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highsviolets · 4 years ago

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waterfall inquiry: javier peña x reader

pairing: javier peña x young analyst!reader

summary: words should not make you feel so much.

warnings: age gap. kissing. and - the worst of all - f e e l i n g s. (soft ones)

a/n: [edited 10 June ‘21] this was supposed to be three parts...and now there’s more. I regret nothing :)

[next] [series masterlist] [main masterlist] * gif: @anakin-skywalker

“Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name”

“as kingfishers catch fire” | gerard manley hopkins

Neither of you should be here. Strictly speaking, at least.

The Embassy maintains regulations about these sorts of things, you’ve heard in jagged claims that coat the walls in a sickly iridescent sheen. Not the pretty kind that makes glitter sparkle. No, it’s the perverse shine — pyrite and oil spills on tepid water and those cheap kaleidoscopes they sell at county fairs.

Everything, it seems, is whispered here. Here at the Embassy, anyway; Colombia itself is a messy, irreverent place. A dreamlike people, an altered state where God acts as the intermediary between man and demons, not angels.

Perhaps that is why the Embassy is always quiet. The shrill clang of a phone ringing makes everyone start, fearful of keeping demons at bay. Even the PR reps speak in hushed tones, the words soft and soothing like cotton balls dipped in baby oil gliding across skin — crafting press releases each word slotted for a specific purpose, hand-picked with evolutionary precision.

It harasses you, stinging pricks drawing blood from beneath the surface of your bronze skin. Words should move freely, you believe. Like the way the Mississippi runs in during the spring melt: coarse, unimpeded, roiling in caught light, caressing the riverbanks as it soaks up all the world gives it — thrusting forward after a winter fraught in immobility, reveling in flinty purpose.

There’s a difference between words of fabrication and phrases of culled authenticity — the ones that stream from bleeding hearts, bound tightly by shoves and glares and hands that can’t keep still. Hands that grasp for something tangible. Anfractuous reminders of why they must be so careful, why they must keep the truth of themselves limited to brief instances of throwing back light or heat.

There is one man, you know, who thinks like you do — and he laughs at the fact that your jobs depend upon other people being careless with their words. Bandying about locations, codenames, numerals, what to buy at the grocery store. You can almost hear him, that marmalade voice spreading over you, eyes gleaming in smoke and fervor: yeah, carelessness gives us both a job. But it hurts, too.

Tonight, though. When you both are here when you really shouldn’t, you really fucking shouldn’t, not when you’ve been dreaming about him for…for how long? How long have you been in this country that makes a mockery of verisimilitude? Long enough, apparently, for everything else to blur when you look at him, for you to have memorized the way his shirts pull tight over his back when he’s leaned over his desk.

Eyes climb up the length of his torso, the slope of it heightened by the way he’s bracing his weight on his hands. His palms are spread wide and god as much as you think you want to stop the way your mouth runs dry at the sight his large palm, you can’t.

A sigh leaks out. The man in question spares a glance your way, matching the twist of his neck to the cigarette he brings to his lips. “You alright?” he mumbles around the thing, and you grip the desk’s edge a little harder at the sound, at the sight, of him in his element. His exhale — a finely tuned purse of the lips, discreetly directed away from your work — should feel the same as your sigh, but it doesn’t. It washes over you instead, and you rock in the way his existence ebbs and flows in and out of your person. Easy. Like breathing. Like all you have to do is breathe, and he’ll be there.

There are stories about him. When you had been sent down to Columbia as a junior analyst after the death of Escobar, you had quickly dived into the mythos the man. How could you not, when he was everywhere, the scent and swagger of him drawing eyes from every corner of the barricaded building?

The others — the replacements, someone had once termed the batch of new personnel flooding the country to fight Cali — had told you the stories; where they had heard them, you weren’t sure. Huddled over tepid drinks in the bar after work, blazers shrugged off and shirtsleeves rolled up, you had let them regale you of how he fought for years to bring down Escobar, only to be in Miami when his partner did the deed. How he fucks his informants; although, one of them admitted with a sigh, he hadn’t been known to do that in a while. How he was ruthless in the pursuit of justice. A fucking legend, man, someone had crowed about the older man, tongue loose with overpriced alcohol.

And through it all, there was you, eyeing the man himself across the bar. The embrace of his hands against the whiskey glass, the way he barely shuddered at the consuming burn of the stuff when he tossed it back in a behavioral gesture. He seems sad, is what you had thought. Whatever opposite of sad existed in this opulent measure of time by which you both abided — that’s what you wanted to do for him. To make him not-sad. He is aged, perhaps, but not old, rather like someone who could be young if they could shed the pallid skin of responsibility.

But you can’t play God in this country of fallen beings. Being consumes you instead, devolving into an obsession, hanging onto the ledge of yourself — gripping humanity and slicing rocks and graphite that stains your skin even as it slides away, too smooth to be held in hands that ache, swollen, from typing up reports detailing the tumbled-gravel sins of humanity.

He likes you. You think he might, anyway. He consults you before any of the others, and once or twice he’s dragged some Columbian officer into your tiny workspace, asking you to confirm the intelligence on whatever operation he’s desperate to get approved so he can do something. He asks with words that curl up and over themselves like whitecaps, one hand resting on his hip as he nods along to your recitation.

But it’s really his eyes you watch in these moments, aching in fluttering hope whenever they rest on yours. Javier Peña’s eyes when he visits you in your workspace are pleading thermoses of life under sterile fluorescent lights. He likes to send you a half-smile and a nod when you’re finished, tossing them over his shoulder as he escorts the man back to the Ambassador’s office. You are both too good at your job not to love it in some sick & twisted way, and he knows.

Other times he simply drops by. Leaning against your cubicle, he fiddles with a cigarette and chats with you as you work, asking questions that he knows he’s the only one examining.

Talk to me about the families of la cartel de Cali, he mutters, the hoarse sound deep and aching in your gut. About their mothers, daughters, sons, cousins, in-laws. Is anyone sick? Do they want to go on vacation? What’s the drama of the week, no, don’t laugh, — he smiles, here, barely, the delicate minutiae of the expression an external revelation of his magnetism — there always is in families. They’re human just like us. And that’s when he sighs, and looks across the hall, where in his office there’s a diagram of the Cali bosses splayed over the wall. Yeah...they’re like us.

Javier makes a slowly forms a habit of it, of stopping by your cubical and wrapping you in currents of charisma and truth. He does you a solid, too, bringing you to the attention of your superiors when he mentions your diligence. And you repay him in kind, taking care to slip into his office with new intelligence before the brass gets word. You tell yourself it’s simple mentorship. Mere patronage. He’s paying it forward, helping the young analyst get ahead in their career. These meetings are nothing to him, and they ought to be equally as empty to yourself. It’s just exchanges of information. Conversation between colleagues.

Of course, that doesn’t explain why you look forward to his fingers touching yours when you lend him a pen, or, when he makes some half-whispered joke in Spanish, it makes you shiver. Or the pride that blossoms in your chest, embracing you all soft and balmy, when he considers your words. He handles them like he does his favorite cigarettes, rolling them between his fingers, palming their weight, letting the texture seep into his skin before he lights them on fire.

You drop your pen a lot; he brings a finger to his mouth in thought. You don’t see the way he smiles when you do that, grinning at the muttered curse and roll of your eyes. And he decides that he likes the way you laugh about it; poking fun at your own mistakes, the skin that matches his own gleaming in the warm sun.

He can never do that. Perhaps he should? But he doesn’t make mistakes like that, toss-away interruptions of intended action. The mistakes he makes get people killed. All the more reason to keep checking with you, he reasons, to double-insure the intelligence. Can’t have another mess. And he likes to hear your laugh. Nothing wrong with that, he says. Nothing wrong with something that makes his heart stir and entices the eyes hidden behind yellow aviators to trace the length of your neck a little longer than strictly necessary when you throw your head back in unmarked joy.

And tonight, in his office? Tonight he seems melancholic again, like the first time you saw him across the bar. He keeps shifting his weight, one hand on his hip, and then on the table, and then shrugging off both his jacket and his tie and tossing them unceremoniously onto the couch, limbs extending listlessly. It’s as close to careless as he gets.

Or maybe it’s just the exhaustion fusing into you both. You feel slow and hazy, torn between staring at him and bleary eyes glaring at the map beneath his fingers. if you just look at it longer, you think, you can will it all to fall into place. and maybe if you did he would kiss you, and maybe he would kiss you the way he has always wanted to live.

Maybe if you traced your tongue along his exposed collarbone, penning of licks of hope in the space where his words seem to get caught, where his perpetually open collar leaves him defenseless to an onslaught of physical impressions…maybe then, he’d exhale in blessed adoration, taken outside of himself for just one moment.

He’s asking you a question. You alright? He does that a lot, you realize. Checks in with you. When you answer, he laughs — those delightful eyes seeping warmth into your weary bones as they crinkle in a smile — and he reminds you to call him Javier. He — Javier — has rebuked you at least three times tonight alone, but you’ve yet to oblige his request. If you do, if you let your tongue caress his sacred name and rest in its life-sodden weight, you fear…

you do not know what you fear. you do not know how saying his name will shift the tides in your life. but you know that you will remain forever anchored to him, tethered to his lunar opacity.

“What’s this?” you ask instead, shifting to rest against the desk. You’re beside him now, hip adjacent to his as you look up at him. Latent smoke hovers overhead, and locks of his hair have come undone after the long hours of work and now rest over his forehead small waves. It looks like it aches, being so out of place, and yet so distinctly him. Caught. Destined to arch over his tanned skin, all the while lingering in a place where it should not. Not here, anyway. Not tonight, in his office, far after everyone else has gone home.

“What’s what?” Javier rejoins, distracted, still bent over the desk, still bracing his weight on those fingers.

Rustling papers catch his attention, and he twists to meet your gaze. “This.” You point to the unfamiliar word, stamped out in standard font. “My Spanish is decent, but I’ve never seen this word before.”

The wrinkles behind the shield of his fallen hair press together as he cranes his neck, adjusting his stance to read the word on the paper you thrust in his direction. It clears rapidly though — the visage sailing and unfurling itself when he absorbs the story hidden in-between letters on a page.

He repeats the word back to you, leaning into the sound the way he leans into you, inching closer in his explanation. You stare at his lips, completely captivated — his tongue catching between his teeth — the purse of his lips — the rearrangement of his jaw as it conforms to the aerodynamics of structured syllables.

“Strictly speaking,” he says, eyes roving your face, deep and dark, “it means elf, or spirit. Something ethereal. It’s used in stories a lot.” The words are smooth, smokey, whiskey-like as you let them drip down your skin, the insides of your thighs. “Entiendes?”

Your body temperature rises. You can feel it — the way your mouth’s run dry and the paper’s slippery in your grip. Did his voice drop lower when he used the familiar form of the verb, not the formal? You think it did. Oh god, he’s so close, he could just extend a hand across your body and it could rest on your hip. You had never really noticed his height either, always in heels. Tonight, though, the heels are in the corner with his jacket and tie and you realize that he’s inches above you, yet somehow still within reach.

“What’s” — you swallow thickly, desperate to remain professional despite your wide eyes, the tongue tracing your lower lip — “what’s the non-strict definition of the word?”

He gives you one of his trademark smirks. “It can also mean,” he says, “enchanting. Charming. For someone or something to be magical.”

Nodding slowly, you drop your eyes down to the paper again, desperate to avoid his gaze. It follows you, watching your eyes hide even as you adjust to be ever-closer, a bare foot extending outward and brushing against the fabric of his dress pants. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Say it,” you hear him urge, your head bolting up, incredulous. And you try, you really do, but it’s so new and unfamiliar and you’re so goddamn nervous with him looking at you, that you fuck it up. Words are but the vessels by which emotions themselves are expressed, so maybe the act of speaking should not make you feel all by itself. But it does — oh, god, it does, and you feel like you’ve shrunk in the process, dwarfed by this man with rolled up shirt sleeves wrapped around muscular forearms, who grins impishly around his cigarette.

“Not quite.” He stubs out the thing, and to your surprise, brings hand to your jaw, cupping your chin in-between his thumb and forefinger. “Say it again.”

“No, I can’t; I..“ you protest, and for what? because you don’t want him near you? no, that’s not it, but you’re being branded by his touch all the same.

“Say it again,” he commands again, more gently this time, his words accompanied by an encouraging nod.

You comply readily, sounding out the syllables. His strong fingers manipulate your movements, guiding you in pronouncing the difficult phrase. It’s forceful and noble, a tender yet compelling influence that teaches you how to wrap yourself in the meaning of the word as much the word itself. You’re tingling; is it from the thrill of achieving or from his sturdy hand against your bare skin?

He doesn’t back away when you’re finished speaking, but holds your stare. Dimly, you register the steady crescendo in your breathing. He’s not immune to your proximity either: his Adam’s apple bobs as he pushes down the deficit of hope flooding oppressive maxim of his presence. Times stretches as you remain caught in his hold, coursing through you, carrying you downstream in brash, coarse recklessness. Are the emotions you swim in those eyes yours, or his, or some measure of both?

The pads of his fingers migrate, drifting to rest along your cheek and tumble into his touch like a moth to flame, or fish to water, or whatever trite phrase people use to make sense of such profound belonging.

Javier is mesmerized with the way his fingertips trace your cheekbones, the shell of your ear, along your jaw, returning to outline your lips.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice scrapes along your bliss, and you force your eyes open to see that he’s moved even closer, closer-than-close, so tight against you that you’re nearly leaning back over the desk.

“Do you want me to?” His eyes are dark and still now, but for the way they’re trained on yours as you whisper fate into existence.

“No — fuck — I shouldn’t, I —“ his jaw shifts again, this time in agitation, but it is you who does the deed, cutting him off, reaching out to tug on his collar. The action pulls him forward, pressing himself against you, caging you between the desk and the broadness of his firm chest. And you do know it’s firm now, at last slipping your hands underneath that truant fabric and gliding along his smooth skin. His hands find your waist, gripping your hips as he meets your lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

He — Javier, now — kisses you a single-minded intent, letting his lips slide over yours lazily, over and over, memorizing the imprint of you against his mouth. One hand drifts upward again, cupping your cheek as he tilts your head slightly, letting his tongue delve into your mouth and trace your teeth. It makes you gasp, and you retaliate with a gentle nip to his lower lip, silently begging for more. Javier moans into your mouth, the pressure sending a jolt of pleasure through his body.

Tightening his grip on your waist, Javier lifts you, placing you firmly on the desk, feet dangling a few inches from the floor. You know what he wants before he even has to ask and you give it him readily, wrapping your legs around his waist. Javier’s weight conforms to your own, molding against your body as you press into him, back arching in your submersion to his touch.

He is so eager; his kisses drench you in a deluge of incubated affection interspersed with need. Grasping at his shoulder, you pull him even closer, your other hand anxiously fiddling with his buttons as you sigh, reveling in the storm of his attention. Slowly, painstakingly, driven by a clamoring need for oxygen, he drags himself away from you, parting slowly, ever-loth to break the kiss.

You can’t help the shy smile that dances around your lips when you look up at him, standing above you. His chest is heaving, out of breath, hair somehow even more mussed than it was before. You suppose you can touch it now, so you do, two fingers brushing aside the fringe on his forehead.

Time, and space, and whatever else this stuff is made of have prevented from this alternate reality. until now. it has broken through the dam and caught you up in its awakening, broad and unrepentant.

Javier captures your hand as it lowers, pressing a kiss to the side of your palm. He’s so tender it makes you ache, and you wonder if this is why he stopped fucking his CIs. He requires something more intangible than what they could give him. “Javier,” you whisper.

He hums a question, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles as he watches you consider him, emotion lapping at the shores of unkempt eyes.

“You asked me to use your name. Earlier, I mean.” Should you feel embarrassed? Kissing a man several years your senior? Maybe you should. But you don’t. There’s a cordial warmth spreading through you, bolstered by his gentle touch, the outward connection of him and you that’s been built through months of inanimate remembrances.

“I know.” Javier nods and leans in again, his breath rippling across your skin. “Can you say it one more time, princesa? They say you need to do something three times” — a kiss to your cheek — “to make sure you really —“ a kiss to your forehead — “understand” — a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

The words fall out of your mouth, splashes of unrestrained affection dappling each letter. “Duende, Javier,” you murmur against his lips. “Duende.”

javi tags: @frannyzooey @yespolkadotkitty @rentskenobi @goldenkenobi @goldafterglow @teaofpeach @justrunamok @huliabitch @cri-me-a-river @littlevodika @catsnkooks @themarvelousbear @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @ladytrashbird @princessxkenobi @roxypeanut @dracos-jedi-marvel @a-seeker-of-imagination // taglist link in bio!

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deadpoetsmuses · 4 years ago

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"sunflower". | gerard pitts, dps.

in which when two sunflowers have no sun to follow, they turn to each other.

✧ title: “sunflower”.

✧ pairing: gerard pitts x fem!reader.

✧ genre: angst to fluff.

✧ word count: 1,019.

✧ warnings: mentions of cheating, academic failure.

✧ author’s note: i know it's not true that sunflowers turn to each other when there's no sun, but the idea of that is just so cute. anyway, thank you so much for the anon that requested for more pitts stories !! i hope you and everybody else enjoys !!

✦ requested by anon! "hey! i love your writing so much <3 i was wondering if you could do more stories about gerard pitts.. thats lanky boi doesn’t get enough attention <3"

“All of the good ones go for jerks, you know that,” He advised, consoling his friend Knox. This was all well and true for a man like Gerard Pitts. He had once been a man of excessive affection-- the level in which he fell hopelessly in love once rivaled Knox Overstreet’s and his heart had been broken for more times than the world rotated on its axis. He thought that his hope for love had ceased to exist and that the sun wouldn’t shine upon him anymore-- until he saw that same bright light of the sun in her eyes.

Despite Y/N being homeschooled and Pitts attending an all-boys academy, the two would take it upon themselves to visit each other often. Usually, they would spend time together at the local coffee shop, drinking out of hot mugs and talking about topics that they wouldn’t have been able to in the company of their regular groups. The two of them would always take the corner table engulfed by the large bay window, as it was the only spot in the entire café where the light of the sun would beam through. Y/N would sit in front of the window so as to shield her sight from the sun’s rays, while Pitts would be seated directly across in a manner of welcoming the sun.

“Why do you like it here so much, Pitts?” Y/N questioned as she took a long sip from her coffee. She noticed that once again, his vision was pointed towards the golden ball of light. “I just like the sun,” He shrugged. He finally took his eyes away and placed it on Y/N’s figure instead. “Anyway, how are you and that guy doing? Dan, was it? What is that short for, ��danger’?” Pitts surmised, wiggling his eyebrows. He had a gut feeling that Y/N’s new boyfriend wasn’t good for her, but he had nothing else to do but to simply let his intuitions pass through jokes and banters. “You know his name’s short for Daniel.” Y/N responded with a roll of her eyes. “He’s good; we’re good.”

Little did she know, she had been wrong and Pitts had been right. It took approximately six weeks and five days for her to discover about old Daniel’s deceiving ways. Everything had been all right from her perspective, but she hadn’t known about all of the cheating and the fabrication from Dan’s mouth. With her grief came the lack of energy, and with the lack of energy came the misfortune of not being able to see any of her friends-- especially Gerard Pitts. Y/N knew that things wouldn’t have worked out with Daniel anyways, regardless of his cheating ways. She had just felt so used and so betrayed; but she knew that something much better had been waiting for her-- only if she had the courtesy to get out of her misery and into the real world.

He wouldn’t have had any time to go and see her either. In those six weeks and five days, Pitts found himself feeling more and more distressed with every drop of his academic grade. Whatever lecture or teachings he heard in his ear simply went out the other. The quicksand he had fallen into had trapped him entirely; and there had been no other way of escaping. Thus, all of his free time was beginning to be dedicated to nights of relentless studying and futile reading.

While Y/N laid on her bed and waited for all of her tears to dry out, Pitts would be at his desk, continuingly grinding his brain and working to raise his grade into something more decent. They both knew they had to take a break-- to be able to think about something other than their respective troubles. So, the coffee shop dates began to return to its usual schedule.

On one particularly cloudy day, the meeting had followed through but their troubles remained. Not even the sun could brighten Pitts’ day, for there had been no sun at all; nor could the same be done to Y/N with hearing the humorous comments of her friend, since the friend in question hadn’t been in a humorous mood at all.

The two cups of coffee on the table had gone cold and the atmosphere was overcome with misery. Both Pitts and Y/N had been too taken in their despair for things to be the same as before. Only small talks and miniscule smiles had been exchanged-- but nothing else had seemed to help them get out. Y/N then tried again for what she thought should have been the last time. “Pitts… I’m sorry I made us go out on such a cloudy day, I know how much you like the sun…”

Pitts then turned to look at her. There it was, he thought. The light of the sun was nowhere to be found in the skies, for it was in those captivating eyes of hers. It’s not like he had been unaware of that glimmer in her eyes that whole time. Perhaps the one true reason why he had favored the sun so much was due to the fact that he had seen it in her eyes countless times before.

For the first time in weeks, Gerard Pitts finally had a reason to take his mind off of his troubles; and after all those years, he finally found a way for his heart to be mended. The reason why he had favored that coffee shop so much was not because of the sun; but it was all because of her. The sun hadn’t been his favorite thing either; it was the way it illuminated her face and presented each tiny detail for Pitts to see.

As they felt it before, things would never be the same again after that one day. It wasn’t because of any previous sorrows or burdens. It was due to the fact that despite all of the cloudy days and the lack of warmth, the two sunflowers finally found the sun-- and it was all because of how they found it in each other.

for my favorite dps stans <3 @deadpoetsgayvodka @neilfuckingperrydeservedbetter @neilsemeraldsweater @ughgclden @nananostalgic @galaxyrhymes @mybabysweetascanbe @romanticacademiaasshole @catflowerbean @willowestelle @yourpal

#dead poets society #dps #dead poets society fanfiction #gerard pitts #pitts x reader #gerard pitts x reader #gerard pitts fanfiction #gerard pitts fluff #gerard pitts angst #jemi-writes #jemi-requested #jemi-dps

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hellotvshowtrash · 4 years ago

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Life of Crime

Crime Boss!Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

TW: Mikaelson Crime Family AU, drug trafficking, the beginnings of human trafficking, murder, deceit, major character death, Elijah’s downward spiral.

Word count: 1.7k

This is my entry for the March 2021 prompt challenge!!! Reblog/like if you enjoyed!

Prompt: “This plan of yours is going to get us killed. Of course I’m in.”

Huge thank you to @dumble-daddy for being my beta for this. I really appreciate you ❤️

Thank you to @mikaelson-emma for letting me use your beautiful moodboard!!! It fits this fic perfectly imo ❤️

She sat nervously across from Elijah as he sipped his bourbon, his dark eyes boring through her as she agonized over the silence.

“That’s your plan?” He finally asked.

“Simple as that,” Y/N replied, shrugging. Her leg bounced as he processed the plan she’d given him, his eyes traveling to the window at the side of the room. She eyed the newspaper on his desk, headlined “Four More Girls Missing From The New Orleans Area”. Her stomach dropped.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘simple’ by any means. Dangerous, maybe.” His face was stoic as he thought it over. She moved her gaze to him and let it wander down his form, past the scar on his chin and down to the bruised knuckles that grasped his glass, the ring he wore on his middle finger shone as it caught the light. She recognized the Mikaelson Family crest engraved onto the silver as he set the glass down, distracting her from her thoughts about just what those hands could do and what they have done. “The Crescent Gang is small, but has proved to be a nuisance.”

Her eyes moved back up to him, skimming over his lips, back up to the dark umber of his eyes. He was watching her again, and she inhaled sharply as she realized he’d watched her scan him. The ghost of a smile passed over his lips before he sighed and pushed himself out of his chair, standing before her. She rose quickly out of respect for her employer.

“You’re my most trusted employee.” He began to walk around the desk and she turned her body to continue facing him. She stood with her hands at her sides, her face professionally blank as she nodded. He moved in front of her, the side of his leg pressing against the front of the desk. “And I trust you,” he traced his fingers up her arm, sending electrifying chills through her.

She swallowed roughly at the proximity—he was just in front of her now, and she could feel his breath on her face. He reached his hand up and cupped her cheek in his palm, gently pulling her in to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered shut and the rigidity in her spine fled as she melted into him, her arm stretched so she could intertwine her fingers in the hair on the nape of his neck. The other gripped onto his suit sleeve tightly.

He chuckled and pulled away. “This plan of yours is going to get us killed. Of course I’m in. But more importantly, we’ll be rid of the Crescent Gang after this.” He took a step backward, pulling himself away from his lover.

She gulped and nodded, suddenly hesitant about the whole ordeal. “I’ll get prepared,” she said, turning to exit his office. He watched her walk away, taking a swig of his bourbon as she exited.

Once she was far enough down the hall from him, she checked over her shoulder and pulled out her phone. She dialed a number and held the ringer to her ear. She waited to hear the female voice answer with a “Did he agree?”.

“The plan is a go,” she muttered into the phone as tears stung in her eyes. She hung up and made her way to the rendezvous point.

—

Elijah waltzed into the docking area, his fingers toying with the ring occupying his middle finger. He whistled lightly as his footsteps echoed through the chambers. He thought of the plan Y/N had told him, exhausted every option that could go wrong and he could think of no holes in her precariously prepared idea. He had all the confidence in the world in her. He shook his head as his thoughts drifted to her, her eyes, her hair, her body - no, he had more important things to think about right now. He turned past the next shipping container and found two figures standing, waiting for his arrival.

“Finally you show up,” the woman quipped. She stood tall and proud, fists at her side. She had prominent cheekbones, dark hair and her fierce eyes were rimmed with dark eyeliner. She wore a leather jacket and dark jeans, with boots rising to her mid-calf. Quite the looker, Elijah thought. Beside her stood a taller man, with tousled dark hair and a matching beard, wearing a green flannel shirt, jeans and steel-toed boots.

“Hayley and Jackson, I presume?” Elijah asked, nonchalantly. He let his hands fall to his sides, tucking them into his pockets. His pristine suit and hair threw them off, he presented himself so well, they never would have guessed the mess that lay inside.

“Obviously,” the woman rolled her eyes and the man looked at her and put his hand out.

“Calm down, Hayley. Elijah, we just want to talk.” Jackson said, taking a step toward Elijah.

Elijah smiled stiffly. “Fine. Let’s talk,” he said, “You’ve been interfering with my business,” he pursed his lips.

“We just want in. You’re taking over the entire trade.” Jackson said.

“Drug smuggling is not a joint operation,” Elijah snapped. “If you want ‘in’ as you say, you come in under my employ, not by trying to compete,” he chuckled dryly.

“We don’t want to be employed by you, we’ve seen how quickly you’re willing to turn on your employees, your own family,” Hayley interjected, “You didn’t want to compete for head of household, so you got rid of your older brother Finn.”

Elijah glared at her, “He had no idea what he was getting into, the business was rightfully mine anyway,” he snarled. Elijah was losing his carefully crafted composure, quickly. How could they have known about Finn? “It’s not like my father was doing us any favours, either, leaving the company to him.” He was running his mouth and this would not end well for him.

Hayley looked at him in horror, “Did you kill your own father, as well?” she asked.

Elijah was beginning to crumble as his mind circled back to Y/N’s plan. She must be waiting for just the right time. He tried to bring his composure back, running a hand through his finely gelled hair, causing strands to fall loose. He plastered a pleasant smile on his face. “Why would you think that? My father died of natural causes. Not that I need to prove anything to you,” he said calmly. Hayley’s face remained horrified, while Jackson shook his head slightly.

“You’re an even bigger monster than I took you for,” Jackson said. The words echoed through the docking area, bouncing off of the walls of giant storage containers. Y/N listened from behind a container, hidden from sight. A tear fell down her cheek. The man she loved was surely using her to expand his own empire—nothing and no one would get in his way. She peered around the container, seeing Elijah’s back to her. Hayley and Jackson were starting to falter, they hadn’t expected such a revelation.

Elijah’s eyes and grin widened, quite frankly scaring Hayley. “You don’t even know half of it,” Elijah said quietly. He seethed at the two before him. They didn’t know him, they didn’t know the extent of what he would do, what he had done for his family, for his business. “The Mikaelson business is only just beginning.”

Jackson took another step toward Elijah, holding his hand up to try to calm him down. Elijah chuckled at the attempt. “Don’t try me, Mr. Kenner.” Jackson stopped in his tracks at the use of his surname. His eyes darkened as he looked at Elijah. “Don’t think I don’t know all about your daughter, Hope, is it?” Elijah snickered at their scared faces, his threat lingering underneath his words. Y/N shook her head, she couldn’t bear to let this continue any longer.

She stepped out from behind the shipping container, raising her pistol to Elijah’s back and firing a shot into his left shoulder, causing him to grunt and pivot, turning to face her. Shock covered his face as he saw her, his eyebrows furrowing. Before he had time to ask any questions, she fired another shot into his abdomen.

A sob broke free from her lips as the red stain blossomed on his white undershirt, his hands cradling the wound as he fell backward. He gasped for air as pain engulfed him and he wondered if this is how Finn felt. Hurt. Betrayed. Confused. Y/N lowered her weapon and rushed toward him, tears staining her cheeks as she watched him pale.

“Why?” he croaked, his voice already fading. She lowered herself to her knees next to him as she sobbed.

“Those girls. They’re missing because of you. Trafficked and for what? More money? As if you need it,” she growled through her tears. The man before her was different, horrible and inhuman, changed from the man she knew. He smiled humourlessly and she gulped, wiping her face as she looked down at him. “You were right. My plan was to get you killed.”

His body shook as he exhaled his last breath, his eyes glossing over. She clenched her jaw and stood from him turning to look at Hayley and Jackson. They nodded at her. She turned and walked away from the body of her lover.

—

The Mikaelson Family business came crashing down as all of the siblings died mysterious deaths. Elijah was murdered in a warehouse by the riverbanks of the Mississippi. Klaus was unlucky and ‘choked’ on his dinner while out entertaining business partners. Kol was involved in a mugging gone wrong and Rebekah mysteriously died in her sleep. Freya’s body was found hanging in the attic of the Mikaelson Estate.

Law enforcement wasn’t asking questions about these deaths, though. Police Chief Gerard saw this as a great favour to the city of New Orleans as the missing girls began to come home to their families. Jackson and Hayley hugged Hope a bit tighter that night. Y/N drank herself into a stupor at Rousseau’s, which she assumed would also be closing up shop for good as it was a known point of contact for the Mikaelson drug trade. The ‘gang’ known as the Crescent Wolves were revealed to be a movement for trafficking survivors, helping free those in need across the country, holding fundraisers and rides for awareness.

Y/N attended the funerals for all the Mikaelson siblings, not in mourning but in closure. The family that unleashed hell on her city got what they deserved.

Taglist: @elijahs-wife @dumble-daddy @alwaysfangirlingish @akshi8278 @nikmikaelsonswife @njeancastro316 @mikaelson-emma

Elijah, Kol and Klaus only: @malfoys-demigod

Send me an ask to let me know if you want to be taken off/added onto my taglist!

#march2021promptchallenge #the originals #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #Elijah Mikaelson AU #the originals AU #crime family AU #crime boss AU #I’m so hyped for this tbh #queued bc i wanna post it ASAP lol

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robinrunsfiction · 4 years ago

Note

-inhuman noise- you're one of my fave MCR writers; your Basement!Gee makes me squeal and flail happily. SO I kinda have a request? (Actually I have about a million requests but I'll try not to spam you.) Like, the (female) reader and Gerard are best friends, have been for awhile. Perhaps it's just after finals (or during the winter holidays) and they're hanging out in her dorm and maybe he finds her 'toy' stash? idk, confident!reader and shy!Gee are my jam. IDK BUT ILY MUCHLY

Learning Curve

Pairing: Gerard Way x Female Reader Rating: Mature (smut) Requested By: Anon Word Count: ~1,350 Author’s Note: Love a college AU! This was a fun request, thank you!

“Isn’t it kinda weird that we pack up our whole lives to live in these tiny, shitty dorms for like four months, and then we pack everything back up just to go home for another month, just to then bring it all back for another four months!” you practically shouted as you paced your room.

“You really hate packing huh?” Gerard laughed from where he was sitting on your bed.

“Obviously!” You said throwing your hands in the air before bursting out laughing. “I just don’t know what I can’t live without for the next month or so. Obviously my computer, art supplies, and some clothes. But I do have clothes at home, and hygiene stuff,” you thought out loud.

“You’re still gonna come up to my place for New Year’s Eve right?”

“Oh definitely! That means I’ll have to bring something I’d wear to a party.”

“I mean, I dunno if we’ll go out to a party,” Gerard replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well you know I’m always ok with hanging out too,” you smiled. Really all you cared about was the thought of kissing him at midnight, if you were lucky.

“Do you still have my Smashing Pumpkins hoodie?” Gerard asked as you folded up clothes and stuffed them in your duffel bag.

“I may have already packed it,” you giggled.

“Hey (YN), can you come here a second?” The girl across the hall called to you. She had a date that night and had been asking your opinion on what to wear all afternoon.

“Yea just a second! Gee, if you want the sweatshirt back, it’s in the bag. I was gonna take it home and wash it, but,” you shrugged before heading across the hall.

After confirming with your neighbor that she looked smokin hot, you headed back to your room. When you walked in, Gerard was kneeling in front of your duffel bag. In his hands was a smaller bag that you stashed your toys. It was open, and his cheeks were burning red.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what I had grabbed, and I’m ugh” he groaned dropping the bag back into your duffel and getting up.

“Gee, it’s ok,” you smiled, putting your hands on his chest to stop him from rushing out. “I mean, they’re just sex toys. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“How do they,” he shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “I mean… what all do you...”

“Do… you wanna check it out?” You asked hesitantly.

Gerard ran his hand through his hair nervously and shrugged before eventually nodding.

A smile crept across your face. Minutes before you were hoping you were gonna get to kiss Gerard in a few weeks. Now you were about to fool around with him? This was a dream come true. “Ok,” you nodded. “Umm, don’t think I’m like… busting all of this out every weekend or whatever,” you laughed.

“(YN), we usually hang out most weekends,” Gerard replied. “I think I’d notice.”

You laughed. “Ok fine, yes but umm, come on,” you said picking up the bag, and taking his hand, leading him over to your bed. “So I have some restraints and a blindfold. Those haven’t seen any action in a long time,” you said in a disappointed tone. “And umm, my vibrator, and some… other things, but maybe save those for another time.”

Gerard’s eyes were as big as the moon when you looked up at him. “How’d you know you liked all that stuff?”

“By not being afraid to try stuff,” you shrugged. “Practice makes perfect and all that.”

Gerard nodded again. “I’ve only done like… basic, vanilla stuff.”

“Do you wanna try something new?”

“Yea! Yea, I mean if you want?”

You nodded this time. “I’ve always kinda wanted to kiss you Gee. Anything more, well, that’s just icing on the cake.”

Gerard bit his lip as he tried to keep from smiling too big. You both leaned in and your lips met chastely at first until you ran your hands through his hair, giving a little tug, and he responded with a moan. You smirked to yourself as you realized how much fun you were about to have with him.

You climbed into his lap, pushing him down onto the mattress as his hands slid under the hem of your shirt. You let your hips grind down against his as your tongues moved together. You broke the kiss long enough to pull Gerard’s shirt off and grabbed the wrist restraints from your bag. You could feel how hard Gerard was getting underneath you as you got them set up around the headboard of your shitty dorm bed.

“Hands please,” you said and Gerard complied. You secured his hands above his head, and bit your lip at the sight. “We probably won’t need it, but safeword?”

“Pomegranate?”

“Sounds good,” you nodded in agreement. You pulled the blindfold over his eyes before shifting down his body to undo his belt and pull down his jeans. You palmed him over his boxers, and he let out another moan.

You pulled his boxers down and then took him in your mouth. He let out another delicious moan as you started to bob your head, one hand working what you couldn't take in, the other scratching at his pale thigh. Gerard's moans and gasps had to be the best thing you'd ever heard.

"(YN), I'm close," he warned and you pulled off.

"What do you want Gee?" You asked innocently.

"You."

"To do what?"

"Ride me."

"Perfect," you replied. You grabbed a condom out of the bag, sliding it on him. "Ready?"

"Yea," he replied, almost whimpering.

You took off your clothes before climbing back over him. You lowered yourself slowly over him. His lips parted in ecstasy and you wished you hadn't put the blindfold on him so you could watch his whole face.

"Oh my god," you gasped at how he filled you. When you started to move on him, you watched as he tugged against the restraints, wishing he could touch you.

"I'm, I'm not gonna last," he moaned. "I'm close."

"Come for me, Gee," you gasped. With a moan you felt him coming undone beneath you. The sight was more than you ever could have hoped for.

You stopped moving after a moment and pushed the blindfold off and you couldn't help but giggle at how blissed out Gerard looked.

“Sorry that was so quick, I just, it was just so fucking good. Like better than I ever dreamed it would be. God, and you’re so beautiful”

“It’s fine, I… wait, you’ve thought about this before?!”

“How could I not (YN), you’re like everything I’ve ever wanted in a girl.”

You grinned and leaned in and kissed him hard again. “If you wanted to, you could take care of me another way,” you suggested when you pulled back.

“Yea, but you’ll have to let me go first,” he replied with a laugh.

“Right,” you laughed before releasing the restraints around his wrists. You rolled off of him as he took a moment to clean himself up.

When he turned his attention back to you, it was more than you expected it. It felt like he was practically worshipping your body. He kissed you passionately, and then made his way down to your neck, chest, down to your thighs. The kisses and attention he paid to each touch was deliberate and tender. As he made his way between your legs, you were caught off guard at just how good he was. Your back arched off the mattress as you grasped at his hair, moaning as he slid first one finger, then another inside you. It wasn’t much longer you were coming undone yourself.

“Well this has certainly been more fun than packing,” you laughed once you had calmed down.

“Can… we maybe not have this be a one time thing?” Gerard asked shyly.

“I would love that,” you grinned. “And I think we definitely should stay in for New Years.”

#gerard way x reader #Anon #gerard way fan fic #gerard way fan fiction #gerard way imagine #my chemical romance fan fic #my chemical romance fan fiction #gerard way x reader smut #gerard way smut

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iceeckos12 · 4 years ago

Note

what if... for the prompts... “you’re cold, come here” for gerrymartin... as a treat... (thank you please drink some water)

sorry i know it’s been a few days ;_; however i have been UNABLE to get pre s1 gerrymartin out of my head since you sent this ask

putting this beneath a read more since it got kind of long alskdjfskf;

Martin stood at the bus stop, wearing his beat-up old headphones, staring into the middle distance, still coming to terms with the fact that he’d had to drop out of school a few weeks ago. He felt as though he’d be digesting that one for a while, like missing a step on his way down the stairs and tripping over his own feet, over and over again.

He’d asked for more shifts at Tesco’s, but it didn’t matter whether or not they were approved. The bills kept coming in, the sums adding up higher and higher, to numbers that may as well have been astronomical for all he had in his bank account.

This wasn’t sustainable. But what could he do? He was only seventeen, he had no degree, no -

“Need a cigarette?”

Martin almost leapt out of his skin at the sudden interruption, too surprised to do anything other than look mutely over. If he hadn’t already been stunned into silence, the sight that greeted him would’ve done the job.

The teen was tall, a little disheveled; there was a mean looking scrape across one side of his face, like his head had been shoved into pavement. His hair was dyed pitch black, dirty blond roots peeking out around the roots. Eyes the color of the cold, grey ocean stared back at Martin, stealing his breath right out of his chest.

The silence stretched on, but the teen didn’t speak, or take back the proffered cigarette. He just waited, expectant, endlessly patient, the same way a lighthouse waits, lonely but resolute.

“I - “ The words choked and stuttered on their way out. “I...I don’t smoke.”

“Hm.” The teen shrugged and took the cigarette back, setting it loosely between his teeth. Martin watched the movement, mesmerized by the shine of his black lipstick. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “You looked like you needed one.”

Martin let out a high, embarrassed laugh. “That obvious?”

He hummed in agreement, the sound coming out through a thick cloud of smoke. Suddenly Martin wished he’d accepted the cigarette, if only to see if he could capture the same feeling this teen seemed to exude in waves. The poet in him wanted to smooth that midnight black hair behind one ear and ask what’d happened to make him look so tiredly sad.

“That’s your bus,” the teen said, jerking his chin toward the incoming bus. “Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Martin turned, then realized that yes, that was his bus. He paused, realizing that he’d never told the teen - but when he turned around, the stranger was gone, almost as though he’d never been there in the first place.

-0-

For years after, Martin wondered if he’d imagined the whole incident. A mysterious, handsome stranger offering him a cigarette at a bus stop before disappearing into the ether? That sort of thing didn’t happen outside of the movies.

Until he saw the man at the Magnus Institute.

The first time he saw him, he had to do a double take, sure he’d imagined it. But no, there was a familiar person with poorly dyed black hair sitting on the front steps of the Institute, blowing cigarette smoke into the sky. He was in all black, from his combat boots to the shiny obsidian of his lips.

Martin wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the man’s lips. Too long obviously, because when he looked up, he met cool, ocean grey.

The man quirked a dirty-blond eyebrow, a small, almost experimental smile twitching at the corner of his lips. Martin, mortified at having been caught looking, ducked his head and almost ran the rest of the way up the steps.

They ran into each other on and off after that. Martin sometimes saw him wandering around the Archives, coming in and out of Gertrude’s office regardless of the time. He always seemed to be able to tell when Martin was watching him; after a few seconds, he would perk up and turn around, smiling that small, experimental smile.

Martin started to accept that he had a massive crush on this gorgeous, unattainable stranger. He decided to get the fuck over himself and wave instead of running away like a coward, which made that experimental smile turn into a true, genuinely pleased one.

And it was....safe. Good. Martin admired from afar, enamored of the man’s tattoos, his grey eyes, the quiet tragedy he carried with him like a shroud.

Ironically, the first real conversation they ever had was at the bus stop in front of the Magnus Institute.

It was late, later than Martin usually went home. It was cold too, unusually so for the time of year, enough so that Martin was wearing his warmer jacket. He was lost in thought, staring far into the middle distance, composing a poem about Indian summers and unusual chills and the way weather balanced finely between them -

There was a click from somewhere behind him, a muttered curse. Another click, and then a low, relieved sigh. Martin frowned and turned around, because no, it couldn’t be -

But it was.

The man looked up as soon as he felt Martin’s eyes on him, his cigarette hanging loosely out of the side of his lips. He’d gotten a new set of piercings since the last time Martin’d seen him, two shiny studs in his bottom lip that made Martin’s mouth go dry.

“Hey,” the man said. He sounded exactly the way Martin remembered.

“Hi!” Martin squeaked, clutching his bag closer to him nervously. Oh god, oh god, the inspiration for half his poetry from the past few months was standing right in front of him. “Um - hi. Hello.”

The man’s grin widened, like he found Martin’s frantic stuttering endearing. “Hey.”

Fuck. He was doing this all wrong.

“I’m Martin,” Martin blurted. Almost went to shake the man’s hand but decided against it last second.

“Gerard,” Gerard said, the glowing tip of his cigarette dancing in the dark. “But you can call me Gerry.”

“Oh,” Martin said faintly, his heart fluttering too-fast in his chest. Then, just because he could, said, “Gerry.” Rolled the word around in his mouth, tasting how it felt against the back of his teeth. Decided he liked it. “Nice to meet you, Gerry.”

Gerry’s grin widened, his teeth very white under the curve of his painted black smile. There was a gap between his front teeth, and Martin felt almost dizzy with the knowledge of it. “And you.”

Then unexpectedly, he shivered so hard that his teeth clenched around his cigarette. It was only then that Martin realized that the man was only wearing a thin black jacket over his graphic t-shirt, and that he must be absolutely freezing.

Martin was acting before he could think it all the way through, rummaging through his bag and removing his scarf from its depths. It was a heavy, woolen thing that he’d knitted for his mother’s birthday but - she hadn’t wanted it, muttered something about it being too itchy.

“You’re cold,” Martin said absently, brandishing the scarf in front of him like a weapon. “Come here.”

Gerry stared at the scarf, his grey eyes stretched wide, then looked to Martin, then back to the scarf. Surprise didn’t sit quite right on his face, like it was an emotion he wasn’t used to wearing. “Um. I’m...that’s okay. You don’t have to...”

“Nonsense,” Martin said, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that was gibbering mindlessly at his boldness. “You’re hardly dressed for the weather, and it’s not like I’m using it.”

Gerry opened his mouth - paused, a strange light entering his eyes. He looked at the scarf, and his surprise faded into a blank, neutral frown. Then, “That was cruel of her.”

Martin frowned. “What?”

“Okay,” Gerry said, and took the scarf from Martin. He stared at it for a moment, studying the simple pattern, before wrapping it around his neck. He looked warmer at least, and that made something in Martin’s stomach settle, relaxed the part of him that wanted nothing more than to nurture. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Martin responded, still feeling a bit off-kilter by the strange comment, like Gerry had known what his mother had said to him and disapproved. “Anytime.”

They stood in silence for a couple more seconds, the atmosphere strangely charged with anticipation. There was something Martin was supposed to say here, something important, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

And then the bus came.

Martin stared at it for a second, disappointment a sour taste in his mouth. His window of opportunity was steadily closing, he could feel it, but he was lost, grasping at the tail end of something strange and unknowable.

“That’s your bus,” Gerry told him gently, and when Martin looked over, he was holding the scarf close to his neck.

“Will I see you again?” Martin asked in a sudden burst of confidence.

Gerry froze almost imperceptibly for a moment, but Martin had been learning to read body language ever since his father had left home. He looked away, that clear grey gaze focusing on the sidewalk in front of him, studying the cracks in the concrete. “If you like.”

“I’d like to,” Martin responded firmly, then deflated as his confidence faded and his uncertainty returned. “If you would.”

That small, experimental smile twitched the edges of Gerry’s lips again. Martin was suddenly struck by the fact that it didn’t sit quite right, as though it wasn’t an expression he was used to making. The thought was as endearing as the rest of him. His voice was unexpectedly low, unexpectedly shy, as he said, “I would.”

#gerrymartin #tma #my writing #iceeckos12 writes #local-eldritch-abomination #ask

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yourcoffindoor · 4 years ago

Text

Bulletproof Heart Pt.4

AN: YAY its finally here! Thank you so much to everyone for reading and for your patience! This is the final part of this series. enjoy <3

"Y/N?" a gentle tap on the wall outside your bunk. It was Liz. "We have an interview with Spin in like 5 minutes."

You groaned and pulled your wrinkled sheet over your face, turning away from the sound of her voice, soft and hesitant as though she were afraid the slightest noise would shatter you further.

"You guys go without me," was your muffled reply, "I've hogged the spotlight enough anyway."

" Are you sure? They'll probably be pissed the lead singer isn't there."

"Then let them be pissed."

Liz lingered in silence for a moment before deciding it was best to leave you be. It had been a couple of weeks since you'd found out about Alex's little foray into filmmaking, and a gush of old trauma had emerged new again. All the work you had put in to rebuild yourself and to forge a new life had all but crumbled away in a matter of minutes, and you isolated yourself in response.

You stopped leaving the bus because of the stares. Once rumors had gotten out that there was video footage of you doing the deed, people seemed to glance over at you before whispering insidious somethings among their companions. You didn't need to hear their conversations to know just how humiliating their words were. Things took a turn for the worse when reporters began to have the audacity to ask you about the video, probing into if you were in a relationship with Alex. It was then that you realized he had sabotaged your moment, your success, and made it all about him.

You began to miss a few shows, something you had never done before. But you just couldn't bring yourself to give a damn. Your bandmates kept their distance, realizing you needed your space; but their concern was permanently painted on their faces.

"Hey Y/N," Gavin spoke hesitantly one afternoon, "You know...Gerard's been asking about you."

The sound of his name made your heart beat quicker. You hadn't made an effort to see him since the video came out. "Oh?"

"Yeah he really wants to see you. He's worried about you...we all are."

"I'm fine." you said curtly. "I mean, tell him not to. I'm fine. I just need to be alone."

"You sure? I think some social interaction might do you some good--"

"Gavin, I want to be alone. Please."

He merely nodded before heading out the bus door, finally giving you what you asked for.

Out of respect for the fans, you managed to pick yourself for performances again, but it felt like you were merely going through the motions, your passion nearly extinguished. You became angry at yourself for feeling this way, like you were giving up on yourself and your goals. Between sadness and guilt, there was no bright side you could look to as an escape.

Then, you ran into Alex.

This was what you had really been dreading. You knew how smug he must be, knowing he must've gotten under your skin, his favorite place to be. You'd snuck out of the bus for some much needed fresh air, but you didn't need to go far before you heard your name being called.

"Y/N! wait up!" a chill shot down your spine. You didn't turn around. Instead, you began walking faster.

"Hey, hey, hold on a second--" He grasped your arm, but you pulled it back so quickly it seemed to surprise him.

"Leave me the fuck alone."

"C'mon don't be mad."

You couldn't help but laugh at the nerve of his comment. "How could I not be? I didn't even know you had filmed me. I didn't get to agree to any of this! And then you decide to make it public? And you," you said, angry tears building up to a waterfall, pushing a fist into his chest, "you are a nightmare that won't go away! Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Alex was calm-- So calm that it only angered you further. "You're thinking about this the wrong way. The publicity could be great--I mean people are already eating it up. They love us together. Honestly? I did us both a favor." He smirked, making your skin crawl. "But there's something else, Y/N. Something you should remember." He leaned forward, speaking into your ear in a low, serpentine voice, "This is what happens when you think you can go off and make something of yourself without me."

You were speechless, your stomach dropping as if it had been kicked. "You're disgusting. I'm leaving."

"Going to see your friend Gerard? Hey, ask him what he thinks of our movie for me. I'm making another one with some My Chem fans anyway." He spoke to you with your back turned, already walking away, but you could hear him smiling.

You halted in your steps, torn between slapping Alex across the face, crying, or simply walking away. After a deep breath and far more self control than you knew you possesed, you chose the latter, swiftly walking back towards your bus to isolate once more.

****

The sun was revolting.

That was the first thought when Gavin flung open the curtain that marked the border of your bunk, your own personal ecosystem that no one had dared enter for the past few weeks. He kneeled on your mattress and reached over you to open the blinds on your wall, and you winced as the sun struck your face like a laser.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N!"

"Gavin, its August."

"Well it might as well be Christmas when you hear what I have to tell you."

You groaned and rubbed your eyes. "What is it? I'm prepared to be underwhelmed."

"I didn't even need to open that window! There's that bright and sunny optimism we've come to know and love."

You hit him with a pillow. "Out with it."

"Alex got--"

"ALEX GOT KICKED OFF WARPED TOUR!" Liz shouted, bursting into your bunk from out of nowhere.

"What the hell Liz! I wanted to tell her!"

"Too slow!"she teased.

Your head was reeling. "Wait, wait, wait....what? How?"

"Don't know all the details but it definitley had to do with his...activities. Turns out he was asking underage fans to flash him and his band to get backstage and shit. Someone snitched I guess, thank god. The whole band's been kicked off and banned from Warped tour.

For the first time in forever, you laughed.

You practically cackled. You laughed so much that it felt like you couldn't stop.

"I think we broke her." Liz muttered to Gavin.

"That's fucking amazing." you said, wiping tears from your eyes.

"It is, and its good to hear you laugh again." Gavin said. "Come out with us later, to celebrate."

"I will sometime, but I'm still not quite ready. People are gonna try to ask me questions, I just know it. I'm still not up for it."

Liz and Gavin nodded. "We'll be here when you are."

***

Later that afternoon a few quick knocks sounded from the bus door. You debated getting up to answer it, but human interaction was the last thing you wanted right now. There were a few more small knocks; and you able to ignore the unwanted visitor until, after a moment of silence, something slid under the door. Once you heard their footsteps disappear into the distance, you peeled yourself from your nest on the couch to investigate.

It was a white envelope with your name scrawled across the front. You hesitated for moment, wondering if another piece of your past was about to jump out and bite you. But after steeling yourself you pressed on, your fingers swiftly retrieving the mysterious contents.

You immediately smiled. It was a card with a drawing of you on the front, in a style that was unmistakably Gerard's. You were on stage wailing into the mic, confidently waving your middle finger. You couldn't help but laugh.

Fuck em all. The world needs you out there. If you're feeling up to it, come to our set tonight.

Hope to see you there.

-G

You closed the card and reveled in the much needed buzz of happiness it gave you. Gerard. You thought he would've have been angry with you since you had all but ghosted him these past few weeks, but that clearly wasn't the case. Your legs wanted to run after him, but you as you were covered in dorito dust and sadness, you decided to stay put. You'd make yourself somewhat presentable and then see their performance tonight.

***

You stood just off stage, just hidden enough in your oversized hoodie to feel comfortable. Right before they began their set, Gerard turned and saw you, eyes widening with a glad surprise as though he hadn't thought you'd actually come. His expression quickly melted into a welcoming smile, and you couldn't help but break out into soft grin of your own.

The band greeted the crowd, already energized and cheering them on. You'd expected them to launch into a song, but instead Gerard began speaking.

"This is a special set tonight guys, because someone very important to me is here. Someone so strong, so kickass that sometimes I wonder if she's even a real fucking human being." He glanced over at you, eyes electric and impassioned, immediately i heat rise to your shrouded cheeks. "Well some asshole tried to hurt her. Tried to make her feel small. But I want her to remember she's too fucking amazing to ever let someone make her feel that way."

You could feel the sting in your eyes as tears began to build.

"And that goes for all of you out there, cause these same assholes have been messing with fans too. So if you ever see shitty ass rock dudes in shitty ass rock bands asking you to show them your tits for backstage passes, I want you to spit right in their fucking faces and yell 'FUCK YOU!”

The crowd went crazy, and you couldn't help but let out a small cheer as well, despite the tears streaming down your face.

"Y/N," Gerard breathed, "This is for you." and with that, the band launched into one of the most passionate sets you'd ever seen. You stayed for it all, loving every moment. As soon as it was finished, Gerard thanked the crowd and made a beeline off stage, directly where you had been stationed all evening.

His eyes were dancing with happiness at the sight of you, pumping with the adrenaline of performing, sweat still dripping from his dark hair. "Hi," he said,pausing for amoment as though he was holding back from so much more, "you came!"

"After the invitation I received? How could I not?"

"So you liked it?"He beamed, his cheeks, pink from exertion, reddened further. "I wanted to do like a mini comic but I ran out of time." As he grinned, fresh crimson gleamed from a small split in his lower lip. What you thought had been makeup turned out to be a genuine injury.

"You're bleeding." you observed softly.

His brows furrowed in confusion, a finger darting to his lip. He dabbed it, smearing blood onto his chin.

"Damn, again? Don't worry, it's nothing."

You didn't hesitate to grab a tissue from your pocket, step forward and gently press it against his cut. He looked down at you with affection, causing you to look away as your heartbeat picked up its pace. Instead you analyzed his face and noticed it was patterned with small bruises.

"Doesn't look like 'nothing' to me. What happened?"

It had been just the two of you speaking intimately just off stage, but crew and media began pouring through and milling about the area. You realized just how close you were standing to Gerard, and pulled your hand back when you noticed people watching. A pew passerbys patted Gerard on the back, offering their compliments of the band's performance. He quickly thanked them, barely turning his attention from you, afraid you might run off. He grabbed your hand, leading you to a quiet area.

"I may have gotten into a fight."

"What!? You don't even leave your bus, how did you get into a fight?"

"I had to. Someone very important to me was being hurt."

You stared at him for a moment, putting the pieces together in your head. Gerard knowing about the video, Alex's sudden departure from the tour...

"Gerard, you didn't."

"I did, and I'd do it again, Y/N. Besides, you can't say he didn't have an ass-kicking coming to him."

You let out a soft laugh, but your vision began to blur as tears welled. A swirl of emotions welled inside of you, tumultuous and much more than you had anticipated feeling tonight. You were touched that Gerard was so concerned about you. Embarrassed that he had to get involved at all. Glad that he did, after all.

At the sight of your tears, he stepped closer. It was him now who tenderly wiped your face, brushing away stray tears with his thumb.

"Jesus, Y/N, I can stand a few punches to the face but I can't stand seeing you cry."

That was all you needed to hear to get oceans pouring from your eyes instead of streams. You embraced Gerard, burying your head into his shoulder. Gerard folded his arms around you in response.

"Y/N I want to tell you...I mean I hope you know...just how important you are to me and how I feel about you. You deserve to be happy."

"You're so nice to me that I almost don't know how to process it." you admitted beneath an awkard, tear-ridden laugh. "Thank you. You need to know you're important to me too. I..I just--" You planted an aggressive kiss on his cheek, unable to express your myriad of emotions in words.

"There, I think that expresses everything."

"Everything?"Gerard asked, brushing a strand oh hair behind your shoulder, "There's a few points I'd like to add."

His hand cupped the side of your face and your lips met, softly at first, a salty mixture of tears and coppery blood. The kiss quickly deepened, caught in your own world, unable to get enough of the taste of each other. That is until Gerard winced and pulled back, blood dripping from his lower lip. His cut had only deepened from your exertions.

"We'll have to postpone this until that's better." you said, handing him another tissue.

"Damn. Kinda regretting that fight now." He laughed.

"Don't regret it. Besides, its not an entirely bad look on you." you teased.

A bashful expression crossed his face as he brushed his hair back from his face.

"I hate to say it but I have a press thing to do in a few minutes with the guys. Meet me in my bus later?" He said, offering another peck on your cheek.

"I'd be crazy not to." you replied, ambushing him with one final hug before he walked off.

You realized something immediately. Despite everything, the heartache, the surprises--you regretted nothing. And as you lifted your fingers to your lips, still buzzing from impact, you knew this had been a tour that changed your life, after all.

Tomorrow, you'd be back onstage, ready to begin again.

Taglist: @pacifymebby

#gerard way fanfic #gerard way imagine #gerard way x reader #my chemical romance fanfiction

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the-and-sign-anon · 3 years ago

Text

Hunt For The Beast

Guardian Angel: Chapter Forty-One

Teen Wolf x Stilinski! Reader

Word count: 1,662

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

You and Allie stuck together with the Argents while the rest of the pack split up to look for Mason. The thought of the sweet kid who wanted nothing more than to help being turned into the Beast made you sick. While Stiles believed you could use your ability to sense the mortal peril of your loved ones to find Mason, you knew deep down that he was already gone.

“How are we supposed to find him if he doesn’t want to be found? Maybe the Beast has taken over enough to hide himself.”

“Y/N, come on. We can’t afford to think like that. One way or another, we’re finding him.”

You and Allie hung back a few steps as the Argents led the way into the high school.

“But how much of him will be left when we do? I can’t kill Mason…”

“But you can kill the Beast.”

“I can try.”

Chris opened the doors to the wrecked library and you all stepped in.

“Mason?”

“Mason Hewitt.” You looked around at the destruction while Chris answered his father. “He’s a sophomore. Liam’s best friend.”

“And a mass-murderer.”

“We’re going to need to tell Scott the rest.”

You picked through the smashed tables and overturned bookshelves. The property damage at this school had skyrocketed in the last few years. You could never have imagined things like this happening when you were a student here.

“Not necessarily.”

“If there’s a way to save him-”

“The pike won’t save him.”

“It’ll kill him.” You looked at the smashed window. “Mason Hewitt is gone.”

Allie slipped her hand into yours and gave a comforting squeeze.

“You still can’t tell me where it is. How do we know it’s not a steel cup gathering dust in someone’s antique collection?”

“Oh, I think it’s a lot closer to us than that.”

Allie felt a cold determination at the sight of your barely concealed tears. You were losing hope in any solution that didn’t involve facing down the Beast alone.

“We’ll find the pike, whatever shape it’s in.”

“I hope you’re right. Because if we don’t, then we’re going to need a lot more firepower to take on the Beast.”

“How much firepower do you want?”

You turned back on your heel to find Parrish standing in the doorway of the library with his eyes glowing that familiar fiery red-orange.

Before you could think of anything to say to him, you got a flash of something. A place in the woods. Your friends in danger. Allie saw a glimpse of Theo being thrown into a wall. Without a word of explanation, the two of you took off running. Parrish and the Argents were quick to follow, jumping in their cars and trying to keep up with you both.

The Beast was just leaving the shack when you all arrived. He was carrying the Surgeon with him, but dropped him into the dirt when Parrish, surrounded in flames, lunged at him. The Argents followed close behind with their guns while you and Allie drew your swords. The Beast was fast and better at maneuvering than you remembered, dodging your attacks and running past. The unforeseen fight forced him to transform, but Mason wasn’t the face you were met with.

“La Bête du Gévaudan!” Gerard stepped closer with a smug smile. “I know your name. Do you remember mine?”

“Argent.” His voice was full of venom, but he reached a new level of loathing when he saw you. “Ange gardien.”

When he took off running through the woods, Parrish followed. You did the same, leaving Allie behind with the Argents, Scott, and Liam.

“Who or what was that?”

“You’ve seen the Beast of Gévaudan. That was the Man.”

Allie glared at Gerard’s smirk.

“That was Sebastien Valet.”

The Argents left for their car to follow you and Parrish. Allie didn’t like the proud look on Gerard’s face as he went, slyly grabbing the cane the Surgeon had dropped. The boys had a different priority, so she ran over to help grab the last Dread Doctor and get him to the animal clinic.

Stiles and Deaton were looking over a chart in the back room when Liam threw open the doors to let Allie through. Scott tried to help her, but she wouldn’t let him. This insane, centuries old scientist had terrorized her mind for weeks now and she couldn’t let anyone lift that burden in any sense.

“He’s still alive!”

The boys cleared some space and Allie dragged the Surgeon onto the table. He laid perfectly still as Deaton looked him over.

“Can you keep him alive?”

“I’m not sure he technically is alive.”

“Screw keeping him alive. How do we make him talk?”

“Personally, I don’t think we utilize torture nearly enough.”

Stiles nodded to Allie’s suggestion.

“I vote for torture.”

Deaton gave both of them concerned looks that reminded them of you. While he did so, Scott and Liam tilted their heads.

“Do you guys hear that?”

A second later, the Surgeon sat bolt upright and emitted an ear-piercing ringing sound that made everyone clamp their hands over their heads. Allie was the most affected, dropping to the floor and screaming in pain. When Liam tried to run after him, the Surgeon threw him back against the wall with an electromagnetic pulse. The others got to their feet while he slammed the doors shut behind him and caused all the tables and cabinets to block them and crackle with electricity.

Stiles and Deaton moved to Allie’s side while Scott pulled Liam back from the electrified furniture. She was still clutching her head and breathing heavily.

“Allie?”

She let out an involuntary whimper and curled in on herself.

“Alcmene. You’ll be alright. You’re with friends. You’re safe.”

Deaton kept his voice soft as he helped her into a sitting position. Stiles let her lean against his shoulder while the vet remained in front of her. Scott and Liam kept their distance, knowing that any more people too close would only make things worse.

“Allie, it’s okay. We’ll get out of here soon.”

That seemed to trigger something in her and Allie shoved to her feet. Without a word, she marched out with tears in her dimly glowing eyes. The electrified furniture had no effect on her and once she was gone, Liam gingerly touched a table.

“It’s not electrified anymore…”

Stiles wanted to go after Allie and figure out what was going on with her, but he knew she wouldn’t tell him. The only person she really opened up with was you. No matter how much time they spent together, Stiles would never be as trustworthy to her. It was a sad thought, but Allie still couldn’t accept that she could really trust anyone but you. So he turned his attention back to the medical file Melissa had given him on Mason.

-----

You weren’t aware of much until you and Parrish were kneeling on the road catching your breath. The Argents stopped just behind you, illuminating you both with their headlights.

“We lost him.”

Gerard and Chris got out, the elder Argent with the Surgeon’s cane in hand.

“Sebastien’s going to know we have the pike. If he doesn’t already, he’ll figure it out soon enough.” Chris was trying not to snap, but you could see how frustrated he was.

“Then what do we do?”

“We stop chasing him,” Gerard held up the cane, “and make him come to us.”

The four of you spent hours down in the tunnels. You got fleeting impressions of things, brief glimpses of pain and fear, but nothing you could hold onto for long. Stiles texted you once to tell you Allie had run off, but there was nothing you could do.

“I think we should talk.”

“Maybe when we aren’t fighting for the lives of everyone in town.”

“Y/N.”

Parrish caught your arm and waited for you to look at him.

“I know this whole ordeal hasn’t been easy on you either.”

“Parrish, you’ve been having a major existential crisis. Trust me, I get it. Now, we can talk later.”

Parrish could see you weren’t going to budge, so he nodded. It was a small comfort to him that you looked him in the eyes when you spoke, something you hadn’t done since your joint discovery of the nemeton. Before he could say anything else, your phones buzzed and Argent rounded the corner with his gun at the ready.

“Lydia’s been hurt. Badly.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

You knew where Chris was coming from but you were still upset.

“What if she’s dying? And Allie went MIA too.”

“If we don’t stop Sebastien, she will die. He’s not just coming for the pike- he’s coming for anything that stands in his way. Right now, that’s all of us.”

“But-”

“Y/N, you know your attention can’t be divided right now. You’re a guardian and the best way for you to guard all of us is to be completely focused on helping Parrish defeat the Beast.”

Argent put his gun aside as you heard the approaching growl of the Beast. Parrish looked down at the gun, then back to its owner with a bewildered expression.

“What are you doing?”

“The two of you saved my life once. Now, I’m going to save yours.”

“I’m not sure I’m getting the strategy here…”

“You’re the strategy, Parrish. Both of you. You’re the ones in the fresco-” Your eyes widened at the realization that Argent knew you were in it too. “-put there as a reminder that the Beast isn’t unstoppable. Whoever painted it, they didn’t see a guy with a gun facing down the Beast. They saw you. The hellhound and the angel.”

Parrish’s eyes met yours and both began to glow. The deputy lit on fire and the color bled from your clothes as you glowed brighter. You took the first step down the next tunnel and Parrish followed right behind.

Next Chapter

#teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x reader series #teen wolf x stilinski! reader #reader insert #female reader #my writing #guardian angel #haven writes

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beholdme · 4 years ago

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 9

Chapters: 9/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

On a Tuesday in the middle of November, not long after Gerry's 28th birthday, the three of them eat dinner at Gerry's flat, as they often do these days. Jon cooks for them and after, Martin and Gerry wash the dishes and debate the book they both just finished reading.

Jon has been twitchy all evening, so they leave him to read his own book in peace.

He wanders in at one point, leaning against the counter. "Gerry, do you know what day it is?"

Gerry looks over at him in such a way as to indicate that he really doesn't.

"Our six-month anniversary?" He tries.

"No," Martin pipes up, "That's not for weeks yet."

Jon and Gerry both look at him askance. "What? Your boyfriend starts dating another man, you remember the date. I can't believe you two don't know." Martin says as if that about covers it.

"Nevermind that." Jon snaps, and even with his previous moodiness, the others are taken aback at his blunt words and even harsher tone.

"Something wrong, Jon?" Gerry asks quietly, leaning against the opposite counter to Jon and crossing his arms. His tone suggests what he actually wanted to say was 'Do we have a problem here, bitch?' but he manages to reign the actual words in.

"I want to know why you left without saying goodbye." Jon's words are filled with a multitude of frustrations, none of which are actually conveyed in his limited words.

"Yesterday?" Gerry asks, incredulous. "You were asleep!"

"No! Not yesterday." Jon snaps back. "When we were younger. It's been ten years today since you disappeared off the face of the planet."

"Oh," Gerry responds quietly, his defensive posture dropping. He leans his hands back on the table behind him, bringing his shoulders up around his ears. It’s a rare display of confident, edgy Gerry trying to shrink himself.

"I thought we were, you know. Together. Then one day you were just gone! As if you had never existed. Your mother wouldn't tell me anything at all, just sat there smirking at me, said that you were gone and she didn't know when you were coming back, or if you were ever coming back. Which you never did, actually." Jon has been pacing, his voice rising with each new word until the final words are shouted accusatorily into the space between them.

Gerry knew Jon had wanted to talk about this since the day he walked in the library and back into his life. He had waited, been patient, and Gerry had put it off in the hopes that he would never have to choke the words out. Now, that patience was obviously over, and he knew he owed Jon this explanation.

"We were together Jon. I loved you."

"So why? What did I do so wrong, that I got to wake up one day and find you gone ?" Jon's voice has become desperate, and they can all hear the tears that he is trying to hold back.

"Don't say that. You didn't do anything wrong. We weren't perfect, but we were always so good together. I... I had to get out of there. And I couldn't leave any clues behind, so I couldn't tell you anything, because it wouldn't have been safe for either of us." Gerry reaches towards Jon to soothe him, but he flinches away and Gerry doesn't pursue him.

"I don't understand." The tears have come, and Gerry desperately tries to hold back his own when he sees them.

Martin had up until that point been standing resolutely in the corner, trying not to interfere in their pre-Martin argument. At the advent of tears, Martin moves to stand at Jon's back, gripping his shoulder for comfort. Gerry looks bereft and Martin holds out a hand to get him to come closer as well. They huddle all together, both Jon and Gerry taking comfort in Martin's steadiness.

Gerry leans into Jon, sliding his hand around his neck and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so sorry, love. I've never forgiven myself for just disappearing on you. I thought about you every day."

"I love you," Jon whispers as Martin rocks them both gently. "But I need to know."

"I love you too." Gerry shuts his eyes and wishes more than ever to erase his shitty legacy of pain and blood.

Martin drags them to bed and offers to leave them alone to their talk.

"Please stay," Gerry says, grasping his hand. "You both need to know, and I don't want to have to talk through this twice."

So they all pile into Gerry's bed together, sitting in a vague circle like teenagers at a slumber party.

As Gerry starts to talk, Martin drags him over toward him and begins braiding his dark blue hair. It's both an offer of physical comfort and affection (easily Gerry's main love language) and a simple way of letting him off the hook for eye contact.

With Jon staring at him quite intently, Martin doesn't think he needs any further pressure.

"Jon, you-" He starts and then halts abruptly. Jon reaches over and grasps his hand, attempting to further ground him. "You remember my mother. I know you saw how, how just off she was. Manipulative and controlling. By turns demanding and completely uninterested in me. One day I would be free to run wild for weeks at a time, the next she would have a meltdown if I wasn't exactly where she wanted me, every second of the day and night." Gerry blows a breath out, shuddering at the memory of a particularly bad incident with a vase that had left him needing several stitches over his left eye.

"Well, she wasn't always like that. I remember her being a pretty good mom when I was young, if distant. She was always far more interested in being a wife than a mother, and she loved the way my father adored her.

“When I was 7, my father was blinded in an accident at work. I remember the day the phone call came. She spoke very calmly to the hospital, before hanging up the phone and shattering every picture frame in the house." Martin is finished with Gerry's hair and simply leans into him, offering silent comfort. "He coped okay with his new disability actually, and I liked helping him learn the world again with no sight. My mother never recovered from her initial breakdown though. She was angry and petulant that she needed to help and support him for the first time in their entire relationship and became more and more unhinged over the course of a year.

"One day I came home from school to find a puddle of blood soaked into the floor of the living room. She said there had been an accident and my father wasn't coming back. She hit me for the first time when I cried. She told me that I was a man now, and tears were for useless girls and disgusting… Well, you get the picture."

Gerry pauses and glances between them. A few tears have started to run down his face, but he doesn't seem to even notice them.

"We moved a few days later, and that was all I ever knew about my father's death until I was eighteen, almost ten years later. I'll spare you the horrid details, but as I'm sure you've already guessed, she murdered him. She explained very, very graphically what she had done with the body, and that she would never be caught, no one would ever think to blame her, even if anyone could ever prove that he was dead at all."

The words hang heavy in the air between the three of them. Gerry feels the comfort of their touches, but can hardly stand the affection anymore. He gets up off the bed and goes to look out the bedroom window, arms crossed and posture hard.

"Then she looked me right in the eye. And she told me that was exactly what would happen to Jon if she ever caught me with him again."

Dead, cold silence fills the room.

Gerry turns back around to find them both watching him. "So, I packed whatever I could fit into my duffle bag, and I got the hell out of dodge. I ran. I ran because I couldn't close my eyes at night with seeing your face white and cold and covered in blood and," he breaks off and takes a shuddering breath, covering his eyes and sinking to his knees. "And I couldn't stand that she would hurt you because of me. That all your light and potential would be ripped away from you in blood and pain and nothing I felt for you could make even the risk of that worthwhile."

He lifts his head to look up at them, where they’ve moved to the side of the bed towards him. “And do you want to know what the worst part is, actually? I can’t get over the idea that even though I haven’t seen Mary Keay in 10 years, the ghost of her demons lives inside of me. That I'm really just… Her. That one day my mind will snap and I'll be a danger to you both and I'll be the one hurting you, just like she hurt him. And then I'll just be the same monster who has always haunted my dreams."

Martin and Jon exchange a heavy look. They can scarcely believe that Gerry had endured so much and yet is still… Gerry. Happy, flirtatious, loving Gerry. Gerry, who fills their lives with colour and spontaneity, always showing up when they least expected him, pushing himself into their gravity and asking for space in their lives.

Despite the rather violent nature of Gerry's confession, it doesn't change anything for either of them. Things are not yet settled between them, but they curl around Gerry on the floor and they cry together over shattered innocence and sacrificed futures, and Jon promises himself that he will never let Mary Keay come between him and Gerry ever again.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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fanficteen · 4 years ago

Text

Old Friend

deucalion x reader

“(Y/N)?” Rafael’s voice crackled on the other end of the phone. “McCall?” “I need your help.” Sirens whirled in the background. “You what?” “There’s a hunting problem.” That cleared absolutely nothing up. “I’m an author, not a cop, McCall.” “At the shipyard,” he continued, as though he hadn’t heard you. “Remember I told you about the Hale attack?” “McCall,” you heard, muffled, on the other end of the phone. “Name’s a little too close to home, ain’t it, Ferrell?” “Please.” The line went dead. “Hale attack? That was a fire.” Your heart plummeted in your chest. “Hunters.” You scrambled for the door, not even bothering to lock it as you ran. You’d heard about them coming, heard about the new pack, the True Alpha. Hell, you’d even helped once or twice, when Melissa or Argent called you in. But you hadn’t made the connection between McCall and Scott McCall, the tiny, chubby little kid you’d looked after while his mom worked.

Guns were already firing when you reached the shipyard, and someone was crawling for cover. Or, trying too. He was far too old to be Scott, even as his eyes flashed red, claws extending to drag him across the ground. Three teenagers were scattered around the yard, another man crouched behind a steel beam. You waited, as the Hunters moved forward. Then the barrage ceased, though they kept their guns raised. You launched forward, then, and cut off three from the back with ease. You grabbed a fourth by the throat and tossed him into another, finally drawing their attention to you, as you managed to grab the wounded wolf and bolt in their confusion. “Made a new friend, Scott?” That voice sent chills down your spine, blood-soaked memories clawing their way from the pit of your mind. Your parents – human parents, dead on the floor, just for protecting you. “Just in time to bury them.” You swept through the group to the woman speaking, throwing her to the ground. She spun to look at you, as she landed, but you were already moving, surging towards her. Through the corner of your eye, you caught sight of one of her hunters moving towards the stone column, where Scott was crouched, and you changed courses, knowing you wouldn’t get there in time. Then an engine revved, and suddenly there was a Jeep spearing into the shipyards and the Hunter went flying from the impact. You felt a bullet shatter your shoulder and growled, turning back towards Monroe as two new faces joined the fight. She glanced at you, then behind her, and took off for her car, her men following behind her. Half of you wanted to go after her, but Scott needed you more than you needed revenge. Scott’s pack soon grouped up around where he was struggling, vainly, to stem the blood flow of the wounded man. You pushed him aside, lightly, kneeling in his place. The man ignored you, still focused on Scott. Something about Gerard and knowing he couldn’t win. His breath cut off. “It’s really started, hasn’t it?” None of them stopped you, but you could feel them staring as you leaned forward, eyes flashing black, as you buried your claws in the back of his neck. “Hey!” The late werewolf – a Hale – grabbed Scott’s arm as he protested. “She’s a Grim,” he breathed, as the man’s flashed open and he gasped for breath. “She just – she just brought him back from the dead, right?” Stiles asked, jaw dropped. “I’m not insane?” “She just brought him back from the dead,” the redhead agreed. “He wasn’t quite dead,” you corrected, immediately darting out of the way as the man swung onto his hands and knees, choking in mouthfuls of air.

“Who – wait, (Y/N)?!” “It’s been a while, pup.” He stared as you rubbed the back of your neck, awkwardly. “Pretty impressive pack you’ve gathered. A handful of Hales, a Banshee, another Alpha…” You glanced at Stiles. “…the Sheriff’s son. Very human, very smart. You’re taking good care of him, right?” You carefully placed your foot on the wounded man’s back as he moved to stand. He swung his head around to glare. “Sorry, but you should stay down there, sir.” “Gonna introduce us, Scott?” the late Hale prompted. “Oh! Yeah, sorry,” Scott gestured between you and the pack, “Everyone, this is (Y/N). She used to babysit me as a kid. I did not know she was supernatural. (Y/N), this is Derek, Peter, Malia, Lydia, and you know Stiles.” You tilted your head, surreptitiously, towards the recovering wolf. “That’s Deucalion.” “He’s who?” you questioned, earning a half-hearted laugh from the man on the ground. “Can I get up, now?” he requested, lightly, his voice still rough around the edges. You hesitated, then offered your hand. “You have to let me help you, though.” He glanced from your hand to your face, then sighed and took it, letting you help him to his feet, supporting his aching body. “Nice to meet you, oh Mr Demon Wolf, Destroyer of Worlds, pep-talker of my favourite kid.” He chuckled, lowly. “Nice to meet you, Miss Death-Defier, Beacon Hills’ Grim, babysitter of the True Alpha.” The others were all staring at you, wide-eyed, when you both looked back at them. “We should leave.” “I want to take him to Deaton,” you added, as they all nodded. He sighed, and you all waited for him to protest. “What?” he challenged, letting you help him towards your car, “I’d rather see the Druid than die.”

The roar echoed through the school, reverberating in your chest – pain, anger, hurt. “Scott?!” Before you could take off, Deucalion grabbed your arm. “You don’t know how to fight it.” “Scott’s hurt!” “He’ll be more hurt if you’re dead.” You sighed, but nodded, mutely. “Let me go ahead.” He offered you his hand. “Unless I squeeze your hand, don’t open your eyes. It knows how to trick us.” “Don’t you need that?” You glanced at his hand, and he offered you a lopsided smirk. “If I do, I’ll just throw you with my punch.” You snorted, but took his hand anyway. “Give me some warning, I’ll even put my claws out and actually make myself useful.”

“Bobby?!” The Coach spun at the sound of your voice. “What the hell are you doing here? Are you hurt?” “Just looking after my players,” he answered, brightly. You raised an eyebrow. “Some asshole thought he could get away with touching my boys outside my office. I mean, sure, Jackson and Ethan aren’t my team anymore, but they’re still –” “Bobby, are they okay?” “What? Of course,” he huffed, folding his arms. “I hit him with a lacrosse stick.” Deucalion raised an eyebrow. “Not all of us have fangs and claws.” Then he paused for a moment. “Hang on, you’re the asshole–“ “Coach?” You heard a clatter in the nearby entrance hall, as Scott appeared, but just surged towards him. Deucalion headed for the noise. Blood still stained around his eyes but he smiled, offering a soft laugh, as you checked him over. “I’m fine.” “You blinded yourself?” Horror coursed through you. “He what?” Bobby demanded. Jackson and Ethan appeared, from the same direction Bobby had come. Ethan did a double take, but Deucalion held up his hands in surrender, and the boy approached, warily. “Coach, why are you here?” Stiles questioned, still entirely bewildered. “He just saved us,” Ethan admitted, making Derek raise an eyebrow. “Malia?” Peter crashed through the doors behind them. “Malia– you’re okay.” The girl in question smiled, brightly, crushing her father into a hug. Peter froze. Derek kicked Stiles before he could snicker. “Coach saved you?” Stiles asked, returning his attention to the boys. “No need for that tone, Stilinski.” “He beat a hunter unconscious with a lacrosse stick,” Jackson explained, and Stiles’ jaw dropped further. “Wait, do you know about this, Coach?” Scott asked, brows furrowed. “Of course I know. That’s my sister fussing over you.” “She’s your what?” “I’m adopted,” you assured the baffled teenagers.

Deucalion cleared his throat, summoning your attention. He held up Monroe by her collar. “She’s still alive.” “You won’t kill me,” she sneered, “McCall won’t let you.” “McCall’s not my Alpha,” Deucalion responded, eyes flashing red. “Yet you still deferred to him.” Deucalion snarled, but looked back to Scott. “This is your territory, Scott.” The boy hesitated. “But it’s a war for all of us.” They hadn’t even seen you moving before her heart dropped to the floor. “(Y/N)?!” “What the hell?!” Deucalion didn’t speak through the teenaged chorus, just discarded the body, unceremoniously, curious gaze fixed on your face. “A woman after my own heart.” Malia elbowed Peter, cutting off his muttering. “Was that her?” A sob tore from your throat at Bobby’s question, raw and ragged, but you nodded. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at your brother, or at Scott, afraid of what you would see there. So you just held Deucalion’s gaze, as if begging him to understand… something. Anything. Even you weren’t sure what. The man was a killer, after all. You didn’t need to justify yourself to him. You could hear Bobby explaining, behind you, but still didn’t dare look back. You flinched when Deucalion finally broke the impasse by taking a step forward, but didn’t move away. He continued forward, slowly, until he had closed the distance between you, a warm hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” The question was stiff, awkward, but you couldn’t say you expected any different. Before you even registered what you were doing, you slumped forward, burying your head in his chest. He went stiff for a moment, but you soon felt his arms inch around you, one hand coming to your hair. Your sobs began to fade, breathing falling into sync with the soothing fingers trailing through your hair. “Am I seeing this right– ow, Derek!” A low growl rumbled from Deucalion’s chest, vibrating through your body, and Stiles fell silent. With a shuddering breath, you pulled away and looked up to meet the eyes of the Alpha of Alphas. He raised an eyebrow, but his expression was gentle. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “You just single-handedly destroyed a well-manicured, decades-old reputation.” There was no anger in his voice. “I think you did that when you started practicing pacifism,” Peter drawled, making both Scott and Deucalion glare at him. He shrugged, but didn’t try to take it back. “Can I suggest we leave?” Lydia piped up, quietly. “I don’t know about you, but I could do with a shower.” She looked down at her dust-covered hands, the stains of blood and sweat on her clothes. Murmurs of agreement followed, and you all headed for the doors. “Scott, if you see your father, tell him I’ll be by tomorrow.” Scott raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I just magically realised you were about to die, did you?” You didn’t bother listening to their mumbled responses, just made a beeline for your car. “Call me tonight!” Bobby shouted after you. You waved your agreement.

#pack mom reader #tw past trauma #tw parent death #tw murder #deucalion x reader #deucalion #teen wolf deucalion #teen wolf #coach finstock #bobby finstock #adopted!reader #adopted!finstock!reader #tw violence #tw gore #tamora monroe #coach is secretly soft #tw guns #tw injury #tw major injury

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rpf-bat · 4 years ago

Text

Tell Me I’m An Angel

Pairing: Ray Toro x Reader

Genre: Drama

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 6. Prompt: “Not An Angel.”

Ray is your bandmate, and one of your best friends. In your opinion, he’s an absolute angel. But, after your boyfriend does you wrong, Ray shows you a side of himself, that you never saw coming.

You had just played another sold out show, and now you and your bandmates were outside the venue, busy signing autographs for your fans. A nervous looking teenage girl approached you, holding what looked to be a handmade plush toy in her hands.

“Look, Ray, it’s you!” you pointed out, chuckling.

“Whoa, you made a doll version of me?” Ray realized, taking the knit figurine from the excited fan. “That’s so cool! Thank you!”

Kids gave you art all the time, but you never stopped being impressed by the creativity of your fanbase.

“I’m so glad you like it!” the fangirl squeaked. “I worked really hard on it!”

“It looks just like him,” you complimented. The girl beamed, delighted that her favorite drummer had praised her.

“Why do I have wings, though?” Ray asked, pointing at the doll’s back.

“It’s because you’re an angel,” the girl explained.

“Me? An angel?” Ray repeated, blushing. “Come on….there’s no way!”

“It’s true,” you grinned. “You really are pretty angelic.”

You’d known Ray for a long time - even before Gerard formed the band. He was one of your best friends, and he had the biggest heart, of anyone you knew. He seldom swore, and never raised his voice, even when the guys were getting on his nerves. You really didn’t know anybody sweeter.

“You guys are too much,” Ray mumbled, flattered. “Did you want a picture?”

“Yes! Please!” the doll maker said excitedly. You and Ray posed with her, and the camera clicked. Then, you sent her on down the line, to get pictures and autographs from Frank, and the Way brothers. Another fan - this time, a college-aged guy - approached you.

“Hey. Y/N, will you sign my CD?” the fanboy asked.

“Sure!” you nodded, grabbing a pen. “Anything special you want me to write on there?”

“How about your number?” the guy flirted.

“Sorry,” you laughed, “I can’t! I have a boyfriend back home!”

Tomorrow, you’d be playing a show in East Rutherford, New Jersey - just fifteen minutes from your hometown in Belleville. You’d finally be able to see your boyfriend, Jesse, for the first time, since the tour started. You’d been on the road for three months now. You couldn’t wait to visit Jesse, and give him a hug and a kiss. You’d missed him so much.

“Aw,” the fan shrugged, “your boyfriend is a lucky man.”

“Isn’t he?” Ray agreed, surprising you.

You were so caught up, in your daydreams of seeing Jesse again, that you didn’t notice the hint of sadness, in the guitarist’s eyes.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The next morning, you parked your car in front of Jesse’s house, giddy to surprise him with your return. It was so good to be home again. You had so many stories to tell him, about how the Black Parade World Tour, was going so far. You wanted to know how he had been doing, since you last saw each other, too. Had he missed you, as much as you missed him?

I’m gonna give him the BIGGEST hug, as soon as I walk in, you thought happily, bouncing up the steps to his front door. You pulled the spare key that he had entrusted you with, from your pocket. But, nothing could have prepared you, for the sight that met your eyes, as soon as you walked through the door.

Jesse was half-naked on the couch….and he was straddling some random, blonde woman! He was kissing her, with a disgusting passion.

“What the hell?!” you gasped.

“Y/N?!” Jesse’s head snapped up, as he dragged his lips away from the mystery girl. “Fuck!”

“Who the hell is Y/N?” said the blonde, climbing off the couch.

“I’m his girlfriend, you whore!” you screamed, feeling horrified and betrayed. “Jesse, how could you?!”

“His what?” the blonde girl gasped. “Jesse, you said you were single!”

Hot tears stung your cheeks, as you stared at the man, you thought was your soulmate. “I can’t believe that you would cheat on me…..you said you wanted to marry me, Jesse!” Had it all been a lie?

“Lady, I’m sorry,” the woman stammered, buttoning her blouse. “I swear to ya, I would never have banged him, if I knew he had a woman….”

So they’re definitely having sex, you realized. How long had been this going on? Had it started, even before you went on tour?

“I’m outta here,” the blonde decided, heading for the door.

“Andrea, wait!” Jesse cried, getting up to go after her.

“Are you kidding me?!” you gasped, grabbing him by the arm. “You’re going to fight for your stupid side piece, and not me?”

“Y/N, I’m really sorry,” Jesse sighed. “I didn’t mean to sleep with Andrea...It just sort of happened. I still love you, though…”

“Bullshit!” you cried. “If you loved me, you would have been faithful to me, you scumbag!”

“I still want to be with you,” Jesse insisted. “I can stop seeing her, now that you’re home. She’s nothing. You’re the one who’s really special to me.”

“You’re a fucking liar,” you cried, barely able to see him, through your tears. “If you do this to me, while I’m on tour, then what we had was never special to you at all. You and I are done.”

You stormed out of his house, slamming the door behind you. You felt as if you’d left your shredded heart on his floor.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You were driving down the road at ninety miles an hour, desperate to put some distance between you, and what you’d just seen. The image of him, on top of that girl, was burned into your retinas. It made you want to tear out your eyes. Not knowing what else to do, you picked up the phone, and called your best friend.

“Hi, Y/N,” Ray answered the phone immediately. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

“No!” you cried. “I’m not!”

“What’s wrong?” Ray asked softly. “I thought you were going to spend the day with Jesse, until it was time for soundcheck?”

“Jesse’s two-timing me!” you confessed, your heart breaking over again as you said the words. “I just caught him in bed with some other girl!”

“Oh my god!” Ray gasped. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious!” you sobbed. “I seriously wanna drive off a fucking cliff, after what I just saw!”

“Don’t say stuff like that!” Ray said, sounding concerned. “Where are you? Do you need me to come over there?”

“No,” you sniffled. “I’m gonna pull over, and collect myself, before I do something stupid.” You could barely see the road, through your tears. “Once I calm down, I think I’m just gonna drive to the house. I want to be alone for a little while.”

“Are you sure?” Ray asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “You’re with your family right now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m hanging out with my brother, and my abuela today,” Ray admitted. “But, if you want me to come over, I can…”

“No,” you interrupted. “Your abuela hasn’t seen you since February. I’m not going to make you ditch her, and come help me, deal with my problems.”

“I would, if you really needed me to,” Ray said seriously. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now…Jesse’s a bastard, for doing this to you…”

“It’s okay,” you sniffed. “I mean, the show must go on, right?”

“Can you really play a show, in this state?” Ray questioned. “If you want, I can call the venue, and ask them about postponing the gig.”

“No, Ray,” you shook your head. “We can’t cancel a gig, the day of. I won’t do that to the fans. I just have to find a way to deal with it. I’ll see you at the venue.”

“If you say so,” Ray sighed. You disconnected the call, and prayed that your hands would stop shaking, long enough to let you hold your drumsticks.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Hours later, you’d dried your tears, and put on a fresh coat of eyeliner, to replace what had streamed down your face. Your heart still felt stomped on, but you were ready to rehearse. You hoped that practicing for the performance, would take your mind off of Jesse’s infidelity.

“Hey,” Ray said, putting a hand on your shoulder, as you walked into the venue’s dressing room. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay tonight, Y/N?”

You pulled him into a hug, desperate for his reassurance. He held you close, and rubbed your back gently, trying his best to comfort you.

“I gotta be okay,” you shrugged. “You guys are depending on me, to keep the beat. If I can’t drum like I’m supposed to, it’s gonna throw everybody else’s timing off, and the set will be ruined.”

“I’m not worried about the set,” Ray shook his head, pulling away from you, so he could look you in the eye. “I’m worried about you, Y/N. Not as my drummer, but as my friend.”

“...You’ll be my side, right?” you said, your voice wavering. “If I start to lose it, I can just look across the stage, at you.”

“Of course I’ll be right there,” Ray promised you.

“As long as you’re with me,” you assured him, “I can get through the night.”

“Okay,” Ray nodded. “I know it’ll be hard, but you can do it. Have you got your show clothes?”

“Fuck,” you realized. “I left them in the car.”

“It’s okay,” Ray replied. “You still have plenty of time to go grab them, and get changed. The others aren’t even here yet. It’s not like we can start rehearsal without them.”

“True,” you agreed. “Alright, I’ll be right back.”

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You grabbed the garment bag from your backseat, cursing yourself, for being so distracted.

I really am gonna screw up the show tonight, if I’m not careful, you thought miserably. Your heart still ached. Why wasn’t I good enough for him?

You told yourself to stop thinking about it, and walked with the bag, back into the venue. You were about to turn the corner, and walk back into the dressing room, when you heard the sound of raised voices. You stopped to listen.

“Jesse?” Ray gasped. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Your stomach dropped. He was here? Now?

“Last week, Y/N sent me a ticket to the show, and a backstage pass,” Jesse explained. “So, security let me right on through.”

“Yeah, she gave that to you, before she knew you were a cheater!” Ray snapped. “Get out of here - you’re no longer welcome.”

“No,” you heard Jesse refuse. “I want to see her. She didn’t let me explain what happened…”

“There’s no explaining what you did,” Ray said coldly. “I can’t believe that you would sleep with some other girl, while she was away on tour.”

“You guys were gone, for three months,” Jesse reminded him. “A man gets lonely.”

“A real man, would stay true to his girl!” Ray argued. “Y/N is such a beautiful, kind woman….if you had her, I just don’t understand how you could possibly want anyone else.”

You blushed. Did he really think that highly of you?

“She’s been on a tour bus, with four big ,strong men, this whole time,” Jesse accused. “I wouldn’t be surprised, if her loneliness got the best of her, too.”

“She wouldn’t do that to you,” Ray defended you. “You should know her better than that. She never laid a finger on me, or anybody else.”

“That’s because I got a bigger cock, than any of you nerds,” Jesse smirked. “No matter how many other girls I fuck, Y/N is gonna come crawling back to me, at the end of the day, because I….”

His cocky words, were cut off by a loud crashing sound. You ran into the room, wondering what it was you'd just heard.

You found Jesse on the floor, blood dripping from his nose. Ray was standing over him, with a raised fist, and an expression like nothing you’d ever seen before, on his face.

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “Ray, did you punch him?!”

“I told you, Y/N,” Ray said quietly. “I’m not the angel that you think I am.”

Jesse stood up, spitting blood from his mouth. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of you for that, Toro!”

“No!” you cried, jumping between him and Ray. “You leave him alone!”

“Get out of my way, Y/N,” Jesse commanded. “Your friend sucker punched me - I need to pay him back, by breaking his jaw.”

“Don’t touch him,” you growled, staring him down. “You get out of here, right now, or I’m calling the police.”

“Fine,” Jesse spat. “You’re not worth it, anyway.”

You watched him walk out the door, knowing that you would never see him again.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You and Ray were now alone in the dressing room. You stared at him, still scarcely believing what you’d seen. He was the tallest, and physically strongest, member of My Chemical Romance. But, you’d never expected him to throw a punch at anyone.

“I’m sorry that you saw that side of me,” Ray apologized. “You know that I’m normally not a violent person.”

“Of course not,” you shook your head. “Ray, you’re one of the most peaceful people I know.”

“I just couldn’t stand it,” Ray explained. “He had hurt you so much, and he didn’t even look sorry! I couldn’t let him get away, with hurting somebody I love.”

“Love?” you repeated. “I mean, I know you love all your bandmates, like they’re your siblings, but…”

“No,” Ray sighed. “Gee, Frank, and Mikey...they’re my brothers, but the way that I feel about you, is different.”

“Different how?” you asked.

“Y/N, I love you,” Ray confessed. “The way you loved Jesse….the way he was supposed to love you.”

“.....Oh,” you gasped, not knowing what to say.

“I’ve loved you, for so long,” Ray went on. “But….you were with Jesse, and you seemed happy with him. I’m not the type of guy who would ever steal someone else’s girlfriend.”

He’d been burying his feelings for you, all this time, you realized. That must have hurt him….

“I’m sorry for telling you this now,” Ray said, shame-faced. “You’re already trying to process, everything that just happened with him, and now I’ve dumped my stupid feelings on you, too. It’s okay, if you can’t love me, in the same way, that I love you. As long as you’re still my friend, I’ll be happy.”

“But….what if I do love you, in the same way?” you asked softly, cupping his cheek, in your hand.

His eyes widened in confusion. “Y/N…..you just ended your last relationship, like, eight hours ago. There’s no way that you’re ready to jump into another one.”

“I should have been with you, all along,” you whispered. “Ray…..you’ve always been so good to me. You were always by my side, through thick and thin. You would never, ever hurt me the way Jesse did.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Ray said, his brown eyes staring into yours. Why had you never noticed how gorgeous they were?

“But,” Ray hesitated, “I don’t want to be just some rebound to you.”

“No,” you insisted. “Ray, you’re so much more than that. You’re the one who always had my back, even when nobody else did. You’re kind, and loyal, and selfless. And….I never let myself think about it, because I was taken. But, god, you’re so handsome. You’re the only man, who truly deserves me. You’re the one that I want.”

You pulled him into a kiss. He hesitated at first, as if unsure this was real. But then, realizing it was true, and not a dream, he wrapped his arms around you, and held you tight. He tasted like coffee and churros. His lips felt incredible against your own.

“.....Whoa!” a voice interrupted. You pulled back, embarrassed, as Gerard and Mikey walked into the room.

“I was gonna say, that I’m sorry we’re late,” Gerard blinked, “but, what the hell, did I just walk in on?”

“Y/N, are you cheating on Jesse?” Mikey gasped.

“No,” you shook your head. “Jesse was cheating on me. It’s a long story, but….he and I broke up. Ray and I are dating now.”

“A-Are we?” Ray stammered, an edge of hope in his voice.

“We are,” you confirmed, and sealed the commitment, with another brazen kiss. You didn’t care who saw it - it would be far from the last.

#ray toro x reader #ray toro imagine #band member reader #gothtober #fuck...I just barely got this done before midnight #I'm sleep deprived and hopped up on Red Bull so I have no idea if it turned out well or not

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

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Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 5: The Long Story

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ⥽

They fled New York with one purpose. Find, hunt down, and return with a way to kill a vampire god. They abandoned their loved ones and survived the City of Shadows; had their trust broken and darkest secrets brought to light. All that... and Gaius still won anyway. But now that they have nothing to lose, Nadya and her friends are finally ready to do whatever it takes to see the King of Vampires overthrown.

They just have to avoid a vampire population eager to gain favor with their new monarch, the ruthless Order of the Dawn, and whatever plans Gaius has that involve Nadya captured and brought to him alive. So... easy-peasy, right? The worlds of both dark and light hang in the balance. The time has come for the Bloodkeeper to embrace her destiny. So if anyone wants to clue her in on whatever that means, now would be great!

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02, @hellyeah90sbaby

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Oblivionverse tag list!

⥼ Summary ⥽

Freed from the Order's clutches, reuniting with Kamilah after all this time isn't at all like Nadya had imagined it would be. But they all have some catching up to do... And what Kamilah has to say will change everything.

content warnings: language, canon-typical violence, blood

[READ IT ON AO3]

Did anyone else know Kamilah had an entire building as offices set up in pretty much every major city, or was she supposed to just… like… find this out on her own?

Walking through the doorway into a near-exact replica of the woman’s New York penthouse should feel like a relief. Between the practically-identical furniture and layout to the fact that Nadya’s pretty sure she hasn’t let go of some part of Kamilah since they had managed to get that awful cage open; she’d even go so far as to say it should feel like home.

But it doesn’t.

And even though she over-thinks every possible reason until her head hurts, Nadya just can’t figure out why.

“You’re sure they’re okay?” She asks again; not because something might have changed in the five minutes since she last pressed about how Brandon and Greer had gotten out of the Order’s raid alive, but because the repetition helps make it feel a little more real.

Only Jax has clearly reached his limit on the matter. “For the last time, yes. A few cuts and bruises but surprisingly they held their own. I keep telling you I got them out myself but since you refuse to believe me…”

“No no,” hastily, swallowing around her dry mouth, “I do. I just…”

“Blame yourself?”

And it’s clear from even the tiniest glance that’s not a weight she’s carrying alone. Not saying that makes it easier, but…

A familiar touch brushes through her hair and Nadya leans into it on instinct. Kamilah’s fingertips tickle the spot underneath her ear and the tension just sort of… oozes out of her shoulders. “I’ve arranged for their recovery in a safe place. One that cannot be connected to any of us, and free of our kind entirely.”

There’s a knowing glint in her eye when Nadya finally looks up. Thank god, if she could cry any more she just might, that means Gerard made it out okay.

They haven’t even sat down and already Adrian is ducking out onto the balcony, new burner phone already pressed to his ear and a familiar worry etched into his frown.

“I guess Serafine was friends with the owner of the club where you were…” Cadence doesn’t say the words ‘attacked,’ ‘kidnapped,’ or any variation thereof for which Nadya is immensely grateful. “So when we had a solid lead on where you two had been taken, Adrian all but insisted she stay behind and help see to the injured.”

She’s almost hesitant to ask. “How did you find us, anyway?”

After all, the ride back to central London had been long. Well… long for a starving vampire and an exhausted human anyway. The Order had gotten them at least an hour out before the rescue team had swooped in and saved the night.

Her question is met with a long pause. Any other time Nadya might have guessed he was just gearing up for one of his long-winded explanations of this tracking method or that mysterious contact in the shadows. Not this time though.

Not when he pauses mid-step and knocks his shin into the dark-stained wooden corner of the coffee table.

She tries to meet his eyes but something off near the kitchen is far more important. Nadya glances over her shoulder to the sight of Kamilah in the doorway, frozen like a statue with an expression just as stony.

She catches the faintest shake of the woman’s head right before Cadence plasters on a smile a little too wide to be sincere.

“That doesn’t matter now. You’re safe, so best not to dwell.”

“Bullshit.” mutters Lily beside her, and Nadya reaches up to pet her head on her shoulder in solidarity.

There are definitely more questions to ask.

Questions like where the hell did Kamilah come from?

Or weren’t Cade and Serafine supposed to be leading their hunters on a false trail towards literally anywhere else?

And, possibly the most dire of them all, how close are those same hunters now that we’re all in a pretty conspicuous not-so-safe house?

All of them good questions, objectively. But they will have to wait.

Kamilah returns from the kitchen bearing a sterling silver serving tray. Steam and the familiar scent of Gerard’s favorite herbal tea tickles at the tip of her nose; she’s grabbing for it before the tray even meets the table.

Beside the cup and saucer is a blood bag, and not for the first time does Nadya find herself wondering why they didn’t think to hide out here sooner.

You’d think with the scabbing skin still slightly smoky around her wrists and the clear bags under her eyes that Lily would dive into the offered meal like it’s Taco Tuesday… which is something Nadya will now never be able to unsee, which is awesome. She doesn’t though.

Doesn’t even reach for it. Just stares at the thick plastic and how it catches the light overhead silent and transfixed.

And Lily’s not the only one.

Across from them Kamilah sits, rigid and alert. Jax grasps the back of an armchair with white knuckles and a set jaw. Even Cadence bites at his thumb nail with nerves he’s probably not even conscious of.

Nadya sets her teacup down to quell the sudden tremor in her grip.

It’s obvious from the sweat on her upper lip and the slits that were her pupils that Lily needs this.

What she doesn’t need is the pressure.

“Am I supposed to be waiting for Raines to nab a seat for the show?” She bites out, fangs clenched together. She’s making a conscious effort to keep her lips over her top row of teeth which muddles her words a bit.

Unfortunately nobody seems to get the hint to back off but Cadence, who silently decides to go join Adrian instead… with the balcony door closed firmly behind him.

Kamilah and Jax exchange a long look. No words; just quirked eyebrows and Kamilah’s inclined head.

Jax takes his cue and comes around to sit, elbows on his knees and every inch of the ‘stern parental figure’ look resolute on his weary face.

“It was life or death — for all of us. No plan, no escape; I want you to know I think you did the right thing, no matter what. It was kill or be killed.”

Familiar words for them all. They make Nadya’s hand clench into a fist on her lap. She shoves it between her legs at the knees.

This isn’t about her right now.

Lily raises her chin defensively. “You got a point there, Jax?”

Oooh this is bad. Very very baaaad.

“I saw something during the fight.” He laces his fingers together between his spread legs. “And it might’ve just been the chaos, the adrenaline… But if there’s even a chance it wasn’t…”

“Lemme clear that up for you.”

Lily snatches the bag faster than Nadya can blink. Faster than Kamilah and Jax seem to have expected, too; judging by their startled looks.

Faster than a vampire her age and in her condition should be moving, in summary.

She holds nothing back. Brighter eyes a little too much on the edge of carnal looking at the promise of sustenance with glee right before she sinks both sets of fangs in deep. It pops and ruins all future mental images of water balloons for Nadya in the process. But even through her messy eating Lily doesn’t spill a single drop.

Jax leans back and sighs with something like relief, but everything else on his face says the complete opposite. “It was just a flash,” he mumbles as if to himself, “and with everything going on I swore it was a trick of the lights. But then they took you and…”

“The Order is not in the habit of leaving survivors,” Kamilah explains for him; and she would know, “let alone taking captives.”

Lily drops the bag into her lap when she finishes — when there’s literally nothing left inside. Like… not even the weird little blood bubbles left. She looks like she wants to rip it open like a bag of hot cheetos and lick the insides just in case.

On the plus side, her wounds are already starting to heal. New skin fresh and practically glowing.

And thankfully not tinged that Feral-like grey.

“Well they’re good at it, habit or not. Their tech is so high it makes high tech look like dial-up.” She rubs at her wrists; the ghost of the memory dark in her now-human eyes. “And it sucked butts and all but…” how is there a ‘but’ to this of all things?I

“But even I’m not gonna say it wasn’t probably the only thing that kept us alive in the end. So. That’s all I’ll give them — only because we didn’t, you know, get shipped off to some vampire-Guantanamo Bay.”

A heavy silence hangs over them then. Nadya can’t even imagine what the club must look like now — what it must have looked like when Adrian and Jax had finished their share of the fight only to look up, look around, and see no sign of either of them. All the ash, all the bodies… and one of them, Nadya remembers with much displeasure, that she was even responsible for.

Kamilah doesn’t let the moment doesn’t last long though. Good, she really doesn’t need that flashback right now.

“Now that we’ve come to the inevitable source of tension,” she hesitates; rocks pretty much everyone else’s world because no one would ever look at Kamilah Sayeed and consider she was even capable of feeling uncomfortable like she is right now, “perhaps now is the time for explanations of your own.”

And she looks to Lily as she says it but that’s not where she ought to be focusing that judging eye of hers. So Nadya bites the bullet and waves her hand slightly — the shaking helps it look a little more sincere. “Actually, Kamilah, if you’re looking for someone to blame that… that would be me.”

Neither Lily or Jax come to her defense. That tells Kamilah all she needs to know about whether Nadya’s serious or simply blaming herself as per usual. She shifts on her cushion; crosses one leg over the other at the knee and keeps her spine almost uncomfortably straight.

Not that any of her proper etiquette could even begin to prepare her for this. She forces the slight furrow from her brow before she speaks again.

“Very well Nadya. As succinctly as possible, if you would.”

But there’s really no succinct way to go about describing what went down in the King’s Manor. From trying to keep Adrian’s privacy by glossing over his meltdown that led the crypt-Ferals to find and surround them all to how badly Nadya had gotten injured during their escape; to everything still kinda fuzzy but no less terrifying about their confrontation with the Duchess in the cathedral and… and what all that had meant…

Kamilah holds up a calm hand to interrupt her. Nadya closes her mouth so fast her teeth click on the still-swollen part of her cut lower lip. She winces but toughs it out.

“You’re sure you weren’t caught between the reality of the moment and a memory? You actually spoke to a…” But she can’t say it. Even Kamilah’s surprised she can’t say it. Sure it breaks all the rules they’ve known for centuries and implies terrible horrible tragic things — lives that could have been saved and fates that could have been changed — but that’s just another Tuesday for them.

So she just nods once. After a glance to Jax and Lily and their unnerving solemnity… still, Kamilah struggles to wrap her mind around the concept.

“I see. Please… continue.”

The color drains from Nadya’s face when she realizes what comes next. Thankfully Kamilah takes it as her usual anxiety; there’s an empathy lurking in the cool depths of her eyes that says I understand, you’ve been through so much, and I wasn’t there to protect you that Nadya feels more than understands. But that’s more than enough… or it would be if that were the thing she didn’t want to talk about.

Jax clears his throat and comes to her rescue. “We figured it was a long shot. But if whatever makes her blood special was strong enough to undo centuries of insanity on a fully-fledged Feral, then maybe it was strong enough to stop Lily from getting to that point at all.”

We. He means Cynbel of course.

But Kamilah looks rattled enough. The last thing they need is her going outside for a breather and pushing Cadence over the balcony railing.

So with Jax’s help they manage to piece together a sound-enough truth for the vampiress that she doesn’t feel the gaping holes in their memories. One that gives importance to the things that matter, like Lily and her shiny new fangs and the importance of their discovery.

And one that omits things like Nadya accidentally did the thing you were afraid of from the moment you met the man, the thing you wouldn’t tell anyone about; the reason the Trinity is tangled up in all this and puts us last in terms of millennia-old vampires on our side.

At the end of it all nobody knows what to expect, least of all Nadya. She has fifteen different kinds of apologies on the tip of her tongue and runs the risk of all of them spilling out at once.

Kamilah doesn’t let her get nearly that deep in, though.

She turns bodily back to Lily with indescribably scrutiny. “And how do you feel, then?”

“Do I feel like a monster, you mean?”

“No,” she continues clipped; terse, “if I had even an inkling to that being the case you would not be here as you are. But think back to your… first Turning.”

It settles around them thickly in the air that there’s a very good chance nobody in the history of vampire-kind has ever said that and meant it the way Kamilah does now. The importance of it gives her the responsibility to continue. “How does it feel this time; knowing what you are, what has made you this way? My concern here, Lily, is the threat you may unknowingly pose to yourself more than any threat you may be to others. The latter can be dealt with easily.

“But if you feel different? If your soul feels… different, then we must act now in the early days. While we still can.”

Act now. What a kind way to imply such a terrible deed.

Lily throws a sideways glance at Nadya before she speaks. After all they’d already had this talk, right? “I do feel different,” and she cuts Jax off before he can even open his mouth with a finger held up and a shake of her head, “no, I have the right to finish. Because I do feel different. I am different. But I don’t feel any less like myself Kamilah, and I know that’s what you mean.”

“The answer need not be so plainly given. In fact I think we would all prefer if you took time to be absolutely certain.”

“It’s my soul and my body. I think I’m pretty fucking certain.” There’s a harder edge to her voice now. Anger bubbling beneath the surface but not in a way that bares teeth or fangs. Just real and pure anger — the kind without an outlet. “I may not have had a choice in anything that’s happened to me so far but I do now. So either you take my answer here and now or you never really planned on believing me anyway.”

It’s a bold accusation. Makes Kamilah blink, lips pursed… before she gives Lily a short and curt nod.

“Very well. The only one fully able to doubt you is yourself. Especially given your… circumstances.”

Lily clicks her tongue in a “tch,” at the word but that’s all. No, really, that’s all. Everyone’s content to drop it there not just because they have nothing more to say but because they don’t want to add to it.

Things are tense enough as it is.

A tension which breaks when the balcony door slides open and the four of them watch Adrian and Cadence return with a hesitant melancholy. Kamilah quirks an inquiring look at Adrian; he runs his palm down his face with a heavy-hearted sigh.

“She wants to stay and help as much as she can,” he answers her unasked question about Serafine and her whereabouts, “and just asked me to call if we had a solid lead on what to do next. She’s pushing herself a little too hard, but I get where she’s coming from. Even if I wish she’d take it easy.”

Kamilah’s brow furrows. “The final confrontation with Antony left her with more than a simple injury. But alas, I can’t say I’m surprised at her tenacity.”

Antony. Just the man’s name brings all the events in Paris flooding back to the front of Nadya’s mind. The Order was a looming threat — probably now more than ever too — but the immediate one was like… two thousand times worse.

Four thousand if they’re counting Isseya alongside.

“So you’ve caught them up then,” asks Cadence, “on… everything?”

He gives a particular look Nadya’s way that she’s very much not a fan of. It gives her a gut feeling she’d thought—hoped, fleetingly—that they had left behind when they fled Paris. The one where everyone around her knows something about her that she doesn’t know — something they’re trying to spare her from.

Her stomach gurgles in agreement as all the knots start to collide with each other. She slides a hand over her middle and looks away from him before it gets any worse.

Kamilah face twitches in the barest flicker of irritation; schooling her expression with practiced ease but that’s just another mask. Just another cover-up. “I had not yet found the opportunity… Cadence.” She says his name in the same clipped and terse way Serafine does. Like her tongue is trained to know better. Her brain not falling for a trick played on her eyes. But that’s not the case anymore.

“I’m hoping it has something to do with why Isseya led us to believe Gaius had executed you.”

There’s an unfinished argument in the way Adrian looks at his mentor and friend. Kamilah tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and nods. “Indeed. I promised you answers when the time was right.”

“When we got Nadya and Lily back.”

“Yes—that needed to remain paramount to anything you may feel compelled to do in the near future.” When I tell you what I know, that’s what she doesn’t say. And she’s definitely got their attention now. All of them watching, waiting; silent and with Nadya on bated breath.

“It was an unnecessary evil; one I would not have gone through with had I any other choice. But we knew the fight was lost — that we had been betrayed by some of our last contacts in the Northeast. Between Miss Espinoza and myself —”

“Why isn’t she with you?”

Lily interrupts unabashedly. Judging by the look bordering on sympathy Kamilah gives her (disturbing in and of itself but about this… well there’s a brand new knot that joins the rest) she was expecting this to happen.

“Because she knew one of us needed to stay behind, much like before when it was you who we sent on ahead.”

“Why does that feel like a cop out excuse?”

“Because it doesn’t nearly begin to paint the picture of the truth.”

“You’re one of the handful of oldest bones roaming the earth Kamilah,” Lily snaps, though she catches herself — her anger — and does her best to reel it in before they have to revisit their earlier talk too darn soon, “excuse me for not believing that out of the pair of you she was the one could do more good if she stayed behind.”

There’s a war across Jax’s expression, half a thought forming on his lips before Kamilah raises a soft hand to stay him.

“No, she’s right. And that continues to weigh heavy on my conscience. But if you would let me continue then perhaps you may find comfort in the nobility in her actions rather than the cowardice in mine.”

Lily mulls it over with grinding teeth. She does eventually relent; sagging against her seat with her arms over her chest. That blue cuff Nadya bought her on their first night in Paris caught between thumb and forefinger like a totem that doesn’t quite bring the peace it should.

“As long as you’re aware of your being a coward.”

“Kamilah’s many things — but a coward…” Adrian looks to her like she’ll pick up defending herself where he leaves off. She doesn’t. So he falls quiet as well, falls in line just like the rest of them. They’ve done enough interrupting.

Anyone else, asks Kamilah silent and with nothing but a single raised eyebrow. No one dares, not now.

“It was not an ideal decision, nor was it the smartest. But we were forced to choose the lesser of two evils. Either we could act impulsive and with little thought and hope it would be enough to skirt by, or we could stand and do nothing, be nothing, and watch every effort to fight back be reduced to nothing before our very eyes.

“I said already that we had no allies left. That is only partially true. None that we could fully trust… but in dire circumstances one does what they must to keep their eye not on the battle, but on the war.” She takes a moment for herself; a long silence before she manages to look Adrian in the eye with the weight of her remorse. “I convinced Marcel to grant me access to the secret tunnels beneath his castle upstate.”

“That’s where Gaius is holding his Court, isn’t it?” Nadya asks; and earns herself a genuinely surprised look from Kamilah.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“It’s a long story…” Please don’t make me tell it now.

And she’s grateful that Kamilah doesn’t. Because she gets it. “It seems most of them are these days…” But back to this one for now.

“I hope he will find it in his heart one day to forgive me. We’ve known one another for many centuries, Marcel and I. But needs must.”

Adrian rubs his mouth slowly, like he can feel her guilt in his bones. “At least tell me it was worth it.”

She nods; the entire room sighs in relief.

“Gaius holds his Court in much the same way he used to. The same pomp and fanfare but with different faces in the same roles. Priya sits at his side as some self-appointed princess,” and Kamilah is well within her rights to sneer the word like she does, “while Cecil’s men act as some adjunct guard service. Marcel is there, as was to be expected. And rarely is Valdemaras allowed to stray from his sight.”

Cadence shifts uncomfortably at the name. “The few times I got Isseya to open up, she made it sound like he was being held hostage. Insurance, almost.”

“If there’s one thing Gaius excels at it is finding the weaknesses of others and exploiting them to his own ends. I won’t say the Trinity are without fault; they haven’t exactly made it difficult to determine what they care about the most…”

And in a startling turn of events she actually does the exact opposite of what Nadya would expect of the Kamilah they had left behind. She’d fully anticipated the woman turning away both literally and symbolically; angling her own weaknesses away from Nadya where they’re the most vulnerable.

Instead she and Nadya lock eyes across the table. Pain, frustration, relief deep enough in honey-flecked irises and pupils dark and deep enough for her to drown in. Wouldn’t be a bad way to go, would it?

“But in this case their cooperation is just as damning as their complacency.” The moment passes. Nadya watches her walls go back up from the outside.

“I’m all for a bit of recon,” cracking his knuckles for something to ease his nerves, Jax leans in before she can resume, “but get to the point Kamilah. What the hell does Gaius want with Nadya?”

She doesn’t immediately answer. Adrian, though, looks at the younger vampire like he’s grown a second head. “What would possibly make you think it has anything to do with Nadya?”

What makes you think it doesn’t?

“What about this points to literally anything else, Raines?” Jax answers with a question of his own. One of the few rare times he and Nadya seem to be on the same page about all this.

Before he can make things worse Adrian bites his tongue. That he doesn’t have an answer is written in the worry lines on his fact.

“The guy sent two millennias-old vampires to hunt her down. Her, not you or Sayeed or anyone in this room who could actually pose a threat to him.” There’s a second where he almost looks like he might give Nadya the no offense card but she just avoids eye contact instead.

He’s fine with that. “I’ve had coincidences enough in the last few months for several lifetimes over. This, Kamilah suddenly showing up in the middle of it, isn’t one of them.

“Is it, Sayeed?”

“No, Jax, it’s not.” Though she might have put it in kinder terms; tried to spare certain mortals in the room.

“Then get to the damn point.”

Before things hit a boiling point Nadya coughs into her fist; fake and loud and with more voice than necessary but it works so that’s all that matters. “I can handle it Kamilah,” like she’s got any idea if that’s what holds the woman back; she doesn’t — but this is bigger than her, “I bet it doesn’t even make it in my top 3 of weird since we left.”

She tries to break a smile and ends up with a weak and strained grimace instead.

“Very well. Nadya, Gaius wants you returned to him, at his Court and in front of his subjects, alive and human.”

“I kn—”

“Because he plans to kill you. He plans to Turn you himself.”

Paris, Several Nights Ago…

“All the risks I have taken for you and you still return here?”

She keeps her voice to a low hiss in his ear; a viper full of venom in her fangs despite how she seems very intent on crushing him like some type of constrictor.

Not that she needs to whisper. Doubtful that their accomplices on either side of the fight can hear or see much beyond their frenzied duel somewhere around the alley corner. Steel scrapes against steel and rings out like church bells. Followed by the now-familiar battle cry of Serafine as she rushes in for the kill.

A kill she always tries for — yet always seems to fall short of the mark.

But even with Antony out of immediate sight Isseya doesn’t pull her punches when she sends Cadence flying back into the nearest building wall. His neck cracks uncomfortably, the brick behind him split in several places and just barely indented with his large and sprawling frame. But he shakes it off like he has all of her other attacks. He really has no choice but to do anything else.

He tries to look apologetic as he brushes red dust from the shoulders of his jacket. “It’s just the way things worked out, Isseya.”

“Don’t say my name.”

“I —” He can never tell with her. In Prague she was benevolent. In Rome she speared a rather heavy branch just a couple inches from his heart. In Venice she had him pinned against the wall, could very well have snapped his neck into unconsciousness or the unthinkable worse, but had pressed her lips hard-near-bruising to his temple before vanishing into the night instead.

Why is it they always end up grappling with one another, leaving Serafine and Antony to continue their seemingly endless duel? It makes sense in Cadence’s head that they’d get better results if they switched dance partners.

Another scraaape of swords comes from one alley over. If he’s going to try and convince her now is about the last chance he has left.

“You don’t have to keep doing this.”

“Says a man who has nothing to lose.”

“I think we both know that’s not the case.”

Isseya grits her fangs. Suddenly she can’t look him in the eyes. “If you wish to waste the windows of opportunity I give you, Cadence, then there’s nothing more I can do.”

He watches and waits; sees her momentary distraction for the advantage as it is and strikes. He pins Isseya to the other side of the narrow alley, forearm pushed tight against her throat. A move meant to hold her still more than anything else; one of those moments Serafine calls him foolish for.

The ones where he tries to reason with a woman who has none left to give.

“You could have killed Antony a dozen times over by now,” he growls, “but you cling to the lie that Gaius’ way is the only way. Why, Isseya? Why won’t you… Why won’t you let me help you?”

His voice cracks at the end. They both notice, thankfully they can both ignore it too — what with the seconds they have left alone ticking down faster and faster.

There it is — just a flicker, but that doesn’t make it any less real. The smallest chip in her composure; proof that every effort in every city, every bruise and broken bone and every pleaded attempt he’s mustered hasn’t been for nothing… not quite yet.

“Because I cannot lose another,” her voice a whisper on his skin, “I would not survive it. I can still save him even if… even if…”

Even if you are lost to me forever.

Isseya shoves him back.

Cadence lets her, god help him if you ask him why.

“Antony’s a smart man,” she says instead; it takes the other a moment to realize she’s continuing a conversation they had started more than a week ago. In an alley much like this on the far side of Berlin, “he figured out a long time ago that you two are nothing but distractions meant to divert our course. No doubt he is all but convinced I had something to do with your first escape… but without proof he won’t risk my beloved’s wrath.

“Not with something as valuable as the Bloodkeeper —”

“Nadya.”

“What?”

Cadence huffs through clenched teeth. “Her name is Nadya. She’s a person, not a thing. So stop saying that word like it keeps her from being a living, breathing human being.”

Whatever he had expected her to do, it couldn’t have been close to the laugh his words elicit. Nor how Isseya looks at him with her chin raised and a newfound challenge in her eyes.

“I love it when you do that.”

She steps forward. Cadence steps back. The brick molds perfectly against him like a shadow.

“Do what, exactly?”

“That,” with a flippant gesture, “that thing where you’re so unlike him without even trying. It makes it easier to keep up the chase.” Just like it will make it easier to end things the same way.

Over their heads a shadow eclipses the moon. The pair look up to see the rapidly-moving forms of their companions, still locked in an argument all their own that will soon inevitably catch the attentions of one or more late-night Parisians.

“If Antony knows the others are long gone then why do you continue tracking us?” He snaps in her face to draw Isseya’s attention. There’s a sickening feeling Cadence can’t place — like this will be the last time he’ll be able to get anything out of her until the tides turn. “Why not continue your mission?”

He takes advantage of the proximity between them and searches her eyes earnest and open. He even dares — risks it all, really — and lets his fingertips ghost the inside of her wrist where it hesitates just shy of holding him hostage.

The moment passes between them like a live wire. Not for the first time, and if the universe intends on royally screwing all of them over before this is done then Cadence is certain it won’t be the last. But her sympathy, like her sanity, isn’t Isseya’s to control. It’s not even at her whim.

Serafine’s cutlass flies through the air and clatters loudly to the pavement beside them.

Too late — the moment is shattered.

Isseya flinches back. Yanks her arm away from him like his touch is a burning brand. Before she can say anything else there’s a cry from above. Serafine’s body follows the path of her sword almost perfectly; a swan dive without the water to break her fall and when she collides with the earth it’s to the tune of her breaking bones.

Time’s up.

Cadence’s jeans scrape and wear at the knees as he skids to Serafine’s side and aid.

He gently turns her over, checking for anything worse than the odd angle of her shoulder socket and the deep cut struggling to stitch itself closed along the curve of her jaw. She groans softly in weak protest.

“Ever think about ditching the sword for something a little more permanent?” He mumbles, half to himself and half as a laugh. It’s something Kathy would do — he’s had that thought several times through their ordeal.

It’s actually a greater source of comfort than he can begin to describe.

Unlike Serafine, her opponent joins them from the rooftop with a stalwart kind of grace. His footfalls barely a tap-tap as he lands just shy of a crouch. Fluid movement in how he stands and makes his way to Isseya’s side. His blade — an old Roman gladius, because Cadence has learned from experience that the older they are the more they tend to lean into the cliche — catches a glinting silver on the distant street lamp. Bright all except where the metal is dotted dark red with blood.

“Good thing we aren’t keeping score, old friend.” Antony remarks. His face twitches in a sick kind of satisfaction as together their hunters watch Cadence help Serafine up, her arm slung over his shoulders to bear the burden of her while she forces her body to heal on her time, rather than its own.

“Unless you wish to count this as an extension of our Nassau campaign, of course.”

“How did the Romans ever get anything conquered if all you do is talk?” Cadence remarks; though his own injuries aren’t as severe in the moment it would be foolish of him not to acknowledge how the constant running and chasing and fighting and more running and the cycle unending has taken its toll.

Antony’s brow twitches; he’s barely given Cadence a second glance since the last time they were in this very city. Not that he’s complaining… seeing as his turn with the brutal General seems to be looming inevitably closer now.

There’s a sickening pop too close to his ears but Cadence resists the urge to flinch. Slowly Serafine steadies herself on her own two feet, grabbing her cutlass from the alley floor to grasp the handle tightly and with the same unwavering conviction.

“He’s right Antony,” and even weak as she is she manages a voice like velvet; crooning in her mockery, “you must be getting soft in your old age. I don’t remember this much chatting in Nassau.”

It would be infinitely more impressive if they seemed to have actually unnerved the man. Instead he’s somehow more impassive than ever.

Beside him, Isseya gives a short and exasperated huff of frustration. “You know you cannot keep this up for much longer, Dupont. Doubtful you’d even last the midnight flight to your next safe home.” She steps forward — tries and fails to mask the pain that comes over her as she watches Cadence throw his arm across the other woman’s front as a shield.

“Just tell us where they’ve taken the Bloodkeeper. One little location… we won’t even bring you back to Court. We will leave you to lick your wounds in the gutters as freemen.”

“Doubtful though, that it would last very long.” Muttered in muted amusement beside her; there’s a dangerous thing to be implied in Antony’s words and eyes.

All the more reason to keep this going for as long as possible.

Serafine snaps her fangs. “Why does Gaius even want her?” The same question she’s asked before; and will continue to ask until they manage to piece together an answer from the scraps they’re given.

“There are hundreds of psychics more skilled he could have.”

“You know the Bloodkeeper is no ordinary psychic.”

“Nor is she a formidable threat to someone of Gaius’ age and skill.” Serafine looks to Isseya imploringly. There’s a lot to be said for the fact that the less sane of the pair is the more reasonable one. “You’ve been in her mind, Isseya. And don’t think I didn’t see the damage your snake of a progeny did there, either. Whatever Gaius would want with her will no doubt go beyond what she’s capable of at her age!”

The Trinity vampire gives a callous shrug. “It’s no concern of mine.”

Beside her Antony’s shoulders shift slightly — it takes more than a fair moment for them to realize he’s laughing. Somehow he was less intimidating with the large broadsword raised and ready than… this.

“If you had any idea what she really was… who she could be…” Antony clicks his tongue, glancing off to the side as if to say ‘you are no threat, I don’t even have to keep you in my sights.’

“No doubt you and anyone else who stands against him would be singing a different tu—”

The dagger, slender as it is sharp and keenly disguised without flair in the darkness, barely so much whistles through the air before the blade strikes true. Embedding itself deep in the vampire’s back just to the side of his spine as if in warning. Light as a feather but enough to throw the ancient vampire slightly off-kilter.

He stumbles on his words — rare for a man like him — and staggers one, two steps forward from the shock of it.

“You were always better suited for the stage, domine. What with the way you’re always running your mouth.”

The flash in his eyes, red and bright and vicious is enough to make it clear that Antony recognizes that voice. In fact if he thinks about it Cadence recognizes it too. As Isseya does, as Serafine does. But it shouldn’t be possible — the look he and his injured companion exchange long and in silent awe is proof enough of that. It should not be possible.

And yet.

Despite the odd angle at which the dagger rests deep in his back Antony manages to pry it free with a strange sort of grace. The kind befitting a man of his age and his role in the history of the world… always on the battlefield in some form or another. It slips from his flesh and muscle with a wet noise; catches the light in a strange array of glinting silver and crimson where it catches the light when he looks it over with cool indifference.

Anyone so well-immersed in their kind would know these blades from sight alone; who they belong to and exactly what kind of darkness they’ve invited in alongside it. Antony, of course, is no different.

By all accounts it seems to do nothing more than bore him. “And here I was under the blissful impression I would never again have to hear your snide and unjust superiority, Sayeed.”

His words are punctuated with the hollow metallic clatter of the dagger dropped from his hand and left abandoned by his feet. As inconsequential as the rest of the rubbish strewn up and down the narrow alleyway.

But when Antony finally turns towards the shadows to face the emerging Kamilah, that boredom is all but a fleeting dream. The hardness in his eyes is unmistakable. Already the gears are turning in his mind — evaluating the terrain, the advantages he has and even more importantly the ones he does not. It’s what’s kept him alive this long, that much is obvious.

Though judging by the way the former Bloodqueen looks him up and down positively murderous that may not be enough to save him this time around.

Her eyes never leave Antony’s, but Kamilah raises her voice to speak over the stone wall of him.

“You look a little winded there, Serafine. I do hope you haven’t lost your touch with a blade.”

Serafine who offers a meager, wispy laughter in reply. “I should hope not, Kamilah darling, but here we are.”

There’s a tic in Antony’s jaw. His teeth grind together audibly.

“I see the rumors of your demise aren’t the certainty they were made out to be.” And none of the vampires gathered miss the look he flits to his companion in the dark — barely even a twitch of his head but oh so damning nonetheless.

After all, it had been Isseya who told them — told Adrian and Nadya and Cadence himself — that there had been no survivors of Gaius’ final assault on New York’s remaining vampires.

No survivors typically means, well, no survivors.

But Kamilah Sayeed would be the exception to the rule.

She isn’t foolish enough to avoid Antony any longer than she needs to. “If I didn’t know better I would swear you almost seem glad of it, domine.”

“Glad of the opportunity to pry you like a thorn from my side, perhaps.”

Are they seriously bantering right now? Cadence shifts and holds Serafine closer when he feels her weight sag against him just shy of fully collapsing.

They stalk one another in the narrow space. Apex predators in the shadows — neither of them yielding or backing down; that simply isn’t their way.

But in the steely determination of their eyes Cadence swears — and maybe he’s just imagining it here, but he’s seen a lot of crazy things these last few weeks and this seems by far the least insane of them all — that a silent conversation passes between them. Not in their minds but in their movements and expressions. In centuries, millennia of history between them both. From when they served the same king to now, here, on opposite sides of the fight.

“One might wonder why a reputation such as yours would be so willing to vanish into thin air.” Antony muses low, practically under his breath. Kamilah blows a single strand of hair out of her eyes — the only part of her out of place.

“Reputation means little with so much at stake.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when the Bloodqueen no longer cares what her subjects see when they come face to face with her.”

He’s goading Kamilah — that much is plain as day. But the part that stuns Cadence (and Serafine at his side, judging by the tension rippling tight through her shoulders and how she fights off the pain of her wounds and hunger like she’s preparing herself to jump back into the thick of it) the most… is how it’s working.

Whatever that silent not-conversation they’re having is about, it’s enough to rattle her. Well and truly.

Suddenly Antony stops. Kamilah’s hand tightens around the hilt of her dagger; poised and ready to strike. But the Roman doesn’t use his gladius. He doesn’t need to.

Not when he can cast just as deep a wound in the knowing way he smiles at her through the darkness.

“You know what he’s planning then.”

He’s not asking so much as stating a fact. One Kamilah doesn’t deny. A quick glance down to the woman hanging from his shoulder tells Cadence everything he needs to know… frankly he’s happy to not be as out of the loop as he feels.

Even Isseya, when she shifts on the balls of her feet and draws Cadence’s attention away from the old foes, seems to only have a piece of the proverbial puzzle.

He’s really starting to hate puzzles.

Victory drips like poison from Antony’s smirk. He eases up in gait; leaning back to give the vampire he once called Queen a look far too cynical to be admiration, but the hint of it is undoubtedly there.

“I can’t say I’m all too surprised. Gaius was convinced your fixation on the Bloodkeeper girl would be a blind spot for you. Despite a fair few of us in his Court insisting it would pan out quite the opposite.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered?”

“On the contrary,” his frown returns deeper than before, “because now he may think twice before assuming to know more than his advisors.”

Advisors, Court. So much going on right now.

Antony waits — they all do — for how Kamilah will respond. It’s not something done out of politeness so much as it is a petty nail in the coffin; not the final one but damn well close enough.

She takes them all by surprise. Again. “I’ve never pretended to enjoy your ridiculous Roman politics Antony, especially outdated as they are. But there is nothing to gain from entertaining the ideas Gaius has come to believe over his century of imprisonment.

“Surely you don’t actually believe his claims.”

“Whether I agree with his ideas or not is inconsequential. You know as well as I do there is very little to be done when he demands something of one of us. Gaius demands the girl brought to him alive, it’s as simple as that.”

Antony shrugs — like he hasn’t met Nadya, hasn’t seen her cry in fear and rage and desperation. Whereas Cadence can’t seem to get the shrill noises out of his head no matter how hard he tries.

If this is what it means to live as long as them, he thinks, maybe I’m better off choosing compassion over years.

But… no. That’s not who Kamilah Sayeed is. He’s seen it with his own eyes — Serafine has too. Even now the very mention of what Nadya is (and what she might be, something they seem to be skirting around awfully carefully with their verbal chess) makes the woman stand taller; lights a different kind of fire in her eyes.

Now if only she would take the pair of them out and be done with it. But Kathy’s always had a thing or two in critique about his damned wishful thinking.

“Never in all my years did I expect to see the Marc Antony so willing to roll over at his Maker’s whim.” Kamilah sighs in something like disappointment. It just gets her another one-shouldered shrug while the man tap-taps his gladius against the pavement.

“All power is earned one way or another. You earned yours your way Kamilah, and I continue to earn mine… and the freedom it grants me… by doing what I must.”

An almost serene smile eases the tension in the man’s own shoulders. “And now, faced with yet another large shift in the way of the world, all I have to do is bring a girl to a king. Though I’ll admit I had started out thinking this would be a relatively simple task…” glancing aside, he looks knowingly, accusingly at Isseya and her stony mask of neutrality, “but I suppose that’s what I get for rushing in without a plan of attack.

“But if the girl truly is who Gaius believes her to be, if she can truly give him what he’s promised any vampire willing to abandon your feeble rebellion and bend the knee, then what’s a prolonged chase in the wake of a new age… of an immortal age.”

Cadence spares a fleeting, desperate look to Isseya for answers. She doesn’t have any to give.

And this is Nadya they’re talking about, yes? Nadya with her headaches and hallucinations and less control over her visions as she would let them all believe.

That Nadya?

“What the hell are you talking about, Antony?” he barks in growing anger; catches himself by surprise at the protectiveness in his voice, too. And he’s not the only one who hears it — Sayeed does too. “She’s the Bloodkeeper, that’s all there is to it!” Right?

He set himself up for that one though, to be fair.

Antony chuckles. Eyes flashing red and the hint of a fang curling at the seam of his mouth. “And do you know what that even means? I wouldn’t be surprised if you did, but you’ve forsaken that part of yourself, haven’t you? And with it — answers.”

That’s getting them all nowhere. To Kamilah; “Please, Nadya’s desperate to see you again, Sayeed.”

Whose face falls before their eyes. The chill chased from her glare and her grip on her dagger wavering ever so slightly.

“I will not let him have her,” she says; and louder still, “I will not let Gaius take her away from me. He’s gone mad, well and truly, to believe in the myth of a myth. I would die before I let his obsession consume Nadya — before he would take her life on the chance that she…”

Chance that she what?

But Kamilah can’t bring herself to say it. There’s power in words; in speaking them aloud and giving life to them. Cadence knows that better than anyone.

But before he can even think of how to reassure her there’s a soft moan of pain near his ear that takes priority. Serafine sags heavier against his side; Cadence side-steps and balances them both to compensate for the added weight.

She won’t stay conscious for much longer (if she could be considered conscious now…) and this time is already far more different than their other encounters. Not just with Kamilah firmly between them and Antony’s game of cat and mouse either, but because the game seems to have finally played out longer than necessary.

They need to go. Now.

“I can’t recall ever seeing you rendered speechless, Kamilah.” Cadence isn’t the only one who knows they’re running on borrowed time. That’s why Antony goads her back his way — closer and closer still.

He thumbs a smear of Serafine’s blood from his gladius.

“Don’t tell me the renowned and vicious Bloodqueen is scared of — what did you call it — a myth of a myth? Or perhaps it’s the prophecy itself that disturbs you. I believe I recall your struggle for his affections so many years ago.”

Fuck. It works too well.

Kamilah rounds on him with renewed fury. “You have no idea what you speak of. And if you wish to live to see the dawn you’ll know never to speak of it again!”

“Ah, yes, well… I can understand the pain of an old flame extinguished; a love lost. I think all of us can,” but when he gestures with a sweeping arm no one dares, “or at the very least we might imagine what it must feel like to have your very being compared with a memory; a ghost.

“Everyone at Court knew, of course. How the Bloodqueen never quite measured up to the Goddess Herself.”

Kamilah Sayeed isn’t a woman to issue hollow threats but that’s not what this is. This is fear freezing her in her tracks, anger shaking her body to its core; an unfortunate truth — not all of it, but enough — being forced on her against her will.

“She cannot be brought back from the dead.”

Antony cocks his head to the side. “Are you quite certain? At any rate there seems to be little harm in trying.”

“If you dare…”

“What, Kamilah? If I dare what? What will you do — better yet what will you have the power to do when he gets his chance? Because it looks to me as though you would not be able to lift a finger, or a dagger at that.

“You would stand there as you stand before me now, held captive by your own weakness. Forcing yourself to watch Gaius Turn her, the Bloodkeeper fed the Blood of the First from his veins. And all would gather to see and bear witness as that blood would bring Her back in new form and face.”

Kamilah takes half a step back — a reflex she can’t control. Much like Cadence can’t control the feeling of his stomach dropping out from underneath him.

No one can truly rise above their own fear.

“He will never lay a finger on her.”

“Denial doesn’t become you.”

Out of the corner of his eye Cadence sees a flicker in the dark — Kamilah’s grip on her dagger renewed; made stronger by her own words. And oh how she practically shouts them into the night sky.

“Nadya is not the First Vampire!”

But the Roman remains unfazed. “Perhaps not yet…” he muses, and always with the same damned smirk.

“But she could be. And the King is quite determined to find out.”

#bloodbound #playchoices fanfiction #kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #adrian raines #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #lily spencer #jax matsuo #serafine dupont #marc antony #oc: cadence smith #oc: isseya #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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full-of-jams · 5 years ago

Text

Good Riddance #2

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Summary: There were two things life taught you. Money bought comfort, not happiness. And love was always a gateway to pain. When your former best friend Jimin suddenly returns into your life, he challenges your belief and rips open the past you tried so hard to forget.

Genre: heirs au, girl boss, e2l, angst, mutual pining, eventual smut, feat. OT7

Warnings: hints of booty call Tae, uwus!

Word Count: 5k

A/N: And we’re back up to date! The last bit literally made my heart melt. Please feel free to leave me a comment or send an ask! I would love to hear your thoughts, good or bad!

°°°°°°°

[10:13 PM] You: come get me @ cygnus bar

“Here you go miss, our Cygnus signature sake martini. Junmai Daiginjô sake mixed with dry gin and a dash of extra dry vermouth. Crisp and clean with a slight hint of sweetness. And another Old Fashioned for the sir.”

You briefly looked up from your phone and gave the bartender a quick smile, “Thanks, just put the Old Fashioned right here. My guest will be back in a sec.”

The hotel bar of The Cygnus was bustling on a Thursday night. You were dressed in a close-fitted black cocktail dress, embroidered with elegant gold and silver flowers. A demure little thing if it weren’t for the slit that went up your thigh. A freshwater pearl necklace rested daintily around your neck, aptly showing off your collarbones. You were actually quite proud of your outfit for tonight, although if you’d known the evening would progress in this way you may have decided on something more prude.

Business dinners. Always a fine balance between being charming but not overpowering, personable yet professional. Usually an easy balance to strike if your partner didn’t decide to get plastered and become an insufferable flirt.

You really couldn’t remember the last time you had dinner with a friend just for the heck of it. It was always either business, networking or the occasional ‘date’ which was nothing more than an ill-disguised excuse to end the night in someone’s bed.

You loved your job, but sometimes you wondered if living and breathing your work and drowning yourself in the company was just a way to fill a void. You immediately shied away from exploring that thought. Let’s first get through the evening without killing Gerard, you could psychoanalyse yourself some other time.

“The restrooms here are really divine! I tell you, D-I-V-I-N-E! Almost as divine as you tonight! I need to know the interior designer!” Gerard proclaimed as he slid clumsily back into his seat.

[10:18 PM] You: now.

“Did you just compare me to a toilet?” you asked incredulously as you finished typing and closed your phone.

Gerard gave you a toothy grin before he took a long sip from his Old Fashioned.

I should’ve started ordering him water after drink number two.

“Not the toilets! Their wallpaper is exquisite! Just like you!” he said happily.

“Now I’m wallpaper?” you mused and looked down on your dress. You really should’ve worn something else.

Gerard’s eyes crossed in concentration as he realized what he just said. “What I meant was I could definitely use someone like their designer to stage the condos downtown. They’d sell like hot cakes!” he rectified with a snicker.

“I know who designed this hotel. If you want, I can introduce you to them.” You picked up your drink and gave it a taste. It was pleasant and neat. Unlike the drunk real estate broker sitting next to you at the bar. “But in return I expect you to send me a first draft of the listing proposal by Monday.”

“Y/N! Always on the job. You know I’ll do my magic. Here’s to our new listing contract. The Plumeria Offices! Drinks are on me!” Gerard giggled into himself.

You clinked your glass and laughed quietly, “And who’s commissioning your sorry ass? So technically drinks are still on me. You’re lucky you’re good at your job.”

It was time to end this night. You made a mental note to never go out for drinks with Gerard again.

“Then let me take you out to dinner! Not like this, but a real date. C’mon, don’t you ever get tired refusing me? It’s not easy to find an eligible bachelor like me, rawwr!” Gerard winked and clawed the air in front of you.

He was very lucky he was good at his job.

Your phone lit up.

[10:21 PM] Gucci Boy: The Cygnus?

[10:21 PM] Gucci Boy: That’s all the way across town! Ugh -_-;

Plan A seemed to be a dead end; it was time to start thinking about a plan B.

[10:23 PM] You: i’ll blow you

“How about we talk about your feline bachelorness tomorrow? Tonight we should celebrate our contract and the divine restrooms,” you said distractedly as you scanned the room for an escape.

Gerard unexpectedly inched closer and yelled directly into your ear, “To the Plumeria Offices, the divine restrooms and the divine Y/N!” You winced as a hot waft of alcoholic exhale hit your face.

Your patience was waning. You had to get away before you made dead broker meat out him.

Just in that moment you recognized a familiar figure at the hotel bar entrance. You couldn’t even believe you were actually considering this.

It had been a very long and painful past hour. Your rational brain tried hard to convince yourself that you preferred your real estate broker alive and making you money over the instant gratification of nailing his balls against the wall.

What your brain didn’t tell you was how choosing the devil made this situation any better. Here went nothing.

You abruptly stood up and waved, “Jimin! Babe!”

Jimin’s head turned when he heard his name. His eyes briefly widened with surprise and confusion as he recognized you. He started coming over to your spot at the bar and you could see a flash of understanding cross his face as he took in the scene.

“Cheers to my divine Y/N!” Gerard howled as he lifted his glass with one hand and tried to sling his other around your shoulder. You nimbly dodged his arm and moved right next to Jimin as he reached the bar. Your arm slid loosely around his waist.

“Jimin, babe, what are you doing here?” You looked up at him and gave him your most innocent smile.

Just play along.

His eyes narrowed slightly, but otherwise he showed no sign of surprise at your unusual behavior. After a brief moment he simply smiled back, pulled you closer into his side and rested his hand at the small of your back. You suppressed a startled yelp.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I had a meeting at the Suthora Lounge. It just finished, so I thought I’d grab a drink before I turn in for the night.” His smile turned into a mischievous smirk. “You didn’t tell me you were coming to this bar tonight, sweetheart. Otherwise I would’ve dropped by sooner.” His term of endearment caught you off guard. There was a teasing glint in his eyes as his thumb gently stroked across your back. You tried to ignore the zing it sent through your body.

“Sorry, where are my manners! Jimin, this is Gerard, a business partner of mine. Gerard, this is Jimin, my…,” you paused for a millisecond as you debated which word to use. For lack of a better idea you lamely ended on, “Jimin.” Jimin shifted slightly next to you.

Gerard stood up and gave the both of you a confused look. Slowly the situation dawned on him and a slight flush of embarrassment crossed his cheeks. He tried to collect himself and stuck out his hand. “Ah yes of course, it’s nice to meet you.”

Jimin shook his hand. “Likewise, Gerard was it? Y/N has already told me so much about you. She often says it’s rare to find true professionals nowadays, but she holds you in very high regard.”

You gave him a quick, annoyed glance. Don’t lay it on too thick, boy. He was trying to hold back his laughter as he quirked his eyebrow in response. What are you gonna do about it?

It reminded you of the days when you used to pull pranks like this all the time.

Gerard’s face turned red like a tomato. Jimin’s words seemed to sober him up a bit. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and replied, “Yes, working with Y/N is great. She’s truly talented and… uh... attractive.” His face blanched. “I mean, not that I find her attractive! I m-mean, not that I find her unattractive…”

Jimin laughed at the man’s flustered state. “Don’t worry, I know exactly what you mean. She’s clever and absolutely stunning. It’s hard to resist.” His eyes crinkled as he gave you another mirthful smile.

Your stomach twisted. He was playing the loving boyfriend part a little too well. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he actually meant it. You immediately dismissed that ludicrous thought.

You could already tell this little stunt was going to cost you.

Gerard downed his drink and started searching for his wallet. “I better get going now, it’s getting late. It was a really good evening Y/N. I’ll give you a call next week when all the listings are sorted out.”

“Monday,” you said with a big smile and a voice that brooked no argument.

“Y-yes, of course. Monday. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t take you home. You’re in better hands with your boyfriend anyway,” he sputtered. You fought your urge to correct him and just gave him a friendly hum of confirmation. Gerard nodded to Jimin and you without making eye contact, put some bills on the counter and quickly shuffled towards the exit.

Once he was out of sight you immediately stepped out from under Jimin’s arm. Your skin tingled where his palm had rested a second before. You sat back down and let out a deep sigh. Jimin slipped into the seat next to you.

The bartender immediately came up to him, “Good evening sir, what can I get you?”

“The usual please. Thanks Paul.”

The bartender left and you both sat in silence as you nursed your drink.

“Don’t ask.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

You heaved another small sigh, turned towards Jimin and took in his appearance for the first time this evening. He was wearing a slightly rumpled dress shirt with the top unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up. He almost looked a bit out-of-place and tired. You wondered if the project was putting him under too much pressure.

What was wrong with you? Why did your stubborn heart still have a tender spot for him?

“What are you doing here?”

This time it was his turn to let out a sigh. “Do you realize you always ask me the same question?”

“Are you following me? Is this some weird game of yours where you’re just trying to prove a point again?” you tried hard to sound unaffected.

Irritation and hurt flashed across his eyes.

Good.

But then it was gone in a blink, replaced by an unreadable smile, “Get over yourself, not everything in life is about you. I live here.” He took the glass of whiskey Paul set in front of him and clinked it against your martini glass. “Cheers.”

You were about to retort as your phone blinked.

[10:35 PM] Gucci Boy: Fine, will be there in 30.

[10:35 PM] You: don’t bother. matter’s settled

[10:35 PM] Gucci Boy: TT-TT dinner tomorrow?

You decided to ignore his question.

“Is Gucci Boy your boyfriend?” Jimin asked with a skeptical snort.

You glanced up and realized he was looking into your phone. “What Taehyung? No, he’s just whatever.”

Jimin’s brows shot up. “Just whatever? And here I thought you were the biggest romantic on the planet.” You couldn’t tell if he was mocking you or not.

There used to be times when you believed in the love of a friend and the love of a mother. Those times were long in the past.

“No Jimin, you’re the biggest romantic sap on the planet. I’m a person who believes relationships are overrated. What do you mean with you live here?” You didn’t want to talk about your love life anymore, so you decided to not-so-subtly change the topic.

You could tell he wanted to push further but then he decided to let it go. “This is our hotel, did you forget? I needed a place to stay when I moved back to the City. I’m temporarily staying in the penthouse suite while I’m looking for a new place.”

“I know this is one of your hotels. That’s not what I meant. Why aren’t you just tiding over at your parents’ or at Jihyun’s? They all live like three blocks from here.“

The edges of his mouth twitched up, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He took another swig of whiskey. “For someone who doesn’t want to be asked any questions, you sure ask a lot of your own.”

There was nothing you could argue against that.

You turned your attention back to your drink. “Thanks Jimin,” you said in a quiet voice. No matter how wary you were of him, you weren’t ungrateful.

He didn’t respond. You looked up to see his reaction. This time his eyes were creased in amusement. “I think this is the first nice thing you said to me since I’m back.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

His smile grew wider. Your heart skipped a beat as your friend of your past peeked through.

The moment passed as he responded, “Don’t worry. You owe me one, sweetheart.”

***

The next morning your phone rang. You absentmindedly answered the call while you flipped through some blueprints, “L/N speaking.”

“Y/N, I have a great idea how you can repay me for last night,” a familiar voice purred on the other end of the line.

You did a double take and looked at the caller ID on your screen. Shit.

“Jimin? What do you want?” You muted your phone and let out a loud groan. You knew this was going to happen.

“You know, your work and private persona are really different. Is there a reason why you’re so cold to everyone all the time? Maybe you should go consult a therapist, this could be a serious case of disassocia…”

“Park. Cut to the chase. What do you want?” you tried not to sound annoyed.

The boy on the phone clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Now I am hurt. And here I thought you’d be endlessly grateful after I rescued you from your horrible date last night!” he wailed dramatically over the phone. You forgot how childish he could be sometimes.

You took in a deep breath and gathered all your patience in your voice, “First, it wasn’t a date. Second, fine. Let me hear your great idea. What can I do for you?”

“I told you I’m looking for a place, right?” excitement now laced his tone.

“Yes?”

“I want you to find me a new home.”

You were a bit surprised and relieved by his request. “Oh, well that’s easy. I can refer you to one of our brokerage partners…”

“No Y/N, I want you to find me a new home. I want you to go house shopping with me.”

You should’ve known he wasn’t going to let you off the hook that easily.

You let out an exasperated breath, “You want me to play your realtor? Jimin, I don’t have time for this, you know we don’t broker. Besides, my team focuses on commercial real estates. If you insist on us finding you a new place, I can get you in touch with our residential development team. They know everything that’s happening in the City.”

Jimin laughed across the phone, “Don’t give me lame excuses. This request is off the clock. You know this town like the back of your hand, and you know my taste. You’re the best personal shopper I could want. I won’t take no for an answer. Impress me.”

There was an unsaid threat in his words. Take this deal while I’m still playing nice. My next request will be much worse.

Sometimes you hated this game of give-and-take. Sometimes you hated savvy business people. Sometimes you hated yourself because you relished in all of the above.

“Fine. I don’t have time this weekend. Give me the week to pull together some listings and then let’s meet next Saturday. I’ll give you one weekend of my time. Either you take it or you leave it and go find yourself someone else to bother.”

“Deal.” his old eagerness shined through, “Oh, and put some effort into it. If I notice you’re doing this half-assed just because it’s me, I won’t let it count.”

You bristled at his remark, “Don’t insult me, Park.”

Another laugh chimed through the line, “See you next Saturday.”

***

It was Saturday morning and you were late for your appointment. You rushed past your stepmother into the kitchen to grab a piece of fruit and some water.

“Honey, is this your breakfast?” she asked, “I’m making pancakes, you can have some now if you can’t stay for breakfast.”

You quickly scarfed down your banana. “Sorry Ave, I’m in a hurry. I fell asleep last night while reviewing the bid proposal and forgot to set an alarm.”

Your stepmom crossed the kitchen and looked at you with worried eyes, “You seem stressed these days. I have a facial appointment this afternoon for my shoot on Monday. You can take the slot if you want.”

“I’ll probably be out all day, so enjoy your facial.” You finished your last bite of banana, grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge and headed towards the kitchen door.

“We could do a girls night in tomorrow? Eri’s off, I can prepare some things for a nice pamper session for the three of us?” she tried again.

You didn’t know why she was fussing. You weren’t even her daughter. “I’m good.”

In that moment your father entered the kitchen. “Bye dad, bye Aveline.” You gave him a quick peck on the cheek and rushed out the door.

The traffic gods showed mercy, you miraculously made it 5 minutes before the appointed time. Your development manager Julia was already waiting, coffee in hand.

“Have I told you, that I love you and I want to marry you?” you said as she handed the coffee and the listing portfolio to you.

Julia chuckled at your remark, “Ah, if only you were my boyfriend. I’ll just have to imagine it was him saying that right now.”

“I take it, he’s still being dense?” you asked.

“Super dense,” Julia agreed. “So who are we meeting on a Saturday morning and why the hell are we showing them apartments?”

“Don’t ask. It’s just an acquaintance of mine and unfortunately I owe him a favor,” you said miserably.

In that moment Jimin arrived. “Good morning Y/N, what’s with the long face? We haven’t even started yet,” he said cheerfully until his eyes landed on Julia. A small frown settled on his face.

“It’s 8.30 am on a Saturday morning and we’re in the middle of downtown. The real question should be why are you in such a good mood?” you commented with a scowl.

“You said we had one weekend. Gotta make the most of it. Who’s this?” he asked with a nod.

You realized you forgot to introduce Julia. Why were you so easily distracted by him? “This is Julia, she’s one of our residential development managers. Julia this is Jimin, a friend of the family.”

Julia eagerly held out her hand, “It’s great to make your acquaintance. Y/N never mentioned she had such a handsome friend.”

Jimin dropped his frown and took her hand, “Nice to meet you too. May I ask why you’re here today?” Julia visibly swooned as he gave her a smile. You wanted to kick them both.

“She’s here to assist with the contract. Once you’ve decided on an object, she’ll close the deal for you,” you answered in an irritated tone.

Jimin’s cheery mood returned, “Great, so that means we don’t need her for the actual touring? Apologies to have hauled you out of bed this early in the morning Julia. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to visit the properties in private. I have some catching up to do with Y/N.” Jimin gave Julia another bright smile.

“N-no, not at all. I hope you find something to your liking,” she responded weakly. Julia turned to you with a knowing smile and muttered, “Call me if you need something.” She winked and scurried off before you could protest.

Great. You glared at Jimin, “This was completely unnecessary. We need her!”

“Why? Didn’t you do your homework?” he teased.

You huffed at him, “When did you become so insufferable?”

“When did you become so uptight?” he countered. “We can just call her back when I’ve picked something, okay?”

You refused to respond.

Jimin tried to appease your agitated mood, “Look, I know you don’t like me. But you’ve agreed to this and I need a new place. So why don’t we both stop bickering and act like two civilized human beings for the day?” As an afterthought he added, “I’ll buy you lunch. Your choice.” He knew you couldn’t say no to good food.

It was going to be a long day. And you really didn’t have the energy to stay angry all the time.

“There’s this new seafood place close to the pier that I’ve been meaning to try. It’s on the way to the Spirea Tower,” you considered until you saw Jimin’s grimace. You forgot; he didn’t like seafood. “We don’t have to go there…”

Jimin hastily shook his head and said, “No it’s fine. Let’s go there. If it’s on the way, then even better.” You had to smile at his eagerness.

You cleared your throat and put on your best sales pitch voice, “Very well Mr. Park., welcome to 230 Beech. If you’d like to follow me inside.” You gestured and entered the building behind you.

***

“The highlight of this penthouse is of course the 360° view over the city. You have plenty of terrace space to host outdoor events and the glass windowpanes give you that highly sought after indoor/outdoor living experience. This building has all the amenities you can ask for. 24h valet, fully equipped gym, indoor swimming pool, library, conference rooms, a 100-seat screening room, lounges for hosting events, it even has its own residential barber shop, grocer and coffee bar. It really is a great investment property.”

Three penthouses, three condos and two townhouses later, you finally arrived at the last stop of the day. Your day with Jimin was oddly pleasant yet frustrating at the same time. True to your agreement you both stopped bickering and focused on the task at hand. He took his time inspecting each property, attentively listening to your explanations, asking interested questions and openly admiring features that he liked. Nevertheless, nine properties later, he still hadn’t settled for any of them.

“So what do you think?” you asked him, as you presented him the breathtaking sunset view.

Jimin stood next to you and looked out over the city. “It’s really an extraordinary space, but I don’t think it’s what I’m looking for.”

You were tired, your feet hurt, and you really didn’t want to repeat this procedure again tomorrow. “What do you mean it’s not what you’re looking for? It has everything you can possibly ask for and this district has a forecasted value increase of 20% in the next 5 years. Heck even I bought a unit in this building.”

Jimin turned to you and asked curiously, “You live here?”

You shook your head. “No,” you replied, “I still live at home. There’s no point in moving into my own place when I’m barely ever there anyway. Doesn’t mean I can’t own property around town. Are you sure you don’t want this penthouse? Julia told me there’s already two offers up for it, but I’m sure we can strike a deal with the seller. It’s really a great investment.”

“Y/N.” He sounded strangely solemn. “I had fun today and I feel like this is the only way I can get you to talk to me in a normal way, but I meant it when I said I’m looking for a home.”

You spent your entire spare time of the past week pouring over different listings and registries, trying to find something which you thought suited his taste. No chance in hell was Park Jimin going to walk away at the end of this weekend without a contract.

“And what? None of these caught your eye?” you asked defensively.

Jimin looked at you pensively before he said, “They’re all really amazing, but as you said, they’re investment properties. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

Oh.

He continued in a quiet voice, “You know what I’m looking for, right?”

He was looking for a home. Somehow this realization made your heart clench.

You contemplated for a moment until you made up your mind, ripped a corner off your portfolio and wrote an address on the paper.

“Meet me here tomorrow at 11.”

***

“This is a deli.”

“Shush. Just follow me.”

You entered the store and headed straight for the counter.

“Y/N!” exclaimed the man behind the register. “You really need to come by more often!” He came around and gave you a warm hug.

“Hi Bodo,” you said in a muffled voice as you awkwardly tried to extract yourself from his embrace.

Bodo finally let go of you and gave Jimin an appraising look. “This is the young man you’re showing around?”

“Yeah, do you have the keys?” you asked.

Bodo grinned happily, grabbed a basket from behind the counter and headed out the door. ”Of course young lady! Everything ready and prepped as soon as you called this morning. Let’s go!”

Jimin gave you a puzzled look, you shrugged noncommittally. Just follow me.

The three of you walked down the street and arrived at an old building which had ‘Cali Soap Co.’ written across its brick wall. You walked up a flight of metal stairs and ended up in front of an insignificant-looking set of double doors. Bodo fumbled briefly with the keys until he unlocked the entrance and held open one side for you. “Voilá! Welcome, welcome!”

A beautiful two-story loft unfolded before your eyes. Light streamed in from the large industrial windows. Plants hung from the ceiling and the window frames. To the left a giant bookcase spanned across the entire height of the loft. The kitchen was situated in a winter garden at the back of the building which opened up to a small courtyard patio.

Bodo put the keys and the basket on the coffee table and turned back towards the entrance. “I’ll leave you two to it. I packed you guys some lunch in case you’re hungry. Take your time. You can come by the shop and drop everything off once you’re done.”

You gave Bodo a small smile, “Thanks.”

As Bodo left you stood uneasily in the middle of the loft. “I don’t know much about this building. It used to be an old soap factory which shut down in the 80s and got repurposed into a living space. The winter garden got added later on, they removed the air vents, cemented it shut and turned it into a patio. The old delivery area is on the ground floor below us. It can be used for storage or you can put in automatic doors and convert it into a garage. The previous owner didn’t have a car, so nothing was ever installed.”

You turned to check Jimin’s reaction.

His eyes were comically wide as he took in the loft. “What is this place?” he asked in wonder.

“It’s a home,” you simply answered. You remembered the first time you entered this place. You expected the sadness, but you didn’t expect the amazement. It was hard to ignore the love and care that was put into it. An eclectic array of furniture decorated the entire space. The bookcase was nothing short of imposing, filled with books over books over books. In every nook and cranny you could either find an ardently displayed old typewriter or some trinket brought back from faraway. This place was well loved and showed the story of a life. A life which you were never a part of.

I never wanted to be your mother. I don’t even want to be your friend.

Jimin walked around and ran his hands over everything. “I didn’t even know a place like this existed in this city,” he said in a hushed voice.

“I didn’t either,” you responded dejectedly.

Jimin shifted his attention away from the loft back to you. He gently asked, “How did you find this place?”

You hesitated, but then you decided to say, “It belonged to my mom - I mean Celia.”

Jimin moved back to your side, eyes soft. “Celia? Did she get back in touch with you? Where is she living now if she’s selling this place?”

“No, I haven’t seen her since the last time,” you said as you quietly shook your head. “She died last year of breast cancer. I guess she didn’t have any family, Bodo was actually her boyfriend. Isn’t it ironic? I inherited everything, including this loft.”

You’ve never talked about her passing until today; not even to your dad or Bodo. You’ve also never shown anyone this place. Not because you didn’t want to, but simply because you couldn’t think of anyone who could appreciate and understand it. You didn’t know why it felt so easy to share those things with Jimin. It always used to be easy with him.

Jimin was stunned, “Bodo was her boyfriend?

“Yeah, why? He comes by from time to time to take care of this place. He’s actually a pretty nice guy.”

Suddenly Jimin bent over and burst into laughter, “Exactly! How did someone so nice end up with someone so horrible like Celia?”

You could see how it was funny. You started to laugh as well.

“Poor Bodo!” Jimin sprawled on the floor and continued laughing. A warm feeling coursed through your heart as you slowly started to see a glimpse of your old friend again.

After a while he calmed down and stared up at the beamed ceiling. “This place is really beautiful. Are you sure you want to sell it?” he asked carefully.

This place was truly beautiful, but somehow it never felt like it belonged to you in the first place. Maybe because you knew it was never intended for you. It would be a shame to let something so precious go to waste.

You gave the boy lying on the floor a tender smile. “Does that mean you want to buy it?”

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°°°°°°° 13/04/20

@l4life

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