#and of course there’s no cell connection. so it seems you’ll just have to stay with him

[saintshigaraki]

crazy that yan werewolf toji is still on the mind

[tricksters-captain]

Helmut Zemo (TFATWS) imagines - Craving

AN: Okay I’ve given in and become a Zemo simp but Bucky is still my number one don't worry.

Summary: After playing the part as Zemo's arm candy in Madripoor, Zemo tries to confront you on your unspoken connection, only to be rudely interrupted...

Pairing(s): Zemo x Fem!Reader, very slight Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,326

Warnings: Some small spoilers for Ep3, lots of sexual tension 

“I still can’t believe I agreed to do this.” You grumbled as you climbed the stairs, falling behind at the fear the men could see straight up the skirt of the dress Zemo had chosen for you. 

“I, for one, think you have the easiest job of us all. James must be someone he detests, Sam must be a notorious criminal he doesn’t know and you must sit and look pretty.” Zemo spoke under his breath as you came to the entrance of Selby’s HQ. 

You glared at the man but he didn’t care. He was too busy worrying about Selby. 

The door was opened for you by one of Selby’s men. Zemo nodded curtly at the guard before entering. 

You went ahead of Bucky and Sam to stay close to Zemo, following your role as his current inamorata. 

It was a short walk into Selby’s office but with every step you could feel the fear rising in your chest. You weren’t convinced that you’d get away with this; Sam wasn't exactly the most kosher criminal and Zemo’s story didn’t quite add up on just how he managed to have the Winter Soldier in his mitts again. 

“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” Selby spoke as she came into view. She was an expensively dressed woman with a short white pixie cut. 

Zemo sat down opposite her but you remained next to Sam. 

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo waved his finger as he spoke. It was a small yet dominant motion directed towards you. You tried not to clench your jaw as you walked towards him. 

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby’s eyes followed your every move as you made your way over to Zemo. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo held out his hand to you, guiding you to stand behind him.  “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.” 

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby cocked her head towards Sam. 

Sam’s only response was a quick nod of his head. Selby purred at Sam, a wolfish smile on her face. 

“What’s the offer?” Selby turned back to Zemo. Her eyes flickered up to you before landing back on Zemo’s face. You weren’t stupid you knew what her gaze meant. 

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo pushed himself out of his chair. You watched him cross behind Bucky, placing his hands on Bucky's shoulders. “And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.” 

Selby grinned widely as Zemo wobbled Bucky’s chin with his forefinger and thumb, showing just how under control the ‘Winter Soldier’ was. 

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately.” Selby seemed to be convinced. “Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right.”

Zemo returned to his seat before Selby continued. 

“The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or... condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but... things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo asked. 

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Selby rose from her chair, finding a place beside Sam as she very openly let her eyes roll down your body now that you were in her full view. 

“What else do you desire?” Zemo questioned. He had clocked onto Selby’s behaviour and didn’t really need to ask to know what the answer was going to be.  

“Her.” Selby pointed you out. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she awaited Zemo’s response. 

“No, no, no.” Zemo tutted, holding out his hand for you to take. “This little bird only sings for me.” Zemo guided you round the side of his chair and pulled you gently onto his lap. You crossed your legs as you tried not to seem uncomfortable. The scent of the Baron’s cologne, mixed with his strong grip on your waist was making your heart race. You had never been this close to Zemo before and now you were sat on his knee with his arm around you. 

“Well, you’ll make her sing for me or you won’t be getting what you want now, Baron, will ya?” Selby wasn’t playing games. She folded her arms across her chest, cocking her eyebrows at Zemo. 

Zemo titled his head as he thought. 

You felt yourself tense up when he placed a cool leather clad hand on your thigh. His fingers started to draw circles on your skin, edging your skirt higher, drawing Selby’s eyes down to your legs. 

“She is very dear to me.” Zemo stated. He retracted his hand from your thigh to brush your hair from your shoulder, his finger traced a line from your jaw down your neck to your collarbone. Zemo, being so close, could see the goosebumps that covered your skin at his touch.  

“Unless you have something better to offer other than your two play things, Baron, I suggest you hand them over to me... unless you don’t want the whereabouts of Dr Nagel.” Selby let her smile drop. 

“I will––” Zemo was cut short by Sam’s phone going off. 

“Answer it.” Selby suddenly lost all interest in the deal and only desired to prove the authenticity of the Smiling Tiger. “On speaker.” 

That’s where things went wrong. 

For the rest of the trip in Madripoor, you didn’t get the time to confront yourself and Zemo on what happened back there. 

You were so confused to why you reacted the way you did. You had never been attracted to Zemo before but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he smelt, the way his breath tickled against your arm, the way the heat radiated out from under his thick coat. 

You knew he was thinking about it too. 

Every time you let yourself glance over at him, he was watching you and not in the same way as he usually would. You knew too well that Zemo often studied his surroundings like a hawk. He was silent and observant; he always knew where he would go next and he often watched you, Sam and Bucky as if he were calculating your next moves. 

It wasn’t until you arrived in Latvia that you were confronted by your feelings again. 

You were sat at the island in the kitchen as you ran your hands over your face and hair. You were tired. 

“You should rest.” Zemo’s voice suddenly snuck up on you. 

He had been so quiet walking into the kitchen that you hadn't even noticed he was there. 

“I should but insomnia kinda comes with the job.” You sat up, trying not to act any different from how you usually would. 

“Ah. My time in a cell has acquainted me with such the dilemma.” Zemo confessed as he moved towards the cupboards on the back wall. 

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t help but watch his hands as they reached for the coffee pot, his fingers gripping it lightly. You could still recall the feeling of the cool leather on your thigh, his touch climbing higher as he pushed your skirt up...

“Coffee?” Zemo offered, interrupting your thoughts as he raised a mug and an eyebrow at you. 

“Please.” You folded your hands together as you leant on the island. 

There was a brief comfortable silence as Zemo fixed up some coffee for you both. He could feel your eyes on him but he didn’t say anything. He just let the corner of his lips tugged into a smirk as he poured you a cup. He let the smirk drop when he turned to face you.

He slid the cup along the countertop and you thanked him quietly. He pushed a thin smile onto his face for a second before returning to his usual stoic expression. 

“There was something I wished to discuss with you actually.” Zemo announced as he picked up his own cup. 

You almost choked on your drink at the words but you hid behind your mug, hoping he didn’t notice. He did.

“About what?” You asked. 

“I wanted to apologise for Madripoor.” Zemo surprised you with that. 

“Apologise?” You were confused to what he was talking about. 

“I am aware that it was merely a role, that we were undercover, but I touched you without your consent. I wanted to apologise for when we were with Selby.”

You were completely shocked. You didn’t not expect this from Zemo at all. 

“It’s okay. We all have to do stuff we don't want to do on missions like these.” You tried to brush it off. After all, Bucky had to become the Winter Soldier and Sam had to drink a cobra’s heart back in Madripoor. There was definitely worse things that could’ve happened. 

“I never said I didn’t want to do it. I am simply apologising for not asking for permission first.” Zemo’s eyes were glued to your face as he sipped his coffee. He was watching for a reaction. 

You felt your mouth go dry, you tried to swallow as you began to rise from your seat. 

“Uh, t-thanks for the coffee, Zemo but...” You tried grabbing your mug but you only knocked it to the floor by accident. 

“Shit!” You hissed as you bent down, picking up the broken bits. You felt your heart racing from the look Zemo had just given you.

Zemo rushed around the island with a rag, he placed it over the split coffee before taking hold of your wrist to stop you from picking up the pieces. 

Electricity shot up your arm and your head snapped up to meet his eyes. 

“No use crying over spilt coffee.” Zemo muttered, a smile tugging on one corner of his mouth. 

“I-I wasn’t––”

“––Is there a particular reason you are so jumpy tonight?” Zemo inquired. 

You rose back to standing; Zemo let your wrist go as you did but followed your action. 

The air was thick between you as you withheld your answer. 

There was no way you could admit you were worried of being close to him because of the undeniable pull he had on you since that night. 

“I think...” Zemo stepped over the soaked rag which only made you take a step back. “...You enjoyed being touched and now you are confused to why.”

Your chest began to rise and fall heavily as Zemo continued to walk towards you until your back hit the wall behind you. 

“But forgive me if I am wrong.” Zemo held his hands up with a smile, taking his final few steps until he was close enough for his cologne to engulf the air around you.

“You are.” You whispered but your voice had failed you in sounding convincing. 

“Is that right, little bird?” Zemo used the pet name he had given you in Selby's office. He lifted his hand to brush your hair from your cheek behind your ear. “Because I believe you haven’t stop thinking about it. Just as I haven't.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You only just breathed out your words. If Zemo hadn’t been so close, he wouldn’t have heard them. 

“Don’t you?” Zemo titled his head at you. “Because I am at liberty to remind you that I once worked for Sokivian intelligence. It was my job for a long time to study people, learn them, read them.” Zemo let his eyes drop down to your body before coming back to meet your eyes. “I can tell how a person is feeling just from observing their body. The way they move. The way they are breathing.” Zemo placed his hand in the centre of your chest where your silver necklace sat. The metal burned against your skin underneath Zemo’s warm flesh. 

Your slow deep breaths lifted Zemo’s hand up and down as you stared back at him. 

“I can feel your heart racing.” Zemo uttered. “Are you afraid?”

“No.” You shook your head as your eyes flickered to the man’s lip for just a second. 

“Good.” Zemo smirked. 

Suddenly Zemo was ripped away from you. 

Bucky had teared Zemo back and pushed him across the room. Zemo staggered backwards before standing and adjusting his sweater from how Bucky had grabbed him. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bucky growled at Zemo with a look in his eye that could kill. 

“I was merely having a conversation with (Y/n).” Zemo shrugged, acting as if everything was perfectly innocent. 

“Oh yeah it looked like a real polite conversation with (Y/n) backed up in a corner and your hands on her!” Sam was stood behind Bucky. The both of them were squaring up in front of Zemo to protect you. 

“I didn’t need your help.” You stepped forward, trying to intervene. 

“You put your hands on her again; I won’t stop myself next time. I’ll turn you into a new coat.” Bucky warned Zemo as he ignored you. 

“I apologise.” Zemo lifted his hands up in defence. 

“No.” Sam pointed back to you. “Apologise to her.” 

Zemo turned his head to you. When your eyes met, he smirked just ever so slightly, you knew the boys didn’t notice at least. 

“I apologise, (Y/n).” The way your name sounded in Zemo’s mouth made your stomach flip. 

“It’s fine.” You said before pushing past Bucky and Sam. You hated it when they played protective big brothers and you didn’t even need saving... You think...

(PART 2)

[downrightembarassing]

Trouble

——-

You’ve got a wicked temper but after a certain Ravanger crew rescues you you’ll have to learn to mellow out to get along with the Captain. Or maybe not.

Trying out a multiple chapter thing. We’ll see how it works. Reader insert with Yondu, mature content eventually. Lots of swearing.

———————————————————————

It had been a hell of a week

Well a hell of a month really. Losing your job had hurt, and the job market wasn’t kind to an art student who’d dropped out of college. Your now ex-boyfriend had decided after the first week he didn’t actually like you as much when you weren’t buying him dinner every night, and your parents tried to help but it was difficult from three states away. All that was left for joy in your life was your baby, a painstakingly restored 1967 Ford Mustang. Of course the battery just decided to peace out this morning.

So in all honestly it really was the car’s fault you found yourself in this current…predicament. You’d been walking to the store late at night, not the best idea in this part of town but damn you needed a drink, when suddenly bright lights and a deep booming sound surrounded you. Blinded and half deaf you felt your feet start to rise. The last thing you remember is something hard connecting with the back of your head before blackness enveloped your consciousness.

Fast forward two days later, or what felt like two days anyway, you’re not entirely sure you’re sane at this point. The cell you’re in is small and filthy, there’s a slab in the corner for sleeping, a bucket in the corner for unmentionables, and a thick chain connecting the collar around your neck to the wall. The bucket especially is foul, considering nothing they’d fed you had stayed down longer than an hour. At least whoever or whatever they were had provided water.

A slightly hysterical chuckle escapes you. Every time the large green…things had come to check in you’d kicked and hit as hard as you could. Unfortunately the most that got you was a split lip and a pretty impressive black eye. The simple yoga pants and T-shirt you’d had on were disgustingly filthy and ripped, showing more bruises and lacerations. Fighting back wasn’t working but it was better than doing nothing you reasoned. You had no idea what you’d do if you managed to get loose but that was a problem to solve if and when it happened. Laying back on your little slab that hysterical giggle becomes howling laughter. The last month had been hell, but whatever the last couple days were had been way worse.

——-

A couple hours pass, you’re still laying on the slab (absolutely refusing to think of it as a bed) when your cell shakes. Shouts, running feet, and what sounded suspiciously like gun shots echoed down the hallway. Getting up, you wrap your hands around the bars of the cell and peer as far as you can down the hallway. The same dingy view stared back at you, just rows of filthy cubicles and dim lighting. Sighing, you limp back to your slab and wait to see what fresh hell comes around the corner.

The noises get louder, and you’re able to pick up individual voices. No one’s speaking English or anything remotely human sounding, but some of the shouts are distinctly different from the grunts and clicks of your captors. Your cell resumes is shaking and vibrating, whatever building you’re being held captive in feels like it’s coming apart around you. The sound of heavy boots echos down the hallway, coming closer. You start shouting, hoping someone is able to let you out before the roof collapses. Adrenaline is peaking in your bloodstream when a man walks past, stops, and does a double take. Or at least you think he’s a man. Tall, lanky, a small mohawk, and stubble on his chin. Tattoos trail down one side of his neck, and scars cover everywhere else. He looks predatory, even with his eyes widened in surprise. Whatever, at least he looks different from the green monsters who can’t seem to feed you properly.

“I don’t know who the hell you are but for fuck’s sake PLEASE get me out of here” He cocks his head and says something unintelligible. You back away slowly as he continues speaking in a language you’ve never heard before, you’re pretty sure it’s not anything anyone’s ever heard before. As you look at him closer you realize he’s definitely not human. The bones in his face and angles of his body are close, but not quite…right. The blood (was is blood?) leaking from the cut on his forehead is definitely blue.

“What in the fresh hell. I’m not su-“

Before you can finish your sentence he moves forward, grabbing the door to your cell and attaches a small blinking orb to the lock. He takes a couple steps back and turns his head away. Taking the hint you back away further and cover your head with your arms.

The blast sends bits of the cell lock flying everywhere, one piece skims your forearm burning as it passes. As you slowly raise your head, eyes tearing from the dust and debris, the man walks into your cell. Moving faster than you thought possible he reaches for your collar and pulls your head to the side. His other hand has a device that looks, for all intents and purposes, like a Clair’s ear piercing gun.

Fuck fuck fuck, your adrenaline addled mind thinks, I’m about to get pierced in the least hygienic way possible on top of everything else. Struggling against him is no use, he’s wickedly strong, but you try anyway. He brings the gun behind your ear and clicks the trigger.

“What the fucking hell you son-of-a-bitch, that hurt!” He releases you and your hands immediately reach to where the sharp prick of pain blossomed, drawing back a spot of blood on your finger.

“Stop cussin’ at me, and let me get this damn collar off ya, christ you’re spunky for a Terran”

“What the fuck did you just say to me….oh shit I can understand you”

Wide eyed you stare at him and he rubs the back of his neck in an almost embarrassed fashion.

“I had ta get a translator chip in ya before ya clawed my eyes out, now git your ass in gear. The capt’n gonna blow this ship to kingdom come”

“Ship…..captain……..am I on a boat?!”

“Nah” he grunts, pulling out a wicked looking knife and prying the hinge of your collar open, “we’ll explain everything t’ya after we get off this hulk.”

“Just get me the hell out of here”

The rest of the rescue, escape, whatever it was passed in a blur. Two days without food had taken a toll on your body and it wasn’t until you were following your rescuer down a gangplank into a massive room did you really take stock of your situation. Turning in a small circle you look around at the cavernous space, realizing it’s some sort of aircraft hangar. Except instead of airplanes it’s filled with what could only be described as spaceships. At least fifty of the large craft sit in organized rows and creatures of all shapes and sizes scurry around them.

“There’s no way……” you stammer.

All the adrenaline keeping you on your feet is used up, fatigue and shock rush to fill the void, your vision goes blurry, and you pass out.

The man stops and looks back as you start to slip to the floor, managing to catch you before you do too much damage to yourself.

“Shit” He grabs his wrist communicator and it crackles to life.

“Capt’n”

“What is it Krags” came the gravely reply.

“I found sommat on that Kree ship you just blew up, and it just passed out”

“What tha hell are you talkin’ about boy”

“There was a Terran on tha ship, looks like they was gonna’ sell her. She’s in rough shape….kinda pretty though, and meaner than hell. I’m bettin’ she’s gonna be trouble when she wakes up”

“Well shit, get her up to the Med Bay and I’ll met ya’ there”

——-

Yondu strode through the hallways of his ship, heading for the Med Bay and whatever kind of trouble his first mate dragged onboard. This was supposed to be a simple job, grab whatever loot and ammo they were transporting, blow up the Kree, and get the hell out of there. Grumbling under his breath, he stormed into the Med Bay not bothering to knock. Kraglin jumped to his feet and saluted, while the doctor continued tending to your wounds.

“How is she?” He asked

Without turning around the doctor responded “She’s dehydrated, and I don’t think they fed her for the last couple days. Plus they roughed her up pretty good. See for yourself.”

The doctor stepped back and Yondu looked over your sleeping form.

You lay there, breathing quietly, with an IV in your arm. His eyes traveled over the cuts and bruises visible under your torn clothes and his mouth hardened.

Looking beyond the abuse he realized Kraglin was right, you were a knockout. Terran’s were rare to begin with, considered exotic, and you would have fetched a very high price on the auction block.

He gave a low whistle turning back to look at Kraglin. “She’s really sometin’ to look at. The boys are gonna have a hard time with her on board”

Kraglin laughed “I dunno about that Capt’n, she would’a liked to take my head off when I walked in that cell. Plus she’s gotta filthier mouth than you.”

——-

A low whistle sounded in your head, bringing you back to consciousness slowly. Voices echoed back and fourth without really registering. Why does my head feel like I have the worst hangover ever? Did I drink too much last night, I just meant to take the edge off you think.

Memory of the last couple days comes slamming back into your consciousness as gently as a freight train. Groaning you open your eyes and once again try to sort through your situation.

There’s the man who rescued you, something that looks like it fell out of Star Wars, and another man (man?) with his back to you.

“What the fuck…ow” you mutter.

The man turns and you gasp.

He’s blue. Like completely blue. His body is large, imposing, and solidly built. He’s shorter than the others, but somehow commands the attention in the room. He narrows his eyes at you but you can tell they’re a deep red. Scars crisscross almost every visible inch of his skin, your eyes trace the hatch mark pattern across the side of his face. Meeting those red red eyes briefly, you follow the scars up, culminating in the large red fin that reminds you strongly of the punk rock days in your youth.

He clears his throat and speaks. There’s a slight tingle from your translator chip and his husky, gravely voice echos through the room.

“How ya’ feelin’ doll?”

It takes a couple seconds to register he asked you a question but with a grimace you reply “awful, but at least I don’t have a damn collar around my neck. What the hell going on?”

The man who rescued steps forward.

“You was captured by tha Kree, well I think ya Terrans call them space aliens, and they was gonna sell ya. So I grabbed you and brought ya on board here. This here is tha Med Bay, gotta get ya fixed up after ya fainted in the hangar.”

The blue man spoke “it’s a lot to take in sugar…” He didn’t get his sentence finished before you snapped

“My name isn’t doll, or sugar, and don’t treat me like a fucking child. It’s Y/N, who the hell are you?”

The blue man stiffened and his mouth pressed into a hard line. Great you think, first complete sentence and you’ve pissed him off. Chill out girl, they kinda sorta rescued you.

The taller man snapped to attention “I’m first mate, Kraglin Obfonteri. The man yur addressin’ is Cap’t Yondu Udonta, and yur on his ship the Eclector. While aboard you will address him as Captain or Sir.”

“Shit…..sorry” you meet the Captain’s eyes “Sir”

Yondu spun on his heel, turning to leave.

“Get her fixed up Doc, I’ve got shit to do. And Krags, get her settled somewhere with a damn lock. Keep her and that fuckin mouth of hers away from the crew until we can git somethin’ sorted...you weren’t kiddin’”

——-

Slightly subdued after your first encounter, you allow the doctor to patch up the worst of the cuts, get some food and fluids into you, and discharge you into Kraglin’s care a day later. He takes you on a brief tour of this ship, avoiding most of the crew. It’s massive, bigger than you can wrap your head around. The men you do see are all wearing a similar jumpsuit to Kraglin’s, maroon leather with various belts, buckles, and paraphernalia attached. A flame is sewn on every chest.

“What are you guys?” You ask.

“We’re Ravagers” he replies proudly, with a glance down at you “kinda a mix of mercenaries, privateers, and whatever else we get wrapped up in. We was stealin a load of ammo and loot off tha Kree ship when I heard ya yellin’”

“Lovely, I’m stuck on a ship full of space pirates” you snort “where are we going?”

“Gotta show you tha mess and then ya room” he replies, ignoring the dig. He turns and looks at you “and I should probably get ya some clothes, yours are in bad shape”

“That would be nice” you retort “this shirts seen better days and the dudes we do pass look they they’re hoping it’ll fall off”

“Now Y/N ya gotta realize these boys ain’t polite. Keep that mouth of yours under control until the Capt’n has a chat with ‘em….keep ya door locked at all times and don’t get alone with them, ‘specially if they’re drinkin’”

“Will do” you reply, glancing around at the various species eyeing you.

Kraglin shows you to a room tucked in the bowels of the ship. It’s tiny, but has a hastily made bed, a bathroom, a large desk, and most importantly a lock on the door. It’s simple and spare, but clean.

“What was this?” You ask.

“Office.” Comes his reply. “Tha crew sleeps in barracks but Capt’n wanted you in a room with a lock.”

“I’m thankful he’s concerned for my virtue” you reply sarcastically. You hadn’t seen the blue skinned Captain since the first day.

“Watch that mouth a yours.” Kraglin snaps back. “He coulda just let you bunk with the boys. I’m gonna go find ya some leathers.” And with that he turns on his heel. As he walks out and closes the door he shouts back “Stay here and lock the damn door!”

Girl you really need to stop pissing people off, you think to yourself.

Exploring you’re room you’re delighted to find a small shower. Finally you can wash the filth from the cell off yourself. The amenities are definitely lacking but even soap and hot water is better than nothing.

Fifteen minutes later you’re as clean as you’re going to get. Your skin is pink where you’d furiously scrubbed off the last of the caked on filth. A hairbrush would be nice, but you’re content to wrap yourself in a towel, sit on the bed, and finger comb your hair. Now where was Kraglin with clothes?

Your door handle starts to turn. Shit, you forgot to lock the door. Oh well, play it cool. You’ve got a towel on anyway.

A large blue hand pushes the door open and you realize it’s not Kraglin returning with clothes. You rise from the bed intending to tell him to leave, but he’s already in your room.

Yondu’s eyes travel from your toes to the top of your head, and back down again. She’s damn good lookin’ he thinks, almost as tall as himself. It’s not often he’s around a female of any species that can look him in the eye. Under the healing bruises and scrapes she’s exactly my type. Curves in all the right places. A crooked smirk slides across his lips and he opens his mouth to say something.

You’re not going to let him have the satisfaction. “What in the fuck are you looking at?”

The smirk is gone in an instant and his eyes narrow in annoyance. “Gods yer a charmer. Why the hell is ya door unlocked?”

“Kraglin left like 20 minutes ago, I sure as hell wasn’t expecting anyone to come barging through my door” you snap back “what do you want ‘Captain’.”

“Was gonna see if ya settled in” he snarls “looks like ya did, paradin’ around naked and nasty as ever.”

“I. Am. Not. Naked.”

Yondu looks up and down your towel covered form “close ‘nuff.”

“Get the fuck out of my room…sir” you snarl back.

——-

Kraglin rounds the corner to your room, some tank tops, boxers (not many ladies undergarments around the ship) and some leathers he’s pretty sure will fit you. He sees your door is open and pushes down a minor flash of worry that someone got inside.

Yondu steps out and strides down the hall towards his first mate. The door slams closed behind him.

“Might want ta give her a minutes Krags” he quips “she told me ta fuck off”

Kraglin skids to a halt and salutes his Captain as best he can with his arms full.

“Ya pissed at her Sir?”

“Nah, I walked in on her. Might teach her ta lock that damn door.” His eyes twinkle “She’s spittin’ mad right now.” His smirk comes back “hotter than hell too, might want ta take a peek at her in that towel before she claws ya eyes out.” Whistling softly he continues down the hallway.

Kraglin groans, but continues towards your door and taps gently.

“What!?” Comes the reply.

“I got some leathers for ya, want me ta bring ‘em in?”

“Shit, sorry Kraglin. Just pass them through the door.”

He hears the sound of a lock sliding open, maybe the altercation with Yondu has taught her something he muses. Looking away he passes you the bundle of clothes.

“Give me a minute and I’ll be right out.”

“No problem Y/N, imma wait out here. Gonna take ya to tha mess and get us some grub.” He swallows “sorry bought tha clothes, don’t have many lady things round here.”

“It’s all good.” You reply through the door. The soft rustle of clothing fills the air for the next few minutes and then you’re standing in the hallway with Kraglin, dressed in a matching maroon jumpsuit.

“One last thing” as Kraglin reaches behind him and pulls out a wicked looking knife “strap this here” he demonstrates “and don’t let none of them boys get too close.”

Your eyes flash “Guess I’m not supposed to knife the Captain.”

Kraglin’s eyes narrow “Ya really need ta settle down round him. He ain’t a bad guy.”

“Yeah yeah, I know” you grimace “I’ll figure out a way to apologize…as long as he doesn’t come barging in again!”

“After tha first round I doubt he will.” Kraglin smirks. “Come on, gotta keep showin’ ya tha ship.”

——-

You quickly settle into the rhythm of life aboard the Elector. Kraglin finally stops babysitting you when he realizes you’re not going to get lost after the second day you’re up and about.

You really do try to keep your promise to him. Yondu’s constantly wondering the ship, shouting orders and keeping the men in line. He must have said something to the crew because the only thing you’d had to deal with was cheesy, ok downright terrible, pick up lines. You watch the blue skinned Captain and try to come up with a way to apologize to him alone but he’s always surrounded by crew.

As you sit in the mess this afternoon he strides in with Kraglin on his heels. Since it’s so crowded there’s no way you’re apologizing right now you take the chance to study him.

Having watched him around the ship you finally admit to yourself he’s attractive. It’s a weird thought to have, you’ve never thought to consider another species as hot, but there’s no denying it. His rugged good looks, his commanding presence, hell even the messed up gold capped teeth add to his rough charm. Tracing the line of his jaw down to his broad shoulders you allow yourself to feel a little regret at how badly you’d handled the first few meetings. Your eyes travel down his solid frame and linger on his large hands. What would it feel like to have those calloused hands running over your body, thick long fingers teasing and caressing you? You smile to yourself, there’s no way. He obviously dislikes you, with good reason, and you don’t even know what kind of…ah…..equipment he’s packing. Your smile broadens, he might even be a Ken doll downstairs.

Looking back at his face you realize with a start you’ve been caught staring. His red eyes bore into yours.

You tear your eyes away and busy yourself with pushing the remainder of your food around the plate. Great, not only does he think I’m a bitch but now I’m a weirdo as well.

——-

Yondu sits in his office, watching the stars pass as he sips the strongest drink he could make. What a headache Kraglin had dropped in his lap. A girl, Terran, with a wicked temper and a vicious mouth to back it up. She’d been on board under a week and had already tangled with over half the crew. He chuckled dryly, at least she has a backbone. Most of the crew was nursing sore egos after attempting to sweet talk her into bed. And thankfully it was just talk so far, he’d had a very pointed discussion with them the day after you arrived. He’d also made sure you were equipped with a small blaster as well as the large knife.

He chuckled again remembering what you’d said to Olbo. The jackass had suggested your leathers would look better on his floor and you’d spent the next ten minutes describing every single thing you found repulsive about him. Yondu wasn’t sure what a pig was but having his face compared to a pig’s ass had finally made Olbo reconsider his comment.

His brow furrowed. Somehow, later that night, you were joking and laughing with him and the rest of the crew during a card game. You could give and take shit as well as the best of his crew, drink half of them under the table, and had a knack for making people like you despite that damn mouth.

Remembering your look from the mess earlier he wonders. She had definitely been staring at him, but he wasn’t sure why. Yondu shakes his head and drains his glass. It was late, most of the crew were dead drunk or asleep. The units they’d made from the Kree ship meant the boys could relax for a bit and he was already planning a trip to Contraxia to celebrate. He took off his duster, stripped down to a white tank top and boxers, and grabbed an old set of maroon leathers already filthy from grease and oil.

Most nights he’d join the crew, but once a week or so he liked to work on his own projects. Something to clear his head instead of musing about the Terran.

——-

You walked around the quiet ship, avoiding the mess and the stragglers still trying to finish one last drink. It had been a fun night, carousing with the crew and hearing their stories. It was just like the car clubs you’d hang out with back home. Once the crew had realized you weren’t climbing into bed with anyone it was easy to strike up conversation.

You were used to men thinking with the wrong head and that was quickly remedied by some good old fashioned public humiliation. Once they realized it wasn’t going to happen the correct head kicked into gear and usually you became friends. Some of the crew still avoided you, or gave you looks that made your skin crawl. But you’d found a good number of them to chat and drink with. Kraglin’s warning still echoed in your mind, and you were careful to not put yourself in a bad position.

Padding softly through the ship, you head to your favorite place. The hangar where you first set foot on the Eclector had a massive viewing window on the port side. You could sit and watch the stars go by for hours, comforted by the smell of cooling engines, grease, fuel, and oil that felt more like home.

Walking into the hangar you notice a light on at the far side of the hangar. There was a smaller ship tucked back there, covered in a sheet. Curious yesterday you’d peeked under and were rewarded with a glance at the most gorgeous looking craft you’d seen. When you’d asked Kraglin about it he’d just grunted and said it was the Captain’s project.

Ugh, you think, the Captain. I really fucked up that first meeting…and the second meeting. Maybe if I just apologize? I was in shock and disoriented the first time and he was an ass the second time. But every time you try to get the courage to approach him you falter. Christ, you think to yourself, he’s just some old space pirate. Some old….hot….space pirate with an insanely sexy voice. You shake your head. That’s not a safe train of thought and he probably hates me anyway you think.

Walking towards the viewing window you notice music playing from the direction of the light. Curious, you wander over to see a set of legs sticking out, and the unmistakable sound of someone struggling with a stiff bolt. Suddenly a loud metallic snap echoes through the hangar and creative swearing comes from under the ship. You smile to yourself, having been in that position too many times.

Kraglin’s voice drifts back into your head.

“That’s the Capt’ns project”

Oh. Shit. The man you’ve been avoiding, the man who you disrespected on his own ship was pushing himself out from under the small spacecraft.

Turning on one heel you start to head back out as quietly as possible. It was dark and he wouldn’t see yo-

A large crash sounds through the hangar accompanied by some swearing of your own. Someone had left a toolbox on the ground and in your haste you’d tripped over it.

“Who’s there?” Yondu’s voice called out. “Ya dumbasses were all supposed ta be passed out.”

“Sorry Captain” you say meekly “didn’t mean to interrupt”

“Y/N?!” Yondu says incredulously “what the hell are ya doin’ sneakin’ around tha hangar?”

You swallow, he sounds pissed. The words come spilling out “I like to sit at the viewing port over there, and I worked on cars back on earth, so it’s comfortable here, smells like my dad’s shop, plus the crew’s all dead drunk so I never expected someone else to be here” You snap your mouth shut. Dammit, first you’re a bitch to him and now you’re rambling like an idiot.

“Ya worked on machines back on Terra?”

“Yeah, ever since I was a kid I always helped dad maintain the cars. I built my first project with him when I was 16”

“Why didn’t cha tell me sugar, I would have put ya to work” he laughs, and then with a dry chuckle “guess I’m not supposed ta call ya that”

Shit. Well nows your chance to apologize “about all that Captain, I’m sorry I snapped. It had been a hell of a week”

“S’alright doll. Wondered if you’d been avoiding me. Guess I shouldn’t have barged in on ya tha other day too.” He climbs to his feet “Git yer ass over here and see if ya can help, I’m ‘bout ready to shove this thing out the airlock”

“What is it?” You ask

“This here’s a Y-Ship. Them big ones are M-ships, newer, faster, more capable. But nothin’ handles like a Y, so I’ve been rebuilding this ol’ girl for fun” he stops and runs his tongue over his jagged teeth. “Well it’s supposed ta be fun. Right now it ain’t.”

You stare for a second. The gold caps on his shark like teeth glint in the low light.

“Can I see it?”

“Sure” he says and he pushes the sheet back “she’s a pretty little thing”

You take a short intake of breath. The curves on the Y ship are beautiful. The entire craft looks like something out of an Art Deco day dream.

“She’s gorgeous! I’ve always had a soft spot for old hot rods”

Yondu watches as you circle the ship, fingers barely brushing the metal of the hull. Heh, he thinks, I’m kinda an old hot rod. The curve of your ass is clearly visible in the second hand leathers and as he tilts his head he says quietly “yeah she’s gorgeous all right”

For the next hour you and Yondu struggle to get the part out. He talks the whole time, explaining how the ship works and the history behind it. You soak it all up, happy to be back in your element. It’s warm under the ship and you both soon end up in just your shirts, top half of the leather jumpsuits tied around your waists. Finally with a satisfying clunk, the clutch drive shits and you’re able to remove it from under the ship.

“That’s enough for tonight” Yondu says, panting slightly as he reaches into the cooler behind him and pulls out two bottles. “Good work always deserves a drink” offering you one.

You smile as you accept the alcohol, trying not to watch his biceps move and he twists off the second lid. Fuck he’s hot, and just got hotter. You’d always had a weakness for guys willing to get dirty. There’s a bit of grease on his cheek, oil is smeared across his thick forearms, and his tank top sticks slightly to his broad chest with perspiration. Hurriedly you focus on your drink and take a swig.

“So sugar, how ‘bought we make this a regular thing” he says with a wink “I’d appreciate tha help with this ol’ girl and if yer lucky I’ll even give ya a ride”

Luckily the hangar is dark because you’re blushing furiously at the innuendo. “Sure captain, just let me know when” your voice cracks just slightly and you hope he doesn’t notice. Trying to save face you say “someone’s got to keep your impatient ass from stripping any more bolts”

“There’s that wicked mouth of yours, I wondered when it’d show up” he laughs “see ya tomorrow”

[samstree]

For the reverse trope ask: the soft character comforting the tough character after a trauma

Piece Him Back Together

Part of the reverse trope series.

When Geralt gets kidnapped, it's up to Jaskier to rescue him. Some truths about a witcher's worst weakness come to light.

(geraskier, 2.1k, hurt/comfort, geralt whump, mutual pining, competent jaskier, love confession, mild blood)

read on AO3

"Shit, shit, shit..."

Jaskier lets out a string of curses all the while balancing the weight of two fully grown men with stumbling footwork. He desperately tries to keep Geralt up with a hand on the small of his back but fails to stop the injured witcher from drooping with each step, until, at last, both of them wind up in a heap of limbs by the road.

Geralt lets out a pained grunt and Jaskier scrambles with apologies.

“Fuck, sorry.” The bard shifts Geralt’s bulk with all he can muster and finally settles him on a patch of soft moss under the tree. The witcher hisses as his back hits the bark rather heavily. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

“You already said,” Geralt interrupts him but there’s no anger in his tone.

“Still. I am.”

Jaskier retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at the mess of blood at Geralt’s temple, wincing when he finally sees how bad the blow is. Blood oozes from the gash, slower than a moment before. The fabric is soaked through and the skin there is still tender.

It’s all witchers’ weakness.

The temple. A blow to the head.

It messes up all their senses and coordination, leaving them in the most vulnerable state. If Jaskier had reached him any later, this might have done Geralt in.

Jaskier lets out a distressed sound at the thought.

“Stop fussing. We need to go.” The witcher, against all odds, remains level-headed.

“No, it’s all right. I knocked out all the guards and servants, along with the duke and his mage.” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head for a better angle to press the handkerchief down on the wound. “I may have given the two of them a little more than the recommended dose. The lady at the apothecary warned me about the risk of choking with much sleeping potion, urgh, like I give an ounce of fuck if they die a gruesome death or not. It’d be a favor to the town.”

The venom surprises even Jaskier himself, and Geralt lets out a meaningful hum.

“Rest assured, my dear. No one will be looking for us today.”

Up close, Jaskier can feel Geralt scrutinize him intently as if to burn a hole into his face. He meets the amber gaze, the dark pupils still a little blown wide from the shock, but there’s also something akin to relief flowing in those beautiful eyes.

He revels in the silence, observing Geralt in return for further signs of hurt, but finds none.

The witcher relents first, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you drugged an entire castle?”

“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?” Jaskier teases. “The White Wolf, saved by a humble bard and forever impressed by his wit.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up, oh mighty witcher. I’m sure you only needed the rescue because those villains took advantage of your only weakness.” The bard adds his usual dramatic flair into the last two words.

Geralt blinks. Something shifts in his expression, his breathing picking up and his eyes darting everywhere. If the bard didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher is flustered, which makes it all the more confusing.

“Mocking me, are you?” Geralt drops his gaze and tries to shy away, but the bard holds him in place with the other hand. Under Jaskier’s palm, the frame of the witcher’s ear is heating up.

“How am I mocking you? Geralt, even you must admit witchers aren’t all-powerful beings.” Jaskier frowns. “They messed up your head. I know all your senses get muddled when you’re like this. Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What are you talking about?” the witcher snaps his gaze back to Jaskier, a puzzled crease deep between his brows, which only makes the bard scoff with amusement.

“The head wound, of course. How did they get you? An ambush and a blow to the head, I’m assuming.” Jaskier explains. “How else did you get yourself into a dungeon and dimeritium cuffs? What, are you telling me you walk into their trap voluntarily?”

He rolls his eyes at the offhanded joke but the silence from the witcher leaves the mood heavier. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a denial of what he just said. Geralt is staring at him with an inexplicable look on his face, and these looks are hard to come by these days. Jaskier prides himself in being the best on the continent at reading his witcher, and he has no inclination to break the streak.

“What happened then? Talk to me, Geralt.”

Jaskier removes the handkerchief a little. The gash has stopped bleeding, so he ties it around Geralt’s head carefully to keep the wound shielded, at least until they can wash it properly. His hands stay with Geralt afterwards, waiting for him to open up.

“I—” Geralt purses his lips before continuing, golden eyes meeting the bard in earnest. “They didn’t ambush me, Jask. I walked into that castle unarmed by choice.”

“What?” Jaskier’s jaw drops.

“It’s because—” the witcher scowls. “Because I thought…that they had you.”

It’s like a lightning strike, where their skin connects tingling all the way from the tips of Jaskier’s fingers to a warm pool of fuzziness in his stomach. The air is suddenly too hot so Jaskier decides to put more space between them.

“Oh.”

Geralt chases him ever so slightly before settling back with resignation, his eyes still bare and vulnerable, as if he just revealed the darkest secret when it is only the sweetest thing in a horrible, horrible way.

“A whisper of you being held hostage and suddenly I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember to check the truth. Couldn’t waste another second.” Geralt hovers a hand near the bard’s face before retreating to his side. “You were right that they got me because of my one weakness, Jaskier. Just not the one you assumed.”

The pounding in Jaskier’s chest is jumping out of his throat. He’s sure he will die within the next minute if he doesn’t speak to ease this ache in his heart.

“Oh.”

He ends up saying dumbly.

“It was too late when I noticed the absence of you. Your voice, your heartbeat, your scent. Nothing. You weren’t in that castle or the cells. All I could hear was silence and all I could smell was blood.” Geralt draws a shuddering breath. “I hoped, when they kept me in the dark, that they were lying about ever having you. That you were nowhere near that damn place instead of—”

The witcher swallows, unable to finish the sentence.

“Instead of,” Jaskier adds for him, “they’d already killed me.”

The tension hangs between them. The bard sits back on the heels of his feet and finds himself at a loss for words for the very first time in his life.

Geralt might be the only person who can force Jaskier through so many firsts in his life. His first time writing a hit song, first time smashing into someone’s face with a lute, first time saving a witcher’s life, and perhaps, first time murdering two evil overlords obsessed with collecting witchers for experiments.

Hmm, it’s not like Jaskier regrets any of these.

Geralt reaches out again, tentative and patient like he’s approaching a spooked horse. This time, Jaskier takes pity and meets him halfway, his thumb rubbing small circles at the sword callouses that he adores so much.

“Say something,” Geralt pleads.

Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat and sniffles to ease the congestion in his nose, his vision blurring in desperation.

“It’s the most words you’ve said in one sitting, Geralt. You’ll have to allow me a moment to figure out what you are saying and, most importantly, not saying.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s you, you know? There’s always something you are holding back and that is often the crux of it. I thought I got good at reading between the lines, but this is…overwhelming.”

With the enhanced healing kicking in, Geralt is looking much better by the minute. The blood dries and crusts over and his eyes almost shining in the daylight, or is it just the emotions within them? Jaskier can’t tell.

“Maybe I can help you. With the hidden words.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s fingers reassuringly. He tilts his head in the most endearing way. It happens to be that particular head tilt that Jaskier treasures with his life, the one that manages to always take his breath away.

“I love you, Jask.”

The warm pool of fuzziness in Jaskier’s stomach turns into a bottomless pit, and he’s falling.

And soaring.

“I love you.” Geralt smiles sadly. “In the dark of that cell, it became…ever so clear and so loud that I couldn’t deny it anymore. I love you, in spite of myself. Gods, I’ve loved you for so long.”

Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places the barest touch of a kiss there, his lips chapped but oh so gentle. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp and the tears roll down uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s buried deep in Geralt’s embrace. The sobs choke in his lungs like a dam has been broken.

“I—” Jaskier is amazed to find that their roles have reversed. The witcher has expressed everything but the bard becomes mute. So he takes up Geralt’s role gladly and replies with actions.

Jaskier’s lips are pressed everywhere he can reach: the soft, warm skin of Geralt’s neck, the sharp of his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He disregards the grime and dirt and kisses Geralt’s uninjured temple, the single most fragile part of a witcher’s body—barring their heart, so it seems. He tucks away a strand of white hair and kisses Geralt’s temple one more time, tasting the salty tang of tears.

When he pulls back, Geralt’s smile is blinding.

He hears Jaskier, even though—

“I still don’t know what to say,” Jaskier croaks, sniffling hard.

The bard rests his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck and loses himself in the sunlit golden honey, his favorite color in the world and the most beautiful dream that’s ever come true.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Geralt wipes away the wetness on Jaskier’s face with the pad of his thumb. “Master Jaskier, poet, minstrel, professor… Stumped for words and forever impressed by a witcher’s love confession.”

He mimics Jaskier’s phrasing and the bard can’t help but chuckle despite the tears and snout, his hand swatting at Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier knows he must look so absurd, laughing and crying all at once, but it’s the last thing in the world that matters.

Geralt loves him, and—

“You got hurt because of me.”

The remorse licks up, along with the urge to protect and to care. The sight of Geralt limp and bloody, bound by the wrists in a dark cell is something Jaskier never wants to relive again.

“I don’t care, Jask.”

“I care.”

“Then make it better.”

So he does. Geralt never wavers as Jaskier captures his lips and pours everything he cannot voice into the kiss, drawing a contented moan out of the witcher.

“Does it still hurt?” the bard whispers between one breath and the next.

“A little.”

Jaskier resumes his work and cards deft fingers through silver hair, careful not to nudge the handkerchief. His nails ghost over Geralt’s scalp and scratches gently until a purring sound rumbles deep in the witcher’s chest. The bard giggles proudly.

“Now?”

“Keep going.”

Geralt traps Jaskier between his strong arms devours him with passion, the heat of his body solid and calming.

Jaskier has never thought of himself as a protector, except at this moment with his witcher arching into his every touch and producing those heavenly sounds. The world is too bent on hurting Geralt, too eager to take and take and take from him.

A bard is not a fighter. Jaskier cannot stop monsters from tearing through armors or crossbows fired with ill intent.

But a bard is a lover. What Jaskier can do is heal, is piece Geralt back together with gentle words in the dark and soft lips on the thin skin at his temple.

“How about now?”

They are panting in tandem, the gold of Geralt’s eyes dreamy and out of this world.

“Still dizzy.”

“That’s from all the kissing, you oaf.”

But Geralt begs wordlessly with those wide, puppy-like eyes so openly, and Jaskier’s already non-existent resolve breaks into a million pieces. He kisses Geralt until the witcher melts into a puddle of purring mess, sun-warmed and pliant.

And he kisses Geralt more.

Again and again.

---

Thanks for the prompt. I kind of just rolled with the concept. The twist looks a bit obvious from the beginning, but feel free to tell me what you think. <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @dapandapod @artisanbaguette @birdsflyhome

Please tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[nanasparadise]

“Imprisonment” Yan!Jolyne x female reader

This blog was in dire need of some wlw content. In that sense, I hope you had a happy pride month and enjoy this piece! 

Summary: You are the target of many inmates in Green Dolphin. That changes when Jolyne becomes your cellmate, for the better or worse. 

TW: toxic relationship, prison, bullying, violence, insults, threats, slight gore (ear mutilation), noncon kiss, allusions to NSFW, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

Word count: 2853

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life. 

„Get your ass moving, girl!”

You truly hated it here. A day spent at Green Dolphin felt like being ten years in hell. The queue in the prison cafeteria moved forward quickly, since everyone got the same horrible food. As you hadn’t reacted fast enough, you’d received rude comments. At this point, you didn’t care about the insults anymore. You were used to them, you had no affiliation with anyone here, meaning the other inmates saw you as fair game. In addition to your nature as a pushover, you weren’t surprised to be the target of many prisoner’s sadistic streak.

You took your tray containing your lunch – a portion of rather questionable meat and some mashed potatoes – and went to your solitary table. A blissful sigh escaped your lips when you finally were alone in your corner. No, worse than any insults or solitude were the threats, hidden under fake smiles. Not a single day went without them. You always were forced to do ‘voluntary tasks’ for the designated mean girls of Green Dolphin or ‘lend’ them money. It was humiliating, really, but you didn’t want to end up beaten to death in your cell, so you followed their instructions.

Once you completed the laundry task, you decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in the library, hoping to find an interesting enough book to teleport you away for a couple hours from your harsh reality. You settled into the couch with a novel in your hands, enjoying this slight moment of calmness. Your peace was short-lived though as a blonde woman approached you, a saccharine smile plastered on her face. Oh no, you knew where this would go.

“Hi! How are you doing today?”, she greeted you with a fake happiness swinging in her tone.

“Fine”, you mumbled quietly, not being able to assert yourself.

“I’m glad to hear that!,” she replied, though you knew she didn’t give a shit about your well-being, “Look, I’m so sorry to bother you again, but could you give me ten dollars? I need them for something very important and you’ll get them back in no time!” She batted her eyelashes at you, seemingly coming across as innocent.

“I would, but I forgot the money in my cell”, you countered, trying to come up with an excuse.

“Then stand up and get it.” Her voice had already shifted into a menacing tone, eyes gleaming like a predator.

“I don’t know if I-“

“Y/N, that was your name, right? Well, if you don’t get me my money, our friendship will be ruined and you’re aware of the consequences of that, aren’t you?”, your fellow inmate replied while pulling you by the collar of your uniform up from the couch.

“Right…,” you whispered, accepting your defeat, “I’ll get it for you.”

“Awesome!,” the blonde chirped, all sunshine and rainbows again, “I’ll wait for you here,  just don’t take too long.”

That was how your life went. You didn’t complain too much, you knew it could be way worse than that. And it wasn’t as if you had much of a choice to change it anyway. You weren’t going to be released from prison in the next twenty five years. “So just accept it and move on, day by day”, you mused, repeating that thought every day.

Your life took a turn, however, when a new inmate joined Green Dolphin. She was a young woman around your age, dark buns adorning her head and a green fringe framing her face. You had been spared from a cellmate, but that all changed now, as she was your new roomie. “Great,” you thought bitterly, “now my last bit of peace has been stolen from me.”

She introduced herself as Jolyne Kujo. Jolyne seemed to be still quite naïve when it came to prison life, claiming she’d been conned and that her lawyer would certainly take her out from there. “It’s time to face the fact that no one cares if you’re here for a valid reason or not, trust me, I know it from experience”, you thought, though you didn’t dare voice that to her.

She actually turned out to be nice. And with that, you meant that she respected your private space and didn’t threaten you. In exchange, you offered her some advice on who to avoid in jail, which the woman gladly accepted.

At first, the change was barely noticeable. Jolyne kept herself quiet except for the occasional small talk in your cell or during a shared task. Instead, she chose to lounge around two other inmates you hardly knew, one with dark braids and the other with a weird-looking green cap. You were glad to see that at least she formed a group, being able to protect herself now better from potential harassers if needed.

Of course you were still exposed to them. You made your way to the shower as a woman with broad muscles approached you, face turned into a dark grimace. By her build and expression, you’d first assumed she was a guard until you’d noticed the familiar uniform.

“You there!”, she shouted at you, a finger pointing menacingly at you as she came closer, “Give me your money, now!”

You cowered back into the corner of the shower room, panic flooding your system. “I’m sorry,” you stuttered, “I don’t have anything on me, I can give it to you after-“

“Don’t fucking play with me, bitch”, she brutely interjected, nostrils flaring up angrily due to exhaling. Your aggressor stood now in front of you, a strong hand wrapping itself around your throat and threatening to cut off your airflow. She yanked you up in the air as she continued her assault. “You think you can pick and choose? Does this place look like fucking Disneyland to you? You better give me my money now if you don’t wanna end up choking water and being beaten up like the dirty street mutt you are.” You were already flinching when the prisoner raised her fist to punch your face as a voice suddenly interrupted you.

“I think that’s enough”, Jolyne said in a firm tone, a fierce expression marking her face.

“And who the hell are you? Wanna join your little friend here?”, your tormentor commented, unimpressed by your cellmate’s entrance.

“Big words for someone who’ll soon be nothing but a bloody pulp”, Jolyne answered, not faltering under the inmate’s glare.

Your harasser proceeded to laugh out loud at her words, obviously not taking her seriously. She dropped you unceremoniously as she shifted all her attention to your saviour instead. Desperately, you panted for air, your hands moving to your hurting throat. You remained in your corner as you observed the scene unfolding in front of you.

“As if you weakling could do anything against me,” your tantaliser spit out, still chuckling at Jolyne’s words, “I’d kill you with my pinky finger.”

Jolyne remained strangely calm, choosing to smile at the threat. “We’ll see about that”, was the only thing she uttered before she lunged at her with incredible speed.  Clearly, you weren’t the only one surprised as the inmate’s eyes widened as well. Jolyne turned the bully’s bewilderment into her advantage, her fist immediately connecting with the inmate’s nose. The latter let out a shrill scream, blood dripping out of her nostril. Clearly, she didn’t expect your roommate to do any real damage, let alone break her nose.

Jolyne shook the hand she punched her with, her knuckles reddened and slightly torn open from the assault. You kept staring at both of them, petrified and unsure about what to do now. 

“I’ll kill you for that, you bitch,” your aggressor barked out angrily, “and your little friend will pay, too.”

You started trembling at the thought of her hand around your neck again. 

“I’ll look for a guard, Jolyne”, you eventually said, the fear barely hidden in your voice. You decided this was enough and someone had to put an end to this. 

“Stay here”, your cellmate replied authoritatively. For the first time, you were actually scared of her. “I’ll teach this woman that she needs to face consequences for her actions.”

With these words, Jolyne placed her fingers on your tormentor’s right ear. You wondered what she’d do next when a sudden yell disrupted your thoughts. The inmate’s cry was far worse than the previous one, emitting all of her pain and agony. You could hardly listen to it. 

Then, with great horror, you finally noticed it. Her ear shell laid on the floor, blood coating the cut off organ. Your gaze travelled to Jolyne, waiting for an explanation to your unvoiced question, though she kept her eyes fixated on the prisoner’s pain-ridden face. 

“You won’t touch Y/N or me ever again, did I make myself clear?”, she asked, her voice coated with barely concealed anger. Your bully only gave out a whimper, but the answer seemed to satisfy Jolyne. “Good. Now, if you see any guards, you keep our names out of your mouth, unless you want to lose another body part.”

The following weeks, Jolyne had become overly protective. She clung to you like a lost child, afraid that you’d be hurt or threatened again without her presence. You didn’t know if you should be grateful or terrified for her protection. 

You’d asked her how she’d been able to cut that one prisoner’s ear off, but her explanation had been more confusing than enlightening. She’d talked about a Stand ability and how only so-called Stand users could see and wield it, but nothing made sense to you. You started to believe she’d just lost her mind. 

Jolyne had also introduced you to her friend group. Ermes and Foo Fighters seemed nice enough, though they behaved in the same weird manner as your cellmate did. You felt awkward in their presence, not knowing why you were even there in the first place. 

In the end, you decided to be thankful. With Jolyne and her friends by your side, no one bullied you anymore. And if your peace meant to spend some time with your cellmate, that was a small price to pay, right? 

~

You didn’t notice the pair of chartreuse eyes observing every bit of your sleeping form. You never did. 

Jolyne had been looking at you for many nights. This time, it wasn’t an exception. She tentatively brushed her hand over your cheek, marvelling at your slight reaction as you furrowed your brows at the touch. 

“You’re really cute Y/N, do you know that?”, she whispered to you. Of course you were unable to answer. 

Jolyne had been unusually shy around you. She was well aware of the fact that after her act of violence, you felt uncomfortable around her, possibly even scared. She tried so so hard to make you see that she was only protecting you! In fact, the young woman wondered how you could have even survived in Green Dolphin before her arrival. 

She had a hard time picturing your life without her in it. At first, she’d been furious and crushed at the revelation that her ex-boyfriend had purposefully framed her for a crime she hadn’t committed. She had loved Romeo, so naturally, her heart had been broken. 

But then, you entered her life. She saw now why she needed to be here. Who else could protect you, love you, like Jolyne? You were everything she had ever wanted. 

Lovingly, she placed a small kiss on your cheek. You stirred slightly from the feathery peck. Nevertheless, you continued your slumber. Jolyne wished she could touch you more deliberately, more intensely. She’d grown tired of this little hiding game. The prisoner didn’t want to secretly let your brush run through her hair anymore, imagining it were your fingers instead or coo at you when you were sleeping. No, she wanted to feel you, to be touched and loved by you. 

Sure, you might feel uncomfortable around her, but that was only because you didn’t see how much she cherished you. Maybe it was time to be bolder around you. 

~ 

“Hey Y/N, could you give me my toothbrush, please?”

“Sure”, you replied casually as you handed the desired object over to her. 

“Thanks, you truly are the sweetest.”

Your face heated up at her flirtatious tone. “She definitely didn’t mean it in that way”, you thought to calm your nerves. 

“You still don’t want to join me showering? I’d hate for you to get attacked again”, your cellmate asked you, concern swinging in her voice. 

“I’m good,” you mumbled, “I’ll just go next morning. And I doubt anyone’s gonna threaten me again after your lesson.” The thought of Jolyne mutilating another inmate terrified you, no matter how much your former aggressor deserved it. 

“Come on, you’re just afraid to see me naked,” Jolyne teased while giving you a toothy grin, “it’s alright, you can tell me. I don’t mind.” 

You didn’t think you could get more flustered. “That’s not it!”, you countered hastily, “I mean not that you're not a beautiful woman or anything, it’s just that…”

Jolyne stopped listening and straightened her back. You thought she was beautiful? Was this finally the moment she’d been waiting for? A dreamy expression marked her bright eyes. 

“You think we could be a thing?”, Jolyne interjected your rambling.

“What?!”, you stuttered, unsure if you heard her correctly. 

“I mean, I do really like you.” Suddenly, she stood up from her bed and moved over to you. You stared at her big-eyed, still not knowing what was going on. A hand came resting on your cheek as her gaze was locked on you. “Who am I kidding? I’m totally in love with you.” She softly traced her fingers over your skin, sending a chill down your spine. 

“Jolyne”, you whispered quietly. You had no clue how to handle the situation, images of her brutal side flashing up in your mind again. You gulped harshly. “I didn’t know you felt this way, I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” the young woman retorted, “we could just be more, you know?” Jolyne leaned into you, closing the space between you, as her lips landed on yours. She kissed you with gentleness and care, as if you were made of glass. When you felt her teeth slightly tugging at your bottom lip, begging for more, you eventually snapped out of your surprise and pushed her away from you. 

“What was that?”, you asked her out of breath, unable to conceal your anger. 

“I’ve kissed you, silly.”

“I’ve just told you that I’m not interested in a relationship!”

Ah yes. That must have been when Jolyne had blended you out in favour of marvelling at your compliment. 

“I think you should think about that again”, your cellmate replied, a dark edge manifesting in her voice. 

“And why is that? Do you want to cut my ear off too?”, you asked, your iritateness making you feel reckless. 

Jolyne huffed at your comment. She did that for you! 

“At least you could be grateful for what I did,” she spit out, “but no, I’d never hurt you. I can’t guarantee the same thing about the other inmates though.”

You immediately caught onto the threat. Your anger easily transformed into fear again as you realised what impact your words had on the woman in front of you. When Jolyne noticed you wouldn’t counter, she put her hand on your body again, this time deciding to let it travel up and down your arm. 

“If you keep saying mean things to me,” she said, her voice still sounding menacing despite her gentle hand movement, “I might just not talk to you anymore. Once the others see that we’re not hanging out anymore, they’ll just change their mind and choose you as their target again. And what do you do without my protection? You don’t want to be their punching bag again, do you, hm?” 

“No”, you managed to utter silently, eyes cast onto the floor. 

“Look sweetheart, I can make an exception for today. I’ll forget your behaviour and you reciprocate, right? Unless you want to go back to your initial position.”

“No!”, you answered a bit too fast, your eyes looking at her face again. You could only imagine what the inmate with the mutilated ear would do to you… “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Jolyne took hold of chin, ensuring that your eyes were still trained at her. Then, she kissed you again. Despite your feelings, you gave in, much to her pleasure. When she eventually removed her lips from yours, she shot you another love-struck gaze. 

You knew your life in Green Dolphin had been shitty before Jolyne, but now you only felt what it meant to be truly imprisoned. 

“I’m glad to hear that, honey,” the young woman said with a bedazzling smile on her face, “I’d suggest we finally take a shower, after all I can’t wait to see everything of my darling.” 

Her grin gained a sinister note. 

“And we’ll see how the night goes after that.”

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek THE FINAL DAY prompt- Pining/Longing. This one takes place, well, you’ll see

~*~

A Study of Longing, Told in Six Parts

Part 1

Martin wonders if he’ll ever get to a point in his life where kindness doesn’t feel like a shock to the system. It’s already surprising enough when Tim and Sasha invite him for drinks in a genuine offer of friendship, but for that kindness to come from Jon? Martin has no idea what to do with being believed, let alone being protected.

And now here he is, blearily opening his eyes only to find himself staring at a mass of hair. As he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the shape resolves into the form of one Jonathan Sims. He had apparently fallen asleep with his head cushioned on his arms, against the cot Martin was currently occupying. It’s not an image that Martin can fully process at the moment, so instead he debates whether or not to wake Jon up or quietly get off the cot to let him get some much needed sleep. He decides on the former, both thinking that it would be hell on his back to keep sleeping in that position, and that he would like an explanation.

Hand hovering above Jon’s shoulder, but not fully touching, Martin oh so quietly calls out, “Jon?”

That’s all it takes for Jon’s head to rush up with a gasp, glasses askew, and with the texture of his sleeves pressed in red marks on his face. It is a horribly endearing look. “Hrn?”

Martin opens his mouths, closes it, and waits for Jon to get his bearings. Jon smooths down his (frankly ridiculous) sweater-vest, adjusts his glasses, and slips back on his professional demeanor. “My apologies, Martin, I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”

Glancing to the crappy little digital clock resting on a file box next to him, Martin rolls his eyes. Only Jon could be quite so stuffy at 4:32 in the morning. “No apologies needed. Though, um, was there? Something you needed or..?”

Jon shakes his head and stands up, dusting off imaginary grime. “No, no, nothing like that. I had just, er. I had heard you cry out and I- I wanted to make sure nothing was going on. It appears that it simply a nightmare,so I will be.. taking my leave. Now.”

He doesn’t know what part of himself replies, “Oh! You don’t have to go!,” but he replies it anyway. Jon does that little thoughtful frown at him, which forces him to continue, “I mean, if you wanted the cot. For sleeping. I’ll probably be awake for the rest of the night, so, you know, no skin off my back .”

“Ah. No, that’s quite alright, Martin. Try to get some more sleep, there’s still a long work day ahead.”

Jon doesn’t even wait for a response before turning on his heel and leaving. Martin sort of hates how much he wanted him to stay.

Part 2

Jon is laughing. Jon is terrified, all the damn time, and yet, somehow, he’s laughing. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he was still capable of it. Martin is gesticulating wildly with his fork, animated in a way that Jon’s only ever seen when in they’re in the middle of a rather silly debate. He thinks this lunch’s topic was something like whether or not snakes were cute? He lost the thread of conversation about half an hour ago, honestly. Covering his mouth, he lets the giggles run through his whole body, shaking his shoulders and heating his core. He feels light, heady, like he’s reminiscing with an old friend and they’re both on the edge of having had too much to drink.

He only wishes he could trust this feeling. He wishes that he could trust Martin, that they were normal coworkers having a normal lunch, that the previous person in Jon’s position had gone into an easy retirement instead of being violently murdered. He wishes he hadn’t read that letter telling him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martin, Martin, who took him to lunch and brought him tea and seemed so very warm in so very cold circumstances, was lying to him.

Jon stops laughing.

Part 3

Of course, the second his body hits the simultaneously stiff and weirdly lumpy motel mattress, his phone goes off. It may only be about 8 pm, but he’s tired, and he’s sore, and he’s had a persistent headcold for the past week for some unholy reason, the last thing he wants to do is talk. However, only about four people have the number to the burner cell, and they’re almost certainly have a purpose behind their call.

Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh that turns into more of a groan, he picks up on the 4th ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jon! It’s Martin, I’m not sure if you have my number programmed in that phone, or if it even has caller ID if you do. Anyway, it’s been about a week since I’ve heard anything, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know, dead or arrested or anything.”

His previously tense and aching muscles all relax, without him consciously deciding to relax them, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face, because some time in the past year he’s become a parody of himself. Yes, maybe he should be more affronted by how much Martin’s tinny voice brings him comfort, but he’s had a rather terrible time of things since...since he began work in the archives, really, and he’s worn down enough that he can admit he misses his friend.

Huh. Friends. They are, aren’t they? Wonder when that happened. (He can guess, something involving a fake CV admission, but he doesn’t feel like it right now.) “Martin, I recognize your voice, no need to introduce yourself.”

“Right! Yes, uh, ‘course..of course you can. Right. Sooo...I take it you’re not dead, then.”

“Correct. I haven’t been arrested, either.” It’s only sort of a comforting lie, so Jon thinks it can be forgiven.

“Good. Great! Yeah, that’s...that’s good.”

The conversation could probably end there. Jon could probably tell Martin good night, and they’d hang up, and Jon could get the sleep he had been so desperately craving not moments ago. Somehow, he thinks that neither of them want that. Scrambling for something to talk about, Jon replies, “Hang on, isn’t it something like 2am over there?”

“It...might be.”

“Martin!”

“What! It’s not like you have a monopoly on bad sleeping habits. Besides, I was up anyway, and I just..”

“Just what?”

“I just missed your voice.”

Oh. Heat rushes to his cheeks, and tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, and god. He had missed Martin’s voice too. “Really? I know you’ve had to listen to a fair number of tapes lately, thought you might be sick of it by now.”

“No. I mean, I am a bit tired of tapes, honestly, but even the ones that you recorded, that not really your voice, is it? I mean it is, but it doesn’t sound like you when you’re actually, um, you. I wanted..I wanted to hear you.”

Jon’s far too worn out to deal with that sentiment, and the way that it makes his heart clench. So instead  of addressing it, he says, “I am very close to being asleep.”

“Oh. Right, sorry, I’ll let you go-”

“No! No. Um. Would you mind staying on the line? Until I’m gone? I-I like hearing your voice. As well.”

“Oh! Sure, yeah, definitely. Anything in particular you want me to talk about?”

“Whatever you like. Something nice?”

“All right. I can do that. Um. Did I tell you about this little yarn shop I found the other day. It’s called ‘Puttin’ on the knitz’, and it’s…”

Jon peacefully drifts off, listening to the voice of the man who he can only admit in moments such as these, he wishes was in this bed, laying beside him.

Part 4

please come back please come back for the love of god come back I can’t believe you’re doing this do you have any idea how stupid this is come back to me come back come back come back

Part 5

There is plenty of things to long for in the apocalypse. A decent cuppa. The relief of actual sleep. Murdering Jonah Magnus. For there not to be a apocalypse. They are grateful, however, to not have to long for each other.

Part 6

Martin comes to without a knife in his hand, or bloodstains on his clothing. Those, under other circumstances, would be good things.

Martin comes to, laying in the grass, without anyone beside him. He barely has the moment to feel agony spike through him before he’s out once more.

There are no Jonathan Sims admitted to the hospital. As far as he can tell, no one was admitted into the hospital at the same time as him, and certainly no one with a stab wound.

There are thousands of ‘Jonathan Sims UK’, typed desperately into a library computer search bar, wielding mostly results about a sport manager and a romance novelist. None of the images are of the right person.

Sometimes Martin puts one foot in front of the other, carefully blank in heart and head. Surviving, even  during times that he’s not sure he wants to, is one of his greatest abilities.

Sometimes Martin despairs.

On the worst nights, he tries to call the Lonely back to him, tries to be swallowed whole. It never works. He’s not sure if it’s because the fears aren’t in the reality or if they’re not established enough to have any leverage or if his connection has simply been broken. (He doubts the last reason. He hasn’t been this alone since Tim’s funeral. Even then, Melanie had thrown a few stilted condolences towards him. No one is aware enough of him to give condolences now. He misses Melanie. He misses all of them. He misses Jon like a gaping, bleeding wound misses skin.)

Seven months later, and he has enough money saved and identity built that he moves on to Scotland. The little village they had been adjacent to exists in this reality. Daisy’s cottage does not.

On a whim, he enters the yarn shop. He’s not going to pick anything up, hobbies are the last thing he can focus on, but it’s nice to look. To feel the various textures, to take in the rich variance of colors, to, hopefully be present in his own body, if only for a moment.

Martin steps in. The bell chimes. He’s there. Standing in front of him. Whole. In a cry that’s closer to a gasp, he calls out, “JON!”

Jon turns, looks up at him, recognizes him even before he’s even fully seen him. It’s his Jon, he’s here he’s here he’s here. The callback of “MARTIN!” sounds like it was punched out of him, the start of a sob and a laugh all at once.

In a blink, they’re together, their embrace a tangle of limbs, a collision of lips, a mixture of tears. Martin can’t tell which of them is saying the litany of “thank god thank god thank god” and who’s repeating “it’s you it’s you it’s you.”

It’s Jon that’s telling him, “I knew you had to be here. I knew it, because I kept thinking. Surely. Surely this new universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to allow me to live, but to make me live without you.”

It’s Martin that replies, “I didn’t know. I thought it would be that cruel. Please don’t make me go through that again.”

Jon pulls him in tighter, eliminating the centimeter of space between them. Speaking into Martin’s neck, whispered in fierce devotion, Jon promises, “Never again. Never again. You and me. Together. For the rest of our lives.”

Barely discernible through his sobbing, Martin tells him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

There are people that think that wanting is more worthwhile than having. Martin thinks, frankly, that those people have never been in love.

[golbrocklovely]

remember me // colby brock (pt 2)

A/N: as i mentioned before in a different post, this took me FOREVER to write. i loved writing this story but something about it just made me drag it out for so long. nonetheless, i love this and i'm excited to see what you all think. please lmk what you thought about this. thank you to everyone that has supported me and sent me kind messages. yall are the best ! hope you enjoy :) also lmk if you want another part...

prompt: she's the only one that remembers colby, or so they both thought.

trigger warning: ANGST, heartbreak, AU mention, friendship problems, cursing, happy-ish ending (but not the end...?), kissing

word count: 5526

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Colby was relieved that the waitress, the only one that remembered him, decided to help. The moment she agreed, Colby gave her his number and left. She texted him not too long after, and he realized for a moment she never said her name. He planned to ask her the next day when they decided to meet up at his place.

It was weird to come back to his apartment, knowing that down the hall his best friend, his brother, lived there and didn't know who he was. Usually when Colby felt lonely, he would walk down the hall to Sam's and hang out for a bit. It was always nice to talk to Sam about anything and everything.

But now... he couldn't do that.

Colby tried to sleep during the night, but barely any rest came from it. He tossed and turned, hoping that when he would wake up, this would all just be some weird-ass nightmare.

When his cell phone rang the next morning at 9:34 A.M., it was an unfamiliar ringtone. As he rubbed his eyes awake, he glanced at the caller, the name 'Waitress' appearing on his screen.

I guess this wasn’t a dream after all.

"Yeah?" Colby groaned, squinting his eyes at the sunlight.

Her voice came through cheery, the tone too loud in Colby’s ears. “Let me up to your apartment. I'm here.”

He cleared his throat. “This early?”

“I figured you would want your normal life back as soon as possible, yeah?” She sassed.

He rolled his eyes. “Alright, give me a second. I'll come down and get you.”

Colby stumbled out of bed, running his fingers through his hair as he threw on a random shirt and jeans, slowly trudging down to the lobby of his apartment. She sat on a couch, tapping her foot against the carpeted floors. Her eyes were staring out the door, almost like she was looking at someone. When she heard Colby’s footsteps, her gaze pulled away from outside.

“Did I wake you?” She frowned, grabbing her bag next to her and standing up.

He shook his head. “You can't really be woken up if you barely slept.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” She lightly bit her lip, following Colby to the elevator.

He shrugged tiredly. “It's okay.”

They both slowly got into the elevator, climbing up to Colby's floor. The loud 'ding' of the elevator broke their silence moments later. They walked to Colby's apartment, and he unlocked his door quickly.

She whistled quietly. “Woah, nice place.”

A half smile spread across Colby’s face. “Thanks.”

“No offense, but how do you pay for this place if you're not a social media person?” She questioned, stepping into the kitchen.

He raised an eyebrow. “That's... a good question. From what my mom told me over the phone yesterday, I worked all throughout high school and college, so maybe it's from that?”

“You only worked at Dairy Queen while you were in high school. You must have gotten a better job in college because there is no way you can afford this place.” She disagreed.

Colby smirked. “How'd you know I worked at Dairy Queen?”

“Well, for starters, my friend told me. And also, I did some research about you. But I'll get to that in a second.” She continued, her voice falling to a serious tone, “So... would you like to hear my theories?”

“Theories?” He puzzled.

“As to why everyone forgot about you.” The waitress explained.

Colby sat down on his barstool, exhaling. “Let's hear it.”

“Okay. For argument sakes, you're gonna have to just go with me on this. Because otherwise, I literally have no way to help you.” She started, already pacing slightly.

He cautioned. “...okay?”

“So last night, I tried to think of a reason why everyone would collectively forget about you. And the only conclusion I could come up with is that you're in an alternative universe.” She hypothesized.

Colby’s eyes widened, bugging out of his head. “A what?”

“An alternative universe. Basically, everything is pretty much the same in your life, except a few minor details,” she revealed. “That’s why you still live in this apartment, but you didn’t get here the same way you did in your other life, your real life.”

“This... it's way too early for this.” He grumbled, astonished.

She sighed, her hands resting on her hips. “The only other option is that this is a very long-winded prank that your friends are still pulling on you. Have you tried talking to any of your other friends besides Sam?”

“No, everyone else’s number is gone in my phone, which I can only assume means they don’t know me either.” Colby retorted. Then he took a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “But, this doesn't make sense. How did I end up here if this isn't my life?”

“I’m not sure how you got here, but I think you’re here for a specific reason. I think you’re here to right a wrong that this Colby Brock did. I’m just… not entirely sure what that wrong might be.” She answered, unsure.

He huffed. “Okay… what am I supposed to do then? Stay here and hope we figure that out soon? I don't even know who I am in this universe.”

“And that's where my research comes into play.” She pulled a laptop from her bag quickly, placing it down on the counter and opening it. She scrolled through her browsers until she came across Colby's Facebook, which surprisingly looked active for someone who hadn't been personally on it in years.

I use Facebook? Gross.

“First, I started by seeing if you and Sam were friends on here, but that didn’t amount to much since Sam doesn’t have a Facebook. However, what I found out is that you and Sam did live in the same town, go to the same high school, and played in the same marching band. Sam talked about his early years before he was ‘famous’ in one of the first videos he posted, and I crossed referenced that with your profile and it all matches up.” She informed.

“That's strange,” he mumbled. “What did we do after high school?”

She stated. “You went off to college and majored in Business Management with a minor in Philosophy. You graduated early too.”

Me? Graduating early? I couldn’t even get through math without Sam’s help.

“What did Sam do?” He asked.

The waitress scrolled to another tab, opening it to show a search of Sam. “Well, a very quick Google search shows that he actually went to the same college as you but dropped out once his Vine career started to pick up. Then he went on to Musical.ly when Vine died. He moved out to LA in 2017 and started a YouTube channel after he met Katrina, and slowly met all of his- your, friends that way. He got a bump of followers once he started dating Kat because of her following.”

Colby’s mouth gaped at her words. “That can't be true. He would have never wanted that. I mean, I had to convince him that we should be on social media so that we could spread our message. Plus, he hates those channels that use their relationship for views.”

“Not this version of Sam. Or at least, it doesn't seem like it.” She commented.

He covered his face, groaning into his hands. “What the hell am I here for? What wrong have I done in this universe?”

Her voice low, she replied. “I think it might have to do with Sam.”

“But... he doesn't know me.” He dissented, sitting up.

She nodded. “I thought so too. However, after scrolling through all of your public photos, I found this.”

Colby squinted at the screen, an old photo of him and Sam stared back. They looked super young, probably sophomores in high school. They were both smiling, laughing at something. He vaguely remembered this day.

“So, we did know each other.” He bit his lip softly.

She hummed. “Yeah. And weirdly, it’s the only photo of the two of you on your profile. But it’s not the only strange thing.”

Scrolling to a different tab, she pulled up an old tweet of Sam’s. It read ‘Never thought you would be the one to hurt me. But I guess everyone can be surprising.’

Colby noted the date. “That was back in high school.”

“Yeah, and there’s a bunch like them. He talks about being betrayed and someone hurting him deeply. He never mentions, of course. But his tweets line up with some that you were tweeting at the same time.” She confessed.

The waitress clicked on a different tab and another tweet showed up, one from Colby’s account. He gazed at it, reading the words ‘If you hate me… imagine how I feel about myself.’

Colby’s face dropped. “Wait, what?”

“You don’t tweet that often, but when you do, you talk about righting wrongs and fixing things you fucked up.” She added, “You also hate on yourself a lot.”

He doubted, crossing his arms. “You think they’re connected?”

“I do. I think in this universe you fucked up somehow and hurt Sam. And I think you are here now to fix what the other you did.” She explained.

He ranted. “This is all so fucked! When I saw him yesterday, he acted like he didn’t even know me. How am I supposed to even go about this? What, do I just go down the hall and apologize for something I don’t even remember doing?”

“No. Sam's not in his apartment anyway. I saw him leave while I was waiting for you.” She mentioned nonchalantly.

He grunted. “Great, he could be anywhere in LA right now.”

“I know exactly where he is.” She smirked.

“What? How?” He questioned.

The waitress divulged. “This version of Sam has a favorite restaurant he goes to all the time. A lot of his fans know about it, thus one look through any of his fan accounts and you'll see it. It's called ‘Paradise’.”

“Sounds like a strip club.” Colby deadpanned.

She pouted. “It's not. But he goes there all the time, and I got us a table there last minute.”

“What exactly are we gonna do when we get there?” He crossed his arms.

“I was planning on going up to his table and talking to him, maybe asking him about you, see how he reacts.” She described.

Colby furrowed his brow, confused. “And what about me?”

She slid her laptop into her bag, zipping it up hastily. “Well… I didn’t really think that far ahead. But hopefully, whatever you did is forgivable, and we can just fix it right there.”

He murmured. “That's a lot to hope for.”

“It's better than sitting here and wasting daylight.” She grabbed her stuff and headed for the door. Colby followed suit, grabbing his keys.

He spoke as he locked his door. “What if this doesn’t work?”

She turned back to him. “It will. It has to.”

~~~

Paradise was a themed restaurant, which Colby thought was strange because his Sam never really liked those types of restaurants. The theme was nice, however, tropical and Hawaiian. It felt like something he, Sam, and a few friends would have gone to after a fun, drunk night.

As Colby and the waitress were escorted to their table, they both kept an eye out for Sam, glancing around nervously for the blonde boy.

“I think the worst thing about this universe version of me is how messy my car is,” Colby joked. “It’s like I live out of it.”

She shrugged, smiling. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You should see my real car. My honey wagon is spotless.” He expressed, waving his hand.

“Honey wagon?” She queried.

“Long story,” he chuckled. Then abruptly, he gasped. “Holy shit, I just realized I never got your name.”

She cocked her head. “What? I never told you?”

He blinked. “No.”

She started. “It's-”

“Hi, I'm Tony, I'll be your server for today. Can I get you something to drink to start you guys off?” Tony greeted, cutting her off.

“Yeah, sure. A water for me.” She blurted out.

Colby added. “Coke, please.”

Tony smiled. “Okay, coming right up.”

Once Tony left, the waitress started scoping out for Sam again, her eyes widening once she saw him.

Her body stiffened, turning back to Colby. “He's over there, three tables down to your left.”

Colby gazed over his shoulder at his friend. Sam looked lost in thought, staring at his phone as he ate his food.

“Why is he alone?” He muttered.

“From some of the blogs I read, he likes to go out and eat by himself. Also, apparently, him and Kat are on the rocks.” She admitted.

“They love each other so much, it's kinda gross to be around them sometimes,” He quipped, but shook his head. “So to hear that...”

“I'm gonna head over.” She announced quickly.

Before he could speak, she left the booth. Colby watched her walk over to Sam, listening closely to their conversation as he ducked his head down.

“Hey... sorry to bother you, but are you Sam Golbach?” She asked sweetly.

“Yeah I am. Did you want something?” Sam stared blankly at her.

“Um, yeah?” She almost scoffed at his tone. “I’m a huge fan and I know this might be a weird question, but do you know someone named Colby Brock?”

Sam’s face remained stoic, but his eyes intensified. “No, I've never heard of that name before.”

“Are you sure, because I'm pretty certain that you and him are best friends.” She insisted.

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

Colby watched nervously as she pulled out her phone and showed Sam the photo. Sam scrunched up his face, his eyes scanning the image. “Yeah, no. Still don’t know who he is. What was his name again?”

“Colby Brock.” She stated.

“...Sorry. I’ve never heard a name like that before.” He mumbled, almost inaudibly. “Sounds stupid anyway.”

She cocked her head. “Wait, what?”

Colby clenched his fist, unable to hear this conversation any longer. He needed to come face-to-face with Sam. He slid out of his seat, walking hastily over to Sam and the waitress. Sam’s eyes narrowed as he gaped at Colby.

“Sam…” Colby started.

Sam growled. “Are you fucking serious, Colby? Did you really have to get one of my fans involved?”

“What?” Colby puzzled.

Sam jumped out of his seat, grabbing Colby’s arm and pulling him out of the restaurant. The waitress followed behind them, confused just as much as Colby. Sam’s feet stopped behind the back door of the building, turning to Colby without warning.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sam barked.

Colby stepped back, surprised by Sam’s anger. “...Uh, I don’t know what you mean by that.”

Sam scoffed. “Why the fuck are you here? After all this time?”

“So, you do remember me.” Colby remarked.

“Yeah, I do. When you showed up at my place yesterday, it took me a minute to realize it was you, since you decided to dress up like a Hot Topic employee, but yeah, I knew it was you. Are you really gonna pretend in front of her that we don’t know each other?” Sam teared his eyes away from Colby’s, staring at the waitress suddenly. “Let me guess, he hasn’t told you the whole story, right?”

“I guess not.” She shrugged uncomfortably.

Sam chuckled darkly. “Of course not. If he told the whole story, he would have to admit he was an asshole, and God knows he’s not gonna do that.”

“What are you talking about?” Colby panted.

“Do you not remember? Well, I’ll give you a refresher. You and I became friends freshman year of high school. You were my best friend and I was yours. I trusted you. I trusted you with a lot of shit that I’ve never told anyone. Senior year of high school, right before we were about to graduate, right as we were starting a social media career, suddenly you don’t want anything to do with me; which would have been bad enough, but then I go and find out you and my girlfriend were hooking up behind my back,” Sam snapped, catching his breath for a moment. “So yeah, I remember you, Colby.”

Colby’s mouth fell open, his breathing speeding up.

None of this sounds like me. I would never hurt Sam like that.

“And now, you have the fucking audacity to show up when everything in my life is going great and I’m succeeding. I have fans, friends, and a girlfriend that all love and care about me, and you’re here trying to what? Stir up drama? Get some clout from me?” He demanded.

“If your friends and girlfriend love you, why are you eating all alone?” The waitress jeered.

Sam glared at her, biting his tongue. “And you made one of my fans hate me. Dope, dude.”

“Sam, look; I’m sorry for what I did. But that was years ago. I’m not who I was back then.” Colby choked out.

“I don’t care. I don’t want you in my life. Do you not understand what you did to me?” Sam persisted.

“I know I was an asshole, and I apologize for ever hurting you like that. But I miss you, and I want to work things out. Let me prove to you that I’m better.” He trembled, getting closer to Sam.

Sam backed up, blocking Colby. “No. No! You don’t get to miss me. You don’t get to miss a relationship you fucked up. It took me years to trust again. Hell, I’m still going through it. You don’t get to decide whether or not you’re in my life. Not anymore.”

“Sam… please.” Colby whimpered.

“Don’t show up at my place again. Don’t talk to my fans about me. Don’t act like you care about me. Because I’m done,” Sam stared into Colby’s eyes before going back into the restaurant. “I don’t care about you. Fuck off forever and leave me alone.”

Sam’s words punched Colby hard, taking the breath out of him instantly. He caught himself against the wall, his legs turning to gelatin under his weight.

He stuttered. “I… gotta leave. I-I have to…”

“Colby, relax. It’s gonna be okay.” She grabbed his hand.

He shook off her embrace. “What? No it’s not! Did you not hear what he said? Why would he want to be friends with a piece of shit like me?!”

“You were eighteen when this all happened. Give yourself a break.” She argued.

“No. I’m fucking terrible. This version of me is terrible. Of course he doesn’t want to be friends with me! I don’t even want to be me.” His voice quivered with anger, his body racing away from her.

She furrowed her brows, trying to keep up with him. “Where are you going?”

“I just need to leave. I can’t be here right now!” He grunted, his pace picking up.

She called after him, but Colby didn’t care. His heart slammed against his chest over and over again. Tears weld up into his eyes, blurring his vision as he began to run. He wanted to keep running until his legs gave out, until he couldn’t remember all the words Sam had said to him.

It dawned to Colby how much worse this universe was.

He wasn’t just stuck in a universe where Sam didn’t know him.

He was stuck in a universe where Sam didn’t want to know him.

In a universe where Sam didn’t love him.

And he had no way of escaping.

Colby must have blacked out while he ran, somehow maintaining to stay upright, because once his thoughts started to subside, and his body basically gave out under him, he noticed he was in a part of LA he had never been before. Some random neighborhood that was unfamiliar.

He shoved his body up against a metal telephone pole, sliding down to the ground. He tried catching his breath, gulping back breaths as he forced down the nausea overwhelming his senses. He wiped his face with his sleeve, feeling more tears rush down his cheeks.

His throat and chest burned with each sharp inhale. He whimpered into his hands, covering his face from the slowly retreating sun.

He slid his phone out of his pocket once he caught his breath, calling the only number he knew.

“Hey honey. What’s up?” His mom’s voice rang back sweetly.

Colby’s voice was monotone, exhausted. “You know who Sam is, don’t you?”

The line went quiet for a moment, all Colby could hear was her light breath.

“You told me not to talk about him. After you two stopped being friends, you said you never wanted to hear his name again.” She exhaled deeply, “I was taken aback when you asked about him yesterday.”

“He’s out here… in LA.” He responded.

She gasped lightly. “Did you run into him?”

He laughed bitterly. “You could say that.”

“Oh, Colby. I’m so sorry.” His mother consoled.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, mama. I just…” Colby trailed off, unable to explain.

“Why don’t you come home this weekend?” She offered. “I miss you, you know.”

“I would love to. But…” His chest heaved as hot tears drifted down his cheeks. “That’s not my home.”

“Nonsense. You will always have a home here.” She assured him, her voice almost trembling.

He wiped a fallen tear, a broken smile coming to his face. “That’s good to know. I love you.”

She hummed. “I love you too, baby. Call me again soon.”

“I will. Bye.” He uttered breathlessly.

The sky was getting darker and darker, and Colby remained against the phone pole. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but suddenly his phone vibrated, a new message from ‘Waitress’ asking where he was. He sent his location, and she arrived twenty minutes later in his car. He stood up, stumbling to his passenger door. His legs were weak from the sprinting he had just done. As he got in, the cool AC blasted the sweat and tears off his face.

They didn’t speak, a quiet radio station playing in the background the only sound. She drove through the hills of LA, eventually hitting a peak. She parked the car as it overlooked LA, the lights looking like stars on the horizon.

She got out a minute later, walking over to the hood and leaning against it. He could see something in her hand but didn’t recognize it. Colby sat in the car by himself, not able to physically move his body from how exhausted he felt. Eventually, he achingly stepped out of the car, sitting next to her on the hood.

“I’m fucked.” Colby breathed.

She started. “I don’t think-”

“Please don’t try to make me feel better. I know you mean well, but I am fucked,” he rebutted, his voice dark. “I’m stuck here, in this universe, where Sam hates me. And as if that weren’t bad enough, I did terrible things, things I know I would never do to him. How the fuck am I supposed to apologize for those mistakes? I wouldn’t take him back if the roles were reversed.”

“Read this.” The waitress stated, handing him a journal.

He glanced down at the leather-bound book, slightly faded from years of writing. He unclicked the lock and opened it, looking down at the pages. It was his, a journal full of writings he had done.

“Where did you get this?” He inquired.

“You were right about your car being messy. But you’d be surprised what you fine if you just look.” She teased.

Colby read over the words, the first entry catching his eye. It was dated a year after him and Sam had graduated high school.

Sam is succeeding without me. I knew he would. He was always so smart when it came to business decisions. He just hit 10k followers on Vine. That’s crazy!

“What the hell is this?” Colby questioned.

She answered quickly. “This whole journal was you keeping up with Sam without him knowing. This version of you always paid attention to what he was doing, even if you guys were no longer friends.”

“I’m obsessed with Sam? That’s great.” He deadpanned.

“You’re not obsessed with Sam. Read this entry.” She skipped a handful of pages, finally stopping on one and showing it to him.

I hate myself everyday for the hurt I caused Sam. I can’t believe what an idiot I was back when I was 18. We could have gone so far together… but I had to go and fuck it up.

He scowled. “Am I supposed to be sad for myself?”

“Keep reading.” She pushed.

The night I chose to never speak to Sam again, I knew I made the wrong decision. But I had to. Sam was ready to go on and do bigger and better things. I was just gonna hold him back. I was terrified of failing, not only myself, but him. He deserves success. That’s why I had to ignore him. I have never been as smart as him. I would have ruined our chances of doing something great. And I have been proven right by how far he has gone without me.

“You stopped being his friend because you were scared, not because you didn’t care anymore.” She repeated.

He slid off the car, scoffing. “So what if I was scared to fail? Sam didn’t deserve the hurt I caused just because of that. And what about me cheating with his girlfriend?”

She jumped off the car, striding up to Colby. She grabbed the journal from his hand. “You didn’t cheat, look.”

She pointed at the bottom of the page, his eyes following her finger.

“Me and Lexi were never together! I hate her for telling him that. One night, they had a really big fight and she came over to my house to ask what she should do. I told her to break up with him if she really didn’t care anymore. And then she tried to hit on me. I told her off and threatened to tell Sam, but she got to him first. She must have told him her and I were together.” The waitress read aloud.

“Wait, if I never hooked up with his girlfriend, why wouldn’t I tell him that?” Colby hissed.

“I think at that point, you wanted the friendship to be over, and I think this solidified it.” The waitress responded.

“All this time I could have been friends with Sam, but I ruined it because I was scared? What a fucking idiot.” He spat.

“You weren’t an idiot,” She interjected. “You just disliked yourself so much you didn’t think you deserved happiness. At least now you know that this version of you isn’t as terrible as you thought.”

“Even with that being the case, Sam’s never gonna accept my apology. Why should he?” Colby lamented, “I let him down the worst ways. I broke his trust and loyalty.”

She shook her head, stepping towards him. “Give him some time. You might be surprised."

Before Colby could speak, his phone rang. He took his phone out of his pocket and looked at the number. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Hello?” He answered.

“Did you really mean it when you said you were sorry?” Sam spoke, his tone hesitant, but dry.

His breath hitched at the sound of Sam’s voice. “Of course. I never meant to hurt you, Sam.”

Sam paused for a moment, before breathing out. “I’m giving you one more chance. Tomorrow. Come by my place. You apparently know where I live.”

“Yeah,” Colby laughed awkwardly. “I’ll come by. Thank you… Sam.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’ll see you later.” Sam stated, hanging up.

Once the call ended, Colby’s eyes stared down at his phone widely. He almost couldn’t believe that happened.

He inhaled sharply. “Sam just called me. He wants to meet me tomorrow.”

“That’s great.” Her voice just above a whisper.

“He wants to hear me out… he wants to give me another chance.” His face dropped with confusion. “How did he get my number?”

It hit Colby like a brick as he gazed up at the waitress, who bit her lip hiding her smile. “You…?”

“You weren’t the first person I showed the journal to,” she explained. “When you ran off, I was gonna go after you. As I got in your car, I saw this journal sticking out from under your seat. I read through it and… I knew I had to show Sam. I went back in and talked to him for an hour, showing him how much you were actually sorry. How much you had beat yourself up over hurting him. And then I gave him your number. I wasn’t sure if he was gonna call but-”

“Oh my God, you’re amazing!” Colby ran up to her, grabbing her by the waist and spinning her around. She gripped his shoulders tightly as they spun, laughing loudly into his ear. As her feet touched the ground, he stared into her eyes, his smile the brightest she had ever seen it. His hands glided up her body to her face, cupping her cheeks quickly. He smashed his lips against hers, his heart pounding as he did. Her hands lowered to his chest, her grasp on his shirt tightened as she felt herself lose her footing and back up into the car.

As they stumbled, he realized what he was doing, pulling away quickly. “Shit… I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s okay,” She giggled. “I’m just… surprised.”

He exhaled, letting his arms fall away from her body. “Me too.”

They leaned against the car, keeping a slight distance from each other. A light blush rested on both their faces; however, it was hard to see with the setting sun, something they were both grateful for.

The waitress sighed, breaking the moment of silence. “I think I know why this happened. Why I was the only one who remembered you…”

He raised an eyebrow, slightly side-eyeing her. “Really?”

“I lied to you when we first met. I wanted to seem a bit cooler than I am, but I don’t think I can hide that anymore.” She began, nervously.

Colby’s face relaxed a little, surprised at her words. “Okay.”

“My friend didn’t introduce me to you guys… I introduced her… to you.” She confessed.

A soft grin came to his face. “I had a feeling.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did! I totally did,” he snickered. “Not every fan knows I worked at Dairy Queen. And… no average fan would have helped me get Sam back the way you did.”

“I think there’s a reason for all of this. I think in your universe, your life… you don’t know me.” Her voice dropped suddenly, making Colby turn to her.

“That’s true, I don’t.” He nodded.

Her eyes met his, a sad glint reflecting in the moonlight. “But I think the reason for that is because… you’re not supposed to.”

“What do you mean?” He replied, his face twisting in confusion.

“I think you and I are only supposed to have met here, in this universe. But not in yours.” She glared up at the sky, “Maybe in some weird way, I’m your guardian or guide or something.”

Colby’s thoughts raced. “So, what you’re saying is-“

“This might be the last time you’ll ever see me. You did what you had to do. You got Sam and you to talk again.” Her voice cracked as she held back tears, “You can go home.”

He grabbed her hands, holding them close to his body. “But… I don’t want to leave if it means I don’t know you.”

A hitched breath fell from her lips, a smile appearing from his words. “If we’re meant to be, we’ll see each other again.”

“That’s not fair.” He shook his head, a deep frown settling on his face.

“I know, but it’s how it has to be.” She whispered.

He rested his forehead against her, breathing deeply. “Can I… get one more kiss?”

She bit her lip softly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They leaned in, his breath fanning across her lips for a split second before he pulled away.

“Wait…” He shuddered. “I never got your name.”

A soft smile came to her lips. “I’ll tell you after.”

His arms wrapped around her, pressing her body into his as their lips collided. He held onto her for dear life, terrified that the moment he pulled away, she would be gone.

He could feel things around him slow down, almost melting away, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the beauty of their kiss making him dizzy. A whirling silence overcame his senses. A burning sensation sliced through his abdomen; his breath ripped from his lungs.

A heavy darkness overtook his vision and for the briefest of moments, he felt absolutely nothing.

Except her lips.

<< |

[wordynerdygurl]

Hello Everyone! I've been conspiring with @sammy-jo1977 to create a new series of sorts. We want to explore all those characters that started us on our journey into Fandoms, large and small.

This series will be a place for those ladies and gents who haven't had a lot of attention recently, are old favorites or the ones you can't seem to shake. If you would like to contribute a chapter to this guide, please send me a message! We want to have a full and accurate guide, so we are hoping you'll hop in with your character of expertise!

As an example, I'm posting our first story... I'd love to get your thoughts! With Love - Your WordyNerdyGurl

In The Stacks - A Rupert Giles Story

Author’s Note:  This story is due, in large part, to my beta-bestie @sammy-jo1977 and it is part of the afore mentioned series.  This character might be off television, but his fiery spirit lives on!! As always, reblogs/ shares are encouraged as are comments and love!

Pairing:  Female Reader x Giles (Buffy The Vampire Slayer Series) Summary:  You get up to mischief with the librarian, in the stacks. Warnings:  SMUT ahead.  General Buffy knowledge might help, but is not required.  There’s a moment with a bit of blood, but hopefully nothing too triggering for anyone! I hope you enjoy!

“Mr. Giles?” “Just a moment!”  You heard the clipped British voice answer before being drowned out by the heavy thumping of falling books and the rustling sound of shifting papers hitting the floor. As you stepped further into the Sunnydale High library, you weren’t surprised to see the familiar faces of Buffy, Willow, Xander and Cordelia huddled around a small table.  The friends were practically inseparable and clearly close.  You found their kinship adorable and couldn’t help smiling at the group as you drew closer. “Hello to some of my best students!  And of course, to you Mr. Harris.  How is everyone today?”

Willow, stalwart student and overachiever, smiled broadly, “Pretty good.  I did ace my math quiz and got an A on my English paper… but, well, I only pulled a B on my Bio test and I just know that I could have done better.” Offering her friend a consoling pat to the shoulder, Buffy sighed, “It’s ok, Will.  You’ll get those cells next time!” “Tune in next week as Willow passes her AP Biology test with flying colors, on ‘As Sunnydale Turns’!” Before anyone could counter, Giles came around the corner carrying a sturdy stack of texts which he dropped onto the table as gently as the large load allowed, “As always, you four are the best assistants a librarian could ask for.” “Come on Giles!  You know I only hang out here for the beautiful ladies!” Pinching the bridge of his strong nose, Rupert Giles sighed, “I am well aware of where your interests lie, Xander.” “Please, he can hardly handle being with one beautiful girl.”  That was from Cordelia who pouted prettily, her hand mirror open as she fixed her hair. “My girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen!  Thanks for that, Cordy.” Snapping the case shut, staring down her beau, she smiled, “You’re welcome.” “Uh, Mr. Giles, if I may?”  You hated to interrupt but you had come in with a purpose and you meant to see it through. “Yes, of course, how can I help?” Shuffling your feet, a bit nervous now with the asking, you smiled shyly, “I asked at the local library but they were absolutely no help.  You see, I’m looking for a specific point of reference and I was led to believe that you could help me.” “Oh!  Is it something for our Inner Vision collage boards?  I love working on mine, only… It’s not my fault that I only see dark clouds and blood when I close my eyes.” “Well, Miss Summers, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  And the best art challenges us to see that beauty.” “I hate to tell you what I see when I close my eyes.”  Xander retorted. “Ah, Mr. Harris, your collage certainly showcases your, ahem, cultured world view.” “Hey!  The Simpsons are fine art, ok?  Just because they don’t live in a museum doesn’t mean they aren’t culture.” Giles, unable to stand by any longer griped, “Xander, I am almost positive that cartoons do not count as culture.” You started to answer but Buffy cut you short, adding, “Don’t mind Giles.  If it doesn’t come out of some dirty, dusty old book it can’t be culture.” “It’s pop culture!  The entertainment of my generation!” It was your turn to cut in, turning to the tweed clad gentleman, “Actually, Mr. Giles, Xander has a point.  Cartoons and animation in general are all increasingly seen as valid forms of art.  No matter what your tomes might tell you.” Smirking a little, he appraised your answer before replying, “Be that as it may, Mr. Harris, the amount of television you consume is corrosive.” Raising his hands in defense, Xander’s head swiveled between the two of you as Willow chimed in, “Give it up, Xander.  You know you’ll never win and besides, I’m pretty sure that animation and art are different.  Wait.  They are, aren’t they?” “When I was in Rome last summer, the very attractive, very Italian tour guide told us that they’ve found painted graffiti on the Coliseum.  It only goes to prove that times change but people don’t.” “Cordy’s right!  About the art, not the dishy Italian.  And they didn’t paint it, they carved it.”  Bouncing her blonde hair decisively, Buffy made her declaration.   “Wouldn’t paint be easier?  I mean, who wants to carry a chisel in order to deface a wall?” “Oh!  Oh!  I know this!  The kind of paint needed to last for centuries hadn’t been invented yet!”  Willow, lifting out of her seat in the excitement of academic excellence, was giddy. “Yes, Willow, that is correct.  In fact, a lot of the graffiti is simple and very crude.  Mostly of the phallus, if memory serves.  I’m sure I can find a documented case in Agrippa if you’ll all just-” And you watched as everyone rolled their eyes as Giles trailed off, lost now in the hunt for a specific volume which could be sited, should further proof be needed. “Ew.  Pass.” “I’m with Buffy here, Giles.  Keep your Grecian graffiti out of my brain.” “I’ll stick with the Simpsons, thank you very much.” “Yes, well.  It’s not Grecian at all, is it?  It’s Roman-” Smiling broadly, Buffy hopped off the table, “Giles is right.  The Greeks were more into orgies!” “Buffy!”  Willow’s shocked response made you cover a laugh with a fake cough. “-Of course, cites are rare.  Very difficult to find documentation.”  Giles, typically, hadn’t given up the search. Cutting through the chatter, louder than it ever needed to be, the period bell sounded. "Ugh.  Gym class for me.  Why is this even a thing?" "I don't know Buffy, I thought you liked showing off in your little shorts and beating the boys at basketball." "Cordy, that's enough.  And while us boys do love looking at you, Buff... we don't love the beatings you regularly deliver." "Well, I have a free period Giles!  Do you want me to stay and -" Snapping shut the leather book he was gripping, Giles caught your eye and turned to the peppy student, "Uh, no Willow, I don't think so.  I believe I need to see what our Art Department is in need of at the moment." With a shrug, Willow began packing up her belongings as Xander slung his back back over his shoulder, "Will, you can come with me.  I'm going to find a nice little corner, under a tree, and sleep away my study hall." “But, I… I could help find the Agrippa?  Or… some other old Roman book?” Xander wrapped an arm around Willow and took Cordelia’s open hand, “But why do that when nothing calls?” "Another fine example of your scholastic aptitude, Mr. Harris", was your parting shot at the foursome as they walked out the door. "Well. Mr. Giles, now that we’re alone… Could I talk you into helping me out?" “Of course, of course.”  Pushing his glasses further up his nose, fixing his light eyes on yours, “What are we looking for?” Sighing deeply, knowing the chances were slim, “I was hoping we would find some examples of Pre-Columbian deity carvings.” Pausing, his look serious, Giles peered at you, “Interesting.  Anything in particular?” “Yes, actually.”  Again you flushed, more than a little flustered at what you were really looking for, “I’m researching fertility icons.” Raising his eyebrows, Giles started, more than a little outside of his comfort zone, but you had to give him credit.  He recovered from the shock rather quickly, “Oh… I… I see.  Well yes, I’m sure we can find… something.  If you’ll follow me, please.” “I’m right behind you.”  Biting into your bottom lip, you smiled to yourself.  Right behind Mr. Giles?  What a place to be.  Giles led the young art teacher through the deepest stacks of the library, pausing once or twice to confirm that she was keeping up with him.  He was ashamed to admit that he had lost travelers a time or two as he stalked through his overstuffed shelves, knowing instinctively where to find the book he needed most. For her, watching the tweed covered bottom of Mr. Giles was no hardship.  True, he was older and tad bit reserved in the best British way, yet she had the sneaking suspicion that underneath all the wool and starched cotton was the heart of a wild man poet. "Uh... just a bit further, I'm afraid.  Books like this, well, I keep them at a greater remove." "It makes sense.  Don't want the kiddos getting a hold of anything too tantalizing." "Of course not.  As you well know, they don't need much help in the libidinous response department." You chuckled softly, nodding as the air around you grew stuffier, "Too true!  You should see what some of them turn in and call art.  It would make a blind man blush." And at the mention of blushing, you were shocked to see a rosy hue grow on Mr. Giles' cheeks.  You liked it.  It reminded you of the high color in a Vermeer painting.  You couldn’t help the flutter in your belly at the thought, "Mr. Giles, have you ever seen a South American fertility statue?" "I can't say that I have... have... have you?"  Something about the idea of you examining an ancient artifact directly connected to sexual congress made his body stir.  "Hmm... Oh, yes.  I was able to study in Mexico for a semester.  Some of the art work is just incredible and the carvings, they're truly magnificent.  Carefully made.  Usually stone or..." swallowing hard, your throat suddenly dry, "hard wood." Breaking fast at the implication in your words, Giles froze in place which caused you to press directly against his broad, vest covered back.  You had a second to register the soft scent of his aftershave; something spicy and masculine, which made your mouth water.  Moaning quietly, you offered a weak apology, “Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Giles.” Offering you his profile, the bookcases too cramped for him to turn around fully, you saw his sweet smile, “That’s… that’s quite alright.  In fact, we’re here.” Stepping out of the way, you pushed back against the opposite wall, the shelves digging into your spine in the confined space.  Giles bent over, giving you a great view of his backside, as he extracted a slim book from the bottommost ledge.  When he stood up, directly in front of you, the narrow, book covered alcove caused him to stumble. Giles’ chest collided with your own, forcing the air out of your lungs.  Instinctively, you lifted a leg, curling it over the swell of one trousered hip and lifting the hem of your knee length plaid kilt.  Nose to nose in a compromising position, you exhaled a shaky breath as Mr. Giles inhaled, “Close quarters around here.” Shifting under his deceptively hard figure, it was difficult to ignore all the places that were firm to the touch, especially when you could feel so much through the thin barrier of your cotton panties.  Bracing one arm on the obliging shelf biting into your shoulder, Giles pushed back a bit, lifting his weight off of you without making any other attempts to move away.  He was so close now.  Close enough to feel your fuzzy sweater and all the soft skin that trembled beneath it.  Close enough to see the pound of your pulse in your throat.  Close enough that when you licked over your bottom lip Giles could almost taste it too.  And why shouldn’t he?  “Giles?”  Your voice was whisper soft, fanning hotly over the face of your colleague. “Uh… yes?” “I’m stuck.” Blinking behind his thick lenses, it took the normally quick witted Brit a second to process your words, “You’re stuck?” Nodding slowly, your hair curling over your cheek, “My… My skirt.  It’s… uh, caught.  Caught on something behind me.” “Good heavens!  I’m so sorry, let me help you.”  Slowly, Giles lowered your bare leg to the floor, his hand lingering for a second longer than absolutely necessary.  He was still in your space.  Still incredibly close to you. You arched away from the bookcase in an attempt to free yourself with a groan that sounded heady in the stuffy stacks.  All you managed to do was force your sweater covered décolletage into Giles’ chest.  Stammering, a wave of sweat breaking over his brow, “Allow me?” The way your skirt was caught pulled the bright plaid lower on your waist than you would normally consider decent.  It meant that you had a fleshy strip of skin exposed along your tummy and Giles raised his eyebrows by means of asking permission to touch you.  “Yea, yes.  Please!” Tentatively, gently, you felt the strong fingers of Rupert Giles circle your waist and shivered at the unfamiliar familiarity of his touch.  Your chin rested on his shoulder as he worked and you couldn’t help sighing when he opened his hands and pulled you closer.  Under other circumstances you might have misunderstood the embrace but you were both professionals.  Not that you hadn’t considered the handsome book guardian a time or two before. “I… I think we’re almost there.  If you’ll just, maybe to the right?” “Um, sure.”  Following his directions you twisted in his arms, trying hard not to tear your outfit or rub against Giles.  All the close contact and talk of fertility gods had you feeling a little aroused and it wouldn’t do for your colleague to learn that fact. With a triumphant grunt, Giles set you free, only for gravity to kick back in.  The momentum created by your falling took the gentleman and the entire Grollier’s Gothic Almanac collection with you.  A cascade of papers, scrolls and dust rained down on you both. Coughing, aware that you were laying on something softer than the floor, you struggled into a sitting position, swatting away clouds of disintegrated pages, “Rupert?  Are you alright?” From beneath you a rumbling grumble that sounded like, “Yes quite… you?” was heard.  It was then that you realized exactly where you were.  Straddling your friendly neighborhood librarian, surrounded by debris, but safe, all the same. “Oh my!  I’m so-” “No, No.  Please, don’t apologize.  I’ve been meaning to reorganize this section and well, now it seems I’ve got no choice.” “You’ve got a bump.  Right here…”  Just over his right eye a small bruised egg, the color of lilacs, was starting to rise and you gingerly touched the swelling spot. “Then it will match the one on the back of my head perfectly.” “Poor Giles!  All of this injury in the name of research!” “No one ever tells you the dangers one might encounter in the library.” His dry British wit sent you both into giggles and suddenly nothing could be funnier than the moment you were in with Mr. Giles.  Looking up at you, his fingertip traced over your cheek, suddenly serious, “I’m not the only one with a war wound, it appears.” “Oh?”  Your hand covered his as you realized that you had a small cut, bleeding just a little, over the apple of your jaw.  Smoothing his thumb over your injury, Giles soothed you, saying, “Hush now, I think you’ll live.”  And you watched as Giles sucked the drop of scarlet from the pad there, his green eyes on yours, daring you.  Something about it was so… sinful.  So dark.  So alluring. Then his lips were on yours, suddenly and savagely.  Hands, firm and capable, slid under the fluff of your sweater along your spine as you tangled your own in his dark hair.  Giles, drawing you near, was satisfied only when you were splayed over him, writhing between the piles of text and stacks of piled paperbacks, as his tongue plundered your mouth. Trapped by his bent knees at your bottom, Giles helped center you over the firmness of his excitement, teasing you as you moaned, “Oh, oh Rupert!” “Call me Ripper.”  Before the word had left your throat, Giles was sloppily kissing over your neck, sucking lightly on the skin revealed by the v-neck of your top.  Sitting up quickly, you lifted the soft sweater over your head, tossing it away from you without concern.  Like one of the teenagers you might chastise, you then hugged your lover tight, gasping when you felt the nip of teeth over your bra.  “Giles… Uh, Ripper!  Please, go easy?”  With a hard grip on your upper thigh and one hand on the back of your neck, Giles held you still, smirking, “If you wanted easy you shouldn’t have come looking for fertility icons, my dear little art teacher.  And if this particular article of clothing-” He paused long enough to pinch at your hardening nipple before continuing, “-is dear to you, take it off.” Clenching your abdominals at his crass language, more turned on that you could remember, you reached behind you.  Unhooking the pretty scrap of lace and satin, you shyly covered yourself, biting into your bottom lip, “Fine… Ripper.  Should I be worried for my virtue?” “Absolutely.”  Without waiting for permission, Giles pulled your arms away, exposing your bare body to his blazing gaze, “You have nothing to hide, you know?  You are-” “Just shut up and kiss me, Ripper.”  And he did. Grinding your hips into his, it was impossible to ignore his hardening manhood, even through the fabric of his pressed trousers.  Giles cupped your bottom, under your skirt but over your panties, bouncing you in place as if he was already inside of you.  For your part, you tried to unbutton his pin striped shirt, but the force of his kisses was proving too distracting. “Oh, dear!  Poor thing been kissed senseless?”  He was teasing and cruel, but in the sexiest possible way. Red cheeked and huffing, you nodded, “Yes… let me touch you!” “Tsk… you didn’t say ‘please’.” “Please!  Please, Ripper!  Oh god, please let me!” Unseating you slightly, Giles leaned up on his elbows, cocking his head to one side as he took in the mess he had made of you, “Go ahead then.  Unzip my pants.” “What?” Removing his glasses, eyeing you darkly, “You heard me, I think.” Swallowing hard, your hands shaking with excitement, you reached for Giles’ belt.  Watching him, and only him, you slowly slide the leather from it’s buckle.  When you popped the button of his pants and let your hand drag over his hardened length, Rupert groaned and tossed his head back, “Yes.  Keep going.” Slowly, agonizingly so, you lowered the zipper as you were ordered to do, “What now, Ripper?” “Take me out.  I want you to feel what you do to me.” “I can do that.”  You played it cool, but the saucy words being said in that clipped British baritone did things to you.  They made your thighs tighten, your belly flutter and your breath catch.   Trailing a hand over Giles' barely exposed hip, you moved closer to the prize, your prize, as it pulsed with need.  Wrapping your hand around the meaty girth of Rupert's member, you couldn't help stroking the silky hot skin, so vital in your palm.  That it caused the man beneath you to moan your name only added fuel to the fire of your desire. Slick and sorely wanting, you licked your lips, ready to savor the flavor of your book stacking beau but he stopped you, saying, "Last chance to run back to the studio." "No way… Ripper."  And you felt a rough jerk as your panties were removed by force, the air cool on your overheated core.  Another kiss, full of needful things, distracted you as Giles parted your lower lips with his nimble fingers. Pumping into you, once, twice, just to ensure that you were ready, Rupert swiftly stretched your center.  With your small hand guiding his shaft, you lowered yourself onto the engorged tower of his power, crying out a ragged, "Oh God!" You thought you were capable of handling any man, but the delicious spread Giles' fine form forced you to endure was more than you expected.  Clutching at his bunched up sweater vest, your back arched tautly as Rupert dragged your hips down onto his unrelenting hardness over and over.   In your head, a rhythmic, tribal tattoo that made you think of ancient fires and curved statues took hold and you rose and fell against Giles on the beats vibrating through your brain.  He sensed it too, alternating his stroke, slowing down and speeding up in time with the thrumming pulse only the pair of you could hear.  "I want you to cum for me.  Do you understand?  Tell me you understand." "Yes!  Yes!  I'm so close, Ripper!  So close!" "Good.  That's very good."  Tingling now, your muscles tensed, ready for the release Rupert would provide.  You flung yourself onto his swollen sex without thought or reason, merely searching for the pleasure he had promised.  His thumb, so thick, so clever, pressed against your sensitive clit and your world imploded. Rupert felt it.  The moment your body and his melded together was forceful.  It tore his pleasure from his loins in grunting gasps as he experienced your ecstacy at his hands. Limp and listless, you draped your half nude body over his, dazed and drained.  Who knew screwing the librarian would feel this good?  In your post coital haze you started to laugh.  Giles, his hands roaming over the sweat soaked skin of your back, heard your chuckles and joined in.  It was another release, of sorts, and you found it almost as intimate as the act you had just committed. Folding your hands under your chin, flashing Rupert a wide smile, "Ripper, huh?" Sliding his glasses back into place and carding a hand through his hair, Giles grinned, "Oh, uh… yes.  Ripper.  My nickname in London." Toying with the collar of his shirt, "I'd love to hear about London sometime… Ripper." At the sound of that name in your voice, Rupert flexed inside of you, "Call me that again and you'll miss last period." Gasping against him, nodding weakly, "Hmm… promise?" That made him smile broadly as he handed you back your sweater, "We can't have a repeat of last week, can we?" "It wasn’t my fault you didn't hear the bell ring, Mr. Giles!" Sitting up, you fastened your bra and shrugged into your sweater before asking, "Did you have to destroy my undies?" "I'm afraid I did.  Although I told you to remove anything dear, didn't I?" "What am I gonna do for the next hour, Giles?" Pushing his glasses up, "I would advise you not to bend over." Swatting at him playfully, you used one of the sturdier shelves to stand, adjusting your skirt and fluffing your hair.  Looking around at the absolute mess created by falling books, embarrassed, you asked, "Can I help clean this up?" "No, I don't think that'll be necessary.  After all, Willow will be in-" "Along with Buffy and Xander and Cordelia.  Got it." Standing himself, Giles chuckled as he fastened his trousers and set himself to rights, "Precisely.  Now-" he bent over to retrieve a slim volume, "- The book you asked about.  Fertility iconography in Meso-American subcultures." "Thanks.  Ya know, I always enjoy coming to the library.  I'm surprised more people don't." Walking with you, his hand on your lower back, nuzzling into your neck, "I enjoy you cumming in the library." It was on the tip of your tongue to say something fresh when the overly loud bell clanged.  Lifting up on tiptoes you pressed a kiss to the goose egg over Giles' eye, saying, "I hope that makes it feel better!" Snagging you into a tight hug, Giles stared into your eyes before kissing you deeply, "That.  That makes it feel better." And then the library door swung wide on the four students who called the library a second home, "Um… are my eyes deceiving me or is Giles sporting a black eye?  I was only gone for an hour, big guy, what happened?" "If you must know, Xander, a shelf collapsed in the back.  We were fortunate enough not to be badly hurt but, there were some bumps and bruises." "A shelf!  Oh no… which one?!" Giles turned to Willow solemnly, "I'm afraid all the Grollier’s… and most of Crentist." "On it.  Come on Xander.  You can help me sort!" "Aw, gee.  That sounds like fun." As the pair trotted off, you turned to Giles, whispering low, "Dinner?  My place?  You can tell me about London, your childhood and why you love tweed." Eyeing Buffy, who was distracted and a distraught, Giles answered, "Tonight?  Um…" "He'd love to!  Say 9 o'clock?  And, he'll bring the wine."

Spinning on your heel, surprised that Buffy was your champion, you grinned, "Great!  Awesome!  I will see you then."

As you left you heard the bubbly blonde doling out instructions, "No Giles.  You can't wear that outfit to dinner!  You need to look nice.  Nicer than you do now.  Also, why is there so much dust in your hair?" If Giles answered you didn’t hear it over your big yawn.  You had a lot to do between now and 9 o’clock.  Rupert Giles was coming over for dinner and you could hardly wait.

------ Fin ------- I’m tagging my minxes, even though this is specifically NOT a Loki story.  I do want you guys to send me stories that might fall under the “Hot Characters” banner though!   Minxes:   @scrumptious-finicky-illusion​ @iamverity​ @mizfit2​ @sammy-jo1977​ @wolfsmom1​ @jessiejunebug​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​ @jenjen8675309​​ @that-one-person​​ @roguewraith​​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

[xjoonchildx]

guilty | knj x reader | chapter one: how odd

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

notes: you guys have been so amazing with your feedback on “guarded” and it warms my heart that you loved hoseok and ms. kim -- so it’s time to show mr. kim some love, too.  this series will not be long (probably three parts) but i had to break it into chapters because of the POV shifts. please let me know what you think about this chapter and as usual thank you so much to all the tiger wives and my amazing betas @ladyartemesia​ and @hobi-gif​.

this series is dedicated to the amazing @sahmfanficbts​ who is an incredible writer, an awesome woman, and kim namjoon’s number one fan.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

**********************

“You fired me?”

Namjoon turns at the sound of the quiet accusation that comes from over his shoulder.  

There is color in your cheeks as you cross the length of his office.  Your jaw is tight, one lock of hair falling free from the loose knot at the base of your neck. One perfectly-arched brow is raised high.

You look hurt.

Beautiful -- but hurt.

Guilt hits Namjoon like a freight train.

“Of course not,” he deflects, taking a seat.  He picks up one of the papers scattered across his desktop and pretends to read it carefully.  “I reassigned you to a position I believe will be a better fit.”

There’s no way he could miss the irritated breath you suck between your teeth but Namjoon keeps his eyes glued to that paper in his hand.  He realizes, absently, that it’s a takeout menu.

He hopes you haven’t noticed the same thing.

“Well, was there some kind of problem with my performance?”

Namjoon winces at the dejection in your tone.  He finally forces himself to meet your gaze and finds your eyes brimming with frustration.  

He certainly can’t blame you on that account -- you have every right to be frustrated.  You shouldn’t be made to feel somehow lacking when it’s him who is lacking in every way that counts.

“Quite the opposite,” he says carefully.  “I think it’s a waste of your skills to have you keeping my schedule and taking calls.  Seokjin can make better use of your talents on the business side.”

A strained silence settles over the room and Namjoon clears his throat before looking back down to his papers.

“Well, the new girl is terrible at this,” you say flatly.  “I certainly wouldn’t have let me walk in here unannounced.  She’s too busy looking at her phone to look after you.”

Namjoon knows you’re right about that.

In the few short months you’ve worked for him, you’ve proven yourself to be unnaturally attuned to his needs. You knew without asking which calls he was trying to avoid and when, when to clear his schedule the day after a rough night on the streets. You’ve kept his office stocked with every comfort he’d ever wanted and some he hadn’t even realized he wanted.  

You are the single best assistant he’s ever had and he couldn’t stand to keep you around for one minute longer.

You don’t wait for Namjoon to formulate some kind of response to your damning and accurate observation.  By the time he looks back up from his papers, you’ve already turned on your heels to leave.  

He watches you walk away with regret weighing heavy in his gut.

**************************

Namjoon’s keys clang loudly when he drops them on the table in his foyer.

This penthouse is the best apartment in one of the best buildings in Seoul.  It’s filled with lavish furnishings and expensive paintings and boasts a stunning view of the Han River.  It’s one of the finest residences in the city.

And Namjoon hates it.

The vacant rooms and the echoing walls seem to mock him, making him all the more aware of how empty it is.  How completely devoid it is of any life. Most nights he stays at the office until he’s delirious with exhaustion just so he can collapse straight into bed once he gets here. 

Tonight though, for once, this place seemed like a better option. 

Namjoon pulls off his tie and releases the first few buttons of his shirt before pouring a scotch.  

He’s drinking too much these days -- he knows it -- but the drinks help slow the constant movement of his mind.  They help dull the anxiety that seems to take over when he’s too still for too long.

He walks to the window to look out over the night sky.  

This is his favorite way to see the city -- high up enough that everything looks pristine.  Get closer and you’ll be assaulted by the noise and the crowds and the pollution.  Get closer and the flaws are too hard to ignore.

“Was there some kind of problem with my performance?”

Your words echo as clearly in Namjoon’s mind as if you’d spoken them out loud in this cavernous apartment. He takes a seat in his plush chair and sips his drink, savoring the familiar burn of the scotch.

He thinks back to when you both were kids.  

Your father -- one of the few decent men in his own father’s inner circle -- didn’t bring you around much.  He can only recall a few social functions you’d attended before taking off to university.  News of your father’s death came shortly after that and it had been years since Namjoon had even spared a thought for you.

Then you came walking through his office door.

You definitely weren’t a kid anymore, that much was clear.  

What was much less clear was why you -- a college graduate -- turned up one day, desperate for a job.  He hadn’t questioned your need for fast work and fast money and you hadn’t questioned the long hours and strange requests.

You repaid him with a flawless work ethic.

And he repaid you by fantasizing about fucking you blind over his desk basically every chance he got.

So yeah, there was a problem, all right.   

The problem was Kim Namjoon.

*********************

“There you are.”

The voice on the other end of the line practically slithers into Namjoon’s ear when he answers the late call. 

“Mina,” he sighs, infusing the name with a displeasure that comes through loud and clear across the connection.  “This line is for business only, you know that.”

Mina makes an exasperated sound.

“I wouldn’t have to call your cell if you’d return my messages from the office.  I’ve been trying to reach you for more than two weeks now. I’m starting to feel like you’re avoiding me.”

Namjoon pulls the phone away to allow himself a long exhale before putting it back to his ear.

“How did you get this number?”

“You’re hung up on that?” Mina groans. “Honestly, Namjoon.  I reached out to your new assistant who was more than happy to pass it along.”

Fuck. He’s going to have to fire the new girl, isn’t he?

“She’s a nice girl,” Mina muses.  “Far more competent than that last assistant of yours.  Excellent decision on replacing that woman if she fails to complete a task as simple as delivering a message. Three messages, actually.”

Namjoon mulls that information over in silence.

“Where is your mind these days, Mr. Kim?” Mina tries to cover her displeasure with a laugh but he hears it anyway.  “You’ve been so distant lately.  It’s been too long since we had the chance to enjoy one another’s company.”

Namjoon can envision the pout she is wearing on the other end of the line and it aggravates him beyond belief.  Pouting ranks near the very top of his least favorite female manipulation tactics. 

Pouting makes him want to put his fist through a wall.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” he mutters.  “I’m here.”

“Are you drunk?”

Namjoon grits his teeth, fingers tightening around his glass.

“No, Mina,” he grinds out. “Not drunk. Just not in the mood.  Not anymore.”

She sputters on the other end of the line as Namjoon ends the call.

Maybe he should feel bad about being so blunt, but he doesn’t.  It’ll be a week before she’s onto the next wealthy, connected man.  Women like Mina make sport of locating and latching on to power. 

She’ll survive.

Namjoon stares out into the night sky and sips his scotch, letting his mind wander back to the one piece of the conversation that did capture his interest.

What are the chances that you -- a woman with seemingly unerring attention to detail -- forgot to deliver three separate messages from the same caller? 

He contemplates that in the dark.

How odd.

***********************

YOU

Kim Namjoon was the most serious boy you’d ever seen. 

Even as a young man, he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. You can still close your eyes and remember exactly how he looked back then -- standing solemn at his father’s side, lanky body swimming in a suit he’d not yet grown into.  His hair just a touch too long and falling into his eyes.  

You thought he was the most handsome boy in all of Korea.

Namjoon kept mostly to himself -- no easy task given that his status alone made him the most celebrated catch amongst the children of the Gajog.  

Everyone fought for the attention of the boy who would be king.  

It would have been so easy for him to abuse the power he had over his peers, to treat them with disrespect, but Namjoon never did.  You noticed how kind he was to the children who idolized him.  You noticed how well he managed the volatile moods of his alcoholic father.  You noticed how he hovered protectively over his sister.  

He never noticed you, of course.

Your own father was careful to limit your exposure to the Gajog and as such, you lived on the outskirts of the social circle.  By the time you were a teenager, you’d only spoken to Namjoon directly a handful of times.  The few times you did see him face-to-face, you’d had to suffer through that awkward moment before his eyes lit with recognition.  

It always took a minute for him to remember who you were, but when he finally did -- every time he finally did -- your heart would stop just a bit at his shy smile.  

That was the image you held on to when you held your breath and walked into his office a few months ago.  You’d taken a deep breath and prayed that the quiet, kind kid you’d known so long ago hadn’t changed too much over the years.  And then you stepped into his posh office.

Kim Namjoon definitely wasn’t a kid anymore.

The Namjoon who stood up from behind his desk to bow a greeting was nothing short of devastating.

Standing in place of the slender boy from your childhood was a man with deep, dark eyes and a striking, angular face.  His suit -- cut to fit every line of his body to an exacting standard -- did nothing to conceal his powerful frame.  He had grown into the full lips that once seemed a bit too large for his face. 

Without a doubt, he’d become the most handsome man in all of Korea.

The shy smile remained, though -- dimples prominent when Namjoon extended a hand to shake yours and you woodenly accepted, blinking back.  You’d realized, absently, that you were gawking.

You hoped he hadn’t noticed the same thing.

If Namjoon had picked up on your mortifying reaction to seeing him after all these years, he was far too much of a gentleman to let on.  He’d offered you a seat and then listened patiently as you explained that you were in need of a job -- any job -- so long as you could start right away.

You left out the painful details, of course.  

Namjoon nodded quietly as you outlined your education and qualifications and emphasized your willingness to serve the Gajog in any role he saw fit.  His eyes were warm and reassuring as you spoke, but you still braced yourself for the possibility that he’d send you away empty handed.

He didn’t.

At the end of your impassioned speech, Kim Namjoon made you an offer you could not refuse.  

Reporting directly to him and starting right away.

***************************

The serious boy you’d known so many years ago had grown into an even more serious man.

It didn’t take long on the job to notice the bone-deep melancholy that seemed to emanate from Kim Namjoon.  He was good at concealing it in front of others but you saw it clearly.  The way he would stand at his window at night, drink in hand, brooding.  The way the shadows behind his eyes would surface when he thought no one was looking.

But you were always looking.

You wanted so badly to help.  

You wanted to do something to help ease the burden he seemed to carry around at all times.  So you threw yourself into the work, memorizing his routines and taking note of the things he needed.  You organized his files.  You streamlined his schedule.  You ran interference on Yoongi and Hoseok and Seokjin on the nights when his moods turned dark and ominous.

Tiny gestures, in the grand scheme of things -- but there were days when you could convince yourself the gestures made a difference.

Days when Namjoon would look at you with a quiet appreciation that made you feel heat down to your toes.  Days when his eyes would soften as you’d instinctually met some need he hadn’t voiced out loud. Days when the darkness inside of him seemed to recede and one of those heart-stopping shy smiles would emerge.

You convinced yourself over time that this was enough --  that taking care of him like this would be enough for you.

It had to be enough. 

To allow yourself to imagine otherwise was nothing short of delusion.  

**********************

“Eomma?” 

You call out into the quiet as you lock the door behind you.  You can barely make out the sound of your mother’s soft reply from her bedroom.

This is where she spends most of her days now, shuffling between her bed and her chair, too weak to stand for more than a few minutes at a time.  Pill bottles litter the nightstand, obscuring the yellowing photograph of your parents as newlyweds.  

“My sweet Ttal,” she rasps, voice hoarse from disuse, “You’re home.”

“I am,” you sigh, sweeping into the room and pulling off your coat.  You bend down to drop a kiss on her forehead before taking a seat at her side.  Your mother’s once-luminous skin is now spotted with age, eyes cloudy and dull, but she is still one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.   

She flinches when you take one of her hands into your much colder ones.

“Sorry,” you murmur, massaging over the paper-thin skin.  “It’s freezing outside.  I should have warmed them first.”

She gives your fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Home early again,” she croaks.  “Is everything okay at work?”

Her innocent question brings the sadness simmering just under the surface of your thoughts back to a full boil.  You still can’t understand why Namjoon chose to reassign you -- and you still can’t forget the sting of getting the news secondhand from your replacement.

Your face falls at the memory and you hope your mother doesn’t notice.  

The last thing you’d want to do is add worry to her already long list of concerns.

“Yes, Eomma,” you soothe, smoothing back her hair.  She leans into your touch with a tired smile.  “Everything is fine.  My new boss doesn’t keep me as late as the old one did.  But that’s a good thing, right?”

“Right,” she agrees, closing her eyes.  “Mrs. Sim left just a short while ago.  She brought some Japchae for dinner.  Not as good as mine, but not half-bad, either.”  

You laugh at the way the corner of her mouth lifts into a smile at her jest.  

People like Mrs. Sim are in large part why you’ve fought so hard to keep your mother here in your childhood home.  The financial strain has been tough -- particularly when paired with the medical bills -- but you need the help.  With no siblings to share your burden, you’ve had to lean on the goodwill of longtime neighbors.

“Leave Mrs. Sim and her Japchae alone mother,” you tease, standing to stretch.  “I’m going to get a shower before bed.”

Your mother makes a noise that sounds like approval, but you can tell she’s already drifting off again.  

She’s on so many pills these days; a blessing and a curse.  More pills means less pain and better rest -- something she desperately needs.  But more pills also means far fewer moments of lucidity -- much shorter windows of time for you to enjoy your mother’s quick wit and dry humor.

She’s back in a sleep state before you even make to stand.  You stroke your fingertips across her face just as your phone pings in your pocket.  You pull it out and very nearly dismiss the routine banking alert altogether -- but something catches your eye.

You swipe into the app to confirm you’re seeing the numbers correctly -- that your tired eyes and tired mind aren’t playing games with you.  

They aren’t.

The direct deposit of your paycheck is coming on the date it should, at the time it should.  But the number glaring back at you from the screen is higher -- much higher -- than it should be.

A demotion and a raise in the span of one week?

How odd.

******************************

GLOSSARY:

Gajog: Family

Eomma: Mother

Ttal: Daughter

tag list: @barbikatherine​

[1dmonthlyficroundup]

1D Monthly Fic Roundup

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for July 2021! Below you’ll find One Direction fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup​.

Happy reading!

Game Changer by @neondiamond

[Harry/Louis, 6k, Mature, tumblr post]

“Did the doctor say what was wrong with you?”

“He thought I was pregnant,” Louis scoffs. “Told me to go home and take a test, a pregnancy test, Haz. Can you imagine the nerve it takes for him to even think that?”

Harry looks lost in his thoughts for a few seconds. “Did you? Take a test, I mean?”

“Of course I didn’t.”

OR: A couple months before playing in his first long-awaited World Cup, Louis finds out he’s pregnant. Harry’s there for the ride.

(I Was Broke) You Healed Me by @fallinglikethis

[Harry/Niall, 12k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Niall Horan is an unmated pregnant omega living on his own after his alpha boyfriend leaves him. Far from his family and friends in Ireland, Niall is stuck living in a complex for Alpha/Omega bondmates, terrified every day of being found out by his landlord.As if that isn't enough, he's suffering from touch deprivation. Luckily, Niall's doctor can at least help him with that part: she prescribes Niall some cuddle sessions. It's only a little weird that the person she's prescribing him is her brother. Or maybe that's actually a little bit perfect.

The Only Pain in Pleasure is the Pleasure of the Pain by Layne Faire / @laynefaire

[Liam/Zayn, 10k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Liam had followed InZaynity, an artist's Instagram, for ages. Not only was the artist incredibly talented, his voice poured over Liam like warm honey on a winter's night, and his hands were the stuff Liam's wank dreams were made of. However, having Zayn unexpectedly arrive as the newest artist at his best friend's tattoo shop brought Liam's fantasies and reality a little too close for comfort.

Zayn Malik met his boss' friend on his first day at Fine Line Tattoos, and felt an instant attraction. Unfortunately, given Liam's unwillingness to even hold a conversation with him, Zayn was certain the feelings weren't reciprocal. Or were they?

When Liam's new tattoo design falls outside the scope of Tommo's talent, and he recommends Zayn do it, Liam reluctantly agrees. Surely he could manage to spend hours in Zayn's company without revealing his biggest secret, right? Right?

Blow Me Away by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

[Louis/Liam, 6k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Louis likes giving blow jobs.

He doesn't exactly get off on it – he's been with people who properly loved it, and he's not quite that into it – but he doesn't mind the feel or the taste and he really, really likes watching his partner lose it, so getting down on his knees regularly is a no brainer.

Which is why it's a bit frustrating that every time he does, Liam hauls him back up again.

Why Didn't We Make Out the Night We Met? by @berzerkshires

[Louis/Harry, 52k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Louis and Harry meet in an alley outside the hotel Louis is staying for the weekend. Harry introduces himself as Ed, and Louis is completely clueless. They have a relationship through text messages, phone calls, shared pictures and Facetime calls. Is a cell phone being the only source of communication enough? Will Louis ever learn that he's really talking to an international popstar? And what happens when the world is shutdown due to a wide spread virus?

I Love This Feeling (But I Hate This Part) by @lululawrence

[Harry/Louis, 7k, Not rated, tumblr post]

“Stand up.”

Harry stood up from the couch, not a moment’s delay.

“Oh my god, is that what that’s like?” Harry turned to Louis, surprise on his face. “I really thought they were somehow exaggerating, but it really is an automatic response with absolutely no thought from me behind it whatsoever.”

Louis sighed again. “You really wanna keep doing this? Have me use my alpha voice on you so you can work on resisting it?”

“Yup,” Harry said, clapping his hands and smiling. “How else am I going to be able to have any chance at reducing the power an alpha voice has on me?”

I Said It Wrong, But I Meant It Right by @lululawrence

[Liam/Nick Grimshaw, 4k, Not rated, tumblr post]

Nick was a bit of a disaster, but she was used to it.

Or so she thought. She had never known how much she could struggle just to function until the new fire lady goddess angel person winked at her.

Oh, Those Summer Nights by cherrylarry / @beelou

[Louis/Harry, 1k, General, tumblr post]

“Are you okay?” He kneels down to inspect where Harry still has his hand pressed against his head.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m fine.”

“My name’s Louis. Can I buy you dinner or something to make up for hitting you in the head?”

Harry crinkles his eyebrows. “Me?”

Louis chuckles. “Yes, you. If you’d like?”

“Yeah. That would be nice.” Harry smiles so that his dimples show. “I’m Harry.”

“Harry, it's a date, then." Louis grins.

An extended scene of the beginning of the movie Grease as a larry au

people fall in love in mysterious ways (maybe just the touch of a hand) by @vintageumbroshirt / 28sunflowers, @justalarryblog / Bekita, @bluecolouredlou , @beelou / cherrylarry, @thedevilinmybrain / devilinmybrain, @hershelsue / docklands, @foreverfanficaddict,@idolizingthelight / idolizingthelightt, @inlockets / loveroflou, @perfectdagger, @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Louis/Harry, 13k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Set in a world where meeting your soulmate causes a literal spark, Louis Tomlinson has no time for fate. He knows all too well the heartbreak that having a soulmate can bring and he'd rather avoid the whole affair. But, when a chance meeting with up-and-coming popstar, Harry Styles, causes the biggest electrical surge the world has ever seen, Louis must confront the truth that sometimes destiny knocks when you least expect it.

Somehow, Someway by @zanniscaramouche

[Louis/Harry, 16k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Louis Tomlinson has everything all figured out for a smooth post-graduation sailing into the perfect career in the music industry. A canceled class, a high school play, and a disarming set of dimples were not part of the plan. (Especially when they belong to a boy wearing someone else’s jacket.)

Featuring: A punk with the worst timed crush in history, that moody art kid that never shares cigarettes, the cutest pastel-pink wearing boy on the planet, and his unfortunately nice bottle-blond jock of a boyfriend.

Forts & Fortunes by @neondiamond

[Louis/Harry, 2k, General, tumblr post]

It’s finals week at uni and Harry is struggling to find a healthy balance between studying and tending to his needs. Lucky for him, Louis is there to help him out with that.

One way to reduce tension by @neondiamond

[Harry/Louis, 1k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Harry knows of a few ways to help Louis get rid of some pent up stress…

We Got a Call by @greenblueish / bluegreenish

[Louis/Harry, 24k, Mature, tumblr post]

“Fisher from St Peter hospital, hello. Is this Mr Tomlinson?”

Louis’ eyebrows furrow in concern. Why is the hospital calling him? Has someone he knows been in an accident? “Uh, yes?”

“Great. Your results are in. Congratulations, you’re pregnant!”

“Pregnant?” he chokes, the word almost getting caught in his throat.

“Yes, without doubt,” the woman from the hospital confirms, her voice neutral but somehow chirpy. “I recommend promptly booking an appointment with your ob/gyn to discuss how to proceed.”

"I...Yeah, I’ll talk to my … partner.”

or, the one where Louis and Harry Tomlinson are married and Louis accepts a phone call that was definitely meant for his husband.

How Long Will We Fall (Before We Can Climb) by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Louis/Harry, 860 words, General, tumblr post]

Louis' faith in Harry is unbreakable. When they get caught kissing and he is thrown out of his home forever, he has to learn to have faith in himself.

Rope, Leather and Lipstick by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Louis/Harry, 552 words, Mature, tumblr post]

Something about ropes around wrists, and tinting skin the colour of strawberry ice cream, tender and kissed by dark lips. Smudging sticky red lipstick across the slight blue shadow of veins, and assuring hands tightening knots.

Lies & Liability by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Louis/Harry, 34k, Mature, tumblr post]

Harry Styles has only three wishes when he leaves River Dane Manor to go to Town for his first season: that his sister has rented a townhouse that will provide him as many of the comforts of the country life he has grown accustomed to as possible, that he will not trip and fall when he is presented to Her Majesty the Queen, and that he will enter matrimony out of true love, no matter how favourable the match with any which alpha may be.

Sugar at Night by @brightgolden

[Harry/Louis, 33k, Explicit, tumblr post]

With a year left before he completes his degree, a wonderful fiancé, and a baby coming soon, life is going exceptionally well for Harry Styles.

But, the truth always has a way to unravel itself, doesn’t it?

So, what do you do when the person you fell in love with is not the person you thought they were?

I got myself in a mess (and without you I'm in more) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Zayn/Liam, 9k, Mature, tumblr post]

It’s not desire that has his synapses firing. It’s not the urge to jump him that makes him feel jittery.

It’s the fact that everything about this man - a nice, unassuming guy on Tinder, who studied IT and who seemed like a safe choice - screams danger. It’s the fact that Zayn has been absently touching his necklace for what feels like half the night now.

The necklace. Thank God for Lou, honestly. He’d laughed a bit, at first, when Louis had given it to him, when he’d explained all about the app that it was connected to, the emergency contacts that would be notified and sent his exact location “if you just double tap the back of the charm, see” because Louis was that friend, the mom friend, but right now? Right now Zayn will gladly take the gentle ribbing from Louis if it means he won’t have to spend another moment with this guy.

I don't care if the world knows by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Louis/Harry, 6k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Harry is fourteen when she buys her first binder. She’s been doing cosplay videos on Tiktok for a while at that point, and it seems like the logical choice. Not that there’s anything wrong with cosplaying characters of the opposite gender and not wanting to fully look like them, she’s seen plenty of wonderful creators put their own spin on characters in a way that transcends the source material, but when it comes to her own cosplays -

She just likes it to be accurate.

She likes her chest to be flat, not soft and curvy, when she’s wearing her Crowley cosplay, or when she’s transformed herself into Loki.

It’s all about the aesthetics.

∞

Over the course of a few years, Harry explores and comes to terms with gender identity.

It’s Probably Because I’ve Got a Big Lesbian Crush on You by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

[Louis/Harry, 6k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Harry's never really concerned herself with being part of the popular crowd. But as the new girl in school the second semester of her junior year, she finds herself unwittingly competing for Queen Bee status against high school royalty Louis Tomlinson. Maybe there's more to their rivalry than it seems.

A not-quite-Mean Girls AU

Going Green (so fucking green) by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

[Louis/Harry, 5k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Harry just really loves being used, and Louis really loves Harry. Who is he to deny him?

Or: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle but make it BDSM

the next bit was spanners to my plan by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

[Louis/Nick Grimshaw, 6k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

The first time was an accident. The second time was an accident too.

Or: Louis and Nick end up shagging on the sly, everyone sends far too many emojis and far too few words, and eventually they're going to have to sort themselves out.

Trust Me Tonight by @vintageumbroshirt / 28sunflowers

[Louis/Harry, 10k, Explicit, tumblr post]

After Harry’s eighteenth birthday, his father calls him into a meeting to say that he is to be married to Prince Louis of France in just over a week.

Harry is excited, of course. The arrangement is better than any he could’ve hoped for, with such a young, handsome and kind husband.

There is just one issue: Harry doesn’t know what happens on his nuptials, or how to get pregnant to give Louis the heir that he needs.

Can we make it any more obvious? by LouStylesHTommo / @smolhilariousbeans

[Louis/Harry, 6k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Five times the boys accidentally walked in on Harry & Louis plus one time they did it on purpose.

Aka Niall, Zayn, Liam being supportive of Lou&H sexy shenanigans.

darling just dive right in by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Zayn/Louis, 5k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Louis can’t think of a worse place to be than at the Malik estate, attending his ex boyfriend's wedding.

Shining just for you by ThoseFookin_Avacados / @hlhome28

[Harry/Louis, 1k, General, tumblr post]

For a clumsy person, Harry danced with quite the grace- spinning around Louis, billowy light robes brushing against his firm darker ones. Despite his slightly smaller build, Louis was decivingly strong, his grip on Harry's waist tight as they performed their steps in sync. Like two opposite halves of a whole, like ones reflection in the mirror, like the sun and the moon.

Part 2 of the Prompt Generator series

crown me with your heart (your love is king) by @perfectdagger

[Louis/Harry, 41k, General, tumblr post]

The universe must’ve had a field day when it decided to plan Harry’s life. There was no plausible explanation for anything that happened in his life anymore. Try as he may, he would never be able to control his life nor predict what would happen next. What were the odds that the one person he was sure he had fallen in love with but had completely let him slip out of his life, already resigned to the fact nothing could ever evolve between them due to Harry’s future with Eroda, happened to be the same person who had Harry’s future in his hand?

A The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Wedding au in which Harry is the Crown Prince of the small island of Eroda and Louis’ uncle is trying to take the throne from him, with a slight a/b/o twist and some more.

[shirophantomvox]

Hold My Hand- Illumi x Reader

OMG thank you! My first international fan! Thank you for this wonderful prompt! This was requested by @illucilfer .

Summary: Today’s story takes place in a 1950s diner by a frequently used Interstate; Interstate 95. We know this dinner for its delicious hamburgers, hot dogs, milkshakes, and jukebox records, but every night one Patreon never returns home. A few men who were angry about your recent arrest have shot you both. As you both stare at each other exchanging mental signals, everyone around you tries to help you to the hospital. Y/N is narrating the story. I seem to have fewer grammar errors that way. FYI, Bold and italicized font will reference a thought or flashback.

Story Navigation

Let’s get started!

The leaves have turned bright yellow and orange, fluttering every second to the ground. I could hear little children a while away laughing and playing in the community park; throwing up the leaves, jumping into piles, and throwing them at each other. The smell of freshly baked donuts brightened everyone’s mood. All you had to do was take one bite and your face would brighten and crack a smile. Dining at Cupid’s Kitchen will always have your heart and interest.

Interstate 95 was always heavy with traffic during this time of year. The folks of Dallas celebrated mulch annually. The “Mulch Fest” was a street fair that stretched 1.5 miles to the east that contained music, drinks, farmer panels, homemaker Q&A, and other activities that southerners enjoy. Illumi and I are only here because of an unfinished assignment. We have worked night and day for countless days trying to catch Jack “Da Hamor” Gilberton, but he was nowhere to be found. Eventually, I allowed my anger to get the best of me and made the executive decision to take a day off. I barred Illumi from searching, tracking, or any form of hunting for our target. The life of a bounty hunter and an assassin can thrill, but it can drive you insane if you allow it.

Ironically, Illumi and I both enjoy fall. It is perfect for cuddling (although he acts as if he’s too good to cuddle), wearing creative hoodies, going to pumpkin patches, and attending apple orchids. I tend to “lose my cool” when we have dates there. When I was a child, my family did not go on trips like these because they were over an hour away from our home and I had 5 siblings. But once I made money for myself, I made it my mission to go to one at least 5 times out of the year. Illumi enjoys the different fudge, hot cider, and candy apples. He almost broke a tooth on one!

“Say cheese snag-a’-tooth!”

“Stop it. It’s not funny!”

“It is! Could you imagine if you lost your two front teeth? You’d look almost adorable as you did in the 1st grade!”

“How did you know about that?”

“Duh! It happens to everyone, but your mother showed me the pictures, of course.”

“Curses!”

Illumi’s sweet tooth is just like Killua’s; both have a weakness for chocolate. Except, Killua will admit defeat while his older brother keeps denying it.

Cupid’s Dinner has been in Dallas for over 55 years. A black woman established it in 1945 by the name of Mary-Lou Benson. Since then, Mary’s family has been running the shop, making sure all of her customers are happy with the service. During the turn of each season, Cupid’s Dinner gives its customer's food options based on the season. The fall options include donuts, candy apples, different flavored cider, fudge, and hot coffee specials. As much as everything looked appetizing, I could not order it all. Our server, Little Ben, placed our drinks in front of us and handed us the menu. I could tell he was happy with his line of work, just as I was to be with Illumi.

“You all take your time. I’ll be back in five.”

Ilumi glanced on both sides of the room, scanning for Jack Gilberton, already forgetting the agreement we established.

“Illumi, what are you doing?”

“Huh?”

“You keep looking around like you’ve seen Da Hamor. Eat your donut and relax, sweetheart.”

“I cannot relax. I must stay on alert.”

“If I can relax, so can you. It’s not that hard.”

“Fine. If I die, it’s on your head… literally.”

The jingling bell rang almost every second when a customer walked in. It was a joy to everyone's ears; the spirit of Mary Lou-Benson was alive and well. An overwhelming feeling of love seemed to have overtaken the diner. After examining the bistro for quite some time now, each customer had been using their cellphones at the table instead of chatting with their families. Many traditional families hated that about this generation but they should be open to new traditions forming. Illumi dislikes using cell phones or tablets at the table unless we use them for missions. He has emphasized how rude it is to be surfing the web about utter nonsense while someone is speaking. This is a pet peeve of his, something I’ll never step on his toe about. Although I think that is overdoing it, I respect it.

Little Ben served our table quickly, leaving us with two dishes of a classic chicken sandwich, kettle chips, one chocolate, and vanilla milkshake. Milkshakes were my weakness; I nearly foam at the mouth when I see one. When I found out that Illumi had NEVER had a milkshake, I almost fainted.

“No. I’ve never had a milkshake.”

“Huh? You’re missing out, pal.”

“What’s the big deal? Isn’t it frozen milk?”

“Not just frozen milk. You can add many flavors, toppings, and whip cream!”

“Well, then. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

We thanked Little Ben for his service as he clocked out for the day.

“I have to admit these sandwiches look very appetizing.”

“You can say that again!”

Before I nibbled on my sandwich, I wanted to take a moment and adore the man before me; Illumi Zoldyck. A man full of mysteries, professionalism, skill, and talent. His enormous eyes were immersed in the large pieces of chicken in between the sourdough bread. He licked his index finger vigorously; allowing the homemade honey mustard to drip enough from the bread to the plate in between licks. Just the sight of him actually relaxing for once has blown me away. For once, Illumi Zoldyck could be himself and I had the privilege to witness it.

“Um… why are you staring at me? Do I have food on my face,” he asked; violently wiping his mouth off with a provided cloth napkin.

“Oh! Ha, ha; no reason. I wanted to see your reaction after drinking your milkshake. That’s all.”

“Why? It’s just a drink.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

“Babe? What happened to LuLu or Illumi-Lu?”

I gasped and pretended to be surprised… although I was a little.

“I did not know that you liked those pet names. I assumed it mortified you.”

“Who told you that? That never rolled off my tongue. “What I said was” — He bent closer to the table and to me; glancing both to the right and left to ensure no wandering ears were around — “I prefer Illumi-Lu to be said in the bedroom and LuLu when we’re alone, like how we are right now.”

“Aww…. ok,” I yelled in excitement.

“Don’t blow it out of proportion, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

As we ate, Illumi hummed along to the tune that played a few times on the restaurant's jukebox. Illumi and I were born in the mid-90s, but listening to 50s music was a part of his aesthetic. I was told that he had an “old soul” which sounds romantic at first until you realize how men were during that era. His raging temper was a noticeable toxic trait, but it has drastically improved. Nonchalantly sipping on his milkshake and then eating more of his chips, he grazed the soft part of his left hand over mine as he continued to hum.

“What’s the name of this song? You seem to know it rather well.”

“Put your head on my shoulder, a famous song from the 60s. I heard my parents sing it once and since then, they have addicted me to it. Do you like it?”

“Yes, in fact, I love it. All of this is—”

“A surprise to you? Well, enjoy it while it lasts because once I find Jack Gilberton, this side of me will hide for a while.”

“Understood.”

Damn! I was just feeling connected to him again!

The music swelled; everyone seemed to be happy. Not an evil spirit insight to disrupt this beautiful moment. For once in my life, my raven-haired beauty actually held my hand tight, stole a few of my barbecue kettle chips, and gazed into my eyes harmlessly. His lips brushed against both of my hands, ever so lightly placing kisses on both sides of them. Illumi’s gentle smile warmed my heart as my lingering thoughts of hope stayed intact.

The welcoming bell jingled again. Two men in black leather jackets, stone-washed blue jeans, and tattooed all over their arms came into the diner. The men seemed to be bikers who had just left their own “spot” but one thing struck me as they continued to walk towards the staff. They both wore sunglasses when the sunset for the day. Not to mention that the lights were not dim in the diner and the moon was as bright as ever. The second man had his eyes glued in my direction. My heart beat faster as I wondered if Jack Gilberton had found us. Could you imagine?

Put your head on my shoulder

Hold me in your arms, baby

Squeeze me oh-so-tight

Show me you love me too

I am used to coming in contact with enemies on my hit list, but given Jack’s criminal history; I felt like I may not survive his attacks. Illumi will survive, but just barely. Both men approached the checkout, crowing over Little Ben’s sister. She was a short woman but full of might, and I could tell by the shakiness in her voice she was frightened. I wanted to step in so badly, but I didn't want to blow my cover just in case it was, in fact, Jack Gilberton. After I assume, ordering food, both men stood by the entrance, blocking it from others from entering and leaving. The sound of their old, beat up-lighters crackled as one lit a joint and the other lit a cigarette. This horrid smell ruined the atmosphere because they were not in a designated area and it drowned out the lovely aroma of the food being served.

“If you gentlemen would like to smoke, you need to go outside. There is no smoking in here.”

“What? You think you’re better than me because you don’t smoke?”

“Huh? I never said that, sir. I asked for you to go outside. Not all of our customers can deal with it.”

They did not move a muscle. The sound of their mucous laughter made everyone’s stomach turn. They laughed at the young girl and called her many slurs. Little Ben’s sister didn’t flinch, nor did she cry; she remained still, staring at the men. I had just enough of their obnoxious behavior.

“If you do not leave, I will call the police.”

“The hell you won’t.”

Put your lips next to mine, dear

Won't you kiss me once, baby?

He drew a gun from his left side. He aimed it at Little Ben’s sister and demanded that she emptied the drawer. She refused. Her stone, iron will reminded me of Illumi; no matter the circumstance, they remained intact, determined to fight until the end. Bravery is always encouraged, but too much will cause your life to be taken away. Little Ben’s sister grabbed a fake till that they kept under the real one and threw it at both men. Fake money fluttered everywhere in the small diner, mimicking confetti. Gunshots rang in all directions as the imbeciles recklessly shot, aiming for Little Ben’s sister. Everyone threw themselves on the ground to avoid being shot, but luck cannot spread itself throughout an entire room of people. A young child, an older man, and another worker were shot in their lower leg. Blood reflected from the ground as it continued to seep. Ignoring injured civilians is a jackass move and continuing to deny the fact would prove that the oath I pledge to meant nothing. Sure, bounty hunters must remain hidden, but if someone is injured, I must help them.

The child was lying lifeless on the polished marble floor. He would not respond to my shaking or my silent whispers. When I rolled him over, my heart broke into a million pieces. This child had no chance of survival; a few bullets struck his chest, one just inches away from his heart. A tear rolled down my cheek.

“Why must the good die young,” I whispered to myself.

“... Because snitches get stitches.”

Before I could gain sight of who stated this utterly corny response, I felt an overwhelming amount of pain in my lower back. It felt like a million tiny needles were jabbed so far through my skin that they entered my intestine. I could still hear, but my body would not move. I tried and tried, but my brain would not signal my legs.

Move! Move, damn it!

It’s odd; I could hear myself talk, but my body would not move at all. The sound of another thudding body made my mind jump. My heart had already been pounding enough to try to resuscitate my organs to move, but a familiar semi-blurring sight of none other than Mr. Illumi Zoldyck cleared my sight. My brain went wild. I didn’t know if Illumi died or if he became paralyzed, but one thing is for sure. We finally made eye contact that felt special; something I hadn’t felt since the day I met him. Our contact felt like magnets; an unbreakable bond. Suddenly, my icy hand felt warmth around my palm and fingers. Illumi simultaneously fell in a way that connected our hands. Our unbreakable bond, the warmth of his fingers laying on top of mine, and the gaze we shared somehow made me feel like it was just the two of us alone. I could hear his thoughts loud and clear; thoughts that came from the heart.

“Please help me. Before it’s too late, LuLu,” I cried, thinking I was going insane. “I don’t want to leave if it means leaving you behind.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

“Please! I want to live a life. Life as a bounty hunter, build a support system to our children, and a good lover is all I want to be.”

“You are a warrior and so am I. We have been through worse. This is nothing.”

Mere eye contact is all we need to exchange wandering conversations. The bond that we’ve created is something so strong that I haven’t realized it until now. The warmth emitted from his loose grasp seems to lose its effectiveness. It blurred my vision beyond recognition, leaving Illumi as a near figment of my imagination.

“Oh no. I guess this is it.”

My vision darkened. Illumi was slipping away as my lingering thoughts almost made my heart give out from exhaustion. I was ready to accept my fate, but it seemed like fate had other plans. My vision was still darkening by the second, but my sense of touch remained there. Smooth fingers outline my arms, torso, and chest. I heard muffled voices yelling and screaming about calling for assistance, but I didn’t care if they came or not. I made peace with my life’s end. Bit by bit, my breathing slowed down, but my sense of touch remained heightened. I felt a rubber glove touch my face and neck, examining it for any damage.

The jukebox continued to play Illumi’s favorite song, Put Your Head on my Shoulder. I remembered the day I laid my head on his shoulder; boy, what an endearing moment that was. It was something I took for granted, something I should have savored, for I never knew that this moment would have happened. The song grew muffled by the second verse. That verse repeated every time I tried to force myself to take what felt like my last gaze at my raven-haired beauty.

Just a kiss goodnight, maybe

You and I will fall in love (you and I will fall in love)

-FIN.

A/N: Since you’ve made it to the end, I’ll say something. The reader did not die in the end. They were later revived at the hospital.

[mywonuderful]

Sweet n' Sour Chicken

anon request: hi, can I request a fluffy college au with Jacob from the boyz? 🥺

pairing: college!jacob x college!reader

genre: college au, fluff

warning: cursing and some anatomy terms for those KINE students out there 

a/n: thanks for the request anon! I had lots of fun writing this so I hope you like it :)

main masterlist

You knew you fucked up.

2 minutes

You sprinted, your bag swinging in all directions as you opened the doors of the building, jumped ran down the stairs and finally reached the doors of your practicum.

‘it literally take 10 minutes for me to travel from one building to another. why does my practicums have to be on opposite side of the campus?’ You caught your breath, wiping the sweat that was falling from the side of your face. You peaked through the half opened door, hearing the instructor explain the lab as you scanned the room for any empty seats.

'Second last row, beside the guy in a demin jacket' You took note as you quietly opened the door, hoping the instructor doesn't noticed as you tippy toed your way to the empty seat.

"Excuse me." You pointed at the empty seat beside him. He mouthed a 'sorry' before he moved his guitar bag and stood up for you to pass through. You eyes lingered at the guitar for a moment before you threw your bag on the table, chugging your water.

'A musical major taking an anatomy course? What is he thinking?' You resting your head on your hand, glancing over at him, observing his appearance. His hair was dyed to a honey brown color, looking soft as a pillow. He was wearing a demin jacket with a plaid and t-shirt underneath and you could hear his metal accessories clink every so often when he moved.

“Miss ‘late for the nth time’"You heard your instructor yell as you snapped to reality.

“Yes!” You answered, immediately feeling embarrassed as you knew he was calling for you.”

“You’ll be pairing up with Jacob, the guy you’ve been staring at for the past 5 minutes.” The guy so called named Jacob turned to look at you as you darted your head away, cheeks heating up as you heard a few people chuckle. The teacher went on explaining the purpose and procedure of the labs as you had your hand on your forehead, staring down at the sheet of paper as you mentally cursed at yourself for always being late and for checking out the man who turned out to be your lab partner. The room was filled with student’s voices overlapping each other as everyone got to work. You faced the wall, too ashamed to face your lab partner as you heard him clear his throat, trying to get your attention.

“Hey, so I’m Jac-”

“I am not interested in you.” You cut him off as his eyes widen from your statement. “I wasn’t checking you out.”

"Umm. Okay.” He slowly nodded, as you followed, whisper a ‘yeah, not interested’ to reassure yourself. 

“I didn’t ask.” Your eyes looked up to his as you both stared at each other before he broke into a smile. “Anyways, I’m Jacob.” He stuck out his hand, waiting for you to shake it.

“And I am sick and tired of labs.” You rolled your eyes. He still hand has hand extended, waiting for you to shake it as you narrowed your eyes at him, noting his unique behavior. “Y/N.” you shook his hand.

“Shall we get started on this practicum then?”

"Let me just say this first." He looked at you, waiting to continue as you lost your words for a second in his eyes. "We're going to get this over with, then part ways and never see each other again okay? I don't care what mark I get in this lab nor do I really care in general about labs." You looked at him, regretting the words that left your mouth.

"Cool. let's get started then?" Your heart stung from his response as you hesitantly nodded your head.

Unlike what you said, the both of you didn't part ways and never see each other again after that lab. Instead, you would purposely accidently meet him in lectures, other courses and around the campus where you found out that the two of you shared many common interests and that the both of you were in the same program. As those 'unexpected' encounters became more and more regular, your interest in him become more and more clear as his quiet, soft yet observed actions would always catch you off guard. But whenever that happens, you made sure to not like your feelings get in your way, as you know you aren't up for that kind of commitment.

-

"Where does the mandible articulate?"

"Uh... temporal bone?"

"Good. What joint does the mandible and temporal bone form?" You pressed your brows together, deep in thought. "We went through this 10 minutes ago."

"Cut me some slack, Jacob. I can only stuff so much information in this small brain." He smiled at your response. "Why do you always smile in the most unexpected moments? If you keep this up, I don't know what I'll end up doing." You mumbled to yourself as he waited for your answer

"That didn't sound like the rig-"

"I don't know! The temporalmandible joint or something?" You gave up as he slightly nodded. "Wait, did you hear what I said before that?" Panic started to form as you felt the cold sweat in your hands

"Close. Temporomandibular joint. And no, it just sounded longer than the actual answer." He corrected as you groaned, banging your forehead on the table as he slid his hand under so you won't end up bruising your forehead. "You're going to lose brain cells if you keep banging your head." You shot your head up, looking at him with a defeated face.

"But I'm already stupid!" You cried as he shook his head, patting your head.

"I'm joking. It takes more than just banging your head." You glared at him.

"Then why get me all worked up?"

"So you could stop ruining that beautiful forehead of yours?" I'm sorry but that sounds weird even as a complement You leaned back, taken by surprised before you snapped back to reality. "Look, there's a little trick on memorizing it. Just combine the two words together." He pointed at the pictures on the computer as you tried to focus. He would lean closer to you every so often as he pointed at the diagrams as your heart would race when he did.

"So the joint connecting the tibia and fibula would be the tibiofibular joint?" You asked as you pointed at the picture. He turned to look at you with wide eyes before he broke out into a chuckle.

"Correct!" The both of you laughed as the remaining of your study session went on.

-

By the time the two of you were finished with studying, it was already the late evening as one of the cafe employee came over to inform the customers that it was closing time. You glanced out the window, seeing rain drops slowly fall. Jacob was packing up beside you, as he followed your vision.

"The weather forecast did say it'll rain these couple of days." He mentioned as you stared out the evening sky, rain drops falling harder by the second.

"God, even mother nature hates me." You sighed as you packed your things, hearing a chuckle from him. "What? You find it amusing that the world is despises me?" He shook his head, waving his hand in denial.

"You're wrong. The whole world doesn't hate you."

"Then who doesn't?"

"There's me." You were zipping up your bag, stopping midway as you lifted your head to look up at him. He had a soft expression on his face, as your cheeks started to tint up.

"Geez, I thought I was weird but I'm starting to question who's the weird one here" You threw the bag over your shoulder as you opened the door, holding your textbooks over your head as you were about to ran to the nearest building when he suddenly grabbed your arm.

"I've got you covered." He opened his umbrella, lifting it over your head.

"Actually, the umbrella has us covered." You stated in a matter of fact tone as he laughed, lightly pulling your arm closer to him as the both of you started walking. He suggested that you stay over at his place for the time being knowing that you usually bus home. The two of you walked in silence as you took in the sound of the wind and raindrops hitting the tops of the umbrella, his grip still around your arm. He unlocked the door and turned on the lights, before gesturing you to enter first while he flicks off the remaining droplets. To your surprise, it was a little bigger than expected for a home for one person. You found yourself wandering around as he closed the door, taking off his shoes and jacket. You placed your bag down on the couch and sat down as you looked out the window, seeing the weather get more and more intense.

"Doesn't seem like the rain will calm down anytime soon." He spoke from the opened kitchen. You hummed in response, eyes found its way on a display of pictures of when he was younger with his family, brother and friends. You stood up, walking over to take a closer look as a smile appeared on your face.

"Ah, those were when I was in the volleyball and basketball team." He stated, offering you a cup of hot tea and you nodded, sitting back down as he took a seat next to you. You didn't know where to look as you stared out the window.

"Do you like the rain?" He asked to break the silence.

"No, I absolutely hate it." You turned to look at him. "I don't know where else to look." You admitted as he laughed.

"You sure are one bright person." You spoke, taking a sip. "Compared to someone like me."

"What do you mean? I find you bright as well." He snickered at his compliment.

"Not at all. I've already come into terms with my sour personality. It's just who I am. Someone who's better off alone and unbothered." He was deep in thought as you peeked over, trying to read him. "Why did you decide to be friends with me?"

"I didn't. It was you who asked for my number for the lab assignment." He pointed at you as you gasped, taken back.

"You're just trying to be funny now."

"Then tell me you didn't purposely go the opposite way so that you would 'bump' into me." You avoided his eyes, feeling ashamed that he taught on to your actions

"I can't confidently say that I didn't to it on purpose. But I swear, half- no not have, three forth of time it weren't on purpose!" You defended yourself before the two of you broke into laugher.

"How about we order some take-out? I don't think going out to grab food in the rain would be ideal with the weather being like this."

"I like your thinking. What should we order?"

An hour passed after you ordered as both of you would exchange short conversations here and there.

"You must be a pretty athletics person. Seeing how many awards you've won." His eyes were fixed on the trophies, a small smile upon his face.

"You could say so. How about you? Do you play any sports?"

"Nope. The most athletic thing I've done is run from practicums to practicums." You chuckled as he joined. The doorbell rang as you stood up to answer before he told you to sit down. He thank the delivery man and paid as he locked the door, placing the takeout on the coffee table.

He took out the takeout containers, opening them as your eyes landed on a particular dish.

"Sweet and sour chicken? I didn't remember us ordering that." He brought out some plates and took a seat beside you, knees brushing as he sat down.

"I added it last minute. Craved it, I guess." He replied as you nodded, not caring as the both of you started to eat.

"Say, I remember you carrying a guitar case the first time we met." You spoke as he looked up, trying to recall.

"Ah yeah, it was for a band I'm in." Your eyebrow rose, noting that he was an all rounder.

"Talk about being Mr. Perfect." You stuffed your face with rice.

"I still lack a lot." You choked on your rice as he immediately patted your back, opening a bottle water for you to drink.

"Lack *cough* my *cough* ass" you took a sip. "If you still 'lack a lot' then what does that make me? A complete failure?"

"What? No! Why do you talk so lowly of yourself?" His voice was serious. "You always compliment others but you can't seem to take a compliment on yourself."

"Wha- I have no idea what you're talking about." You put down your utensils.

"Are you finished with this? If you are then let's clean up." He started cleaning up the empty and dirty containers, you quietly following as you wondered why he suddenly jumped subjects. After cleaning up, you sat on the floor as he sat on the couch, the awkward silence was floating heavily around you.

"Hey Y/N." You looked up at him, the back on your head resting on the couch. "Can I tell you something? You have to hear me out though." You nodded, as he started playing with his fingers, trying to put together his words as you found his actions adorable, a giggle escape d your lips as you coughed to cover it up

"Stop thinking so small of yourself. You're not a failure nor does the world hate you. In fact, I find you very admirable in many ways." You shifted your body to face his. "Maybe if you see it in my eyes, you'll know just how amazing you are." You could see the blush across his cheeks, you bit your lip, feeling confused yet lighten from his words.

"Why?" He met yours eyes. "After seeing my personality, the way I act and talk. Why do you still hang out with me?" You answered.

"Do you want me to answer truthfully?" He stood up as you nodded, before he left to go into his room, coming back out with his guitar.

"I've been working on this song but the lyrics isn't ready but I have the instrumental down. Do you want to hear it?" You shrugged your shoulder, mumbling a 'why not,' feeling a little disappointed that he still didn't answer your question. He started strumming an upbeat yet sentimental tune. You found yourself swaying your head back and forth where when Jacob saw, he broke out into a smile as the both of you chuckled.

"Wow. You really are talented." You applauded as he shyly smiled

"There's a reasoning why I wrote this piece." He looked down at his guitar, stroking the strings lightly. "There someone who is so mentally strong no matter how hard the world is in her eyes. She carries herself well, not caring what others think or say about her. I find it admirable that she's so strong but then again, she doesn't realize it herself. I find myself attracted to her, even when she finds that her personality is sour, but I find it rather sweet." You stared right into his eyes as he would avoid them time to time. "And that's why this song is called sweet and sour."

"Like the sweet and sour chicken?" You tilted your head

"Yeah you could say that."

"So who's is she?" You leaned in, feeling a little upset that it wasn't you but nonetheless, anticipated. He placed his guitar to the side, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning in to you.

"If I told you, would you believe me?" He whispered. His eyes would glance down at your lips as your heart started to race.

"I mean, why wouldn't I?"

"It's you." Your eyes popped out, leaning back from surprised but Jacob held on to your shoulders. He slowly inches closer, your eyes shutting before you felt his lips on yours. You instantly smiled, you feeling his lips curving up as well. As you parted, he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, both of you in a blushing mess.

"I guess you can say our relationship is like a sweet and sour chicken. Unique and irresistible." He smirked as you playfully punched his knee, exchanging flushed glances and laughter.

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: Red, White, and Blue

Now this. This is the fun stuff (❁´◡`❁) and yes I hate myself for the chapter title

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: noncon body modification, noncon surgery, eye whump, dissociation, accidental self harm, this is pretty intense so just stay safe y’all 

Two days. Two days of rest, of getting used to the new, sharp teeth in his mouth and the way they repeatedly pricked his lower lip when he talked, of recovering from the intense pain he’d been through. Two days of answering Neteri’s questions about how the fangs were affecting him, of her hands on his face more than usual, pulling his lips back to examine his teeth and gums over and over again. Two days, and at the end of the second one, when he wasn’t brought dinner, Erebus felt cold fear settle in his stomach alongside the hunger. 

Tomorrow, he was going to lose another part of his humanity. Something he thought he’d be used to by now, but he still found himself barely able to sleep. Morning came all too quickly, and he tried to stop himself from shaking as the familiar leather straps were tightened around his body as he laid on the table once again. Neteri smiled down at him the same way she always did, affectionately running her hand through his hair a few times before buckling the strap around his head. He wished her touch didn’t make him feel a little better.

“Hey, Erebus. Since the last procedure went so well and was pretty easy I figured we should jump right into the next one. I promise you’ll get more of a break between this one and the next, though, since today’ll be a little more complicated. That sound good?”

“No.” She just smiled and shook her head before shoving the rag in his mouth, preventing him from protesting further. He focused on the little rat on the ceiling and tried to take deep breaths as she grabbed whatever awful tool she was going to use on him today. When Neteri turned back to him, she was holding some sort of strange metal object that he couldn’t guess the use of. She started to move it towards his face, causing him to screw his eyes shut. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to see what it was going to do to him. 

Unfortunately, this was something he would have no choice but to watch.

Her fingers pried his right eye open, allowing her to slide the device under his eyelid on either side, keeping it pulled wide open. Wait wait why was she forcing him to keep his eye open? His head wasn’t propped up, so it’s not like he could see-unless she wanted to replace-

No.

No she can’t do that.

No no no not my eyes please please don’t take them you can’t they’re the only part left of me that I’m not disgusted by Neteri please please please I’ll do anything anything please just stop GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME STOP STOP MOVING IT TOWARDS MY EYE NO NO NO DON’T GRAB IT DON’T GRAB IT IT’S SO COLD I CAN FEEL IT SCRAPING MY SKULL PLEASE DON’T TAKE MY EYE NO NO it’s empty empty and cold it’s empTY YOU CAN’T CUT IT OFF WHERE DID IT GO I CAN’T SEE ICAN’TSEEIT’SSOBLACKICAN’TSEEIT’SEMPTYANDSOMUCHBLOODICAN’TSEEITHURTSANDICAN’TSEE-

Don’t

That’s not mine don’t don’t don’t attach it IT BURNS FIRE FIRE RIGHT INSIDE MY HEAD it isn’t empty anymore but it’s still cold so cold and bright it’s too bright I still can’t see the light hurts hurts let me close it please yes good it’s dark at least even though it shouldn’t be there-

“Erebus.” The sound of Neteri calling his name pulled him out of the hell in his own head. He cautiously opened his left eye, the only one left that was his, and looked up at her. She was leaning over him, looking at him expectantly. “Open your eye, come on.” He cracked it open, but the lights were so bright that it felt like he was looking into the sun, and he screwed it shut once more. She frowned and pulled the rag out of his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“It-it’s so bright it hurts why-” the rest of his reply was cut off as she shoved the rag back in.

“I guess I should’ve expected that,” she muttered, “So that means even the younger ones are still adjusted for deep water, and I’ll have to…” she placed two fingertips on his right eyelid, awakening her magic once more. This time, however, the fire wasn’t piercing into his skull, but burning within the eye itself, making it bubble and spark, driving it to a boil and of course he was screaming because this was wrong wrong wrong he shouldn’t have ever had to feel pain like this no one should please please make it stop-

Erebus jolted awake, suddenly finding himself back in bed in his cell, sitting up and breathing heavily. What...he had been in the lab, on the table, hadn’t he? And Neteri, she had taken...his hands flew to his face, feeling for dried blood or an empty eye socket or something, but he felt nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe...maybe that had all been a dream? A horribly vivid, painful dream...no, not in this place. What had happened seemed far too much like reality. Neteri could have cleaned the blood off of his face while he was unconscious, if that’s what had happened, and there was no guarantee that the...the replacement eye would feel any different. His vision out of it seemed a little fuzzy, but still normal enough compared to his left eye that he couldn’t be sure. 

So, there was only one way to check. As if in a daze, he stumbled into the bathroom, right hand clamped over the eye, the one that might not be his anymore. He stopped in front of the mirror, his left eye still as blue as ever. He stared at it for a moment, praying that his other eye would look the same, that it had all been just a bad dream.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his hand.

The eye was absolutely hideous, completely blank and white and pupil-less and it was inside of his head, horrific ugliness where there had once been beauty. He stared at it in disbelief for a moment, unable to accept the reality of what he was seeing, of what he had just been through. Before he knew it, his fist was flying towards the mirror, aiming to shatter it, to break the image of what he was turning into. The punch connected, but the mirror wasn’t broken. He pummeled it again and again, but no matter how much or how hard he hit it, the mirror didn’t so much as crack. It was completely smooth, the blood from his knuckles dripping down it in various spots the only evidence of his futile attacks. 

But that’s how it was, wasn’t it? No matter what he wanted, no matter what he tried, he didn’t have the power to change anything about himself. Was that even him, though? Whatever he saw in the mirror here didn’t look like him, it never really had. That was it, this wasn’t him at all, it was just...a monster. A monster with the same name as him...no, no, his name was all he had left of himself, those six letters were his, there was no way he was giving that to the monster, too. It was just a nameless body, just disfigured flesh that he was stuck inside of.

He snapped his gaze downward, away from the thing in the mirror. His knuckles were all busted up, dripping blood into the sink. He turned the water on, gently washing it away, wincing as the water stung the open wounds. The task was something to focus on, something that wasn’t...a glance upward reminded him that there was more blood to clean than what was on his hands. That was all he saw, the red of his blood, until it wasn’t there anymore, not on the mirror or his hands or the sink.

Then he was just left with the white. The white where there had always been blue. And it shouldn’t be a big deal, he couldn’t even tell without looking at himself, it was such a small part of him, he shouldn’t care so much, but-

But in that moment, he couldn’t bear it.

Extra - Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump @unicornscotty @thebewilderer​ @kixngiggles​ @itallstartedwithharry​​ @inky-whump

[imkylotrash]

Perfidy

Pairing: Saul Silva x reader

Request: Reader is in alliance with Beatrix and has been sent by Rosalind to get close to S to find out more about the teachers' plans. After a while, she feels guilty coz she really fell in love with him and confesses about betraying their relationship and sabotaging his plans. S stays mad at her for a while but he loves her too so he forgives her maybe and then fluffy floof? Anonymous And Saul and Reader who is on Rosalind’s side; a highly regarded soldier entrusted to be one of the guards of Saul where he is imprisoned. Over time there is some kind of connection or attraction there (not sure if mutual) which complicates things. It can be unresolved/left open or if you come up with an ending cool! Anonymous

A/N I did a little twist at the end, and I'm not really sure how well it worked 😬

Tagging: @grey-girl @intoanothermind @artsyle @baueoud @glowingatdawn @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quarterback-5 @estelmei @alice-the-nerd @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @shadowhuntyi

"Food." You place the tray on the floor backing out of the room to keep an eye on him. When the door closes, you take a deep breath that you didn't know you needed.

"That's all?" It's the first time you've seen him since Alfea. He looks horrible already. The Solarian prison is a tough place to survive. Part of you worries about him, but you push that in the back of your mind trying to crush any affection you might feel towards him. You can't like him - and he certainly doesn't like you.

"What do you mean?"

"You've got nothing else to say? After using me for information, making me believe that you lov-" Words fail the soldier as he looks at you through the glass that confines him. Of course, it isn't normal glass. It's been reinforced and manipulated to prevent cracking. It's the most secure prison in the whole of Solaria.

"I was doing my job." He throws the tray of food towards you but you don't flinch. It won't do any damage.

"That was a waste of food. Some people would kill for a meal like that."

"I feel like you're always running off to talk to Farah or Ben," you whine as he comes back from yet another long meeting. You want in on those meetings. You want to know what they're doing to keep the Burned Ones at bay. You want access to Dowling's office. You want it all, and you have to play this stupid game of pretending to be here just for Saul.

"Maybe you should just come next time then. I'm sure they'd appreciate your point of view," he says so casually that you almost drop the glass you're holding. It cannot be that easy. You've been seeing each other for three months and already, he seems to trust you.

"Really?" You could intel on Bloom to help Beatrix, you could find a way to break out Rosalind. It seems far too easy but he nods his head and as promised brings you with him for the next meeting. You're surprised by the guilt that lingers in the corners of your heart, as you walk back from the meeting hand in hand.

"I really liked seeing you involved tonight. It's nice bringing you and the rest of my world together," Saul admits a little sheepish.

"I appreciated you letting me be a part of it." The words roll off your tongue so easily it scares you a little. You squash the part of you that might hold any sort of feeling towards Saul and focus on the information you got tonight. Any day now, you'll be able to break out Rosalind.

"You think I care about food? I want to know what the hell is going on! What did you do to Sky?" Your fingers are itching to be run through his hair, but you also don't have a death wish at the moment so you stay on your side of the protective barrier.

"Sky is just fine. He's still at Alfea studying." This little piece of information seems to relax Saul slightly, but you can still see the betrayal in his eyes. He hates what you did to him, but you're not entirely convinced he actually hates you.

"I should've known you weren't being truthful. You never cared about anything other than yourself." You clench your jaw to keep yourself from admitting everything you've been ignoring for the past year but he sees the crack in your facade. He knows he hit a nerve, and he'll definitely be using that to his advantage later. There are no rules to how this game works anymore - something you're both very aware of.

"I'll let you get some sleep. I'll be back by dawn."

"Are you still awake?" You keep quiet hoping he'll believe that you're sleeping. You can't face him right now knowing that tomorrow he'll be given the title traitor and be escorted out of here in handcuffs. He's quick to undress and crawl under the covers. His warm body almost melts the ice you've tried to seal your heart with.

"I just wanted to let you know that I love you," he whispers unaware that you're awake. It's the first time he's said and even you can't ignore the butterflies in your stomach. As the amazing actor you have become, you pretend to slowly wake up.

"Hi baby," you whisper with a smile cuddling up to him. You don't say a word about what you just heard and he doesn't repeat it. But it hangs in the air between you.

"I'm sorry I woke up. Go back to sleep," he says kissing your forehead. How are you ever meant to go back to sleep after hearing that? Your entire body feels electrified to the point where you can't pretend you don't feel the same way about him. You want him even if goes against everything you believe in.

"I wasn't sleeping." He knows what your confession means.

You return precisely at 4:30am knowing this is the moment where the cameras reboot giving you just five minutes before they'll be back on. You're carrying a set of clothes and a backpack filled with provision.

"You ready?" You open the door handing him the clothes. The timer on your wristwatch lets you know that there are 3 minutes left before the cameras are on again.

"Ready." He keeps a hand on your shoulder to keep up with your pace. This time of the morning, all the guards are in the meeting room waiting for assignments for the day which is the perfect opportunity to slip past them unnoticed.

"Left," you whisper turning the corner with Saul right behind you. 1 minute. Fresh air hits your skin instantly calming you down. The hard part is over now.

"I wasn't sure if you were coming or not," Saul says slightly out of breath. He's still angry with you, but it's nothing like the way he looked at you back in his cell. When you told him to act enraged at you, you hadn't expected him to play the part so well. You're still doing your very best to keep all feelings towards Saul out of your mind. You're doing this to prove that you've had a change of heart. You know it'll be a long time before he'll fully trust you again.

"Of course I came." It's your way of saying those three words back to him, and he doesn't miss the intention. So much has changed between the two of you, but you know that you want to fix it. And this is the start.

"I wasn't sleeping." You want to tell him that you love him too, but there are other truths you'll have to admit before you can get to that part.

"I've been working with Rosalind. Bloom is going to free her," you say trying to remember the feeling of his skin pressed against yours. He pulls away looking ready to run alert the others but he sees something in your eyes that stops him.

"It's too late. Beatrix showed her the way to Rosalind." You know what comes next. He'll yell, throw something and then probably yell some more.

"Tomorrow, you'll be arrested and taken to a Solarian prison."

"Why are you telling me all of this? You could've gotten away with it." For such a brilliant man, he can be quite dense sometimes. You're well aware that the anger will come sooner or later after the confusion is cleared up, but you're using it to your advantage right now.

"Listen to me. This is going to happen no matter what. I thought I was on the right side of history, but the time I've spent here just proved me wrong." You try to take his hands in yours, but he pulls away. He's hurt, betrayed by the one person he thought he could count on.

"They're going to arrest you, and I will be assigned to guard you, which means I can break you out."

"Thank you. For helping me." It's the best he can offer you right now, and you'll happily take it. Anything that isn't pure hatred is a step in the right direction.

"I'm sorry it even came to this." You know you'll be given plenty of chances to prove your loyalty in the future as you take back Alfea, and you'll make use of all of them. This time, you know what you're fighting for, and he's standing right in front of you.

"Follow me?" You mean to say it as an order, but it comes out a question.

"Yes, ma'am."

[volturicangetit]

A.V- Summer crush

Summary: You and Alec found each other during your summer in Italy were he realized you were mates. When you sadly need to leave him to go back home to your father and sister, Bella. But once the Cullen find out about you and Alec they cast you out. 

Request: yes/no Anon: One shot were the reader is Bellas sister and Alec Volturis mate and once the Cullens and Bella find out the Cullens distance themselves from the reader and Edward tries to drive the reader away so she runs away only to be found by Demetri while he was on a mission in the area she ran to and brings her back to Alec where she begs him to let her stay.

warnings: swearing, mention of depression

wordcount: 1880

MASTERLIST

You lay on the little loveseat right in front of the windows in Alec's room. Both of you are cuddling up against each other while looking at the stars outside of the window. The sound of your steady heartbeat and slow breathing sends waves of comfort crashing over him. With you, it was almost as if he could sleep. The warmth of your skin radiating against him, warming his skin up. His mind got fuzzy. He knew what it meant. He knew Marcus could see the red string that connected his soul to yours. Even he could faintly see it. You didn't know what any of it meant. You thought it was just love at first sight. You met him during your exchange in Italy you did for school. You met him on the second day here, immediately falling for him and his goofy smile. You spent almost all your time with him. " I have to leave tomorrow," you whisper. He nods, nestling his head closer against your neck. Your scent was mouthwatering to him. " I know. " he croaks out. Tears suddenly start to sting in your eyes. The realization of leaving him suddenly hits you. You won't be in beautiful and warm Italy anymore with Alec. You'll be in cold and rainy Forks, without him. " I don't wanna leave you," you say as the tears come crashing down.  

Alec quickly sits a bit more upright, pulling slightly from him to look into your eyes. He wipes away the tears running down your cheeks as he tries to calm you. " Hey, hey, don't cry. Please don't cry. You can come to visit again soon. Fall break. You can come during fall! " he tries. He knows that you leaving won't be easy. Not for either of you. Being away from his mate will feel like torture to him, he knows that. You nod, trying to stop the sobs and hiccups wracking through your body. " You can see Volterra in fall, it's beautiful. We'll make it work. ". You nod. " We'll make it work. ".

" You're back! " Bella exclaims as she runs over to you, engulfing you in a hug. You cling into her, breathing her in. Forest, mud and strawberries. Tears prick up in your eyes again. You nearly forgot how much you missed your sister. " I missed you so much, Bells. ". She nods, still not letting go of you. Footstep starts to get closer to you two.

" They're back. " Emmett states. You let Bella go out of your grip as you look at the tall man. The other Cullens have followed him. Everyone has a smile on their face except for Jasper which was usual. You run over to Emmett and hug him as well. You and Emmett have become close friends, and surprisingly, also with Rosalie. You try to hug Edward as well but he just pushes you away from him slightly, giving you a disgusted look. What's wrong with him? You shake it off as him just being him. You never know what going on with vampires. " Did you see dad yet? " Bella asks.

You shake your head. " Nope came here straight from the airport. ". She gives you a playful slap against your arm as she grabs your phone out of her pocket. " Come on! He must be worried sick. ". Before she could ring her father Edward grabs the phone out of her hands. " Don't," he says. You look over at the rest of the Cullens, trying to find an explanation. You find it when you look at Alice. Her eyes are wide and she's clinging onto Jasper's arm for dear life. They know. Of course, they know how the fuck could you keep a secret from someone who sees the future and a mindreader.

" They're dating Alec. " Edward says. No warning. No softening the blow. He just brings the news as it is. The room goes dead silent. The Cullens are at a loss for words. You, sweet little human Y/n, is dating a human blood-drinking vampire with a terrifying gift. Emmett takes a step away from you, dragging Rosalie with him. Carlisle warm eyes are suddenly filled with disgust. Bella steps back from you as well. Nausea fills your stomach. It suddenly feels like your infected with some disease, none of them wants to get close to you. " Bella- ' you start.

" Don't! " she yells. All the love in her voice is replaced by hate. " You're dating that monster? ". That statement hurts. You know he isn't a monster. " He's not. Look, it's just-". Bella throws her hands in the air, effectively cutting you off. " Break up with him. ". Shock fills every cell in your body. Break up with Alec? The one person who seems to have lifted your mood? The person who made you feel like you were walking on clouds? Never.

" They can't. " Alice says. Carlisle looks over at her with a pleading look. She nods. A sight leaves his lips. " They're mates. ". The world crashes around you. In second Edward has picked you up and put you outside of the house, luggage included. The Cullens stand away from you, on the little porch in front of their door. Bella and Edward follow soonly after, joining them. " I'm sorry Y/n. But you have to stay away. " Edward says. Esmee but a hand on his shoulder which he shakes off. " Edward. Don't be dramatic. ".

" I'm not! That monster will kill them. I don't want to have anything to do with that. It's disgusting. ". Disgusting. You loving Alec is disgusting. You shake your head, letting the tears that were building up to fall freely. You take a step towards him. " No, you know what's disgusting? You almost got my sister killed five times. Five. Fucking. Times. You left her without a word when she needed you. You fucking disgust me, Edward Cullen. " you spit out the words. You need to get it off your chest. You hated him the moment he came into Bella's life. Toying with her emotions. Leading her on and then leaving for months. You didn't like it one bit. You grab your bags off the ground, not caring about the mud that now covers the underside of them. " I'll hitchhike my way home," you say before walking off, away from the Cullen.

It was awkward. It was awkward and painful and you hated every second of it. Edward forbid Bella from talking to you. She moved in with the Cullens. The only ones still talking to you were Emmett and Rosalie. That was until Edward forced them to stop talking to you as well. They were your friends. The people you trusted your life with. Now, you were alone. You didn't bother making new friends. You just kept going trough the slur of life. Falling in the same depression that Bella got into when Edward left her. Your thoughts are consumed by Alec. Thinking back on memories, replaying scenes. You wanted to call him, so bad. Beg him to take you to Italy. But you couldn't do that to your dad. He didn't deserve to have you disappear.

You sat in biology, staring down at the notebook in front of you. None of the words made sense. The letters blending with each other, forming words in a language you couldn't understand. Seconds started ticking away as slow as hours. Your eyes are red and burning. You couldn't cry anymore. No, you had already shed more tears than most would in their life. The ringing of the bell feels like sweet freedom. Finally being able to go home. Away from the Cullens, away from school and people. You stuff your books into your bag hazard and quickly run out of the classroom. The hallway is still quiet, only a couple of students in them. You rush past them, almost running toward the doors. The moment you step outside the cold air stings against your skin. You look over at where your car is parked. Bella's old car, since the Cullens gave her a new one. A man was standing next to it. Dark coat adorning his body. Demitri. You run towards him. A smile is plastered on his face as he holds his arms open for you. You pull him towards you in a hug. Tears start to come up again. Two months passed since you last saw him. " What are you doing here? " your voice sounds muffled against his coat.

" Just checking up in you. ". You missed his accent so much. " Are you crying? ". You nod your head. There is no hiding anything with vampires, you learned that. He pulls away from you, placing either hand on your cheeks. " What happened? ". You shake your head. A sob wrecking through your body stops you from talking. Demitri understand. He guides you into the passenger's seat of your car as he gets in the driver seat himself before he drives off. Just seeing him reminded you how much you missed Alec. How badly you felt here. You wanted to go back to Volterra. You need to go back. Demitri only stops the car when he found a quiet forest road.  He rubs circles with his thumb against your arm to try and calm you down. " What's got you feeling like this? ".

" The Cullens. " you start. You can feel him stiffen. There was no denying that the Volturi hated the Cullens. " They f-found out about Alec. They...They casted me out. " you cry out. More sobs break from your throat. Demitri pulls you into a hug. He tries his best to comfort you. but after all these years of immortality, he forgot how it. " Take me with you! ' you say in between sobs. " Take me to Alec. Please. I don't want to be here anymore. '. He nods, still shushing your and softly rocking you from side to side. " I will. ".

The cool air in the castle nips at your skin, yet you don't seem to mind it. The familiar scent of stone, dust and rosemary flows through the building. The guards passing by you all sent you a smile. You brought light into the castle. You made one of the witch twins happy. You made the favourite four of the kings feel normal. They were happy to have you back. Demitri stops right before Alec's door. He doesn't need to knock, Alec sensed you the second you stood before his room. The door flies open and in a second, Alec has engulfed you in a hug.  " You're back," he whispers into your hair. He takes you in. You're here. This isn't a delusion or a daydream. You're here in flesh and bone. You happily hug him. " I'm back. And I won't be going away. ".

TWILIGHT TAGLIST:

@scuzmunkie​ @thanossexual​ @prettyinblack231

[l-strawberry-lawliet]

The Best Medicine

L. Lawliet x Reader/Self Insert

Gender: Technically neutral with language.

Rating: T (Teen Audiences and Up) because of (non-sexual) nudity and an implied sexual relationship

Type: Fluff and Romance, Fluff Without Plot, Fluff and Comfort, Non-sexual Physical Intimacy

Summary: Chronically ill/disabled and spirit medium reader/self insert trained in psychology and behavioral analysis is recovering from a flare up. They get a call from L, who has a surprise for them.

With a flick of my wrist, I tossed a bit of feed into the pond, watching the koi swarm for it. L was in Germany on an investigation. After one of my chronic illness flaring again and kicking my ass, I had been in no condition to travel, let alone accompany him for the case. Today had been the first day in a week that I could breathe easily again, let alone get out of bed without feeling overly tired and weak. Currently I sat huddled in my sweater, tugging the soft fabric closer in the early morning mist. Our calm, sweet mutt Pi was resting on the bench at my side, head laying in my lap.

It was peaceful this early in the day with no one else in sight. Roger would call in about an hour to check on me, then Watari would call to do the same. When the thoughts all jumbled and bunched in his head, running together into a thick incomprehensible mud, when the surveillance footage had been watched until his eyes smarted and water, when the words of the case file swam out of focus, L would call. He would list his deductions to me, letting me absorb his theories, me only commenting when his voice ached. His mind was the one combing through every detail large and small, connecting the dots in ways no one else would. I would offer my input on the behavioral aspects, formulating profiles or, should I have travelled with him, interviewing some of our key witnesses, the victims, for insights the physical evidence and behavioral analysis couldn’t provide. I would present my findings, and L, in all his glory, would piece it together into the larger puzzle. He only accepted the extra information after the fact to avoid letting it influence his conclusions, but it always supported the deductions he’d already made.

Pi whined, poking her nose into my belly and drawing me out of my thoughts about our last case. Clearly she wanted me to go inside. With a sigh I got to my feet, wincing at the protest of my knee-joints and the sharp pain in the joints of my toes. Despite the fact that they would feel whole and uninjured when examined, they ached as if they’d been crushed under something. I made the stiff, painful journey back up the path and into the house, starting to heat hot water in my kettle while Pi curled up on her kitchen cushion. I sprinkled loose leaves of tea into the steeping pitcher, the fragrant herbal scent refreshing. I was so caught up in wondering what L was doing that I jumped when my cell phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and managed to answer and put it on speaker despite my finger joints being uncooperative.

“Hello? Roger? You’re calling early,” I commented idly, struggling slightly with opening the honey . “I didn’t expect you to ring me for another hour.”

“I forgot he calls you in the mornings to check in with you.”

L’s groggy voice emanating from the line almost made me drop the honey jar as I finally succeeded in prying the lid off of it. Pi’s ears perked and she lifted her head to find him. They all called regularly because they were all mother hens, and of course because L worried about me staying alone with my health, never mind that I lived by myself perfectly fine before we became involved. I put far more concentration into spooning honey into the bottom of my mug than was necessary to ground myself, a ridiculously gooey smile splitting my face.

“Hello stranger.” I grinned, cheerfully maneuvering the lid back onto the honey. “You’re still calling early. How are you? You sound exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine. He probably looked like a bloody panda at this point.

“You’re not fine, Sweets. You need a nap, I can tell.”

The lines might be encrypted, but we only used nicknames on the phone, just in case. The kettle chimed, letting me know the water had reached a boil.

“I’ll be fine,” L insisted. “What I want to know is how you’re doing. Are you feeling any better, Ghost?”

I carefully poured the hot water over the unused leaves, herbal-tinged steam wafting into my face, then returned the kettle to the cradle and set a timer for three minutes.

“I’m getting there. My joints have been bothering me today.”

Concern saturated his every word. “You need a soak.”

“Maybe.”

“Let me help?”

“Let you help? How are you going to do that?”

“I’ll run the water in the tub and help you get into it.”

My face burned thinking about the fact that Watari could possibly overhear him.

“Sweets!”

“Yes?”

Except—that had come from behind me, by the door, not from my phone. I spun around fast enough to make myself dizzy. I leaned against the counter to steady myself until my head stopped spinning. There, standing in the doorway with his phone lowered to his side and a hand scratching an excited Pi’s ears, stood L. As I watched, he ended the call, slipping his phone into his pocket with his free hand. I crossed the space between us, taking a moment to check him for obvious injuries before throwing my arms around his waist and burying my face in his chest. “You’re home.”

“Obviously,” he replied fondly, dropping a kiss to the crown of my head and squeezing me close in a one-armed hug as he continued to pet Pi. “Do you like my surprise?”

I nuzzled him with my cheek, tipping my head back to look at him. “I adore it.”

His dark grey eyes softened and he brushed a second kiss to my forehead. “Then I succeeded at two things. Solving the case and making you happy.”

“You always make me happy,” I corrected, hand rising to rest at the nape of his neck. My fingers flexed, fluttering against the downy hair there. The slate gray of his irises melted into something lighter, the purple-black-blue smear of tiredness receding somewhat in the face of his own happiness.

“Not as happy as you make me, love.” He pressed his forehead to mine, gently touching the tip of his nose to mine.

“You should rest.”

His lips twitched with fond amusement. “So should you. I think that a trade is in order, don’t you?”

I huffed, knowing that he wouldn’t take care of himself if he couldn’t take care of me too. “If it means you’ll sleep, I’ll trade you that.”

His arm slid to rest on my waist, then left me entirely as he sought my hand, fingers twining with mine. He raised my hand to his lips, running them over my knuckles. “Lead the way.”

“My tea—”

“I’ll get it.”

Less than five minutes later, he helped me ease into the warm water, mug of warm tea on the footstool. Pi lounged in the hallway, flashing a dopey dog grin, lolling tongue and all. L chuckled as he closed the door on her, locking it so she wouldn’t just open it. He stripped out of his clothes, dumping them in the hamper, then climbed into the tub behind me, enfolding me into his embrace. He tucked my head underneath his chin, hands resting on my belly as he slowly massaged around the joints with worst pain and legs bracketing my body. The heat from the bath was already doing wonders for me, the bone-deep throbbing lessening as the ache dulled. I relaxed into him as I chewed the last of the CBD chocolate he brought home with him, tracing lazy circles on his pale arm, his snowy skin pinking.

"Being with you is the best medicine, L. Not the water, not the tea, not even the CBD—you.”

He hummed, cuddling me to his chest as if we could possibly move any closer. “Then it seems I’ve been remiss in my duties,” he murmured.

“Never,” I objected fiercely.

“I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nap first, panda-man.”

I could practically feel him pouting when he kissed my temple, but he agreed.