#It is finally out if my brain and is free to terrorize the locals | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

paulbunyanstatue · 3 years ago

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When Tim’s head finally dropped and landed heavily on Bruce’s arm with a small snore passing through his parted lips, the man understood patrol over Gotham’s twilight-shadowed streets was coming to an end for the night. Batman and Robin already stopped two attempted robberies and helped a small child find her parents after accidentally wandering away from a local gas station in the middle of a long overnight trip through the town. Tim was never as talkative as Dick on patrol, or even Jason for that matter, but Bruce noticed when he became particularly quiet just after the Gotham clock rang midnight. Bruce wondered if something related to his schooling was bothering the kid, but Tim just said they were fine when Bruce asked about the classes he was taking. Bruce then asked how Tim’s father was, wondering if the quiet demeanor was due to an argument at home, but Tim said he was fine too.

Bruce understood when Tim’s eyes slipped closed the first time, long past a blink and shown in a mimicking movement of the lenses of his domino mask. His chin slowly inched down toward his own chest and Bruce bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He found it hilarious that the kid could sleep anywhere. Bruce once found him stretched across Dick’s old gymnastic bars in the bat cave, mouth hung ajar and feet dangling over the edge. Alfred found Tim sprawled out across a pool table one evening. He and Dick had been playing but when the older stepped away to accept a work phone call, Tim fell asleep there. Bruce's favorite by far was finding Tim standing propped up against the desk at the bank, bo staff extended and acting as a support beam, while Bruce finished apprehending the robbers. Now, Bruce cleared his throat and pretended not to see when Tim’s head snapped up alongside the sudden widening of the gray lens. The second time Tim fell asleep on patrol that night, the child’s temple landed resting against Bruce’s upper arm and he glanced carefully at his gauntlet to see it was nearly two o’clock in the morning. The hour was earlier than he would normally call off patrol, but the idea of keeping Tim out of a bed for much longer felt heavy in his chest.

Bruce purposefully scuffed his boot against the edge of the building on which the pair were perched, climbing to his feet in the process and watching from the corner of his eye as Tim scrambled up on shaky legs. Bruce knew those blue eyes were blown wide underneath the mask with the surprise of suddenly being woken up. He guided Tim to the opposite edge of the building, momentarily considering they grapple to the neighboring roof to further wake him. But he dismissed that as exceptionally dangerous given his Robin had already fallen asleep twice that night.

Tim crouched down next to Batman, purposefully on his haunches in favor of sitting comfortably flat on the ground, and crossed his arms over his knees. Bruce was bored tonight, but he couldn’t deny he preferred it this way on the evenings that he was accompanied by a child. He still felt his skin crawl when they were forced to fight a violent rogue, particularly after Tim was trapped in a silo with Dick acting violently on fear gas. Bruce often thought back to that night and his cheeks flushed with shame. He despised the way he reacted, so caught up in his anger and terror that he made Tim feel small and like a failure. Alfred had given Bruce a sharp, furious look when he found out what happened during Robin’s rescue that evening. He gave Bruce the silent treatment and provided disappointed looks until Bruce relented and apologized to Tim in earnest.

After another hour of silence disturbed only by the tearing of tires along a road and one screeching car alarm sounding (which was followed by a muttered curse by the owner before the noise ceased and left an echoing of this disturbance in the quiet air), Bruce granted them both the opportunity to go home. Catching up on sleep would benefit him too, as it turns out. He knows he’s heard that enough from Alfred.

“Robin,” his gravely voice was only a hint softer than usual, even Tim had a difficult time noticing. “Come.” With a bitten groan, Tim stood up and stretched up toward the polluted sky, bending his back and yawning largely.

Like a cat, Bruce thought. No wonder Selena thought the kid was adorable.

“What’s happening, Batman?” Tim whispered, listening carefully for sirens. “Did you get a call?”

“No,” Bruce responded easily. “We are done for the night. The streets are gentle enough.”

Tim nodded in agreement. They did seem gentle enough.

They approached the edge of the roof and Bruce glanced down at the hard concrete far below their feet, and sudden terror filled his mind. This particular fear consisted of seeing Robin sprawled out on the sidewalk, so far from the roof and twisted on the ground next to a missed or broken grapple, was a near-constant nuisance in the back of his mind. Sometimes in the thick of his anxious dreams, he still heard the sound of Dick’s parents when they fell to their death before him, a sickening thud that echoed throughout the crowd. Today and standing next to one so tired brought that thought forward with a blow to his gut.

“Robin...” he began, a hesitant whisper that brought Tim blinking largely up at him. “I’m going to repel us both down, okay?”

Tim frowned at the notion. He hadn’t repelled with Bruce since his first few training days when he was still growing accustomed to the sensation of falling that flooded his belly after his feet left the roof top, save one instance in that silo when Tim’s grappling hook was broken. But other than that, Bruce had always trusted that Tim was able to do that himself. Tim was suddenly riddled with the fear that he did something wrong, something to anger Bruce. The man called off patrol early in the night and now he was ordering Tim not to use his own grappling hook. Tim warily looked out at the night sky and wondered if Bruce was planning on firing him.

The thick silence stood in companionship to the changes of worry dancing across the face before Bruce, and he tried to soften the lines tracing his own jaw in response. He could clarify his reasoning, and he even knew that he should do that to alleviate the tension and anxiety. He should tell Tim that he saw him falling asleep and this was simply a precaution, nothing more. But instead, he beckoned the boy with a glove and ordered, “Come.”

Tim’s heels begged to remain planted on the concrete roof, urging him to defend his place as Batman’s new Robin. But his sworn obedience pushed him forward anyway, nearer to Bruce. He tried to ignore the arm wrapping around his waist and the feeling of being pulled against Bruce’s chest as his feet lifted from the ground, but an embarrassed flush colored his cheeks anyway. The position was comfortable and he wished for this modified hug more often after having had the privilege of being held by the very person that he could never admit out loud to holding a parental position in his mind. But his stubborn brain reminded him harshly of the reality surrounding him. Bruce wasn’t his father, and Tim believed Bruce saw him as more of a business partner. Batman and Robin; Tim knew that from the very start of the arrangement.

Tim saw Bruce act fatherly toward his first two Robins, even during their time spent as “normal people.” He had witnessed Bruce hugging Dick and draping his arm around Jason’s shoulders at the fancy parties his own parents forced him to. He witnessed Bruce murmur jokes to his children who snickered in response and shoved him back playfully, and Tim watched as they shared food from a single plate and silently mimicked the ridiculous high society that surrounded them. Tim longed for that attention as he turned back to his own parents who hardly spoke to him during these parties. Instead, they waved toward him and bragged about his grades to other parents who also didn’t really care.

Tim wanted those hugs and shoulder drapes as well, as Bruce’s new Robin. But that was different, Dick and Jason were actually Bruce’s sons. And Tim was not his-

Tim’s feet landed on the solid alleyway stone, his heel dipped in a sticking puddle, and didn’t that suit his situation perfectly?

“Come on,” Bruce said again and Tim sucked in a deep breath through his nose. Bruce never wasted his time on patrol ordering Tim to follow. That was a mandatory expectation since his very first day wearing the dark cape and R across his chest. But he did follow, tailing closely behind Bruce until he slid silently into the passenger seat of the sleekly-hidden Batmobile. He buckled his seat belt as Bruce started the engine from his place behind the wheel.

“Batman,” Tim began, forcing his voice louder than the mere whisper he wished to produce. Bruce grunted in question. “Are we patrolling somewhere else tonight?”

“At home in a bed,” Bruce answered smoothly.

“And is something wrong with my grapple?”

“I sure hope not.” The same easy answer.

Tim bit his lower lip and thought, so Bruce doesn't care that he is ridding himself of me so soon after allowing me to join in crime-fighting. Ouch. Tim took another deep breath and silently worked on removing his domino mask, snatching the solution from the glove box and slowly peeling the corners from his face. When at last he was free of the mask, he stared out the window and watched the street lamps pass by with a pale yellow glow, seemingly taunting Tim throughout the long drive back home.

Not home, Tim reminded himself sharply. Even though he stayed there a few times overnight when patrol leaked into dusk and when he suffered an injury that required him a safe bed in Bruce’s sick bay and guest bedroom, it was not his home. Tim had a home and he had a living father, and Bruce wasn’t his dad. He crossed his arms protectively over his chest, sinking lower into his seat and purposefully ignoring the confused look it gained from Bruce. He watched the shadowed alleyways pass by as his temple fell back to lean against the head rest so he could only watch the streets pass them by. Tim did not notice when his eyes slipped closed.

Bruce finally pulled into the cave entrance and threw another glance toward Tim. The kid was still asleep and Bruce had to fight the urge to chuckle because the poor guy must have been exhausted to sleep through the bumping terrain that brought them back. He turned off the ignition and faced Tim once more.

“Tim?” He whispered, pushing back his own cowl. But the kid still didn’t stir. Bruce couldn’t bring himself to shake Tim awake, and he instead slid out of his own seat and glided over to the passenger side where he opened the door. He bent over and moved toward Tim, just about to slide an arm under his knees and the other behind his back when he quickly froze. What am I doing? His thoughts halted. This child already has a father, someone who specifically is not Bruce. He couldn’t overstep the barrier that sternly separated himself as a mentor from that of a parent, especially while Tim was positioned so that he had no say in the matter.

Sure, he had carried both Dick and Jason inside after they fell asleep either during patrol or the car ride after, but they were his children. Tim already knew Bruce adopted the two Robins that preceded him, but that knowledge itself wasn’t permission for Bruce to fill a similar position in his own life, no matter how much Bruce believed he needed and deserved it. Tim staying at Bruce’s manor several nights each week without so much as a phone call from his father was proof enough that Tim wasn’t receiving attention like one deserved.

But simply having an absent father was not an invite for Bruce to become his. Despite this, Bruce couldn’t leave him in the car to wake up cold and alone, and he definitely couldn’t wake up that face that relaxed so peacefully while dreaming. And so despite his screeching brain, he reached forward and snaked his arms under Tim, one under his knees and the other behind his back, and he lifted him up to rest against his chest. At the touch, Tim unconsciously moved closer, turning his head toward the warmth that held him, but he otherwise did not stir. This brought a smile to Bruce’s lips.

He carefully carried Tim toward the staircase leading up to the main house’s library, stopping only to flick the lights off. As he entered the manor, he was met with Alfred’s near-frown. It was an expression that meant he was awaiting an explanation for something that he already knew he would not agree with. Bruce shrugged carefully in response to the blatant disappointment at disobeying the one rule of 'no Batman and Robin in the main house.'

“He fell asleep in the car. I couldn’t leave him down there.”

“You could have woken him to change out of the suit first,” Alfred responded coolly, though Bruce noticed the man spoke in a hushed whisper to avoid senselessly waking Tim. Bruce gave him a pointed look and guided the man’s gaze down to the sleeping face below them, only chest-high to Bruce and with his cheeks puffed out with the exhales of the unconscious. Neither man could feign supporting the idea of purposefully waking Tim.

Bruce slipped past Alfred with a swear to clean himself up after he put Tim to bed, something that notably did not receive argument. He climbed the stairs slowly, careful not to jostle Tim too much during the ascent. Despite the efforts, Tim’s eyes cracked open at the top of the stairs as Bruce carried him toward the bedroom door that Alfred and Bruce knew as Tim’s room. His expression flickered from confusion to realization and frustration all in the span of one second. Tim frowned up at Bruce, face so disgruntled that Bruce was forced to swallow a laugh as he met the fierce gaze.

“I can walk.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he stated with a hint of humor still present.

“Bruce, are you going to fire me?” Tim’s voice was firm, a question of business leaving no room for his personal feelings that could so easily be hurt right now.

Bruce didn’t feel the need to laugh anymore; the urge was replaced efficiently with an ache of stabbing guilt. “What?” He whispered. His feet stopped carrying the pair forward immediately, and he was frozen on the carpet.

“I promise I can do better. I am really sorry.” The plea was in stark contrast to the hardness of his previous tone. Now apprehension and begging pounded heavily from behind his words, born deep in his gut. It was obvious Tim didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but he still hoped it would change Bruce’s mind. Tim looked down at the Robin suit he still wore and visibly relaxed a fraction, hoping that because Bruce hadn't already snatched it from him meant it wasn’t too late for Tim.

“Tim, what are you apologizing for?” Bruce asked, voice still hushed but presenting a hint of worry. He did not know what he had missed in the time between driving Tim home and now, standing on the second floor of the mansion and holding the child.

Tim’s eyes met Bruce's for a brief moment before falling and landing at his collar instead, while he threaded the corner of his own cape through shaking fingers. He stayed quiet for longer than Bruce was comfortable with, but the man waited in patient silence anyway while Tim wracked his brain for the thing he supposedly did wrong. “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough, but I promise I will be. I will try even harder.”

“Tim,” Bruce began again, eyebrows furrowing and tightening his grip on Tim protectively. You have nothing to apologize for. You are already trying so hard and it shows with your excellent work. You are good enough and you have been from the very beginning because you are strong and brilliant and loyal and-

“Please don’t fire me,” Tim whispered before Bruce could spit out any of the overwhelming thoughts that cluttered his worried mind.

“I am not firing you. What is this about?” He asked, instead.

“Patrol ended early tonight, and you didn’t trust me to grapple down from that building...” Tim rambled softly, picking at his fingernail with intense interest.

“I ended patrol and grappled down with you because you fell asleep-“

“I didn’t fall asleep,” Tim snapped gruffly and Bruce couldn’t help the challenge in his fast-lifting eyebrow. Tim appeared sheepish as his cheeks colored, and he murmured softly, “I’m sorry. I promise it will never happen again.”

“You aren’t in trouble for falling asleep, and you aren’t fired. You were tired so we came home a little early,” Bruce stated firmly.

“What?” Tim stiffened, suddenly feeling very small while still clutched firmly in Bruce’s strong arms, who stood like a rock as though Tim’s weight was not a hindrance. “I’m not in trouble?”

“Of course not, sweetheart.” And now it was Bruce’s turn to freeze. He couldn’t believe he allowed that word to slip from his lips while speaking to Tim Drake, the child technically in his care as Batman and Robin, but one that already had a father. Tim was not another orphan in need of love and attention, waiting for Bruce to take him into his home.

“Oh,” Tim whispered, staring with pupils blown and cheeks darkening further. And against all odds, Bruce felt Tim relax in his arms as he returned his head to the man’s chest. With a deep breath of relief, Bruce continued his trek. “But, I really can walk now. You didn’t have to carry me.”

“I’m expecting you to carry me up all of these stairs next time,” Bruce responded easily, earning a small giggle.

“Won’t Alfred be mad about us wearing all of this stuff up here?” Tim murmured, lightly kicking his boot-covered toes and holding a corner of his cape up as clear evidence of their misdemeanor.

“Oh don’t worry about that, I already told Alfred it was your fault.” Bruce tossed Tim onto the bed-Tim’s bed, as it was in Bruce’s and Alfred’s minds. Tim saw the room as the guest bedroom because he didn’t know it was only ever occupied by him. He remained seemingly oblivious to the fact that Alfred had purchased posters of Tim’s favorite movies for the walls and Bruce lined the bookshelves with comics, novels, and figurines all for him. Tim noticed the items, but he assumed they belonged to Dick.

Tim landed on the mattress with a surprised burst of air forced out in the shape of a laugh. Where Dick would complain dramatically while wearing a smirk and Jason would bite back with a playful eye roll, Tim just giggled at Bruce’s antics. Bruce thought they were all three so perfect.

“Do you need to call your father?” Bruce asked, trying to sound passive though watching carefully as Tim toed off his boots and unclipped his cape, tossing them both to the floor in a messy heap. He worked hard to hide the bitterness in his voice regarding Tim’s distant upbringing, but it shone violently when he spoke in private about the matter to Alfred.

“Nah, he’s probably asleep, and he won’t want me to bother him. I’ll text him tomorrow,” Tim’s voice didn’t waver because this negligence was considered normal based on years of experience. Bruce swallowed a frustrated growl that threatened to break through with force and fury, and he turned to the dresser.

“Want clean clothes? We put some of Dick’s old t-shirts and shorts in here for you.” Tim’s chest thumped sore hearing that. Being offered Bruce’s child’s clothing seemed very personal, very loving. But Tim reminded himself that he was not Bruce’s son, though he often wished to be. He wanted from Bruce what he didn’t get from his own father, the things he saw at those fancy parties from afar, painfully apparent with the hugs and forehead kisses. The taste of it he had when he woke up being carried to the guest bedroom instead of left in the dark cave downstairs. Tim longed for that. Bruce didn’t notice his dilemma, and he continued muttering instead, “Most of it is Superman-themed because he is a brat...”

“But you love him,” Tim stated aloud, catching Bruce by surprise. Bruce had noticed that this particular one had a tendency to do that. He surprised Bruce when he admitted he knew he was Batman. He surprised Bruce daily with his impressive detective skills. He surprised Bruce now. The man turned toward him with eyebrows high, but Tim ducked around his look as he hopped off the bed and approached the dresser. The words sounded like a spoken fact but felt almost like a question to Bruce, and so he answered it.

“I do love him.” He confirmed as he watched Tim shuffle through Dick’s clothes before settling on a Mario and Luigi t-shirt and a black pair of shorts.

“And you loved Jason,” another statement-question hybrid as he slipped into the attached bathroom, closing the door and peeling his suit from his body.

“I will always love Jason,” Bruce answered firmly through the door. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

He winced as he said it. Another slip that sounded a bit too parental. Though he couldn’t deny the tug at his chest when he heard the faucet turn on and the sound of bristles against teeth whispered underneath the door.

And of course Tim had a toothbrush in his bathroom at the manor.

“Because they are your sons.” Tim stepped out of the bathroom moments later and walked to the bed, crawling atop and sitting on the warm duvet. “Your mishpachah.”

Bruce slowly approached the bed, tilting his head and drawing his eyebrows with concern. “I love them because I love them. They are my mishpachah and the rest is an added privilege. Is something wrong?”

Tim grinned widely in response and shook his head. “‘Course not, Bruce.” But something was wrong and Tim wasn’t sure how to voice it. “I was just wondering is all.”

The gut feeling deep in Bruce's abdomen poked him and whispered, he’s lying. Bruce hummed in response and gave the kid a scrutinizing look, eyes narrowing slightly. Tim just continued to wear a goofy grin, and Bruce reached out and dropped a hand softly to the top of his head. Tim giggled between his teeth and continued to watch Bruce with an interested look of his own.

“Tim,” Bruce spoke with a light voice, gentle and warm. “You know, you are also my mishpachah.” Tim’s eyes widened comically and his mouth clenched tightly closed. “Even though you don’t live here, you are my family.”

Tim bit at his lip, and he lowered his eyes for a moment. He thought of Dick’s clothes that he wore, his toothbrush drying in the bathroom, this bedroom that he always stayed in when he spent the night at Bruce’s. He thought of Bruce carrying him inside the mansion when he could have simply woken him up. Tim tends to sleep like the dead, or so his father told him, but if he were pulled out of the car by an arm, he would have eventually woken up. Finally, the corner of his mouth lifted in a shy smile, and he whispered, “Thank you.”

Bruce smiled with pride and continued, “You did an excellent job tonight, Timothy.”

“Timothy,” he parroted with a snicker. “So formal.” Bruce rolled his eyes and ruffled Tim’s hair with that hand that still rested on his head. He then stepped away from him while Tim slid under the covers and laid his head on the pillow. Gravity was already pulling his eyelids closed to sleep once more. “Thanks, Bruce. G’night.”

“Goodnight, Tim.” He had to stop himself from leaning in and pressing a kiss to Tim’s forehead. Because the kid already had a father, no matter how much Bruce wanted to fill that role. “Sleep well, ziskayt.”

Though truth be told, he already considered this child his own.

:) The rest can be found here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32502511/chapters/80612944

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sunshineseung · 4 years ago

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Little Secret // Changbin

🍄 | genre: smut mini-series ☁️ | pairing: Seo Changbin x female!reader 🌿 | wc: 2k 🌸 | includes: plot *yawn*, masturbation, fear of being caught, actually being caught, most of the hot and heavy stuff happens in the other parts lmao

☀️ | synopsis: Seo Changbin is your brother’s best friend. He comes over all the time, and you practically grew up together. If only you hadn’t gotten a crush on him. If only he knew how hard you had fallen for him.

You and your brother had never been as close as your parents had hoped. Jisung was always loud and obnoxious, making friends everywhere he went and never looking back. You were much more comfortable by yourself, spending night after night alone while Jisung was out partying. Your shelf was full of books and fandom memorabilia while your brother’s shelf was covered in dust and toy robots from his youth he refused to get rid of. His GTA V poster covered the wall next to his bed while the only decoration in your room was the fairy lights and fake vines around the perimeter of your walls. These fundamental differences pushed you away from your brother, and after several years, you turned more into a punchline for Jisung to discussed jokingly with his friends while he was just the annoying older brother you’d wished would move out.

As much as you wanted to leave home and go to a prestigious college, your parents insisted you go to the same local college as Jisung for at least a year “just to try it out,” a.k.a they didn’t have enough money to send you away, which was reasonable. You and your brother, still under the same roof, fought to no end over the smallest things: loud music, messy bathroom, eating each other’s leftovers. Just about anything was fair game when the light-hearted hatred was so tense.

There was one bright side, though. Since Jisung entered Kindergarten, he was close to a boy named Changbin. You grew up with Changbin at your house, and even when your family moved 20 minutes away from him, he would always be there. There was nothing separating Jisung and Changbin.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have the slightest crush on Changbin. While Jisung was only one year older than you, Changbin was two years older, and that initially intimidated you. His intimidating and off putting nature is what drew you in, but his glowing smile and gorgeous face only made you fall harder. You couldn’t explain your feelings for Changbin when you were in middle school, and even now, it was hard to describe the overwhelming nervousness that overcomes you when you’re in his vicinity. As high school went on, you knew you couldn’t be with him, but while you had your head in books throughout high school, Changbin was going to his college’s gym. His smile was one thing, and that was good for a middle school crush, but his insane arm and chest muscles send you through the moon in high school, and the image of Changbin shirtless at your neighborhood pool has been etched in your brain since your junior year of high school.

But now you’re in college. You’re a greasy little freshman while Changbin is a worn-out junior. There’s no way in hell you can shoot your shot, even if you’re both adults. And to make things even more impossible, Jisung would never allow his best friend to date his little sister. That would ruin him.

As improbable as it was, you still loved to fantasize about Changbin, spending most of your time alone daydreaming about his sculpted body above yours, praising you and making you feel like the only girl in the world.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

“Sis, could you put on some actual clothes, jeez.” Jisung covered his eyes dramatically as you entered the kitchen in your very appropriate shorts and tee shirt. You rolled your eyes and scoffed at him, punching him in the shoulder lightly.

“Changbin’s been coming over for how long? It’s fine.” Your response sounded steady, but your mind was buzzing. You didn’t know Changbin was coming over! Why are you never told about these things?! At this point, you should have assumed given it was a Friday night, but you’d still like some warning.

“Just because he’s used to it doesn’t mean he should be subjected to it!” Jisung went into the living room, arguing with you under his breath. Another stupid mini-fight for a stupid reason.

If anything, the information that Changbin was coming over would have only prompted you further to wear shorts and a thin tee shirt with no bra. As shy as you usually were, you still had the inexplicable want to be noticed by Changbin, even for a moment. Unfortunately, your brother adamantly tried to hide you from his friend, probably knowing Changbin always gets what he wants.

Jisung always babied you infront of Changbin, so you usually just stay in your room to protect yourself, and you’re sure Jisung would prefer that. Your parents worked late nights attempting to pay for their children’s college tuition, so when they came home well after midnight, they’d go straight to bed, uncaring for their adult children’s wearabouts. This gave Jisung the perfect opportunity to be as loud as he wanted in the living room, whether it was with a girl or one of his friends.

Tonight was going to be one of those loud nights, but that was nothing new. You always had a surefire way to fall asleep, regardless of the chatter going on downstairs.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

It was midnight. Why was he still here? You wanted to sleep more than anything, but the ruckus of your brother and his best friend chatting loudly downstairs prevented you from getting any sort of shuteye.

However, the only thing that can help you sleep is Changbin, or at least the thought of him. You reached to your bedside drawer and pulled out your bullet vibrator. If anything was going to help you sleep, it was an orgasm while imagining Changbin railing you like you’ve always wanted him to do since high school.

Although you hated to admit it, your thoughts of Changbin had been drifting towards the smuttier side since those days at the pool. All you could think about to get yourself off was Changbin, and no amount of other casual romantic partners could satiate your burning desire for Seo Changbin to fuck you on every surface in the house, including in your brother’s room while he was away. Every time you’d overhear Changbin talking about a new girl or his plentiful sex life, your face would flush red and you would wish that one day, he’d talk about you, but maybe not to Jisung. That would be too weird.

You undressed lazily, tossing your shirt and shorts onto the ground. You hesitated to take your underwear off, but there was no way you could properly get off with them on. Your panties joined the pile of clothes on the floor, and you spread your legs, tracing your fingers through your own heat, spreading your wetness across your holds. Your free hand eases the cold vibrator onto your clit, pressing the button at the top to turn it on. You bucked your hips into the toy, shutting your eyes and pretending that it’s Changbin holding it onto you, teasing you gently with every movement. His voice from downstairs echoed to your room, and the more you imagined his voice whispering the dirtiest sweet nothings into your ear, the closer you got to release.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

This was just supposed to be a fun little game of truth or dare, a common occurrence between Changbin and Jisung. Truth or dare was their way to let their feelings out and have a bit of fun. Before suggesting a movie, Jisung offered his friend one last truth or dare.

“Dare.” Changbin crosses his arms, waiting for Jisung to respond to his response.

After a moment, Jisung’s face contorted into a smile like that of the Grinch before he stole Christmas. Changbin knew nothing good could come from that expression, but nevertheless, he was interested in what awful, terrible, no good idea his friend had come up with.

“I dare you to go upstairs and scare my sister.”

“That’s it?” Changbin was beyond confused. He’d thought Jisung had come up with a dare so evil, so vile, so wicked, that only the devil himself could come up with it, but to be fair, Jisung could easily have been more sinful than the devil.

“That’s it!” Jisung clapped his hands together in seeming victory. “Sneak up those stairs, go to the second room on the right, barge in, and give my good little sister a good little scare.” Jisung wasn’t letting go of his smirk. He still looked sinister, even after explaining such a boring, and honestly disappointing, dare. Changbin sighed, shrugged, and stood up from his seat, but before he could turn around, Jisung had one last thing to say: “Don’t take too long up there! I want to finish this movie.”

Changbin rolled his eyes and trudged on, tip-toeing up the stairs so you didn’t even hear him coming. Jisung was vibrating with giddiness, but Changbin couldn’t see. All he saw was the door to your room, looking more menacing than ever before. It’s such a lighthearted prank, why was Changbin so scared now? He reached for the doorknob, turned it quietly, and pushed the door open as fast as possible.

His first scream was that of a shitty jump scare in a horror movie, but his second scream was that of terror with a high-pitched tone. Nothing could have prepared him to see you, his best friend’s sister, a freshman at the college he was a junior in, with a vibrator pressed against your nether region. You were totally naked aside from your shirt that was pushed up over your tits. The sight made his body go pale, and he felt his soul leave his body. He didn’t run away; he was just frozen, but you hardly would have noticed him if it hadn’t been for his stereotypically girly scream. You threw your duvet over yourself, wrapping yourself up like a burrito.

“What the fuck, Changbin?” You raised your voice slightly, hardly able to yell since your voice was hoarse from the orgasm you’d just been denied by the rude interruption. Changbin couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even think, let alone defend himself. He stood in your doorway, eyes blown out, hand practically glued to the door handle. Jisung’s manic laughing can be heard from downstairs, but both your mind and Changbin’s were too fuzzy to tune in, although your minds were fuzzy for differing reasons.

Changbin let go of the handle and shut the door behind him. You squirm under your blanket burrito, adjusting yourself and getting ready for an attack from Changbin, but he doesn’t come near you. His back hits the door, and he holds his chest where his heart is. Once he calms down for a moment, he’s finally ready to speak.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” He takes a step towards you, but you lean back, scared of what he’s going to do to you. “Jisung dared me to scare you, and I- I didn’t know you were up here… doing that. I-”

“Changbin,” you cut him off, “just get out.”

He doesn’t move. He collects his thoughts one last time and takes another step closer to your bed. “Did you finish?”

“Changbin!” Your vocal cords had healed since being hoarse just seconds ago, and you were finally able to fully raise your voice.

“I’m gonna go back downstairs, but when that movie’s over, text me.” Fuck, you forgot you had his number. “I want to make it up to you.”

You’re beyond hesitant, but after a minute, you nod, and Changbin leaves your room without a word.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

An hour passes, and you reach over to your nightstand and grab your phone. Your messenger app stays open on the window with the empty text screen under Changbin’s contact. Ow, this is hurting your brain to think about. How could you ever get over yourself for fucking your brother’s friend, let alone the friend that’s watched you grow up. This was a mistake. Turn back now. Don’t text him, don’t text him, don’t text him.

Fuck it.

Your fingers fluttered over the screen, repeatedly typing and deleting the same message until it was perfect.

Is the movie over?

The ellipsis text bubble appears in the corner and your heart drops. You know your face is bright red, but you can’t help be excited while simultaneously feeling terrified.

The movie ended 10 minutes ago. You ready for me, princess?

No no no no no no no no

Ready when you are ;)

Oh my god oh my god oh my god

Come out to my car. I want to take you to my apartment so your brother can’t hear us.

No turning back now.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #seo changbin smut #changbin smut #skz changbin smut #stray kids changbin smut #kpop smut

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rueluxprince · 4 years ago

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Why Does Jin Guangyao Have So Many Goddamn Ships

This dude. I don’t know what is with him. He can be shipped with so many goddamn people, and you can find something in canon (show/novel/audio drama) to justify it. You like a specific trope? He’ll have a ship that gives it to you. (Lets extrapolate some from canon)

Qin Su/Jin Guangyao: Naive yet headstrong heiress trying to fight on the battlefield and contribute to the greater good. Bit off more than she could chew and was rescued by a gentle and quietly self-assured young man. Romance and comedy ensues as she vows to make him her husband! Flowers! Hijinks! Enlisting quirky handmaidens for advice! Jin Guangshan doesn’t exist in this one!

Lan Xichen/Jin Guangyao: hero saves the beauty, gay edition. Young bookkeeper wants to be worthy of noble young master’s esteem, works his ass off, puts himself in years of danger, finally climbs to the top and now must deal with the “is he or is he not” of romance in politics! Is he or is he not? He’s always at your house and gives you a free pass to his house and draws you exclusive paintings and only attends conferences hosted by you and trusts you completely! But he never says anything! Cue the yearning! The soft touches! Reminders of etiquette! Swooning into strong arms!

Jiang Cheng/Jin Guangyao: reluctant and accidental co-parents reluctantly and accidentally fall in love in the long years of raising a precocious nephew into adulthood. The kid turned out surprisingly okay, with a commendably hard moral backbone. One realizes it’s nice to have a perpetually angry grape ready to blow up in your defense. The other realizes someone closest to him is already fulfilling all his marriage requirements and he didn’t even know it! Domestic bliss! Cute kids! Internal struggles of sexuality! The italicized oh!

Nie Mingjue/Jin Guangyao: Noble and righteous leader recognizing and promoting downtrodden but talented beginner –> no good opinion forthcoming but still wants to care his own way older brother x turning down a dark path but still wants to go back the way things were younger brother –> So much resentment fierce corpse x unable to forget the guilt murderer –> they are buried together. Deteriorating relationship! Shakespearean tragedy! Ultimate darkness! Death! Eternity with each other!

(Honorable mention: 3zun - a wholesome ouroboros loop of death, mystery and found family)

Nie Huaisang/Jin Guangyao: you ever have that one childhood friend that takes care of you and indulges in your oddities and protects you with murderous looks and a scarred back even though he’s frailer than you are; and then that childhood friend murders your older brother but leaves you alive and still takes cares of you and spoils you and would drop everything to help you with a made up problem? And so you’re now left seething in rage because how dare he ruin you and love you all without pause?! Cue the revenge plots! Lies! Deceit! Best actor winners going toe to toe on the world’s biggest stage! Inner conflict! Angst! More conflicted plotting!

Mo Xuanyu->Jin Guangyao: You’re weak and a mess and constantly bullied and the only one in this huge and scary house that ever showed you kindness is your older half brother. He becomes a god in your eyes, all golden and brilliant and surrounded by equally golden and beautiful people you can never touch. But you still try despite everything because he’s the sun and he wanted you to thrive, and you’re just a little moth ramming head first into the flames. And when you’re scorched to the bone and everyone still keeps on trying to stomp you into ash and you finally decide to take revenge, you still can’t bring yourself to blame that splendid sun who were never yours in the first place. Resentments! Unrequited love! More angst! Inner courtyard intrigues! More tragedy! Poetic inner monologues!

Su She->Jin Guangyao: generous and focused ruler x dedicated and competent supporter. He gives you all the respect you need and you know in your soul you will die for him and you don’t care one whit about it. You protect his heart but you always stood one step behind. The position beside him is taken, often by a soft figure in golden silk, or an eminent figure in blue satin. Jealousy! Loud expressions of loyalty! Ego management! Pining and simping!

Xue Yang/Jin Guangyao - friends who murder together stays together. One causes wanton destruction and the other picks up after them. Not because he particularly cares that people are getting hurt but the cost analysis tells him it’s not worth the clean up. You pay for my shopping, I rip out the tongues of anyone that insults your mother. Lighthearted talks of murder! Scheming with friends! Lots of cursing! Dubious experiments! Lots of magical cursing! Friends with benefits!

Wen Ruohan/Meng Yao: local megalomanic tyrant sees this random ass kid all bloodied up and gleaming with spite and went “I would like to raise that one. I’ll give it a sword and I’ll teach him stuff and I won’t say I appreciate him but I will definitely save him from imminent danger.” And that kid acknowledges said tyrant as his teacher and tortures for him pretends to love him, all the while stealing his secrets and preparing to stab him in the back to win the war. Struggle! Trauma! Living in hardship! Double agent reminding themselves not to be conflicted! Psychological torture!

Wen Chao + Wen Xu: uhhhhhh, the canoodling with stepmom trope? Do we even go that far on tumblr? It’s a possibility I’ve considered for about two seconds and now I wish I could wash my brain out.

Jin Zixun~~Jin Guangyao: the “I know I’m slapping the me two years ago in the face with what I’m doing right now but it’s love so I don’t care” trope? All the Jins do this. The year before you were all “why are you always here you don’t belong here you bastard son” and now you’re all “wheres A-Yao he promised he would ambush this public menace with me owo?!??!!??” What a weakass motherfucker with weakass principles.

Honorable mentions:

Wei Wuxian + Jin Guangyao: best in law dynamics, potentially. Terrorizing the Cloud Recesses, eating lots of spicy food, hiding secrets in perfectly groomed hair, causing aneurysms in Lan Qiren, violating all the OH&S regulations Etc.

Lan Wangji + Jin Guangyao: best in law dynamics, actually. It’s a whole battle. Jin “I am physically incapable of seeing someone and not wanting to take care of it” Guang “yes I will be calling you Wangji and trying to give you stuff and show audible concern for your love life” Yao vs. Lan “I do not wish to know you I do not care for your seating arrangements do not ever invite me to your banquets again” Wang “just because you’re maybe dating my precious older brother does not mean I will not refute you to your face about my boyfriend at your banquet in front of said brother” Ji.

(And yes the last two are purely familial/platonic. And also everyone else? You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift is the most fitting theme song for half of them)

~more MDZS metas under #my thing# tag~

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

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It’s Been . . . a DAY 2/3

One month a few days, and finally I bring you chapter two! Sorry for the wait. Are you ready for Killian to have a bad day? And maybe a certain blonde makes it better?

Summary: Emma Swan bursts into Killian’s life in spectacular fashion - when her three year old pees on his office floor. Nevertheless, Killian is mesmerized by this tenacious woman. Perhaps fate will let them cross paths again …

Rated: G

Words: Just a bit over 2k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @teamhook @let-it-raines @winterbythesea @spartanguard @shireness-says @superchocovian @thesschesthair @resident-of-storybrooke @vvbooklady1256 @hookedonapirate @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @bethacaciakay @optomisticgirl @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @ekr032-blog-blog @itsfabianadocarmo @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @xsajx @jennjenn615 @zaharadessert

Chapter Two:

“That’ll be $2.50.”

It’s an innocuous statement, or it normally would be, but Killian has just escaped the office after a particularly nasty run-in with Zelena Green. Escaped her demands for the most ridiculous tax deductions (with no receipts, mind you) along with her shrill screeching and her terrifying claws - ahem, manicure - so swiftly that he apparently ran to the coffee shop empty handed.

“Um . . .” Killian’s panic mounts as he pats his jeans pockets and then his leather jacket with no success. “I think,” he chuckles awkwardly and throws the barista a lopsided and charming (he hopes) smile, “I forgot my wallet.”

The barista simply arches a brow at him, communicating quite clearly that she is immune to his wiles. She braces her arms on the counter and leans towards him.

“It’s still $2.50.”

He clutches the to-go cup in his hand so tightly that it threatens to pop the lid.

“I heard you, lass, and I plan on giving you the money. I just need to run back to the office -”

“You’re not going anywhere until you give me two dollars and fifty cents.”

For a moment, he wants to snap at her, but he learned long ago that he can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. He leans his hip against the counter casually, lowers his gaze a bit, and gives the barista his best smolder.

“You’re a good worker . . .” he finds her name tag, “Ashley. I admire that. I promise you can trust me. My office is only down the block. I’ll be back in a flash.”

“Or I’ll never see you again. Just give me the damn $2.50. I got my pay docked last week for the tinder being short, and I sure as hell won’t let it happen again.”

This is clearly not his day.

“$2.50 you said?” a voice over his shoulder asks.

Killian spins, recognizing that voice. His eyes widen with joy when he sees none other than Emma Swan standing there with a sparkle in her green eyes and a smirk on her lips. She leans around him to set her cup beside his.

“Just put his on my bill,” she tells the barista.

“I can’t let you do that,” he starts to protest, but Emma lifts a hand to stop his words.

“It’s the least I can do after . . . well, what happened to your floors.”

He chuckles lightly, and she blushes even as she shakes her head and lifts her gaze to the ceiling as if to say what’s a mother to do though, right?

“Fine by me,” Ashley says with a shrug, ringing up Emma’s purchase. “So that’ll be $6.15.”

Killian grimaces inwardly - this is a local place, and the prices are steep - but Emma doesn’t even flinch as she scans her card and then takes the receipt. She turns to Killian with a smile, holding out his to-go cup.

“I am in your debt,” he tells her.

Emma rolls her eyes and waves her hand. “Are you kidding? We’re even now.”

Killian racks his brain for a way to prolong this little encounter, but before his mind can connect to his vocal chords, Emma turns to the bar that holds the cream, sugar, and various shakers of spices. He hovers, his brain still refusing to cooperate, as she removes the lid of her cup and shakes some cinnamon on the swirls of whipped cream inside. He practically jumps when she ends up breaking the awkward silence first.

“You see, I didn’t really mind adding your $2.50 to my order. That’s nothing in this place.” She snaps the lid back on her cup and turns to face him. “Let me guess, regular coffee, black?”

He nods, a smile curling his lips as he takes a sip of said coffee. “Aye. And yours is?”

“Hot chocolate, actually. Most expensive thing on the menu besides the pastries, which is just unfair, in my opinion.”

Their gazes connect over the rims of their cups, and Killian catalogues the new information. She prefers hot chocolate over coffee, with whipped cream and cinnamon.

“That doesn’t happen to you often, does it?” she asks.

“Forgetting my wallet?”

“No, your charm not working.”

Killian tilts his head back and laughs. Then he saunters closer to her, bends his head, and lowers his voice.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She doesn’t seem to be visibly affected by his flirting in the least. Instead, she tosses him a casual smirk, one eyebrow arching. “Perhaps I would.”

His heart hammers in his chest as he searches her eyes. This woman is a bloody marvel. He had seen it even when she was falling apart in his office, and it’s even clearer now when she’s the one in control. His gaze falls to her lips, and he can’t help wetting his own. Abruptly, she clears her throat and takes a step back.

“I . . . uh, I really need to get back to my stuff.”

She hurries over to a table by the window and starts gathering up a laptop and some books and papers. A highlighter marker falls off and rolls across the floor. Killian picks it up and hands it to her.

“Thanks,” she mutters, color staining her cheeks.

“Work?”

“Uh, no,” she stammers, tucking hair behind both ears, “it’s school. My current job sucks, quite frankly, so I’m trying to get my degree.”

“That’s admirable,” Killan tells her sincerely. “In what?”

“Dental hygiene,” she wrinkles her nose adorably. “I know that’s stupid.”

Killian frowns. “Why in the world would you say that?”

Emma shrugs. “I mean, who likes teeth?”

He arches both brows as he bites down on his lower lip. “I can think of some reasons people would.”

She rolls her eyes again and smacks him in the arm. “You know what I mean!”

They both laugh then as he rubs at his arm exaggeratedly. “Okay, seriously, dentists like teeth. I mean, I assume they do.”

Emma shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, maybe some, but mostly I think they just know it will make them lots of money.”

“And that’s why you want to be a dental hygienist?”

Emma lifts her messenger bag and loops it over her shoulder. “I don’t need to be rich, but secure would be nice. I want to give Henry a good life, you know? And dental hygiene is steady work, steady pay, and good hours.”

Emma doesn’t seem to mind when Killian walks beside her as they leave the coffee shop.

“You’re a good mother, Emma. I still fail to see where any of that is stupid.”

She hitches the bag further up her shoulder, then takes another sip of her hot chocolate. “I don’t know. Aren’t I supposed to be studying something I’m passionate about? Instead, I’m being completely pragmatic. All I need for this career is an associate’s degree, which will take way less time and money.”

“I think we put way too much pressure on people to find a career - a passion, as you say. At the end of the day, a job is pragmatic. We need money to live, and a job gives us that.”

“Is that why you became an accountant?” Emma tilts her head and studies him as she asks the question. “You don’t seem the type. No offense.”

He scratches behind his ear. “None taken. And yes, I make good money at it, so that’s part of it. Liam and I went our entire childhood barely surviving, so we both vowed to change that when we were old enough.”

“I get that,” Emma mutters into her cup of hot chocolate. Killian wonders at the comment, but doesn’t press her.

“I do like numbers, though, so does Liam. We both excelled at that when we were in the Navy, and . . .” he shook his head. “It’s a dull story. We’ll just use the cliche the rest is history.”

Emma laughs, a free and easy thing in the early spring air, and Killian wants to hold onto it. For some reason, he gets the impression it’s a rare sound from her.

“I suppose going to school for accounting is about as interesting as dental hygiene.”

“Well, then, here’s to making a living,” he tells her cheerfully, extending his coffee cup.

She taps it with her cup of cocoa. “To making a living.”

They both sip, the air becoming charged again as their gazes linger. Then Emma glances over his shoulder, and her eyes light up.

“Flowers!”

She hurries over to the sidewalk display and picks up a bunch of snowdrops. “These are Mary Margaret’s favorite,” she said with a smile.

“Really? Elsa loves them too,” Killian says, gently touching a delicate white blossom. “Who is Mary Margaret?”

“My sister,” Emma tells him, her smile fond, “foster sister, technically. Eva and Leopold adopted me when I was twelve and Mary Margaret was sixteen. I was a terror, let me tell you.”

“You had been through a lot of pain, I’m sure.”

Emma studies him for a moment, slight surprise lighting her eyes. “Yeah, I had . . . but the three of them loved me anyway. And now, well, Mary Margaret is both my sister and my best friend. She and Eva both watch Henry for me while I work and study.”

“What about Leopold?”

Emma buries her nose in the snowdrops, “He passed away when I was still in high school.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Emma gives her head a quick shake. “The point is, Mary Margaret and Eva are both the absolute best. I don’t know what I would do without them. David’s not bad either, I guess.” She chuckles fondly.

“David?” He assumes by her laughter that he isn’t a boyfriend. Please don’t let him be a boyfriend.

“Mary Margaret’s husband. They’re newlyweds and completely nauseating.”

Killian treasures each tiny nugget of Emma’s life and files it carefully away. He wants to know so much more. How did she come to have Henry? Why is she raising him alone? What pain was she forced to endure those first twelve years of her life? Though he can imagine that last one fairly well. He and Liam had spent nearly that long shuffled from home to home after their mother’s death, Brennan Jones never wanting to take responsibility for his sons.

“I want to buy these for Jones & Jones,” Emma tells him, “as a thank you.”

“We’ve told you that it was no trouble. Besides, you bought my coffee, remember?”

Emma shakes her head. “I’ve been meaning to come by with flowers all week, but I was just too embarrassed. Please let me.”

Killian nods, albeit a bit reluctantly. He guesses that Emma is on a tight budget. She said her job sucks, and she’s caring for a toddler while also putting herself through school. He’s sure the small family she mentioned helps when they can, but still, she already spent over six dollars at the coffee shop, thanks to him. However, he can already see that she is a lass of great pride. He doesn’t want to insult her by refusing the gift.

Emma purchases the flowers, and then she walks with him the rest of the way to Jones & Jones. Elsa exclaims over the flowers just as Killian expected her to, even enveloping Emma in a hug. Ariel hugs her too and asks about Henry. Even Liam is lured away from his desk, and he ends up showing off pictures of little Ian to Emma. He and Elsa swap funny stories about raising a three year old, and before long, an hour has passed.

“Oh my God,” Emma suddenly gasps, “what time is it?”

“Almost five,” Elsa tells her.

“Shit, I’ve gotta go. Mary Margaret is expecting me soon, and Henry gets cranky when dinner is late.”

Killian stands there like an idiot as Emma rushes out in a whirlwind, leaving her now cold hot chocolate on the edge of Killian’s desk.

“Please tell me you asked her out this time,” Liam says once the door has shut behind her.

Killian groans. He didn’t even get her number.

“Maybe you’ll run into her again?” Ariel suggests, but there isn’t much faith in her voice.

Not that Killian blames her for her doubt. Fate gave him a second chance, and he doesn’t hold out much hope that it will give him a third.

#cs #cs ff #modern au #first meeting #and second meeting?#mommy!emma #single mom emma #little henry #fluff #humor

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

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Secret Santa

For @thatesqcrush’s Holiday Bingo!

Warnings: MANY. NSFW. Sexual assault (explicit about the immediate aftermath), trauma, angst, insecurity, eventually fluff.

Today my brain really wanted emotionally fragile traumatized Barba who has a crush on reader but doesn’t know if they’ll ever see him as anything but broken now. Also it’s Christmas.

Follow-ups: Te Quiero, Just Hold Me

Rafael Barba x Reader

3,000 words

Your ideal boyfriend would feed you chocolate like grapes in one of those ancient Greek paintings.

It was just an offhand remark you’d made at the bar one night in response to Rollins’s tipsy line of questioning about the perfect man. ADA Barba didn’t usually go out to socialize with the SVU squad, but he knew you were going to be there, so he went, too.

And not just any chocolate—no. Real, seventy-percent dark chocolate, single-origin beans. You preferred the fruity undertones of Madagascar cocoa, but were interested in exploring.

That was why Barba was carrying a box of expensive chocolate under his arm that night as he walked toward the 16th Precinct. He only agreed to participate in the SVU’s Secret Santa hoping he might get you, and was thrilled when he did. After a little trading. He knew Sonny would want Rollins, so it was easy to shuffle a few names around without making his own intentions obvious.

He bought a sampler box of fair-trade cocoas from around the world. The tag included a joke about feeding them to you, if you wanted. This year, Barba promised himself, he was going to admit his feelings for you.

Maybe it was foolish. You could have anyone. Why would you choose the cranky old lawyer? But he saw the approving way your eyes caught on him sometimes, when you didn’t think he was looking. The eternal pessimist in him said you just enjoyed his colorful ties, but it was enough to give him hope. The starved optimist whispered promises in his ear that this Christmas, he wouldn’t have to be alone.

Maybe this was the year he would fall asleep with a warm body tangled pleasantly around his as snow fell over the city.

That was what he was thinking about when it happened. The theoretical conversation with you distracted him from his surroundings, turning his cheeks pink from more than the early December chill. He didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until there was a sharp pain at the back of his head.

The box of chocolates slipped from his hands as he hit the ground, and rolled into the gutter. The flirtatious tag soaked with half-frozen slush until the ink blurred and ran.

***

When Barba didn’t make it to the Secret Santa exchange, you worried. But only a little. Olivia was sure he was just running late. Barba was always getting caught up with something or other, either being dragged into a meeting, or simply letting his social life slide in favor of working late.

When Liv’s call went to voicemail, you really started to worry. At least enough to call his office and find out he left for the night over an hour ago.

That nagging worry was confirmed the more you tried to find him, and turned into terror as it became an investigation. The ADA was missing. Security camera footage from a local bodega showed him being struck over the head with a bat and dragged into a van by three suspects.

One of them was identified as Jeremy Jones, a man whom Barba had tried to convict for a series of brutal rapes against closeted gay men. Ultimately, he was charged with manslaughter for the death of one of his victims. He served only half of a paltry six-year sentence and was released on good behavior that week. Apparently, Jones held a particular grudge against the openly bi prosecutor who tried to convict him of a hate crime. And he had made a few friends in prison.

The manhunt lasted three days, and the entire time you felt sick. Every hour—every minute—you didn’t find him was another minute god knows what was happening to Barba. If he was even still alive.

Only one of Jones’s victims had died, you tried to calm yourself. Of a heart attack. Barba was strong. But Jones wasn’t acting alone this time.

You felt sick.

After three days and a shootout with the NYPD, you found where Jones and his gang were hiding out.

You were the first one to discover the basement door, to kick it open.

You found Barba handcuffed to a bed, naked and beaten. His wrist was a horrible red-purple bruise where the metal dug in. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, though he seemed to be conscious. You radioed in for help and rushed to him, holding his head up, praying he was responsive. He yelped at the touch, recoiling from it. The cuffs rattled on the metal headboard.

“It’s OK. Shh. Rafael. It’s me,” you soothed, sitting at the corner of the bed beside him. “It’s the NYPD. We got them. You’re safe now. OK? They’re gone. The paramedics are already on the way.”

His eyes cleared, focused on you for just a moment. He seemed to recognize you—to understand what was happening. His mouth opened and almost made words, but only a dry rattle came out. His lips were swollen, and cracked with dehydration. Tears started rolling down his face, then. Dark, coppery dried blood covered the inside of his legs, pooled on the mattress, and bright red fresh blood streamed down over it.

He’d been missing for three days. Three whole days.

It was bad. He was in bad shape. You prayed the paramedics would get there soon. For the quick-witted prosecutor to be rendered unable to speak, his hair disheveled and plastered to his head with blood and fluids… For anyone to have done this to him… You tried to stay calm to help him be calm, but you were boiling over with rage and guilt.

It was your fault for not finding him sooner. For not being a better detective. For not worrying the second he was late.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the basement stairs and every muscle in his exhausted body went rigid. His free hand clung to you, nails digging into the skin of your palm.

“It’s just the paramedics.” You covered his hand with your own, squeezing. “They’re going to help you. I’ll be right here. You’re going to be OK, do you understand?”—his eyes were so blank and unfocused you weren’t sure that he did—“We found you, and… and you’re going to be OK now. We’re going to fix this.” Your voice was shaking.

It was a good thing the paramedics came in and took over before you started crying. The way his hand tightly held yours, not wanting to let go, wrenched your heart, and you needed to take a few minutes before you could be a detective again.

***

Barba was in the hospital for a week before being released. You went to see him, but were told he wasn’t taking visitors.

A week before Christmas, he reported to work.

A whole group from the 16th Precinct went down to 1 Hogan Place to welcome him back. He looked at home in his office, where he was supposed to be. His suit was as sharp (and loud) as ever. His hair was made without a strand out of place. You were relieved to see he was himself again. But his eyes were still haunted, and he flinched when Sonny knocked too loudly on the door frame.

He gave a weary smile, thanked everyone for their support, and sent everyone away except Liv.

Including you.

Your heart sank at the blow-off. You knew he’d weaseled half the precinct into trading Secret Santas until he got you. That had to mean you were special to him, the same way he was special to you.

Barba meant… more than you’d like to admit. It started so small you barely noticed it—that you were more inclined to go to events if Barba was also going. That you were always on his side during controversial cases, and even when you disagreed, you were more inclined to hear out his opinion than if he were anyone else. Then Rollins had a few tequila shots and started talking boys, and how the perfect man didn’t exist.

When you thought about the perfect man, only one person came to mind.

And you hadn’t had a chance to talk to him.

You knew he was going through something difficult, but that was why you wanted to be there for him. You wanted so badly to be part of his inner circle, like Liv—one of the people he leaned on instead of sending away.

You tried his office again the next day, by yourself. He avoided you, claiming he was busy with backlogged paperwork. The day after that, he legitimately wasn’t there—at the hospital for a follow-up—but never returned the message you left with Carmen.

On Christmas Eve, you tried again during lunch break. The lights were on in his office, but Carmen said he wasn’t there, sympathy in her eyes. He was there. You both knew it. He just didn’t want to see you. That night, you left him in peace. He would be spending Nochebuena with his mother, and you had plans of your own.

But on Christmas morning, you knew he wouldn’t be working all day. Neither were you.

You sent him a text and said you were coming over. He never responded, but an hour later, you knocked on his apartment door, anyway.

Footsteps slowly approached the door. A shadow fell over the peephole, and you grinned nervously, giving a little wave. The deadbolt slid open, then the door chain, and finally it opened to a tense lawyer, well dressed even on his day off in a cashmere sweater and chinos. Dark circles ringed his eyes from lack of sleep.

“Detective. H-hey. It’s not a good time. I’m… busy.” The flush in his cheeks rose, and he seemed eager to retreat back inside.

“You owe me a Christmas present!” you blurted out. It was juvenile. You knew the moment you opened your mouth it sounded like something a toddler would say, but at least it stopped him from closing the door on you.

He blinked. His chin tipped up just slightly in that haughty way that always preceded a cutting bit of sarcasm. “…Excuse me, I what?”

“It’s Christmas. You were my Secret Santa. So you owe me a gift.”

Realization dawned over him, along with the memory of everything that had happened the night he was meant to give you your present. His face fell.

“I… I’m sorry. I lost it.”

His eyes took on a dull, far away look, and you instantly regretted bringing it up. Of course that would be a painful memory. Fuck.

“It’s OK!” you took a step toward him, and he took one quickly back. Shit, you shouldn’t have done that, you scolded yourself. His face grew hotter, and he seemed humiliated with himself. “I-I mean… for the gift. All I want is to talk to you. For a minute. That would be plenty of a gift, if you could spare it. I just want to know how you’re doing.”

“I wish everyone would stop asking me that,” he snapped.

“Well, I haven’t had the chance yet. It feels like you’ve been avoiding me. I just wanted to know if… if we’re OK.”

He paused. He didn’t answer immediately, but his expression softened. “I… I haven’t been…” He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. His jaw kept working, lips reshaping themselves of the cusp of words, as if he were trying to continue, but couldn’t find the right ones. The words that would make sense, and explain everything—that would click together like a jigsaw puzzle and make everything better.

“I just thought that we were… friends. And… I was worried about you… And now I’m worried you’re pushing me away. I know we’re not as close as you and Olivia… but…” Your head hung low. “Did I do something wrong?”

Barba turned away. He wrapped a hand over his face, fingers shielding his eyes from you. “I know you were the one who found me,” he groaned miserably. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. You of all people… Because now you’ll never be able to look at me without part of you always seeing me… like that. Like a victim.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is, and you know it!” he snarled, surprising you with the sudden rise in volume.

He was seething, hurting, and you wanted to reassure him that you would never see him as less because of what was done to him. You laid a hand on his arm to comfort him, and he jerked away.

“Stop that! See? You’re doing it. Treating me like I’m… broken.” His whole body seemed to deflate, to shrink into itself. “It’s too late,” he croaked, a wistful smile cruelly turning the corner of his lip. “I’m never going to be whole in your eyes now.”

“Of course you are,” you said gently.

He gave a sharp, nasal huff. “Not like—ugh, never mind.”

“Not like what?”

His eyes met yours—green and turbulent as the ocean. There was a harrowed desperation in the creases of his forehead, the little wrinkles under his eyes deepening. “Like someone you could… Forget it!” He looked away, blinking rapidly.

“Barba… did you want to… Do you like…?”

You had a hopeful spark, an idea of what he was trying to say, what was bothering him, but you were afraid to say it and be proven wrong. You searched his face, inching closer. He looked horrified, like you were calling him out rather than hoping for it to be true—rifling through the sock drawer of his emotions.

No. You had to be the open one. He had too much to worry about already. You had to take the risk with your feelings.

“What I mean is… Please stop me if I’m out of line, but, Barba… no, Rafael… I like you. I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but I kept hoping you’d say it first, in case I was imagining things and you didn’t feel the same way. Then you disappeared, and…” Your breath caught in a tightening throat. “I thought I’d lost you forever. When we found you alive… Whatever you think changed with how I see you, all I was thinking was how happy I was you were alive. And that I’d get another chance to tell you how much I care about you.” Tears were rolling down your cheeks by the end, drying your eyes on your sleeves to no avail.

He had turned completely toward you at some point during your confession, no longer half-hiding his face. Some of the remaining distance between you had disappeared, too. His hands softly came up to press your upper arms. Even through your puffy winter coat, you could feel how big and strong they were. His haunted green eyes searched you closely, looking for any sign you weren’t serious. That this wasn’t real. That maybe it was just pity. But you could swear there was a hint in them, too, of a stunned, timid sort of hope.

You swallowed, meeting his deep gaze. “And I really want to kiss you now… if that would be alright.”

“I… I’d like that.”

Though he trembled slightly, his breathing was soft and steady as you leaned toward him. The kiss was gentle and easy, starting with foreheads touching, noses brushing against each other. Then lips, delicately ghosting over each other. His were still healing, tender where they were split. You let him close the final micron of distance, pressing the warm fullness of his lips against yours. His hand caressed the side of your face, and his thumb delicately brushed the hair at your temple.

“Can we go slow?” he breathed as he pulled away, though not far. He kept his hand on your face, the other about your waist. “I know I just said I’m not broken…”

“But you need time. I understand. Trust me.”

The corners of his eyes wrinkled in a melancholy smile as he stroked the side of your face longingly.

“I’m comfortable with whatever pace you want to set. Whether it’s holding hands, or… just talking. So long as I can keep spending time with you. I missed you. That’s all I need to be happy—just getting to be around my favorite counselor.”

He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “You know… you’re my favorite detective.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged, grinning. “What about Liv?”

“She’s a lieutenant.”

“Ack! Got me on a technicality!”

“There’s no such thing as a technicality in law,” Barba smirked, playfully smug.

You snorted. Cheeky bastard.

“Can I kiss you again?”

“Rafael, you can kiss me as many times as you like.”

His mouth melded against yours more confidently this time. More insistent, and yet more vulnerable, a soft groan reverberating in his throat. Just once, his lips parted yours, and his tongue darted out, tasting the opening of your lips before retreating shyly back. You let him lead, and didn’t push for more. You meant it when you said just being near him, part of his world, was enough.

He invited you inside.

If this was to make up for your gift, he owed you more than just a minute of conversation, he said, smiling. For the rest of the day, Barba turned his tidy, tiny Manhattan flat into a cozy winter refuge, complete with hot cocoa (spiked with spiced rum, of course), warm throw blankets, and an endless marathon of holiday movies to watch while snuggling on the couch.

It was the best Christmas you could remember, especially when, before the sun had even begun to set, Barba fell asleep holding you. The worry lines carved into his face smoothed out as he breathed steadily. He looked so peaceful, you didn’t mind being trapped on the couch until he woke up.

Maybe, you thought, those dark circles could start to fade.

#Rafael Barba #Rafael Barba x Reader #thatesqcrush holiday bingo #trauma #angst #hurt/comfort #gender-neutral reader #my writing

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

Text

Only the Light Ch. 18

Scully, Mulder, and Missy travel to California to meet Emily and wrestle with the future.

------------------

The echo of Scully’s heels against the linoleum is almost enough to drown out her racing heart. Mulder’s thumping steps and her sister’s daintier ones help too, but their collective power does nothing to ease Scully’s awareness that the Earth circles the sun at a thousand miles per hour. Today, she’s feeling every bit of it.

The three of them round a corner, and a broad-shouldered man and tiny-waisted woman come into view. Agent Feniston and the lawyer, this must be. Outside of conference room C--as planned.

Straightening every disc in her spine, Scully extends a hand and exchanges a firm shake with each of them. Mulder and Melissa hang back.

“Dana Scully,” she declares. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“That decision rested with the foster parents,” the male agent insists. “As does any from this point forward.”

“Yes, and I’ll be sure to thank them as well,” Scully acquiesces.

“Hello, Ms. Scully.” The lawyer uncrosses her ankles. “I’m Tanya Joyce, you can call me Tanya. As a representative of the state of California, my priority is guarding the child’s wellbeing and ensuring that any choice made is what’s best for her.”

“Of course,” Scully murmurs. “Thank you for being here.”

Tanya thumbs toward the closed door of the conference room. “Brian and Cecily are eager to meet you. The foster system has extremely limited information on little Emily. Your testimony will help us all fill in some blanks.”

Scully nods. “Me as well...this is as much a surprise for me as all of you.”

“Are we to understand that you were not aware you bore a child, Ms. Scully?” Agent Feniston asks.

“Yes, sir. I know it’s quite hard to believe, I feel the same. I was missing for a period of time last year and was comatose when I returned.”

“Yes, and how long was that period of time, Ms. Scully?”

The edges of her lips fall. “Approximately five weeks.”

“So is it safe to assume that though the child shares your DNA, you did not carry her?”

“No sir, not that I know of. I believe that my eggs were harvested, and she was...well, she comes from one of those.”

The agent hums a note of acknowledgement. “As I told you over the phone, the federal database contained no viable DNA match of a father.”

Scully nods. “Yes sir, and I have no knowledge of what sperm may have been used.”

“Noted.” He rubs his neck. “We were lucky, we only found you because you were in the missing persons database.”

“I had no idea I was still listed there,” Scully says. “I’ve asked the FBI to remove it.”

“Well, it was a stroke of luck for us,” the agent tells her. “This little girl’s foster parents encouraged the state to pursue child abandonment charges against whoever left her. She was found outside a local care center at two weeks old, as I’ve told you.”

“Yes.” Scully purses her lips. She imagines a baby with her eyes, nose, toes, chromosomes crying on a nondescript doorstep...she and Mulder did not know what they were doing when they said they wanted the truth.

“We’ve already confirmed your story with the FBI,” Feniston continues, “and we have proof that you were working on cases in the east at the time of Emily’s delivery to the foster center, so you are free of any child abandonment charges.”

“Wonderful,” Scully replies, but really, those were the least of her concerns. “May I see my daughter now?”

That’s the first time she’s ever said that sentence, and she didn’t expect terror to shoot up her spine. Is this what it is, having an extension of your life outside your body?

The lawyer steps forward. “I’ll introduce you to Brian and Cecily, they’d like to speak with you first.”

Scully does not like the way that sits in the air. Still, she musters a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

---------------------------

Mulder and Melissa make themselves at home on a pair of leather chairs outside the conference room. They have been the pall-bearers keeping Scully aloft as her crushed dreams reinvent themselves as high hopes. They don’t understand how it happened any more than Scully herself: one phone call turned into multiple consultations with Agent Feniston, then Tanya and California Social Services and finally, DC social workers who performed background checks and prepared forms so that Scully could come here today to meet her baby and, God-willing, bring her home.

It doesn’t happen this fast, it never does--different voices said these same words to them a dozen times. And yet, barely two weeks after Agent Feniston’s fated voicemail, here they are. On All Hallow’s Eve, no less. Just in time for Emily to complete her first rotation around the sun.

They both play contrasting yet crucial roles in Operation Miracle Baby, as Mulder dubbed it. Dana has sobbed into Missy’s shoulder every night for the past two weeks; happy tears (her baby! she has a baby!), sad tears (she has a baby…and she didn’t even know...), scared tears (a baby! a baby, Missy! probably already walking, and maybe even talking if she’s exceptional...). The situation--and its implications--are impossible to reconcile in such a short time, if at all. Scully’s petite frame could not physically contain it.

Mulder’s the comic relief, the distraction, the reminder that nothing can be so grave if there's still breath left in your body. He bought a CD of nursery rhymes and stuck in it his beat-up office radio, playing it through the day while Scully labored over this form or that and he pretended to alphabetize the case file drawer. Now, he hums himself to sleep every night with one of those rhymes; he’s hoping this new skill will come in handy.

He would’ve bought toys and baby clothes too, but Melissa made him swear not to in case the adoption falls through. And she’s right, he can’t bear to imagine the pain Scully would feel packing those away. For sale: baby shoes, never worn hits you no matter who you are. Still, he has a stuffed UFO and a Build-a-Bear fox (yes, he went in and filled it himself) hidden in his closet, and he hopes they won’t go to waste.

Operation Miracle Baby has been as covert as anything Mulder’s ever been involved in. He, Melissa, and Mrs. Scully are the only ones in his partner’s circle with any knowledge of what’s going on. No one else, in Scully’s words, matters. Trinity too has received a full briefing from Missy and is ecstatic about her girlfriend potentially becoming an auntie. Skinner was told it was a family emergency--and well, it is--though surely he’s suspicious about both of his agents requesting time off. Bill Jr. has no idea they’re in San Diego, though they may seek “refuge” (the air quotes are Missy’s) at his place if the proceedings drag on.

This is a triumph or failure to be shared only with those most beloved, that’s what Scully said to them the night before they boarded the plane. Mulder has never been included in anyone’s most beloved before. It feels pretty damn good.

----------------------

The perky lawyer raps on the conference room door, opening it in response to a voice on the other side. Scully’s breath catches….a strawberry-haired infant rests in her mother’s arms (Scully hates to think it, but surely this woman is more Emily’s mother than she is), pulling at a lock of the woman’s blonde hair.

The woman turns her way, and Scully gets her first glimpse at Emily’s face. Emily. Her baby. She wondered the whole flight here whether she would feel a connection….a sense of recognition...upon laying eyes on her daughter. And my god, it’s like some chained section of her heart has burst open, flooded with all the good feelings of the world. Icy blue eyes and cherub cheeks...that’s her baby. That’s her baby.

She watches as her baby is passed to a woman in a CA Social Services button-up who slides past Scully in the doorway like she’s not even there. Scully has a split-second to notice the dimples on her daughter’s cheeks, but that’s it. Emily’s gaze misses her entirely.

Tanya strides toward the couple in the room, Scully following behind.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace, this is Dana Scully, Emily’s biological mother.”

“We’re so glad to meet you,” the man says, shaking Scully’s hand with a firm grip. “I’m Brian, and this is my wife Cecily.”

“Thank you for speaking with me,” Scully tells them, shaking Cecily’s hand in kind. “I understand you’ve cared for Emily since shortly after she arrived at social services.”

“Yes,” Cecily confirms. “She came to us when she was a month old. Raising her has been an absolute joy.”

Brian nods. “She’s the second infant we’ve fostered. We adopted our first one, Andrew, when he was a year and a half.”

“I didn’t realize you had another child,” Scully converses, feeling out of her depth. “It must have been quite a transition, taking Emily in.”

“It sure was, but she’s an angel, truly,” Brian says. “We couldn't fathom that someone could abandon her and get away with it, that’s why we contacted Agent Feniston.”

Cecily chimes in--”We were told the chances of finding a DNA match in the federal database was slim. We didn’t expect to learn that you were unaware of Emily’s existence!”

“Yes, I’m still coming to terms with it all,” Scully replies. “I’m grateful that you’ve given me the opportunity to see her, at the very least.”

“When we heard your story, we knew it would be heinous of us to say no,” Cecily says, offering a sympathetic smile.

“You’re an FBI agent, did we hear that right?” Brain asks.

“Yes sir, I’ve been with the Bureau five years now.”

“You live in DC?”

Scully nods. “Around the corner from the National Mall.”

“That’s exciting!” Cecily pipes up. “How did you find yourself having Emily in San Diego?”

“I actually have no idea, Mrs. Lace,” Scully murmurs. “My family lived here when I was young, but I haven’t been back since. Coincidentally, my brother lives not too far off.”

“Wow,” Cecily gasps. “They weren’t kidding about you being a missing person.”

“No ma’am.” She went from a missing person to missing a person. No wonder she’s spent the past year feeling so empty.

-----------------------------

Mulder and Melissa get only the slightest moment to catch their breath before a child that is unmistakably the progeny of Dana Scully is carried into the lobby. Her hair curls around her ears in a cute mushroom top, her tongue dancing in her mouth like it has a mind of its own. They stare; they know better, but fuck it, if any baby is worth staring at, it’s this one.

“Is that--?” Mulder whispers.

“Yeah,” Missy breathes.

They’ve both seen the pictures, they are well aware that it’s her. They say these things for the awe of it.

“She’s…” Mulder’s eyes are wide. “She’s bigger than I thought she would be. Not fat, I mean. Just...a whole tiny human.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Melissa smiles at her niece, who is now seated on her caretaker’s lap across the hallway. Emily’s big eyes blink at her, containing silent judgements. How like her mother she is.

Missy elbows Mulder. “I bet she orders mushroom pizza and then picks the mushrooms off because apparently ‘the cheese tastes better than on the regular cheese pizza,’” she muses, naming one of her sister’s quirks.

Mulder likes this game. “I bet she vehemently denies the existence of extraterrestrials only to secretly believe that her dashing partner is right,” he offers.

Missy smirks. “I bet she would find this game very stupid if she understood it.”

“I’m all in on that one.” Mulder mimes pushing a pile of poker chips into the center of a table.

Missy laughs, looks toward her seat partner with soft eyes. “She’s gonna be a great mom, isn’t she? Dana, I mean?”

“Oh yeah.” Mulder clasps his hands in his lap. “We should be so lucky to have a little Scully in the world.”

“Mm-hm.” Missy focuses on his face, watching for the slightest move that might give his thoughts away. “And she’ll be able to do it alone, do you think?”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll need some help from Mrs. Scully, and you, and…” he trails off before adding his own name, but Missy’s mind fills it in reflexively. “She’ll need help,” Mulder finishes, “but yeah, she’ll be incredible.”

The details have already been parsed out. As a single mother, Scully is required to list a guardian who would take custody of Emily if something were to happen to her. She listed her mother as the primary one--the social worker told her it’s best if it’s someone who has child-rearing experience--and Missy as the secondary guardian. She would, after all, already live in the child’s household.

Then there was the matter of the job--its extensive time requirements, travelling, and danger level were all of concern to the agency. This came as no surprise to Scully; a single female FBI agent does not make the ideal adoption candidate. And though she hasn’t yet spoken to the Bureau, Mulder has promised her they’ll work something out. It can be like your leave of absence, he assured her. You tackle the paper trail and I’ll focus on following the suspect’s trail. Easy-peasy.

That’s what he says to her, though he’s terrified of losing her as his partner...Of her being reassigned to something simpler or leaving the Bureau entirely. She could teach at Quantico, that schedule would be a hell of a lot easier than running on Mulder time. Agent Scully can pack for hastily-booked flights at midnight then catch them at 7am, but Emily’s mother couldn’t. He will have to reckon with this if all the pieces fall into their graceful place. He’ll have to figure out how to rearrange their partnership for her, or even worse, how to live without her as his partner. Or maybe even at all.

---------------------------

Scully glances at her shoes, then summons the courage to meet Mrs. Lace’s hazel eyes. “I hope you will consider my request. I know it’s not up to you entirely--the court will have the final say--but my abduction experience has left me unable to have a biological child, so learning of Emily was truly a miracle of the highest order.”

Her voice clips as she takes a breath. “I understand that it would be a huge sacrifice on the part of your family, and that you’ve developed a bond with Emily over the past eleven months. I just ask you both to please...think about it.” Tears twinkle in her eyes. She made it, thank god, she made it without breaking down! She’s rehearsed that speech ten times over.

Cecily lays a hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, Dana. It would be a painful sacrifice to us, you’re correct, but we understand that you’ve flown across the country to be here, and that you’ve brought witnesses to testify to your character, so your commitment is clear. We’ll listen and make as compassionate a decision as possible.”

Scully’s lips creep into a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She steps back, the weight of imminent sobs settling over her chest.

“Ms. Scully has already undergone most of the requirements needed for adoption,” the lawyer tells Mr. and Mrs. Lace. “Medical clearance, psychiatric clearance, criminal background check, and home study. In the spirit of her unique circumstances, California and the District of Columbia have agreed to cooperate to make the process as smooth and expedient as possible, if you should choose to surrender Emily to her. I don’t mean to sway your decision in any way, just to give you all the available information.”

The couple nods. “Thank you, Tanya,” Cecily answers. “We’d like to speak with the first witness now.”

Scully balks. She expected more questions, a barrage of them, as intense and prying as if she were testifying in front of Congress. And she was ready for that--she was prepared to do whatever they asked of her, to show that there are no lengths she wouldn’t go for Emily. She’s already documented every detail of her life for social services and given over the necessary specimens to prove that no, she’s not a drug user, and yes, her thyroid is hyperactive, but she takes medication for that and her doctor will confirm that it’s under control.

And if they wanted to know more, she’d tell them. She’d tell it all. Her deepest, darkest secret (telling Daniel that yes, he should leave his wife & kids...all for her, to be with her), the most petty thing that haunts her (stolen cigarettes, smoked on the family porch at 1am), what she wants to say most but can’t (I love you)...a part of her was taken to create Emily. She would give the rest away to keep her.

There was a moment, in one of the drab little interrogation rooms at DC social services, where Scully was met with a question that lunged toward her like a time-bomb. Pull the fuse, pull the fuse it taunted her. See what happens. Instead, she played it off. Pretended she didn’t hear its doomed tick. Feigned none the wiser. No, she isn’t aware of any potential medical condition that would inhibit her life expectancy or ability to care for a child, she told the nice woman. Thank god they got the chip out of her neck before it showed up on any x-rays.

She snaps back to reality, watching as the conference door opens, and her sister enters the room.

“Thank you, Dana,” Tanya says, and she assumes that’s the lawyer’s way of telling her to get out, so she does. Outside the room, she settles next to Mulder in a seat that’s still warm.

“How’d it go in there, champ?” he chatters. “You need some water or anything?”

Scully’s not listening. Her eyes are trained on the baby girl across the way with hair too auburn to be brunette that’ll require a smattering of box dye every two weeks to qualify her as a soulless ginger.

Emily’s eyes land on the woman she does not know is her mother, studying this new face with an infant’s usual curiosity. Mulder has realized by now that the little girl is of much more interest to his partner than he is, and he watches as mother and daughter wave to each other.

Scully lets out a laugh so strangled that for a moment Mulder thinks it’s a cry and jumps to comfort her. He relaxes back into his seat once he sees the joy on her face.

“She’s a sweetheart, huh?” Mulder wisecracks as the young girl jams her fingers into her mouth.

Scully beams. “She’s a baby, that’s her way of learning the world!”

“Hey, I’m not knocking it. That’s my personal preference as well,” he says with a lop-sided smile.

“Yeah, well, she’s not licking evidence,” Scully quips.

Mulder shrugs. “A man can’t help his oral fixation. Haven’t you ever heard of Freud…?” he lets it slide off his tongue.

Scully rolls her eyes. His inability to maintain an appropriate manner is nothing if not inspiring.

She gestures toward Emily. “You’re already encouraging bad behavior. Tsk-tsk,” she teases.

“That’s my job as--hey, wait. What’s she gonna call me?” If you get custody, of course passes silently between them.

“I don’t know, Mulder,” Scully says, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” That’s a lie. She’s sat up during the night trying to decipher Mulder’s relation to Emily. He would certainly be the male authority in her life, but that doesn’t make him a father figure. Right?

Scully adored her father because he was the head of the family, and he embraced the responsibility, always making sure they had what they needed. While her mother was often the one doing the grunt work of caring for them, her father provided for them. His long deployments with the Navy protected them. Scully understood his sacrifice and loved him for it

That’s not how it would go with Emily. If she were so lucky as to get the child, Scully would be the caretaker and the provider. A two-in-one deal with a high price. What would that mean, for Emily? Scully could do it, she believes that. Not that it would be anything less than utterly exhausting, but with a little help from her mother and her sister, she could make do, and they say it takes a village to raise a child anyway, so what’s so bad about that?

Since she’s filling those roles herself, that leaves...well, Mulder could be the fun uncle, that fits him. Bill Jr. isn’t gonna cut it, and neither is Charlie, considering that he’s god knows where. Besides, it’s unlikely that Mulder will get a chance to know a biological niece or nephew. He and Emily could fill missing pieces in each other’s lives.

Scully’s eyes trace the contours of her partner’s face. “Do you have a preference about what she calls you?”

“I was hoping for His Royal Highness Fox Mulder of Martha’s Vineyard--is that too much?”

Scully lets a strand of hair fall over her face. “It might take her awhile to get her tongue around that.”

“Or it’ll speed up her speech acquisition,” Mulder replies.

“Oh, you’re a child-rearing connoisseur now?”

Mulder twiddles his thumbs. “It is my goal to raise the first kid to transcribe canine language into English.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware of that,” Scully tells him, a smile flitting on her lips. It’s this kind of banter that keeps her sane. A few minutes out here with him, and she’s forgotten that what happens in that conference room will dictate the rest of her life.

Across the hallway, Emily giggles at the air, and it fits, doesn’t it? Here she is, already laughing at Mulder’s jokes like the Scully girl she is.

------------------------------

It feels like a prisoner exchange when witness number one in their civil-that-sure-feels-like-a-criminal case joins Scully back in the hallway, and Mulder is called forward “to the stand.” He swears he found a penny in the parking lot this morning & promises to bring back good news. Scully’s pretty sure he made that story up, but she’s no less hopeful that it’ll come true.

Returned from her brief stint in captivity, Missy dives right into a discussion of her niece: “Look at her, Dana, she looks just like you!”

“Well, she does have fifty percent of my DNA,” Scully concedes with an admiring glance at the little girl.

“Have you gone over to see her?”

Scully shakes her head. “I didn’t think that would be proper.”

“Are you kidding me?” Missy retorts. “First of all, Brian and Cecily are very nice people, and I’m not supposed to say this, but I think there’s a chance that Emily will be yours. Secondly, this could be your only opportunity to interact with your daughter and you’re not gonna take it?”

Scully bites her lip. Her sister knows how to craft an argument. “Alright, but you have to back me up.”

“Trust me, I wanna see her just as badly as you.”

Scully steels herself, then approaches the woman in the polo shirt. “Hello.” She does a polite half-wave, which she’s never done before and which makes her feel ridiculous. “I’m the potential adoptee, and I was wondering if I could say hello to this precious little girl.” It all feels completely out of character, like she’s reading lines from a script. But this is it, this is her reality.

The woman’s face offers little in the way of recognition. “You can have a supervised visit with her, yes,” she recites, as rehearsed as Scully.

“Great.” Scully claps her hands together. “May I take her to my sister right over there?”

The woman nods. Scully lays her hands on Emily’s waist and lifts the girl gently from the woman’s lap. She is heavier than Scully imagined, or maybe just heavier than she hoped. Every ounce is a reminder of unseen existence and unwitnessed growth.

Emily does not balk, just stares up at her mother with those probing eyes.

“Hi baby girl,” Scully coos to her daughter as she settles her against her hip. “Can you say hi? Have you got that one yet?”

The girl blinks. “Ma-ma.”

Scully crooks her neck, tries to reign in her racing imagination. All babies do this at this age, don’t they? Calling every woman mama and every man dada. Emily’s no exception. And yet...for that to be the first word her daughter has ever said to her. God winked at her, and she’s glad to have caught it.

The pair makes it to Missy, who blows a kiss in Emily’s direction. “Hey there little one.” She extends her index finger, and the girl latches onto it.

Scully cradles her baby’s head, Emily’s fine hair soft beneath her fingers.

“She’s even-keeled for a baby,” Missy remarks, wiggling her finger and watching Emily crack a smile.

“Yes,” Scully gurgles out of the sheer joy. She settles into her chair with Emily in her lap. “Do you know what she said to me?”

Missy looks up. “What?”

“Mama.” Scully dons a triumphant grin. “She called me mama.”

“Oh, no way!” Missy squeals. It’s a bit too loud and sudden, making Emily jump. The ladies laugh, and Scully pulls her daughter in closer, kissing the crown of her head. She still has that baby smell; the freshness of new life and all its purity. Scully sighs. It must have been even stronger when she was born.

Scully closes her eyes. If she had one chance to pause life somewhere along the way, to linger in a perfect moment longer, she would do it right now and she would never regret it.

“My baby…” she breathes into Emily’s ear, hoping it will stick. That one day she’ll remember and find her way home, should she need to.

A warm tear slides down Scully’s cheek and lands in Emily’s lap, a dark drop on the girl’s corduroy pants. “Mama loves you, Emily.” She tightens her embrace. “That’s me,” she sniffs. “I love you, Emily.”

Observing this, Missy feels that she is an interloper and slips off to the bathroom, leaving mother and baby to have their moment.

Scully strokes the girl’s tiny palm with her thumb. She has missed so much already, and my god, she could miss so much more. What is love, if not sacrifice? Hadn’t that been the takeaway from each week of Sunday school?

The conference door opens, and Scully finds herself irritated that life has failed to pause. Oh, what wouldn’t she do to take the reins from God, even for a moment? She looks up at Mulder, doe-eyed as he processes the optical illusion that is Emily and her mother. Said mother sees the tenderness on Mulder’s face as he comes to terms with this sight, and something in both of them breaks, and something else opens.

Mulder approaches quietly, apprehensive about ruining the moment. Little does he know, he’s not ruining it; he’s completing it.

“Hey,” Scully swoons. “How was it?”

He’s too earnest to crack a joke right now. “Less nerve-wracking than I expected,” he murmurs. “Brain and Cecily are good people.”

Scully can’t help but wonder if they’re hammering this point about Brian and Cecily to make her feel better when the gavel falls in their direction. Mulder directs her train of thought away from this when he kneels in front of Emily. His eyes are as soupy as ever, Scully notices; she could sink right into them.

“May I?”

Scully chuckles under her breath, like a stranger has just asked if they could pet her dog. “Of course, Mulder. Say hi.”

Over the past weeks, Mulder spent considerable time anticipating this initial interaction. First impressions are important, after all, and there is no one he has wanted to impress more than this sweet girl. Ultimately, he decided that he didn’t care what their meeting was, as long as it would be. And now that he’s here, knelt in front of his two favorite girls, he’s ready to make a promise.

He envelops Emily’s closed fist with one hand and uses the other to caress Scully’s palm. “I want you to know,” he begins, shifting his gaze between mother and daughter, “that I’ll always be here for you.”

He looks to Scully, realizing that Emily is unable to comprehend what he is saying. “Regardless of Brian and Cecily’s choice, I am prepared to make every sacrifice so that you two can be a family. The family you deserve to be. I know what it’s like to not have that, and christ, Scully, I’m not letting you go through that. You’ve had enough for one lifetime.”

Scully’s face puckers. She is moved on a dimension that transcends the spiritual, if such a thing is possible. She closes her eyes, lets the tears slip out, then softens her focus on him.

“Thank you, Mulder...Fox,” she effuses, needing to heighten the intimacy. “Emily and I…” she kisses her daughter’s temple again. “Well, you know. You already know.” Her voice is somber almost, reminiscent of a wedding vow’s binding utterance.

Mulder smiles up at them, pats Scully’s hand. “I know. Me too.”

There are many phrases that could fill her blank, but he chose his favorite, and he’s got an inkling that he’s right.

Scully sucks in a breath, and it’s the first one that has ever counted. Earth is new to her, again.

The door opens a second time, and the lawyer approaches with Brian and Cecily behind her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace would like to take some time to think about their decision,” Tanya announces. “You will understand, they hope…?”

Scully nods, swallowing back a lump in her throat. She would like to break into a tantrum, throwing chairs and screeching every obscenity she knows. Begging please, please, don’t let me miss another heartbeat. Let me live in this Heaven I’ve found. But no answer is better than an immediate rejection, so she screws her lips into a smile and gives away two more handshakes.

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Lace. I’m grateful for this opportunity.”

#you guysss i have been excited for this chapter since day one!!!#it only gets more emotional from here ahhhh #hope you enjoy <3 #i am hugging anyone who reads this #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf fic #txf #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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asphyxiateher · 4 years ago

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Only Monsters Come Out at Night

A/N: Debating on whether or not I should put this on AO3. Thoughts? Do I need to edit what I have before posting on my favorite website? Anyways, I’m really into horror and I’d like to try my hand at focusing on MC’s descent into madness while falling for her captors. Dimitrescu Sisters x OFC (Desdemona) Summary: Desdemona, her twin brother and best friend are on vacation in Romania when things go horribly wrong the moment they run out of gas. Desdemona has the misfortune of enchanting the monsters that decided to terrorize her group.

It was a cold, pitch black night in the northeastern mountainous region of Romania, a heavy fog enveloping the roads which made it nearly impossible for any source of light to pierce through the gloom. This did not bode well for Desdemona and her friends as they dared to venture through the treacherous weather in order to reach their destination. The humble village of Bran should have been a welcome sight by now although from where the unlucky travelers were currently stranded, Desdemona had her doubts. To make matters worse, her best friend, Veronica, shoved a crumpled map of Brasov, Romania into her boyfriend’s hands and demanded answers. Her hot-headed friend was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

“Desmond, are you sure we’re headed in the right direction? None of this seems to make sense!”, Veronica exclaimed as she nervously rummaged through her shoulder bag for yet another cigarette. She struggled to light her cigarette this time, the harsh winter’s wind blowing hard against her bare hands caused them to shake violently.

Desmond sighed in exasperation and ran his fingers through his messy chestnut brown hair, pushing wild dark curls away from his eyes.

“You think the shopkeeper gave us the wrong directions to fuck with us because we’re tourists? I knew we were gonna get shit signal out here in the bum fuck middle of nowhere but come on, the old guy looked knowledgeable. Can’t blame me for trustin’ him.” Desmond casually replied with a shrug. He then took a moment to straighten the map again before folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket.

Desdemona was of the same mind as her twin. It seemed likely that the locals would be completely burnt out from the flocks of American tourists invading their hometown just to squawk about the castle that inspired Bram Stoker’s Dracula. How exhausting it must be to constantly point out where to go to book a tour or who to call to arrange such things when the internet exists. In hindsight, Desdemona should have known better than to bug the polite yet obviously impatient shopkeeper about their vacation plans.

“Think about it, V, Desmond has a point. The guy probably gave us the run around for shits and giggles. You know, it would have been fine taking a wrong turn and then having to backtrack all the way back into town, but we should have just stayed the night at the Inn. Now we’re outta gas and it’s fucking freezing out here.” Desdemona added, now hugging herself tightly and occasionally rubbing her arms to keep warm for as much as possible.

Veronica growled but relented as she took a long drag of her cigarette, her foot resting against their rented vehicle. She took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. Snowflakes began to drift downwards, and it only fueled Veronica’s anxiety about being stranded in the middle of nowhere in the dark. “Alright, alright, we can either freeze to death in this piece of shit,” Veronica began as she kicks the van for good measure, “or we can freeze to death out there looking for shelter. I think I see a path over there that we can take to find what we need. It might lead us to people who can help us, or it might lead us to certain death. All I know is that we need to make a decision now, it’s starting to snow.” Desmond grins and wraps his arm around Veronica’s waist, pulling her close and pecking her on the cheek. “To certain death it is! Des, grab the essentials and let’s head out. According to the map, there are a few small villages in the surrounding area. Chances are we’ll stumble into one of them eventually and find shelter. We’ll get this mess sorted out.” Desmond eagerly stepped away from Veronica’s embrace and stepped towards the beaten van.

After a few moments of scrounging around for what they deemed important, Desdemona ended up with a backpack full of snacks, water, spare clothes, and the first aid kid. Veronica settled for an entire carton of cigarettes and a few spare lighters because you know, it was “absolutely essential” to her survival in a foreign land. Desmond found a flashlight and decided that going light would be preferable to him in case they ran into any trouble. They paved the way forward, following the path that strayed away from the lonely sliver of road. Turning back to get a final look at the abandoned van, Desdemona swallowed the surge of fear that was beginning to creep up on her. She had seen enough horror movies in her lifetime knowing that this probably wasn’t going to end up well for her little group. The logical side of her brain, what little rational thoughts she had left, gnawed their way through her brain begging to be voiced out and heard.

‘Turn back around, it’s safer to stay put and wait until morning! This is dangerous and you know it!’

Desdemona reluctantly glanced back at her brother walking ahead with Veronica hand in hand and the younger twin suddenly stopped in her tracks. Maybe she should stay behind just in case while her gregarious brother searched for help in these mountains; after all, he was far more easygoing and could easily charm the most stubborn of fools into helping him.

“Des, what’s wrong? I thought we all agreed that we should stick together.” Veronica called out to her, uncertainty lacing her tone as her eyes flicked back and forth between the van and a terrified looking Desdemona.

Nervously fidgeting in place, Desdemona struggles to settle the conflicted thoughts warring in her mind. She knows that staying behind and waiting for help would be the wisest course of action, but there was safety in numbers. There’s danger lurking beyond the vast expanse of mountains that surrounded them and she would be utterly defenseless if left alone. Desdemona’s instincts were begging her to go back to the van but the connection she shared with her twin demanded that she follow him through the sketchy path that would most likely lead to their demise. She couldn’t let anything happen to Desmond, she would never forgive herself if something happened to him out here.

With a shaky resolve, Desdemona straightened up and gazed back at Veronica with a small smile on her face. “I’m just nervous, you know. Desmond and I binge watched all the Wrong Turn movies last Saturday so being out here alone in the dark is uh, freaking me out a little. I’ll be fine, though, let’s just keep going.” Desdemona lied as she rushed over to her best friend who rolled her eyes at the revelation.

“No wonder you’re acting all sketch, Des. First of all, binge watching horror movies the weekend before your vacation was stupid as hell so now you’re all hyped up over nothing. Secondly, Wrong Turn sucks. Y’all should have binged Hatchet, Danielle Harris is so hot!” Veronica declared, eager to get conversation going as the three of them trekked through a rocky and narrow trail that led to who knows where.

Desmond was quick to reply in defense of his favorite horror movie franchise and Desdemona was thankful to hear them bicker back and forth. The conversation drowned out the sound of cold whispers tickling naked branches in the distance, the loud crunching of their footsteps on the snow-covered ground, and ravens crying out above them. It was so eerie and something about it all didn’t sit right with Desdemona. She hooked an arm around Veronica’s free arm and together they discussed their favorite horror movies. Veronica could tell her best friend was still a little spooked, so she pulled her closer until she was pressed against her side to provide as much comfort as she could give.

The trail continued to narrow the further they moved along but nothing they observed thus far gave the impression that that anything was out of the ordinary. When they reached a clearing, Desmond sighed with relief. His breath steaming the frigid air was nearly the only thing they could see ahead if it weren’t for the flashlight providing what little comforting light source they had. The snow fall began to pick up the pace but it wasn’t blinding, thankfully. Desmond brushed aside large shrubs and stepped further into the winding path, coming to a full stop when he realized what lay ahead of the weary travelers.

The trio stared in awe at the overpowering sight of a 15th century castle looming over a quiet village sheltering underneath a blanket of darkness, or what Desdemona assumed was its shadow. No amount of fog could hide the monstrosity that was the architectural brilliance of this castle that Desdemona saw before her very eyes.

“Desmond, honey, where the hell do you think you’re going? Don’t leave Dezzy and I behind!” Veronica suddenly shrieked as she sprinted after her overly excited boyfriend down the hill that led into the village. Desmond turned around and could only offer a sheepish smile with a shrug before eagerly running into the unknown. Desdemona tore her gaze away from the castle and spurred into action, jumping and running as fast as she could in order to catch up with her twin.

Desmond was energized by both the cool crisp air and the promising sight of civilization, but that energy was quickly drained out of him when he encountered something wholly unexpected. Veronica reached the eldest Hawthorne sibling and was about to admonish him for leaving the two frightened girls behind, but she was quickly shushed by Desmond. Desdemona quietly approached the scene, her eyes widening when she realized that this was not the village of Bran at all.

They had indeed reached a small village but it looked completely obliterated. The houses looked shattered and broken, as if something gigantic and menacing had come through and picked away at the people that once inhabited this community one by one. Desmond cautiously led the group forward, calling out for any signs of survivors. This wasn’t on the itinerary…

Veronica was on the verge of tears, her hands covering her mouth as she observed the tragic scene before her. Every now and then, she would step into a broken home and call out to somebody – anybody- only to step back out with a grim look on her face. She pulled out her cell phone and attempted to dial emergency services only to be met with disappointment.

“There’s blood.” Desmond says quietly. His eyes peer over the trail of fresh blood and fear grips him the moment the flashlight scans over the corpse of a rotting horse. “Fuck, that stench – we need to get the fuck out of here now!” Veronica cries, gagging and turning away from the horrific view.

Desdemona would have expressed an equally strong reaction had she not felt a sense of…wrongness abruptly assaulting the atmosphere. The moment they stepped foot into the village, the environment reacted to their presence and that did not sit right with Desdemona at all.

“Desmond, do you hear that?” Desdemona asked, her voice laced with terror. Desmond Hawthorne heard the fear in his sister’s quivering voice and it made him feel uneasy. “I don’t hear anything, Des.” He replies as he reaches for Veronica’s hand and squeezes it tight. The couple began to frantically look around them as they slowly backed into Desdemona. As soon as they grouped up again, both Veronica and Desmond wrapped themselves around the youngest sister. The oppressive silence sent a whole new wave of fear over the group before something insidious could be heard approaching them in the distance. Desdemona gasped when she heard maniacal giggling and it was getting louder. A fluttering of what sounds like wings -bats, ravens, perhaps- advancing towards the group sent chills down Desdemona’s spine. What the hell was coming after them?

Desmond flashed his light from side to side before it settled on the massive black ball of insects that instantly appeared before him. The insects dissipated and somehow revealed the shape of a human being wearing a dark robe and hood. The only thing he could truly make out was the color of a red pendant wrapped around dainty, pale skin and a blood smeared smirk. Desmond’s heart dropped in absolute horror and panic immediately set in.

“RUN!” He screamed, taking off with a terrified Veronica in tow. Neither of them looked back to make sure Desdemona was following. The flashlight dropped, and it briefly circled the ground. The flickering light revealed two other black masses of insects approaching the younger Hawthorne sibling who was paralyzed with fear. All she could hear in that moment was delirious laughter coming from the women that revealed themselves two seconds later, the insects dissolving into thin air right before her very eyes.

The crazed woman standing directly in front of Desdemona leaned forward and took her time sniffing her pretty prey who stared at her with petrified gray eyes. Desdemona found it alarming that despite the lunatic’s appearance, dried blood caked on her lips and unruly red hair and a wild, untamed look in her eyes, she found her quite…striking. Perhaps she was going mad. None of this made sense, how could this be happening right now?

“Mmm, sisters, look at what I found. Such a pretty young thing all for me and she smells oh so delicious.” The woman with the green pendant spoke, giggling madly at the profound effect she had on Desdemona.

“Daniela, you’re delusional, she’s mine; I’m the one who picked up on her tasty scent!” The one with the red pendant spoke after she turned her attention to the only human who didn’t run from them.

The brunette with the yellow pendant reached over and yanked on Desdemona’s hair so hard back, Desdemona thought her life was over. She bared her teeth as she skimmed her nose across the young woman’s neck. Her tongue darted out between blood smeared lips and left a wet trail, causing the smaller woman’s breath to hitch at the unwelcome contact.

“Mmm, she smells so utterly divine. Bela, by the way, it wasn’t you who found MY new pet, it was me! You ungrateful wretches always want to touch what’s mine!” The hooded figure’s grip on her hair tightened and Desdemona whined, causing all three women to delight in her torment.

What Desdemona couldn’t figure out was what they wanted to do with her exactly and why they were fighting over her like three starved wild dogs fighting over a piece of meat. She needed to get out of there fast. “LET GO OF MY SISTER, YOU UGLY CUNTS!” Desmond’s angry voice broke through in the distance and all three creatures turned their attention on the young man who dared interrupt dinner time.

Desdemona decided this was the time to take advantage of their distraction and she quickly slipped away, sprinting as fast as she could to the nearest unoccupied house. Desmond, relieved that his sister broke free from whatever those things were, spun on his heel and ran the opposite direction. He could only hope that all three of them would make it out of this godforsaken village alive.

All three women threw their heads back and laughed wildly into the air as they knew catching their prey would be much more satisfying when they caught them alone in isolated surroundings. It added to their fear and it made the blood taste that much sweeter.

“The hunt is on, sisters. Leave the pretty plaything alive, but the others, we will present to our dear mother as gifts. We’ll make the new pet watch mother undo their very lives; it’ll only make her that much more delicious when we have our fill.” The one with the yellow pendant stated as she sniffed at the air, shuddering when Desdemona’s irresistible scent filled her nostrils once more.

Desdemona found refuge in a large house a few yards away and slammed the front door shut when she ran inside. She quickly assessed what she assumed was the living room, she found a bookcase and summoned whatever strength she had and brought it down in front of the door. She heard something clawing at the door the instant she blocked the entrance, the door shaking violently and mad laughter filling her ears once more.

Desdemona shakily reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, turning on the flashlight and began to look for another way out.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, Jesus Christ! What the fuck are those things!? Where’s Desmond? Is Veronica alright? How the hell do I get out of here? I just want to go home!’ Desdemona’s mind was running through a million thoughts per second but she couldn’t for the life of her settle on anything that would give her a moment’s peace. She was sobbing uncontrollably as she explored the dark home, her hands stretched out in front of her as she searched for anything that would provide answers to her problems. When she found a door near the kitchen, she cautiously opened it and cursed the eerie creaking sound that followed. It was discovered that the door led to a cellar of some kind and Desdemona rushed down the stairs without closing the door behind her. She slowly scanned the large open space and saw that this home had been recently ransacked or rummaged through. Clothes were scattered across the floor, furniture had been broken in half and tossed carelessly to the side but Desdemona found a hallway beyond the room she was in. ‘That must be the way out. Hurry up and grab something to protect yourself with!’

Desdemona carefully tip toed around the clutter, her phone flashing from side to side but to no avail, she couldn’t find anything that would prove harmful to whatever those monsters were outside. The woman nearly tripped over and fell when her foot stepped in something thick and wet, causing her foot to slip forward. Desdemona quickly steadied herself on a cabinet but it didn’t make her feel any better when she realized her fingers were covered in a thick, red substance.

Her breathing growing heavier, Desdemona flashed her phone light over to the cabinet only to find that it was covered in blood – a lot of it, to be exact and it was still dripping on the floor as though it were fresh.

All color drained from Desdemona’s face when she heard pained howling coming from the village; it was Desmond and he was screaming for help. Her twin was in danger and here she was selfishly trying to find a way to preserve her own life.

She quickly twisted around to run towards the howling but she stopped dead in her tracks when a black mass of insects appeared before her. The cloaked figure could only be identified by the color of her green pendant and a delirious smile plastered on her face. Fresh blood dripped down her chin and Desdemona’s eyes reluctantly followed the pool of blood forming at their feet. There was a sickle in her right hand and it was covered in blood, much to Desdemona’s dismay.

Desdemona began to tremble, overpowered by the frightening sight and the implications that followed a bloodied sickle carried by a madwoman. “The sound of your heart hammering against your chest is like music to my ears, pretty thing. Do not fret, my beauty, the moment we met I knew you were special. You’re meant to be mine, we’re meant to be!” She whispers madly, her tongue wetting her lips as her eyes rake over Desdemona’s body slowly and deliberately.

Desdemona doesn’t know what she’s talking about and she doesn’t want to know. Before she could form any kind of response, she’s pinned against the bloody cabinet behind her. She gasps in surprise and that seems to trigger the creature into action.

Desdemona screams as the hooded woman lunges at her collarbone and pierces through her skin with her razor sharp teeth. Desdemona weakly clutches at the woman’s shoulders, growing lightheaded from the sudden blood loss that was occurring. Feeling the woman about to collapse in her arms, Daniela pulls back and savors the taste of her blood. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she sloppily licks the blood off her mouth and regains what little self-control she had left to preserve her pretty plaything for a little while longer.

When dazed gray eyes meet hers, Daniela’s cold, black heart skips a beat. She had never seen anything more beautiful. So she raises her sickle, causing Desdemona’s eyes to widen in panic and Daniela can’t help but giggle a little.

“Don’t worry, my beauty, I’ll be gentle with you. The hideous man-thing and his bitch aren’t going to be as lucky as you, I hope. You deserve special treatment.” Daniela whispers, her fingers caressing her prey’s tear-stained cheek before swinging the sickle with full forced into the back of Desdemona’s thigh.

Desdemona remembers a high-pitched shriek escaping her but nothing else seems to come to mind after that. She remembers her vision blurring and a creeping darkness soothing her to sleep but what happened after, nothing. She enters the haunting abyss that welcomes her with black tendrils pulling her from reality, sleep coming to her easily. With better luck, she’ll never have to wake up again.

Only fools believe in luck as the nightmare has only just begun.

#resident evil village #RE8 #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #dimitrescu daughters x ofc #lady dimitrescu daughters x ofc #Holy shit this was just chapter one #I need an editor or something but bruh #I had to get this out of my system #other people may not like it but i did it for me lol #I need more dimitrescu sisters x ofc content

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years ago

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We've Got Tonight - Ch 5

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

This chapter in particular is dedicated to @foxyjwls007 . If I'm going to torture you with something, it's not going to be a cliffhanger. I'm going out of town for two weeks, so you get an update early since I won't be able to post while I'm away. Thank you for the encouragement.

In case you missed it: Chapter 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Chapter 5

“Miss? Miss? Hey, are you okay?”

A hand grips Andy’s arm, firm but polite, and she jerks to, almost losing her footing. It’s been a long day already, and she still has two hours before she can go home, shower, and put her feet up for a little while before karaoke at the Brass Monkey starts up.

Maybe I can even fit in a nap, she thinks excitedly. But first, gotta wake up and make it through the rest of my shift.

Of course, if she hadn’t been tossing and turning all night from a crazy dream, she wouldn’t be as tired as she is now, but that’s neither here nor there. And it doesn’t help that she can’t even remember the stupid dream. It was really long, though, and there was blood and books and…someone...

“Can I get a refill over here?”

One hour, forty-seven minutes, and twenty-two seconds to go. She can do this.

The minutes crawl, though, and it’s all she can do to stay on her feet and focus. The lunch crowd has long since thinned, and she’s about to ask if she can maybe take off a little early when the door chimes, and she catches the tail end of the entering customers’ conversation.

“Could you at least consider putting something green on your plate? Like, ever? Broccoli won’t kill you.”

“I’ve already told you, I’m getting breakfast since you didn’t wake me up early enough to eat a decent one this morning. Pancakes, bacon, and coffee, which, I might add, grows on a tree, so it counts as a plant. That’s balanced enough for me. You like broccoli; knock yourself out, Jolly Green.”

“Sam isn’t green, Dean. Is your vision faulty? Perhaps we should get your eyes examined. Or you could try carrots along with the broccoli. Carrots are supposed to improve vision.”

No. No, no, no, she thinks, her mind whirling frantically. It was a dream, they can’t be here. This is...this is how it started, and...

She turns, and there they are, Sam and Dean dolled up in their clean, pressed feds suits and Cas looking just as rumpled and bewildered as she suddenly remembers. They seat themselves at an empty table in her section, but any thoughts of leaving early evaporated the second she heard their voices.

Every moment of the dream, every minute of those four weeks comes screaming back, cramming each terror-laden, tension-ridden second into her mind so fast she actually does stumble and has to grab the back of a nearby booth to keep from hitting the worn-out linoleum.

“It...hasn’t happened yet.”

“I’m sorry, did you say something? Hey, hey, hold on there. Are you okay?”

Then Sam’s hand is supporting her elbow, helping her straighten up, and she looks up into his concerned eyes, unable to express how glad she is just to see him breathing. Behind him, Dean and Cas are arguing about something trivial, wonderfully animated and alive and completely unaware of her.

“I’m sorry, hun, it’s just been a long shift. Gimme a minute to grab some waters and menus, and I’ll be right over.” Sam accepts her flimsy excuse at face value, and why wouldn’t he? He hasn’t lived with her for the better part of a month, hasn’t saved her life once, hasn’t tried to save the world with her. He doesn’t know her at all.

Why should he question a strange waitress in a strange diner who says she’s had a long day? He’s met hundreds of women just like her, maybe thousands, and he’s got no reason to question a completely legitimate statement.

She rushes into the back to find the coldest water possible to splash on her face. Her reflection gapes back at her from the staff bathroom mirror as the enormity of her situation begins to dawn on her.

Why? Why is this happening? Either she actually lived through those weeks and is somehow getting a do-over, or she dreamed the whole thing and is getting a shot to fix things from this end. But why? And how?

How in the hell?

Think, Andrea, think. It was real. It will be real. It hasn’t happened yet. You haven’t screwed everything up yet. You have to fix this. But how? How can I fix it when I screwed everything up so very badly last time?

Just...think. Think. Start small. Try to stop it before it happens. But...the cult. Crowley said they were real. They found me before, they’ll find me again. I could talk to Sam and Dean and Cas about what's going to happen. They’ve been through enough insanity in their lives that I actually have a pretty good shot at convincing them.

She stares into the mirror, racking her brain for every helpful detail she learned during her time with the Winchesters.

They're already investigating all the break-ins hereabouts; those were the cultists looking for me in the first place. Then they find me, take me, bleed me, and start the apocalypse. The boys could stop the ritual before it even happens.

Her reflection in the mirror frowns, unconvinced the solution could possibly be that easy.

But the literature, the books, it’s all still out there. Someone else could find it, could come after me. My blood is the problem. I’m the key. As long as I’m around, someone could still use me to end everything. Crowley can still use me to get to them. Think. You’ve got to actually stop everything and save them this time.

Her eyes widen as realization dawns. The world can’t make it without the Winchesters. There’s only one way out of this.

Fifteen minutes later, she sets a fresh green salad in front of Sam before dropping a towering stack of steaming pancakes in front of Dean.

“Fresh pot of coffee coming off in two, be right back with your refills. Need any more butter or syrup, hun? How ‘bout a couple of extra pieces of bacon on the house?”

“Don’t encourage him, please,” Sam groans. Dean slaps his brother on the back of the head, sending Sam’s coiffed hair into a tizzy of disarray. Sam swipes back at his brother, who waves off Sam’s attempts at retaliation like he’s swatting a fly.

“You shut your pie hole. She said free bacon. That makes her a queen.” He turns his most charming smile on her, glancing down at her name tag then back up to meet her gaze squarely. The crinkles around his eyes deepen with his grin. “Andrea, is it?”

“Andy,” she corrects automatically, and she can’t help her answering smile. He throws her a wink that clearly says he knows he’s cheesy but it's all part of his irresistible charm.

She doesn’t disagree.

“You are a goddess, Andy. I love you, and you need to know that.”

“You don’t,” she says, only just managing to keep her voice and smile level, “but you could.” His answering laugh sends a twinge through her chest, and if she clenches her jaw a little around her smile, she figures she’s entitled.

When the men finally finish eating, she offers a slip of paper to Dean, while Sam pretends he isn’t rolling his eyes.

“There’s a karaoke competition at the Brass Monkey tonight. Winner gets tab on the house for a week. Interested in maybe meeting up there around ten or so? We could have a drink, sing a song, and see where the rest of the night takes us.”

He grins and takes the slip from her with sure fingers. She’s certain he has her number memorized before the paper even retains his prints, but he makes a special show of tucking it safely into his pocket.

“Dean, do you think it wise to allow yourself to be so distracted when we’re in the middle of an investigation?”

And without even realizing it, Cas gives her the perfect opening.

“Oh, you boys investigating all the break-ins hereabouts? Were they too much for our local boys to handle? Listen, hun, my friend was one of the ladies whose house got broken into. If you want to stick around for a few minutes, I can fill you in on what I know and send you her way. Would that help?”

Castiel’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and he is clearly pleased with his first-rate investigating skills. “That would help immensely, Miss Andrea. Thank you.”

She can’t believe her luck at such a perfect lead-in, and she runs with it.

“Now that I think about it, the shop next door mentioned something about their alarm getting tripped a few nights in a row. Maybe I could talk to your friend while you two check it out? And I’ll see you tonight, Dean? Ten o’clock?”

Dean’s grin softens, and she can see the faintest tinge of red along his cheeks. She didn’t notice it the first time around, and now she wishes she’d paid more attention. Then the brothers leave, and she’s alone with the angel. ...

Chapter 6

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ironmandeficiency · 5 years ago

Text

refreshing

pairing: hardcase / jedi!reader

word count: 4122

summary: you’re able to convince (read: blackmail) anakin into letting the troops take a pit stop on your home planet of naboo for a couple days of morale boost.

request: hi i’d like to order a hardcase combo with a side of smooching (u write him so well i’m a mess!!!)

warnings: unprotected sex, outdoor sex, slight exhibitionist kink?

a/n: my first time writing a full-length fic with smut!! always remember, wrap it before you tap it.

“we are not stopping there, y/n. there’s no time.”

“just like there wasn’t time for you to make a ‘very important call’ to someone that wasn’t even a jedi right before our last battle.”

“how did you-“

“i have more than two brain cells, anakin. now next time you speak to the senator, make sure you tell her i said hi.”

silence. then he tersely orders the pilot to set the coordinates to naboo, silently beginning to contemplate a way to get payback.

you entered the clones’ barracks by anakin’s side, a wild grin still crossing your face at the success of your plan. heads turned to the sudden entrance of two generals and several shinies abruptly stood at attention before being relaxed by older brothers. neither you nor anakin enjoyed the idea of your men dropping everything for something as time-consuming as a salute.

“good news men,” anakin begins while barely stifling a groan. “before we return to coruscant, we’ll be making a brief pit stop.”

that was a poor way to explain it. several groans filled the air, thinking that there was yet another mission to be completed. the men hadn’t been on leave for several long and testing weeks and the idea of such overworking was rather repulsive.

“boys, don’t look so glum! we’re going on vacation!” your giddy shout shocks several of them and confounds many others. why the kriff would they go on vacation? they were soldiers fighting a war, there was no time for something so trivial. even if there were, they were clones. clones weren’t given vacations.

anakin takes a moment to enjoy the bafflement before clarifying your statement. “on paper we’re touching base with the local government to ensure friendly republic relations. once we’re there, however, we will have two days of pre-leave leave. a vacation, if you will.”

rex was dubious. “are you sure this is allowed, sir?”

oh rex, always dependable when it came to the book. his sense of duty was unrivaled, and moments like this made it clear. “anakin and i have both done far worse things without the council’s approval. surely an impromptu morale boost wouldn’t even hit the top ten.” your grin disarmed several troopers, them finally beginning to accept that they were indeed getting a small vacation.

“as long as you’re sure, general,” a small smile graced the captain’s face as he turned to speak to his brothers. “men, we’re going on vacation.”

“but sir,” dogma spoke up. you turned to him and took in the way his eyebrows and tattoo were twisted in concern, finding it very fitting for the trooper. “what planet are we going to?”

“good question, dogma. we’re going to naboo.”

after a few hours spent at the palace, you and anakin were free to join your men. you had to at least make your twist of the truth convincing by actually visiting the naboo palace, even though queen jamillia wasn’t expecting any sort of jedi visit. didn’t need anyone finding loopholes in your future cover story in case they went to looking.

the five-oh-first was currently stationed in a wooded meadow dotted by several tiny ponds and vibrant wildflowers. some were swimming, others were wrestling in the daisy patches, and there were a few napping on moss-covered rocks or logs. everyone was smiling and/or laughing, though, and that was the best part.

the speeder anakin drove you back in skirted to a stop at the edge of the clearing. he offered you a hand to help you off, his driving being the kind that would quite easily disorient someone not used to his methods, and you took it with a smile. there was no way you would be letting him drive again, that was for certain.

it took seconds before your arrival was noticed. “hey everyone, the generals are back!” fives shouted to his brothers that were in one of the small ponds with him. the information spread like wildfire and soon you were both surrounded by men competing for yours and anakin’s company.

“come swim with us, general!”

“no, come join us for sabacc!”

“we’re wrestling in the flowers over there and need an unbiased ref!”

“our pond has a better view!”

“no it doesn’t!”

anakin laughed before bringing about a compromise. “we have two days, guys. we’ll both try to spend as much time with you all as we can, but i’m going to start by judging a few fights. y/n, you know where to find me.”

jesse and spears were excited to have won general skywalker’s attention, neither containing the whoops as they pulled anakin toward the match continuing on without them. from the looks of it appo was winning against jude, which was an interesting turn of events.

now you were left with a choice. you could go play sabacc with kix or go swimming in either hardcase’s pond or tup’s, both of which had spectacular views of the countryside. the decision was a bit biased (which you would tell no one) but you had to put effort into making it look like you spent more than two seconds making a choice.

hardcase was shirtless in front of you, clad only in his soaked briefs that left very little of his body to your vivid imagination. geometric lines decorated his chest, beads of water sliding down or beginning to dry against him in the sun pulling you in. it was hypnotic and quickly becoming a fuel source to your less jedi-like dreams.

you already had plenty of sources to draw from but it never hurt to add more. there was the wild gleam in his eye when taking down clankers with his z-6 and the way he’d comfort his younger brothers when they struggled with anything from night terrors to painting their armor. this wasn’t even mentioning the time you’d gotten a nasty blaster wound to the thigh and he had to carry you to kix and coric, the strong arms a cocoon of safety (kix told you later that you had called hardcase honey in your blood loss delirium and he flushed redder than a tatooine sunset).

he hollered in victory when you slung an arm around his shoulder, letting him guide you to the pond that he was sharing with queen and daze.

hardcase had to be frank with himself when he examined his motives behind wanting you to join him. it did have a lot to do with how he enjoyed you as a person, but he selfishly wanted to bear witness to the way you’d look with the pond water clinging to your skin and underclothes.

but that isn’t to say he only wanted you for your body, maker that couldn’t be farther from the truth. to hardcase, you were more than a general or jedi, and far more than a beautiful body. there was a selflessness he got to see when you interacted with civilians and compassion you showed to him and his brothers that endeared you to him. you were fun and wild and adventurous, and he couldn’t get enough of you, he wanted more.

you spent a few hours playing games in the pond, chicken and marco polo being the favorites. the guys banned you from being it during marco polo, realizing early on that the force was the reason you were finding them so easily and it was most definitely not hardcase splashing you like a child every chance he got. nope, that was not it at all.

the company rotated throughout the time you spent in the pond, the only constant being hardcase. it was pleasant being able to spend so much time with the heavy gunner without having to worry about protocols or codes. you got to just be yourself and spend time with hardcase while doing it, the recipe for a perfect day.

the sun was setting and campfires were built around nearly every pond, both flames and night stars reflecting off the water beautifully. ration bars seemed to taste better on naboo, and dinner was spent singing drinking songs and telling stories of brotherly shenanigans.

you were recounting one of the occasions anakin reprogrammed temple mouse droids to hit people in the ankles on purpose when you noticed it. hardcase’s eyes hadn’t left you for a while, and right now they felt as if they were dissecting you on a laboratory table with their intensity. you wanted to know why but that wasn’t your information to know right then. if he felt comfortable telling you then he would do so in his own time.

nearly everyone was tuckered out by the excessive fun of the day, quickly falling into a peaceful slumber in their bedrolls the likes of which they hadn’t had in a long time. but hardcase, he was far from tired. he was far more awake now than he had been when you were on his shoulders during games of chicken played with fives and tup.

you were enjoying the crackling of the fire paired with the occasional snoring from troopers on all sides when hardcase stood and moved next to you. he had set his roll down on the opposite side of the fire, a decision he now was regretting as he had to maneuver himself carefully around the bodies of sleeping vode.

he eventually made it to your side without waking anyone and let out a sigh of relief as he plopped down next to you. his shoulder lightly bumped yours as he scooted closer and you couldn’t help but be glad he hadn’t put a shirt back on after getting out of the pond for ration dinner.

peaceful silence was achieved (outside of snoring) as you enjoyed each other’s company. you weren’t expecting him to break the silence so soon, but you especially couldn’t predict the way he broke it. “i had a good time today,” he spoke quietly (a true feat for the man) and moved a hand to rest on your knee. “thank you for convincing general skywalker to let us stay here for a couple days.”

the crackling fire illuminated his face just enough for you to see the patches of red on his cheeks and tips of his ears as he continued. his eyes held your captive with their sincerity, emotions swirling wildly just below the surface. “i really enjoyed spending time with you, gen-“

“call me y/n, hardcase. please, it makes everything so much easier.” you had come to a decision a couple hours earlier about how you felt about the man next to you and what you would do about it. there was nothing in you that could maintain the semi-distance you had with him prior to today, not with the way his laughter quickened your pulse and sent waves of joy over you. even his force signature was intoxicating under the nubian sky, you couldn’t get enough.

perplexion overtook his features. he had no idea what you were talking about, silently hoping that you hadn’t lost your mind to fun. “makes what easier-mmm-“

you cut him off with your lips, silencing his question before he could finish. he responded in kind, hands pulling you into his lap without breaking the kiss. it started all tongue and teeth, the adrenaline and arousal beginning to flow through your veins as steady as your blood.

“gen- y/n,” he broke the kiss to catch his breath, quick to correct himself to using your first name instead of rank. his chocolate eyes were blown out with desire, his hands had ventured toward your ass, cradling it with the utmost care. “i-is this what you want? do you really want me?”

your answer was first given with legs wrapped around his waist, mouth meeting his for another breath-stealing kiss. but then you sensed hesitation as his hands gripped your waist and slowly began to detach you from him. he was worried and you had to reassure him, make sure he knew how you cared about him. “more than anything in the galaxy, my dear.”

your eyes conveyed this truth to him the very same way your words did, and the answer given satisfied him. he returned his hands to your backside and gripped the flesh hard before continuing the kiss. you opened your mouth to invite him in and he obliged, his tongue swirling around yours and maker did he taste good.

kissing hardcase was euphoria unlike anything you’ve ever encountered. there wasn’t a single part of you that wasn’t aflame where your body met with his, the burn being one you’d relish in for as long as you lived.

one hand left you for a moment before coming back with a loud smack! that produced a whine from your throat. hardcase would do anything to hear that sound again, so he brought his hand down harder and groaned when his ears caught the mewl he ripped from you.

you slid a hand between your bodies and palmed his cock, giving it sweet resistance when his hips thrust into your hand. he felt thick and hot even through his blacks and you could only imagine how he’d feel inside you.

then a grumble from nearby harshly reminded you both that if you weren’t quiet, there would be an audience. hardcase grinned like a loth-cat before rising to his knees, arms holding you up and against him. “let’s take this somewhere a lil’ quieter, sweetheart.”

with the change in position you could feel his member press deliciously against where you wanted him, grinning in triumph when you wiggled your hips against him and wrestled a groan from the back of his throat. he was standing in seconds and barely bothering to avoid stepping on sleeping vode in his haste to get you as alone as he could.

he walked you both to the edge of the meadow, one of the tiniest ponds being only mere feet away from where he set you down on the ground. you pulled him down to you by his hips, not wanting any space between you as he nipped at your neck and jaw. he sucked hard at a sweet spot just above your collarbone and he nearly ascended to the stars at how beautiful his name sounded from your parted lips.

you tugged at your tunics desperately, wanting hardcase to take the hint and rip them off you. he was smarter than some gave him credit for because it took seconds for him to work them off you, tossing the fabric to the side with abandon. callused hands ran across your chest like the flowing rivers this planet was known for, learning the terrain of your breasts and stomach like battle plans.

his mouth descends lower and latches onto your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud before biting it gently. you’d never felt anything like it before and it drove you wild, his name stumbling through your lips.

“you say my name so pretty, y/n,” he smiles against your breast, lustful chocolate eyes looking at yours under long lashes. you reached your arms around his back and let your hands wander the waistband of his blacks, trying to tell him he was wearing too much but most of the words left you. the resulting sentence was fragmented and flooded with desperation that you didn’t bother trying to hide.

“‘case,” you breathed, “g’t ‘em off, please,” the offending fabric was hiding him from you and you weren’t going to put up with it any longer. he chuckled against your skin before moving back to remove his blacks. his boxers had long since dried from swimming and through the light grey fabric you could see spots of precome.

the boxers were peeled off seconds later and once they were low enough on his legs, he kicked them off to leave him completely exposed to you. his naked body rivaled those of marble sculptures kept in the elite coruscanti museums of art, and exceeded the expectations of the artists that had never been blessed to see such beauty in a man before. the tip of his cock was littered with pearlescent droplets you wanted to both taste and have inside you at that very second; you weren’t picky, either one would have you reaching nirvana in record time.

you sat up and brought him into a bruising kiss. he slithered a hand into your underwear and slid it between your folds, eyebrows raised when he felt how wet you were for him. his hand left soon after and, after breaking the kiss, let your lips wrap around the slick-soaked digit. you swirl your tongue around it and sucked lightly, hardcase loving the way you eagerly tasted yourself around him.

pushing him backward into his back, you straddle his lap and slide yourself across his length. hardcase growls at the contact and his fingers move to grip your hips and move you faster. but you wanted more, you wanted him to split you open and fill you up the way only he could. so you raised your hips up slightly and took his cock in one hand, steadily lowering yourself onto it with a moan.

once he was fully sheathed inside of you, your walls clenched around him and for a millisecond you thought you’d killed the heavy gunner with the way his eyes rolled back at the sensation. it was almost painful for hardcase to keep his hips from fucking up into you but he wanted you comfortable; not to brag but he was thicker and longer than average, and he didn’t want to hurt you by going too fast.

the stillness was sending you up a creek. you wanted him to move, to take what you were offering to him, yet he was resting while buried inside you. you were impatient and decided to take initiative, rising halfway off him before sinking back down. it was divine, the way he stretched you out as you went back down on him, and you could tell he was thinking the same when your name was emitted from hardcase with a primal grunt.

it took only a couple more movements on your part before he had you in a bruising grip, holding you up and pistoning his hips into yours recklessly. it was rough and wild and feral, the only goals being release and staking a claim into the other.

your head was thrown back, neck bared to him as he pounded you. in a moment you didn’t expect, he had you on your back and his head buried in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, continuing to bite and suck at the skin in a way you were positive would leave delicious evidence of the night’s activities.

the new angle aided him in finding your g spot, which you were both immensely grateful for. you were seeing stars that weren’t the ones above you when he found it, a choked whine indicating to hardcase the specific way to thrust to continue hitting it with precision only a soldier could have. his forehead pressed against yours as he fucked you, maintaining eye contact no matter how fast he went.

“fuck, hardcase!” his balls were slapping your ass as he went harder and faster, the man holding nothing back. he pressed a finger against your mouth before panting, “gotta be quiet for me, sugar,” he paused to give you a particularly hard thrust that threw you closer to the brink. “don’t want anyone findin’ us, do we?” the rasp and growl of his voice was unreal but he kept talking, and you buried your head into his neck to ground you.

he smelled of a smoky battlefield and fertile earth and honey sweeter than you’d ever tasted. a delicate lick at the sweaty sheen coating his skin had your tastebuds in paralysis and hardcase grunting mando’a curses as his pace grew erratic. he was close.

your walls began to flutter around him, you telling him that you were close with a moan.

“that’s it mesh’la, i want ya to come for me, you can do it beautiful,” he gripped your thigh and pulled it up his waist, spreading you further open for him and oh force it was unbelievable.

“come with me, please!”

“i’m about to, i’m gonna- where do you want it?” images ran through your head of him unloading onto your tongue or your chest and it nearly made you one with the force, but there was plenty of time in the future to experiment with that. you wanted him in you, to fill you up in every sense of the word.

“cum inside me, hardcase!” suffice to say, hardcase was not expecting that reply, shuddering in ecstasy at the thought of his seed leaking out of you.

“sugar, you’re killin’ me, i- holy kriff!” he thrusted a few more times before slamming into you balls deep, making sure that not a drop of him spilled out of you in that moment. you flexed around his cock and milked him for everything he had as the sensation brought you over the edge with him, his name repeated like a prayer.

he braced himself as much as he could before collapsing partly on top of you, sweaty skin mingling against sweaty skin. he was still inside you and the slightest movement ran the risk of overstimulation, but you didn’t want him to leave you empty yet. so you wrapped your arms around him and rolled you both on your sides, facing each other while still keeping him inside you.

you brought your hand to cup his cheek, running your fingers feather light across the lines and dots that decorated his face. he hummed in pleasure, eyes shutting in bliss. his hand not supporting his side was gently stroking the crook of your hip. neither of you spoke for several minutes, just letting yourselves bask in the afterglow.

then hardcase has an idea.

“hey sweetheart,” he begins softly, still hesitant to speak but just as badly wanting you to hear what he has to say. your hum of acknowledgement spurs him on. “wanna go for a swim?”

this man was sent by the gods.

that’s what you told yourself as he slowly slid out of you and helped guide you to the edge of the closest pond. you slid in and he was right behind you, immediately pulling you as close as he could. he didn’t try to continue the prior activities, just simply leaned against the edge of the pond and held you close.

you couldn’t remember the last time you were held for a reason outside of warmth and self-preservation. it was bliss, so comforting and peaceful and safe. you floated and let hardcase anchor you to him, fully trusting him to keep you above the surface as he held you and talked about anything and everything.

the conversation was easy and the touches soft as you talked away the night. you eventually wrapped your arms around his neck and used his chest as a pillow, taking comfort from the way his hands smoothed over the bruises he made in your skin a few hours earlier. his heartbeat was steady against your, the thumping strong and true.

“hey sugar,” he whispered into your hair before slowly unwrapping your arms from his neck. you let him and the water move your body, your back pressed against his chest and his arms holding you in place once again. “look over here.” he pointed to the sky where the sun was beginning to rise, the sky painted in pastel pink and lavender and marigold.

it’s been too long since you’ve gotten to watch the sun rise on your home planet. sharing the moment with hardcase made it all the more a beautiful. “hardcase, it’s gorgeous.”

he smiled and kissed your crown. “it doesn’t compare to a certain jedi i know, don’t even come close.”

“i didn’t know you had a thing for anakin, dear. i’ll be sure to let him know.”

he sputtered in indignation, laughing at the insinuation but taking it as a challenge as well. “you know that’s not who i’m talking about, beautiful.” one hand slides down through the water and comes to rest between your thighs, his index and middle fingers teasing your clit. you push your ass against his dick in retaliation and reeling as you feel him stiffen against you.

you spent the sunrise w in ith hardcase slowly thrusting into you, lips locked together and hands caressing your bodies gently. your legs were wrapped around his waist as he pressed you against the pond’s edge, taking his time with you as the stars faded from view.

#hardcase #clone trooper hardcase #hardcase is precious #hardcase x reader #clone trooper hardcase x reader #star wars reader insert #star wars fanfic #star wars imagines #star wars the clone wars #star wars #jj writes things

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sunnysviolin · 4 years ago

Note

Kel and Aubrey going around interacting with people to learn about the different cultures everywhere as they travel, wearing cultural outfits, participating in cultural activities, just having an overall good time...

Would they be good at any cultural dances? Since they're traveling to Spain first, I can just imagine Aubrey in a flamenco dress with Kel as they just dance together and enjoy themselves (or maybe Kel wearing the dress- or maybe both of them wearing dresses-)

...I kinda wanna draw them dancing around together now.

-from a videogame-world traveling anon

nonnie.....nonnie wait....if you drew something we created together I would be SO EMO WAIT!!! No oh my god like my brain literally just exploded like art?? ART??? I wanna be able to draw so bad...but I can’t I just gotta continue on w my lil writing bits....here take some more writing bits nonnie

*Singing to myself* This got lonnng againnnn I’m putting itttt under a readdd moreeeee

Kel’s parents are....less than pleased to find out their son isn’t directly going to college like Hero did, and they make that known.

They don’t approve of his choice to take at least one gap year. They don’t approve of him not continuing his education. They don’t approve of him throwing away his life for that bad girl that spent so many years terrorizing him. Even two years after changing her ways, Aubrey is still regarded as a nuisance among the town old timers. Kel’s parents tell him plainly that they don’t approve of Aubrey, and they won’t be changing their mind.

Which leads to Kel having a minor breakdown and finally admitting what he’s known his whole life- that he will never be good enough to measure up to Hero, and he’s finally tired of trying to be someone he’s not. He isn’t Hero and he never will be, but for once he wants being Kel to be good enough.

Seeing their bright positive middle child finally crack under the weight they’ve been unintentionally laying on him is...it’s painful. Kel’s parents never meant to make it a competition between their sons, they just wanted what was best for both of them.

Having Kel sobbing at their dining room table at 3:00 am on the night of his high school graduation teaches them that they might not know what’s best for Kel after all.

So...yeah the talk the morning after that is filled with a lot of awkward pausing. Kel isn’t used to sharing his true feelings, and he isn’t used to exposing anything other than cheerful hope. Ultimately they come to an agreement. Kel can go with Aubrey, follow her and his heart on their crazy plan, but he has to spend the year before they leave working and earning and not just hanging around the house

That was Kel’s plan anyway, so he’s ecstatic. He calls Aubrey immediately after, and she comes over so they can plan things out together

That year before they leave is definitely not easy. They’re working multiple retail and menial labor jobs, spending 12-15 hours a day on their feet in steamy kitchens, being screamed at by rude customers, and delivering so. many. pizzas.

At some point in that year Aubrey and her mother have the inevitable fight that has been coming her whole life, and her mother kicks her out. Aubrey shows up in the middle of the night with her things next to her. Kel’s mother welcomes her inside and gets her a cup of tea. Kel wakes up and comes downstairs the next day to see his partner curled up asleep on the couch under a blanket his mother had just finished knitting

His mother doesn’t explain anything (”It’s her story dear not mine”) but after Aubrey comes to stay with them his parents warm to her quickly. Aubrey and Kel are allowed to share the room that Hero and he once shared, but they’re adamant that the beds stay on opposite sides

((He and Aubrey fit cramped but happy into his twin bed every night, but she always wakes up early to switch beds in order to be respectful to his parents wishes))

Soon enough its the afternoon before their journey is beginning (They decided to redeye to Sevilla). They have hostel confirmation numbers for a dozen different European countries, a thick binder of plans and itineraries, and a joint account that has a surprising amount of money in it.

Turns out working 15 hours a day, taking only your eight paid vacation days, and having all of your dates be creative free dates in the five hours a week you both have off together means that you are able to acquire quite the nest egg. Kel’s parents sit them down at the dining room table, and his father is shocked to see how this year has shaped Kel.

It’s a strange thing to see your son as an adult for the first time. It didn’t feel strange when it was Hero, he always expected it from Hero. Seeing it in Kel rocked him.

They drive the two young adults (calling them kids now feels...wrong) to the airport and make them promise to call and write daily.

There’s an undeniable energy and excitement as they board the plane. He and Aubrey breathe an audible sigh of relief. They shouldn’t, but they sleep on the plane. After a year of running, they’ve earned it

OKAY SO THAT WASN”T AT ALL WHAT YOU ASKED FOR....HERE HAVE DANCE LESSON HEADCANONS

Aubrey planned for everything, so she planned that they would need at least two days to recover when they finally got to Spain. The first two days are spent in a combo of sleeping and eating fantastic food and finally being able to spend a full night in bed together instea of sneaking unsuccessfully around Kel’s parents.

She splurged and got them a private room at their first hostel in Sevilla. It was more expensive, but ultimately so very very worth it.

But day three is when they start to explore. They finally venture off of the block around their hostel and began to deep dive into the tiny back paths of the city. They meet a nice handful of locals who invite them to breakfast the next morning (Kel’s spanish speaking skills are undeniably useful to them in this moment)

And that night...that night is the beginning of the wish fulfillment she’s waited for since she was five years old. A flamenco lesson that promises an authentic experience, real outfits, and a party for all involved at the end. Aubrey was frugal with accomodations, but she spared no expense when it came to the experiences. Especially this one.

Flamenco is traditionally a single dance with one woman, but she asked and Kel is allowed to come if he likes. The instructor in charge recognizes Aubrey from her call, and drags Kel over to where another man sits with a guitar. He and the man begin to converse in Spanish, and Kel seems to be rapidly making plans. He’s fine with only watching for tonight, this is her dream

Aubrey is thrust into a room with a bunch of other tourists, even a few from her own state, and a gaggle of women who work at the studio. They show her a row of gorgeous traditional dresses, an overwhelming rainbow of frills and explosions of color.

Aubrey has let her hair go back to it’s natural color by this point, and her long dark locks catch the eye of one of the instructors who pulls her over to a corner of the rack of dresses. The instructor winks at her and pulls out a dress. It’s perfect.

Kel is also having a fantastic time. He and the guitar player who’s name is Raphael are discussing guitar playing. Raphael wants to teach Kel to play himself so “He can play for his lady when she wants to dance for him again”

All conversation stops when Aubrey walks out.

The others are dolled up as well, but Kel only has eyes for his girl. Her dress is black, hugging to her waist and her body. As the ruffles of the dress begin on her arms and her legs, the dress goes from black to a striking bright red. Around her wrists and on her neck is bright gold jewlery, gleaming against her skin.

Aubrey’s dark hair is wrapped up in a bun with a series of pink to red carnations following the curve of her hair. Her lips are tinged with maroon lipstick.

Kel is left speechless. Aubrey asks him something and Kel just has to nod and try to catch his breath. The rest of the group giggle at their antics, and Aubrey rolls her eyes at him. She presses a kiss to his cheek, maroon imprint left in its wake, and then she is over with the other girls in front of the instructor.

Raphael begins to play at the instructors insistence

The dance lesson is fun. Even just watching Kel has fun. Aubrey normally has a hardness in her eyes, a tightness in her shoulders as if she’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Within minutes of the instructors careful praise and guidance Aubrey is loose and even giggling. Kel hasn’t heard a sound like that from her since they were children.

At the end the group performs the dance all together to a raucuous applause form Kel, Raphael, and the instructor. Then they all go to the patio behind the studio which has been decked out in warm golden lanterns with a table of food prepared.

Raphael begins to play again and the others mingle close to the food. Aubrey takes Kels hand and they go to a separate corner of the dance floor. They don’t dance in any particular way, just holding one another and rocking to the melody. Her hair has begun to come out of it’s tight bun, but her eyes are bright with happiness and she can’t manage to stop smiling

That night under the glow of the lanterns is the night they first say they love each other. It was a given, they already knew it, but those words are saccharine sweet against their lips as Kel holds Aubrey close to him and they spin while the music plays.

#videogame-world traveling anon #asks #anon #omori #omori headcanons #omori headcanon #i guess #omori au #world travel au #kelbrey #omori kel #omori aubrey #omori kels parents #This is cute #I love this sm

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horrorslashergirl · 4 years ago

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The Lurking One: A Shadow Horror Story

Authors Note: Decided to write a story for my newest Slasher OC, Shadow. People seem to really like him, despite him not having a face claim. lol

Warning: 18+ for horror, gore and torture, plus add in trauma

Words: 2.4k words

It was one of these late at night study sessions for the ones that slacked during the year and had to catch up with what they lost; Giula was one of them and she cursed herself for letting her time be filled with sorority activities and parties.

The Northeastern University campus was empty save for the security guard; Guila being the only student who was currently in the library catching up to a project that was due to tomorrow. She could have done it back at the sorority house, but she knew the girls would distract her and tempt her with other activities such as preparing for a college festival that was in two weeks.

Her grades were more important than social activities that would print into her status, not to mention her parents who had a talk with her about the fact that college wasn't a gateway for drinking and hooking up with guys.

Guila sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, checking the old antique clock of the library.

10:35 PM

Her gaze moved back to the tons of files and books on the wood desk she was sat at. She just finished the project, but she needed to revise it to make sure everything was perfectly done. The grade for this project was important and she wasn't looking for another discussion with her parents and the headmaster.

She will look it over in the morning; she needed to be fresh tomorrow for the presentation and looking like a crackhead in front of the judges wasn't a pro in the book. Putting everything back into her bag neatly, she pulled her hair out of the tight ponytail, letting her auburn locks fall freely down her back, almost to the hips.

Walking out of the library and locking the door; thank God the old library lady was a sweetheart and left the keys for her to close. She walked down the hallways and taking the old victorian ascensor to the low floor. Before she could exit the building she stopped by the cubicle of the security guard, handing him the keys.

"All done for tonight, dear?" Arthur asked, taking the keys and setting them on his desk.

"Well, finally so. I will have to own Mrs. Hariot for leading me the keys to the library." Giula told the old man with a smile.

"Ahhh...She's an angel among here. Trust me, it was her pleasure." he old the girl, sitting back down at his desk, a copy of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen was on the desk.

"Have a good night without incidents, Sir." Giula told the gentleman guard who nodded.

"Nothing ever happens around here. Kids nowadays don't read books anymore, so I don't think someone will try to break into the library." Arthur joked, making Giulia giggle and nod, although feeling a little by what he said.

"I suppose so. Good night." the girl waved off, stalking towards the exit.

"Likewise, dear!" Arthur called after her, going back to the classic novel.

As she opened the door, a chilly air hit Giulia in the face, making her wrap her arms around herself. It was definitely colder than when she got in the morning here. It was earlier spring, the days warm, but the nights reminding that the winter just recently moved away.

She was wearing a white button-down with dark blue jeans and some ballet flats that made her legs all shaky; her light brown cardigan not helping at all. She couldn't wait to get back to the sorority house and bask in the warmness of her bed and away from the coldness of the night.

It was just a 20 minutes long time walk to the house, but it seemed like much more to her now that she was all alone and shivering like a hairless cat.

Mentally, she cursed her parents for not letting her drive, always scolding her that she wasn't ready. Overly protective parents and their old school mentality always made Giulia feel like she was still a baby. She was 22 and in the second year of college for Christ's sake.

She couldn't wait to finish college and get a job; Oh the dream of having her own apartment and not having to deal with doll-like girls who owned Porches all because of their wealthy daddies. Now thinking more about it, she was the only one who didn't have an overly rich family; maybe the girls kept her because she was the only one who was first to clean a mess, make breakfast when the others were hungover.

The streets were all deserted, none was outside, most people here being locals since birth or college students who basked in cheap beer and gossips at this hour.

This neighbor that gave off hostel-like vibes made her skin be covered in goosebumps, smelling a faint scent of weed, beer and hearing the music blasting from the apartments above. The police wouldn't come to stop the noise, since there was none to be bothered by the hypnotic beat.

Guila could feel eyes on her, but every time she turned around to take a look there was none, just the slight wet streets and alleyways that adored this place. Each time she passed one, she would halt her walking, afraid two big clawed hands will brisk her away into darkness.

She rolled her eyes as a guy from above cat-called her, probably drunk off his ass, and his girlfriend a few feet away from him at the window making out with his best friend.

Boston really was filled up with these types of students, getting great opportunities and throwing said blessing out the window because of blinding hormones, and the idea of being young means I'm indestructible.

'Just 10 more minutes and you will be home.' Giulia thought to herself, but it quickly went off the window as pain shot through her scalp, before she knew it she was dragged into the darkness of an alleyway.

One strong arm wrapped around the middle section of her waist, but the other moved to her neck, feeling the prickle of something cold against her neck; a blade, a knife, something that was indeed sharp.

"Scream and you can say arrivederci to your precious vocal cords." the person that held her spoke, voice raspy and very eerie, definitely a male.

"P-Please...Don't kill me." Giulia whispered, afraid that if she raises her voice too much, he won't keep on his promises.

"Shush now. I heard that line all too many times and it gets very monotonous." the man spoke right by her ear, running what she assumed was a scalpel over her cut, not slitting her throat, but surely making a small cut to show that he wasn't playing games.

She was panicking, her breathing getting more on the hysterical edge, then she did the first thing she could think of. She kicked him in one of his shins, making him groan, but he didn't back off. He did throw her in the opposite direction of the alleyway against the brick wall. Giulia grunted and whimpered as she hit the ground right into a puddle.

Her hazel eyes looked up and she felt terror strick her as he stalked over to her wet and bruised form, like a panther ready to pounce on its prey. She could scream, but the music from the apartments above was so loud she wouldn't have a chance in someone hearing her.

One cold leather-gloved hand wrapped around her neck and he slammed her back into the wall, showing so much strength that got her the image of him snapping her tiny neck like a twig.

"That was some dirty move you put up there, little wench. Although I am a very patient man." he whispered, and now that he was in front of her, she could make out what he looked like.

He was wearing all black, probably a very expensive tailored suit with a scarlet red tie, not even a glimpse of skin was shown. What really caught her attention was his vintage-looking fedora and the creepy raven like a mask.

A doctor purge mask? She heard of them from her brother who was very into history.

"W-Who are you?" Giulia choked, his hand tightening around her throat at the question.

He hummed like he was deep in thought.

"I think the public eye has birthed me as the Shadow." he answered her question.

It took only a few seconds for Giulias eyes to widen and her body to tremble. She heard on the news about him; the unknown brutal killer, never seen, none to survive to tell the story and how they described his murderers on television.

The killer known now as Shadow chuckled at her horrified face.

"Ahhhh....So you heard of me. Good. I hate to explain information to someone who cannot even work their brain enough to avoid someone dangerous." he mused, making the young woman whimper and cry, then she began to swing her legs in an attempt to hurt him.

Only for her head to be slammed multiple times against the brick wall until her vision blacked and she fell on the dirty ground by the pristine black Oxfords he was sporting.

----------------------------------

The lightbulb above flickered to life and Giulia opened her eyes, looking around like a desperate animal caged, or more like chained by her neck, a metal collar digging into the skin of her neck and creating red and purple marks.

Her doe-like eyes looking around and stopped on the black-clad figure.

The Shadow.

"Ahh...I'm glad you're awake. I might think I hit your head too many times on the brick wall. I usually prefer drugging my victims, but you were acting like too much of a mindless animal." he began to spoke so fluently, calm, like everything that was going on was a normal occurrence for him; like discussing the weather over a few drinks.

The man was laying some tools neatly on a metal table; surgical tools, like scalpels, forceps, scissors, retractors, and clamps. Giulia felt a bile form in her throat, starting to tug on the heavy chain that was bounded against the concrete wall; no luck.

"Let m go, you fucker!" she screamed and in an instant, her back meet the cold wall, gloved hand grasping her jaw tightly as the leather beak of the mask brushed against her face.

"You smell putrid, although there is that faint strawberry scent of your perfume." he commented, fingertips digging more into her jaw and making her whimper and sob.

In his free hand, he held a pair of surgical retractors and her eyes widened when he forced her mouth open, one finger pulling her upper lip to expose her pearly white teeth and pink gums.

"You have a nice set of teeth there. I adore your canines especially." he whispered, then he grasped one of her canines with the retractor, tugging on it and forcing a pain-filled scream from Giulia; the next twin teeth following.

Her tears filled eyes looking as he held both canines between black covered fingers.

"Very impeccable indeed." he murmured, going back to the table.

The metallic taste of blood and sterisol filled her mouth, scarlet dripping down her chin.

She knew this was far from over as his thumb run over the shiny scalpel.

--------------------------------------

Giulia didn't know how much time has flown; one month, maybe two? She hadn't seen the light of the day in so long and she wished dead would overcome her.

She was in so much pain; the things Shadow did to her. First the canines, then her fingernails went off and when she spat on his mask she thought she was going to die as he poured acidic fluid down her scalp; her beautiful long hair was just a burned memory.

Dead was supposed to come, but the sadist treated her wounds like an expert at the hospital, only to remind her that death was far away from her.

Then the begging, telling him what she will do anything, even getting on her knees and possibly giving him new ideas. His words were absolute humiliation.

"I know what you're implying, ignorant wench." he told her as his gloved hands were running down her naked hips, then he left her.

"I'm not a rapist, darling. Never found any fascination with taking someone against their own will in that way. I prefer my slave to be willing, but you're not. So I advise next time you keep these sick fantasies to yourself." he told her, mocking and making her feel even more stupid.

She caught glimpses of him doing awful things to the other girls; one of them skinned alive and every muscle on full display.

"You're just too perfect, aren't you?" he told Giulia, making her a confused mess.

---------------------------------------------

She did manage to trick him when he was busy piercing her earlobes multiple types, having to bite her tongue as she stole the keys to her chains.

Then when he found her moving down the hallways; she almost got her leg blown off when he used a shotgun after her. She had opened the door to the exit and was meet with the night. Running through the forest, looking behind her over and over.

Her luck was finally getting to the principal road and a car passed by, getting in, and again she was in danger. The old man tried to rape her, but she was brave enough to jump out of the car when they were in town.

After 30 minutes of limping around the streets, she finally spotted a police car that was patrolling.

Interrogations followed, but she always spoke the same words, too traumatized by the events.

'He is tall and in all black. He doesn't seem human. No human could do this. He pulled all her skin off like she was a rabbit. His voice, makes me wanna throw up, it's so raspy it makes me wanna be deaf so I cannot hear it anymore in my head. What he did to the other girls...I cannot describe. He said that I'm perfect. What was that supposed to mean?'

Her parents were devasted when they found out about everything that happened and her mother fell on her knees crying over and over when she finally saw Giulia face to face.

The worst was that she could no longer be let on her own; nightmares, voices, aggressive outbursts, and feeling like she was constantly followed. She was scared of her own shadow.

When the police found the whereabouts of where Giulia was held everything was gone, not even a spot of blood like there was none there in the first place.

Why clean it all up if Shadow wanted the bodies to be found in the first place?

Needless to say...Nights in Boston weren't safe anymore.

#The Shadow #Serial Killer #Salem #Boston #Horror story #creepy story #original characters #slasher oc

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concussed-to-pieces · 5 years ago

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To Tell You The Truth Part One

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Hello everyone, and welcome! I present a new indulgence, as I am a simple man subject to the whim of my hyperfixations. I hope that you all will enjoy this tale, though I warn it will be a tad less carefree. Darker subject matter will be tread in this series. But! My indulgences will shine through regardless, and my trigger warnings will be at the beginning of each installment. If you're interested in reading more of my attempted writing involving a space Pedro, I will direct you to Stay Safe, my completed Mandalorian fic. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]

You ran.

The thrower knocked against your leg as you fled, almost tripping you numerous times. You couldn't bring yourself to fix it, though.

You didn't stop, even when your ribs started to ache and your vision went patchy. The pod is just in the next clearing, you kept telling yourself, the next clearing for certain. Once you were inside it, you could…

It had no lock. Damon hadn't deemed it necessary. Maybe...maybe that other man just wouldn't find you. The one that Damon had shot and tried to thieve everything from. How could he have believed that his greed would go unchecked?! Those two men had clearly been slaving in the Bakhroma Green for ages. Months at a bare minimum. Now one of them was dead, and the other had been wounded by Damon before your oh-so-illustrious companion had succumbed to the injuries inflicted by that railgun.

You had been involved in dig disputes before, of course, but you were hard-pressed to think of a time where one had been settled with such...messy finality.

You entered the pod with a gasp of relief, jerking your helmet off to breathe the comfortingly stale air. You dropped the thrower by the door, unable to bring yourself to even think about using it.

Damon was dead.

You pressed your hands to your temples and sank to the floor. The man who had bullied, browbeat and press-ganged you into this remote locale, was dead. And you…

You had no idea how to urge this pod back up past the thick canopy. You were a digger. Digging was what you were good at. It was what you knew. You were not a pilot.

Despair took hold then, as you realized you were truly trapped. Precious seconds ticked by while you laid there on the floor, a curled-up ball of miserable floater. There were three cycles left before there would be no escape, before the freighter slingback would be entirely inaccessible.

You dragged yourself out of your funk eventually, doing your best to wipe your face clean of all your tears. You could figure this out. All Damon had been good for was flying, right? You would inventory the supplies and see how many days you could eke out. Maybe you could reach someone on the long range.

...

The sorting and cataloging work kept you busy. Which was good. You liked busy. Busy limited headspace. Busy kept people alive on digs.

It was a little warm inside the pod once the sunlight started beating down on it. You wiped your sweat off with your forearm for the millionth time, flipping through your notes. If you were cautious about certain resources and supplements, you might be able to last two months down on the Green moon. But that was only if your filters continued to hold recharges. Uncharitably, you wished you had taken Damon's before you bolted.

There was nothing for it. You would just have to make it back to the freighter in time. Two stands of miserable living would do you no good if you were still on this moon. Judging from the thickness of the pollen in the air, the plant life would be noxious. You wouldn't survive without your filters.

You leafed through the radio manual, flipping the power switch and grimacing at the burst of static that greeted your ears through the Arcsoko long range headset. "To anyone listening, this is Dasha Landcraft Rental, parcel-class, pod number-" you paused, fumbling through to the back of the manual for the number scrawled there by the company. "Number...eight-eight-three-nine-seven-five dash-zero-zero--" you stopped to inhale, "-two-seven-four-two. We have landed off course. I repeat, we are off target in the Green. Pilot lost." Your voice started to shake. "P-Pilot lost. If a-anyone is within range, please respond."

You flipped the switch on the signal amp and then pushed the looper, setting the message to repeat broadcasting for an hour. It would be a varying amount of expenditure on your chit for every additional hour you wanted to keep your transmission on the air, and you didn't exactly have money to throw around, so all you could hope was that someone would hear your distress message within the first free hour.

You kept the headset on, rocking back and forth in your chair as the minutes ticked down. A few times there were bursts of static that sounded like someone was about to come on air, but they peaked as fast as they arrived.

Hope faded the longer you sat there, sorting and stacking the brightly-colored Calori-pouches of Pastors Henry slurry. You staunchly ignored the way your lower lip was quivering. Damon hated it when you cried.

Within the last few precious minutes of your free broadcast, a noise outside sent your heart into your throat. You yanked off the headphones, scrambling for the nav console. The wall of bulky, jutting screens was the first thing you could seriously consider cover, but it was only once you'd tucked yourself beneath it that you remembered you had left the thrower by the door.

You started forward to grab it, but ended up just lowering your body closer to the floor as the noises advanced, footsteps you realized. So he had found you. He would certainly kill you if only for what your partner had done. It had been careless of you to start your broadcast so soon after returning to the pod. You had essentially beamed out a homing signal to your exact location.

For an hour.

This was it. Cowering in a rented pod, weapon feet away, clutching an itemized list of all the things to eat and drink. A fitting end, for a timid dust-scratcher like yourself.

I will not cry or beg, you told yourself sternly. It would do no good here. It was better to face your demise with some shred of dignity, and Damon had just gotten more angry when you cried.

The hatch hissed loudly and you somehow made yourself even smaller while that man, the talkative one, lurched up into the pod. He stumbled, fighting with the latches on his helmet for a good ten seconds before finally managing to get the thing off, thus affording you a clear view at his face.

He didn't look particularly cruel, or Brism-busted like Damon had. Mainly, he just looked tired and dirty. He had a head of shaggy brown hair, olive skin and deep-set brown eyes. His nose was hawklike, prominent even alongside that heavy brow and the square jut of his scruffy jaw. When he turned his head, you spotted a curious chunk of blond hair that grew determinedly out at a different angle from the right side of his hairline, Mallen streak, your brain supplied oh-so-helpfully. An old scar, silver with age, meandered along his left cheekbone, and a halfway-maintained mustache shielded his upper lip.

His eyes roamed the pod curiously for a moment, taking in all the notes you had tacked to the walls in your inventory sweep. He absolutely noticed the thrower abandoned by the door.

"This is a vexsome position that your friend Damon has put you into, I'm afraid." He drawled, his pistol loose at his side while he slowly rotated. "I will not apologize for my hand in his death, as he wounded myself, razed my associate and was planning to abscond with several stands worth of my hard work. His greed outplayed his hand."

Dark eyes landed on you, curled up against the wall beneath the console screens, and the smile that bloomed under his mustache was decidedly predatory.

"I'm...I have food." You began to bargain shakily.

"You certainly do, don't you?" He crooned in a patronizing tone, the thrower pistol humming as he primed it.

"I'm a good digger. Th-That's the only reason Damon dragged me here." You cringed when he took a step towards you. "P-Please, I didn't-"

"I have no doubt that whatever it was, you surely didn't. You could have picked me off easily out there had you wanted to, plenty of range on that thrower. What is a gentle soul like you doing with a character that had such a predisposition for marauderous pilferin', I wonder?" The man mused, his expression cheery to an unsettling degree. The grip he had on the pistol didn't waver an inch.

"He promised I-I would be able to finally quit with the points this planet would make." Why bother lying? This man would just kill you anyway. "B-But the pod, it...something happened during the landing. A malfunction, I'm not sure."

"Ah, so your friend Damon was the Ahab of this vessel as well. No surprise there, that steadfast moral compass of his must have seen you two just flawlessly across the vacuous expanse."

Your lower lip began to quiver again and you dug around in your suit pockets for the lone gem that you had uncovered on your trek earlier. "I don't...I don't have anything to offer aside from the supplies and this. But...p-please, I just…"

Your sketchbook tumbled out of your pocket as you removed the gem. The barrel of his gun grazed the side of your head in obvious response to the action and you froze in terror. "You keep those hands where I can see them, gentle soul. I am not in a gaming mood at the mo…" His words trailed off when he caught sight of the massive pearl cradled in your palms. "Well well, it seems you've got a bit of bargaining power yet."

"I don't need much food, I p-promise." You had told yourself you wouldn't beg, but this seemed...very close to begging. "J-Just water and a pilot." You extended the aurelac, knowing full well that you were surrendering your ability to go home. That miserable rock would have paid for the lease on the pod and passage back to the Pug at the bare minimum. Which you had pointed out to Damon, but he insisted on trekking further. You found yourself agreeing wholeheartedly with this other man's earlier observation, his greed outplayed his hand.

"I am not overly inclined to rid this world of you, gentle soul. If I am reading the situation correct, you are not here because you wish to be." The man said after several breathless moments. He didn't seem concerned about taking the gem from you at the moment. "However, we are at a bit of a stalemate when it comes to locomotion."

His gun dropped from the side of your head and you flinched again when he stretched out his hand towards you. "H-Here, here! Just p-please, don't-" You shoved the rock against his fingers, your eyes shut tight with anticipation. Why couldn't he just shoot you and get it over with?!

"I'm offering you a hand up, gentle soul. Squirrel away your bargaining chip for the time being." The man said, gently easing the gem aside. "I am not an unreasonable man. Let's get you up off that floor and we shall discuss terms as civilized folk do."

"You...you're not going to kill me?" You asked weakly, daring to open your eyes.

"At this juncture? No." The man tilted his head. "Are you planning on doin' anything nefarious that may encourage my own expedient shuffle off of my mortal coil?"

You had to take a minute just to try and figure out what he'd actually said. It had been ages since you'd interacted with anyone aside from Damon, and your late 'partner' hadn't had the most expansive vocabulary. "I've never killed anyone before." You replied, your voice a whisper.

"A prudent answer, to be certain, for one never knows what the tides of fate have in store for them." He pondered for a breath, his eyes almost impossibly dark. "I'll take your word all the same, face value. You seem an honest sort, gentle soul. Makes me inclined to wonder how you got tangled up in this sorry soirée, though." His boot bumped against your sketchbook and he toed it a little closer to you, obligingly keeping his distance.

"That's not...it's not important right now." You snatched the book up and crammed it back into your pocket. Then, you floundered into one of the flight chairs, sitting sideways so you were able to maintain the barest pretense of eye contact. You clasped your trembling hands in front of you, trying to remember to keep them where he could see them.

"The terms will be as follows: we work together to get this craft airworthy once again. By my late partner's calculations, Kevva rest his soul, we've only got a few turns of twenty-four left until we're well and truly cut adrift on this forsaken Nessus." The way that he was using the term 'we' had your chest strangely tight. "I am loathe to be restricted here for the rest of my days, especially with a royal's ransom stashed in my trophy case. I doubt you wish to suffer that same perdition."

He leaned forward and you shifted back on reflex, quickly dropping your gaze from the scar on his cheek to the floor. "I understand." You said softly. "What do you want me to do? I'm not...I don't know anything about the nav systems or engines or-"

"Gentle soul, how long had you wandered this world with that disreputable thief?"

To your horror, you couldn't actually remember how long it had been. It was a haze of silent travel, punctuated by violent outbursts as you tried to make yourself seem even smaller than you already were-

"I did not mean to wound you, gentle soul. I offer my most sincere reparations." He apologized quietly.

"What?"

He gestured with his hand, a little slower now. "You are weepin'."

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry." You fumbled to wipe your face off on your sleeve. "I'm alright, I'm fine." You assured him with a watery smile.

He studied you for what felt like a lifetime, those brown eyes boring into your own. "I am Ezra, gentle soul. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Ezra. That's right, he had introduced himself as such to Damon before everything had gone so incredibly wrong. "I'm sorry about what happened to your friend." You said thickly. "I didn't...I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

He waved off your words, scoffing a bit. "Number Two was a utility, not a friend. I am none too aggrieved by his loss, and I implore you not to trouble yourself with such dour ruminations on his behalf." Ezra stretched, then swiveled his head around. "What does our supply situation look like? I can see your scrawlings, naturally, but I would prefer it from the merchant's mouth."

You leafed through your notebook pages. "If we're careful, we should have enough to last one month." Split between the two of you rations were a bit harder to calculate, so you went with the safe route of halving the time evenly. "I don't know your appetite. Damon would go days without food sometimes, because of the sleep meds."

"I am ravenous at any and all opportunities, I must confess." Ezra admitted. "Been surviving off bits bars for the last four stands. Calori-paste is my damn marrow at this point in time."

"W-We still have some powdered things, tea, if...I mean can I offer you...um, some coffee?" You warily turned your back to him and started rummaging in one of the many side compartments, pulling out a tiny sealed bag of dehydrated coffee mix.

"I would be…" He paused, sounding like he was fighting for breath. It was so dramatic that you actually looked at him, a touch alarmed. "I would be forever in your debt if you would grace me with so much as a watered-down teaspoon of that heavenly beverage." He settled on one of the side benches, his pistol holstered for the time being. "We will not need rations to last the month, gentle soul, so our best option in the event of calamitous mechanical difficulties may be to take any excess off to the Saders to trade for goods."

"Saders?"

"They are a group of people that inhabit the Green. Religious settlers, tedious scavengers."

Your brow furrowed. You were no religious expert. "Like Kevvaites?" You tried.

"No no, not so much with the monotheism. They believe in the Tides of the universe. The Currents, a certain...ebb and flow of life." Ezra waved a hand to illustrate. "All very poetic, giveth and taketh kinda' sort. Not bad folk to deal with, all things considered, but voraciously against conventional arms and armaments."

You wracked your brain for any other useful items you may have stowed away from Damon, lest he pawn them to pay for his drugs of choice. After you set the hydro to churn the precious dust into coffee, you knelt and shuffled your small personal storage compartment open. "I don't have a lot to offer, I'm afraid." You murmured, tugging out a few duct tape sealed bags. "Almost all the basic hygiene items, my emergency filters...anything he could get his hands on, really. He would just trade it for more drops or Brism." You continued apologetically.

"That man was a junkie." Ezra said bluntly. "Now, I have my own vices and I am not above reproach, but I always assured that my consumption was never at the cost of someone else's comfort."

Your throat felt tight and you ducked your head down, avoiding eye contact. "I...I'm sorry."

"Whyever for, gentle soul?" He asked curiously.

"I-I shouldn't have-" You had no idea what you were apologizing for, your words dying in your throat. After so much time with Damon, you did it automatically. The hydro beeped, offering you the opportunity to bolt. Which you took immediately. "Coffee!" You announced brightly, the flimsy cardboard container that it dispensed into almost scorching your hand. You passed it off to him, warning, "Be careful, it's-"

Ezra slugged half the scalding contents in one go, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively.

"-h-hot." You finished weakly.

"Kevva above, it sure is." He grunted, shuddering. "God damn, I have missed that acrid nightmare of flavor burnin' my esophagus like Satan himself. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder." He pawed idly at his wounded arm after a moment, grimacing. "I don't suppose that Damon kept any of the usual med supplies? A field kit, maybe?" The older man queried hopefully.

You hesitated, gnawing on your lower lip. "He...didn't." You answered carefully.

Ezra looked momentarily distraught before he seemed to catch himself, his expression smoothing into something closer to weary resignation. "Well, can't say I'm surprised. They're worth good currency in a trade. Bodes poorly for the survival of my arm, however." He said glibly, the wince that followed contrasting dramatically with his unphased tone.

"Y...Your-?"

"Once the dust gets in, it don't take too long for the fester to permeate." Ezra explained. The wound on his arm oozed a sickly, yellowish fluid down the sleeve of his exosuit when he pressed his hand over it. "It wasn't originally just myself and Number Two, you understand. We had a full crawling party before the muti--" He jerked to a stop, shooting you a wary glance. "Now, gentle soul, I don't want you thinkin' that you have anythin' to fear from me. The mutiny was...a misunderstanding. You saw today what depths desperate men stoop to over a bit of aurelac."

You nodded, your throat gone dry.

"There were...concerns voiced about equal shares, it was a Kevva-forsaken mess. I don't know how many times I've told folk to draw up their union contracts before they get boots on the ground. Nobody listens, though. It's always 'mutiny once we're planetside' this and 'we can take everything' that." He griped. "Words and metal flew and, regrettably, myself and a few others were marooned on this damnable moon." Ezra drew his hand away from his arm, that yellowed fluid clinging to his fingers in thick, pitchy strands, "We quickly found that these climes are fiendishly inhospitable to floaters in damaged suits."

Your lip felt like it was about to drop off your face from how hard you were worrying it. "I...D-Do you promise not to hurt me?" You finally asked.

Ezra gave you a look of confusion, brown eyes narrowing slightly. "Gentle soul, I thought I had made it abundantly clear that-"

"Just-! Just say yes or no."

"Yes, dammit, but I fail to see what that's got to-"

"I h-have a kit. A f-field kit." You stammered out. His eyebrows drew together in a thunderous frown and you saw his jaw working. "Wait! Wait, just let me f-f-finish." You extended your hands in a placative gesture, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. "I...trade. I'll trade you. Nobody does anything for free, right? I'll help you, and in exchange, I want you to promise me you won't hurt me."

"What would you do if I did hurt you, gentle soul?" Ezra inquired softly. Your breath hitched. "Indeed, what would you be able to do? Especially now that I'm aware you've got a kit hidden somewhere." The man got to his feet and you immediately flinched. "Your powers of persuasion need some...refinin', but I am not immune to civility. Gentle soul, if you give me that kit not only am I willin' to work with you to get us off this moon, I'll throw a chunk of my haul your way as a show of good faith." He offered, dark eyes watching you closely. "And, I will give you my word as an individual with the slightest, infantessible modicum of moral standing, that I won't lay a finger on you fueled by dubious or malicious intent."

You stared up at him, your mind entirely blank from panic. His strange words certainly weren't helping your comprehension. "I..." No, no, this was wrong. He was putting far too much up for his end of the bargain! He must be planning something, some sort of trick.

Ezra cocked his head. "You still with me, gentle soul?" He asked cautiously. "Don't tell me you're strokin' out, it'd be a shame to lose such pleasant company."

Your laugh was a jagged hiccup in your chest. Ezra huffed out a breath after a moment, obviously uncomfortable. He probably thought you had gone moony, entirely lunar. "I'm...I'm sorry, I...that's a good, um, deal, b-but I can't accept it." You struggled to get your words out. "Y-You…that is, I don't...I don't want…" to be like Damon.

"Perhaps your persuasion isn't nearly as uncalibrated as I originally surmised. Very well, gentle soul. How much is my dominant arm worth to you?" Ezra queried dryly, misunderstanding your hesitation. "Because to me, as a workin' man, it's worth its weight in aurelac sixteen times over."

You hadn't thought of it like that. You felt a bit foolish now. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. I...I'm sorry."

"Kevva above, you are a tender thing. I don't mean to be so grim, but that's the harsh reality that I've been livin' with since I found myself marooned. It's a miracle I've managed this long with the meager supplies allotted to us." He said, sounding rueful. "I mourn my stomach every morning as I eat those crunchy bastard bits bars and I pray for my sufferin' to end."

You didn't mean to snort, but his colorful terminology caught you off-guard. His smile was less predatory this time, as if he hadn't expected your mirth. You knelt, burrowing even deeper into your compartment until you hit the false bottom. There, underneath several sheets of whitewashed cardboard, resided your precious field kit. You had traded the entirety of your meager share from an equally-meager haul for it stands ago, once you realized how deeply entrenched Damon was in his addiction. You had always clung to the faint hope (albeit perhaps in vain) that you might be able to escape from Damon and, if you struck out on your own, you knew you would at the very least need a good field kit as a failsafe for emergencies.

You hesitated before you tugged the box free, your fingers stroking the smooth plastic. You felt silly for the melancholic sensation that rose in your chest, it was just a field kit. You could always get another one. But it had seemed like so much more than a porta-surge. Until today, it had represented your dreams of getting out from beneath Damon's thumb.

"Not to-" You had been so lost in thought that the unexpected sound of his voice caught you by surprise. You bolted to your feet in a rush and the top of your head met the bottom of his jaw with a bone-jarring impact. Your vision faded momentarily from the force of the blow, black dots exploding and fading out.

The older man grunted, staggering back a step. He proceeded to sit down heavily on one of the bench seats as you held your aching head in pain. The porta-surgery box laid abandoned on the floor. You could only imagine what level of punishment you were in for now.

"Martyr's malfeasance, gentle soul, if you try to ring my bell like that again you may do me in." He groaned hoarsely, working his jaw and tonguing the inside of his cheek. "What the fuck is your cranium comprised of?"

You didn't answer, sniffling a little bit and blinking back your tears as you scooped the field kit off the ground. You held the box out to him, your eyes focused on your boots while you struggled to keep your hiccups to a minimum; Damon hated when you would cry.

You cringed when a gloved hand rested gently on the top of your head, clumsy fingers parting your hair. What was he…? "You are goin' to have a fine bruise, gentle soul. Mercifully you didn't break skin. Guess my jawline isn't as sharp as I've been claimin'."

Was he...was he joking with you? You dared to glance up at him and you were startled by how concerned he looked. Oh, I'm still holding the kit. You gracelessly pushed the field kit against his stomach, trying to use it to give yourself some breathing room.

Ezra seemed to get the hint and he shifted a step back, taking the kit as he went. "Kevva, this is one of the portable surgicals. Sequestering it was the intelligent choice, gentle soul." He muttered, almost like he was speaking to himself. "I am loathe to willfully use your resources, so I shall do my best to be prudent." You could feel him looking at you again. "This is all that you have, isn't it?" He asked abruptly. "The kit, those few possessions you've already dug out of that compartment."

You just cleared your throat and avoided his searching gaze with studious intent. "You're wasting time." You whispered.

"True enough." Ezra agreed. He flopped back down on the bench and rummaged around in the box, tugging loose the tiny orange sepsis kit and the patch gun with a grimace. "Hello, old friend." He then raised his voice to address you once more, "I will be makin' a copious amount of noise presently, gentle soul."

You nodded jerkily, covering your ears and turning your head away.

Part Two

#ezra (prospect 2018)#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect imagine #slow burn #eventual romance #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #how do I tag this #aw heck #thanks for being here #you brave soul you #ezra x reader #prospect 2018 #prospect #this is prime indulgence hours boys #enjoy!

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purplehairedwonder · 4 years ago

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Hearts With(out) Chains Prologue

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 2178 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Penguin, Shachi, Bepo Note: I'm taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won't leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

The story title is based on the Ellie Goulding song "Hearts Without Chains."

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law can't help but resent Monkey D. Luffy for offering a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.