I know Lewis would not willingly-”

“Wait, hold on, Mystery? You KNEW about this?” Vivi’s glare turned to her pet next, hands on her hips.

“Er, well, not exactly all of it, no..” Mystery shyly stated, eyes on the floor. “I just knew... what I had to do to Arthur’s arm.”

The two young adults fell silent, their eyes widening and yes, glancing to the mechanical appendage of their friend.

“Something... possessed him that night, Lewis. Something evil, and bent on killing you.” Mystery explained, his ears flattening. “It took his arm first. The very one that...well, you know.... after which, I can’t recall much. It must have been the essence affecting me, to a lesser degree than Arthur and Vivi. They are humans, after all.... What I remember was quite gruesome...”

“A... a spirit killed me, not Arthur?” Lewis whispered, unable to believe what he was hearing, yet relief overflowed within him. “He.. doesn’t want me dead?”

“Of course not!” Vivi sighed with relief, beginning to smile and wipe the tears from her eyes with the scarf. “Lewis, he loves you. You’ve been his best friend for years, nothing could change that!”

It felt as though there was a lump in his throat that Lewis was attempting to swallow, to keep down. It was relief, guilt, love, all the emotions he had missed since all he had begun to feel since his death was anger. At that moment, a deadbeat slithered from the cracks of Lewis’s anchor, curling itself around one of Vivi’s arms and cooing at her happily.

Lewis blushed furiously, reaching out as though to stop the small creature, but knowing better that he could not catch the slippery little things. Vivi’s eyes lit up, thrilled by the small spirit cuddling against her.

“Adorable! Amazing!” She squealed, scratching under the spirit’s chin.

The spirit smiled faintly, and allowed himself to relax before looking down to Arthur, dozing somewhat peacefully in his arms. How long had he been awake, searching for him? He was so light, had he been eating at all? Concern began to ebb in, almost overpowering the atmosphere around Lewis.

They had a lot to talk about when Arthur woke up.

Okay, so, whoops, this is getting a lot longer than I had planned, but I intend to begin working on a third part for some closure here! I didn’t want to miss out on the LewVi reunion as well! One more part! What does Lewis think about Vivi’s feelings for Arthur? What does he think about HIS feelings for Arthur? I guess we’ll see soon!

#lewvithur #mystery skulls #mystery skulls fic #lewis pepper #vivi yukino #arthur kingsmen #mystery #pesky fics

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magistralucis · 5 years ago

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Russian Sweets Review [Part 2]

✨☕️ ARE YOU READY FOR TAKE TWO ☕️✨

This teatime actually took place over a week ago. I just had no time to write up this post until now because I had to prepare for and attend the Rammstein show on the 6th of July fffff. But now I’m back and I’m resuming all my usual writing obligations, which this is one of! I finish off the конфеты reviews in this part, as well as tackle some delicious fruit jelly meringue. My thanks once again to @absolut--kurant for making this delectable experience possible.

The tea is Red Label (Fairtrade), unsweetened. Let’s begin.

“Мишка Косолапый” - Красный Октябрь (Teddy Bear[?] - Red October)

Funny that I’m writing about this one first. Sig. other actually sampled this конфет way before I did. I offered him the конфеты selection when the sweets parcel first arrived, disclaiming that the Халва was presumably the only thing that wouldn’t treat him well. (He did not like halva in the occasion he tried it.) “Would you like some Russian chocolates,” I asked, then woefully unarmed with what each конфет was actually called.

“I would absolutely love some Russian chocolates.” He said.

“What about the baby face (i.e. Alyonka).”

He didn’t seem to know what to make of this offer. “I’m not sure what to think of the baby face chocolate.” He said.

“Well then, these bears (i.e. Mishka)?”

“I will try the chocolate with the bears.”

So he took the bears chocolate. He liked it very much. It was only during this teatime I got to sample Mishka properly. I can see why sig. other liked it. Small bits of almond are speckled in between layers of rich praline and wafers, as illustrated by this half I bit off, and surrounded by dark chocolate.

Delicious!

(Upon doing a Google search for ‘Мишка Косолапый’ I also found that this chocolate comes in many forms, including orblike truffles, full-size chocolate bars, and what looks like a cake bar. I’m very curious about the latter now.)

“Алёнка” - Красный Октябрь (Alyonka - Red October)

Baby face chocolate.🥳

This is one of the very few конфеты, aside from the batonchik of Part 1, that I recognized purely by the wrapper. When I think of Russian chocolates, this bright-eyed child comes to mind immediately. It’s been that way for a long time, even though I’ve never even tasted an Alyonka chocolate until now. And it’s purely a visual recognition. I’ve heard that Alyonka is probably the most popular (or at least the most recognizable) brand of конфеты in Russia, and I wouldn’t doubt it - this is a very notable baby. 😂😂😂

Here is the конфет itself. I think this one is milk chocolate centre with wafers. There are so many varieties of Alyonka out there, including all sorts of fillings and shapes. But from what I can see Alyonka is consistently milk chocolate, unlike Mishka (which seems to be dark chocolate). You’ll be happy to know sig. other eventually tried Alyonka and came around to the opinion it was excellent :D

Зефир (Zefir) - Take Two

It is her.

At last she is here. And she is beautiful.

LOOK AT HER.

It was very hot and very sticky throughout most of late June. Chocolates you can put in the fridge if need be, and halva and gingerbread etc will keep in a cupboard, but I was less sure how to keep zefir and how long it might last when opened. They expire in August, so I couldn’t delay the tasting session indefinitely, either. I didn’t want to risk spoiling the zefir before I could enjoy them, but I didn’t want them to go bad too shortly after I’d opened them, either. So I chose a nice clouded day to open them, and I put the rest in a plastic container, and they currently sit very nicely somewhere cold and dark. As of today they’re still delicious and unspoiled. I’m having one right now as I’m writing this, in fact.

A few things struck me as I opened the package: 1) These zefir were bigger than I expected, 2) they immediately filled the room with the most sentimental fruity scent, and 3) they were double-sided. These zefir are shaped like a large pink clam, split into halves. They’re somewhere between gelatin and meringue in texture - not crumbly, but not as dense as gelatin/jell-o. I’ve seen these translated as ‘marshmallows’ in common English, but I don’t think zefir are even as dense as marshmallows. To me they kind of feel like the middle bit of a Chocopie, somewhere between creme and a pillowy foam, and the middle bit of a chocopie is only like that because of how the filling interacts with the biscuit and chocolate surrounding it rather than anything inherent about the filling itself. (I know way too much about chocopie science because I had to watch a documentary about it in third grade.) Zefir are indeed excellent with tea. I took a bite of zefir and took a sip of tea and about melted from the combination.

@absolut--kurant you absolutely hit the spot with these. I believe these are cranberry. I see Rot Front has other flavours of zefir available (strawberry, chocolate-coated, yogurt... coffee???), any of which I’d have been delighted with, but cranberry was exceptionally good for this time of the year. It’s my third favourite flavour of juice, and I appreciate a sharp-sweet fruitiness in summertime in a way I seldom do during the colder seasons. I’ve never tried a chocolate-coated zefir but honestly, I think these work perfectly fine without such a coating. I loved them so much. 😍😍😍😍😍

(Are they usually palm-sized, or do they come in smaller sizes as well?)

Сушки (Sushki) - Take Two

Already reviewed, but I still had a few left by the time this teatime rolled around. I used this opportunity to finish them off as a palate cleanser. Since being further informed I now know they’re often dipped in tea to soften them, and that’s how I consumed half of the sushki pictured above.

I still like them better dry, though. They have a salty and mellow taste I can’t quite seem to get if dipped. Cronch cronch cronch.

Семечки (Semechki - Salted Sunflower Seeds)

I started on those once all the tea was drunk and all the sweets consumed. I had no idea what kind of rabbit hole I was about to climb down.

I mean... these sure are sunflower seeds. They’re mildly salted on the outside, you crack them open, eat contents, repeat. It took me more than a few tries for me to learn to eat these. Why do they never sell sunflower seeds with shells on in the UK? Some practice would have done me a world of good 😰

But I say it’s a rabbit hole, because I have since come to find the motion of cracking the seeds very addictive. I suspect this is why cracking a salty one open with the boys is considered a substitute for nicotine addiction. Almost every day since I’ve poured about 5-10g into a dish around lunchtime and spent a few minutes mindlessly cracking them open. I’m getting the hang of taking the seed out without using my hands, but slowly; I don’t crush the contents anymore, and that’s the important thing.

That I ate a few with their shells still on at the start shall remain lost to the sands of time.

Closing Words of Part 2

The highlight of this was clearly the zefir. @absolut--kurant I hope the wait was worth it! Also: are there any museums devoted to конфеты? Either for a particular brand or the history of chocolate sweets in general? It’s such a specific topic within Russia and the former USSR countries I feel like there ought to be several places dealing with it. Maybe a topic of discussion in chocolate museums or chocolatiers?

Stay tuned for Part 3. There’s still one more chocolate to explore, as well as some gingerbread, halva, and nut brittle. I can’t wait. 😍😍😍

#reviews #russian adventures #russian food #russian candy #конфеты #сушки #зефир #absolut kurant #today's mention is this review! i hope this entertains you on this fine morning #i love you dearly my friend > w <#💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

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calebandnott · 7 years ago

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Title: Thoughts Unforgotten

Summary: Caleb lies in bed sometime before episode 12, unable to sleep and unable to stop thinking. Angsty musings on his past, his place within The Mighty Nein, and himself.

I love one (1) morally grey stink wizard who hates himself and is berated by an overwhelming onslaught of psychological symptoms. This has literally zero plot and is just meant to be an exercise into his psychological state of mind and how he thinks about himself and his current situation, because there is just so much going on beneath the surface with him.

Word count: 1200

Link: AO3

He lay in bed staring at the rafters of the inn, vaguely wondering if the wood rot was bad enough that it would cause a potentially lethal roof-caving incident. Not a bad way to go out – a quick death in a bed that wasn’t particularly warm or soft but was certainly warmer and softer than the battlefield or the trodden dirt of an alleyway. Deciding that the rot wasn’t quite bad enough to pose a threat, he tried closing his eyes again. He didn’t expect that sleep would come – it almost never did – but he might as well act the part and try. After all, Frumpkin pretended to sleep, curled in a ball at his hip. He absentmindedly stroked the cat’s fur, comforted now rather than disturbed, as he was initially, by the cool to the touch fur. He tried to focus on the feeling, willing all of his consciousness into his hand, in a feeble attempt to stop the thoughts.

Caleb thought he could stand the sleepless nights if they weren’t accompanied by the thoughts. At this point, when Frumpkin’s comfort failed, he would usually pull out a book and try to read until he quite literally passed out of exhaustion. But he only had a few books in his current possession and he had read them so many times that their bindings were falling apart. Besides, he already had them memorized after his first reading, so the re-reads were largely futile. He feared he’d soon get desperate enough that he’d ask to borrow Tusk Love from Jester –or, more likely, ask Nott to nip it from her, as he wasn’t sure if he could stand Jester’s likely attempts to engage in enthusiastic conversation about how ‘dreamy’ Oskar was. But since he hadn’t degraded himself to this decision yet, reading was out of the question. And so the thoughts came, relentless and unrestrained.

Caleb knew they didn’t trust him. He didn’t begrudge them for this, because he didn’t trust them either – he didn’t trust anyone. What did bother him was that they probably didn’t like him, because while Caleb was still weary of their motivations, he liked him all. Fjord was so charismatic, in a commanding way that didn’t reek of power hungry authority. Beau was too inquisitive for his comfort, but she was so full of life and vigor that only youthful optimism can provide. Jester was privileged but she was also sweet and weird and didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought about her and gave him stale pastries. Molly was nonchalantly the most charming person he’d ever met. Yasha was mysterious and reclusive, but in a way that made people drawn to her rather than distrustful. And Nott, sweet Nott the Brave who had shown her bravery time and time again but thought she had none. He liked them all, but he knew the feeling wasn’t mutual. How could it be?

He had tried to keep his distance from them. He knew sticking with them was best for his survival: in only a few short weeks of knowing them, he had already made more gold than he had ever seen in his life. But while a physical closeness was necessary, that didn’t mean he had to get emotionally close. He couldn’t. So, he had tried to play it cool, just present himself as the poor wizard who could benefit the others and not cause any trouble.

But then the priest had burned.

No, he wouldn’t think about it again. He couldn’t think about it again. The thoughts kept instinctually surfacing but he repeatedly pushed them down. The hand that was petting Frumpkin grew more and more frantic, until Frumpkin woke up, sensing Caleb’s was distress. The spirit cat shifted positions and started kneading Caleb’s thigh, grounding him. Caleb breathed in time with the kneading, grateful that Frumpkin was a cat again. When he had been a bird he attempted to hop on Caleb’s arm and, granted, it elicited a chuckle from Caleb, but did not have the desired effect. Eventually he calmed down by focusing on Frumpkin’s paws pushing into his side and gave him a scratch on the head, telling him that he could go back to his pseudo-sleep again.

He sighed shakily, turning onto his side away from Nott’s squeaky snores and occasional worried mumblings in her sleep. He was worried about her, but the worry was oddly comforting in a way. He hadn’t cared for someone in a very, very long time and it was a refreshing change to worry about someone other than himself. When he was thinking about her, he wasn’t think about what he had seen, what he had done. What he was…

No. Pushing those thoughts down again, for what felt like the hundredth time that hour, he tried thinking about tomorrow’s events. He was anxious about working with a revolutionary group but had early on decided that if anything went even the slightest bit sideways, he would be gone before they knew it. He’d try to take Nott with him, of course, and that might complicate things a bit, but he was sure they could manage it. Maybe they needed a new group soon anyways. He would be sorry to lose this one, since they were so clearly competent and a veritable money pot of their own, and, despite his better judgment, he had started to really like them. But he also craved that immediate relief he felt whenever he entered a new place where no one knew him. Somehow, he suspected the loss would outweigh the relief for the first time since – well, for the first time in a long time. But he sure as hell wasn’t getting caught up in a revolution gone awry. So, if he needed to, he would disappear, as he always did. In the absence of the ability to disappear completely, to not exist or exist as Frumpkin did, he’d simply go away, vanish into a new town, a new place.

With time, he could probably forget Fjord’s smile, strangely devoid of tusks, seemingly sincere but with a slight forced edge that only someone as well versed in deception as he was could notice. He’d forget the way Beau’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm every time they decided on a new path to take or found something that promised adventure in the future. He’d forget Jester’s laughter, laughter than never got caught in the throat or tried to cover something up, laughter that was pure and gleeful and full of joy. He’d forget Molly, all of wondrous, weird Molly who unsettled him in the best way possible, who made him want to see colours in the world again.

He hoped he never had to try to forget Nott.

His companions were forever solidified in his memory simply because he had seen them. His memory wouldn’t let him forget a face. But he’d try. He had to try. He told himself he could barely remember his face anymore, even though he every time he closed his eyes he could see it as if he had just turned away from him.

The one thing he took comfort in is that they would forget him.

#critical role #caleb widogast #critical role fic #i wrote this last night when i was sad and hating myself a lot so uhhh projection happened lmao #god okay sorry putting it under a read more somehow made the punctuation funky so i had to get rid of it #sorry for this long ass post on ur dash lmao

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saltyslack-toast · 5 years ago

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#KnockTheBook : Anne Frank

“The nice Anne is never present in company, hasn’t appeared one single time so far, but always predominates when we’re alone. I know exactly how I’d like to be, but, I’m only like that for myself. And perhaps that’s why, I’m sure it’s the reason why I say I’ve got a happy nature within and why other people think I’ve got a happy nature without. I am guided by the pure Anne within, but outside I’m nothing but a frolicsome little goat who’s broken loose”

I knew this book exist since I was in elementary school it was on the 6th grade I guess. I saw this book in one of the notability book store (re: Books and Beyond) in kinda so-so Bandung Mall (re again: Istana Plaza). I read the behind book preview and my curious ass was really intrigued, that time I didn’t know wtf is holocaust and my English skill was so poor, I mean like still but now its getting better right????? My 11 years old wallet was penniless, so I didn’t buy the book, that’s ok though because book wasn’t the main source of my happiness and I don’t really read much books that age. Many years later, there was BBW Bandung in 2019, and I’m so excited since I started to read quite a lot of books after I’m in college and just like that, I found a gem I’ve been wanting for since I was starting my puberty and now I’m at the edge of my puberty era (STILL COULDN’T MOVE ON FROM MY PUBERTY DAYS, PLEASE CHECK THE PREVIOUS POST OF MINE OR I’LL KILL U! Never mind it was a trash anyway). I’m gonna review this book in a way this book relating my life, because I SWEAR TO GOD Anne Frank is me in 1942 indeed.

Okay let’s cut the shit off of the personal history attached to this book, cause no one cares, no one probably read this master of shit.

The title of the book is “Diary of A Young Girl: Anne Frank” written clearly in the book’s grayish cover and it has a picture of queen Anne herself writing on her diary I suppose?? So it basically Anne frank writing her story and someone took a picture of her posing like she was writing the story and the picture became the cover of her story that she wrote when someone was taking that picture, got it?. The book is published by Wilco Publishing Book in 2013 in Mumbai, India. The book’s price is written on its cover, it was 19.95 in US Dollar and converted to Rupiah approximately worth RP 326.569, please note that I convert this price when USD 1 is worth RP 16.300 (fuck you corona). But don’t worry, if you are going to buy one in BBW the price is 50% cheaper than the original one, omg someone take me to BBW RIGHT.NOW!.

For those who dumb in history but insist to read this history-biography kind of book (WHICH IS STRANGELY CONTRADICTION, like dude u suppose to have good grades in history class if u like this kinda book, but whatevs I don’t judge), chillax there’s gonna be a short sum about what’s happened in WW II and the origin short story of Hitler gon’ mad with his bonkers political party. Also, there is a little summary about Anne’s previous life before she starts writing her diary in that crazy era she’s living. This book is literally her diary, I said diary, it means u could see her recounting her daily activities in a writing book (Except the fact that she named her diary with Kitty and consider it as her friend).

In this book, you are going to meet plenty bold characters. Here I describe few of ‘em that quite memorable for me. First is Queen Anne herself duh! She’s fucking THAT BRIGHT, I mean she was 13 when she wrote the story of her life, loves to read books, emotionally instable just like a mad teenage typical but she really has very unique perspective of how she depict the whole condition when she was in hiding. Second is her fucking family duh!(2), her mummy is weirdly kind of remind me to my mom FOR REAL, both of them were as problematic as her youngest daughter, sensitive, and caring as regular moms out there. Daddy is totally a sweetheart and kind of hard-working just like most of the Jews I guess?? And Margot which is Anne’s older sister, you know that golden child in the family who always be the spotlight in your big family gathering? Yes she is one of the kinds. Not only Anne and her family that is pretty intriguing, but there is also one little family which also joined Anne’s family in hiding, that is Mr. Van Daan Family and all of their dramas *applauding* that is caused by Mrs. Van Daan’s deportment (She’s quiet funny for me though) . There is still a lot amount of characters that is also involved in this book, but you can read the book by yourself its good honey trust me its good and worth it.

I think for the first time I managed to look serious in previous paragraph right?

What’s very interesting to me is how Anne and her mom fighting could be very relatable to all of us. The peak of these fighting dramas was on Friday, April 2nd 1943, when Anne refuses to have her mum took prayers with her, I would say that was truly heart breaking moment. You know the time when you had a huge fight with your mom and you feel so miserable because you disgust the situation where no one was there for you and all you can do is to blame yourself because you love your mom and realized that she got nothing wrong, and what you did is self-loathing all days long, as her mom said,

“I don’t want to be cross, love cannot be forced”

I’m on my fucking tears for reading that sentence, perhaps people that has lots of problem with their life might be understand exactly how it feels, for longing to just vanish from the world because die in all likelihood would still make people around to be distressed because of you? (OMG Ana, u really need stop exposing yourself!). However, after all the fights with her mum, Anne figured out that it’s only the matter of unpleasantness and misery rebounding all the time. She learned that it still much better for hard words on paper than to be carried along with her mum’s heart (it’s a pro tip y’all!).

“Leave me in peace, let me sleep one night at least without my pillow being wet with tears, my eyes burning and my head throbbing. Let me get away from it all, preferably away from the world!”

Anne was hiding for 761 days, of course many things happened and her relationship with Peter (the only son of the Van Daan’s family) is one of the cutest story I liked. Peter was 3 years older than Anne, in my vision he’s the type of nonchalant chap, yet very sweet inside. Started with Ana’s frustration to be alone, ended with having another person other than her family to be talked to. Peter and Anne, after they were close to each other (because they weren’t really get along together at first), they spent most of their times in the attic which is Peter’s basecamp in the annex, talking about life as a teenager and their complicated family before the life in the annex. It kinda remind me of how surviving life becoming the point of how we see each other’s color, Anne had become comfortable to talk with Peter about all her difficulty and so otherwise. Anyway, their fucking love story gonna prompt you to the nostalgia of young love in mid school.

“Already this morning I noticed that peter kept looking at me all the time, not in ordinary way I don’t know how, I just can’t explain……. I made a special effort not to look at him too much, because whenever I did, he kept on looking too and it gave me a lovely feeling inside...”

It’s not over yet, there’s going to be a lot of scenes that giving you goosebumps which cause by a burglar, yes not a ghost, but a fucking burglar, and other shits that would give you a nerve because Anne’s diary also described how the current war situations going (IT WAS SO INTENSE F U HITLER ROTS IN HELL U DUMBASS). The war was not only happened outside the annex but also inside, the war over making noises when everyone’s sleeping and the use of a little table in afternoon between Anne and Mr. Dussel, I perceived it quite hilarious!

. That’s probably a glance of how this book is so intriguing for me. The perspective of Anne Frank of everything sometimes could be so naïve but also relating to my life as well, even until today. Especially during this corona outbreak which has becoming the pandemic, I’ve stay at my home only for 39 days but already feeling sick even for an introvert and antisocial like me could be that JADED, so right now y’all bitch imagine being Anne Frank have to stayed in a hiding for fucking more than 2 years with exactly the same annoying people every fucking day. Nevertheless, if you guys interested to read this book you can buy it in BBW which available in Tokopedia on 27th April until 3rd May this year, so please don’t miss the chance! (to be noted that im not having any relation to BBW, im just so happy that this bazaar coming up into my life). And also you can check the official website of Anne Frank House in www.annefrank.org, there’s a lot of information you could uncover about Anne and other people in furthermore and the visual of the hiding they have been living (IT’S SO MUCH COOL BRUUH).

I think that’s it, I really had no idea how to review a book, this shit just basically me mumbling my opinion about the books I have read. I hope my writing is getting better than the previous post (even I thought this trash was a degrading quality of mine). And a bit information, I finished and posted this writing in the time of corona virus, it was so hard to everyone enduring all the negative impact from this pandemic on our life, so please if you’re lucky enough to still be able enjoy all the fortunes, please help those who badly impacted of this pandemic and I. BEG. YOU. TO. STAY. AT. YOUR. FUCKING. OWN. HOME. If you’re still strolling around for unimportant purpose and not even using a mask, im literally gonna kill you bitch!

So yeah, that’d be all. Thank you for read until this much guys!

*me talking to non-existing audience*

Xiao, see you in advance!

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shakespeareanhoneybadgers · 7 years ago

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Fic: Stockholm

Summary: Batman AU. Six months after the Enchanted Forest Massacre, surviving hostage Erzabel French is admitted to the ICU after what appears to be an especially brutal attack by her keeper. Her word written off as delirium, she is quickly scooped up by Mayor Mills who intends to play her as a pawn in Storybrooke's political games. Meanwhile the Black Swan is determined to keep her eye on the Dark One, who doesn't seem to be quite finished with Belle. Is Belle French crazy? Or is there more to the story of the prison librarian and the asylum prisoner?

Rating: M for very Much Mature. TW include super graphic violence, dubious consent, rape allegations, attempted rape, and torture.

((The latest entry for "Which Plot Rabbit Hole Did Shakes Fall Into?". Somehow I didn't realize the worldbuilding was going to be so intense... This is the brainchild combo of me being sick of Stockholm Syndrome being applied to Beauty and the Beast/Rumbelle and curiosity about how fitting Rumbelle into the Joker and Harley Quinn roles would look (spoiler alert: didn't really nail it). Heavily influenced by the Gotham t.v. series, the Nolan trilogy, "Skin Deep", "Mad Love", Suicide Squad, and Season 4 Belle. Mildly influenced by the rest of Batman The Animated Series and Once Upon a Time, plus a whole lot of other subconscious sources. Mood setting songs: "Crazy in Love" (50 Shades Remix) by Beyonce, "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley, "White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane))

Ao3 link

He couldn’t feel his legs anymore, or the hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were strained from staring out the tower window unblinkingly at the road that came up to the Dark Castle. He hadn’t moved since...oh, he didn’t know the exact time she had left yesterday, but he was pretty sure before it had gotten too dark. Now the sun was rising and his mind was full of jitters. He couldn’t go spin to try and calm himself down, or else he might miss her. So he made up a jingle to sing to himself.

“Be-elle loves me, this I know. Fo-or she-e told me so. My-y heart to hers belongs. I may be weak but she is strong. Yes, my Belle loves me. Yes, my Belle loves me. Yes, my Belle loves me-” His voice broke, because he knew it was wrong. He knew she was fragile, so fragile, and she had never actually said the words to him. But she promised… She promised she’d come back and yet she hadn’t, and he felt if he sang it over and over then it’d come true, “...for she-e told. Me. So…”

III

��I think you should see this, Emma.”

If it hadn’t been Mary Margaret saying this Emma would have seriously considered turning around and going back to bed. These late nights were going to be the death of her… That or having to get up at nine when she’d sprawled out costume and all on her bed at seven. She sighed, changing her course from the fridge to the breakfast bar. Neal was already sitting there, nursing a cup of coffee.

“Hey girl wonder,” he mumbled, offering her the tray of bagels. She took one and dropped down onto the stool next to him, glancing at the screen at the end of the table.

“...six months after the riot at the Enchanted Forest, Erzabel French has resurfaced. The only hostage of the massacre, she was used as a human shield to aid the escape of the Dark One.”

It cut from the newsroom to a clip that Emma remembered well enough; an aerial shot above the asylum, showing the swarm of officers at the gates. A small woman in heels and secretary-esque clothes held her hands up, begging them not to shoot. Right behind her, with one scaly hand around her throat was the convict in question, the only details visible his orange jumpsuit and wild mess of hair.

“Makes her sound like the only survivor,” Neal muttered.

“Well it’s not like there were a ton of workers that did. I mean it’s basically her father and a handful mor-”

“Shush, you two,” Mary Margaret scolded from her spot near the counter, turning up the volume.

“Assumed dead, Miss French was found unconscious in an alley a few blocks from Avonlea. She was rushed to the hospital where she remained in the intensive care unit overnight, treated for blood loss caused by gashes all over her body.” An image of the woman, a beaming brunette with bright blue eyes, was shown. It looked like she was just at the beach, a book in her lap and the sunlight giving her curls a halo effect, “Doctors claim that it was an animal attack, but it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume it was the work of her captor. We’ll update the story as it progresses.”

Mary Margaret flicked the t.v. off, closing the panels over it so there was nothing but a seam in the wall to show where it had been, “You can be sure the mayor will be scrambling over there now that the poor woman’s stable.”

Emma grimaced at the mention of basically her arch nemesis, “Leech.” She hopped off the barstool, “Mary Margaret, get the Bug, I’ll be ready in five.”

“No shower?” She asked.

“No time,” she glanced at Neal, “You coming, Skippy?”

“I probably should.” He grabbed a poppyseed bagel and the container of cream cheese, “I think that’s my actual job, bodyguarding.”

“I’m surprised you wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

Erzabel French glanced up at him, turning her attention away from the rows of cells, “Well it’s not technically following in your footsteps, papa; I’m not becoming a security guard.”

“That’s right you’re not,” he said gruffly, paying no mind to the convicts that eyed him, “And honestly even working in the library is too close for my comfort.”

“It's a government job being around what I love. You should be proud of me.”

“I AM proud of you, Belle.” He stopped, turning to face her, “...but these aren't wounded animals that you can nurse back to health. They're dangerous criminals that eat sweet girls like you for breakfast.”

She glanced behind him to see a dark-haired man watching her intently, “... they're sick, and they need help. This isn’t just a prison, it’s also an asylum.”

“An asylum that specializes in the criminally insane.” He abruptly started walking again and she jogged a few paces to keep up, “The minor offenders can go to the library under guard supervision. Heavier offenders will require you deliver them to their cells. Make sure they're on the far side when you slide the book through the meal slot; if they're too big to fit then you find a guard to go into the cell and deliver it for you. Don't tell them anything personal about yourself…”

“I’ve read “Silence of the Lambs”,” she teased, “I won't let them get inside my head.”

“This isn't one of your books,” he snarled, “These are sociopaths in the flesh. They are arsonists and thieves and rapists and murderers and everything in between. You're not on an adventure, you’re just doing your job and praying that the doors stay locked.”

Belle took his hand as they rounded a corner, squeezing it, “I know the risks, papa. I’ll be careful.”

Maurice French didn't show his love very eloquently; Belle had learned early on that it often took the form of lectures and nagging. While her mother told her stories and dried her tears, her father taught her how to defend herself and made sure she never left home with nothing less than a full can of mace. They stayed there for a moment, with only the eye of a camera to see them. His hand reached up as if to cradle her cheek...but he merely plucked a fallen eyelash and flicked it away.

“I never should have let you stay in Storybrooke,” he muttered.

They continued away from the majority of the cells, heading deeper and deeper into the labyrinth. They hit a security checkpoint that was far more thorough than the others in the Enchanted Forest; Belle had to surrender everything she had on her, and it seemed excessive to do both an x-ray scan AND a hand wand AND a fingerprint scan.

“Where are we going?” She asked as they met on the other side.

Maurice frowned, “The West Wing.” They descended a staircase to the bowels of the asylum, lit sparsely by fluorescents, “The worst of the worst are down here,” he said under his breath and Belle shivered at the sudden chill, “The Queen of Hearts, the Camelot Killer, the Sweettooth Cannibal… Left here to rot.”

“You wouldn't let ME rot, now would you, darling?”

Belle glanced to her left and was surprised to see a thick plexiglass wall instead of the usual iron bars, the cell lit like a hospital room. A woman stood near the meal slot, blood red lips hovering next to the ventilation holes. The stark contrast of black and white hair immediately identified her as Cruella DeVille, a woman neck-deep in rumors compared to only a handful of convictions. She leaned against the plastic, eyeing Belle.

“Who’s your pet there?”

“What, are you jealous?”

Belle followed the voice to the other side of the corridor, where a woman sat cross-legged on the floor. She had to do a double-take but yes, the other prisoner had a fishbowl in her lap and within the fishbowl a brilliantly-colored beta. She swirled her finger on the surface of the water to the fish’s annoyance, not bothering to look up at Cruella's reaction.

Cruella straightened, clearly offended by the insinuation, “Oh please, I have much bigger fish to fry.”

Belle wanted to hang back, watch to see the rebuttal, but her father walked on, paying no mind to their banter.

She tried to ignore them as he did, but this wasn't the mild curiosity the inmates above showed towards a new face. It was the perverse interest of a psycho, someone already sizing you up for what you could offer them. They were high profile criminals, their front page exploits major news until the next villain stepped up to out-crazy them.

Her heart was racing as they came towards a dead end, the last cell far removed from the others. As they drew closer Belle still failed to see anyone occupying it.

Maurice’s jaw clenched, “Rumplestiltskin!”

There was no answer.

“Rumplestiltskin, show yourself!”

Belle took a step closer to the barrier, craning her neck to see if maybe he had found a cranny to hide away in. Maurice clicked the radio clipped to his shoulder on with one hand, the other trying to pull Belle away.

“We have a Code-”

With the grace of a cat, the prisoner dropped from the ceiling onto his feet before the partition. Belle jerked back and even Maurice startled, causing the creature to burst into a fit of high-pitched giggles, straightening up and flailing his hands like an excited child. It was such a contrast from his grotesque appearance and the setting, Belle gave a shocked guffaw.

“You son of a…”

“Pardon your french, Mr. French,” he chirped, “Surely you know better than for such language in front of...ladies.”

His eyes flicked from Maurice to Belle and she met his reptilian gaze. He silently took her in and she found herself holding her breath, trying to hide the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Is she adopted?” He asked, keeping his attention on her, “I have a hard time believing such a beauty is your flesh and blood. Uh uh uh.” He waggled his finger as she opened her mouth, “A magician never reveals his secrets. I make it my business to know things; secrets are worth their weight in gold.”

“She is the new librarian,” Maurice cut in, “You will listen to her the same as any staff member, or there will be severe consequences.”

“Oh, severe consequences, I see; I was assuming they’d be mildly inconvenient consequences,” His gaze trailed down her body, resting somewhere on her hips, “...good. The former librarian didn’t like me very much for some reason. I hope we can be…” It moved up to her chest, “...close friends, Beauty.”

“All depends on how you behave, Dark One,” she said and his attention snapped back to her face, “I don’t suffer time-wasters.”

He smirked, “...no, I don’t see that at all, dearie.”

Belle felt a hand clamp around her arm as Maurice practically dragged her away, muttering a harsh “we have to go”. She still felt Rumplestiltskin’s eyes on her as she struggled to keep up with her father, fighting the temptation to glance back.

“Don’t you forget about me now, Beauty!” He cried shrilly, “I have quite a lot of reading to catch up on! Save me, Belle French, you’re my only hope!”

She didn’t know how he knew her name; she didn’t even have her i.d. tag yet. Maybe he had somehow studied up... But such details about the Enchanted Forest’s guard staff couldn’t be easy to get ahold of, right? And why was she more curious about the imp that scarcely resembled a man than terrified of him, especially knowing all he was capable of? Years had been spent trying to track him down and incarcerate him; his kill list was easily one if not the longest in the city. And yet, there was something charismatic about his mannerisms that spoke to her.

She had just got done assuring her father she knew better… But here was an enigma too tantalizing to ignore.

III

Emma Charming was not the sort of person who could slip in undetected anywhere; price of being Storybrooke’s wealthiest heiress. Honestly she didn't even know she was anyone but a foster kid who couldn't keep a home to save her life until the founders of the Charming Corporation were murdered and their will pointed to her as their next of kin. It had taken some time to figure things out, but with her foster siblings and the closest people she had to family, she managed not to bankrupt the company that she had taken on.

The only mystery she had left was why they had given her up in the first place.

Neal and Mary Margaret flanked her protectively while the media’s attention turned away from hounding the hospital staff to questioning the billionaire heiress's unexpected arrival. She ignored the camera flashes, the shouting and the microphones as she went to inquire where Miss French was. The nurses, who had been cold and tight-lipped to the journalists, quickly offered to show Emma to the room.

“She's stable,” The nurse confided once they had put some distance between them and the lobby, “Lost a lot of blood though… And a few bites taken out of her.”

“Bites?” Neal echoed.

She nodded solemnly, “Arms, legs, torso…” Her chin quivered, “I mean, it's obvious he’s not human, but to actually see the damage…”

She’d seen worse, Emma told herself. Everyday people dying in the most brutal ways imaginable at the hands of creeps like the Dark One. A few bites were nothing compared to a body post Jafar hypnosis.

The nurse had them wait outside while she checked on the freshly-free hostage. They glanced at each other, holding a silent conversation as they wondered what exactly they should be bracing themselves for. When she returned, she ushered them in.

There were no other patients in the room; just a single woman with long brown hair staring out the window. She turned as they came in, claw marks down one side of her face and a black eye on the other. Her split lips puckered in an “oh” as she recognized Emma.

“Miss Charming. I should’ve realized this would catch your eye.”

“Survivors tend to get a lot of attention,” she said dismissively, taking a seat next to the bed, “How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” she joked. Her smile wavered, “I should probably just be glad I’m alive, right?”

“No, you can whine a little,” she assured her, leaning onto the arm of the chair, “...how did you get away, Miss French?”

“It’s Belle,” she corrected softly, “And I...I don’t remember. I...passed out… Someone must have brought me here.”

Well it wasn’t the Dark One, Emma thought bitterly. Front desk would have definitely noticed if it had been.

“Do you remember the attack?” Mary Margaret asked.

Belle stared straight ahead, fingers curling into the sheets, “I was on my way back… I don’t know which street it was, just downtown, next to Mr. Gold’s Pawnshop… I thought I saw someone in the alley so I went to investigate…” Her eyes welled up with tears, “And then they were on me… I don’t even know where they came from...biting and shaking and clawing…”

“So you escaped from the Dark One,” Emma said.

Belle was snapped back to the present, perplexed by the statement. “I didn’t escape.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, “...he let me go.”

It was Emma’s turn to be confused. The Dark One had held her hostage for months… Why would he suddenly let her go? If he wanted to get rid of her he could’ve just killed her; he wasn’t above that. Unless he was cruelly giving her the illusion that he had let her go only to punish her, an elaborate ploy.

Her eyebrows knit together as she read Emma’s silence, “...you think he did this to me,” she said.

“He probably did,” she admitted.

She shook her head vehemently, “No...no he would never… He’s not like that.”

“He used you as a human shield.”

“Because he knew…” She twisted towards the IV in her arm, picking at the bandages that held it in place, “I have to go back, he’s going to be worried.”

Emma rounded the hospital bed, “Belle.”

“No you don’t understand, I promised him!”

Emma rested her hand over Belle’s and she jerked back as though she had struck her instead. She glared up at her, a cobra ready to strike.

“I. Need. To. Leave.”

“Nurse!” Mary Margaret called.

Belle sprang to her feet much quicker than Emma anticipated from a woman recovering from an animal attack. She held her by the forearms as she fought against her, machines insisting that something was wrong as Belle thrashed around.

“You don’t understand!” She cried, “If I don’t go back he’ll start looking for me! He’ll burn this city to the ground-”

“He won’t,” Emma said sternly.

“You can’t promise that! You can’t promise anything when it comes to him, only I can!”

The nurse entered and Emma shifted around to let her get closer. Belle struck out weakly, attempting to shove her arms away.

“I won’t go back to sleep!” She sobbed, “I need to see him… I need to see him…”

“We know, sweetie,” The nurse said dully, exposing a vein to administer the tranquilizer.

It worked quickly. After a few long seconds Emma felt the small brunette sink against her. With the help of the nurse they set her back into the bed, covering her up.

“I didn’t think she was that out of touch,” Emma confessed apologetically.

The nurse didn’t seem surprised by the outburst and she wondered if it had happened before, or if she was just used to that sort of behavior at Storybrooke General.

“They think she’s gotten Stockholm’s syndrome,” she said, checking the monitors as they settled back down to their normal levels, “You know, when the victim falls for the captor. Apparently it’s pretty common.”

“Who thinks this?”

“The therapist assigned to her case, and Mayor Mills.”

Emma glanced at Mary Margaret and noticed her pursed lips. It figured Regina was in the middle of this.

Belle was surprised how fast she adapted to her new job at the Enchanted Forest. Within a few weeks she had a good idea of which inmates had no interest in books, which ones actually did, and which ones just wanted to waste her time. There were an odd lack of challenge to dealing with them… The only one who caught her curiosity was the Dark One.

“Now Keith, I know you don’t want to check any novel out,” she lightly scolded as he tried to get her attention, shifting her tablet to her other arm. She didn’t have to look back to know he was glaring at her, furious she wasn’t giving him the attention he wanted.

If his pick-up lines were any indication, he had been in here for awhile.

As she made her way towards the final check point, her heart fluttered. The Dark One continued to intrigue her, a mix of contradictions and opposites. Arguably the most dangerous man here, he had no escape attempts on his record. There was one assault but he had left the guard alive despite the dozens of murders he had committed outside of the Enchanted Forest. Was the isolation taming him, or was he simply biding his time?

“Darling… Darling!”

Belle kept her eyes focused ahead, ignoring Cruella De Ville. She didn’t want to check out whatever sordid material she was interested in. She had already given her a book on taxidermy and the Donner Party; she didn’t want to see what came next. Cruella hit the glass with her fist as she continued to shout after her, causing the Sea Witch to snicker at the scene.

Finally, she came to the last cell on her route, her stomach flipping as she saw she was anticipated. He was standing with his hands behind his back, grinning at her in a way that promised trouble.

“Hello Rumplestiltskin.”

“Mm, hello dearie. I have something to give back to you.”

“Finished already?”

“Oh I couldn’t put it down. Not that there’s much else to do.” He frowned and glanced up, “Come to think of it, it’s been something like three days since I’ve last counted the ceiling tiles.”

Belle smirked, “Well, you know the drill. Set it by the meal slot and then go to the other side of the cell.”

He frowned, “But what if it falls on the floor?”

“I know there’s a shelf just in front of the meal slot; you’ve done this before,” she gestured towards the mentioned shelf on his side of the glass.

Rumplestiltskin glanced at it, then looked back at her with full, concerned eyes, “I don’t trust it.”

“You don’t trust it?” She echoed, doing her best not to smile.

“I just don’t. I’d rather hand it off to you directly.”

“I think you’re full of it.”

“I might be.” He went over to the slot but continued to hold the book, an inch or so above the shelf.

Belle shook her head, “I’m not that naive. The rules are there for a reason.” She turned to walk away, “I guess you want to keep it another day, then.”

“Wait! Uncle! Monkey’s uncle!”

She glanced back and watched as he gingerly set the paperback on the shelf, holding his hands up in surrender before retreating to the far wall. She felt a thrill of victory as she went to pull it out, her fingers momentarily in the crocodile’s den.

“See? The book is fine.” She held it up for him to inspect. He glanced at her with such a childishly sullen expression she had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing, “Now, since you returned it, would you like to pick a new one out for tomorrow?”

“...yes,” he decided, coming out of his corner. Belle pulled out her tablet, opening up the application that showcased the asylum’s library.

The weeks turned into months without her realizing it. Belle’s recommendations were getting better and better the more she got to know her patrons. All except for Rumplestiltskin, who went from one genre to another with each choice. He blazed through each book, attempting to get her to agree to let him hand it back to her each time. Each time she refused and, as penalty she supposed, he took longer and longer to pick out a new book.

It was starting to get rather ridiculous one day when Rumplestiltskin met Belle’s eyes and she saw him nervous for the first time.

“...there’s no children’s books, are there?”

If he hadn’t of looked so vulnerable Belle might have made a remark about how he really was trying to hit every genre under the sun. Instead she shook her head, “No, I don’t think so.”

He took a deep breath, “Is there any way I could… Have one brought in? From a library branch or something? It’s almost his birthday.”

“Whose birthday?”

“Dr. Seuss. “Green Eggs and Ham”.” She waited for him to make a quip. But all he added was, “Please. It’s important.”

Maybe it was shock that caused her to go track down a worn copy of the classic. Maybe it was curiosity. Either way she brought it to him the next day and he checked out no other book for a week. She arrived on the birthday of the celebrated author only to see the Dark One on his cot, rocking back and forth with the book in his lap, reading it out loud under his breath.

That time, when he finally was ready to give it up, she didn’t demand he set it down and move away. She wordlessly reached into the slot and, after taking a moment to comprehend, Rumplestiltskin went to give it to her. His hand purposefully brushed against hers and it felt cool and smooth, more like a snake than a crocodile. She let the touch linger for a moment before pulling away, glancing up at him as she released a breath she had been holding.

There was a hunger in his eyes; not the lustful gaze she was so used to getting from a lot of the inmates. A desperate desire for connection, to reach out and fulfill the undeniable need to not be alone. Belle wondered the last time he had felt that, when had he experienced someone willing to touch him and not just having to in order to do their job. Maybe he wasn’t such a monster that the isolation wasn’t affecting him… That he was a lonely man whose only interaction came from the guards and her.

“...thank you,” he murmured.

She nodded, holding the tablet up to the meal slot so he could use his own finger to search through the library’s database for his next read.

It was the beginning of the end of the life she knew, and the start of her journey to the Storybrooke’s darker side.

III

Emma found Neal hadn't gone far, just to a couple chairs in the hall. He was smiling so whatever had caused him to walk out wasn't too big of a deal.

“Yeah but WHICH Lost Boy? I don't want to be like Nibs or something.”

Her heart clenched as she saw who Neal was talking to. She always felt that ache when she saw Henry, especially when he was dragged along on his mother's business. He was a bright boy, charmingly precocious for a ten-year-old but obviously damaged from Regina's overbearing child-rearing. In his lap was his ever-present book of fairy tales, his personal Bible.

He glanced up and smiled when he recognized her, “Hi Emma.”

“Hey kid,” she murmured, folding her arms, “You telling Neal here who he was before the curse?”

“Yup,” he chirped, completely sincere, “The book told me today he was a Lost Boy who followed the Pied Piper and once he realized what was happening he was turned into a donkey.”

“Hey, you didn't tell me that part!” Neal protested.

Emma smirked, “Well you can be an...donkey.” She caught herself just in time.

“An donkey? That's not grammatically correct,” Neal teased. Emma kicked him and Henry giggled, the subtext going right over his head.

“Miss Charming.”

The merriment of the moment was sucked out of the air as Regina Mills appeared, all pants suit and business. Even if child neglect wasn't part of the picture, Emma was pretty sure she’d still hate this woman.

“Madame Mayor, I didn't realize you were holding a press conference,” Emma said. On instinct Neal stood, his smile gone.

“I'm not,” she said flatly, “Though I suppose you're looking for your next pet project.”

“It's not a pet project. She's been through a lot, she could use a friend.”

“And what do you think I’m trying to do?” She took a dramatic deep breath, “There are things about Storybrooke you couldn't begin to comprehend. That monster that took her? You think he’s done with her?”

“That would be why he'd toss her out on the streets…” Neal muttered.

Regina gave him a cutting look, “I for one am not going to gamble on this poor girl’s life. She needs protection, the sort even a billionaire playgirl philanthropist can't give her.”

“The playgirl bit is a vicious rumor,” Emma corrected offhandedly, “What about her father? If you think the Dark One’ll be after her then surely he’ll go after him too.”

“We’ll keep an eye on Mr. French,” she said dismissively, gesturing to Henry. He stood obediently, one hand taking hers, the other arm wrapped tightly around “Once Upon a Time”, “I'm sure Belle appreciates your effort, but she's in good hands.”

Neal snorted derisively. Emma opened her mouth to retort but Henry looked over his shoulder.

“Bye Emma,” he murmured.

The harsh words died on on her lips, “...bye, kid.”

Some days she just wanted to grab him and take him home with her and never let Regina touch him again.

A few blocks away that night Maurice French went about closing up Mr. Gold's Pawnshop and Antiquities Dealership. It would’ve been the smarter thing for him to stick with his job at the Enchanted Forest; help train all the new guards who had no idea what they were in for, spend a couple more decades dealing with the scum of the earth, receive his decent retirement package at 65 and never look back. But after what had happened to Belle… He couldn’t make himself go back and he spent six months wondering if his only daughter was dead and how everything could have changed if he had only been there that day. But Belle was alive…

Of course he had tried going to see her once he saw the story on the news, but she’d been labeled “dangerously unbalanced”, the staff at the hospital explained. They told him her captivity had taken its toll. They told him she was convinced she was in love with her abductor. They told him that she’d need extensive therapy, and to be kept somewhere secure lest he try to reclaim his prisoner. And so he felt more like an observer than family, kept from interfering in case he should trigger a bad reaction. They hadn’t even accepted his offer of Belle’s favorite book, and so he held it close as a substitute to her. “Her Handsome Hero”...and instead she had gotten her deformed devil.

He went to the back and picked up where he had left off with an old Cogsworth clock. Honestly this pawn shop was the oddest thing… A “concerned citizen” had mailed him a key after the news of his resignation had gotten out, along with the deed to the shop. Dubious at first, Maurice didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to pay his bills, and nothing had come of it yet.

Until tonight.

He glanced up as he thought he saw something move out of the corner from his eye, “Hello?” Predictably there was no answer and yet, Maurice set down his tools and went to check the front of the store. A couple were passing by, the woman laughing so enthusiastically he could hear it through the glass.

“Where. Is. She?”

Maurice turned to see him crouched on the counter, a shadow cast by the back room’s light. His blood went cold as he watched the head tilt, teeth bared like the creature he was. There was no barrier between them; no back up that would come fast enough to save him. The Dark One was free and nothing could stop him.

Maurice straightened, trying to feel for a weapon, “Even if I knew… I wouldn’t tell you.”

The beast lashed out before Maurice had noticed he moved, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him forward. He braced his hands on the case and struggled to stand upright, but the monster’s grip was harder, forcing his knees to bend.

“That...is not a very good first sentence,” he drawled, “Now...you...are going to tell me where I can find her… Or there’s going to be a clean-up on Aisle Moe.”

“Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell it to the likes of you,” he glared up at him, “She's finally free of you, and soon whatever spell you put her under will be broken.” He had the satisfaction of watching the beast scowl at him for a moment before he had his head slammed down onto the display case.

“YOU. ARE. HER. FATHER.” He punctuated each word with another slam, “Of course you know where she is!”

Maurice tried to focus through the searing pain and disorientation, vaguely aware that he was bleeding. The monster pulled his head back and he had just enough time to shut his eyelid before two clawlike nails rested on either side of his eye.

“Moe, Moe, stubbed toe, full of woe, Woe-y Moe-y,” he sang, “Your mind’s tooooo small to understand your little girl’s a big girl now. Everyone and their cousins think she was a poor wittle hostage but you know, there was a distinct lack of locks and chains once I got her home. She could’ve escaped at aaaaaany time if she twuly wanted to… But she stayed. She stayed because she was willing. She...she chose me…”

He seemed to be lost inside of himself, and Moe thought he could use it to his advantage. But as he tried to move the claws squeezed and the pressure made stars dance against his eyelid.

“Shall I tell you about your daughter’s advances? I’m sure you were aware how naughty she was in the asylum. Does it torture you, how she went into my cell, without any back-up? Do you think about all the things I could have done to her, wandering into the dragon’s den so brazenly? I certainly do.”

“Bastard,” Maurice hissed.

“I’m aware.” He tightened his grip on Moe’s eye and he gasped, “Now, tell me where my beauty is or I’ll squish your peeper like a grape!”

There was the sound of glass shattering, then the clatter of a bell as the front door was forced open. The beast giggled, releasing his eye and turning Maurice around to face whoever had broken in.

“Look! It’s Miss Swan, a grown woman who dresses up in a costume and runs around doing illegal vigilantism!”

“As opposed to assault and battery.” The dark figure moved closer.

He blinked and then defended in a ridiculously innocuous voice, “I’m just looking for my girlfriend.”

“Let go of Mr. French before I make you.”

He considered it for a moment then released Maurice, “I wasn’t getting anywhere with him anyway. In-laws, am I right?”

There was a rush of air and a swirl of purple smoke, and when Maurice looked back, there was no trace of the mad creature.

“Are you alright, Mr. French?”

He looked at the woman clad all in black, her face obscured by a mask reminiscent of a Venetian masquerade. Her outfit was a mix of armor and fabric, letting her move freely but still protecting her vital organs. The etched feather designs and the shape of the mask confirmed it was none other than the Black Swan visiting him.

“I’ve been worse,” he insisted, going to dab at the blood on his forehead with his sleeve. She brought her cape around and helped wipe it up, “He’s trying to find Belle…”

“He won’t,” she promised him.

He shook his head, “You can’t be certain of that. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

“No, HE has no idea what I’M capable of. That disappearing act won’t work twice, and she’s got the city of Storybrooke looking out for her,” she rested a hand on his shoulder, “We’ll protect her, and help her get well.”

Emma could see though that he wasn’t convinced.

She hadn’t seen Neal at all that night and while thankfully she hadn’t needed backup, it was weird he hadn’t immediately responded to her text about a sighting of the Dark One. When she did see him again at home, he was nursing a drink and staring at a spot on the wall.

“Where were you, Boy Wonder? You missed a highly anticlimactic standoff with a Big Bad.”

“I was with a contact seeing if he knew where Belle had gone to,” he finished off his drink, frowning, “I don’t want you dealing with him on your own; he’s not like the rest of the crazies we deal with.”

“Then come with me next time.”

It had been an offhanded statement but Neal gripped the glass as though he were going to throw it.

“I don’t want to face him if I don’t have to,” he muttered.

He’d never been one for cowardice, but Emma felt she had pressed too hard already. He had his clammed-up face on, and asking more wasn’t going to lead anywhere good.

“...I do not like it, Sam I am,” he said absently.

“Neither do I,” she said, “Not on a boat, not on a goat.”

At least that managed to get him to smile.

Belle had gotten drunk off of power. Not in general; she was still plenty careful around the other inmates and only interacted with them as much as she needed to. But at the end of her rounds, when she neared the last cell in the furthest depths of the Enchanted Forest, her pulse quickened for a completely different reason. Her Rumple would be waiting for her, regardless of whether he was done with his book or not, and they’d waste time pretending he was debating on a new one. She enjoyed the hungry way he watched her, drawn to her like she was drawn to him. She knew he acted the predator but, when it came down to it, she was his master.

She was beginning to wonder if her lust and fondness was turning into something else, something more serious.

“Belle…” She turned from where she was packing her lunch to see her father in the doorway, looking nervous. Internally she began to panic, “We need to talk.”

“...about what?” She asked, setting a fruit cup in the paper bag before rolling the top of it.

He took a deep breath, “There are...rumors going around. That you’re...going into the Dark One’s cell.”

She laughed, and hoped it didn’t sound nervous, “That’s ridiculous. How would I even get a key?” By stopping by the master collection and “borrowing” it until she had a copy made. The master keys were only used when a guard forgot theirs anyway, and it had been easy enough to convince security it was for her stubborn father who wouldn’t admit he lost it.

“I don’t know, but you’re a clever girl.”

“I didn’t, papa.” She lied firmly, “I know how dangerous it is.”

And yet, she had done it anyway. Knowing the risks she had gone in after telling him to put his hands against the far wall, back to her. She had gone in and gingerly touched him, felt along his scaly skin and listened to how tight his breathing got as he stole glances at her.

He might be called a crocodile, but he had behaved like a lamb towards her.

“I hope you remember that,” he moved closer to her, “If anything were to happen to you…”

“I know, papa,” she went over and kissed his cheek, “I love you, worry warts and all.”

He gave her a small smile, “I love you too.”

She brushed past him, grabbing her coat, “Off to work I go. You want me to grab anything while I’m out?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a six-pack,” he said.

Belle giggled and shrugged her coat on, walking out the door. It was the last conversation they had before she was taken hostage.

The details as to how the riot began weren’t clear; something had happened to the plumbing system, so major that it distracted most of the personnel. Electricity became spotty and, in between power outages, cells started to open up.

Belle hadn’t gotten to her rounds yet; she was busy reshelving books when the lights flickered and died. She paused and waited; sure enough the backup generator kicked in and she continued. She managed to shelve a few more books before the power failed again, this time staying off.

She opened her tablet and used its light to guide herself back to the checkout desk, searching for the phone. She picked the receiver up only to hear silence, not so much as a dial tone. She went for her cell phone, trying to remember maintenance’s number…

Gunshots rang out. She quickly sank behind the counter, holding her breath. The volley didn’t last long though, hopefully meaning that whatever the disturbance had been it was dealt with. She took a few deep breaths, and was just about to stand again when she heard it. Quiet at first, barely discernable, the noise grew louder and louder. Laughter. Cheering. Chanting. Shouting. Moving closer to the library.

The door opened and Belle jerked, wishing she had had the presence of mind to lock it. She strained to hear footsteps but whoever they were they were careful about staying quiet. She shielded the light of her phone and scrolled to her father’s number, starting to text “I lov-”.

The phone was smacked out of her grasp, skidding across the floor. Before she could move away a hand was on her throat.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you,” Keith growled, pressing himself against her.

Belle clawed at him, but it didn’t seem to deter him. His hips ground against hers while he twisted her face to the side, running his tongue along her cheek. She struggled to breathe and to keep his free hand away from her breasts. She was beginning to feel lightheaded when he was suddenly pulled off of her.

Keith barely had time to process the change before his neck was snapped, body tossed aside without a second thought. Fingertips gently took her face, frantically checking her over.

“Pretty, pretty Belle,” he crooned, “Sweet, sweet Belle…”

A sob choked out of her and while she should be relieved he had come to save her… He was out of his cell. They could all be out of their cells. She was almost… And gunshots…

Rumplestiltskin scooped her up, carrying her out of the library. The halls had quieted, even in the few minutes since the riot began. (Because that was what had happened, right? A prison riot?) Some of the truly insane lingered even though all of the cell doors were wide open. Blood and bodies littered the ground; not just guards, but other inmates, killed either in defense or for kicks she had no way of knowing. Belle struggled in her friend’s arms, weeping at the sudden tragedy, imagining the surviving inmates scattering like cockroaches into the city ready to bring hell to Storybrooke.

“Shh, shh, pretty Belle, perfect Belle,” he cooed, “You’re mine now… All mine.”

As they neared the entrance to the Enchanted Forest she could see the flashing lights of police cars, hear them shouting over each other. Rumplestiltskin set her down on her feet and pressed her back against his front, a hand around her throat.

“Just an act, my dear,” he assured her, “We have to make them believe.”

Belle was not acting as she was led out, sobbing at the sight of all those guns trained on them.

“Please, please!” She begged as the Dark One carefully maneuvered them past the blockade, keeping her always facing the danger. She didn’t know whose life she was pleading for harder and, when she had time to reflect on it in the Dark Castle later, she realized they had been so intertwined one bullet could have possibly gone through both of them.

It was almost poetic, in a Romeo and Juliet morbid way.

III

Sometimes Henry felt like he was the only one who really saw things the way they were, and he wondered if it was because of his book. He hadn’t met anyone else who could read it and sometimes that scared him, like he really was crazy. But no, of course the Evil Queen would want him to think he was, because it gave her control. And if there was one thing he knew about his mother, it was that she loved control.

Belle had come to live with them shortly after she’d been found. His mother said it was because she wasn’t safe anywhere else; his book told him it was because of her relationship to the Dark One. Belle and the Dark One were a modern day Beauty and the Beast; he didn’t know who that made his mom in their story.

Belle was...quiet, and by herself a lot, when she wasn’t in the dungeon. She didn’t seem like a person; she had no energy, and there was always a twinge of sadness around her. She was a ghost that stared out the window as if waiting for someone to come find her.

When he asked Archie about it during therapy, he seemed to hem and haw more than usual. He said that the mind tries to adapt to situations in order to survive, that Belle’s mind had deceived her into thinking she loved the man that had done horrible things to her.

Henry asked if his mind did that. Archie admitted that it might.

III

Hook didn’t like to think of himself as easily persuaded, but he couldn’t deny he had a weakness for Baeran Gold. Well, now he went by Neal Cassidy, or “Baelfire”, which Hook failed to understand the reasoning of. At least his moniker made sense.

The bloody thing was that Bae knew he had a weakness for him, and he exploited it ruthlessly. He was his mother’s child in that regard… So when he met with Hook to ask him to check on that woman of interest’s living situation, he had reluctantly agreed, knowing that meant dealing with Regina. She wasn’t bad to look at but she was fickle and didn’t take to his charm as quickly as he’d like.

He dropped by when it was convenient for him, which irked the mayor.

“Honestly, Hook, there’s nothing wrong with picking up the phone and calling ahead,” she scolded as she found him snooping around the hallways, not even surprised to see him.

Hook pouted, “That would take all the fun out of it.”

“What do you want, I have an appointment,” she said, brushing past him.

He followed her, “Rumor has it you’re the one keeping the French girl.”

“It’s not a rumor if I told the press directly about it.”

“Now why would you go and do a thing like that? Are you trying to provoke the Dark One?”

“He wouldn’t dare come after me,” she insisted, “You weren’t there to see how he was around her, it was nauseating,” she shook her head, “I think he’d cry if anything happened to her.”

“I doubt it,” he muttered under his breath. He’d probably kill her.

She led him down a staircase to what he imagined had been a cellar at some point. There was a chill in the air with only sporadic lighting, mostly around an exam table. A woman was bound to it, quiet and still as she stared up at the ceiling.

So this was Erzabel French. The crocodile certainly had a thing for dark-haired bright-eyed beauties, even if this one had much more of a baby face. She glanced lazily at them, as much as she could with her head being restrained.

“Who’s leather daddy?” She asked dryly.

He gave a small bow, “Captain Hook, at your service.”

She burst into a fit of giggles that, while he was used to groans and chuckles, seemed uncalled for. It persisted as Regina came closer, starting to apply electrical pads to her temples.

“Honestly she’s getting as nutty as he is,” she muttered. She sighed before leaning over the incapacitated woman, “So, Belle, is today finally going to be the day you talk?”

“What’s there to talk about?” She retorted, “How useless this is? How it’s only stroking your feminine rage boner?”

Regina turned on a machine that Hook hadn’t paid much notice to. It was small, but with some intimidating looking gauges and knobs. Belle’s nervous giggles died on her lips.

“What do you know about the Dark One?”

“...I don’t know anything,” She said quietly, her voice quivering slightly.

“You were his captive for six months, surely you picked up on something.” Regina’s fingers traced a dial.

Belle’s hands clenched into fists, “Not a thing.”

“I think we need to jog your memory…”

Hook wasn’t stupid; he had a good idea of what sort of machine she was attached to before Regina twisted the dial. But to watch the poor woman suddenly convulse and scream in agony quickly put him off whatever apathy he had come into the situation with. It was perhaps a few seconds of electrical current, but he felt trapped in those slivers of time.

Her body went slack as she gasped for air. Madame Mayor seemed hardly perturbed, “What can you tell me about Rumplestiltskin?”

“He has horrible morning breath! You could weaponize it!”

Belle hardly had the time to chuckle at her joke before Regina rolled her eyes and twisted the dial further along the scale. Hook must’ve counted ten seconds before Belle’s body collapsed again.

“You tell them you keep me here to protect me.” The words tumbled out of Belle’s mouth as she tried to rock from side to side, “You put up an act with me like it’s for information, but really you just want to keep me away from anyone I might tell about your after-office-hours activities. Mayor Mills can’t be affiliated with the likes of-”

Regina cut her off with what looked to be very close to the extreme side of the dial. He stood there motionlessly as the poor girl screamed and spasmed, pulling at her restraints.

“Regina…” He said. Her face was completely focused on Belle’s, a scowl on her lips, “Regina, stop, you’re going to fry her brain!”

Like a pouting child she relented, clicking the machine off.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” she assured Belle, patting her on the head before going to leave. Hook hesitated, his eyes still on the dark-haired beauty.

She was giggling to herself relentlessly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes flicked towards him, completely vacant as if she had retreated into herself. The Dark One could go die in an acid bath, but this woman’s only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He turned to pursue Regina, waiting until they had left the girl behind to speak, “She has a point. Why press for more weaknesses when you know she IS one?”

“Just trying to get the most out of my investment,” she said coolly, “Anyway, it makes for good press. Mayor not only taking interest in a victim of abuse, but sheltering them? It’s downright charitable of me. Speaking of, you don’t plan on coming to my charity gala next week, right?”

“I have better things to do,” he promised.

However, he could think of a pair that would be interested in dropping by.

For six months, Rumplestiltskin felt like a man again. Belle remained in his keep, a handful of starlight to ward off the darkness. She let the world believe that she was a hostage as she kept his castle in order, stealing away to little nooks to read when he was busy. She paid no mind to his work or to the company that visited, continuing on as if there was no crime lord over for tea. He could have easily been projecting, but he was pretty sure she was happy too.

She told him everything about her; she invited herself into his bed. She let him touch and explore and take, and with that came an even deeper devotion than he had already had for the woman who showed him kindness while the rest of the world regarded him as a monster.

He immediately picked up on her restlessness as they approached the end of their half-a-versary of freedom, and he feared his days of bliss were numbered. When he caught her staring out the window one night instead of at the book in her lap, he knew he had to comment.

“Something the matter, dearie?” He asked from the comfort of their bed.

She sighed and shook her head, stepping down from the sill and setting the book aside, “It’s nothing…”

“My interpersonal instincts might be a tad rusty, but isn’t “it’s nothing” code for “it’s a big something”?”

Belle rewarded his joke with a small smile, going to sit on the bed. It took what scraps of pride he still had to keep from crawling towards her, automatically gravitating towards the center of his world. She bit her lip before finally looking at him.

“I’m worried about my father.” That’s right, she had one of those… And she even liked him. She took his silence as a cue to continue, “You see, after my mother died I’m the only family he has. I know he’s been worried sick but…” She trailed off, and even if he’d been given a multiple choice style menu to pick from he doubted he’d choose correctly what she was thinking.

Pins and needles seemed to press into his innards at the thought of sharing his treasure. But he couldn’t deny her such a reasonable request, such a human request.

He drew in a long breath, bracing himself, “...then you should visit him.”

Belle did a double-take and Rumplestiltskin carefully crafted his features to resemble something close to casual. She gave him the sweetest smile in return.

“You mean it?”

“Course I mean it,” he scoffed, “I don’t want you moping about because I didn’t let you run out and say “hi” real quick.”

She rocked forward and kissed him, and it felt just as magical as the first time. “You want me to be happy,” she teased.

He wrinkled his nose, “Well… I don’t want you unhappy.”

She giggled and went to push him back against the bed, swinging a leg over to straddle him, “You make me very not-unhappy,” she assured him.

He clung to those words as she prepared to leave the next day, and he reminded himself of them as he waited for her at the window to return. He made her very not-unhappy; surely that meant she wouldn’t leave for good. Surely that meant she loved him, like he loved her.

Belle didn’t look back once she was outside the formidable stone mansion that very much could pass as a Dark Castle; she doubted she could bear the sight of seeing him watching her leave. It had been hard enough when she had been getting ready; putting her hair up, wearing a hoodie, generally just trying not to advertise the fact that the lone survivor of the Enchanted Forest massacre was going out on the town.

Despite his act of nonchalance, she could sense his fear. Honestly it could be why she had put this off for so long, or maybe she hoped with enough time passing her father would accept her decision to stay with Rumple. Or maybe she had just been avoiding the rest of the world in favor of the seclusion being the Dark One’s “hostage” had offered. He certainly had no shortage of books...

She took the Cadillac that sat mostly forgotten in the garage, driving out of the foothills and to the metropolis that was Storybrooke. She was careful to avoid the main roads, though she had no idea if it made a difference. She was less concerned with traffic cams spotting her and more concerned with them catching the license plate numbers; how did one register a car for a super villain?

Maybe the media had moved on; assumed she was dead or simply found another scandal to move onto. She could only imagine what they had said about the poor defenseless woman being used as a meat shield… The few pages they knew of her and Rumple’s story.

The area Mr. Gold's Pawnshop and Antiquities Dealership resided in wasn't one of the busier ones, especially this time of night. She parked a few blocks away just to be safe, hoping her father hadn’t called it an early night. She practiced what she was going to say to him as she walked. Hello, Papa… Hey Papa… I know it’s been awhile. I’m sure you’ve been worried but I’ve been alright, more than alright…

Papa, I love-

She was startled from her thoughts by someone knocking into her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” she mumbled, hardly thinking twice about it as she tried to keep going.

A well-manicured hand rested on her shoulder, keeping her from walking away, “...is that you, Miss French?”

Her blood chilled as she turned towards the speaker. She had never paid too much attention to the politics of Storybrooke growing up; mostly she had just listened to her father’s muttering about the corruption of the Mills family all her life, and it seemed like no matter who went up against them they always still won the election. But then as she stayed in Rumple’s keep, she started noticing how often Regina came to call on him, and the sorts of people who came with her.

“Mayor Mills,” she gave her an awkward smile, “Nice to see you…”

“And nice to see you,” Her saccharine grin didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Is he letting you out now?”

“For errands. Surprised to see you around here.”

“Needed some fresh air, stretch my legs. Can I walk with you?”

No. No she absolutely didn’t want to walk with this wolf in sheepskin clothing. But before Belle could really object, Regina had her arm entwined with hers and was steering the both of them along the direction Belle had been heading.

“He’s quite fond of you,” she mused, “Then again he must be, keeping you around, letting you see behind the curtain of Storybrooke…”

“What curtain?”

Regina’s grip tightened on her arm, “Oh, you know… How it really is.”

“I have no idea what you’re inferring.”

Belle cringed as Regina stopped, twisting around to face her, “Don’t play me for a fool… You may have pretended to be reading during our meetings, but I know better than to believe that charade.”

“You flatter yourself, Mayor Mills; you nor any of his business associates are all that interesting,” she tried to brush past her, “I’m a glorified maid, that’s it.”

She was honestly a little surprised when Regina let her, her grip sliding off like water off a duck’s feather.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she called over her shoulder, “We could work together, help each other out.”

Belle rolled her eyes, “No thanks. I prefer the devil I know to the one that just so “happens” to bump into me at night.”

The fact Regina let her go without another word should have been a warning.

She didn’t have to double-check the address; a hanging glowing sign announced that this was the antiquities dealership Rumple had jotted down, her father’s new place of business. No light came from inside, the shades were drawn, and when she checked the hours she saw she had just missed closing. But maybe he was still in the back...

She circled around to the alley beside it and spotted a back door. There were still no lights on but she tried the doorknob anyway. Locked. She sighed; all of those precautions and mental speech drafts for nothing. She’d have to catch him some other time.

Snarls reverberated from one brick wall to the other. Belle turned to see three shadows at the mouth of the alley, blocking her exit.

“You really should’ve gotten me that book, darling.” The tallest drawled, before snapping her fingers and pointing at Belle. Her sidekicks immediately charged, their barks booming across the distance.

Belle twisted around to flee, knocking into a trash can. She recovered and sprinted, continuing even when she saw it was a dead end.

“HELP!” She screamed, trying to find something to stand on to scale the fence, “HELP ME, SOMEONE, PLEASE!”

The first clamped its jaws around her calf and pulled her leg out from underneath her. She hit the cement with a hard thud and tried to kick free, but that only seemed to excite the dog more. She went to claw at its face when the second caught her forearm in its mouth. She screamed as they pulled in opposite directions, playing tug-o-war with her body and shaking her about as if she were just a stuffed animal left in a puppy’s reach.

They raked at her skin, chomping at new parts of her body and trying to rip the meat right off her bones. It was all Belle could do to scream and hope somebody, anybody would save her before she bled out.

The only person who heard her cries was Cruella, who watched in grotesque fascination. Belle wavered in and out of consciousness, her wails turning into quiet sobs and half-thought prayers.

She heard Cruella make a call over the sounds of the Rottweilers’ snuffling and growling. She stared at a pool of her own blood as pain rang through her.

“Alright, she’s exactly where you want her… Yes, Jasper and Horace were good boys and did their jobs… Are you sure I can’t let them kill her? ...what makes you think he still cares, he let her go.”

It was because he let her go that she knew he cared. She squeezed her eyes shut as the stupid mutts started clawing at her face, trying to get a rise out of her.

The last thing she heard before she finally passed out was Cruella accusing the person on the other end of the line for being tacky in deciding to have a shrimp hors d'oeuvre served at her gala.

III

“One pill makes you larger, aaaaaand one pill makes you small. And the ones that… Mother gives you. Don’t doooo anything. At allllll.”

He hated that fucking song, and should’ve long ago taken it off the jukebox, but he’d sooner gouge his own tongue out before giving Chelsea Catone the satisfaction. Her entire life revolved around tormenting whatever patron dared to venture into the Rabbit Hole, and himself if he wasn’t careful. The regulars had long since gotten used to her, then again most of his regulars had their own annoying ticks that they inflicted on whoever was unlucky enough to engage them.

It really wasn’t surprising that his customers tended to be a little off; he was in the heart of the party district known (only somewhat ironically) as Wonderland. Left to its own devices for the most part, at least it was cheap to live in… It had been perfect in his younger years, and he’d been so excited to take over and reinvent this bar. Now the surrealistic design and technicolors gave him a headache.

He probably wouldn’t have paid any mind to the next fool who stumbled in if the entire Rabbit Hole didn’t freeze. The crack of table croquet stopped, and not because of the twins breaking out into a fight. Catherine’s stream of vapor leaked past her lips instead of in the rings and figures she liked to practice. The absurd confusing drinking game that was like musical chairs on crack ended as the line of racers crashed into one another.

Jefferson took one look at the arrival and sighed, “Alright, everyone out.”

He’d never seen all those misfits listen at the same time before. Such was the fear of the Dark One.

“You too, dormouse,” he flipped Grace’s textbook closed.

She turned away from her staring and gave him a pointed look, “You said I can stay down here if I did my homework.”

“And you also know I have Daddy Veto Powers. Go upstairs, now.”

“Listen to your father.”

Grace was startled to see the Dark One in all his glittering glory suddenly standing beside her at the bar. He stared back at her, raising an eyebrow. She grabbed her book, slid off her stool and disappeared through the “Hatters Only” door.

Rumplestiltskin took her seat, folding his arms on the bar. Jefferson crossed his.

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again,” he muttered.

“I thought that was a hyperbole,” he mumbled, his eyes wandering towards “Hatters Only”, “...she’s grown up quite a bit.”

“Yeah… Went by too fast,” he said.

The Dark One shrugged, “At least she got her looks from her mother.”

“You going to order something or not, you scaly bastard?”

“Whatever you have that’s strong.”

Jefferson went over to his wall of liquors, grabbing and pouring like a painter with his palette, “It’s been what, eight, nine years, and tonight you just wander in without warning?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” he claimed, claws scratching at the table’s varnish, “...seeing if Cora was in.”

Jefferson’s grip tightened on the glass, looking ready to hurl it at him, “What the fuck. Did you not learn your lesson?”

“Ew, not like that.” He waved off the notion, “Like in an intelligence gathering way. But it doesn’t matter, she wasn’t in.”

“And what information could you possibly need THAT badly?”

His face crumpled and Jefferson almost regretted asking. He hadn’t seen lizard eyes that sad since… Well, ever, he guessed.

He tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, leaning in as Jefferson set down his drink, “…have you ever been in love before?” He just about whispered.

Jefferson gave a small smile and nodded, “Yeah, once. You took her seat.”

“But never the romantic sort?” He continued, “Where you’re just…sitting, minding your own business, and a butterfly lands on your arm. It’s so delicate, and perfect… You’re terrified to move, terrified to breathe, lest the moment end and it flits away. Touching it, tainting its purity… Feels wrong. But you want to… Need to…”

No, he hadn’t felt that way towards Grace’s mother; she had been a fun fling that had ended in tragedy. Grace was the only butterfly in his life and as far as he could see she’d remain the only one. Purity was in short supply in the circles he ran in… And he’d do whatever he could to protect his little dormouse.

Rumplestiltskin downed his drink and set the glass back on the table, tapping at the rim as if trying to crack it, “…I’d settle for just knowing she’s alright,” he murmured.

Jefferson frowned, “...I can put feelers out. Who is it?”

The Dark One’s attention was diverted by the small television he kept in the corner for Grace to watch cartoons. For some reason it had been switched to the local news channel, and it looked like a young lady was speaking to a group of reporters at a press conference. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

“...with Mayor Mills’ help I have been recovering from my incident, and I hope with some more time I will be able to move past what happened…”

The bartender frowned, recognizing her, “Is that-”

His voice was cut off by a choking sensation, Rumple’s hand held up in a clenching motion as he stared enraptured by the screen.

Erzabel French continued, her words hollow as she read from something on the podium, “This is my first public appearance since my…abduction. I hope to continue to heal and eventually go back to being the woman I was before.” There was a pause, a glance away from the written speech, “I look forward to the Everyday Heroes Gala, Mayor Mills’ annual fundraiser for the Neverland Foster Center.”

She stepped away from the podium and polite applause followed before Regina took the stage again and went on her usual anti-crime tirade.

Jefferson gasped as Rumplestiltskin released his hold, giggling.

“My clever Belle. Clever, clever Belle,” he trilled, sliding off the stool, “You’ve been a great help Jeffy, we should double-date some time.”

He glanced between the television and the Dark One’s retreating back, rapidly trying to catch up. Of course he didn’t want to believe whatever propaganda Regina was spewing this week… But he couldn’t deny that the closest thing he had to a best friend was extremely unstable. That wasn’t even touching the idea Rumple was a victim of some sort of reverse Stockholm syndrome…

“Are you going after her?” He asked.

The Dark One considered his question, head tilting to the side, “Yes, I’m going to make her suffer… Suffer more than she ever knew was possible. She’ll be begging for death by the time I’m through with her,” he glanced over his shoulder, “Unless you’re talking about Belle, then not yet. I don’t even know what I’d wear!”

He giggled, slipping out of the Rabbit Hole. Maybe if he liked Regina better, or maybe if he thought Rumplestiltskin was capable of rape, he would’ve tried harder to stop him. Instead he turned the television off and noticed the empty glass.

Bastard didn’t pay his tab. Could pull gold out of his ass, but apparently preferred drinking and dashing.

III

Henry knew the drill by now; his main job was to stay out of the way while everyone else set up for the night’s party. Bored, he watched the small army prepare for battle against the…what was the word Neal had used? The bushwa? The upper class, basically the royalty of Storybrooke.

Only some of them were actual royalty though, at least from what he could figure out. It was like playing detective, but he had to be very careful about getting new clues. Most people thought he was crazy, but they were just cursed. He was the only believer, but Neal seemed to want to believe.

The world couldn’t really be like this, Henry insisted. It couldn’t really let the bad guys win while the good guys were screwed over. That just wasn’t right.

“It wasn’t bold, it was brash.”

The voice sent a shiver down Henry’s spine. He quickly ducked into the nearest room, leaving the door open a crack. Sure enough, his mom and grandmother stepped into view, raven black and blood red.

What kind of crummy luck did he have, with the Evil Queen being his mother and the Queen of Hearts being his grandmother?

Cora turned towards her daughter, her bright lips pulled into a frown, “You’re antagonizing him.”

“I’m making a statement,” Regina folded her arms, facing her mother head on, “It’s an open secret how he feels about her… And now she’s in my possession. Soon enough he’ll know it too.”

“And he’ll destroy you if you aren’t careful.”

Regina scoffed, “Coming from the woman who boasts about how she outsmarted him.”

“Because I knew what I was doing. You, however, don’t.” She reached out and rested a hand on Regina’s shoulder, and Henry tensed up as if she were touching him, “I say this because I love you. Turn this around; offer her to him. Blame the puppy butcher for the attack.”

“No,” she brushed the hand off of her, “He needs to know that I’m not his apprentice anymore. This is my city, and he’s just another criminal I need to keep under my thumb.”

“Regina-“

“Mother,” she cut her off, “You had your terms as mayor. Now it’s my turn. If I want your opinion I’ll ask for it.”

Cora’s mouth twitched, clearly wanting to continue the argument. Instead she gave a tight smile, “Yes dear.”

Henry slowly, quietly closed the door. He didn’t want to listen anymore about evil plans, especially ones where the Dark One would be coming after his mother. As bad as she was, everyone seemed to think he was worse. And a beast without his beauty…

A derisive snort warned Henry he wasn’t alone.

He nearly jumped out of his skin, twisting around to see where the noise had come from. In the corner like a forgotten doll, their “guest” sat, back against the wall and legs spread out in front of her. Her long curls hung from her bent head but he could still see her smirk and vacant eyes. A book was in her lap as if she had been reading, but she looked as posed and lifeless as a marionette.

Her head slowly lifted and her eyes flicked up. They sat in silence, regarding each other, until he finally spoke.

“So you’re Belle.”

She mulled over the statement for a moment, “I suppose I am… I don’t feel very Belle-like right now, though.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re not with your Beast,” he offered.

“Maybe,” she said, in that gentle adult “no but I’m not going to treat you like an idiot” way.

Maybe the Evil Queen had stolen her heart, and that’s why she looked like a cracked porcelain doll, one more fall away from breaking.

III

It wasn’t the first time Emma had ever seen Neal in a monkey suit, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But there was definitely something to be said about his innate ability to pull off a three-piece. It was like seeing the boy-next-door skater punk suddenly on the cover of GQ adjusting his cuff links. He glanced up at the uneven click of her heels and took her in.

“You clean up nice, Girl Wonder,” he commented.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Oh Emma,” Mary Margaret gushed, unable to keep from brushing stray strands back into her up-do and smooth creases that came from something as simple as walking from the bathroom to the Autoswan, “You look stunning… I knew that dress would look lovely on you.”

“Thanks Mary Margaret,” she mumbled, a little embarrassed.

Eventually her assistant stopped fussing over her, standing back and glancing between the pair, “I feel like I should be taking pictures of you while Neal slides a corsage on your wrist.”

“As great as smuggling a flask of peppermint schnapps in sounds, I don’t think “prom” is the theme Regina’s going with.”

The trio made their way to the garage where Emma’s baby sat. It was a goofy stretched-out Bug painted bright yellow, modified to at least attempt to look like the sort of sports car a celebrity would have. But Emma hadn’t let her technician go too crazy; yellow bugs were special to her and Neal and besides, no one suspected Herbie’s drunk cousin of being anything more than tacky and fuel-efficient.

The Autoswan’s twin doors rose Delorean-style and Emma followed Neal around to the passenger’s side. Mary Margaret paused for a moment, then gleefully clapped her hands together.

“I can text David to come up here and he can give the Overprotective Dad Speech!”

“NO!” They snapped in unison. Mary Margaret pouted as she slid into the driver’s seat, Neal taking the passenger’s and Emma getting into the back.

The ride to Regina’s estate was quiet, and shorter than Emma would’ve liked. Not that she wanted to get there after shit had gone down, but she wasn’t exactly looking forward to schmoozing the other socialites while she waited for the explosions. She wasn’t a great schmoozer to begin with and every one of these events came with the mild threat of her offending someone she shouldn’t have because she was a little too blunt.

Mary Margaret had tried her best to teach her the ways of the upper class, but Emma was starting to think it was something you either got or you didn’t. It wasn’t her style to sweep things under the rug.

She pulled up to the beginning of the expansive walkway that led up to Regina’s mansion, twisting around in her seat and looking at both of them in turn, “Now don’t have too much fun you two. I have a novel I’d like to finish reading, and honestly I don’t much feel like having to carry your unconscious bodies out of a burning building.”

“Yes, Mary Margaret.” They drawled in unison. The doors rose and Neal slid out, offering his hand to Emma. She took it and let him help steady her.

Time to enter the fray.

As she suspected, there were tons of press lurking near the mansion’s entrance, swarming each new arrival like ants on dropped fruit. Neal stayed a step behind, keeping an eye on the crowd while Emma picked and chose the snippets of interviews she’d engage in.

Yes, she was excited to be here, supporting this worthy cause that was close to her heart. Why yes, Neverland was where she had grown up, and she wished it wasn’t as crowded as it was. Every child deserved a chance to grow up in a safe environment, and sadly most of the adolescents were all but forgotten when it came time for adop- Who made her dress? She’d have to ask her personal assistant, haha. Yes, still single. Please excuse her, and have a lovely evening.

Rinse. Repeat. Until she was finally inside and could breathe for a moment.

“Is it the blonde hair? Or do I just have “bimbo” written on my chest?” She vented as Neal stepped into his more natural position at her side, “Seriously, you’ll never hear them ask a male CEO if he’s thinking about starting a family.”

“It’s the lack of suits,” he insisted, “I keep telling you that.”

“I shouldn’t have to wear a suit to remind them of my position,” she protested, glancing around. This might’ve been a living room in a standard house, but she didn’t see any furniture that suggested what this giant place was used for when parties weren’t being thrown. Right now it seemed to be the church foyer, a place for meeting and greeting before heading into the main event.

“So what’s our game plan?” He asked, lowering his voice.

“We find Regina,” Emma said simply, “She doesn’t take a step without us knowing about it. Where she is, I’m sure the Dark One will follow.”

“Sensible enough,” Neal scanned the crowd, “Bet she’s in the ballroom.”

“I’ll go check it out,” she offered, “You should scout for the catering trays.”

“You want your bodyguard to abandon you for snacks?”

“What, I’m hungry,” she raised an eyebrow, “Do you really care how you earn your paycheck?”

“I just really hope nothing happens in the five minutes it’ll take me to hunt it down. I’m pretty sure it’s Emma Charming writing my checks, NOT the Charming Corporation,” he shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around, “...I bet she sprung for the good stuff. You know, for the orphans.”

With that epiphany Neal was off, weaving his way through the crowd. Emma smiled to herself, because he was being so Neal in that moment, but it immediately vanished when she noticed a man with a cane staring after him as if he were witnessing the second coming of Christ.

There was something very familiar about the man and yet Emma’s mind was drawing a blank at a name. He looked as though he belonged there in his tailored suit and his kept appearance, but the other patrons had given him a surreal berth. An island in the middle of a sea of people, only his eyes moving as he watched after Neal. They stayed fixed for a moment and then, reluctantly, they broke away.

He didn’t seem to see her at first; more like stared through her. But his dark eyes came back into focus and he gave her a humorless smirk.

“Miss Swan,” he mouthed across the distance.

Emma’s heart raced. If it had been any other random surname she would’ve brushed it off as him confusing her with some other blonde in a dress. But paranoia about her crime-stopping activities refused to let her just dismiss it. She cut through the distance, keeping her sights straight on him.

And yet, as she got within whisper-hissing range, he vanished as if he had taken the opportunity of a blink to disappear.

Regina was pleased with the turnout, she decided as she looked over the ocean of influence that flooded the ballroom. The band swelled over the multitude of conversations and slowly pairs started to dance. She stood above them, on a platform near the pledge table where she thanked each additional donation that the attendees offered. At this rate they might actually be able to do something about that old orphanage, and she wouldn’t just be spouting empty promises.

Assuming some miscreant wouldn’t force her to use it as hush money. Try as she might, it seemed like that was where the majority of Storybrooke’s funding went to. Maybe she should consider cracking down on readmittance to the Enchanted Forest…

...honestly the little hostage might be the first one she sent. She may have pushed the poor thing too hard in their sessions; it seemed like something had snapped and disconnected her from the rest of the world. The whole evening she hadn’t even tried leaving her side, staring vacantly across the room, shifting her focus every so often so as to not be mistaken for a mannequin.

Regina was wondering if she had been wrong, that Rumple really didn’t care about the asylum librarian, though she’d never admit it to her mother. For such a powerful being, he sure was taking his time.

She frowned as she realized she hadn’t seen Henry in awhile. Hopefully he hadn’t gotten into any trouble, what with the mixed company of the honest and corrupt socialites. Maybe he had disappeared back to his room to read that book of his (which, by the way, she did NOT look like the illustration of the Evil Queen).

Another man wrote down his name, contact, billing information and the amount he was giving so he could sign off on it on next year’s tax return. From the emphatic thank yous of the volunteers manning the table it must’ve been a fairly impressive amount. Regina plastered a smile on her face and turned to greet the man.

“Thank you so much for your donation, Mr. …?”

“Gold,” he said, shaking the offered hand.

“How fitting,” she joked.

Beside her, the blue-eyed puppet stirred.

“Well I like to do what I can for children in unfortunate circumstances.” The words rolled off his tongue with a delightfully thick brogue, “Seems odd that the previous Mayor Mills isn’t here tonight, or have I just missed her?”

Regina’s smile tightened, her teeth clenching momentarily, “Unfortunately my mother couldn’t make it,” she lied. Cora hadn’t wanted to make it tonight, claiming she wasn’t in the mood for the masquerade.

Or she thought the event would flop, even though Regina had been doing this for five years now.

“That’s a pity,” he said, his thumb running over the grooves of his cane’s handle, “...honestly I was hoping that your partner might honor me with a dance.”

It took her a few moments to realize he meant Belle. She glanced to her side, trying to see her through an outsider’s perspective. Belle seemed equally surprised, sizing up the man.

“Well I suppose it’s up to her,” Regina admitted, “Belle?” It would free her up to go make a quick tour of the room, see if she could find Henry…

Her voice cracked as if she hadn’t spoken in a week, “...alright.”

Mr. Gold grinned, “Excellent.” He offered his hand to her and she took it, letting herself be led away from Regina.

Elsewhere, Emma was also scanning the room, half looking for Regina, half looking for the creep who might’ve been hinting at her vigilante pseudonym but had definitely been gaping at Neal. There wasn’t much in the way of raised platforms in the room except for where the band was playing and where donations were being accepted (as if the tickets weren’t pricey enough). She dodged conversations as politely as she could, playing with the bracelet on her wrist and thinking maybe she should’ve field-tested it before tonight.

“Good evening, Miss Charming.”

She turned to see who was addressing her...and then looked down when she heard giggles.

“Hey kid,” she greeted Henry, looking him up and down, “Look at you in your little monkey suit…”

“I know, Mom made me wear it,” he explained, “I like your dress, it’s pretty.”

“Mary Margaret made me wear it,” she joked.

He rocked up onto the balls of his feet, “Do you wanna dance?”

She looked at him dubiously, “Do you even know how?”

“No,” he admitted, “But you can teach me.”

“But I don’t know how either.” She scanned the room again, but unless Regina was wearing 12-inch heels she wasn’t going to spot her that easily, “We could always try to get the electric slide going.”

“What’s the electric slide?” He asked.

“A relative of the cupid shuffle. Come on, we’re going to need room for this…”

Rumple’s mind felt as if someone had taken his skull and shaken it like a snowglobe, but he forced himself to focus. Forced himself to remember to limp, to go first to the donation table instead of grabbing his Belle immediately and taking her away. He saw her heeled to Regina, and he wanted to destroy the Mayor.

Instead, he made small talk to ensure Cora wouldn’t be a problem. Regina didn’t notice anything amiss about his request to dance with Miss French.

His precious, precious Belle… She was so far retreated into herself it was like no one was home. Her gold silk dress, laced with rhinestones, cut in such a tempting way… Her long brown curls cascading over her pale shoulders, blue eyes staring.

They started to focus on him and he could see she was trying to place him. His heart thrilled at the fact he was showing her that she didn’t have to put up with crocodile chic; he could look nice and ordinary for her, be seen in public with her, have everyone stare at her beauty instead of his beastliness like she deserved.

Lightning shot through his blood when she took his hand, and he led her deep into the mob. No one took notice of his prop cane disappearing, not even his precious Belle. He turned to face her when they were in the dead center of the room, unclasping her hand to rest both of his on her hips.

She stared up at him as her own rested on his shoulders, her brow knitting together, “I know you,” she murmured.

He nodded, maybe a little more enthusiastically than called for, “You do...you do,” he promised.

A new song began and they swayed, eyes locked. He didn’t dare miss a moment, even if her gaze was powerful enough to make the Dark One shy away.

“You came for me,” she stated.

“Of course I did.”

“Why?”

He frowned, “Because I had to. What other choice is there?”

The tempo picked up and Belle moved closer, closing the chaste distance between them. Her nails dug into his shoulders, chin trembling, “Why did you wait so long?”

“I’m sorry. If I had known there was a problem I wouldn’t have wasted that first night. I looked in all the wrong places, thinking a woman who ran a city would have more brains than to touch you.”

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, breasts pressed against him. He held her tightly, feeling their hips move in sync with each step and twist. They writhed as one, the strings of the music swelling and climbing in time with each turn.

Tears spilled out, “I’m not the same. Something’s...broken.”

“Dearie dearie dear,” he cooed, “You will never be broken. Only a little chipped.”

She fisted his hair in her hand, forcing his head down to meet her mouth at the song’s crescendo. Their teeth clacked together, and they were both kissing as though it was all that could save them. Their bodies stilled, clinging to each other while their lips said everything words failed to. He felt the glamour slipping but couldn’t summon a damn, the magic peeling back the mask to expose what he truly was. Belle’s hand squeezed as crimps rippled along the formerly straight hair.

She pulled away and he opened his eyes, ready for her disgust. Her face split into a wide grin, bringing back his true love as she started to cry and stroke his ugly glittery cheeks.

“It is you,” she said emphatically, “My beastie.”

He pulled her back into a tight embrace, feeling his own sobs spill out. Hysterical laughter bubbled out of her, mixing with her tears of joy. The other guests were starting to notice the transformation and were retreating as far as they could from the couple. Rumple felt the beginnings of panic and reveled in it.

He leaned close to Belle’s ear, his voice a deep growl, “What would you have me do, my beauty?”

Still laughing, still crying, she exclaimed, “Burn it. Burn. It. Down!”

As much as she would’ve liked to forget why she was there, Emma couldn’t. While she smiled and laughed as she and Henry cut a rug off to the side of the main party, she was also keeping an eye on the donation table Regina and Belle were hovering by. Chained pet or bait? Either way, Belle being stuck to Regina’s side was alarming, and not just because of the mayor’s sheer arrogance. The woman she had met in the hospital didn’t seem particularly passive, despite the mental conditioning the Dark One had put her through.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

Emma turned to her dance partner, whose face was uncharacteristically emotionless.

“I think you’ve got some crazy moves,” she said, sidestepping the question. He stared her down and she relented, “I think...we all have our way of coping with things.”

Like how she dressed up and fought criminals. Not the healthiest but a coping mechanism nonetheless.

The way he looked at her, with the quiet solemnity of a sentenced prisoner, told her that her tactful answer wasn't what he needed to hear.

“That's alright if you don't believe,” he murmured, “The hero rarely does at first, or else it wouldn't be much of a story. But you'll see… Your parents gave you up because they had to.”

The scabs over her heart felt like they had been picked off with his words. How many times had she told herself the same lies? And with the grand reveal of her origins it only seemed more likely that she had just been an inconvenience, that she hadn't been tragically ripped from their arms and lost or whatever other story she had concocted to comfort herself.

Henry, bless him, was still young enough to believe that where he came from was better than where he was as a Mills.

She reached out and took him in her arms, holding him the way she wish she had been held when she had gotten lonely. He hugged her back, generously not complaining about the beadwork pressing into his face. The world was theirs for a moment, two lost children finding solace with each other.

Then the screams started.

Emma turned to see the crowd clawing away from the center, desperate for the doors. They shut and locked without explanation. There was a single pair of giggles weaving through the growing hysteria, manic and pleased. A split second glimpse between passing bodies showed the Dark One had appeared in the middle of it all, dressed to the nines and clutching some poor woman. Was that-

The curtains caught fire, and the tablecloths. The potted plants and decorations went up next, including a giant “welcome” banner. Equipment started to explode and the poor musicians went flying.

The panic only grew, and people were starting to shove and barrel through. Emma shielded Henry with her body, rushing him to one of the fallen speakers.

“Hide behind this,” she said, “I’ll come back for you.”

Wild eyes looked up at her as she pulled away from him, “What about my mom?!”

“I’ll get her out too, just stay out of the way.”

The smoke was thickening, only sending the trapped into a larger frenzy. Even in this chaos she couldn't switch personas, and hoped Neal was in a better position.

She covered her mouth and nose, one look telling her she wasn't getting anywhere near the door. The windows though… Some of the men were using chairs to try and break them, but there were openings. She ran across the room, fidgeting with her ring. The diamond rotated in its setting, a sharp point of it now protruding. The layperson, had they been watching, might've thought Emma punched the glass with her bare fist, but it was the diamond edge that met with the window. A spiderweb of cracks formed, reaching to beyond Emma's height, and when she pulled the ring out the shards of glass rained down, leaving an adequate gap.

“Hurry!” She yelled, shepherding whoever she could find to the opening. Gratefully they poured out onto the mayor's lawn, running as far as they needed to for safety. She coughed and blinked back tears, but refused to leave until she could no longer see any stragglers.

She stumbled to where she had left Henry and found him, his head turtled into his dress shirt. She tried to pick him up but she couldn't, he was too big.

“HENRY!” She shouted, but either he had passed out or he was too frozen to comply, “Henry you gotta help me buddy…”

A second pair of arms joined hers and when she looked up, she looked into the determined eyes of her partner.

“I’ve got him!” He yelled and Emma let go. Neal scooped him up into a fireman's carry and rushed towards the escape, Emma only a step behind.

She gulped in air as they hit the outdoors, neither of them stopping until they were well clear of it. Neal bent to set Henry down, checking him over.

Emma took a quick survey of the group who were standing nearby, trying to come to terms with the sudden sequence of events and watching the mayor's home slowly go up in flames. Without a head count Emma couldn't tell for certain who all they were missing… But there was at least one obvious person who wasn’t out.

Before she could make it two steps Neal had grabbed her arm.

“Regina's still in there!” She protested, “She could be stuck!”

“You’re not going back into that death trap!” He snapped.

Emma tried to break free. Neal twisted her around to face him, “You know what my job is, right?”

“To protect me…” She muttered.

“To protect you,” he agreed, “And sometimes that means I gotta save you from your own stupid self.”

“I promised Henry,” she defended weakly.

Neal didn't budge, “I’m sure she'll make it out. Cockroaches survive practically anything, right?”

Emma couldn't even fake a laugh. She stared helplessly at where she had been dancing not that long ago. Regina may have been a heartless narcissistic diva… But she didn't deserve to go out like that.

Regina's evening might have been literally going up in flames around her, but all she could hear was her mother's “I told you so”. As the fire continued to eat up her home, she attempted to focus enough to conjure water to try and put it out. All she could manage was wind, which only exacerbated the problem.

If she didn't know any better, she would think it was a coincidence that the fire was pressing her farther away from the exits and deep into one of the corners. She wondered if he was going to kill her. She knew it had to be him, and not just a bad wiring job. Her mind turned to Henry. Oh god Henry…

The fire stopped its advance and even the smoke kept a respectful distance. The curtain of flames parted and her former hostage stepped through, the gold dress shimmering as though she herself was on fire.

“They say Emperor Nero played the fiddle while Rome burned around him,” she remarked calmly. Behind her Regina could see the Dark One, the ordinary suit a jarring contrast from his glittering complexion. He paced back and forth, his eyes fixed on her predatorily, “Most historians today disagree; Nero wasn’t even in Rome at the time. But that’s not nearly as compelling an image, is it?”

Belle walked closer and Regina pressed herself against the wall, causing a sinister giggle to slip out of the brunette.

“You’d know all about propaganda though, wouldn’t you? Exaggerating and lying to make a sensational story, working it to your advantage...”

“His brainwashing was not my doing,” Regina protested, “You can’t blame me for that.”

All it took was a glance and suddenly Rumple was at her throat, choking her and snarling like the rabid animal he was. She clawed at his hand, unable to breathe.

“From the moment I stepped into the Dark Castle I haven’t done a thing that I didn’t want to do,” Belle insisted, “Which is more than I can say since coming back from the hospital with you.”

“Please,” Rumple hissed, “Pleasepleasepleaseprettyprettypleasewithsugarontopletmeripherthroatout.”

Silence filled the small battlefield. Regina tried to look past her hate-filled mentor, to the woman she was beginning to feel she had underestimated, but Rumplestiltskin refused, forcing her to look into his eyes. He loathed her for this, and clearly wanted that hatred to be the last thing Regina ever saw.

“No.”

Rumple’s face scrunched up, “But…but poopsie-kins… She deserves to die.”

“Yes, she does,” Belle agreed, “But I’d much rather her live and know that her comfortable ivory tower is going to come crashing down one day. I want her to exist to fear our retribution, to wake up every day wondering what on earth is in store for her.”

He trilled at her words, looking over his shoulder, “Have you always been this devious, dearie?”

“Yes, so don’t cross me. Now I’m tired, hungry, in need of a hot shower and a hard fuck. We’ll play with our mouse later.”

Regina was dropped like a piece of trash, and the Dark One pranced over to his mistress’s side. She took his hand and wrapped the arm around her, nestling into him as intimately as any couple. The fire’s smoke pillared around them, growing thicker and thicker before it rushed out, putting out the inferno that had once been her ballroom.

The ambulances and fire trucks arrived as the inferno mysteriously went out as suddenly as if it was just a candle. Emma looked up from where she had been cradling Henry and sighed in relief at the sight of medics. She wasn’t liking how he was breathing, or how he was pretty out of it, and didn’t have anything on her to help. Neal immediately went to scoop him up again.

“He’ll be alright,” he assured Emma, “Kid’s as tough as they get.”

“I should have gotten him out first,” she muttered, walking with him to the line that was starting to queue for EMTs.

“You got him and everyone else out, that’s what matters.”

Ready to contradict him, Mayor Mills stormed towards them, “Miss Charming, Mr. Cassidy, may I ask what you’re doing with my child?”

“We’re hoping they’ll use chest compressors on him, ma’am. Otherwise he’s a goner,” Neal deadpanned.

Emma fought the urge to roll her eyes, “We were just looking out for him. Not planning on kidnapping him or anything.”

Regina opened her mouth but Henry let out a rough cough, glancing towards her, “Mom, you made it out…”

The mayor’s demeanor softened, “Well I had to make sure you were okay, didn’t I?”

Neal gently set Henry down and he went to hug onto his mother. He looked up at Emma with a reverence that made her insides squeeze together.

“You saved us,” he murmured.

Emma shrugged, “I guess so,” she admitted.

“I knew you were a hero.”

And, despite the fact she had saved hundreds of lives before this doomed event, his words warmed her heart.

III

“Well that was a waste of time,” Commissioner Lucas declared as she started the patrol car. Her deputy buckled her seatbelt, “Can’t say I feel too sorry for her, and she’s lucky no one died. You hungry, Ruby?”

“A little,” she admitted, even if it was 3 in the morning. The fact her grandmother asked her was a formality; cases like this meant the Widow Lucas wasn’t going to sleep, and when she didn’t sleep she went to her favorite haunt, a 24-hour diner called Granny’s.

Ruby had pointed out on several occasions the irony of that being her favorite restaurant, given what Ruby had always called her. The humor was lost on the old wolf.

She picked at the fabric of her pants, staring out the window, “…he took her again, the French woman.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re going after him this time, aren’t we? We know she’s alive, we can’t just let him get away with, with what he’s doing to her.”

The Commissioner was silent, watching the road more than strictly necessary, “…I would have gone after her right away if I could have,” she confessed, “He’d be back in the Enchanted Forest, they all would be. But it’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is,” Ruby insisted, “That’s our job, isn’t it? To serve and protect?”

“And not be foolish,” she pulled into a parking space, turning off the car and looking at her granddaughter, “I’ve seen the Dark One take out small armies; I’m not sending my men and women on a half-baked suicide mission.”

“It really makes it that much better to let someone suffer?”

“The needs of the many, Red. You can’t just focus on one person.” She stepped out.

Ruby huffed, jamming the release on her seatbelt, “Don’t give me that “childhood nickname” crap; you’re still wrong,” she muttered under her breath.

Granny had been in the system too long; she was a regular bureaucrat. They needed a little less pussyfooting and a little more actually doing something to help the people of Storybrooke.

She trailed after her grandmother, “You’re gonna be sorry when I work my way up the ladder a bit more and have actual power,” she warned, hopping up on the stool next to her, “Because I won’t just sit on my thumbs and hope for an opening. No ma’am, I’m going to actually-“

“Hush.”

The severity of the command was harsher than usual, which was saying something. Ruby turned to her only to watch her staring intensely at the napkin dispenser. She tapped a finger against her forearm twice and Ruby glanced in the direction she was “pointing”. Sitting in a booth plain as day was Erzabel French, a little sooty and still in her gala get-up. Outstretched clawed scaly hands showed who was sitting across from her.

Belle watched her partner, unable to keep a straight face. Her hands, hovering underneath his, suddenly twisted up to slap his. He was too quick however and pulled them away, causing him to giggle and flail his arms like a small child. They had to take a break from whatever game they were playing when the server dropped off a strawberry shake with, naturally, two straws.

It almost looked like a normal couple having a date… If it wasn’t for that pesky arson crime a few hours ago.

Ruby reached for her belt but her grandmother rested a hand on her arm.

“Granny,” she hissed, “He’s right there, we could end this.”

“You’ll get both of us killed.”

“Not if I get him first.”

Commissioner Lucas looked her in the eye, “You might be going after the victim.”

Granny had lost it. There was no way that a woman used as a human shield and held hostage could be the one with the power. But while Granny had her decaf coffee, Ruby watched the pair as much as she could. And while Belle seemed happy, Rumplestiltskin was the one hanging on her every word and movement.

#ouat #once upon a time #rumbelle fic #Nanananananana nananananana Bat-Man A-U

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