#because people started learning how to render brown skin

[stonesilhouette]

Affections of an Apparition

Yandere Ghost England x GN. Reader

TW: Yandere Behavior | Character Death | England tries to kill (Y/n) more than a few times but then he becomes a simp | Magical Kidnapping | Imprisonment | Magical Induced Forgetting | idk if I forgor something

Uhhhhh I wrote this in literally a day, I don't want to talk about it okay :(

(There is technically one use of the world 'she' by another character but I'm pretty sure that's it. This was originally fem. reader and I don't want it to differ from my other publications so I'm gonna leave it)

Word Count: 5916

Perhaps you should have thought a little harder and dug a little deeper inside of yourself when deciding to buy a haunted house… But it was just so cheap!

Sure the shutters creaked during the frequent storms like a man in unpeaceful rest and the wind howled past the house, desperate to invade, but the view was beautiful… When it wasn’t completely enshrouded by a heavy mist so thick that you could get lost and find yourself in another realm altogether. But inside!... wasn’t much better; with winding corridors that created an inescapable maze and sharp corners filled with shadows. Every eave and crevice hid strange noises and eyes; some days you could swear that you heard the whisperings of a man rush by your ear, stiffening your hair to stand on end. You never found any evidence of rodents or even spiders, only a thin layer of dust that blanketed the entirety of the house.

Though there had been an attempt to add electricity to the estate, power surges and complete blackouts rendered it useless. All wiring would alight until it was charred and unusable and bulbs burnt out within days. Things often overloaded and it was a gamble whether or not the outlet you were using would choose to spark. There was a backup generator but it was in worse condition than the wiring and often didn’t work.

That meant that on nights like tonight, where the storm had knocked out your power –again– you had to rely on candles lit around the large manor. You were half sure that you contributed to most of the candle market in the small town.

The ancient Victorian home had belonged to an old noble family whose only surviving member had been assassinated. It had floated through many hands over the years, including yours. The house overlooked the nearby town, of course, that depended upon if the fog would break. The town itself was small and quaint, only a few hundred people and a few large families. Gossip spread fast and you did your best to click with the ‘in’ group. When your wi-fi wasn’t feeling spotty, you often texted with a few local people. They were in their twenties like you and were positively bored of the small amount of people that their hometown had to offer.

It was from them that you learned that the townspeople wholeheartedly believed that the restless spirit of the old manor lord haunted his home with a vengeance. At first you took it as a small town’s superstitions, nothing more than a fantasy or a spiraled rumor. You had lived there for about nine months but it was starting to get ridiculous.

Can you punch a ghost? Because if you can, you were totally going to. All you wanted was toast and tea. You were drinking tea because the ghost absolutely abhorred coffee and would spill your coffee grounds all over the hardwood floor. It didn’t matter where you put it or how tightly you secured it. Every morning you would come downstairs and find the brown powder spilled all over the floor like a crackhead had rifled through your cabinets. You thought, at first, that it might be the brand of coffee. But no, alas, it was the coffee itself. So you were now a tea drinker. Thanks, ghost.

Anyway back to the current toast issue. You had jumped back a split second before the sparks from the outlet would have reached your skin. Eyes blown wide, you could feel your entire body shaking. A second longer and you could have been dealing with multiple-degree burns. Unconsciously, you rubbed your bare arms over where the injury would have been. Suddenly the lights went out, encasing you in total darkness, save for the low silver light filtering through the windows, bathing what it touched in a blue tone.

You and this stupid ghost were going to have to have a chat.

Stomping angrily down the long hallway, you did your best not to huff the dust you were kicking up. You passed by countless amounts of old Victorian furniture, all in the same place they had been since being placed there over a hundred years ago. It was entirely in vain to try to move the furniture as any time you or any other previous owners had tried, you would just find it straight back in its spot the next morning. Save for the times that pieces would be moved just slightly so you would run into them or stub your toe.

A large portrait caught your eye even through your mad march. It was a painting of the lord of the house. Your current tormentor: Lord Arthur Kirkland. His toxic emerald eyes burrowed into your soul, curling inside and freezing you from the inside out. His shaggy blond hair framed his face, carved into a permanent scowl. Above his eyes lay two thick eyebrows. Oh great, the bane of your existence had caterpillars for eyebrows. He was wearing the ruffles and coats of the period but the tightness of the clothing had you gasping for air just looking at it.

Wait… Nothing filled your lungs when you tried to inhale. Fear struck itself across your face and you thrashed violently, scratching at the air in a desperate attempt to remove the block to your airflow. Finally, like sweet nectar, air rushed into your body and you collapsed to your knees. Tears had formed in the corner of your eyes and a single droplet fell down your soft cheek. Your face erected a scowl of your own as a strand of hair fell down in front. Okay, ghost. Now this was personal.

If this assholic spirit wanted to make your life a living hell, then you’d make its death a living hell.

“Oh it is on.” The fight had begun.

Clearly, he had a very strong hate for any change being done to his home. The constant destruction of cables and any other foreign objects made this clear. So you thought about it. What would a Victorian ghost hate more than anything to have in its house? Most of the decoration was already intricate and ornate to a slightly tacky degree. Then it hit you.

Grabbing your car keys, though quickly stopping to get dressed, you raced out the door towards the only home improvement and building store in town. It was run by a local family, as most things in town were, and you happened to be friends with the oldest son. Dashing through the front door, the brunet looked up at the sound of a jingle. He smiled and stepped out from behind the counter.

“Hey (Y/n),” he said, waving as you bounded over. “What brings you here?”

“Revenge,” you answered simply, stretching the upper half of your body to look at the wallpapers set up past him.

“Against who?” he asked, clearly not sure if he wanted to know.

“The ghost,” you responded, bouncing over to the racks of paper. “He tried to kill me and so I’m going to ruin his precious house.”

“He what!?” Ben’s face dropped. He spun you around and grabbed you tightly by the shoulders. “(Y/n) you can’t stay there anymore. If he’s actually trying to kill you…”

“Sure I can,” you reassured him, prying his arms off and patting him on the shoulder. “I’ve got it all figured out.”

He sighed, exasperated. “(Y/n) you can’t win this fight with house decor. Also if he’s hurting you...”

You ignored him and continued your perusing. “I’m hearing a lot of can’t and not a lot of can and that’s just not a growth mindset my dear Ben.”

“(Y/n) you are dealing with an angry and vengeful ghost who has now expressed interest in murdering you.” You felt the texture of an especially pink wallpaper between your thumb and index finger. “(Y/n) don’t ignore me.”

You sighed, turning back to look at the man. “If you’re really that worried” –he rapidly nodded his head like a dog– “then I guess you could come with me to put the wallpaper up.”

After a few moments of contemplation, he spoke in a defeated tone, “I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?”

“Nope.”

You opened one of the double doors in a wide, exaggerated movement and it skidded into position with a thud. Humming, you trotted inside with Ben a few paces behind you carrying the roll of wallpaper and the bucket… and the brushes and everything else needed for this little makeover. The door slammed shut loudly after the two of you had reached the inside with no input from either of you. Though you were unbothered, Ben jumped and stood petrified like a deer for a moment. His eyes were wide but he reluctantly took another step, then another, then another and then quickly followed after you.

Hopping up the wide grand stairs, you watched as Ben struggled up the twin staircase with all of the materials. Once he reached the top, you were waiting for him and grabbed a singular paint brush daintily and then scampered into a large room.

Ben’s honey eyes went wide as he took in the grandeur of the room. The ceiling was inlaid with swirls of gold depicting handcrafted patterns that framed a large crystal chandelier. Heavy curtains hung above the imposing windows, filtering the little light that came through. Similar gold patterns continued on the wall, outlining the four walls bathed in a shade of dark, luxurious blue. That was a good word to describe the room: luxurious.

“Do you– Do you sleep in here?” Ben asked, astounded.

“Nah. I think it’s the ghost’s room and I’ve already had enough of him.”

“Then why are we doing it in here?!” You just gave him a smug look. “Right. Revenge.”

You snapped your fingers, having remembered something. “I forgot the glitter!” you exclaimed, leaping over towards the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t have too much fun lovebirds!”

Snickering at your own teasing, you quickly hiked down the stairs and out towards your car. Left behind, Ben twiddled his thumbs, too nervous to sit down on anything for fear of offending the ghost. He chuckled nervously and swayed from one foot to the other. There was something in the room, he could feel it.

“So…” He paused, unsure of what to say. “That’s (Y/n) for you. Always running around with no sense of self-preservation.” He sighed, this wasn’t making him feel any better. “She’s like a little gremlin sometimes… an adorable little gremlin.”

You burst into the room, shouting at him, “Ben, I’m back!” He froze with fear for a second and you waved your hand in front of his face as he blue-screened. You spoke with a wispy and falsely ethereal voice, “Earth to Ben. We have revenge to do. And lunch. Definitely lunch.”

Once you got your things set up and prepared, you started to work right away. You made Ben take the high spots. He was like 6 '3, it would be a waste to have yourself do it. Standing back, you took a moment to admire your half-finished handiwork. It would be so ugly when finished. It was perfect.

“I don’t suppose I’m getting paid for this?” Ben asked, and you looked towards him.

You looked back at your masterpiece. “No.”

There it was. A full room covered entirely in four different wallpapers. On one wall, the first contender: leopard print. On the second: pink flamingos with googly eyes. On the third: something that could only be described as Picasso meets impressionism. And the fourth and final contender, the most ugly of all: banana leaf print that doesn’t match any of the other decorations in the room. Not to mention they’re all covered with glitter so no matter how much the ghost cleans, he’s never getting rid of the memory.

You snickered evilly in the background, rubbing your hands together like an old-timey villain. Suddenly, you snapped back to normal.

“You wanna get lunch?"

The two of you sat at a table outside, happily basking in the sunlight. Behind you was the dumbass manor you owned. It was surrounded by fog and looked cartoonishly evil. You were starting to understand why the townspeople disliked it so much. It interrupted the view.

“So–” You took a moment to ravenously take a bite and swallow it. “Why did your parents stock that hideous wallpaper anyway?”

“For people like you, (Y/n). People like you.”

Because you felt bad, only a little, you decided to pay for lunch. Ben still tried to insist upon paying but every time he got close to the check, you would swat his hand away. He drove you back up to your house and the two of you ended up sitting on a porch swing. It wasn’t original to the house but it was one of the only additions the ghost seemed to approve of.

“You know,” you started, swinging the bench. Ben lifted his legs up so it could move. “I think I figured out the ghost’s problem.”

“Really?” Ben questioned, humoring you. “What is it?”

“Well, he never got married, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Given the time period, that probably means he never… you know, too.”

“(Y/n), really?” Ben face-palmed.

You argued back with impassioned earnestness, “No, no, no, no. Hear me out on this. He’s like all mad and angry and stuff because he’s a bitch loser virgin boy.”

Something cracked in the background.

Ben tried his best to stifle his laughter and push down the smile threatening to stretch itself across his face. “I’m– pfft– pretty sure that the ghost– pfft– is not upset because he’s a–” He stopped for a moment to center himself. “–a ‘bitch loser virgin boy.’” He airquoted your words and you harrumphed, crossing your arms.

“Fine. What do you think then?”

He blinked at you, almost as if asking ‘are you serious?’ “He got murdered, (Y/n). My guess would probably be that.”

“Orrrr.” You dragged out your ‘r.’ “Maybe we’re both right.”

Ben sighed, agreeing with you if not to just end the conversation before the ghost decided to kill you both. You waved him off about a half hour later and headed back inside. Though you wanted to check in on your ‘artwork,’ you didn’t really want to run directly into the spirit again.

Walking through the manor, you found yourself in front of another portrait of the man. He looked as judgemental as ever, his lime green eyes piercing even as an inanimate photo. You don’t know why you talked to it, or even why you stopped. But you did.

“You know…” you started, hugging yourself tight. “For a bitch loser virgin boy” –A ghastly hand illuminated in a cold blue glow stretched out for your neck– “You’re actually pretty cute.”

The hand froze in place. You blew a strand of hair out of your face, readjusting to take another look at the portrait.

“And for how ridiculous that clothing is, you kind of pull it off.” The hand backed away, the light dimming. “I know I keep making fun of your house but I wouldn’t have bought it if I thought it was ugly.” It was barely visible at all now. “I mean, sunshine and a working heater beyond a centuries-old fireplace might be nice but otherwise it’s actually a very nice home.”

You blinked up at the portrait. Somehow, the expression the lord was wearing seemed softer now. There was less disdain and more of a quiet loathing on his face. Nothing could fix those caterpillar eyebrows though.

“The coffee thing was annoying but I guess I’m healthier now because of it. I was really tired that first week though. Anyway…” you trailed off. “Thanks, I guess.” You sighed at what you thought was only yourself. “What am I doing? I should… take a nap.”

Soft breathing filled the room; it was utterly quiet besides the faint sound. Your face contorted into uncomfortable expressions from the rapidly dropping temperature and you curled into the heavy blankets of the large bed. Only your head remained above the covers, the rest below like a figure bobbing in the waves on the open sea. The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, a low orange light just barely slipping through the mist. The copper colored light spread across the wooden floor and stopped at the edge of glowing, blue feet, creating a soft purple.

They stepped out of the light and into the shadow, the illumination of the azure color growing brighter with each passing step. A face appeared from the foot of the bed, slowly coming into view. Unkempt hair cut in every direction floated lightly, encapsulating the face of Arthur Kirkland, last lord of the Kirkland manor. He watched with calculating yet curious eyes, looking for any sign of guilt or deceptiveness. He found none.

Though the man walked to your side, it would better be described as gliding. The tailcoat pieces of his jacket hovered to the same slow rhythm as the rest of the loose articles on his body. He brought a gloved hand to your face, lightly brushing his fingers across your cheek. Your face contorted from the biting cold and he quickly drew his hand back.

A low thought crossed his mind. If he hovered his lips above yours, could he suck the warmth and life out of you? To make you like him? Arthur stopped himself. Those were improper thoughts. No matter the time period, he shouldn’t think that way, especially of a lady he was not in courtship with.

Still… No!

He suddenly faded out of existence, his presence slipping out of the crevices and with it, the freezing cold. The warmth had returned to the room and in response, you had pulled the covers back down to adjust to the temperature change. Thank goodness he left when he did, you were wearing a tank top. Shoulders, scandalous!

Ben called you the next day, worried about what might have befallen you and your tricks.

“So, is it still there?” he asked, voice scratchy over the phone.

“No. He took it down.” 

Ben sighed. “All that work for nothing.”

“Not nothing,” you said, sitting comfortably on the couch. “I think we finally called a truce.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. I guess I’m just too wonderful to hate.”

“Who are you talking to?” A third voice interjected.

“Oh I’m talking to Be–”

You dropped the phone.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n) are you there? (Y/–”

You weren’t listening, instead, you had slowly turned behind you, eyes wide as saucers and body as stiff as a board. There, in glowing blue glory, was the man from the paintings, bushy eyebrows and all. Blinking a few times, you kept expecting the visage to disappear every time you opened your eyes again. But he never did.

“Well don’t look so shocked now, love,” he huffed, crossing his arms and carrying that signature scowl.

“I– I– I–” It was your turn to bluescreen and the ghost rolled his green eyes, tapping his arm impatiently.

“I say, with how chuffed you were over that last stunt, I’d thought you’d have more to say than that,” he insulted, drifting through the couch and watching as you astonishedly followed him.

“(Y/n)?! (Y/n)?!” Ben implored through the phone.

“Oh, I recognize that voice,” Arthur answered his own question. “You can continue on with your nonsense conversation later.”

With a wave of his cerulean hand, you watched in horror as your phone short-circuited, sparked and then burst into flames. It was the threat of fire that knocked you out of your stupor and you quickly ran to the kitchen to grab the nearest fire extinguisher. The white foam drowned your phone but also safely put out the fire. You dug through the froth to find the piece of metal and silicon, uncaring for whether or not it got on you.

As soon as you got it, you dropped it again, the heat from the searing flames had left the metal as hot as if it had been outside on a summer’s day. The ghost seemed oblivious to your plight and as you shook your hands off, he waved one of his own and the floor returned to how it had been before. He looked towards you, cradling your steaming phone with a pair of oven mitts you had grabbed. You felt like crying and clearly the blond could tell.

“Oh don’t cry over spilled milk. You can just get another one.”

No. He was wrong. You couldn’t just get another one. Sure you could get another phone but you hadn’t backed up any of your pictures or videos or documents and there was no way in hell you possibly remembered all of those contacts. From the sorry state the melted rectangle was in, you could pretty much guess that the SIM card would be unsavable. Years worth of memories; gone.

The spirit looked down at you in slight curiosity; you weren’t usually this quiet. He watched as you silently stood up, solemnly placed the phone into the sink, removed and put away the mitts, and then quietly walked up the stairs and back to your claimed room.

You didn’t come back out for dinner. Or for breakfast the next morning. He hadn’t even blown out a fuse this time. By lunchtime, he could feel himself starting to get worried. Well not worried, because he couldn’t possibly be worried about you but simply concerned what your mental state might mean for the physical state of his house. You had lasted the longest out of his tenants because that's all you were: tenants. You didn’t own the house after all, he did. And he was quite sick of people thinking otherwise.

Suppertime rolled around and he still hadn’t seen you. Usually, you’d be trying to figure out how to make the microwave not explode or trying to watch the ‘television’ while you ate. He always knocked out the power when you did that. Dinner should be eaten at the table. He looked towards the kitchen. The one you had chosen as your primary was a servant’s kitchen and so was relatively smaller. It happened to house one of the few things he allowed to work in his house: the refrigerator. Even he could see the usefulness of such an advancement.

Arthur impatiently tapped his foot, it was now eight p.m. and this was around the time you liked to watch a movie or a television show. He didn’t enjoy having the loud television in his home but the drawing room you had chosen for it was far enough from the main foyer. Besides, sometimes you watched this ‘Dr Who’ story and he quite liked those nights. 

There was no one present to change the candles and it's not like the lights were in working condition so Arthur sat in darkness. He forgot how empty this felt. At nine, someone knocked on the door. He –invisible– watched as you slowly trudged down the stairs. You were wearing the same clothes as when he had last seen you and your hair was a mess. There were bags under your eyes but it was the kind from sleeping too much. You pulled open the door and looked up at Ben. The concerned look on his face became even worse as he watched you blink out of sync.

“(Y/n), are you okay?” he asked frantically, pulling you into a hug.

The front porch light flickered in and out.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling the empty lightness of your stomach now that you were awake. Ben pulled apart from you, grabbing your face to look into your eyes. He rubbed his thumb over your eyebags and pulled you inside, uncaring for the ghostly apparition. After placing you on the couch and throwing a blanket over you, Ben ran to the kitchen to find some kind of food. His eye was temporarily caught on the burnt sockets all over the room but refocused on his mission. Though he wanted to make you something, he’d heard tales of the terror of the appliances in this place. Instead, he rifled through your cabinets and eventually just brought you a bag of marshmallows. He watched as you slowly chewed on the sugary fluff, stopping to take a sip out of the iced tea he brought you.

“What happened?” he finally asked, scooting closer. “I heard a voice and then you cut out.”

Instead of speaking properly, you pointed to the kitchen and mumbled out, “Sink.” 

Then you continued to gnaw on a marshmallow. Ben walked over, took a look inside the sink, stared with wide eyes for a moment, and then walked back to sit beside you again. The two of you stared ahead, not saying a word.

“Ghost did that?”

“... yeah”

“(Y/n) I think you should come live with me.”

You looked up at him with tired eyes.

“I–I mean.” He sighed. “I just really don’t think it’s safe for you here. And besides” –His cheeks were alight with a pink glow– “Would staying with me be so bad?”

A picture frame crashed down from the wall. 

Your heads snapped toward it and Ben pulled you closer unconsciously.

“I… I think you’re right,” you agreed with him, standing up to pack your things.

“I told you; this house is a lost cause,” Ben said, moving to help you.

The crystal chandelier high above glinted threateningly.

The two of you walked close together and as you walked under the hanging tree of diamonds, the strange shaking suddenly stopped. You didn’t take much so it didn’t take very long to pack. You insisted that you would be back after you gave the ghost time to ‘cool off’ but Ben seemed hesitant. The door closed with a creak and with it, the light.

From the shadows glowed a brilliant blue, forming into a humanoid shape. There, in all of his ghastly glory was Lord Arthur Kirkland. Alone again. A window cracked and he fixed it using magic with little thought.

As soon as you were gone the lord sank down. Past the servant’s quarters, past the locked doors and into the passageway that not even any of the other supposed ‘owners’ of the house had the key to. That’s because this door didn’t unlock with a key. Whisperings of Latin slipped out of his mouth and the runes in the door glowed and spun, turning until they clicked into place and the door slowly opened.

His magic may not have been as strong as it had been when he was alive but that didn’t mean that he didn’t still have deep and rooted connections to the ley lines that had been passed down through his family heritage. Books and papers flew open and danced around the room as he rushed through. He searched through ancient tomes until he found a heavy book covered in a thick layer of dust. His ghostly breath blew the grime away, revealing a brilliant ruby-red cover.

Arthur had never seen the point to attempt this before but now you had given him a reason. He was going to perform a resurrection spell.

On himself.

You couldn’t say that you hated the last couple of days. It was nice to be able to use modern appliances without the fear of them blowing up on you. Ben had taken time off of work to take care of you and you could feel the guilt piling up. You didn’t deserve him. Not to mention you were pulling possible profits away from his family’s store. They just gave you cheeky grins before poking and teasing you about a wedding. Small towns are just like that.

After literal hours of begging, Ben finally agreed to let you work with him in the shop. It allowed him to keep an eye on you and for you to feel less bad. Many of your friends stopped by and they were almost as bad as Ben’s family. It was still far more relaxing and less stressful than fearing that your phone charger would suddenly spark and electrocute you. You hadn’t gotten a new phone yet. You knew you needed one but it wasn’t exactly on the top of your priority list.

At the end of the week, you had been reorganized and shelving a collection of nails. Your ‘shift’ was almost over, which meant that Ben’s shift was almost over and you were positively buzzing with excitement for movie night. The bell jingled and you leaned over to shout ‘coming’ before shoving the last box of nails in and racing over.

Putting on your best customer service face, you spoke to the person who had come in, “Hi! Welcome in! What are you looking for–”

You stopped. Standing right there. In front of you. In the flesh was Arthur Kirkland. It couldn’t have been him, but it was. Who else would have that shaggy blond hair? Those horribly maintained eyebrows? Those piercing green eyes? You stuttered and buffered and the man just smiled amusedly at your short-circuiting.

“Why I’m looking for you of course,” he answered, taking a step forward.

You took a step backward. “You– you’re– you’re alive…” you gasped out, staring at him, completely stunned.

He wasn’t wearing the period clothing anymore, though what he was wearing still looked quite old. Instead, he had on just a dress shirt, black pants and similarly black shoes. When he grasped his hand around your wrist, you visibly shuddered from the cold but could not break free. You were locked in a staring match until Ben came to find you.

“Hey (Y/n)–” He froze.

“Oh good. I was looking for your dimwitted friend too,” he admitted, pulling you closer.

“Are you–” Ben stopped, looking on in disbelief.

“Goodness, you peasant people are just as slow as a hundred years ago,” Arthur huffed, rolling his emerald eyes.

Somehow, the next time you blinked you were back in the manor house. Ben was there too but he was knocked out and you couldn’t move to reach him. Arthur looked towards you, somewhat surprised to see you awake.

‘I guess my magic is still weak. It won’t matter after this,’ he thought, walking towards you.

More than anything, you wanted to struggle, you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream. But all you could do was watch. The blond snapped his fingers and you unfroze, becoming limp. Your limbs were still useless and Arthur seemed well aware of this as he carried you up the stairs. The two of you went past many rooms, including your own until you reached the site of your former masterpiece.

The door swung open and he waltzed in. The deep blue walls had returned to their normal extravagantness and there wasn’t a speck of glitter in sight. He gingerly placed you down on his bed, the soft mattress bending to your weight. You could do nothing but have your eyes reflect terror as the man manually tied your limbs to the bed. Finally, he placed a soft gag in your mouth and with it, you could feel the strange enchantment break. It wasn’t like your struggling could do anything anymore.

“Sorry, love.” He placed a kiss on your forehead and ran a hand through your loose hair. “I’ll need all the power I can get, so I can’t be expending it here.”

He walked away from your struggling form and quietly closed the door. None of your screams would make it through the walls of that room anyway. Arthur regally walked down the stairs to find his other captive missing. Instead of searching, he chose to stand completely still, hands crossed behind his back.

From the shadows, snuck a disoriented Ben, carrying the only chair he could lift. He smashed it into Arthur’s head, the impact shattering the wooden chair. The brunet expected to see blood and bits of gore. Instead, he came face to face with glowing green eyes, full of rage and jealousy. His jaw was slacked the wrong way but a simple movement clicked it back into place.

Ben dropped the remaining chair legs he had been holding onto and began to back up like a frightened deer. Arthur followed, slinking after him like the apex predator he was.

“You see,” Arthur started, stepping closer. “I’m not exactly alive per se. At least not yet. I’m on borrowed time, unfortunately.” He cornered the man. “Lucky for me, so are you.”

The next time you saw Arthur he looked different. He looked alive. His chest moved up and down, he blinked at regular intervals and you could see blood flushing through his body. Most of all, he was warm. So comfortingly warm.

Eventually, those thoughts faded and you laughed internally at ever thinking that Arthur could have been dead. He looked like a distant relative who had once owned the manor and shared a name. But he wasn’t. He was a different Arthur Kirkland, one who had come from London to learn that he should have been entitled to the estate. That’s when he found you, the person who had recently bought the house. That’s when you fell in love and… there’s something you feel like you’re forgetting.

There was always someone you felt like you were forgetting. No one in the town knew either so you had always assumed it to be a bad dream that stayed with you. Arthur had always encouraged you to forget and move on, but it always stuck with you.

Arthur had helped you properly install appliances and electricity in the house that wouldn't almost kill you and/or burn down the house. Well, he hired someone to make that happen but it was close enough. It always felt so nice to be able to flip a light switch and watch the room light up in a comforting yellow glow, though there were some days where the blond man did insist upon candles. You didn’t know why you flinched when the lights flickered or when the fire on the stove got too hot but Arthur was always just around the corner to watch you. He seemed to enjoy doing that.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the sounds of his heartbeat and feeling the movement of his chest. The constant fog that surrounded the manor finally dissipated and the two of you were peacefully watching the sunset on the porch swing. Arthur was rocking the bench lightly and the gentle swaying movement threatened to put you to sleep.

“Don’t fall asleep now on me, love,” he laughed lightly, lifting your head to look at him.

Grumbles came out of your mouth instead of words and you burrowed yourself back into his warm chest. He just shook his head and looked towards the fading light.

“Do you still think I’m a ‘bitch loser virgin boy?’” he asked in a teasing tone, running his hand through your hair.

Stretching, you readjusted yourself to situate your head higher, closer to his shoulder. He took in a deep breath, smelling the (smell) shampoo you had used. After yawning, you gave him an answer.

“Hmm... Yes,” you answered tauntingly, closing your eyes again.

He chuckled, continuing his brushing motions through your hair. “Not for very long, love. Not for very long.”

[little-autumn-serenade]

hey, I saw that wip you posted to the fremione tag, and, well... i'm an artist myself, so i know how annoying it is to ask for criticism and have everyone just go "👍". But I also don't wanna overstep or anything, so if you're Not Interested, please delete this without reading further. I absolutely love the style you choose for fred -- it's obviously practiced and its pretty, you clearly know how that style works.

When doing a more painterly style, though, it's vital to use value to its fullest extent. Maybe you hadn't shaded it yet, and if so: my bad; its only that when painting, typically i don't do shading separately in order to understand the colours fully. (my docs are all literally maximum 5 layers and my other artist friends think i'm insane though so maybe that's a me thing i just like seeing the colours mix)

mixing shades and hues together in painting means the eye needs larger contrast to discern other shapes and shadows (I say this with experience: I primarily make digital portraits which mimic oil paintings). If you use a sort of a dark-light-dark-light repeating pattern to emphasize shapes, your painting'll look more settled. (its the lack of lineart that requires this.) contrast in the values is where painting styles really show their stuff: if you want to paint, that's what you learn, and that's where you start.

For example, and assuming a light source in a sort of behind-camera-to-left position, from left to right: hermione's face near fred's jaw will be dark, next to a lighter patch, with a dark shadow defining her nostrils and under her nose (the nostrils are always the darkest part of a portrait; this also helps draw the viewer's eyes), with the shadow of her nose shading the right-center of her face to the right of her nose, a lighter triangle on the right side of her face, and a darker shadow as the roundness of her cheeks no longer catches the light, instead her hair catches the light until it falls behind other hair, rendering the back of her head in shadow. likewise, under her chin is also fairly dark, but her chin and lower lip will be light, her upper lip and under her nose dark, the tip of her nose light, the bridge of her nose darker, her forehead light, her hair dark. Focus on the planes of the face and where light would naturally bounce.

Looking at some of your other art, you do seem to shy away from intense values, so some unsolicited advice (not that all of this isn't unsolicited) that one of my arts teachers once gave me: look at your piece in grayscale. maybe squint a little. if you can't tell where one shape ends and another begins, try adding value. you might not notice it with all the bright colours everywhere, but value is the backbone of any visual art.

Other than that, you chose a rather subdued brown for hermione's skin, and the saturation and redness of the blush colour is a high contrast: try adding more red/brown to the base colour of her skin, darkening her skin, lowering the saturation of the blush, or perhaps choose more of a cooler red. (or a combination of those)

Overall, I really like your art. I think you have a good grasp of anatomy and artistic and stylistic choices are a wonder to see. I look forward to seeing your art develop as you explore other styles and become more experienced as an artist. Keep making anything.

Hoping I didn't bugger this all up, hmsmiracles (on anon for sideblog reasons) (really very nice and very anxious about sending this. i mean no ill towards you. i am being genuine. please don't hate me)

@hmsmiracles hello, darling! Can I firslty say that this very much was well received and I don't hate you and I thank you for this because you wrote this in such a lovely way!

I generally feel weird getting critiques because most people don't provide help! This felt like reading useful feedback I could use and at no point did it feel horrible to receive!

In fact I want to thank you for taking the time to write this because there are so many good pointers in here and it is refreshing to have someone provide guidance without being overly critical and for that guidance to be helpful and practical!

I know that next time I create a painting i'm going to be referring back to this and trying to use it to help me to improve!

Thank you for being so lovely with your feedback and so positive and so so helpful! You didn't have to take the time to do this and I'm thankful that you did!

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader becomes rather possessive over Spencer when she learns he’s been been with someone else since they hooked up four months ago. Category: SMUT (18+) Content Warnings: Language, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hand-on-neck (no choking), praise, degradation kink, possession kink, dirty talk Word Count: 7.1k (I didn’t mean for it to get this long I swear aldjfsdlfksk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 

MASTERLIST

NOTE: HERE IT IS!!! 🥰 Thank you all for showing so much love to Part 1, I seriously wasn’t expecting all the requests for more of the story, so it was fun coming up with ideas! I’m still not sure if I want to do 3 or 4 parts yet, but I’ll let you know soon! In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy reading this second installment! ❤

***

He's been a ghost in my head for four months.

Everywhere I went I could hear his voice, hear the way he whimpered out my name and how cries got higher and higher as I clenched around him. I felt the rough grip he held on my hips as I rode him, the pads of his fingertips leaving behind faint bruises that I currently wished I still had.

And more prominently, I saw his face. It was always in the back of my mind, burning into me with lust-drunk eyes and a pouty mouth in the shape of an O. It sizzled into my brain, the sound definitely sounding more like raindrops than fire, but I was more than okay with that.

Though, every time it rained, I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same— if he stood outside or watched from the safety of wherever he was and replayed that moment over and over again until he was aching to be in my presence once more.

I also had to wonder if he knew about the ring I'd left in his front seat.

Did he leave it in his car, perhaps in the glovebox or on a string that he tied around his mirror? Or did it fall somewhere between the seats? Maybe he found it and did what I never could, pawning it off for some happily-accepted cash while he laughed at how careless I was to take a stranger's virginity and then leave my expensive diamond ring behind like a fool.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the means to find out.

It's not like I could have wandered up to the FBI building and ask to meet with a Dr. Spencer Reid... Right? Because that as absurd. I'd only met the guy once, and he'd probably think I was crazy for trying to track him down.

It was a whole ordeal that I'd mulled over again and again, and I ultimately decided that it was ridiculous.

If anything I was happy to be rid of the ring. I could move on with my life, and maybe Spencer sold it for money or he's held on to it as a souvenir for a special night.

Win-win.

It didn't dull the small ache I felt for him, though. Every once in a while I found myself remembering how great that night was... I hadn't felt that way—sexy, confident, fun—in a long time, and as much as it sucked that he was getting picked on by some drunk idiots at a bar, I was glad it led me to him.

Some nights, when I was missing him significantly more than usual, I even went back to Waterson's in the event that I'd run into him again, hopefully under better circumstances.

Tonight was one of those nights.

This time I didn't have a ring to keep most of the men from hitting on me, but now that I was well and truly over my ex-husband, I was glad I didn't use that as an excuse to keep the ring around anymore. As annoying and painful as the drunken flirting was, I was way better equipped to handle it and truthfully somewhat relieved that I could get back to normal.

You know, save for the fact that I was only at Waterson's in the first place to maybe see some guy I hooked up with four months ago and still haven't stopped thinking about...

Because that was totally a normal thing to do.

I was on my second beer of the night when I felt a presence behind me. And even though I was pretty sure than I'd be able to tell if it was really Spencer, a part of me still buzzed thinking of the prospect of seeing him here again.

I turned around though, and was met with an entirely different person. I tried not to look disappointed, but it must have shown because the man who'd caught my attention gave a small laugh.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting someone?"

I liked to think that I had a good read on most people, especially when it came to men in bars. This man was someone I looked at for a few seconds and immediately knew that he wasn't looking to make me uncomfortable. He had come over to flirt with me, no doubt, but the difference here was that where most men would have gone straight into it, this man genuinely looked like he was willing to haul ass if I really was waiting for someone and didn't want his company.

That alone made me willing to entertain him a little, even if I was disappointed that he wasn't who I desperately wanted him to be. But it certainly helped that he was attractive.

The first word that came to mind was smooth. Even as I laughed back at the man and answered him, my eyes did some wandering of his figure and admired what I saw. A crisp, tight grey tee shirt that hugged some rather nice muscles, and brown skin that was just a few shades lighter than his eyes, which were kind and a little playful. His smile was stunning, sharing that same playfulness that his eyes held as he practically sparkled to life at my answer.

"Oh, no, I'm not... But I certainly wasn't expecting you..."

I made sure to smile at him, a little smirk that complimented the admiring eyes I was offering him and a little laugh that never failed to get me what I wanted.

He gently leaned into the bar, one of his hands coming to rest of the cool wooden surface. "I'm Derek."

"Y/N."

"Pretty name."

I don't know what made me so bold, but I nodded and shot him a wink. "Not as pretty as you."

We shared another laugh, and then I took a swig of my beer, finishing the last of it and then sliding towards him. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"We just met and you're already stealing from me... That's my line."

"What can I say, I'm quick... Hey, Carla! Can I get two more for me and my friend here?"

The bartender—and my longtime friend—laughed a little, taking my empty bottle. "Sure thing."

The look she gave me right before turning away practically yelled, I thought your type was helpless skinny white guys who can barely look you in the eye without creaming themselves...

Yeah, well, you worked with what you were given. And besides, my type was practically anyone with just a shred of decency.

Real high bar, huh?

But after Patrick, I couldn't complain. Derek seemed like the type of guy who would flirt with you at any given chance, but respected your boundaries all the same. Unfortunately that was hard to find nowadays, especially in bars like Waterson's.

So, yeah, he wasn't the man I was naively wishing to see here tonight, but he was into me, he was decent from what I could tell, and he was hot.

So we had a drink and spent a good twenty minutes chatting it up. Since it was my third beer of the night, I was accumulating a pretty steady buzz, and the longer I talked with Derek the more I opened up a little. I found myself leaning into him and finding excuses to lightly touch his arm, but I kept noticing that he was glancing down at his watch occasionally.

"Are you expecting someone?" I asked, playfully.

"Right, uh... Yeah, I was supposed to be meeting a friend here. He's usually early, but I think we got our times mixed up again..."

"Again, huh? You two aren't very good coordinators?"

Derek laughed, the sound making me feel all warm. "Well, for FBI agents you'd think we'd be better at it."

"O—Oh," I said, my heart stopping for a beat. Had I heard that right? Was I more tipsy than I thought? "FBI?"

"You seem stunned," he said with another laugh. "What, you're not a criminal, are you? Do I have to take you in?"

I laughed, albeit nervously, but decided that this all had to be pure coincidence. If I didn't, I would have gone insane. Even still, it was difficult for me to sit here and openly flirt with this man when I knew he just confessed to having the same profession as the literal man of my dreams— and as of late that also included daydreams.

In fact, I was positive that's what it was when I saw Spencer approach us— a daydream.

Derek was calling my name, I knew that much, but I couldn't do anything but look over his shoulder where Spencer's ghost practically froze in place when he spotted me.

"Y/N?"

That wasn't Derek's voice. Spencer's mouth moved in time with the calling of my name, and it even sounded like him. I blinked rapidly, hoping that I could snap out of it and excuse myself for the rest of the night, so I could go home and sleep it off.

But even when I finished blinking, expecting Spencer's figure to be gone, he was still there.

At this point Derek had turned around, and what he said next snapped me out of it pretty damn good.

"Reid? You know her?"

"You're real," I said, speaking for the first time in a while. My throat felt dry, and my heart came alive at the sight of him.

Spencer stared at me, his eyes softening after I spoke to him. I saw his lips twitch into a shy smile before his hand came up in an equally shy wave. "Y—Yeah, I'm real." What followed was a huffed laugh that cemented his nervousness at seeing me again for the first time in four months, and it was the most refreshing thing I'd heard in a while.

"Oh my God," I said, a smile of my own starting to creep up.

I'd completely forgotten about Derek being there until he spoke up, snapping us out of our reunion, his voice conveying every range of confusion.

"What the hell is this?"

***

I knew there was always a minor chance that I'd run into her again, but it still rendered me utterly still and practically useless when I spotted her across the bar with Derek.

She was just... there. After months of debating whether or not I should send her a letter with the ring mailed back or stopping by to see her, or even using Garcia's help to find where she might have been so I could 'surprise' running into her... It happened to chance that I didn't need any of that at all. Because she was really there.

And she was flirting with Derek.

I'd have been lying if I said that didn't really bother me, but truthfully I'd always felt a bit insecure around him, mostly when it came to being surrounded by women who were most likely fawning over him instead of me.

Not that I particularly wanted or even needed them to fawn over me in the first place... It was just... Telling.

And it's not like I knew or thought I wasn't at least somewhat attractive. But seeing the one and only woman who'd ever made me feel very good about all of that for probably the first time in my whole life openly flirting with my best friend? It stung. It felt like now that she'd seen me and him in the same place, she'd decide that she'd made a mistake before and that she'd be better off with someone else— someone who was stronger and more skilled and probably easier to look at.

Even when the three of us sat at a booth and Y/N decided to sit next to me, her proximity dizzying after all this time apart, the first thought that came to my mind was, She doesn't want to see me. She'd much rather sit across from Derek so she can look at him instead.

I was starting to think maybe I should have stuck to mailing her a letter...

"So... Are you gonna tell me how you two know each other?" Derek asked, leaning back and easily amused.

Y/N seemed to be amused by all of this, too, because she answered immediately, a tone in her voice that I'd only dreamed about for four months and nine days straight.

"Oh, we were engaged."

If I didn't know any better, I would have thought Derek's eyebrows were going to fly straight off his head. "Engaged? Like... Engaged?"

"I—It's not what you think," I jumped in, suddenly a little embarrassed. "Not really engaged, but... Y/N pretended to be my fiancée once... There were, um... There were these guys who wouldn't leave me alone and she came over and told them off."

I hoped he wouldn't piece it together, but it was inevitable, and the look of realization that crossed his features made me feel extra warm with embarrassment.

"Oh... Is she the reason why you actually said yes to that date last month?"

Y/N turned to me, an eyebrow raised. "A date? Because of me? I don't... I don't follow..."

I was going to explain, but Derek beat me to it.

"I've always tried to set Pretty Boy here up for a date, but he's always said no, and then out of the blue I ask him and he agrees. Which was a shock in its own. I knew something was up, something had to have given him the confidence to go on the date... And all along its been you, hasn't it?"

"Well, I... I don't know, I guess so?"

They both looked at me then, and I stared down at my hands, unwilling to look either of them in the eye. "Y—Yeah... I don't know, I guess Y/N just... helped me see something in myself I hadn't seen before."

I half expected them to think it was silly, but Y/N's hand dropped down onto my knee and I stared at it for a moment before flitting my eyes up to meet her gaze. It was soft, and a small smile grazed her pretty features.

"Oh, Spencer, I'm so glad I could do that for you... How was the date?"

"O—Oh, it... It was fine. Not... I'm not seeing her anymore, but it wasn't bad... Just, um... There wasn't much of a connection, that's all."

In simpler words, She wasn't you.

But I couldn't tell her that, not when she was staring at me again with those sparkling eyes and her hand burning a hole through my pants with her electrifying touch, and most certainly not with Derek sitting right in front of us.

"Hey, whether it worked out or not, whatever you did to get him out there, it must have been one hell of a job," he said as if he'd been reading my thoughts.

Y/N gave me a knowing look, though, and suddenly I was transported to my car, feeling her hand explore my body as she showered me with filthy words and names that set me alight and cemented something about myself that I'd never known. Since then I had dreams about her, telling me how much of a 'good little whore' I was for her, and I always woke up from those dreams clutching her ring around my finger.

"Well, like I said, I'm glad I could help. Your boy here is one in a million."

It was awkward. This was all very extremely awkward. And even though I knew that, I still couldn't bring myself to stop it. I couldn't bring myself to stop staring at Y/N, soaking her all up like she was going to leave again at any given second. I couldn't stop thinking about her, our predicament, what we did and what I discovered about myself back then...

God, I was talking like we hadn't seen each other in years. It was only four months and yet I was acting like she'd left me alone after years of being together. This was ridiculous, right?

Thankfully Derek's phone rang, snapping us all out of the bubble of silence we'd been in for what seemed like forever.

"Uh, I'm gonna... get this. Be back in a few."

I expected Y/N to drop whatever act it was she had going on with me after he left the table, but her hand remained firmly on my knee. And then she moved a little closer, turning to me completely and tilting her head with a smile that only meant mischief.

"So... Looks like we have some catching up to do..."

***

I was practically giddy when Derek excused himself for a "Garcia Emergency". Though, I was concerned until he assured us that it wasn't anything bad, and by the look on his face as he quickly talked things over With Spencer, I got the feeling he was expecting his friend to 'have some fun' tonight. And that's what truly made me giddy.

We sat close to each other again, a few drinks between us and only a few booths away from the one we sat in the first time we met. If it weren't for the rock missing from my finger, I would have been convinced we'd actually transported back to that exact moment.

"You getting Deja vu, Doctor?" I asked with a smile, watching as he swallowed.

"Y—Yeah, kinda. It's great seeing you again, I... I really didn't think I would."

I laughed. "You know where I live, and you're an FBI agent... I'm pretty sure you could have saw me again if you wanted to."

"Well... Yeah, but I didn't want to be creepy or anything..."

"Trust me... If you randomly showed up at my door, I'd be anything but creeped out. I missed you..."

Spencer looked up at me for a moment, his eyes shifting before he seemed to relax. "You... did?"

"Of course... I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met. And I hope that's not creepy," I added in a laugh.

"No, not at all," he reassured with a nervous laugh of his own. "Actually, um... I've been thinking about you a lot, too..."

"Even on your date?"

I'd only meant it as a little joke, maybe another conversation starter, but at the mention he seemed... embarrassed.

"Oh, no, that was... That wasn't really... I—I only really did it to get Derek off my back, it—"

I rested a hand on his arm and smiled gently. "Hey, it's alright... I didn't really mean anything by that, I'm just... I meant it before, I'm really glad you did it. I know you said it didn't really work out, but did you have some fun at least?"

He laughed again, but this time there was hardly any humor in it. "Well, she wasn't you..."

I smiled a bit, but immediately following his words was a wide-eyed terror and instant regret. "Oh, I didn't... I'm sorry, I—"

"So, you did think about me on your date, huh?"

He froze then, presumably at the low, seductive drawl I blanketed over my words. His mouth slightly hung open, tongue flittering behind teeth as he tried to find the right words.

I smiled at him, and then he settled on, "Yeah. I did."

"It's not very polite to think of other girls while you're on a date, you know..." I made sure to let him know I was only teasing, and that I just wanted to know what his reaction would be.

Still, he surprised me when he said, "It's not my fault you're impossible to forget..."

He flashed me a smile then, and my stomach twisted deliciously at the little dash of confidence he'd grown in the past minute.

Maybe I could bring more out of him...

"Okay, fair... But it is your fault that you didn't come find me."

"Also fair... But... You're here now..."

Spencer inched closer to me, and I smiled, taking my bottom lip gently between my teeth before leaning in, too. "How about that..."

Our lips brushed for a second, so gentle it was like being tickled by a feather, and then he spoke again, his breath hot on my mouth. "I've... dreamt about seeing you again for so long now... Kissing you..."

"Me, too," I responded, bringing a hand down to graze the inside of his thigh. "Guess it's a good thing I'm a firm believer that dreams come true."

"Yeah," is all he said before he finally took the initiative to finally kiss me.

I sighed, melting into his touch and tightening the grip I had on his leg. Meanwhile his hands rested at my forearms, fingers dancing experimentally over my skin and making me tingle in their wake. And once I parted my lips, he took his shot and gently brought his tongue out to meet mine in a collision that quite frankly made me throb.

He'd been a decent kisser before, but... It's obvious he's had a little practice since then. Not that I'd have minded either way, but damn if this newfound experience didn't give me the most sinful idea.

I felt him whine as I pulled away, and that made everything even better.

"You wanna get out of here?" I said in the cheesiest way possible. But he didn't seem to mind.

In fact, he nodded rapidly and took a quick drink of his beer before following me out of the booth and towards the door.

***

Leading Spencer up and through the doorway of my house was probably the most electrifying 'date' experience I've had... well, ever. I'd been excited to sleep with people, sure, but with Spencer I found something greater. I wasn't entirely sure what that was, yet, but it was definitely good.

He reiterated that thought nicely once the door was closed and his hands were on my face, bringing my mouth to his again while I dropped by keys and haphazardly threw my phone and wallet on the side-table next to us in favor of gripping his shirt.

Just through his kisses I could tell how much he'd longed for this moment. I know he told me, and I'd certainly understood the feeling, but when it came down to actually acting it out in the flesh, I was much more in favor of that method of communication.

I gladly accepted his wordless confessions, through every groan and gentle graze of his tongue that he offered to me. And in return I gave him sharp tugs of his shirt and hair, conveying my urgency and the need to be closer to him.

When my legs started moving, his did, too, and we reluctantly pulled apart in favor of not tripping up the hard wooden staircase on the way to my bedroom. Though, I was thankful he was in just as much of a rush as I was, because otherwise I probably would have gotten embarrassed.

And that didn't happen easily.

I fumbled for the light switch once the door shut and our mouths connected once again, and I could have sworn it was like something out of a trashy TV show. The thought almost made me laugh, but I held it in in favor of moaning when Spencer lowered his hands to my ass and squeezed, pulling us closer together. I finally hit the light switch and then flow both of my arms to wrap around his neck and draw him even closer.

He was everywhere all at once, and it fueled me. I'd come to miss physical human interaction, but I hadn't realized how badly I craved it until he was right there, taking up all of my personal space and aiding me in creating this perfect recipe of frantic, glorious electricity.

It was going to kill me, and I would have gladly let it.

I experimentally rolled my hips forward and felt him gasp into me, and it wasn't long before he started growing hard.

Good... Now I could set the plan in motion.

"Remember what you told me?" I asked breathlessly before our heads switched sides and leaned in for more kisses.

In between them, he returned, "When?"

"The first time we met..." I trailed my lips down the column of his throat as I continued. "When you said you edged yourself..."

"O—Oh... Yeah, I remember."

"Mmm," I hummed, sucking a mark into his neck for the time being. As I did it, the grip he held on my ass tightened a bit, and I laughed lightly over his skin, slowly licking my way up to his ear. "I wanna see..."

The trembling he provided under my influence was a good sign. And then another came when he whispered. "Y—You want to see... me? Touching myself?"

"Mhmm..." I planted kisses all along his jaw before pulling back to look him in the eye, making sure he knew I was serious when I told him, "But only if that's okay with you."

He didn't even take a second to think, nodding rapidly once more and giving me a flash of a smile. "It's okay."

I hummed happily, leaning forward to give him one huge kiss, long and hard, before pulling away from him completely and nodding towards the bed. "Clothes off..."

Our hands got to work as soon as the words left my mouth.

And it wasn't until my shirt was on the ground and Spencer's eyes remained glued to my chest with trembling hands that I realized, even though we'd slept together before, our clothes had never actually come off. Tonight we were completely baring ourselves to each other, and that was somehow more intimate than the idea of taking his virginity was.

I reached out and grabbed his shirt, gently assisting him in removing it, and it must have snapped him out of wherever he'd gotten trapped because he shook his head and let out a nervous laugh, averting his eyes from me and staring at the ground.

"S–Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," I reassured, throwing his shirt to the ground next to mine and bringing his hands to rest on my bare stomach, slowly sliding them up. "I like when you look at me..."

His eyes reached mine once again, breath hitching as I guided his hands to cup my breasts over the bra. "Well, I... I like looking at you."

I kissed him again, hoping to bring forth some familiarity to our current routine, and it worked like a charm. Our movements were slow and steady, each article of clothing joining the floor one by one until we were down to nothing but my underwear.

I led him to the bed then, breaking us apart and making him sit. Now that I was taller than him, I gripped his chin in my hand and tilted his head up to look at me.

"Lay back for me?"

He scooted further along the bed until finally he leaned back, his head resting nicely on my pillows. I climbed up after him, kneeling at his feet and bringing a hand down trace lines along the inside of his thigh. Meanwhile I looked him up and down, finally getting a decent look at his full, bare form.

"Ohh, so pretty... And I bet you're even prettier when you're touching yourself... You wanna start?"

He reached out for his dick in answer, wrapping a delicate hand around it and slowly stroking up and down as he looked up at me with the stars in his eyes. "Like this?"

"However you normally do it, baby. Just relax. Make yourself feel good..."

After a slight nod, his hand picked up a little speed. He swiped his thumb over the tip to gather some precum for lubrication, but as hot as that was, I had a better idea.

"Here, let me help," I offered with a smile, leaning down and bracing my hands on his knees. I let spit gather on the end of my tongue before allowing it to drip down and land right on the tip of his cock. The sound he let out, broken and dripping with want, sent a jolt of electricity through my blood, only amplified by how wet he sounded once he started moving his hand again.

I let my eyes roam all over, taking in every heave of his chest, the veins in his arm and hand as he worked himself, the soft fluttering of his eyes as he lost himself in the moment... At the risk of sounding absolutely cheesy, it truly was a magical sight. I felt entirely lucky that I got to see him again at all, and now like this, bare and vulnerable and exuding lust while I was left to my own devices.

All that to say, I hadn't realized I was touching myself as well, until a whimper came from my mouth, my clit gently throbbing with stimulation at the hands of... well, my hand.

Upon seeing me, Spencer let out a whine of his own, picking up speed with his hand and throwing his head back onto the pillow.

"Y/N..."

He wasn't addressing me, wasn't asking me anything at all... My name on his lips was more of a declaration, like some type of chant, a string of letters and syllables formed specifically to bring him closer to the edge he knew he'd have to resist falling from.

"You getting there, baby?"

"U—Uh huh..."

"You better hold it," I drawled lowly, bringing myself into the more strict persona I wanted to bring out tonight, given that's still something he was into. "Just like you promised."

After a few more hard strokes of his hand, Spencer leg to quickly, bringing his hand to rest on his chest as his mouth let out the most delicious whines and grunts of determination to keep it all in. Without the stimulation, I noticed his dick slightly twitching over his stomach, glistening and  hard...

Fuck, if it wasn't the hottest fucking thing I'd ever experienced with my own eyes and ears...

I pulled my hand out of my underwear, too, still a little shocked that I hadn't realized before that I was doing it to myself and a little turned on at the fact that it had that big of an effect on him.

"I—I would have been able to go longer, but... But you were there, and you were... And I only ever have you in my head, not right in front of me..."

It was obvious that he was probably afraid he'd let me down somehow, and that was definitely not the case. So I leaned down and dragged my hands over his lower stomach, feeling inch of skin while my mouth came down to press featherlight kisses to the base of his dick. "Spence, that was hot as fuck... You really think of me when you do that?"

"Mhm," is all he offered, currently reveling in the way my tongue darted out to explore the lines of his cock.

"I think of you, too," I admitted, pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his tip. "When I touch myself... I think about how pretty you were the first time I called you a slut... Tell me, baby, you still like that?"

"God, Y/N, yes..."

I sucked gently on his tip now, watching as he watched me, his bottom lip occupied between his teeth and his eyes on the brink of closing.

He was getting close again. So I stopped, pulling off of him with a soft pop and smiling as I crawled up his body and planted a kiss to his cheek. My legs straddled his hips, and I got close to his ear.

"Tell me, what about this... other girl you went on a date with... Did you sleep with her?"

"Um... Y—yes..."

"I'm willing to bet she didn't make you feel half as good as I do..."

"She didn't..."

I smiled against his jaw, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair. "Was she mean to you? Did she make you her dirty little whore?"

I could feel him let out a trembling breath as he answered, "No."

"That's right," I said softly, right before switching gears and tugging on his hair, pulling back to look in his eyes. "Because you're my dirty little whore."

His cock twitched along my ass at my words, and it made me smile. But before I could speak again, he did it first.

"I'm all yours, Y/N... No one else's..."

I couldn't help it then. His words, our position, the needy look in his eyes as he confessed this to me... All of it was enough to make me snap.

So I leaned in and kissed him, hard. My hands tangled in his hair while his flew to my waist, sliding down to play with the hem of my underwear as his tongue slipped into my mouth and against my own with ease. I swallowed each whine with the greatest pleasure, my hips involuntarily grinding down and spreading the evidence of my arousal along the fabric of my panties. I wondered then if he could feel how wet I was, how much I wanted him.

I didn't have to wonder for long though, because he slipped one of his hands around front and dipped into said fabric, finding how wet I was and groaning into my mouth at the feel of it.

"You've been dying to get another try at this pussy, haven't you?" I whispered into his mouth.

Unsurprisingly, I was met with a whine in return. "Uh huh... I missed you so much..."

I ground down into his hand, nipping at his lips a little before giving my next demand.

"Then prove it."

Rather than fingering me like I expected him to, Spencer rolled over and straddled my legs, tearing my panties down and leaving me with a smile.

"I love the confidence you've grown, baby boy... Proves how dedicated you are... to being the best little slut you can be."

"Yes, Y/N," he responded, leaning down and kissing the inside of my thigh. "I wanna be good for you... Let me show you, please..."

"Show me..."

His tongue came in contact with my pussy, and it immediately sent my head flying back into the pillows, a low whine escaping my throat. He flicked it over my clit expertly a few times before going down and licking a broad strip up the entire area. Vibrations flittered along his path through his groans, and just hearing how much he enjoyed it had me clenching the sheets for stability.

"Ohh, what a good boy," I praised, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair back. "Who's my good little whore?"

He grumbled into me, but I tugged at his hair.

"Say it."

He pulled away briefly then, still in contact with my pussy as he breathed out, "I'm your good little whore..." And then he promptly got back to work, devouring me with a hungry precision that made me laugh.

"Needy, too, I see... So desperate for that cunt..."

"Yes, " I heard him mumble into me. He repeated it a few more times, chanting it as his tongue flicked through me and tasted every last drop of my impending orgasm.

I sat up a little and held his head to me, his tongue moving at a quicker, more relentless pace. My stomach started to twist and my legs clenched, holding Spencer firmly between my legs as my hips rolled forward and met his every movement. Moans fell sweetly off my lips with every second, getting higher and higher until I finally held myself still and let the high take over. His tongue drew out one of the sharpest orgasms I'd ever had, the fervor he delivered making me see stars for a solid twenty to thirty seconds before it finally subsided and my muscles started to relax.

"Fuck," I breathed, almost whining when he removed his mouth from me and just kneeled there, studying my form as I tried to catch my breath. "Get up here," I asked more than demanded, though it might have been hard to tell what with my head spinning.

Spencer climbed over my body and I pulled his face down into a warm, wet kiss that had me tasting myself and growing wet again at the taste. I pulled away then, looking into his eyes and playing with his hair.

"I can't believe you didn't come see me sooner... Depriving me of that pretty fucking mouth..."

He kissed me again briefly, whining into my mouth before I continued. "But no... You were busy going on dates..."

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he said, kissing my cheek softly, over and over as his lips made their way down to my neck. "I'm so sorry, I... I wanted to see you, I just..."

"I know, I know," I cooed, closing my eyes and relishing in the feel of his lips on my skin. "But tonight you're gonna make up for lost time, got it?"

"Yes... Yes, I'll do whatever you want..."

I hummed, bringing his head back up to meet his gaze, and my thumb stroked over his bottom lip. "I want you to put that pretty cock to good use and fuck me like the desperate little slut I know you are..."

I kissed him then, gasping out once he shifted his hips and entered me slowly— I knew he was going to get to it quickly, but I guess I'd underestimated his need to please me.

The sentiment had me curling with want, more of it coming when he bottomed out inside me and trembled. Really, I could feel him shaking as he started to pull out and then back in, setting a steady pace that would surely become more erratic once I started talking to him again.

"Shit..." Spencer cursed, shifting up on his arms for more leverage as he steadily drilled into me. "I m—missed this... Missed you..."

"I know, baby, I know... I missed you, too... And you know what else?"

I drifted one of my hands down in between us, spreading out my fingers so that his cock fit nicely between them as he fucked me. The added friction of my fingers had him whining out, dropping his head down so that his ear was right by my mouth.

I whispered. "So did my pussy... So you better fuck her good..."

The sudden brutal velocity in which he slammed his hips against mine felt like a strike of lightning, and the loud groan he let out against my neck was the thunder. Everything shifted then, Spencer lifting himself up and holding onto my legs as he drilled into me at full force, his body glistening with exertion and my own succumbing to his wind.

"Yeah, that's it," I cooed through a laugh of pure pride. "That's a good fucking whore... Giving me that cock like I own it..."

"Y—You... do," he stuttered through a broken whine. He was getting close again, and I knew just the thing to do the trick.

I reached my hand up to hold his neck, not applying any pressure, but just holding as I forced his eyes down to look at me. "That's right... That slutty cock is mine... Now give it to me..."

The end of my sentence was punctuated with a sharp cry out as another orgasm tore through me. I shouted Spencer's name into the abyss as He fucked me through it and started twitching inside me, signaling his end as well. And the added warmth from his cum as it coated my insides well and truly marked me as his, despite the words we'd just exchanged.

I belonged to him just as much as he did to me, and I wondered if he knew that. If he knew just how much he inhabited my every thought.

I wanted him to know that I was practically infatuated with him.

But that conversation could wait until after we were... settled down.

He was still inside me as he slumped forward, laying his head on my chest and rubbing lines into my forearm.

"You okay?" I asked gently, combing through his hair with my fingers.

"Most definitely... Just... tired."

I smiled, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "You're welcome to stay here for the night..."

He was silent for a long while, almost so long that I thought he'd actually fallen asleep. But then he said, "Right here? With you?" and my heart soared.

"Of course."

Truthfully, I'd have let him stay forever.

But when I opened my eyes the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold, and his body was nowhere to be found.

***

Dear Y/N,

I'm sorry for leaving you alone last week. I know you must be a little hurt and confused, but if you aren't, then just forget I ever said anything.

Nonetheless, I regretted leaving you behind last time without at the very least sending you a letter, so I hope this one finds you well. After all, you have shown me experiences I never could have imagined enjoying as much as I did, so I should thank you for that.

But that's not all that this letter is for.

I also want to invite you out to dinner some time. I know this might be a little unconventional, but given how we met and also how we reunited, I figured this would be a fun, romantic way to ask you out. I understand if you don't feel that way given that I've more or less abandoned you twice now, but I promise it was all for good reason.

If you'd like to talk more, about anything I've disclosed in this letter, I've attached my phone number below, otherwise I'd love to hear back from you. I know this sounds strange, but I've been dying to know what your handwriting looks like. I bet it's pretty, like you.

Once again, I am truly sorry for leaving you behind without a word, but I want a chance to make it up to you. Please say you'll reach out. Otherwise, I know where to find you if you'd rather I make some cheesy romantic comedy—esque gesture of affection that either makes you fall in love with me or hate me.

Yours, Spencer Reid

***

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[honeymooneyy]

my sirius

summary: sirius loses his memories due to a potion mishap and james fails to tell him that he’s been dating remus for two years 

Sirius had never really been good at potions. 

He wasn’t one to follow the directions, and that reflected in his potion-making skills. He liked to make changes to the recipe, despite his lack of skills to make executive decisions like that. 

So when he had been brewing a particularly tricky potion with James - one that renders the drinker void of any memories for an hour, he probably shouldn’t have tweaked the recipe. 

But as Sirius stared down at the murky green goop, he wished for some pizazz. So he took matters into his own hands. A funky potion like this should look a lot cooler, he decided. Granted, it probably wasn’t a good decision to add that mystery white powder in the back of the cupboard. 

The second it touched the surface of his potion, it erupted out and onto Sirius. What happened next, was utter chaos. 

Slughorn was screaming at James to scourgify the cauldron, which he did with a shaky wave of his wand. Remus and Peter were on the floor in a fit of laughter, much like the rest of the class - even Snape was smiling. And Sirius, well poor Sirius wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. Or who he was. 

He turned to the tan boy next to him, who’s dark eyes were locked on his, worry evident in them. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Sirius?” 

Serious?

“What?” Was the only reply he could muster. What was happening? What was serious? Who was this boy, and why did he look so concerned? 

“Did you, y’know, get any in your mouth?” The boy questioned, tilting his head a bit. His glasses reflected a bit when he did so, no longer allowed him to see his eyes. 

“Who are you?”

James deflated, turning to the man who was quivering in the corner. “Professor?” 

“It’s all fine,” The supposed Professor announced, holding his hands up. “I have  a couple counteractive potions. James, son, what did he put in there?” 

“Er, I’m not sure, I didn’t see.” The boy, James, turns back to their cauldron before reaching for a small bottle of white powder. “I think it was this.” 

The Professor squints at the bottle before sighing. “I’m not entirely sure what that was. We could try all three of the counter acting potions? They don’t mess with one another, and I’m sure one of them will work. Alright, I think we’ve had enough of this, class dismissed early, James stay here with Sirius. Please clean up properly!” 

The class began to put their materials away, whispering different cleaning spells as to not disturb the silence that had descended upon the class. Sirius assumed his name must be Sirius and James must not have been speaking of the emotion earlier. He stood at the small table with the dark cauldron, awkwardly shifting his weight as the Professor sifted through his drawers. 

In the end, he pulled out three small vials and handed them to James who brought them to Sirius. He flashed him a bright grin. “Drink up!” 

Sirius didn’t ask very many questions, though he felt as if he was bursting with them. He simply tilted his head back to swallow the liquids back, one after the other, cringing at the taste of the last one. 

James and the Professor continued to stare at him and Sirius stared back.

“What’s my name?” The Professor questioned after a moment of silence. 

“I don’t- I don’t know, sorry,” Sirius apologized, his ears burning as he shrunk under their inquisitive gazes. 

James sighed but the Professor didn’t seem to put off. “No worries, Black. I’ll take a look at that powder and I should have an antidote whipped up soon enough. Besides, if too much didn’t go wrong with your potion, you should get your memories back within the hour. James, why don’t you take him down to the medical wing to wait?” 

He must’ve messed up the potion because an hour later, he was still unknowing to who he was. 

James had filled him in on where he was - Hogwarts - and who he was - Sirius Black - but hadn’t given him too much information. He had assured that he’d get his memories back soon enough so there was no point. But the outcome was starting to look pretty bleak and soon enough, the nice nurse lady was sending Sirius away with James seeing as nothing could be done. 

“It’ll be fine, Sirius, Slughorn will get you back to normal soon enough. I reckon you’ll remember everything by tomorrow, no worries. And Remus and Peter will love this!” James seemed extremely enthusiastic, despite the fact that his best friend had no memories. 

“Does this sort of thing happen often?” Sirius was barely keeping up with James’ quick pace as he tried to absorb the castle he seemed to be in. 

“Losing your memories? Not to any of us, but I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet. We’re always getting into trouble. We’re kinda known for our pranks.” 

James seemed pretty proud and Sirius smiled at the thought of pranks. 

“Anyway, we’re in Gryffindor. There’s four houses, but I don’t think you need to know the others, right now. The password is Ficklepuffs, don’t forget that or else you can’t get in.” 

Sirius nodded, mouthing the word and hoping he’ll be able to remember it. 

“Okay, let’s not stay in the common room too long. Better if you don’t have to deal with all the questions. Let’s go to our dorm room. We share it with Remus and Peter.” 

Sirius followed him up the stairs wordlessly, ignoring the stares from the others in the common room. James pushed a door open and Sirius stepped into the warm room, his eyes flitting around before finding a boy sitting on one of the four beds

The blonde one looked up at him before directing his gaze towards James. “Is he all fixed up yet?” 

James grimaced a bit, “No, we’re waiting for Slughorn to make an antidote. Poppy told us to bring him up here and make him comfortable until the potions wears off or whenever Slughorn makes the antidote. Whichever happens first.” 

Sirius just stood in the center of the room, unsure what exactly he was supposed to do. All four of the beds looked exactly the same, and though James had taken the bed next to the blonde boy’s bed, the other two seemed too similar. James must’ve noticed his discomfort because he nodded his head towards one of the beds before speaking to the other boy in hushed tones. 

The bed was large with thick curtains around it, probably for privacy. The bed was made neatly and Sirius felt bad as he settled on top, wrinkling the sheets. On the bedside table was a book or two that seemed pretty untouched, and a dog toy? 

“Hey, Sirius!” The blonde boy waved to get his attention. “I’m Peter.” 

“Hi Peter.” Sirius waved back only for the other boys’ jaw to drop open as he shot James a look. 

“He can talk?”

“Of course he can talk, you dolt. He lost his memories not his knowledge. I bet he can still do maths and stuff. He just doesn’t know how he learned it, I think.” James turned to Sirius with a thoughtful look. “What’s four plus four?” 

“Eight,” Sirius replied immediately, much to his surprise. 

“See! You know how you learned that? Who taught you?” 

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. “No, not really.” 

James gave Peter a knowing look. “See. James is always right, that’s why we don’t question James.” 

“Oh quit it with the third person.” Peter rolled his eyes though his lips were quirked up a bit in a smile. 

James continued to speak in third person and Sirius watched the banter with a small smile. Eventually Peter shoved James away, speaking of some essay he needed to finish, so James came over to bother him. 

“I know you don’t really remember me, but we’ve been best mates since first year. That’s when we were elven.” James fills him in, perching on the edge of his bed. 

“And now we’re...?” 

“Seventeen. Er, well you are. Your birthday was about a month ago, November third. Remus and I are still sixteen.”

Sirius nods, soaking in this information. “And we’ve been dorm mates since then?” 

“Yep! Actually, you live with me now. But don’t worry about that, you’ll get your memories back soon enough,” James reassured though Sirius didn’t fully believe him. 

His thoughts were broken by the door slamming open as another boy stalked in. He was muttering angrily and when he saw the Peter, he turned toward him. “My blasted book was on the other side of the school! This is what I get for trying to study for Charms!” 

Sirius just watched, mouth agape, because he had never seen someone this attractive. He knew he hasn’t seen very many people in the past hour, his only memories, but he’s sure no one else could compare. Though his side profile is all Sirius can see at the moment, he still marvels at his golden brown hair and the flutter of freckles splattering his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, probably from his journey to the other side of the school, and matched his lips that were moving rapidly as he complains. 

And then he seems to realize that Sirius is there because he turns to him, and Sirius squirmed under the intensity of his amber eyes. “Did Slughorn’s antidote work?” 

Sirius can barely manage a shake of his head. 

This seems to upset the boy further because he groans and falls back onto his bed, hands dragging down his face. Sirius can’t help but follow his actions as his jumper hitches up to reveal a patch of pale skin. A jagged scar peaks out from under it, and though it’s faded to a silvery white, Sirius internally flinches at the thought of how it felt. 

Though James was still on his bed, he couldn’t help but continue to sneak glances at Remus. Something about him, and his presence, seemed comforting. But he seemed in distress and Sirius wanted to offer that same comfort he found.

“If he’s Peter, you’re Remus, right?” Sirius can tell Remus is upset and maybe he just wanted to talk to his friend? While Sirius isn’t really Sirius, he can try. And then he stupidly introduces himself, “I’m Sirius.” 

“I know,�� Remus replies flatly, still stretched out on his bed. “And you’re the biggest idiot I know.” 

Sirius cringes back, regretting the choice to open his mouth. He glances at James who just waves it off. 

“He’s not mad, it’s just Remus.” James leans back as he stretches his leg out to prod Remus with a toe, then squealing when Remus grabbed said toe and yanked him so he almost slid off the bed. “Oi!” 

Sirius waited for him to get situated again before leaning in to hiss, “You didn’t tell me I was gay! Or that Remus is so attractive! What the fuck, mate?” 

To his surprise James just laughs, “Oh, right. Sorry, it’s not something I thought I would have to tell you, I dunno, I didn’t think about it. And what? I was supposed to introduce Remus as the hot one?” 

“Yes,” Sirius replied, genuinely. “This is important information!” 

“Right, sorry. But you don’t have to whisper, it’s not really a secret.” 

Sirius narrows his eyes, “Being gay or thinking Remus is attractive?” 

“Both. They go hand in hand, really, if you think about it.” James nods thoughtfully before smiling again reassuringly. “You’ll remember soon enough.” 

“Right. So he knows I think he’s hot?” 

“I would hope so.” 

Sirius frowns at this, “You hope so? What, does everyone know?” 

“Oh, yes.” 

“Wait a minute, what exactly are we?” This time the question is directed to Remus who has been lying on his bed, quiet but no doubt listening in on their conversation. 

Remus turns his head over to look at Sirius, his eyes flickering over his face before a smile is pulling at his lips as he says, “Friends. Since first year.” 

“Yeah, yeah, everything since first year.” Sirius visibly deflates at this information. What was Sirius With Memories doing? How could he bear to be just friends with someone like that? And now he had gone asking dumb questions, no doubt a problem that will soon arise. 

It took a mere couple of seconds before the problem rose. 

James stood up, dusting off his pants in a big show before turning to Peter. “Let’s head down to dinner, yeah? I think it’s better if we leave Sirius back here, Remus, you’ll stay?” 

Remus hummed a reply, now turning to lie on his stomach, burrowing his head into his arms. He looked so cuddly Sirius itched to wiggle into his embrace. 

“Wait! I want to come, I want dinner, I’m hungry.” Sirius stood too but James waved him off. 

“Nah, too many questions. We’ll bring you back some food, Remus too. And Poppy said to make him comfortable so Remus, I dunno, tuck him into bed or something.” James didn’t leave much time to argue, slipping out of the dorm door with Peter close behind him. 

Sirius just stood there, awkwardly, now unsure what to do. He glanced at Remus who still had his head burrowed in his arms, and then at the door, considering just running after James and Peter. Why did he have to say something about Remus being attractive? Even if James was right and Remus already knew, it was so awkward!

“Are you going to change?” Remus asked, pulling Sirius out of his thoughts. His eyes flickered over Sirius’ figure before glancing back at him with a small smile. “You’re covered in that goop. I can clean off your bed, go get changed.” 

Sirius assumed the trunk at the foot of his bed must have his clothes, and much to his luck, he was right. He just reached for some random pants and a shirt before spotting a fuzzy jumper in the corner. He grabbed it too. 

Remus was muttering some sort of spell on the bed and the green patches were slowly disappearing. Throwing him one last glance, Sirius entered the bathroom and quickly changed out of his soiled clothes. Once he was clean, he grimaced at the state of his hair. Thankfully, it had been spared from the potion, for the most part, but was a tangly mess, no doubt from his nervous fiddling. He tried to rake his fingers through it but it didn’t do much so he just returned to the room. 

Remus had cleaned his bed and was on his own now, fidgeting with a comb. When he spotted Sirius his eyes brightened and his smile grew a bit as he waved him over. “C’mere, I’ll fix your hair.” 

Sirius ducked his head bashfully as he approached Remus’ bed before gingerly crawling onto it, sitting down in front of him. He was acutely aware of how close Remus was too him and butterflies erupted in his stomach. Sirius forced himself to sit perfectly still as nimble fingers began carding through his hair, working through the knots. 

“Oh, Sirius, how did this even happen?” Remus murmured, his voice quiet enough that it made Sirius blush. This whole thing felt so intimate and it didn’t help that Remus kept brushing against his back as he fixed his hair. 

“I dunno,” Sirius whispered back.

“S’okay, love, I think I can get the knots out.”

The nickname slipped out so naturally it sounded as if he said it every day, but it didn’t stop Sirius from freezing, his leg pausing in it’s bouncing. Remus must’ve noticed too because his fingers stilled in Sirius’ hair. 

“Shit, I couldn’t even go fifteen minutes, could I?” He tutted, before continuing to work through his hair. “Sorry, Sirius. Your face when I walked in was too priceless, I couldn’t not have some fun with it. I loved your reaction to me saying we’re just friends.” 

Sirius wasn’t completely sure what was happening, but he found his voice. “So we’re not friends?” 

Remus snorted at this, “No. We’ve been dating since fourth year. Almost two years, now, I think.” 

“Oh.” 

Sirius’ head was whirling. He was dating Remus? And the others really didn’t bother saying anything about it? Again, this seemed like important information! Your name is Sirius Black, you’re gay, you have a hot boyfriend...the basics! 

Remus laughed again and ran his comb through Sirius’ now tangle-free hair. “All done.” 

Sirius turned around so he could face Remus who was now settled back down and was leaning against his headboard. “Thank you.” 

“Look at you, so polite. If only Sirius could be like this every day.” Remus shook his head but his words held no venom. “Do you want me to braid it so it doesn’t get tangled again?” 

Sirius didn’t really know what to say to him, seeing as they were boyfriends though he had no memory of this. So he just nodded mutely, turning back around so Remus could braid his hair. He worked in silence and Sirius greatly appreciated it. 

When he was finished he patted Sirius’ shoulder and he turned around again. Remus was watching him with a warm smile and it encouraged him to voice his thoughts, “Do you think Slughorn will we be able to make an antidote?” 

“For you memories? I’m sure he will. He’s pretty talented,” Remus assured, his hands reaching out to brush a couple loose strands out of Sirius’ face. “Don’t worry too much. We’ll work it out tomorrow.” 

Sirius nods but he doesn’t feel very confident in the Professor’s abilities. “This is scary. I don’t know anything or anyone. It’s weird, though, I kind of still have emotions associated with people? So I feel things but I don’t know why.” 

“I’m sure it’s terrifying. But you’re safe with us, I promise you trust us when you’re normal. And for the emotions? It’s probably like muscle memory but with feelings? Can you describe it? Like me for example?” 

Heat crawls onto Sirius’ face and he dropped his gaze to his lap. “You’re warm. Like, my chest feels all warm on the inside. But also kind of swirly, I don’t know. It’s positive, I know that. I cared about you a lot, I think.”

“You did. I care about you a load too.” Remus reaches out to gently link their fingers together. “I was kind of scared about you never remembering me again, but I don’t think Dumbledore would let that happen. He’s the headmaster here.” 

“I wish I could remember you. You seem worth remembering.” 

Remus’ mouth fell open a bit at his words and then he was pulling Sirius into a tight hug, holding him against his chest. “That’s so cheesy but so sweet, oh my god, Sirius.” 

Sirius laughed at this, but wrapped his own arms around Remus, laying his head onto Remus’ chest. The embrace felt so natural he couldn’t help but melt into it, sighing softly. 

And that’s exactly when James and Peter burst through the door, holding plates of food. When James caught sight of them he exclaimed, “Remus! Get away from him! He doesn’t remember anything, poor Sirius! You’re a stranger! He’s a stranger!” 

“He’s not a stranger,” Remus protested, continuing to hold Sirius, chin tucked over the top of his head. “He’s my Sirius.” 

Sirius smiled into his sweater at his words. He quite liked the sound of that - my Sirius. 

[trashyswitch]

The Repair Man's Reward

Chris is a full time repair man who works with the Animatronics. But a regular night of routine housekeeping for the next morning, would turn into so much more than he expected. And frankly, he's not complaining!

This prompt was suggested by a close friend of mine, who has been having dreams of being tickled by Chica (a FNAF representation of me as a ler, basically). So Chris, buddy, I hope this fanfic lives up to your expectations and puts you into a lee mood for a while!

Chris walked himself into the newer-looking pizzeria and looked around the place. The custodian must’ve just finished cleaning and re-setting up the party room, because it wasn’t dirty or cluttered with kids stuff. It was completely put together with table covers, banners, party hats and napkins on the tables, and little party bags to go with it. Chris smiled as he walked past the dining hall/game room, and looked up at the stage with Toy Freddy Fazbear and the bright-looking band members.

He walked up the stage’s stairs, and walked up to the new animatronics. “Good morning guys. Are you ready for another day of entertainment?” He asked rhetorically. He knew that the animatronics wouldn’t reply, so he got started on Toy Bonnie first. He took a moment to make sure the animatronics were properly shut down, and started removing the eyes. “Let’s get that guitar of yours tuned, shall we?” He said to himself.

Chris placed the eyes into the box to be cleaned, and moved onto the two bottom buttons. He clicked both of them one at a time, and smiled as Bonnie’s faceplate opened. “Perfect.” he declared. Next, Chris touched the flashing light button on the throat pipe to make the guitar play. Quickly, the guitar started playing each string individually from up to down. He listened carefully for any strings out of place and to Chris’s surprise, the strings were fine!

“Huh...looks like you’re learning how to carry a tune without breaking a string! Good job, Bon.” He reacted.

Then, he carried the eyes to the cleaning boxes, and dropped them in. It took only a couple seconds for the eyes to be cleaned and spat out. Chris grabbed them, walked back to the animatronic and placed the eyes in. Lastly: Chris closed the faceplate. “There ya go! And now onto Chica.”

Chris walked up to Chica with a smile. “Hello Chica! Good to see ya.” He greeted as he looked at her body. “Having fun making pizza for the kids?” He asked, seeing at least 4 separate slices of pizza on her. “Let’s get that removed.” He put some blue gloves on and started removing the pizza from her body. “Eugh...What is up with you and your obsession with pizza? I mean I totally get it, but this is just…wrong.” Chris threw the pizzas away one at a time and threw away the gloves into the same garbage. “And now…”

Chris clicked the two buttons on Chica’s head, and waited to see if there were cockroaches or other bugs. And sure enough, a few cockroaches started climbing around on there. “Oh no. Not again. Seriously! Where do these cockroaches come from? Do we need to call an exterminator?” He asked. “I’m gonna write that down for Mr. Afton to see.” He decided. He grabbed a notebook out of his box of parts and wrote a note to Afton about the cockroach issue. Then, Chris put a dust mask on and goggles, and sprayed some chemi-spray onto the animatronic. Quickly, Chris watched with relief as the cockroaches died and fell onto the ground.

Finally, Chris adjusted Chica’s arm, and placed the cupcake onto her hand. “There! Now onto Freddy.”

Chris had walked himself up to Freddy and right away, he could see a kid’s toy stuck in the mouth. Carefully, Chris started to open the mouth to remove the kid’s toy. He managed to successfully remove it and placed it into the lost and found bin. Giving his bowtie a light tug, Freddy’s chestplate opened and revealed no other toys or anything else worthy of the lost and found bin. So, Chris booped Freddy’s snoot and kept Freddy the way he was.

“Alright. And Foxy is still out of commission and-” Chris paused what he was saying when he saw that Chica was looking at him. “Heeeeee’s…” Chris walked closer to Chica and slowly started walking backwards. He watched as Chica’s head moved with his body, while his big green eyes stayed staring right back at his own dark brown eyes.

“W-What are you looking at?” He asked.

Suddenly, the yellow toy animatronic’s eyes went black. Chris didn’t even have a chance to think another coherent thought before the animatronic had dropped the cupcake and leaped right off the stage! Chris had immediately dropped his box of spare parts and had taken off in a terrified sprint down the main hall. He could hear stomps and clanging sounds of the yellow toy robot following right behind him.

While he ran for his life, Chris tried looking behind him to see just how much space was between-

OH GOD CHICA IS RIGHT BEHIND HIM!

The robot was literally neck and neck with the tiny human that had repaired her. It was like a human trying to outrun a raging lion! So impossible you shouldn’t even TRY to attempt it! Even though it would’ve been easier to just give up, Chris didn’t. But that determination only lasted another second before he was quickly captured by the speedy robot. Chris shouted and kicked, and wiggled as much as he could to get out of her grip. But it was impossible. Now that he was captured, there was no getting out.

“Help! HELP! HELP! AAAA-” All of Chris’s breath was squeezed right out of him as Chica tried to give him a big hug. Though it didn’t hurt him per say, it did render him unable to breath for a couple seconds. When the robot had stopped tightening her arms, Chris managed to adjust himself slightly so he could still breath. He took in a big breath, and exhaled in relief. Though he was able to breathe okay, he was still stuck in Chica’s grip.

Chica had wrapped her arms around Chris’s upper arms, rendering his shoulders immobile for a while. He was still able to bend his elbows and reach his lower arms out, but he couldn’t extend them like he would with free shoulders. “Ch-Chica! Please!” Chris begged.

Chica ignored his begs to be let go, and rested her head against Chris’s shoulder and neck, like a touch-starved mother. Chris blinked in surprise and still worried for his safety thanks to the fear that still lingered in his system.

But then, Chris felt one of Chica’s arms loosen and watched as the big hand rose above his head. Chris gasped and braced himself for skull-crushing impact…

But the only thing he felt was a light pat. A light pat from a big palm, and a ruffle of his big head of hair from the robot’s fingers. Chris opened his eyes and...didn’t know how to react. Were the animatronics supposed to hug people like this? If not, then why was Chica hugging him? Chris looked up at the hand and attempted to shake her hand off his head. But Chica removed her hand herself and resumed her tight hug.

Chris blinked in more surprise, but slowly seemed to calm down. It seemed like Chica was not planning on killing him and instead, was only planning to give hugs and cuddles to the guy. If that was true, then he’ll take them. Anything’s better than being killed.

But the comfy hug soon grew loose as Chica lifted Chris back up in front of her. Chris looked at her with genuine confusion and slight curiosity. Chica’s eyes were no longer dark black and had reverted back to the light green color. The toy version of Chica looked so much more friendly and approachable compared to the first Chica. It was somewhat deceiving. Chris watched as Chica wrapped one full hand under his armpits and around the man’s upper chest. The left hand was now securely but gently holding onto Chris, while the right hand started reaching down to his belly.

Noticing the shirt had risen up, Chica lifted the shirt up more and gazed at the skin underneath. Chica’s head tilted to the side while her jaw dropped a little in surprise. Chris looked at her eyes and quickly widened his own when he saw something adrenaline-inducing in Chica’s pupils:

A white feather had appeared in both eyes.

“Oooooh no. Ch-Chica...Let’s not do that-”

Chris was quickly interrupted by a single thick yellow finger, scratching at his belly. Chris immediately went silent and tensed, almost nervous to let his laugh out. Maybe if he held his breath and waited it out, Chica would assume he’s not ticklish and move on. But unfortunately, it was a lot easier said than actually done.

Chica was moving the single finger around the different spots on his belly and adding little extra scratches here and there. The extra scratches were already almost breaking him. What made matters worse was that his belly was one of his absolute worst spots! It didn’t take much for anyone to break him just from some scratches on his belly.

Chris let out a strained grunting sound as he tried to keep his giggles from escaping his lungs. But then: Chica pulled an EVIL move by adding another finger to the scratching! And if that wasn’t enough, Chica had started ‘walking’ her fingers around his belly! OH NO! Chris accidentally let out a strained titter as his lips quivered into a wobbly, silly-looking smile.

Much to Chris’s dismay, Chica heard the tittering sound and quickly took it as a sign that the guy was ticklish! So Chica added her third finger and her thumb to the mix. The moment she started clawing and scratching, Chris threw his head back and broke out in laughter. “AAAAHAHAAAhahahahaha! EEEeehehehehehehe!” Chris laughed, wiggling around and kicking his feet.

Chica’s eyes appeared to dilate, making the pair feather images appear bigger in her eyes as she moved her hand to squeeze his bottom ribs. Chris took the few seconds to breath a little and quickly started giggling more high-pitched the moment she started squeezing. “Hahahahahahahaha! Chihihihicahahahahaha! Cuhuhuhut ihihihit ohohohouhuhut!” Chris reacted, squeezing Chica’s fingers as he giggled.

Chica removed her right hand and put her three fingers into a fist. Staring at her thumb, Chica lowered it towards the side of Chris’s chest and started digging and worming her thumb into the middle ribs and the spaces between. “HeheheheHEHEHEEEEEE! NOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAHAHAP!” Chris tried desperately to reach down and grab the hand or thumb, but couldn’t even reach high enough thanks to Chica’s thick arms. And even if he could, he wouldn’t have been able to pull her off anyway.

Then, Chica stretched out her hands, and moved her hand curiously to his belly again. “IHIhihi...Whahahat ahahare…” He struggled to properly see where she was gonna go next thanks to her fingers taking up so much of his view. But Chris quickly figured it out thanks to one poke to the bell button.

Chris widened his eyes in horror. She’d better not be!

Chica poked his belly button again, causing Chris to jump and squeak like a loud mouse.

It was at this moment that Chris had realized: he was toast.

Chica immediately started poking and scratching her finger into his belly button, leaving him in hysterics. “AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAP! STAHAHAP IHIHIHIT! IHIHIHIT’S TOOHOHOHOHO MUHUHUHUHUCH!” Chris begged.

Chica didn’t have any of those words in her code. But truth be told, none of the words in her code included laughter in between. That was a command flaw that had been around for a while, sadly. Usually, there would be a parent there to give the command. But this time, it was just one person! Chris was all alone; so Chris would have to work super hard to properly plead for her to actually stop.

Chris had sadly realized this and mentally cursed the complicated technology. If they had just come up with suits instead of robots...it would’ve been so much easier. But nope! He’s stuck with a robot chicken that was currently tickling him to bits.

“CHIHIHIHICAHAHAHA! IHIHI CAHAHAHAHAN’T BREHEHEHEHEAHAHATHE!” Chris yelled at her.

Just as one would figure, Chica didn’t understand this as a proper command. So, she continue to tickle the belly button for a little longer before resuming to the generally belly area. “HAHAHahahahahaha! Ohohohokahahahay, thahahahank yohohou. Thahahahank yohohohou Chihihicaha.” Chris told her.

Chica didn’t really understand that command. but she did notice that Chris’s laughter was more giggly and happy, than high-pitched and hysterical. So, Chica seemed to be able to learn the type of attention that Chris liked. Chica’s whole hand scratching soon moved back to 1 finger scratching again. When that happened, Chris started to calm down more and more. “Hehehehehehe! Yohohou...Yohohou’re ahamahahazing. Wooohohow.” Chris muttered.

Chica tilted her head as she gently lifted up Chris’s chin. Chris had a cute little dopey smile on his face. Under his longer hair, hid his sparkling dark eyes. Chica tilted her head as the feather image in both her eyes, switched to white hearts. Chris looked at the hearts in her eyes and dropped his smile. Not because he was sad, but because he was curious. Why were there hearts in her eyes? Was...Was Chica in love with her? Or was this more like a motherly kind of love?

Chica moved her finger around under his chin, and started gently scratching under his chin. Chris’s smile seemed to grow right back onto his face but this time, it was followed up by...almost a loving reaction to the scratching. He was closing his eyes and tilting his head to the side while sporting a soft, comfortable smile on his face. Whatever kind of loving reaction this was, Chica was loving it! Her eyes dilated in wonder and excitement as she scratched under his chin with two fingers this time.

Chris appeared to be loving the chin scratches. Whenever Chica would move towards the upper chin, Chris would follow her and lift his chin up like a touch-starved cat. It was like he had just learned about the wonders of being touched. He didn’t want it to stop!

Next, Chica moved her ears towards his ears and started lightly scratching there. To Chica’s surprise, Chris started leaning into that touch as well! His face showed signs of enjoyment, and he even started...vibrating?

Wait...there was a sound to this vibration! It sounded strange. In fact, it sounded similar to a finger fluttering through all the pages of a book. It sounded...pleasurable? Was it a sound of enjoyment to go along with his face? Chica wasn’t entirely sure. But she could understand that whatever the sound was...it was connected to the ear scratching.

Whenever Chica would stop scratching his ears, Chris would stop doing the flutter sound and would look at him with sadness and hurt. Silent pleas for more? It seemed so. Chica would continue the ear scratches, and the pleasurable face, along with the flutter sound, would return.

Chica kept up this interesting sound-making action for a little longer. And the moment she finally stopped, Chris looked at her with a smile. “Thank you Chica. That felt amazing.” Chris opened his arms out, reaching for a hug. Chica, surprised but happy to agree, gently brought Chris into a hug. Chris wrapped his arms around her neck and snuggled his face into her shoulder.

While Chris snuggled into the chick, Chica started to draw little scribbles on his back with her loving finger. Chris, much to her surprise, started giggling and wiggling a little. “Hehehehehehehe! Thahahat tihihihicklehehes!” He giggled. Happy to hear his laughter more up close, Chica kept it up. “Hehehehehehehe! Hehehehehahahahahahaha!” He kept on giggling.

Chris wasn’t even trying to protest at this point! He was just happy to be in her arms! Chris’s viewpoint on Chica had changed drastically from when he got there, to at this moment. Toy Chica was programmed to be a little like a mother hen to the little children she likely saw as baby chicks. It was an underappreciated code idea that deserved a lot more positive reviews.

Chris stayed in Chica’s hug for a long while and enjoyed every ticking second of his cuddle session with her. It had been years since he had been cuddled like this. He never, ever expected to get such a warm cuddle session from a metallic, chicken-looking robot! But, gifts can come at the strangest of times.

Chris would later go back to the Pizzeria with more than just a daily repair job to do. He would come back, fix up the animatronics, and cuddle Chica for a while. Everytime he had a shift, Chris would happily cuddle with Chica. And amazingly, Chica’s faulty facial scanning seemed to work just enough so that she recognized who he was! It was the fixing man who loves to cuddle!

Now despite Chris’s attempts to hide this secret, he did manage to get caught. But Chris was actually surprised with who, out of all the staff, had caught him during a cuddle session. It was Henry Emily himself.

Henry had originally come into the restaurant to reminisce over the robots he had created and sadly, handed over to Afton once he left the team. But he ended up finding a lot more than just a repair man and the animatronics.

While the sight of a grown man cuddling a robot was super confusing and almost worrying at first, Mr. Emily seemed to understand just what was actually happening. Not only that, but Emily even had some answers for Chris’s questions such as: What did the hearts mean?

As it would turn out, the hearts meant that Chica had grown a special connection to someone, similar to a mother with their child! He had originally set it up with white hearts to represent purity in the love rather than the traditional red heart, which would represent a more intimate love.

So Chris smiled in delight when he realized his personal guess was almost spot on!

But then, more and more things started to finally click when Chica’s feathers appeared in her eyes again while looking at Henry. And of course; before the engineer could think to run, Chica had grabbed him and started tickling him! And even when Emily begged and pleaded for Chris to stop her, Chris just crossed his arms and enjoyed the strangely endearing scene.

Looks like Chris isn’t the only one who likes getting tickles from the pizza-loving chicken...

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: F*@k The Chef {One Shot}***

Ransom Drysdale x Family Chef Reader

Warning: NSFW, SMUUUUUT, Cursing, Hard Dub-Con, DARK Creepy Ransom, ALL STARS ON NSFW METER

***DO NOT READ AT WORK!!! TAKE THE WARNINGS SERIOUSLY***

Words: 4k

Summary: HA! Nope.

Note: So, my first attempt at Ransom and more importantly Dub-Con. I don’t know about you, but Ransom does not scream anything but dubiousness. That means consent is given but by dubious means. I hope this is even a fraction of good. Was this dark? Thank you guys for reading!! 

Also, this was not written to offend anyone.

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

***Gif Not My Own***

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

When you got the call that you’d been chosen for an in-home chef position, you were happy. You’d hit bottom when you’d tapped out all of your savings trying to help your mother when she got her diagnosis. Cancer—stage three Cancer. It was a death sentence, your mother said. She was hell-bent on not fighting it, but you wouldn’t hear a thing about it. She’d birthed you a fighter, and you’d go down as a fighter. The cancer didn’t waste any time progressing. Before long, she went from no symptoms to every symptom in the book. She said she’d made her peace with death, but you weren’t ready to face a world without her.

 You drained your bank account with her meds, her care, and funding the portion of treatment her insurance refused to. After six months, you were broke. The call that you’d be chosen for a live-in position automatically garnered a refusal. You couldn’t leave your mother. Then the offer got even better, not only were you requested but the salary was better than any personal chef had ever seen. There was no way you wouldn’t take the job.

 When you rolled up to the address, your jaw dropped when you realized where you were—the Thrombey estate. You weren’t an idiot, you’d heard about the Thrombey Dynasty, everyone had heard the rumors. They’re the wealthiest family, they controlled serious portions of the business world and even that the family was seriously weird. You’d even heard the torrid tale of the black sheep of the family, Ransom Drysdale. You’d heard about his arrest. The release of information was interesting. The whispers said he’d killed his grandfather and the family housekeeper, but the official story said the family was a victim of insufficient evidence that pinned the murders on Ransom. It was safe to say the family had secrets, and though you’d never met Ransom, he looked dangerous.

You couldn’t believe your luck. Upon speaking with Linda Drysdale about the position, you knew this would be an interesting position. Linda told you what you needed to know to do your job accordingly, and you took detailed notes. It was clear that everyone in the household and the family had particular tastes that had to be paid attention to.

 Six months into the position, you’d learned a lot and developed on the job skills it took to survive working for the Thrombeys as well as living with them. You considered yourself an expert now. That was until you walked into your kitchen one day and saw a set of shoulders that looked ripe for the touching. He was bent inside the fridge, and it gave you a good view of his backside. It looked nice—toned. You got lost looking over the muscles you knew were underneath the brown sweater they wore that you didn’t even realize when they looked over their shoulder right to you.

 “Holy Shit,” you gasped.

 Ransom Drysdale stood a few feet away. His body straightened and came to full height. He was huge, or bigger than you. You were clearly the omega, and he looked every bit the vicious alpha.

 “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” His mouth remained relaxed, but there was a playful but dangerous glint in his eyes. “Or maybe you do entirely different things with a mouth as pretty as that.”

 Unexpectedly, butterflies filled your belly. You usually were immune to pick up lines like that, but that was a blatant pickup line, one that was dark but for some reason, affected you. As he sauntered toward you, you caught dangerous vibes coming off of him. You backed up with every advance he made. When your heel hit the threshold of the kitchen entrance, panic set in. You were alone with a man who’d quite possibly killed two people, one of whom was his own grandfather. He stopped mere inches from touching you and smirked. Goosebumps flooded your skin.

 “Yeah, you do entirely different things with that mouth. Care to share?”

 You were stunned silent; his eyes were an intense shade of blue you couldn’t help but admire. That, coupled with his perfectly coiffed dark hair and chiseled jawline, it would have been an honest assessment to call him beautiful. When you didn’t answer, his smirk widened and sent chills down your spine. Leaning forward to your ear Ransom took a deep inhale then groaned.

 “One day.” With that, he walked off, leaving you dazed and slightly shaking. You didn’t know what it was you were shaking from fear or excitement.

 You thought to render your resignation after that encounter, but you couldn’t convince yourself to pass up on the clearly over-generous salary, not when your mother was still in treatment. After an all-night debate with your door securely locked and bolted with a chair underneath the knob, you decided to keep the job but tread carefully, especially when it came to a one Ransom Drysdale.

 For the next four months, you put up with a lot more than an average family chef would have had to. You stomached the catcalls, the whistles, and the demeaning sounds Ransom made every time he saw you or was close to you. You just steeled your spine and pretended you’d heard nothing at all. Every time you were left alone in a room, you made an excuse to leave. When you had to bring his dinner to his room because he hated his family so much that he refused to eat with them at the dinner table, you kept it simple. Rather than go into the lion’s den, you left it on the floor in front of the door, knocked, and made a mad dash to get away before he opened the door. You skated by for four months.

 As time went on, his advances became more and more blatant. What started as catcalls or whistling turned into sly comments about your uniform and how it should be shorter and how the fit did wonders for your waist and breasts. That escalated to outward attempts at getting to you. On the off chance your eyes met, he’d bite his lips, lick them obnoxiously and wink at you. When that had no effect, he found ways to touch you slyly. He’d squeeze past you sliding his body against yours, take plates or other items from you while ensuring his hand grazed yours. A few times, he’d even grabbed your waist. Each time it produced a loud yelp that could be heard throughout the house.

 After months of you not reciprocating or opening up to his advances, his delivery became even crasser. It was a little strange to you. You knew from the sounds that came from his bedroom that he had no shortage of women that would do whatever, whenever he wanted. You didn’t know why he had this fixation with you. Part of you said it was the draw of breaking someone—something. He possibly wanted to break those around him that were put together, and you were just the closest target. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to provoke him.

 One night, Ransom must have been lying in wait for you. When you approached his door with the tray of food, he swung open his door, startling you half to death. He smiled like the Cheshire cat if the Cheshire cat was a convicted murderer.

 “Funny meeting you here,” Ransom said, leaning one brawny shoulder on the threshold.

 “I—I have your dinner.”

 “You have my dinner who?” Clenching your jaw, you swallowed the smart comeback that nearly slipped from you. As if sensing it, Ransom smiled as his eyes darkened. He tilted his head to the side, quietly reminding you he was waiting.

 “Sir,” you filled in.

 He nodded and breathed out. You saw his eyes lazily travel over your body. He wasn’t even being coy about it; he was doing it outright like he wanted you to know what he was doing. Doing your best to ignore it and not say something reckless you’d regret in the trunk of his car as he took you to some abandoned part of the estate to kill you.

 “Bring it inside,” Ransom ordered. You hesitated. Going inside was a stupid idea, anyone with half a brain knew that. You also thought what other option did you have? He didn’t even bother repeating it. It was as if his privilege told him you’d obey.

 Cursing to yourself, you slowly stepped into his room and looked for a place to put the dinner tray. As you walked across to the small table up a few steps on the other side of the room, you did your best to slow your breathing and calm your nerves. Once you placed it down, you began walking back to the door. Before you got near it, Ransom shut it and leaned against it. Your stomach fell.

 “Uh—what’re you—what’re you doing?”

 “Whatever the hell I want,” he gruffly said. His eyes didn’t look clear tonight. He’d taken something. In your time working there, you’d learned a few things about Ransom. He liked women, alcohol, good food—rich food, and drugs. You suspected he did them all, but you knew for a fact he liked weed and molly, otherwise known as ecstasy. He must have taken one tonight, you though.

 Ransom rubbed his nose and sniffled as he did it and zeroed in on you. “Come here.”

 Instead of listening, you backed away, trying to create distance between you. “Come—here!”  It was said more loudly. He meant business. Panic set in and a feeling of dread. Before he moved, he growled then pounced. You yelped and got ready to scream, but Ransom’s hand clasped over your mouth before he pushed you against the wall on the other side of his room.

 “Let’s not go doing something stupid, sweetheart,” he drawled his voice dripping with wickedness and sin.

 “Tell me—sweetheart,” Ransom began with his face just inches from yours. “What would you do to keep your job?” You felt his finger trail your throat. It inched lower and lower until it was at the rise of your breast. “One word from me, and you’ll be out on your ass faster than you can say Cancer treatment.”

 With those words, your eyes widened. He knew about your mother. When he saw you realized it, he smiled sinisterly.

 “That’s right, sweetheart. I know you need this job. The question is, what will you do to keep it?”

 Moments passed where he kept his hand clamped over your mouth. Only when he was sure you weren’t going to scream did he remove it.

 “The next words out of your mouth better be anything, sweetheart,” Ransom warned. Glaring at him, you hoped to convey all the hatred you had for him at this moment. Ransom didn’t look like he cared, his smile said it didn’t faze him one bit.

“Haven’t you heard the rumors? Hate turns me on. I’d be careful how you look at me, Y/N. I just might bend you over that table and have my real dinner.” Your eyes bugged with his threat, but your belly did cartwheels. What the hell was wrong with you, you wondered.

 “So—again, what will you do—to keep your job?” He said it in a sing-song voice this time. He was enjoying this. The sick fuck was enjoying this.

 “What do you want?”

 As if he’d been waiting for you to ask him that. He smiled and got so close his nose touched yours. You tried to press your back even further onto the wall hoping it would suck you in. That didn’t happen though; instead, ransom’s hand tightened on your hip and pulled you to him. Your body was now crushed flush against his. Even dressed in the teal-colored wool sweater, you could still feel every muscle underneath. He was athletically built.

 “You.”

 As if for emphasis as soon as the word left his mouth, you felt his erection poking against you. Again, your belly did backflips as you were filled with strange feelings; fear was the least of them.

 “I’m tired of waiting for you to throw yourself at me so I can take what I offer. You are the only one who has resisted this long. Why resist? Just give in. Give me what I want,” Ransom spoke through clenched jaws as he ground his crotch into you. A small moan escaped your lips, one you instantly regretted. His lips touched your ear before he spoke.

 “You want me. Give it, or I will take it.” Ransom then bit your earlobe, but it wasn’t gentle. It was forceful. His teeth relinquished their hold before he bit your neck. He wanted to mark you.

 Suddenly a loud knock broke the heady aura in the room.

 “What!”

 “Where is Y/N! She’s needed now. Have you seen her?” It was Linda. You’d never been happier to hear her voice.

 Ransom’s anger was evident, and it grew when he saw relief in your eyes. He looked like he was thinking of all the things he wanted to do to you, and none of them ended with you clothed and unmarked. Ransom then begrudgingly scoffed and went back to your ear. “Soon.”

 After he spoke, he released you. Quickly you scurried to the door and out. You didn’t even bother to shut it behind you. You just ran.

 For days you looked over your shoulder. For days you lived on edge. You kept your door locked with the chair underneath and even pushed one of the nightstands against it in case he was strong enough to barge in. Night after night, nothing happened. Day after day, Ransom was on his best broody behavior. The catcalls stopped, the whistles were a thing of the past, the touches nonexistent. He’d gone one hundred to zero overnight, and it confused you.

 You were relieved the first few weeks, but that relief turned to doubt. You were convinced he was working some twisted angle. You were sure he would sneak out from every corner and push you over whatever furniture was nearby and have at it. It was a constant worry. After four weeks and nothing, you began to relax, especially when you found little things lying around at your door either early in the morning when you rose to get breakfast ready or late at night when your day was done. The items weren’t huge things; they were things such as your favorite flower, or your favorite dessert. There was one time you found a diamond necklace in your favorite color. You knew who it was from. You didn’t acknowledge them, though. That must have been encouragement, every so often you’d find pieces of jewelry, earrings, bracelets, rings, all items that looked like they cost more than an average weekly paycheck. You didn’t wear them, you kept them in a drawer and tried not to think about them.

 His behavior was erratic and confusing. You couldn’t figure him out. One morning ransom was waiting in the kitchen for you. You nearly tripped over your own two feet. You couldn’t walk away because he’d already seen you. Cautiously you walked into the room, taking the path that left enough breadth between you and him. You wanted to get to the fridge, but the action meant your back was turned to him. You didn’t want to turn your back on him.

 “Don’t bother. There is no one here today—no need to make breakfast,” Ransom informed.

 “Uh—what—

 “I have breakfast already.” He nodded to the pink box sitting on the island. Your eyed dropped to it and caught the aroma of pastries. You recognized the box.

 “I made coffee,” Ransom informed. Shock filled you.

 “You?” He scoffed, got up, and walked to the fancy espresso machine. He then poured the dark liquid into a mug and approached you. The scent of the exotic coffee beans teased your nostrils. He stopped a few feet from you and held out the mug. It was the mug that read “my house, my rules, my coffee.” You couldn’t help but think of the stories you’d heard of Marta. Marta who was now strangely gone without a trace.

 “Take it. I promise I didn’t do anything to it.” You slowly reached out and took the mug and sniffed it hoping to be able to smell if he poisoned or drugged it.

 “I didn’t poison or drug it. You have entirely the wrong idea about me, Y/N.” He chuckled and walked back to the espresso machine to get his own mug. He then came back to you and leaned on the island while facing you.

 “I want to apologize,” Ransom began. You almost dropped your mug.

 “Apolo—huh?”

 “I know, it is not a concept I’m familiar with, but neither is forcing myself on the help. I don’t have to force anyone to fuck me,” Ransom crassly explained.

 “Nice. Lucky you.”

 “Meh. I didn’t mean to—I was high. I didn’t have full control.”

 You studied him trying to assess if he were being sincere or if this was yet another ploy.

 “Come, I got your favorites.” Ransom walked away to the stool and sat then opened the pink pastry box.

 It was filled with your favorites, madeleines. It was a box of an assortment of them, and they smelled delicious. Ransom waited for you to approach. When you did, it was a slow stride, and you took the stool that was farthest from him. The two of you ate and drank in silence. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, though. You tried to keep your nervous ticks to a minimum, but it was difficult. The longer you sat across from him, smelling his cologne, the more you felt temptation. It was confusing. Though you hated him, you were strangely intrigued by him, inexplicably attracted to him. It was one of those things that you felt ashamed of. When the last madeleine was eaten, Ransom stood and walked out of the kitchen without a word. Your head was spinning from this three-sixty.

 That wasn’t the end of Ransom’s peculiar behavior. It all continued as did the wayward glances. At times they were soft, and other times they were hard and intense. You were convinced the man had bipolar disorder or even multiple personalities. Several more weeks passed with him giving you the hot and cold treatment, the psychopath and sane citizen act. Though you tried to talk yourself out of it, you found yourself with mixed feelings for him.

 You were minding your own business preparing the lunch for the household. You’d just finished putting a freshly kneaded loaf of bread in the oven and checked on your pot of stew on the stove slow-simmering when heard the clink of metal. Your curiosity won out, making you look behind you to the nook in the kitchen, and there stood Ransom. He was dressed in his favorite white cable knit sweater and dark pants. Your eyes immediately dropped to those pants to see his belt undone, and him slowly zipping down his pants. You were frozen in place. The slowness of his moves was like torture. You knew you should have looked away, but you were interested in knowing just what had countless women compromising their morals. When his cock flopped out of his pants, you gasped and placed your hand at your throat. He was long and thick and completely ready.

 You heard a growl from him, and in seconds, he was across the kitchen and in front of you, pressing you against the fridge.

 “Looks like soon is today. When we first met, you showed me a glimmer of how dirty your mouth was. That was just a fraction though Y/N. Get on your knees and show me more,” Ransom demanded. His eyes were again dark similar to the way they’d looked the night in his room.

 “Ransom pl—” Ransom grabbed your throat, but he didn’t squeeze.

 “What did you call me?”

 “S—sir,” you replaced. His top lip rose in a devious smirk.

 “On your knees. Or we can call this your last day working here.”

 You knew he was serious. Linda was wrapped around his finger, and she didn’t even know it. All he had to do was say he hated your food, and you’d be out on your ass, and your mother would suffer for it. After quick calculation of your options and the fall out from them, you slowly dropped to your knees. Ransom’s thick cock was right in front of your face. The violent veins were protruding to give you an idea of just how engorged he was.

 “I’ve dreamed of this for months. Open your pretty mouth, sweetheart.”

 You opened your mouth, and without warning, Ransom thrusted forward, sending his cock down your throat. You gagged, but Ransom kept it nestled in the tight confines of your throat. You groaned, hoping to relay your panic from your lack of oxygen intake, but either Ransom didn’t understand, or he didn’t care. You were sure it was the lather. He pulled his hips back, allowing you to chough and gasp for it. The reprieve was only momentary. In seconds, he shoved his cock back into your mouth and held the back of your head where he wanted it as he fucked your face.

 You did your best to remain conscious. With every thrust, Ransom shoved his cock further and further down your throat, suffocating you in the process. Soon slobber and thick globs of mucus dribbled from your chin and down to your flour-covered uniform. Ransom didn’t slow his actions or take heed to not break your throat with his cock. He fucked your face viciously. His only concern was his pleasure. When his thrusts became so fast you couldn’t keep up; you gagged with every forward thrust. Your struggle must have been a turn on for him because the sounds coming from him were animalistic but also vulnerable.

 “That’s it; sweetheart suck my cock. You take me so fucking well. swallow me!” His hands loosened their grip from behind your head, and he caressed your cheek with the back of his hand. It was out of character.

 “Use your hands!” you wrapped both your hands around his shaft and worked his length as he continued to fuck your mouth. Ransom dropped his head back and groaned loudly.

 “Yes, that’s it, sweetheart, swallow this cock! show me how bad you fucking want it!”

 When you moaned on his length, you were shocked. You couldn’t believe this; you were turned on. Ransom must have known it too because it was then he plowed into your mouth with reckless abandonment. The moment before he came, you saw his intention. When you felt the hot splash of his cum shoot against your tonsils and down your throat, Ransom clasped his hands behind your head again and held you in place so not one drop escaped your mouth. His grunts were loud and forceful. From the look of him he was in ecstasy.

 “Swallow every drop!” It wasn’t a suggestion. You struggled swallowing and attempting to breathe. It felt like his cum was coming through your nose. You began to feel lightheaded and woozy as Ransom swished his cock around your throat, nudging it against the walls. The sensation fiercely triggered your gag but thanks to his cock in your mouth, there was nowhere for anything to go. Gulping, you swallowed what he deposited, and that action had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. It was then Ransom pulled himself from your mouth, finally allowing you to chough and gasp for air.

 After a few moments, Ransom stooped down before you, his cock still out and slowly coming back to life. Your eyes met, and he had a smile on his face.

“There, there sweetheart. You did good.” Ransom used a dish towel to dab at the corners of your mouth before he wiped your messy chin. “Could be better, but don’t worry, I’ll train you proper tonight.” He leaned to your ear and whispered. “Let the big bad wolf in Y/N. I promise I’ll fuck you right.”

When he said it, he stood and walked out of the kitchen, leaving you on the floor in complete shock at what just happened and the fact that you liked it—a lot. 

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

[nvvermore]

Ten Minutes Ago

An unexpected meeting backstage takes Ophélie by complete surprise [featuring @arcanecadenza's Cadenza ]

words: 2k

cw: none

accompaniment

—

With a final bow and one last dazzling smile, Ophélie turns and walks gracefully off stage. It’s only once she’s sure she’s safely behind the curtain and out of sight from the audience she picks up the pace, eager to return to the safety of her dressing room. 

Despite how comfortable she’s become at the opera house and the cast and crew that came with it, the worst part of her night is when, without fail, she gets bombarded by those lucky enough (read: rich enough) to persuade someone to let them backstage here to seek the attention of the performers. And especially her. Perks of being a leading lady.

Of course, her legs are only so long and she can only walk so fast— especially in these damned heeled shoes— and she ends up getting caught by the crowd. It really isn’t a crowd, but it is quite a few people, all talking at once as they shower her with all sorts of empty complements and ask her all sorts of borderline invasive questions. Ophélie only manages to sneak away when another principle actor joins the group and with a tilt of his head lets her know it’s alright to run while she can.

And she does, making a mental note to thank him later.

Ophélie is grateful for her role here, not only because she’s living out her dream of course, but because that means she gets a personal dressing room with a locking door. A true blessing. She’s not quite as comfortable here as she is in her own flat, but after having been here for close to a year now, it’s a close second. She’s just got her hand on the doorknob when a new voice calls out from behind her.

“Excuse me, Miss Rozaliya.” Ophélie spins around, a little too quickly, to see a tall woman with dark curls standing a few feet away. She gets a good look at her, to make sure she’s not someone who works here, but she quickly decides that she's never seen her before, because she’d definitely remember seeing her. And she can’t help but get a good look at the very low neckline of the woman’s dress, and how said fabric hugs her hips.

Ophélie snaps her eyes up to the woman’s face before she can be considered to be staring. “Hello, I’m sorry, but I’m not seeing any more patrons tonight. But I appreciate you coming down for the show,” she explains, in her best dealing-with-pushy-guests voice.

“Ah, Amaryllis told me to tell you that they sent me,” she explains, “I’m Cadenza.” She holds out her hand in greeting. It wasn't often, but when Amaryllis sent someone to see her, it was usually important. And it wasn’t often they sent someone so pretty either.

She takes Cadenza’s outstretched hand, briefly feeling the calluses on her fingertips brush over her own. “Cadenza,” she echoes, “please, just call me Ophélie.” She glances back and forth down the hallway. Ophélie isn’t very thrilled about having any meet and greet out in the open. “Would you like to step inside with me?” She pushes open the door to her dressing room, gesturing for Cadenza to enter.

Ophélie makes a beeline for the fresh pitcher of water that’s been left at her vanity. “So what brings you backstage?” she asks, pouring herself a glass and hoping Cadenza is, well, normal, if Amaryllis is the one who sent her. She brings it up to her lips and takes a much needed drink. Cadenza still stands by the door a few feet away, her intense gaze still settled on Ophélie.

“Tonight was my first time seeing the show, and I was absolutely moved by your performance.” Cadenza smiles, and clasps her hands behind her back. She seems completely genuine, her words not at all like any of the others Ophélie has received tonight. She was expecting a director or composer or some other industry contact, not someone who enjoyed her performance for what it was.

Ophélie shuts her eyes and waves a dismissive hand in Cadenza's direction. “Oh please, when you’re on stage six days a week, it’s second nature. It’s practically a part of you.”

Just as she’s finishing up her deflection, Ophélie suddenly feels a presence before her. Then she feels those callused fingertips on her chin, gently nudging her face up. She almost wants to keep her eyes shut, but curiosity convinces her to do the opposite, lashes fluttering open to peer up at Cadenza.

“Second nature or not, your voice is breathtaking,” she asserts, and her face is close enough to render Ophélie speechless. She doesn’t bother to hide the way her gaze flickers across Cadenza’s face, so that she can take in all of the pretty freckles that span across her cheeks and how the brown of eyes turns to honey in the candlelight.

 It takes Ophélie a moment to find her voice, but once she does she certainly doesn’t have the mind to deflect again. “Thank you,” her voice comes out soft, mousy, compared to the way she typically conducts herself. “That means a lot to hear.” And it does, somehow. Somehow, Ophélie knows Cadenza isn’t just another socialite dishing out empty compliments just to flatter her. Somehow she knows that Cadenza is the type of audience member that she gets on stage every night for, the ones who aren’t there just to say they were but to be moved by the story she and her fellow cast members tell.

Cadenza starts to run her thumb along her jaw, and Ophélie isn’t trying to hide how she’s staring down her lips. But then— much to Ophélie’s disappointment— a sharp knock at the door has Cadenza pulling away.

“Lie! Hurry up with your costumes! They’re off to the cleaners tonight!” A huffy voice calls from the other side of the door.

“I’m going, I'm going!” Ophélie brushes past Cadenza to get to positioning herself in front of the large mirror on the wall. She remembers her manners— only somewhat— and glances back to Cadenza as she reaches for the laces cinching the back of her costume together. “Ah, don’t mind me. I’ve got more on underneath, promise.”

Ophélie tries not to look so eager to strip down, but of course, she’s struggling to untie the damn thing. In front of the very beautiful stranger who just called her breathtaking, no less. She fumbles with the knot for a few more moments, all too aware of Cadenza and the stagehand waiting on the other side of the door. She's certain she’s just about to get it loose, but then suddenly Cadenza is murmuring into her ear and the pretty hands that she’s already thought far too much about in the last ten minutes are slipping the laces from her fingers.

“Here, let me.” Ophélie is completely frozen to her spot, too surprised to object even if she wanted to. And she doesn’t really want to tell Cadenza to stop undressing her. If anything, she’d hope for her to keep going. She swears Cadenza is taking her sweet time with the laces, being far more gentle and precise than she really needs to be. There’s no way she wouldn’t notice the goosebumps on her neck from where her breath ghosts over her skin.

“Shouldn’t you have an assistant that does this for you?” Cadenza asks, looking up into the mirror to address Ophélie more directly.

“I have a dresser before and during the show, but afterwards I’m just more comfortable doing it myself.” It would always be weird to have people help her with things like dressing, even if it was their job to do so.

“Should I stop then?”

“No,” she says, a little too quickly, and Cadenza’s breath tickles her bare shoulder as she chuckles.

Ophélie feels the dress is more than loose enough for her to slip out of now, but she doesn’t dare move until Cadenza tells her so. “There you go.” She lays a hand on Ophélie’s shoulder, and the goosebumps from her neck travel there.

Quickly, she steps forward to shimmy her way out of the costume, treating it with a little less care than she normally does. Certainly not enough to damage it, but she lets it drop all the way to the floor before stepping out of it. She may or may not put a little bit extra into the way she bends over to pick it up.

She is wearing a slip, petticoat, and stays, garments that are hardly any different from the ones she wears day-to-day. But she feels so very on display with the way Cadenza looks at her. Part of her wants to stay in just this— or to take off a little more— so Cadenza keeps looking at her that way. But she scolds herself, they were still basically complete strangers.

So Ophélie does the normal thing, snatching up her dressing gown from it’s hook and tying it tight. Maybe later she’ll let her mind wander on just how Cadenza would assist her further.

Another knock on the door pulls her out of her trance, again, and she scoops up the costume. It’s placed on a rack with her other ensembles for the night, and she pushes it out to the stagehand who, much to her relief, doesn’t look as annoyed as they had sounded. With a nod they roll away and Ophélie goes to turn back to Cadenza, but a hand on her arm stops her from shutting the door.

“I think I’ll take my leave now, but...” She reaches forward to take Ophélie’s hand in hers, bringing it to her lips. Ophélie is enraptured by the feeling of how they ghost across her knuckles as Cadenza speaks. “Once more, you were absolutely mesmerizing. Until we meet again, little nightingale.” She kisses the back of her hand, leaving behind a faint mark from her lipstick.

She’s gone down the hall before Ophélie can even find the words for a farewell.

—

Cadenza’s visits very quickly become regular post show affairs, and Ophélie becomes more and more prepared for them. 

Ophélie starts looking for her from the stage, pleased each night she does spot her watching the show from Amaryllis’s private box. And sure enough, after the curtain is down she always finds Cadenza at her door.

Ophélie’s awkwardness subsides, thankfully, but as far as she’s concerned the tension between them only grows.

Cadenza asks all about her career, how she came to be at the opera house and her experience, and always listens attentively and always wants to hear more. Ophélie learns that the calluses on her fingertips aren’t just from the violin but from magic too, and begs her to tell her all about being a magician.

Tonight, the two of them had already been chatting and giggling away for close to an hour, each nestled onto the sofa and sipping on the tea Cadenza had brought as a gift.

“...So, I’m lucky to have landed such a role at all!” Ophélie takes a sip of her tea, just finishing up telling her all about her arduous audition process. She nudges Cadenza’s knee with her foot, teasing glint in her eyes. “But what about you? What's made you such a dedicated patron of the arts?” She’s confident she knows the answer by now.

Cadenza’s cheeks turn red, and she tries to hide by taking a sip of her tea. “Well, I've hardly been secretive about how much I enjoy your performances.”

“Aww, Cadenza,” Ophélie sits up, setting her teacup aside to scoot a little closer. “Don’t tell me you’ve been coming all this way just to see me.”

Cadenza chews on her lip. “Well, it didn’t start out that way.” 

“But it turned out that way?” Ophélie grins.

“Shouldn’t you be on vocal rest after a show, usignolo?”

“It’s not my fault you’ve kept me busy.” Ophélie is on her knees, hovering over Cadenza, eyes flitting down to her lips. “Perhaps you ought to help me be quiet.”

[yyparkq]

hooked

characters: park sungjin x reader

word count: ~3.2k

summary: park sungjin is almost a perfect boyfriend for you...until he abruptly starts being emotionally withdrawn from you a few months into your relationship.

genre: fluff, smut

tw: mentions of anxiety, unprotected sex, slightly toxic relationship

requested by @parksungjinsfan

a/n: had tons of fun writing this really warm and cozy sungjin, thank you for the request!! tbh, i always see him as someone i’d be comfortable to share everything that’s on my mind. and i feel like he’s one of the very few people who will never judge you for your stupid mistakes but is also someone who needs to be taken care of. im blabbering too much. enjoy the story! :)

There was nothing special on the day you first met Park Sungjin. Like any other normal college student, you were able to find yourself a small circle you can trust and have fun with. Because of them, you have encountered the seemingly quiet and mysterious guy from the engineering class. He was best friends with the guy your close friend, Erin, was dating.

If first impressions last, like how they say it does, you’re fairly sure you would barely get more acquainted with a Park Sungjin. Unlike you, Sungjin is more reserved with a constant hang of serious air around him, like the type of person who barely laughs when someone makes a joke in front of him. He doesn’t always hang out with a lot of people but when he does, he’s always got an earphone dangling in one of his ears as if saying he’s only halfway present. He dresses neatly albeit casually—oftentimes in a plaid or button-down shirt and faded jeans with his dark, wavy hair falling shortly before his dark brown eyes.

He’s a pretty decent guy but not really the type you see yourself to be dating. But when you accidentally met him at the movie house alone and decided to grab dinner after, you two hit it off so smoothly. Turns out you both share the love for the book that was recently adapted onto the big screen. You two talked over dinner nonstop about the movie, how it varies against the book, the great and bad parts that were changed, the cast that played the role, the cinematography, the lines. Your exchange that night was nothing but informative and honestly, you craved more to be with him after that night so you asked him to hang out with you again. Sungjin already had a perfect proposal to invite you the second time if you didn’t ask. His mind worked extra hard trying to keep up with the conversation with you while thinking about how to ask you out for the second time at the back of his mind.

It was a ticket to an international classical play that he had up his sleeves which you gladly accepted.

One impromptu date was followed by a few more. After classes, you will meet over snacks or spend time in the library, reading and studying together. On weekends, you will try to watch movies you find interesting or go to museums.

You dating each other has not been a complete secret from your friends and you’re glad at how supportive they are to your new relationship.  Somehow, you learned that Sungjin is actually an easy-going person, he talks and laughs a lot when he’s comfortable with the people he’s with. He’s knowledgable and he knows how to listen and strike up a healthy argument when needed even though sometimes he could be a little awkward and even seem standoffish.

Your friends think that your relationship is pure and innocent—almost platonic as one could say—but they couldn’t be any more wrong. Yes, you and Sungjin maintain a totally discreet relationship when you’re in public and with friends. It’s not like you have to tell anyone but you laugh inside when some of your friends ask about the status of your sex life. You never responded to such questions positively, not too comfortable in sharing such intimate details about your life with anyone, and somehow it painted an idea in their heads that you and Sungjin have never had sex yet.

The thing is, you two are fairly active in that regard. There is an unbelievably strong bond between you and Sungjin after the first date that is almost impossible for either of you to resist.

It was after the third date when you first give in to your desire. After spending time looking at ancient monarch artifacts and roaming around the museum, you were met with heavy rains the moment you stepped out of the museum building. Being in the middle of the summer, neither of you had attempted to check the weather that day for any sign of impending downpour that day. Your thin, white button-down shirt styled as a dress stuck to your skin as you both ran for his car across the parking lot, rendering your clothes almost transparent the moment you climbed into the passenger seat. The sight of you being wet and in close proximity with Sungjin didn’t help him control himself either.

“Would you like to come over to my place?” he asked coolly after giving you his spare jacket from the backseat to cover yourself. Even with his imaginations going wild, he’s still a gentleman in your eyes.

“Sure,” you nodded, well aware of what’s about to come next. It could be seen as taking things too fast but frankly, you didn’t care. You wanted this and it seemed like he did too.

You blushed when he flashed you that warm smile that reached his eyes before starting the car and driving away.

Sungjin refused to let you go home that night until you practically cannot walk. He fucked you senseless until you’re almost out of your wits, one orgasm after another until you’re quivering uncontrollably.

It has been five months since you started dating. Everything’s going pretty well in your relationship except that you are in no exception for fights and misunderstandings. Everyone says it’s normal in every relationship but for you who has barely had a serious relationship like what you currently have with Sungjin, it’s a foreign feeling trying to make amends with someone you’re romantically involved with and had to choose the next move.

This is the first major fight with him. The last five months of dating have been wonderful until weeks ago when you noticed that your boyfriend started withdrawing himself from you, physically and emotionally. This stressed you out though you still tried your best to be there for him. Whenever you two are alone, you couldn’t really talk to him about anything for more than five minutes. His mind obviously wandering off and he never realizes it when you stop mid-sentence until you’re parting ways. Whenever you try to ask what’s been bothering him, he just easily dismisses it off, saying he’s tired and he lacks sleep—which is also why you tried to limit your meetings after classes and dates, thinking it would help him a bit to spare a few more hours to rest. This side of Sungjin is completely new to you as you’ve known him for being so straightforward in telling what he thinks or feels and is usually logical with his actions. The fact that he no longer shares what’s bothering him makes you think of a hundred different reasons for being cold towards you.

Has he had enough of you? Did he realize you were too plain and boring for his liking? Were you not good in bed? Did he find someone else?

The blood on your face drained at the thought of Sungjin going out with some other girl. But you can’t stop him if that’s what he wants, can you? You can’t tell him how to feel. Of all the things, to be an obsessive girlfriend is one you’re dreading the most and after all the sacrifices and adjustments you made to try to help him with whatever burden he’s lifting, you’re determined to let him find the answers to his troubles himself. It’s not that you no longer want to help him, you love him too much, after all, but how can you help someone who refuses to help himself?

“Sweetie, have you tried talking to him again lately?” your friend, Yejin asked.

You glared at her and disappointment crossed your face. Has she really been listening to ask that question?

“No, I mean, I thought the last real conversation you had personally was like, what, almost two weeks ago? Did you try seeing him after class again after that?”

The three of you sat at your usual place in the coffee shop when your class was canceled by the professor to attend some personal matters.

Shaking your head, you reached for your cup and took a sip before answering. “I haven’t. He kept saying he’s tired and needs sleep so I gave him time to rest. And it’s been four days of merely receiving a text message from him. He won’t text me unless I text him first. I have no idea what’s happening to him,” you looked at Erin’s direction. “Did JB say anything?”

“That motherfucker doesn’t tell me any of his friends’ business, Y/N, but let me see if I can get anything.”

Even your friends who got closer to your boyfriend can’t think of him as someone who would cheat or be entertained by other girls. After a whole hour at the coffee shop trying to guess the possible reasons for Sungjin’s actions,  they suggested a silly plan of making him jealous to see how he responds when you’re on the brink of being taken away from him.

You did not like the idea. It was ridiculous and manipulative. You’re no longer in high school.  

“Come on, that could be a wake-up call for him. Just think of it as a social experiment and you’ll be fine,” Yejin tried to persuade you.

Ridiculously scary. Deep down, you’re also scared of how he will react to this plan. What if the situation worsens instead of getting better? He could just not talk to you again forever and you'll be dwelling in your own pain alone because of a stupid idea. But doing something is better than sulking and doing nothing, right? You’re young, and when you’re young, you can be stupid for free.

So you agreed and you started planning your own little scheme with your friends, hoping not to cause any further damage to your entire relationship.

For days, Erin made up stories about a guy from your class who is making a move on you and told her boyfriend about the plan to make Sungjin jealous. When JB said his best friend interrogated him about the innocent guy, she knew the plan will be going well so she came up with another without telling you.

As a celebration for the nearing end of the finals, your seniors decided to throw a grand party. Such parties should be considered a tradition already since almost everyone finds an excuse to get wasted after studying hard for the whole semester. You’re not one to miss such a celebration, especially when you ever really party during after the hell week.

Overhearing JB’s conversations with his girlfriend about some dude lurking around you has brought him back to his senses. For the last couple of days, he contemplated and reflected on his attitude towards you. He’s been a jerk to you lately and frankly, he didn’t know how to approach you again after that. He’s been too occupied in his own head that he forgot he actually has you now, someone who’s more than willing to share his troubles. Before he knew it, he was dashing through his car to the party where Yejin told him you’d be.

You came to the party to try to not overthink the problem between you and Sungjin. After surviving the finals week with emotional baggage, you know you deserve some booze to celebrate walking out of at least one thing alive. the last thing you hear about your little scheme with your friends is that Sungjin fired questions to JB. But he didn’t talk to you after that. Thankfully, you were also too busy to worry about your grades and it’s been a great distraction so far. Now that the finals are over, you’ll be damned again.

Sungjin found you scooping from a large tub of ice cream from the kitchen, bottles of beer and half-filled party cups surrounding you in the little space. There is a guy beside you laughing at the way you’re trying to scoop a frozen solid treat using a regular spoon. You’re too focused on what you’re doing that you didn’t see him come right in front of you.

To your surprise, Sungjin snatched the tub out of grasp and grabbed your hand. You needed a second to process what just happened but you are elated to see your boyfriend after nearly three weeks.

You let Sungjin pull you but were shocked when the guy beside you grabbed on your other wrist. What the hell? You didn’t even know his name. You saw Sungjin squint at the nameless guy and you immediately yanked away from him, wincing at the sudden jerk of your own hand immediately after.

Sungjin kept you to his chest as he waded through the sea of drunk people. All the while, you kept looking at his face. It felt months since you’ve been this close to him and at that moment, you were just ready to feed on whatever excuse he could say. He could lie to your face at that moment and you’d still be happy to welcome him back into your arms.

Merely a few feet from his car, you stopped walking and tugged on his arm. You slowly closed the distance between you two and encircled your arms around his shoulders when he turned to look at you.

Sungjin looked at your face closely, noticing you’ve lost some weight by the way the dimple on your left poked your cheek a bit deeper than the last time he saw you. His hands automatically found their way at your sides.

“I miss you so much,” you whispered while searching his eyes.

Sungjin leaned forward and kissed you feverishly. He guided you on your back until you are leaning toward his parked car. He pressed his body against you and you continued kissing until you both needed to gasp for some air. After resting for a few seconds, he began nipping and sucking on the sensitive area on your neck.

Proper communication be damned—you need him to touch you and you need it as soon as possible. You squirmed beneath him to try to close your legs when you felt wetness pooling in your panties but Sungjin’s left leg was pressed between your thighs.

He understood what you’re trying to do and immediately pressed a thigh against your core, amused to feel your wetness even through the material of your panties. His cock twitched inside his pants.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry,” he repeated as he embraced you tightly and kissed your temple before opening the door and letting you inside his car drove away.

Sungjin's hands quickly reached for the zipper of your dress, letting it pool around your feet, as soon as you reached inside his apartment. In an instant, his mouth was back against yours. He lifted both your thighs to circle his hips and your arms circled his broad shoulders for support.

You felt his hard shaft poking your entrance and you reached down to undo the fastening of his pants, pulling the waistband down just enough to free his throbbing cock.

Sungjin hissed when you grabbed his cock and spread the leaking precum over his tip. “Shit-”

You bobbed your hand up and down his length until you felt being laid down on the mattress, your boyfriend hovering over you.

He bucked his hips lightly to your touch and buried his head on your shoulders, to suppress his sinful moans.

You felt his body shake and he peeled himself off of you. “Baby, stop.”

Sungjin lifted his body and kissed the side of your head before reaching out to remove your soaked panties. He kissed and occasionally nipped the inside of your thighs before nudging the tip of his nose along your slit.

“Fuck, Sungjin stop tea—” you shrieked and were cut short when he licked a stip between your folds. Your hands immediately found purchase at his hair, tugging at it every time he licked your core and sucked on your clit.

“Language, baby,” he groaned hoarsely before inserting a finger into you. He continued his ministrations to your core, adding a second and third finger shortly after. “Need to stretch you up a bit more, baby. Damn, you got tighter without my cock deep inside you huh.”

You tried to stop Sungjin’s hands when you felt your release nearing. But he didn’t budge. He even picked up the pace and encouraged you to let go.

“Are you cumming, baby?”

You bit your bottom lip and nodded, unable to stitch words at the pleasure of having him between your thighs again.

“Words, baby. Use your words. Did you miss this? My hands and cock working on your pussy?”

“Sungjin—fuck, yes, I missed you and your cock inside me” you breathed and struggled to look him in the eye. “I missed you fucking me after classes.”

The memories of Sungjin fucking you in the most boring places brought you easily over the edge. In a few seconds, you are shaking uncontrollably and you felt your juices streaming out of your core deliciously.

Sungjin smirked as he leered at your pussy leaking out of cum. His hands didn’t cease its movements and continued to fuck you with his hands. Your whole body is almost quivering.

When he sensed you’re nearing your second orgasm, he grabbed his cock and positioned himself at your entrance. He coated himself with your juices before slowly pushing inside of you.

You stiffen for a short moment, trying to adjust to his size, and then slightly rolled your hips.

“I love you,” Sungjin whispered against your ear. “I love you, Y/N,” he repeated, this time against your lips, before bottoming out and sheathing himself inside you again.

You cried out in pleasure as he started to thrust into you harder and chased your orgasm.

Sungjin remained sheathed inside you even after shooting his load, his cock warming itself pretty nicely inside your pussy as he cuddled you on the bed.

Neither of you attempted to strike a conversation. You were not sure about him but the activity rendered you rather tired. A sound sleep while being cuddled would be much appreciated at that moment. Until you heard Sungjin sigh loudly. You looked over at him and saw his eyes being distant again.

“You have that look again,” you started slowly. You propped yourself in one arm, looked at him with adoration, and stroke his cheek. “Babe, you don’t have to tell me everything all at once. But please, don’t push me away. I love you and it’s hard for me to see you suffer on your own.”

He was fazed by the sadness in your voice. How could he ever deserve a girl like you? The last thing he wanted is to disappoint and burden you with his own problems and he thought at first he’s been doing a great job with it.  

Sungjin took a deep breath. He reached for your hand on his cheek and kissed it, bringing your torso against his once again. All the major problems that took the most space in his mind were spilled. He told you the pressure his family is bestowing upon him with the graduation and board exams around the corner and also their expectations for him to continue the business his father started.

You listened to his troubles. At that moment you knew you just needed to understand him, to try to perceive things in his shoes.

Sungjin isn’t the type of person who openly shares every little trouble he has as he’s afraid to burden other people. He believes everyone already has problems of their own and own demons to fight and dumping his worries could just add to that. But, oddly enough, hearing himself talk about it kind of helped to look at the situation again and evaluate his feelings and actions. As he continued to tell you his worries, he realized that it isn’t so bad to share the burden with your most trusted person.

[sweetestlamb]

You Are The Best Thing That's Ever Been Mine

Summary: Cha Hyeon and Ji-hwan after their emotional reunion.

Author's note: Recently watched Search WWW and wow. I've never loved a secondary couple this much, I looked forward to all their scenes and squealed at their smallest interactions, all in all I'm obsessed with them and I just wanted to write some smut. Light Dom/sub action because I love soft boi strong girl action it's my weakness. This show wasn't wildly popular so you guys might not know it but I had to write this lol

She giggles freely, cheeks aching from her wide smile, bursting at the seams of her rosy lips. Relief and excitement battling for dominance in her body, disbelief also making a guest appearance.

He's here.

He's really here.

His handsome face lingers in her peripheral, camouflage fatigues only enhancing his movie star good looks. Women ogle him boldly as they walk down the street, turning a blind eye to their tightly clasped hands. If he wasn't holding her hand and unknowingly calming her anger she would beat them all to a pulp, how dare they lust after her actor?

But she also wasn't just a fan, the way he'd kissed her and held her, knocking her off her feet just as violently as she had to him when they first met made that apparent.

Her boyfriend. Her lover. Hers.

She has felt jealousy and possessiveness before, had been enraged to learn about that punk cheating on her but that feeling was completely eclipsed by what she felt for Seol Ji-hwan, the thought of another having him and being the subject of his love made her blood boil and curdle into ugly black lines.

But they were all merely fans, they hadn't seen him crying about his inability to stare at his dog or seen the look of pure glee and wonder as he looked at his billboard, they hadn't seen through him and want to hold on with all their might.

"Hyeon ah, are you okay? You haven't said anything since we started walking." His sweet deep voice makes her head swim, how could she not fall for this man? He has enraptured her in his spell, his happiness quickly becoming her reason for joy.

Love flooding her eyes, she squeezes his hand, fingertips dragging against his soft skin, before looking up at him, "I'm just so happy you're back. I missed everything about you."

He stops at the raw honesty of her words, gazing at her face with tender irises, deep brown gaze wrapping around her before drawing her into a gentle kiss. She moans at the sensation of his fingers in her hair, scratching at her scalp in delicious drag. When they languidly pull apart his eyes are darker than she's ever seen them.

"Please, take me home."

She can't do anything but obey his pleading command.

His eyes seem to track her every movement as she enters her own living room, dressed comfortably in an oversize shirt that hangs off her smooth pale shoulders and shorts that expose a berth of silky skin. Her hair is carelessly pulled up in a messy bun with loose strands kissing her nape with each step she takes towards him.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you to wear." She apologizes, sitting beside him their bodies melting into each other.

"It's okay. I should have went home first, I just couldn't think about anything except you."

Her heart flutters, blissful smile spreading across her face. She's only witnessed adoration like this in her dramas, the kind of devotion that drives people to move mountains and pour their hearts out in the rain. Never had this love directed at her, she's lost at how to react or even begin to accept it.

She's doesn't tell him any of her thoughts, instead she squeals and playfully slaps him on his chest which she notices is much harder and more defined than it was before his mandatory service.

Her fingers lazily draw loops before she pulls her hands back in embarrassment.

"Sorry." A wild blush burns across the pale flesh of her cheeks.

"Don't be. I liked it, I like everything you do."

He shouldn't say things like that to her, not while she's fighting every fiber of her being not to maul him and eat him alive. They haven't done that yet, they have kissed and kissed until their lips were sore but each time it would stray to something deeper he would cool their flames, caressing her head until they fell into slumber.

She was content to wait as long as he wanted, she would happily suppress her own desires for him. But comments like that threatened her thin thread of control.

With a deep sigh, she stands up grabbing her own face to cool her cheeks before pleading, "Please don't say things like that, I can't take it."

As she makes to go to the kitchen, throat desert dry from just sitting beside him, he latches onto her wrist halting her escape with a firm hold.

Their eyes meet in a gaze that threatens to rip her control from her grip, his eyes devouring her face bravely staring at her lips.

"Where are you going?"

"I just need....a moment to collect myself."

"Don't. Don't collect yourself, stay like this. I want it."

He tugs her forward until she's standing between the open vee of his long legs, hair falling devastatingly on his forehead as he dismantles her with a gaze.

"Do you know what I want to do to you?" She threatens stepping further into him, hands coming to frame his perfect face.

"Do you know how badly I want you to do it to me?" He counters catching her hips and closing his eyes in acquiesce, humming at her fingers on his chiseled jaw line.

"Ji-hwan ah what are you doing to me?"

"I dreamt of you every night."

She gasps in surprise, eyes blown wide as he stares off to the side, seemingly lost in a vivid memory.

"You visited me in my dreams every night." He repeats, "We would go on dates, I could smell your perfume and feel your silky hair. We went to the beach and....Seol was there too. We walked him together, we took a walk on the beach. I was so happy."

She stares at him, speechless, he is the only one that is capable of stealing her breath and thoughts in his fashion. The only one who makes her shy, it's unsettling and terrifying.

"But there were.... other dreams." Those dark eyes reappear, arousal swirls in her loins. "You were gorgeous in those dreams, taking everything and giving me all of you. I didn't want to rush you before but after being away from you....I need you."

Rush her.

It wasn't because he didn't want her that he'd stopped all the times before. She'd asserted several times that they didn't have the privilege to take things slow, only for him to slow them down routinely. Confusion had turned to rejection and shame.

But, sweet as ever he'd been trying to respect her.

Silly boy.

Climbing into his lap while wrapping her arms around his neck she giggles, seductively, licking her lips in delight as he watches entranced by the wet swipe across pouty flesh.

"I want to eat you alive." She promises, watching as his pupils quiver and a hard line pokes into her soft bottom.

She grinds down, rolling sensually in his lap enthralled as he tips his head back in pleasure, his lips falling open.

Leaning forward she captures his mouth, kissing the moans off his tongue as he grabs her head massaging her head as she does exactly as she said: eats him alive.

He tastes sweet and fresh, like he just ate watermelon and she laps at each corner of his mouth, tugging his full bottom lip into her starved mouth.

Their wet muscles dance as she continues to roll in his lap, bouncing to press him against her pulsating center and groaning at the immense pleasure.

Her skin is flushed from his body heat and with a final nip she draws away from him, smitten watching him blindly chase her mouth like a kitten.

He's so sweet and hot. She's never going to let him go.

He begs her to return with his eyes, she shakes her head, fingers catching the edge of her loose shirt instead, it's only then that he notices the tight peak of her breasts poking through the material.

As she pulls the cloth up and over her skin, cool air runs across her naked skin, her full breasts on display, petal pink nipples stark against her milky white skin. His eyes lock onto her heaving chest and she waits for him to make a move, anticipation rendering her helpless.

After a few minutes, he gently runs his hands across her soft plush mounds, too gently a barely there caress.

Impatiently she places her hands atop his own, meeting his shocked gaze with her own challenging look before squeezing his hands, hard. The pain shooting through her skin in euphoric bubbles, his palm dragging against her sensitive nipples.

"I like it when it hurts a little."

This time there is no pause, his response is instant.

Taking full ownership, he palms her large breasts, squeezing them and pulling harshly at her tight peaks, she throws her head back when suddenly a wet suction surrounds her. He tongues into the furl of her skin, sucking hard and groaning against her skin.

His erection grows harder as he continues his ministrations, going back and forth between both breasts giving them equal treatment.

Her little gasps and moans stain the air in a dirty streak.

"I thought about this a lot. You have the perfect... they're perfect just like you."

His confession makes her skin burn, it's exhilarating to think that he wanted her all this time, had dirty dreams about her and thought about her body. He's the only one she'll allow.

"What else did you think about?" She pants, nipples released from his lips with a filthy wet pop.

He grinds up into her heat. Answer enough.

Courage fills her blood, "I thought about you too. Every night. I....I touched myself thinking about you."

Admitting aloud is scary but the awe that saturates all his features makes it worth it. He looks like pure unadulterated love.

"Show me."

She can't do anything but obey his pleading command.

Tugging the waistband of her sleep shorts down her hip until her pussy is bare to his eyes, she runs her fingers down the smooth mound, teasing herself barely before plunging into her own silky wetness.

"Ahhhhh, fuck." She cries, thankful that she recently cut her nails, her short cuticles allowing her to thrust deeply into her center.

Her heavy breasts are grasped again, tighter now as he bounces them forcing her to drive harder onto her sticky wet fingers.

Prying through her wet folds she fucks into herself, eyes rolling back from the dual sensation.

His eyes are almost fully blown when she glances at him, locked on the movement of her finger into her moist center. His cock bumps into her finger, rubbing against her throbbing clit and it's too much and not enough, pulling her fingers out she struggles to open his pants. Smearing her juices across the material.

He reaches down to assist her and in a move reminiscent of her younger years, she throws his back onto the couch, catching his hands over his head, immobilizing him.

"I like to be in charge too. " She emphasizes her claim by tightening her hold on his wrists, eyes darting frantically over his face.

His face is so sweet it hurts, he looks helpless under her weight and that makes her even hotter, she wants to wreck him.

"Mine."

She snaps her mouth shut as soon as the word hit the air, fearing his reaction to her possessive declaration.

His hands go limp in her hold, no resistance whatsoever. Then he shatters her mind with his words.

"I'm all yours. Do whatever you want, I want it too."

Passion erupts like lava at his simple acceptance, nobody has ever handed themselves to her so wholeheartedly. No man has ever accepted her dominance without a fight, cries of feeling emasculated.

Yet here he is looking strong and submissive under her domination. The Omega to her Alpha.

Squeezing his wrists she takes the reins he so freely hands to her.

"Don't move them."

He lets out a deep breath before nodding.

She slowly takes her hand away, smiling as his fingers twitch but his hands remain stagnant.

"Good boy, my perfect actor."

Dark red flares on his face from her praises and she feels the hard muscle jump underneath her thigh. Interesting.

Sliding down his body, she finally gets a chance to appreciate him. She unbuttons his shirt yanking it open and gasping at the beautiful sight, smooth pale skin stretched across lightly defined muscles. The army has changed him in tantalizing ways.

"You can't ever do any shirtless scenes, I'll go crazy."

He gazes at her before letting out a deep chuckle, the rolling laughter doing wonders for his abdomen.

Curious about how that skin will taste in her mouth she licks across the etched skin, tongue sliding through the slopes of his muscle.

He whimpers above her, the vibration tickling her tongue.

She continues her journey trailing to the edge of his camo pants, his erection begging for her attention.

"Please, please, please."

She preens at his submission, pulling the zipper down and freeing his aching cock eagerly lapping at the clear fluid pebbled at the tip. He groans loudly while surging into her mouth.

Mouth stretched wide around his length, she opens her mouth wide to take him in, plunging down drawing him deeper into her wet oasis.

Unashamed she moans around his hard cock, lost in his heady taste desperate for more, wrapping a hand around his base and tugging him further into her throat, drool running down his length.

He thrashes on the couch, arms still locked above his head as he's destroyed by her clever tongue and coaxing mouth.

As she caresses his dangling sac he jumps, shoving his cock impossibly deep in her throat, close to falling off the edge.

She pulls away, releasing him.

"Hyeon ah....please."

She soothes him, calming him with soft rubs to his flank.

"I got you, you're mine."

He shivers, "Yours."

She undresses them both, twin nude forms. As she finishes he obediently places his hands back over his head.

She rubs his head in praise and pride.

"You're such a good boy, you deserve a reward."

His eyes light up at her suggestion, she sits upright taking hold of his aching meat, stroking it once, twice before tilting up and placing it against her heat.

Driving down, eyes locked on his, she spears herself apart on his cock, choking as his thickness spreads her wall.

"Feels so good." She praises, brushing his sweat dampened hair out of his eyes, drawing back before cocooning him once more his cock deep into her depths.

Suddenly it isn't enough, she needs more. Rough. Hard. Now.

She rides him wildly, her breasts jiggling from the power of her thrusts as her hips swivel and roll against him.

In the corner of her eyes she sees this hands move and immediately she catches them, keeping them still above his head.

"I want to touch you." He begs prettily and she almost gives in.

"No, just take what I give you."

His eyes flash and she slams down, ass cheeks slapping against his thighs sound obscene in the quiet room, their harsh pants deafening in the room.

Leaning forward she widens her stance, dragging him deeper and his cock rubs against her clit and her walls tighten around him, milking him and coaxing him to finish, burst apart in her arms. His eyes close as he fights to pull himself back from his inevitable demise.

She releases his wrist to hold his face, fingers drawing his eyes back open.

Shaking her head she hisses at him, "No, no I want to watch you. Everything about you is mine."

Never having anyone want him so truly and all encompassing, a single tear leaks from his eyes as he plunges up into her and his release is stolen from him, thick streams of white passion coating her walls.

Watching him break apart, she teeters into the abyss his heat scorching her inside out as pleasure dwarfs her senses.

Minutes tick by before she comes back to earth, her eyes are blessed by his serene smile as she opens her heavy lids.

So pretty.

He blushes, "Thank you."

She hadn't meant to say that out loud. 

Sliding off his now flaccid member, she stretches her arms high above her head sighing at the pop and crack that it elicits.

His eyes dart between her face and her chest, conflicted on where to look so attempting to do both.

How cute.

She lets him ogle her, even crossing her arms to put her chest on even more display, amused by his shy glances.

Finally standing she walks to the kitchen, shameless in her nudity, she can feel his eyes on her. She feels alive.

"Rest up. We're going to do that at least four more times before I let you go to sleep. We don't have time to take it slow."

Her actor gulps, nodding vigorously as he gives her a thumbs up.

She laughs, throwing her head back, long hair touching her bare back, she's going to completely wreck him.

She calls out for the rest of the week, ignoring Ta Mi's indignant cries as she suckles on Ji-hwan's cock, she has a lot of time to make up for.

[thechangeling]

Love

Alright so listen. Your girl is going through some stuff, so like a true writerTM I decided to pour my feelings into my work and project onto Ty some more because that's perfectly healthy right? I just really high key am not ok.

TW: internalized ableism, su*cidal thoughts/mention of su*cide

For as long as he could remember, Tiberius Blackthorn had always hated love.

The vulnerability of it. The idea of giving yourself over to someone. Letting them have power over you. The power to break your heart and render you a walking, talking shell. An animated corpse with a giant black hole in your chest. It's brutal and terrifying and he hates the way people around him seem to almost treat it like a game.

Ty always kept his definition of love simple. It's about family. It's about necessity. They looked after each other and kept each other alive and anything else was just asking for trouble. Anything else was better then he deserved. He learned that the hard way.

He learned it with Paige's cruel condescending laughter, tearing into him and ripping all of the air out if his body. He learned the same lesson he learned many times over. He was different. There was something wrong with him and that meant there was no use in asking for someone to love him. And when Livvy came to his room and held him he always reminded himself.

Necessity.

It's because we're family.

It doesn't mean anything.

And as he grew up he kept the same uneasy truce with love. But he never grew comfortable with it. Love wasn't a friend to be welcomed or cherished like many of his siblings believed. Not that Ty would ever bother pointing this out.

Ty hated love. He hated it when Livvy fell. When she cried. When she bled. He felt that same horrible feeling. Like his heart was being shredded through razor blades. Like he was powerless to do anything except stand and watch as the world ended. He tried to distance himself from it with the reassurance that she would always be ok. That she would never leave him.

Ty should have known better.

He should have known that love wasn't done trying to ruin him.

When Ty was 15 he stared into the eyes of the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and blindly wondered if the universe had finally granted him a reprieve. Instead of trusting his better judgement, Ty threw logic and reason to the side and allowed himself to get lost in the miracle of Kit Herondale and his encouraging smile.

Tiberius Blackthorn had always hated love, but for the very first time he was starting to see it's appeal.

That was his mistake. Getting comfortable. Becoming familiar. Assuming that it would last. Believing that he would be allowed to have such a thing.

Of course not.

He had always hated love and once he saw the shard of the mortal sword pierce his sister's heart, he hated it even more. He tried to do what he had always done before. Distance himself from it. Bury it.

This isn't real. He could fix this. He could bring her back.

Except he couldn't. Not really. Not the way she was. And then there was Kit. Kit who had been there throughout all of this. Who had supported him and helped him gather the supplies for the ritual. Kit who had promised him that they would get her back.

He had been so stupid.

"I wish I had never met you." Words that rip through him like shards of glass. Words that scorched him like flames searing into his skin. All the air is torn from his lungs and all that is left is the agonizing horrible emptiness as the world goes blurry.

You should have known better.

This is all your fault. You did this to yourself. You screwed up the way you always do. You and your screwed up brain. You've ruined everything.

Ty has always hated love but in this moment he hates himself even more.

Time passes and the wounds begin to heal. As time passes, Ty begins to forget. He finds he thinks of Kit Herondale and that day less and less. He makes new friends. He interacts with his sister as a ghost in the ways they still can.

He meets a girl with pure magic in her eyes and excitement running through her blood. With her warm brown tones and soft smile, she tells him that they are the same. He reads, he learns, he connects.

Ty is afraid. Afraid to trust her. Afraid to care. She confesses that she feels the same way. They keep an uneasy balence of half truths and unspoken words as they sit in silence.

He never tells her about Kit. Or Livvy.

One day Magnus Bane gives him a gift he is both horrified and overjoyed to receive. Ty holds the Herondale necklace in his hand. He stares at the symbol. Kit's family symbol.

He feels like he's dying all over again.

Ty runs outside into the cold icy winter and collapses onto the ground, gasping for air. All he can feel is the agonizing crunch of whatever remains of his heart, squeezing up into a ball like a crumpled peice of paper.

He wishes he was dead. He contemplates grabbing one of the blades from his belt and opening his wrists right there with Kit's name burned into every inch of his being.

This is how Ty knows he isn't normal. No normal person feels this deeply. No normal person is swallowed whole by the sheer force of their emotions. Not like this

Ty lies in the snow, gripping handfuls of it between his fingers. Trying desperately to hold on. Trying desperately to save himself.

Tiberius Blackthorn has always hated love. But in this moment, as he begs for mercy he knows he will not receive, for mercy he knows he does not deserve, he doesn't just hate love.

He despises it.

[grumpyoldsnake]

[Brief image description: A series of illustrations of Gerou teaching in front of a blackboard. The illustrations repeat, each in a different art style; at the end is a collection of doodles mixing the art styles and a few notes reflecting on the exercise. Full description and transcript starting at the heading below the cut. End ID.] 

Part one of some recent style studies I’ve been doing, featuring Gerou struggling with student teaching! 

I wanted to explore how different artists that I like handle stylization and simplification in comics, and when I asked around several people gave me permission to post the results. I recommend checking them out!

1) Harbourmaster is by @waywardmartian​.

2) Never Satisfied is by @ohcorny​.

3) Broken is by @yubriamakesart​.

4) @doodledrawsthings​ makes a lot of content that is posted to tumblr, most recently a fair amount of A Hat in Time fanart.

Thank you all for the permission to post! ^_^ I'm having a lot of fun with this.

.

Side notes:

I genuinely thought that the Harbourmaster style would be easiest for me, since it contains roughly the same amount of detail as my own style and since I’m like 75% sure that reading it as a younger teen informed a lot of my own style and character designs. Turns out it was actually the hardest! Perhaps because, since there aren’t as many blatantly fundamental differences, I had to pay more careful attention to proportions and specific forms? .

Never Satisfied was interesting! Alongside the work of Doodledrawsthings it’s definitely the furthest from my own style, and choosing Gerou for this honestly doesn’t do that difference full justice. I looked a lot at Fidelia, Sylas’s mom, and Thierry in trying to figure out how Gerou’s facial features would translate. Part two of my plans is to explore different character designs that might make fuller use of the difference in style, heh. (In other news: Colored lineart looks very neat and studying how it’s handled in NS is the first time I’ve been able to carry it off in a reasonable time frame, hah.) .

Broken is just... very pretty, y’all. xD I don’t think it really saved me any time or much ease of drawing over my own style, but it’s very nice to look at. And I think the style differences and specific simplifications do lend themselves very well towards creating more consistency than I ever manage in my own art. Noticing the patterned way of drawing ear details was a fun moment for me, I’d never really thought of codifying anything that way before! .

I did the first drawing in Doodledrawsthings’s style (the 3/4ths view in the turnaround) and thought “Oh goodness this is lovely and quick and feels nice.” It’s very nearly the first time drawing something in a cartoony style has ever come easily for me. But... I struggled much more with every other drawing in that style, ahah. Still, it was comparatively quick and I do love the expressiveness of the stylized eyes. :D This is another style where I think I’ll need to explore a wider range of character designs, though. I think it’s also worth thinking about how character design is fundamentally changed in some ways by the change in style; some of what I would think about designing a character specifically for that style is very different from the details I would normally think about when designing a character.

.

[Detailed image description: 

A series of images repeating the same content in different art styles, followed up by a page of sketches and a page with text notes.

The repeated content is a turnaround of the character Gerou as well as a short two-panel comic showing Gerou as a student teacher in front of a blackboard. Gerou is a thin white man with sallow freckled skin, a large hooked nose, long wavy brown hair, and glowing orange-yellow eyes. In the comic, in the first panel he gestures animatedly with a wide smile and says, “Oh, that’s easy! If you just--” then breaks off. In the second panel he holds up a hand as if asking for a pause, and says, “...wait,” with visible consternation.

The sketches feature continued style experimentation with Gerou making a number of expressions and gestures, including: absolutely failing to maintain a good pokerface; looking stressed; various smiles, from tired to nervous to wide and happy; sighing tiredly; sticking out his tongue with arms crossed huffily;  arguing with someone; drinking tea; and fighting off a dizzy spell.

The text image is headlined Thoughts and reads as follows:

Think less about reducing details and more about streamlining said details into shapes that are easy to repeat consistently?

Experiment with different ways of rendering mouths and eyes; they can change the feel of an expression

There are no rules; vary style as needed with panel size/detail, emotion that needs depicted, etc. Prioritize information conveyed.

Increasing detail on teeth beyond your baseline makes them look gritted/tensed/bared

Sometimes low contrast is nice

Emotion backgrounds are fun!

Gotta learn to loosen up (though I knew that already hhhh)

Simplified hands are lovely. (So, so much easier. Not sure I’m gonna go back anytime soon except for anatomy practice sketching, heh.)

End image description.]

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Panty Raid

For the amazing prompt

I just learned that panty raids were a thing, and idk how you feel about it, but imagine Tony being forced to do a panty raid as an initiation for his fraternity. So tony, keeping up his playboy appearances, sneaks into the omega dorms. And he sees sweet innocent peter who is so alarmed by the alphas raiding their dorm tony can’t help but comfort him.

TW: a/o dyamics, sneaking into someone’s room, general not amazing Alpha behaviour (not Tony though, our boy is a saint) 

“You’re not serious?” 

A red thong hits him in the face and Tony sighs.

Okay, so they are serious. He pulls the offending lingerie off from where it’s caught on his ear, and flings it back towards Quinten and the shit-eating grin on his face. “You want us to do an actual ‘panty raid’? Have I slipped back into the 80s?”

“Shut it, Stark,” Beck warns, waggling a finger like the college freshman are eleven, not eighteen. “This is a tradition. You wanna be part of this frat? This is what we do instead of hazing. A little ritual. Every alpha who becomes a member, has to sneak into the omega sorority and steal a pair of panties.” Beck shrugs, “if you don’t wanna join, you don’t have to do it.”

Some of the other pledges look nervous. Some of the others look excited. Tony sneers at the latter. He shrugs, and turns for the door. “I’m not gonna risk sexual harassment on my record.” He informs the older boy primly. “There are other fraternities, ones that aren’t so perverse.”

“Sure,” Beck drawls, letting him leave, “some alphas just aren’t strong enough.”

Tony snorts, rolling his eyes. “Oh sure, reverse psychology, that’ll work.”

*

The Omega sorority is nestled right in the heart of campus, where the most regular patrols and heaviest security go by. It’s bullshit tradition, because omegas aren’t really in danger from most Alphas- except ones like Beck and their bullshit fraternity traditions. 

Tony bets Beck didn’t get laid until college. Bets he only made up the stupid rule so he could get close to an omega without them rejecting him. 

It feels dirty. And not just because they’re literally crawling through the mud to get through the hole in the white-picket fence that surrounds the sorority grounds, but because stealing things from Omegas, breaking into their private accommodation, is slimy and Tony is suave and sophisticated and charismatic. 

He is not slimy. 

“Do you think-” Clint pants from next to him, elbow deep in the rose bed they’re clambering out of, “-they’ll keep their toys near their underwear? Beck says if we can bring back a knotting dildo, we get extra points.”

Tony cuffs him hard on the back of the head.

“Hey!” Clint whines.

“Have some class.” Tony snaps, helping the other boy up as they finally make it to the back entrance. “Omegas are sweethearts. They’re not just fuckin’ sex objects like in the porn you jerk it to, capiche?”

Clint looks abashed. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Tony sighs. 

It’s easy enough to pop the lock exactly how Beck told them. It’s clearly been done many times before.

The ten of them shuffle in, and they all fan out towards the different rooms.

Tony heads for the one nearer the huge window, for an easy escape.

The door is covered with motivational posters, and sharp silhouettes of ballet dancers and a white board that says Drop in anytime!!! :) 

It’s fucking cute.

Tony tries the door, and sure enough, like most of the doors- it’s open.

It’s warm and dark as he slips inside, shutting it quietly behind him.

There are two beds, one on either side, but only one is occupied. A sleeping figure, thankfully facing the wall, breathes softly. Tony can’t make out anything but a mop of curls that spill across the silk pillows in the moonlight.

He pads towards the chest of drawers, feeling stupid and reckless.

It smells divine in here. Decorated in gentle tones of pink and warm brown, it’s incredibly tidy, and there are piles of organised notes on the desk.

He eases the top drawer open, and sure enough- there are neatly stacked lace panties.

He grabs one. It’s soft as anything against his fingers, and he hastily crams it into his pocket when-

There’s a whimper, and Tony whirls around to see the most beautiful omega in the world, knees drawn up to his chest, staring at him with huge eyes; cast silver in the light.

“Please-” the omega chokes out, sounding tiny, pressing himself further into the wall, “please don’t- I don’t- Help! Help!” He screams at the top of his voice, and Tony jumps in fright, startling, and he hurries towards the boy, hands up in surrender.

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay-” he soothes, his own voice tinged with desperation, as the boy keeps wailing, scrambling against the blankets in his haste to get away- he ends up tripping, falling out of the bed, his ankle catches in the sheets, and he knocks his head hard against the bedside table.

Then he starts to cry.

Tony curses, worry welling up, and he flicks on the lamp, and crouches down, scooping the little omega into his arms.

“Shit, shit, I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers, laying the boy on the bed. He brushes his fingers through those curls, and winces as he sees the small red mark start to appear on his forehead. “Oh god, oh my god, I’m so sorry.” 

In the gold light of the lamp, the omega is all milk skin and pretty pink nightclothes, and crystal tears on his cheeks.

Tony feels like such a shit. 

“W-what are you- d-doing in here?” The omega sniffles.

“It’s a stupid hazing thing, we had to- steal some of your-” he cringes, “-underwear, it’s- it’s awful. It wasn’t my idea, I swear I was against it.”

The omega blinks slowly, before his eyebrows furrow together. “It’s all just a hazing thing?” He clarifies quietly, and Tony nods.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m really sorry. Can I get you something? Do you need- water? Or…”

“I have a bottle, over there,” the omega murmurs, pointing to his desk, and Tony almost trips over his feet in his haste to get it.

The omega half smiles. “I’m Peter,” he says, and Tony stands by the edge of the bed, grinning tiredly.

“Nice to meet you, Peter, I’m Tony. I’m- I’m really sorry I scared you, I really wasn’t- I wasn’t gonna hurt you.”

“I know that now.” Peter whispers, sipping some water. “I just- when I was in highschool some of the Alphas snuck into the omega changing room one time, and they-” tears sparkle anew, and Tony sits on the edge of the bed, clutching Peter’s hand, “-they were so mean. Started saying just- just horrible stuff about me an-and my friends, like we were- just things, and not-not even people.” 

Tony closes his eyes, pain blossoming hard. “Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing at his face. “I’m- I’m so fucking sorry, peter, I- I should have stopped them, I-...I’m sorry.” 

How could someone do that? How could someone hurt such a beautiful omega? An omega so sweet? So gentle? 

“It’s okay,” Peter whispers, and when Tony opens his eyes, those huge honey ones are looking at him- thoughtful and kind. “My roommate’s away this weekend, so you’re lucky. She’s got a mean right hook.”

Tony snorts, “I think I’m pretty lucky anyway. Of all the rooms, I picked yours. Don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful omega.”

Peter blushes hard, cheeks a deep, gorgeous crimson. 

Tony reaches over and thumbs the red mark from where Peter’s hit his head and sighs. “I’m so sorry.”

“You said that already,” the smaller boy points out, voice soft, and Tony wants to lean in. Wants to kiss him. “Did you get any?”

“Any what?”

“Of my underwear.”

“Oh.” Tony blushes, “uh- yeah.” He sticks his hand in his pocket and presents the panties. A little crumpled.

Peter smiles, before rolling out of bed. “Those aren’t going to win you anything.” He says, and Tony watches as the boy kneels down and opens the bottom drawer of the cabinet. “These are what will.”

Tony catches the beaded thong with a slack-jaw. The pearls and white lace are fucking sublime. “You don’t have to-”

“I know,” the omega waves him off, “but I think you’re sweet.”

“I’m sweet?” Tony laughs, shaking his head, “you’re sweet.”

He wants to ask for his number, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t think it would be appropriate.

So instead, he slips out into the corridor. It’s deserted, and by the time he gets back to the frat, he sees all the other alphas there too.

“Holy shit!” Clint yells when he sees him, “how’d you make it out of there? We all bailed when we heard some omega screaming!”

Peter. Tony thinks with a frown, before looking around and realising that all of the alphas look scared and- disappointed.

“You all fail.” Beck sighs, turning to Tony, “unless, Stark’s managed to wrangle a pair…?”

Tony feels the pearls in his pocket, and shakes his head. He doesn’t want anyone to see them. Doesn’t want anyone to render a person into an item of clothing to be leered at. “I don’t have anything. So your shitty frat doesn’t get any new pledges this year. And after I tell the Dean what you’ve been doing- I’m not sure it ever will.”

The look on Beck’s face is one Tony will savour.

***

It isn’t until a few months later, for a party at Tony’s new fraternity- that he sees Peter again.

Drawn to him like a siren, Tony moves through the sea of hazy dancing, until he’s close enough to reach down and kiss Peter’s cheek.

The omega looks up and smiles. “I hoped I’d find you here.”

Tony grins, heart in his throat, “yeah? I wanted to- to come and talk to you, but I thought you might not want anything to do with me.”

Peter threads their fingers together, and tiptoes on his heels to whisper into Tony’s ear: “I want you to take my panties again. With your teeth this time.” 

And tugs him towards one of the bedrooms.

Clint will say he saw Tony drooling later, as he was led like a dog on a leash by an omega into a spare bedroom, and Tony won’t even deny it. 

He’s too happy to care.

He has a date.

[alonely-dreamer]

Dangerous Creatures | Chapter 27: All The Time We Waste

Summary: Mackenzie Alemaund is an unlucky 18 year old teenager whose life changes drastically after she gets kidnapped by two vampires and learns, in the same day, that she is not human.

Pairing: Elijah x OC

Words: 3266

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there.

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23: Part 1 | Chapter 23: Part 2 | Chapter 23: Part 3 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 (Part 1) | Chapter 25 (Part 2) | Chapter 25 (Part 3) | Chapter 26 (Part 1) | Chapter 26 (Part 2 & 3)

Seven days had come and gone since Mackenzie turned Cornelius and his manor into ashes. Seven days since they had to run away from the Forest. Seven days waiting for Heidi and Alexander to find them in Paris and tell them if Margo had condemned them to death.

Confined in their hotel for a week now, Mackenzie and Elijah hadn’t left their room, nor talked to anyone who wasn’t a hotel employee or from a delivery service. Shopping online had come handy, especially since all of their things were still in Germany. However, clothes seemed to be unnecessary now that Mackenzie spent her days in a robe, sitting by the window, looking at a grey and cold Paris.

She had thought, quite foolishly she would say, that the worst had gone. That she had been through enough terrible things, and that she would be able to live in peace from now on. But it appeared that her mother hadn’t quite delivered all of her secrets. Was there any good way to find out one’s mother didn’t die of cancer? Or that one’s ancestor had been killing his entire family in order to live longer? Who she thought was her only family left was only interested in her for her youth and powers. Well, he wouldn’t be hurting anyone else from now on. She wondered how many Fays he had killed or was planning to kill. Did his spells die with him? Or were all the remaining Fays in the Forest also going to die like her mother did? There was only one way to tell, and, according to Heidi, it could also save her life.

If one single Fay were spelled it would be proof of Cornelius’ plans and would prove Mackenzie’s innocence. It was up to her godparents to convince the queen that she had acted in self-defense. It would be hard, especially since Mackenzie had burnt all the evidence.

“What are you thinking about?” Elijah asked as he sat next to her by the window, handing her a hot cup of tea. She took it with both hands, welcoming the warmth invading her skin.

“I’m wondering how no one ever figured out how Cornelius managed to stay alive,” she answered with anger in her voice. “He was surrounded by the strongest witches who ever lived.”

“He was very clever. He had centuries to learn how to fool people. Besides, they probably thought he used the same spells they do. Margo has been around for a while too.”

“Heidi said they used magic to stay young. Cornelius was an elemental, he didn’t have magic.”

“Elementals have their own kind of magic, you know that. And he was a Fay, nature was his element. Witches know what herbs to use to slow down the effects of time.”

“And so did he,” she snarled. “But he chose to kill people instead.”

“Herbs wouldn’t have given him his victims’ powers and would’ve been less effective.”

“If he…” she paused.

“What’s wrong?”

She put the mug down on the table stand behind her before she stood up. “They’re here.”

A few seconds after she spoke, someone knocked on the door. Elijah stood up with a tightened heart, hoping whatever Margo had decided wouldn’t have him kill whoever would be coming after them, because no matter what happened now, he would protect Mackenzie until he was dead. And he couldn’t die.

He opened the door and found Alexander and Heidi standing on the other side. The Original had never seen such a serious look on the heretic’s face. Mackenzie appeared behind Elijah, making him step aside to allow their guests to enter.

“Did you just come out of the shower?” Heidi asked as Elijah closed the door behind them.

“No…”

“Then you should dress. It’s not a time to let yourself go,” the witch reprimanded Mackenzie’s lack of self-care.

“What did Margo say?” Elijah interrupted.

“She wasn’t happy,” Alexander replied. “She really liked Cornelius. Our accusations against him embarrassed her.”

“Queens don’t like to be embarrassed,” Heidi added. “She didn’t want to believe it, at first.”

“But?”

“Did you talk to everyone Cornelius could’ve hurt?” Mackenzie asked, afraid another Fay would die because of Cornelius’ evil ambitions.

“His spells died with him, fortunately,” Alexander said. “However, we were in luck.”

“The manor was badly burnt, completely destroyed, in fact. But we managed to salvage most of the basement.”

“Or what was left of it, at least.”

“Is Mackenzie in any danger from Margo?” Elijah asked, tired of all this chit-chat.

Alexander slid a hand in his jacket pocket and took out a letter from it. It bore Margo’s official seal.

“This is an official document banishing you two from the Forest,” he said as he handed it to him. Elijah quickly opened it and started reading it.

“It’s an order to kill!”

“If you ever step foot in the Forest,” Alexander nodded.

“Alex,” the witch reprimanded. “This isn’t funny.”

“I never said it was,” he shrugged as he took out another letter from his jacket.

“This is a royal pardon,” Heidi quickly said, reassuring both Mackenzie and her boyfriend.

“We found powder in the hallway of the castle, where you were taken,” Alexander explained. “It proved your version of events.”

“The powder matched a substance we found in Cornelius’ basement. Among other herbs and potions used to steal someone’s magic or render them unconscious.”

“We also found a few journals and grimoires. Most of them were burnt but we found names of several of his victims.”

“All Fays,” Heidi added. “All thought to have left the Forest at some point. We never knew what Cornelius was doing until last week. Margo…” she paused. “It was hard for her to admit you did a big service to the Forest. She wanted me to thank you for that.”

“She was good friends with Cornelius,” Alexander said. “He was her advisor and she trusted him. She’ll be in an awful mood for a while… Not sure I wanna go back there ‘till the next century,” he chuckled, however he was the only one finding amusement in this.

“So, she’s safe?” Elijah asked, wanting to make sure no one was coming after her.

“Mackenzie’s safe,” Heidi nodded.

“You’re a hero,” Alex informed her. “The entire elemental community of the Forest is very grateful for what you did.”

“I killed two people,” she reminded them. There was nothing to be grateful about.

“You saved countless of Fays from Cornelius,” Heidi told her. “Be proud of that.”

Proud? Mackenzie didn’t feel proud. But as her godmother thanked her on behalf of all Fays, she couldn’t stop thinking about those words Elijah had once told her, months ago: Robert was her first, but he wouldn’t be her last. And neither would Cornelius.

 ***

 Alexander and Heidi didn’t stay long in Paris. Despite his reluctance in going back to Germany, Heidi had no wish to be anywhere else than in the Forest. They had left behind them all of Elijah and Mackenzie’s luggage. All his suits and all her gowns. The scrolls, the spell books, the old grimoires...

The return of her clothes didn’t encourage her to put some on, and she spent an entire day in the same robe going through the boxes of books and other elemental related research. She didn’t speak much, and though Elijah wanted to help her, he didn’t know how. He didn’t know what she was looking for, or even if she was looking for anything at all. She obviously needed time. Time to reflect on Cornelius’ actions, and on her own. And he didn’t mind giving that to her, if it could help her, if that was what she needed.

Eventually, one morning, she came out of the bathroom wearing one of the fancy dresses she had found online that first week in Paris. It was a short white dress with a slightly rounded skirt. A pink, almost red, flower pattern was scattered all over it. She was wearing a pair of white sneakers and had pulled her hair up in a high ponytail. That day, Elijah recovered his smile, as did she.

They went on to explore Paris, a city Elijah knew well. He knew where to find all of the city of love’s secrets. The beautiful alleys harboring small yet interesting shops, the not so crowded yet delicious restaurants, the best yet deserted places to sit and rest and enjoy the view.

She didn’t speak much as they explored the capital, but she was in better spirit and Elijah was holding onto the little smiles she spared him here and there. They came, they saw, they conquered, and he felt like he had been talking for days on end without getting any answers from her, but he knew she was listening to his every word, trying to remember all of it, her eyes speaking for her, showing her fascination in the vampire’s knowledge.

It was the Louvre that fascinated her the most. Devouring every piece of art with her gorgeous sparkling brown eyes. It seemed Elijah had at least one thing to say about all of them. It was her favorite place in all of Paris, and they had come back every day for almost a week just to make sure they saw everything. At some point, they managed to make their way to the Mona Lisa, La Joconde, after waiting in line for almost an hour just to be able to catch a glimpse of it.

“I don’t get it,” she said, speaking her first words of the day, “it’s not even one of the best works in here.”

Elijah chuckled quietly. “You think it’s overrated?”

“It’s beautiful,” she shrugged. “But I don’t get what all the fuss is about.”

“I think I’ll agree with you on that,” he said, sliding his hand down her arm before intertwining his fingers with hers.

She squeezed his hand as she moved closer to him and they resumed their visit of the museum hand in hand. She absorbed everything he told her, every bit of information, even though she knew it would be impossible for her to remember it all. But she could try to at least learn the most interesting ones. They bought a bunch of pretty yet useless things in almost every gift shop and made a stop at one of the coffees where everything was ten times more expensive than decency demanded. The pastries were good, though, and they wouldn’t ruin the day by complaining.

That night, Mackenzie sat at the window again, her hair dripping wet, the robe absorbing every drop. She stared out the window, looking at the Eiffel Tower glowing in the night. Paris was pretty at night, she had to admit, all those lights made for a beautiful sight.

“You okay?” Elijah asked as he came to sit near her, at the other end of the window bench. He was wearing a casual black shirt and a pair of joggers.

“My feet hurt,” she smiled as she wrinkled her nose.

Elijah laid back on the wall behind him, picking up a pillow from the floor and sliding it between his back and the corner of the window. He took Mackenzie’s left foot and brought it to his knees, then started to massage it.

“We had a long day.”

“Yeah, it’s weird…”

“What’s weird?”

“I don’t feel tired.”

“Ah,” he smiled. “The night is young.”

“Do…” she paused. “Do you feel tired?”

He arched an eyebrow. “I’m a vampire. It takes a lot to wear me down.”

“I know, it’s just…”

“What?”

She sighed. “We’ve been here for almost three weeks now and… you haven’t fed since we left Germany.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he replied quickly. “I’m fine.”

“But…” she didn’t get the chance to finish as he pressed a sensitive part of the sole of her foot which made her breathe out and moan and relax enough to lay back against the wall. “You give me your blood every three days… you’re gonna need to feed at some point.”

“We ran out of blood bags.”

“You don’t need blood bags.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t mind…”

“No,” he said, firmly and categorically.

She sighed again as she removed her foot from his knees and sat up.

“Elijah, I really don’t mind.”

“It’s not up for discussion,” he said as he stood up.

She followed him.

“You give me your blood. Why can’t I help you for once?”

“I don’t want your help,” he told her dryly, louder than he intended it to be, making her jump slightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he stepped towards her before taking her face in his hands. “You know what I mean.”

“I know you won’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that. And neither do I. I’ve never had…,” he paused, “an ultimate’s blood. And judging by the mere smell of it… I know it’s a bad idea.”

“And I know it’s a bad idea for you not to feed.”

He closed his eyes, trying to fight back the temptation, the hunger.

“Elijah,” she whispered. She put her hands over his and moved them away from her face. “I know you’re in pain, I can see it. And I like it as much as you like seeing me suffer. Let me help you. Please.”

“You’re not a blood bag and I don’t want to treat you like one.”

She smiled, then placed her hands on both sides of his face as she tiptoed to rest her forehead against his. He leaned over, his eyes shut as if not seeing her would make it easier to ignore her proposition.

“Let me help you.”

He hesitated for a long moment during which she had started moving her thumbs over his cheeks.

“You’ll push me away if I can’t stop myself.”

“I will,” she nodded.

“You can’t let me hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“Promise me,” he said as he gently seized her wrists. “Promise me you will stop me.”

“I promise.”

She felt his warm breath on her face as he released her wrists. His lips came crashing onto hers almost immediately, surprising her, but not enough that she didn’t kiss him back. She felt his hand on the back of her thigh and she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. He lifted her up quickly only to lie her down on the bed in the next second. The sudden and rapid movement made her gasp. Elijah started kissing her chin, then her throat, then her shoulder. Her robe was undoing itself; the belt had given up. Her eyes grew big as she felt his lips travel down in areas no one had been before. She was only wearing a silk top and the matching underwear, a gift from Margo, or Heidi, she couldn’t remember, that was too revealing to wear alone, so she always put on the robe to stay decent.

Elijah’s fingers were now on her skin as well and she drew a deep breath when she felt them open up the robe. He found the strap of the pale pink lingerie top and let go of it just to make his fingers slide down her body to her bare stomach. His large hand then found her waist and his thumb started caressing her skin. His lips came back up to her throat, then her chin, just to find her lips again. She placed her left hand on the top of his arm, the one he had on her waist, and slid her other hand in his hair.

He broke the kiss, allowing her to breathe again, just to take her breath away all over again as he said three words she had longed to hear.

“I love you.”

She stared at him in awe. The last ten months came back to her in flashbacks, reminding her of how it had come to this, making her wonder what she had done to deserve him. She loved him too, and she had known it for a while, and all she had hoped for was that he felt the same way. All she had hoped for was that he loved her as much as she loved him. And she wondered if he knew how much she cared for him.

“I love you so much it hurts,” she replied in a whisper and with tears in her eyes.

Her answer seemed to please him as he kissed her again. Hungrily, needily, lovingly. He had understood her perfectly, because he felt the same way. It hurt to love someone that much. Because if either one of them lost the other it would kill them too. They belonged to each other, and they couldn’t survive without one another. They needed each other, like they were a part of them, and they were. They were a part of their heart, their reason to live, their reason to get up in the morning, their reason to smile. She was the reason why he had become immortal. Because he had to live that long to meet her. She made his life worth it. She was worth all the pain and all the hurt. He would do it all over again to be with her. A thousand years of disappointment, betrayal and loneliness, just to be with her. Because she needed him too. Because he was her reason to live, to go on. He was her person, her best friend, her everything. He had saved her, and he would keep saving her. Every minute of every day, she lived it all for him, and thanks to him.

His hand left her waist to go higher, sliding beneath the silk. She gasped as his thumb caressed her nipple, but he didn’t stop, and she didn’t want him to stop. She would give him everything, because she was his, just like he had already given her everything, because he was hers.

 ***

 The room was dark, the only source of light coming from the streetlamps and invading the bedroom through the small gaps in the curtains. Mackenzie was sleeping in a black shirt too big for her, Elijah’s bare arms wrapped around her as he had brought her to him. It wasn’t late, wasn’t even midnight yet, when the phone rang. It woke him up first, perhaps because it was his phone. He tried to gently move away from Mackenzie, as to not wake her, but as he sat up, and his feet reached the ground, he heard her move, and she turned on the lamp on the nightstand.

“Who is it?” she asked groggily as she rubbed her eyes.

He didn’t reply as he picked up and gave her an answer as he greeted his sister through the phone.

“Rebekah?”

Mackenzie moved towards him, placing a kiss on his right shoulder blade before wrapping her arms around his bare chest and resting her chin on his shoulder. But she felt something was wrong as his body tensed up and she let go of him and moved to sit beside him. The look on his face confirmed her doubts and she now worried about Rebekah and started to wonder if Elena had once again tried something to hurt Elijah’s family.

“We’ll be on the next flight,” Elijah said in a small voice, one she wasn’t used to hearing.

“What is it? What happened?” she asked, panicked by the look on his face.

“It’s Kol,” he said, his voice cracking. “He’s dead.”

**********

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[amayawolfe]

HxH OC Fumiko Nakamura Story ~ Ch. 11 - Hisoka and Abaki

My Stories Masterlist  

Word Count: 2921

Warnings: harsh language, bullying, mild violence, blood

   Hearing the name of the resident town bully, you looked up at the boy that was now sitting up in front of you and glaring at you with a look of pure malice.

   "So it is," he snarled at you as he got to his feet. You quickly did the same in a scramble, your eyes locking with his. Upon standing, you noticed that Tsume's two lackeys, Kan and Maro, were here as well. Being large for his age, Tsume was strong in his own right. However, he never liked the idea of a fair fight and always had Kan and Maro in tow to make sure he had the upper hand at all times.

   Spotting two more people out of the corner of your eye, you turned you head ever so slightly to risk a quick glance. You needed to make sure these people weren't also on Tsume's side; because if they were, you would have little choice but to run. Five-to-one was a little more than you wanted to handle at this point in time.

   When you looked over to the boy and girl you quickly realized that these two were complete strangers. And they looked so... different.

   The girl had to be close to your age with warm, caramel brown skin and sparkling violet eyes. Her auburn hair was chopped short all round except for the right side which hung as a braid down to her collar bone. She was lean, but toned, and wore a halter top with intricate designs, harem pants in a color that complimented her top, and slipper like shoes. Shiny metal bracelets adorned her thin wrists, and she wore a fine chain choker as well as multiple earrings in each ear.

   This girl looked so strange to you, but in a beautiful and unique way. Shifting your gaze to the boy, your breath caught in your throat.

   His skin was nearly as pale as fresh fallen snow. His hair, which was longer in the front and sides but shorter in the back, was the same color as the wild raspberries you so often saw growing along the countryside roads and pathways. Appearing to look on the darker shade of red at first until the sunlight showed a hint of pink mixed in. Light colored freckles were splashed across his nose and the apples of his cheeks.

   He wore a simple short sleeved shirt with a card suit spade on it, pants that looked similar to knickerbockers, and the same slipper like shoes as the girl. He was also lean, but taller than the girl and looked to be just a couple years older than you. There were bandages scattered across him; one under his left eye, another his right cheek, even a few on his arms.

   What truly caught your attention the most about the boy was his narrow, amber colored eyes that shown like dark citrine in the light. Although, it wasn't the color of his eyes that caught your attention, it was the swirl of emotions within them.

   At the surface you could see anger and hatred, most likely towards the three creeps in front of you. However, there seemed to be so much more beneath that. It was a look so akin to the very same one you saw in the mirror every day. Sadness, internal struggle, loneliness...

   Suddenly you realized he was looking right back into your eyes with almost as much intensity as you were his. You wanted to look away, but found that you simply couldn't. Your ears and cheeks grew hot and your heart began to flutter like a caged bird.

   "It seems our old local freak has come to help out the new circus freaks," Tsume sneered. The sound of his irritating voice caused you to finally break eye contact with the boy.

   I see, you thought to yourself, so they're from the circus. Well, I guess that explains why I've never seen them before and why they're here.

   "I see you're being your usual jerk self," you said in a cold tone. Your muscles began to twitch and your heart was starting to pick up pace as your intuition told you there was a fight quickly approaching. The darkness inside you stirred in anticipation within it's cage.

   "What the hell did they do to deserve your ugly face to look their way?"

   "Tch," Tsume tsked. He appeared to ignore your insults, however the small twitch in his left eye showed you were making him angrier. "I just wanted to say 'hi' to the pretty girl. And when she ignored me I just tried to get her attention. That's when this pale redheaded freak decided to butt in."

   You glanced at the girl again and saw bruises already starting to form on her upper arm. White hot anger began to spark in your mind and the darkness began to pace within it's cage.

   "What the hell, Tsume?!" you shouted. "Just because your papa is mayor of this place doesn't mean you can go hurting or touching who ever you want!"

   "And who's gonna stop me? Your daddy?" He let out a cruel laugh. "The only thing that bastard is good for is drinking booze and beating the crap out of you. And from the looks of it, he did a pretty decent job of it last night."

   Tsume's goons giggled from behind their boss.

   "Yeah, you tell that freak," Kan jeered.

   You suppressed a growl that was trying to rise from your chest. Narrowing your eyes you snarled at him.

   "Get the hell out of here, Tsume, or else I'm gonna tell your mama how you've been treating girls again." Your gaze shifted to Maro and Kan. "And I'll be sure to mention the two of you to Tsume's mama as well."

   "Bitch, you better not breath a word to my mother, or else-"

   "Or else what, jerk ?" A toothy grin started to spread across your face. Your body began to feel hot and tingly from the sudden surge of adrenaline. "Your weak ass going to attack me again? Didn't learn your lesson not to mess with me after I broke your nose last time?"

   That did it. For the longest time Tsume was usually the one that had won the fights between you and him. But over the last few months, around the same time the darkness had began to emerge within, you had been the one coming out on top causing his hate for you to increase ten fold.

   "Shut the hell up, you stupid freak!" he yelled. Tsume sneered and charged at you, raising his fist up into the air to aim straight at your face.

   From that very moment, everything seemed to slow down. You watched as Tsume moved towards you, your eyes darted this way and that as you quickly picked out all his weak points and flaws. Scenarios quickly flashed and you calculated each best course of action until you came to the best one for the most likely scenario.

   {To slow.~}

   Just as it looked like he was actually going to make contact with your face your hand darted up and snatched his wrist.

 {Break it!}

 Squeezing it until you felt something snap, Tsume cried out in pain. You then pulled him forward while turning to keep his momentum and direction going. Releasing his wrist you continued your turn and swept your leg out to sweep his legs out from under him, causing him to become airborne and land face down onto the ground.

   You now saw that Maro had followed Tsume and was coming straight for you, lowering himself in attempt to tackle your midsection.

   {Crush him!}

   Instinct kicking in, you brought your leg straight up then down when he came into range. The back of your foot connected forcefully with Maro's head bringing him face down right into the dirt. The action instantly rendered Maro unconscious.

   Kan had started his charge just after Maro but skid to a stop just out of your range upon seeing his friends eat dirt. His eyes were wide and he was beginning to tremble.

   With the creepy, manic grin still on your face you tilted your head to one side.

   "You wanna play, Kan?" you giggled.

   Kan frantically shook his head from side to side and took a step back away from you.

   {Little coward...}

   "Aww, that's to bad,~" you pouted. You turned to face Tsume who was still laying on the ground, cradling his now broken wrist. His eyes grew wide and shone with fear and hatred as you approached him and squat down next time him.

   "You see, Tsume, you weren't wrong with what you said about my papa. However," you leaned forward menacingly, "you forgot to mention he's the best damn fighter in this area. And when you're his punching bag on as often as I am you tend to pick up a thing or two."

   Tsume snarled and spit a large, snotty loogie at your face. The projectile hit you right between the eyes and immediately started running down the side of your nose. Rearing back in disgust your hand shot up in desperate attempt to scrub the mucus off your face as quickly as possible. The action causes you to apply to much pressure to your already damaged nose and bursts of light span across your field of vision when a white hot pain shoots through your nose.

   Seeing his chance, Tsume swung a leg forward and kicked your own legs out from underneath you. The unexpected move causes you to land hard on your back, knocking the breath out of your lungs and leaving you gasping for air in a mild state of shock.

   "Get her now, Kan!" commanded Tsume.

   Kan, having seen you go down and Tsume seemingly regaining control of the situation, bolts forward to deliver a running kick to your vulnerable open side. But before Kan can deliver the blow, the red head boy charges forward and shoulder checks him hard sending Kan landing right on top of Tsume.

   "My my,~ ♦" the young man teased, an amused grin spread across his lips, "How rude, you seemed to have forgotten my friend and I have been here this whole time.~ ♠"

   The girl stepped up beside her companion with her hands balled into fists. A fire now burned in her violet eyes causing them to shine with ferocity. As you slowly climbed to your feet the girl took a fighting stance and glared down at your assailants.

   "You're out matched now, I suggest you take your friend and leave!"

   Kan had been stunned from the red headed boy's attack and was feebly moving around on the ground as Tsume had managed to push Kan off of him. Maro was still mostly unconscious, only barely showing he was coming back around with a few twitches of his limbs. Tsume himself was injured and had yet to even get back up on his feet.

   He glanced around and saw that the girl was right, there was no way he was going to be able to win this fight. Tusme gave Kan a rude shove.    "Get up, idiot," he spat his orders angrily, "Help me get Maro and let's get the hell out of here."

   The two bullies shakily got to their feet and collected their friend. Tsume was careful to hold his broken wrist close to his chest in attempt to keep it as stable as possible. Maro groaned as he was brought to his own feet. His head rolled to one side revealing his dirty scrapped up face. Blood was slowly oozing from his nose and one eye didn't seem to want to open all the way.

   "Did- Did we win, boss?" Maro mumbled aloud, still relatively stunned from his harsh impact with the ground. Tsume sneered.

   "Just shut up," he turned his angry hate filled gaze towards you. "This isn't over, freaks. I'll take care of you myself. Just wait."

   "Tch, what ever, asshole," you sneered, "Get the hell out of here."

   The three stumbled down the street, around a corner and out of sight.

   "Hmmm,~ ♣" the boy hummed aloud as his amber eyes hovered over where the trio bullies disappeared, "Why is it that simpletons such as them make such cliché statements? ♠"

   You hadn't heard the boy's comments as you were to focused on watching Tsume and his gang. Just as they disappeared from sight you suddenly became light headed and the world spun around you. Without warning, your knees grew weak and buckled beneath you. Luckily, the strangers had been close enough to you to catch you before you hit the ground.

   "Whoa! Hey! Are you alright?! Your nose is bleeding!" the girl cried out. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a clean hanker chief and gently held it up to your nose. "Do you think we should take her to see someone?"

   The boy leaned closer to your face and looked you over carefully. You swallowed hard as you felt your heart begin to flutter again while those eyes looked over your facial features so closely.

   "That's strange, I didn't even see her get hit.~ ♣"

   "That other boy said something about her dad hurting her... Do you think you should get her to the town doctor?"

   "It probably wouldn't be a bad idea. ♣ But first,~" his eyes moved to yours, grabbing as much attention as you could possibly focus in on him while the world swam and danced around you, "you really should tighten up your ten. If you keep letting that much aura slip away you'll pass out.~ ♠"

   You groggily narrowed your eyes at the boy in confusion.

   "Let what slip away? And, ten what?"

   The boys eyes flew open in surprise. He and his friend exchanged looks then he looked back down at you.

   "You mean to tell me you've been using nen and you didn't even know it? ♦"

   You could feel a look of complete confusion take over the entirety of your face. You blink several times, trying to understand through the foggy state of your brain just what this boy was talking about. Looking over at his friend you shook you head a little.

   "What is he talking about?"

   The girl had a look of surprise as well.

   "Uh, n-never mind that for now. "She licked her lips as she tried to think of something. A thought seemed to cross her mind. "Just, what do you normally do after something like this? You know, to calm down and help focus yourself?"

   "Uuhhh," you thought for a moment as you processed what she was asking you, "I usually feel so tired and dizzy after a fight; but, once I just breathe, and force myself to relax, I feel a lot better."

   "Okay, just go ahead and do that then. We'll stay here with you until you can get on your feet.~ ♥"

   The combination of the strangers' concern and kind words brought a warm smile to your face. You honestly could not recall the last time people besides your younger sisters having been this nice to you. And you honestly couldn't recall kids your age being this kind.

   You closed your eyes and focused inward. Taking slow, deep breaths through your mouth since you nose was clogged with blood. You focus on your heart rate and gently encouraged it to return to a steady rhythm. After a couple minutes your head began to clear and the world around you began to settle.

   Opening your eyes you saw that the boy and girl were watching you carefully and almost with awe. You felt your cheeks and ears grow a little hot. You looked down at the ground and found that you couldn't stop smiling.

   "Thanks, I'm feeling better now." You start to get to your feet and they didn't even hesitate to help you. They even each hold onto an arm until they are sure your steady on your feet.

   "Really, I'm fine," you assured them while still holding the now bloodied handkerchief to your nose. "But, I really do appreciate it."

   "It's our pleasure,~ ♥" the boy replied. "It's the least we could do for our rescuing heroine.~ ♦"

   You could feel the heat on your face spread and you just knew it was turning a bright red.

   "Is your nose going to be okay? It's still bleeding," the girl asked. "I'm assuming there is a town doctor?" You nodded a response. "We'll walk there with you. To be honest, we needed to go their ourselves to get some supplies for our troupe."

   "Alright, it's this way," you turn and start to head in the opposite direction Tsume and his friends went. The boy and girl quickly fall into step on each side of you.

   "By the way," the girl said cheerfully, "my name is Abaki!"

   "And my name is Hisoka,~ ♥" the boy added with a warm smile. You couldn't help but smile back as a warm, fuzzy feeling spread through your chest and stomach.

   "It's really nice to meet the both of you! Despite the circumstances," you added with a laugh, "Oh, and my name is Sadashi!"

   "Well, Sadashi, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you as well.~ ♥" Hisoka cooed.

   "Cool the charm, Hisoka, or else you're going to embarrass the poor girl," Abaki laughed. It was a bit late for that, you honestly didn't believe your face and ears could get any redder.

Next Chapter: Ch. 12 - ??? (TBA)

[wkemeup]

The Witness (2)

series summary: After witnessing a Hydra hit and the handsome, flirtatious  cop who had become a regular at your bar takes it upon himself to ensure your safety off the books, you learn to rely on someone else for a change and find you don’t mind it at all. Not when it’s him.

pairing: detective!bucky x reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: flirty bucky AF 

author’s note: idk about you guys but I’m ready to really get this series to get into the good stuff!  lots of sweet/flirty bucky in this chapter before some angst hits ya soon 😉

series masterlist // previous chapter 

You had only ridden in the back of a police car twice in your life. The first had been when you were seven years old. Legs too short to reach the floor, swinging nervously and tapping against the passenger seat, eliciting a sharp glare from the officer staring at you in the sideview mirror. You had your arms wrapped tightly around a small brown bear. It was old and tattered but it was one you’d had since you were a baby.

There were blood stains in its fur.  

Your father was sitting on your left, staring at the window as he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes brimming with tears. He’d never been one to let his emotion hang on his sleeve and it was the last time he’d allowed you to witness it.

Sirens wailed as the car zipped through the busy streets of New York at an hour you’d never seen before. Not quite understanding what was happening, you were caught up in the lights of the city, mesmerized as they blurred into colorful streaks the faster the car sped through the traffic. It wasn’t until you arrived at the station and your father had been hulled off for questioning until you told the nice woman in blue about the man who had hurt your mommy.

Your second time was admittedly much worse. The sharp awareness of the events that had transpired rendering on an endless loop in the back of your mind. You couldn’t shake the image from your mind no matter how hard you tried. Charlie’s eyes boring into yours. The deafening sound of the gun shot. The way his body fell so limply to the ground. The blood – so much blood. Cold, distant brown eyes.

“You alright back there?”

You blinked a few times, trying to pull back your focus. You looked up at the review mirror to see Detective Barnes’ glance flickering back to you as he drove; a few seconds on the road, one back at you, repeat. You licked your lips and turned to look out the window – anything to avoid those blue eyes that seemed to see right through you.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, folding your arms protectively over your chest.

He had started to say something else when his partner, Wilson, hit him in the arm. The rest of the ride was silent save for the wailing of the siren.

By the time you reached the station, you were lost in your own thoughts. The door clicked open and you sat there, unmoving, for an additional minute before Detective Wilson carefully led you out of the car. It was quiet by the station, you noticed. Flashes of bright lights of photographers had lined your walkway to this very station when you were a child. Charlie’s murder wasn’t as newsworthy as your mother’s it seemed.

“I’ll get you some coffee,” Wilson said as he opened the door for you to step inside. A wave of cool air hit your skin and you shivered. “Barnes’ll take you to the interview room.”

Your eyes were squinting, attempting to shield yourself from the influx of florescent lighting. You flinched as the copier kicked into gear. It was too busy in this building for this hour of the night. A blinding headache pulsed at the nape of your neck. Twisting in your fingers, you realized you had been fidgeting with your necklace.

“How do you like it?”

You blinked. “W-what?”

Wilson smiled softly, nodding towards the coffee machine. “It ain’t good, but sometimes we can mask how shitty it is if you take something in it. I tend to go for the mocha creamer.”

“Which you steal from me, thief," a red-haired woman called from her desk without missing a beat as she typed away. She didn’t even lift her eyes to look as him.

He feigned offense and then leaned in closer before he spoke again, like he was telling a secret. “I can still get it for you, if you like.”

The red-head rolled her eyes, though she had started to laugh to herself. You found the very edge of your lip tugging, trying to pull a smile out of you, though it fell just as quick as it appeared. You were impressed he was able to get that much from you, anyway.

“Sure,” you said, your voice more broken than you realized. “One sugar, too?”

This got him smiling. He gave you a thumbs up before jogging over to the coffee table.

“Come on,” Detective Barnes gestured, “this way.”

You nodded, following him in a bit of a daze down the long corridor. He glanced back over his shoulder every few paces, almost as if he was checking to make sure you were still behind him. You were busy watching one of the officers dressed in official uniform lean against the wall, his forearm resting above the head of a young woman as she looked up at him over the top of her coffee. They were smiling at one another, laughing quietly as if sharing a secret. You didn’t know the last time you’d ever been on the end of a look like that unless it was surface level teasing. It reminded you a little bit of – oof.

You bumped right into Barnes’ back as he paused unexpectedly, face hitting square between his shoulder blades and he spun around to steady you. Snapped back into reality, your eyes fell down to his hands gripping your arms and he quickly pulled away as if he had burned you. He was being suspiciously quiet for the man who couldn’t stop running his mouth when he sat at your bar.  

“Hey, Barnes, you ready?” A man stepped out from behind the closed door to your left. With a black suit jacket, carefully groomed goatee, and thick rimmed glasses, he didn’t exactly fit the part of the other cops roaming around. He pressed out a smile when he looked in your direction before his eye caught the officer and woman huddled in the breakroom through the window and he shouted, “Flirt with the analysts on your own time, Ward!”

The two quickly ducked away from one another.

“Stark,” Barnes grumbled. He didn’t seem pleased to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you could use some backup,” he quipped, shoving a file of papers into Barnes’ chest as he gestured for you to follow him into the room. You didn’t know why you did, but you looked to Barnes first, sending him a cautious look and waited until he nodded slightly before you took another step.

Dark grey drywall lined the open space and a long, horizontal mirror was imbedded in the wall to your left. In the center of the room, a metal table. Two single chairs facing one another and a silver bar fastened to the top of the table where a pair of hand cuffs could be woven through to bind the suspect in place. You weren’t a fool. You knew what this was.

“An interrogation room?” You paused at the entry way, nails digging into your skin.

Barnes clenched his jaw and cursed under his breath, though it seemed more directed at himself than anything else. Slowly, he nodded. “It’s just to talk.”

“You think I’m a suspect,” you gawked, more of a statement than a question. There was a reason you weren’t quick to trust cops. First on scene was always the prime suspect; your father had taught you that as a kid. Don’t go to the cops, they won’t believe you. They’ll take one look at your last name and think the worst. You sent an accusatory glare at Barnes and he shook his head, holding his hands up defensively.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re not not saying that.”

Barnes sighed, now running his hands through his short, dark hair; couldn’t keep the damn things still. He was looking at you like you were a child, lost and scared, like you were something to be pitied. It was starting to make your skin boil.

“We can’t officially rule it out until we go through the evidence and you give a statement,” he started, “I’m sure you’re familiar with how this goes -”

“What makes you say that?” you snapped, unable to hold your tongue any longer. “You think because of the people I serve in my bar that I’m dirty? Is that it? You don’t know shit about me, Barnes. You come into my bar a few times a week for a month and you think you have some kind of profile on me but-”

“We know your mom was killed by a hitman when you were a kid,” Stark's voice cut you off, carrying the kind of austerity that set you off guard. He said it so simply, so matter of fact, that it made you freeze in your tracks. You swallowed, pressing your lips together tightly as your heart started to pick up in pace. He leaned against the table.

“Tony,” Barnes warned, his voice low. “Watch yourself.”

Stark didn’t pay him any mind as he turned and sat on the edge of the table, folding his arms over his chest. “We know that your father was involved with trafficking drugs for Hydra. The same organization who hired the hitman that killed your mom, by the way.”

Barnes shouted for Stark to ‘back the hell off’, but he didn’t listen.

“We know that you now run the bar he used a front to sell heroin to poor kids on the street,” Stark continued. “We also know you have a big mouth and put on a brave little face for those low-lifes who pay your bills, but underneath it all, you're scared as shit. Maybe you can handle a bar filled of misdemeanors and petty thieves, but you don’t stand a chance against the big guns and you know it.”

You were seething as Stark pushed himself off the table and walked around to kick out the chair closest to the wall.

“Now - Sit. Down.”

Despite the rage boiling in your veins, you crossed the room and sat down in the chair, keeping your eyes trained on his with a burning look of disdain upon your features.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Stark?” Barnes grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You know more than you’re letting on,” Stark sneered at you, slamming a fist against the table enough for it to make you jump. “You’ve had a hand in your father’s business this whole time, haven't you? Haven’t you!”

"Stark!” Barnes barked, enough for his fellow Detective to take a few steps back. You exhaled a heavy breath. “This isn’t how I want you treating my witness.”

“What so she’s your witness?” Stark snapped back, momentum already riling up again. “You think this case is yours because you spend a few nights in her bar and maybe a little something on the si-”

“Enough!”

You sunk further into the chair, heat flooding to your cheeks as you glanced towards the booming voice coming from the doorway. The shadow of a man stood in its frame. As he stepped into the room, you noticed the features of his face were much kinder than his expression suggested. Short blonde hair, toned arms, and dressed in a black tie and white button-up shirt rolled to his elbows, decorated with pins and badges along the left of his chest and a police shield emblem on the sleeves.

“Captain Rogers,” Stark mumbled, shooting Barnes a glare. “What can we do for you?”

“It was getting loud in here,” the captain replied sternly, eyes glancing over to you cautiously before they returned to Barnes. “Is everything alright?”

You clenched your jaw, keeping your arms folded tight over your chest and everted your gaze.

Stark rolled his eyes, tapping his rather expensive looking shoe on the tile. “Look, Cap. This is our first lead on Hydra in months. Permission to treat the witness as hostile?”

“What? Permission denied!” Captain Rogers shook his head, aghast. “You’re not a lawyer, Stark. You’re a detective. Act like it!”

“She’s the daughter of a known Hydra affiant!”

“She’s not a threat, Stark,” Barnes retorted. He stepped out from his position leaning against the wall and into Stark’s direct path to you. His shoulders were so tense you could see the muscle through the thin layer of his shirt. “She’s just here to talk.”

“So you say!”

“Back down, Stark,” the captain warned.

Tony threw his arms in the arm. “Oh, so Barnes can flirt a little with the witness after hours and practically gets the case handed to him but I take this damn thing seriously and you’re punishing me?”

“What Detective Barnes does on his free time does not concern this precinct, Stark, you know that.”

“You’re only defending him because you two used to be partners before Commander Fury promoted you -- which was a serious conflict of interest by the way,” Stark argued.

“I’m still your captain, Stark. Watch it.”

“Am I the only one trying to bring down Hydra here!?” Stark started to pace the length of the room. He took a step to his left and you caught sight of yourself in the reflection of the two-way mirror.

Muffled shouted suggested Stark was still arguing with the captain, but you couldn’t hear much of what they were saying. Drifting out of focus to much of anything besides your reflection, your eyes caught on the red flakes in your hair, sunken skin below your eyes, and a far-off look about you that nearly made you cringe.

You tilted your face to the side, examining the splatter of blood along your cheek and started to rug at it vigorously. Neither Stark or Rogers seemed to notice, but Barnes had narrowed his eyes on you, watching carefully from the other side of the room. He was about to take a step forward towards you when Stark’s voice snapped you out of your trance.

“Have either of you actually read her father’s rap sheet? It’s a mile long and there’s no goddamn way she wasn’t involved!”

Red stained hands slammed sharply against the table, enough to leave a sting in your palms and you were on your feet before you could stop yourself, drawing the immediate attention of the three men in the room.

“I am not my father!”

You were panting, heavy breaths in your lungs as you stared down Stark. Admittedly, he was eyeing you with intrigue, like he was more impressed than suspicious of your claim. Legs crossed as he leaned against the two-way mirror, he started to grin.

“Oh, is this a bad time?” Detective Wilson peaked his head out from behind the captain’s large frame, carrying a cup of steaming coffee in his right hand.

“No, it’s not,” you groaned, waving for him to come in. “Thank you, Detective Wilson.”

He looked towards the captain before he entered, and with a subtle nod from the boss, Wilson quickly skidded into the room, half jogging but careful to keep his hand steady. The sincerity of it got you smiling again.

“Please, it’s Sam,” he smiled, winking at you as he set the coffee down on the table.

“That’s two people flirting with the witness now, Cap,” Tony pointed out, physically snapping and pointing in Sam’s direction. Though, this time, his tone was rather coy.

“Buck, I trust you to take her statement and ensure she gets home safely,” Captain Rogers ordered, nodding for Stark and Sam to exit the room. Sam sent you that flashy smile of his as Tony pushed himself away from the wall dramatically before they both were gone.

A heavy exhale from behind you as Barnes slowly paced around to the other side of the table. He took a seat, clearing his throat before he opened the pad of paper sitting to his left. Just the two of you alone in the room, you could feel yourself start to relax. It felt familiar with the barrier of the table between you, like a rusted metal version of your bar top.

Barnes was clicked the end of the pen, scribbling haphazardly against the paper, growing more and more frustrated when the ink refused to capture on the paper, only the imprint of the ballpoint pen left behind. He grunted and you couldn’t help but giggle under your breath, surprised he was able to turn your mood around so easily without even trying. He tossed the useless pen across the room and pulled a new one from his pocket.

“So, ‘Buck’, huh? Where’s that even come from?”

A smile tugged at his lips, though he kept his attention at the paper as he started to write his credentials at the top. “Middle name’s Buchanan. Friends call me Bucky.”

“Well that’s silly,” you shrugged, trying to suppress the grin on your face as he started to chuckle; the kind of sound that made you forget about the red stains on your skin and the horrors locked inside your mind, horrors he would ask you to relive in just a few minutes. You tried to push the thought away.

“Yeah, well, there were too many kids named James in my kindergarten class.”

You nodded. “Did you go to kindergarten in the 1920’s? You might know my grandfather, goes by Albert.”

He shook his head, a laugh actually escaping him a moment before he bit on his lip to hold it back in. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

A silence took over and you tried to capture the ease you felt in this moment, knowing that it would be difficult to find it again once he started asking questions. Barnes set the pen down on the table, pausing before he looked up at you.

“I’m sorry about Stark, by the way,” he said slowly. “He’s not usually that... abrasive. He’s got a, uh, personal stake in this. We’ve been trying to dismantle Hydra for years and he really thought you’d have answers for him.”

A careful nod as you considered his words. “You seem pretty sure I don’t.”

“I know we talk a lot about your bar being filled with criminals, but the truth is most of them haven’t been incarcerated in years,” Barnes said, a sincerity in his voice you didn’t expect. “They’ve got mostly petty crimes, drug possessions, or misdemeanor assault charges, nothing that would stop them from being a productive member of society since they served their time, but enough that it puts a bad label on ‘em. They’ve got the kinda look that screams ‘bad news’ and an attitude that goes with it, and yet, for some reason they flock to you.”

You blinked a few times, slightly taken back.

He continued. “They respect you. Not because of who your dad is, either. They stop dead in their tracks when you start reprimanding them because they know they disappointed you. You take care of them. You treat them like real people and hold them to a standard they don’t find out on the streets. You tried to save the life of that man in the alley tonight. I saw that. I saw how hard you tried to bring him back and how hard you took it when you couldn’t. Someone like that ain’t got a thing to do with Hydra. I’d bet my badge on it.”

You paused, letting his words sink in. “That’s a heavy wager, Detective Barnes.”

A beat. A soft smile lifting his callused lips. Then, “I thought I already told you my friends call me Bucky.”

***

You spent the next three hours going over those seven minutes of your life in excruciating detail. Everything from when Charlie had tried to escort Matty out of the bar to you hiding in the alley behind the dumpster to when Bucky and Sam had arrived on scene. You had tried to tell him every detail you could possibly remember on the man with the gun, but it was too dark. You’d only seen his face for a second, it wasn’t enough time to do a sketch rendering. All you could tell him about was the tattoo on the man’s neck, but that was something most of Hydra had anyway. Bucky had hoped you’d be able to identify the face in a picture of known Hydra affiants, but that had come up empty.

Nothing you told him seemed to bring him any closer to a lead. It was nearing six in the morning when the frustration that had been building for hours started to snap.

“We’ve been at this all night!” you huffed, pushing out your chair as you started pacing the room. Bucky sat back, folding his arms as he watched you. You pushed away the hairs fallen into your eyes. “What- What good am I to Charlie if I can’t even remember what the asshole who killed him even looked like!”

“Come on, Y/n, this ain’t your fault and you know that,” Bucky reminded you sincerely. He had said it a few times so far this morning, though he didn’t once sound tired of saying it.

“I can’t-” You groaned, leaning against the table for support. “I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Bucky reassured as he set down the pen and flipped back the seventeen pages he had scribbled in the notebook. Seventeen pages of material and you still felt useless. “Why don’t I get you home, okay? It’s been a long day. You can give us a call if you think of anything else, alright?”

You nodded, a yawn taking over before you could suppress it. “Sorry I kept you all night. Bet your wife’s a tough woman for putting up with this life.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah… no wife. This job doesn’t allow for steady relationships.”

“But it does allow for flirting with witnesses,” you accused through a teasing smirk.  

“Didn’t know you’d be my witness yet, Y/n,” Bucky retorted through a smile, gesturing towards the door. He opened it for you and followed you out into the hallway.

Damn those florescent lights.

“Detective Barnes!” A kid dressed in the official blue uniform scurried across the bull pen, skidding around Sam who shot him an irritable glare and nearly crashed into Stark who shouted at him to ‘watch it, Pete!’ He was small, leaner than most of the cops in here and had a boyish smile in his face, eager, like he was constantly searching for ways to prove himself.

Bucky sighed. “What is it, Parker?”

“Heard you had a late night and I’d like to offer to take Miss -- uh, sorry, I didn’t get your name?” he grimaced towards you with a blush in his cheeks.

“Y/L/n,” you replied, too keen to enjoy the kid’s fluster.

He cleared his voice, straightening his back. “I’d like to offer to escort Miss Y/L/n home.”

“That won’t be necessary, Parker, I’ve got it covered,” Bucky replied quickly, a little too quickly, as he started to lead you towards the door.

Parker jumped around to stand in Bucky’s way. When Bucky didn’t stop walking, Parker started moving backwards, pulling off his cap and twisting it nervously in his hands. You glanced between the kid and Bucky, a gleam of welcomed amusement you so desperately needed.

“Well, actually, sir, the thing is, --”

Bucky pulled to a stop and you along with him. “Spit it out, kid.”

“Captain Rogers kinda said that your overtime is killing the budget and you need to go home.”

“Great,” Bucky grunted. “I’ll go home after Y/n does.”

“Actually--”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Bucky threw his arms in the air, glaring over at the office across the bull pen. Behind the semi-open shades stood Captain Rogers, nursing a cup of coffee, as he eyed them from over the mug. Bucky let out an exasperated groan. “Fine! Okay, Rogers?” he shouted towards the office and the captain lifted his mug in acknowledgement. “Fine!”

Bucky sighed, turning to you. “You okay if this child takes you home? I can grab Wilson or maybe Nat if she’s around...”

You shook your head, smiling as you watched Parker celebrate as Bucky’s back was turned. He seemed like a sweet kid. You needed more of that in your life, especially after the night you had.

“I’m fine,” you reassured Bucky, noticing the frustration in his heavy breaths and tensed shoulders. “I bet he’s stronger than he looks. Could probably stop a train with his bare hands, huh?”

Parker nodded vigorously. Bucky rolled his eyes. He turned to the kid, grabbing a hold of his uniform collar.

“Take this seriously,” he warned, leaning in close enough the Parker stretched his neck away. “We’re keeping Y/n’s involvement between just a few of us here in the precinct. The media’s in the dark about this for now and we have to keep it that way. Hydra doesn't know there was a witness and I don’t want that changing, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Parker replied firmly. The second Bucky pulled back, the kid’s smile widened enough to take up his whole face. “I’m Peter. You can come with me, Miss Y/L/n.”

“You can call me Y/n, you know?”

“Don’t bother,” Bucky rolled his eyes, though you could sense the amusement under it. “He’s got an authority complex. Can’t be informal if he tried.”

“Oh, I see,”

“You coming, Miss Y/l/n?” he called from the end of the precinct. How did he get that far so fast?

You nodded, turning quickly to Bucky. “Well, thanks. I guess I’ll see you around?”

“’Course, can’t forget about my key witness,” he grinned.

You smiled, quick to push aside the fluttering in your chest. You had started to walk away when you heard Bucky curse behind you, as if a realization clicked. He jogged back up to you, grabbing you gently by the elbow to pull you to a stop.

“You're not going back to the bar tonight, right?” he asked, concern in his eyes as he studied you.

You shrugged, pulling away from his grasp softly before you started walking again towards Peter. You hadn’t even considered not opening. “I gotta pay the bills, Bucky.”

“W-wait, hold on now--”

“I have to keep my electricity running and I’ll have customers wondering why I’m not opening,” you insisted. “You want to keep this quiet? I gotta show up. They’ll know something’s amiss if I don’t.”

“Let me assign protective detail at least,” Bucky countered, now walking backwards as you crossed half the length of the station to where Peter was waiting.

“Not necessary.”

“Y/n, you’re a witness to a hydra hit--”

“--which they know nothing about,” you finished, forcing out a tight smile. “You said that yourself. Can’t be in danger if they don’t know anyone even saw it happen.” You paused, only a few feet away from the young officer waiting eagerly by the door. “I’ll be fine. Plus, I have that business card of yours tucked away somewhere. I’ll call if I need to.”

Bucky released a heavy exhale, hands planted on his hips as he reluctantly watched you make your way out the door.

“You better.”

***

Officer Parker – or Peter as he insisted relentlessly you call him – had been the welcomed distraction you needed. He looked young for his age, like maybe he belonged in high school, but he swore he was fresh out the of academy and even showed you his badge to prove it. The kid didn’t stop talking for even a second as he drove you home, not even when he asked you questions. He’d paused, give you about two seconds to respond, before he was answering his own damn question and off on a new tangent. He was a sweet kid, one you didn’t mind having around one bit.

He had come up to your apartment, cautiously inspecting the locks and hinges, eyeing up and down the hallway for cameras that didn’t belong – said it was on Detective Barnes’ orders. You had smiled at that.

After Peter left, you had forced yourself to sleep, too exhausted to do much of anything else. When the sound of a car alarm woke you a few hours later, you tried to make busy around the apartment. You cleaned the kitchen, swept the floors, washed down the bathroom and did two loads of laundry and it was only two in the afternoon.  

Unable to sit still in your dingy apartment any longer, you made your way down the street to your bar. You hadn’t been able to finish cleaning up shop the previous night for obvious reasons and you wanted to make sure nothing looking amiss by the time opening came around.

Barnes held true to his word that the media was in the dark about it – the shooting, Charlie’s murder, you as a witness, all of it – which meant that you’d find your regulars waltzing in like they usually do. The newspapers hadn’t gotten word of it at least, and you were sure to check a few of them yourself as you walked by the corner store.

Had to keep up appearances, pay the bills. It was what you were telling yourself anyway. Routine was essential to your survival. Sitting alone in that apartment all day and let your mind wander felt like a worse sentence than Hydra discovering you.

Hands tucked tightly in the pockets of your jacket, you slowed your pace down as you passed the alley next to the bar. You came to a stop and a man behind you had to skid out of your way at the last second, cursing and grumbling under his breath as he continued walking.

There was no crime scene tape up, no evidence markers or silly white chalk drawn in the pavement. No proof at all that anything had happened in this alley – that a man had died in this alley. There wasn’t even blood stained into the gravel. The rain had taken care of that.

Carefully, you made your way down the dark alley, glancing up at the light above the backdoor to the bar to discover it was now fully operational. You sighed and bent down to pick up the broom you had dropped the previous night. Unlocking the door, you stepped inside.

It was just as you left it. Not that it should be a surprise, but it felt like something should be different. You were different, you supposed.

You spent the next few hours tediously cleaning the floors, the bathrooms, restocking the shelves, and washing through the glasses twice. Couldn’t stand still for even a moment, you had even starting wiping down the walls when the bell rang out and the first two patrons strolled in.

“Smells like Lysol in here, Y/n,” the bigger of the two men, a guy called Vinny, grumbled as he pinched his nose. His twin brother Leonard swatted his shoulder, urging him to be nice. Vinny made a look of disgust before he gestured for his usual. You swung yourself around the bar, thankful to have some company as you held a glass under the tap. “I liked it better when this place smelled like stale beer.”

“Thanks, Vinny,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. Leonard apologized for his brother before leading him back to their usual spot. Odd pair, those two.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the crowd to gather. You didn’t have much of a free moment to think, and that was exactly what you were hoping for. Bustling around from one end of the bar to the other, grabbing empty glasses and refilling drinks. The clientele usually kept their orders simple – beer, hard liquor, occasionally thrown in with some coke. Every once in a while, you’d find a brave soul who’d ask for something frozen or colorful, topped with one of those little umbrellas you’d bought a pack of when you first reopened the bar years back and had used five since. They’d get shit for it, but the ones with the thickest skin would come back for more.

It was nearing nine when the bell rang. Most of your customers came in around six and didn’t leave until two in the morning at close. The stragglers in between were ones you didn’t usually recognize but not this one.

Bucky Barnes sauntered in, hands in his pockets and a shake of his head when he saw you standing behind the bar. “I thought I told you this was a bad idea.”

“And I thought I made it pretty clear I wasn’t gonna listen,” you said simply, handing Bernie his third glass of beer. You wiped your hands on your towel before reaching for Bucky’s usual choice. You set a short glass in front of him as he sat and began filling it. It was a heavy pour. He noticed.

“Which is why I assigned protective detail,” Bucky said he picked up the glass and took a sip. He was getting better about not wincing as it went down.

“I said no, Barnes! I can’t have cops running around this place, it’ll scare off my customers!”

“Relax, doll,” Bucky chuckled and you felt your heart skip at the nickname, “It’s just me. I’m the detail.”

You narrowed your eyes, swallowing back the butterflies in your stomach. “I thought Captain Rogers said you were working too much overtime.”

“What Steve doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Bucky shrugged. “Besides, the one-four ain’t got a say in what I do in my free time.”

You paused. “You’re off duty?”

“You think I’d be drinking if I wasn’t?”

“I’m just,” you ran your fingers through your hair in an attempt to hide the red forming in your cheeks, “surprised, I guess. Don’t know why you’d use your own time just to look out for me.”

“Who says that’s what I’m here for?” Bucky smirked. “Maybe I like my bourbon really shitty. Maybe I was getting used to being a bit of a regular in this joint and I’m stuck in my ways. It’s too late for me now.”

“Yeah maybe,” you laughed, folding your arms as you leaned against the bar.

Bucky took a sip from the glass, keeping your stare as he swirled the last remaining sip in the glass before he threw back that one, too. He paused. A shrug.

“Maybe I just like the bartender.”

“Don’t let Stark hear you say that,” you retorted quickly, pushing yourself off the bar and brushing away any sincerity you heard in his words as his typical banter. You reached for a clean glass as you saw Leonard coming up for the second round. “You’ll get in trouble for flirting with the witness again.”

Bucky nodded, smiling to himself as he watched you pull the handle for the tap. You were talking with Leonard, laughing softly as he pointed back to his brother across the room who was clearly whistling along to the Dolly Parton song that he had thrown on the jukebox.

You didn’t notice Bucky’s eyes on you. Under his breath, too quiet for you to hear, “I’ll take my chances.”

part 3

tags 🌻 @sweetheartbarnes / @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @lumar014 / @alohafromhell1 / @bucksandroses / @teardropcup / @beautiful-aravis / @me-chi / @somewereinthegalaxi / @marvelfansworld / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @yourwonderbelle / @fairislesheets / @brokeinflight

(strikethrough means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!)

[thanedai]

NAME: Dadarius Balanthe

ALIAS/NICKNAMES: Darus Volen, Skin, Carpeth

BIRTH DATE: 15th Urma

BIRTH PLACE: Delenum Village, Alsales

ETHNICITY: Alsalian/Fioren

LOCATION: Unknown

MARITAL STATUS: Single

FAMILY: Gotraius Bala (Father; deceased), Liandra Anthes (Mother; deceased), Narie Balanthe (Older sister; deceased), Roen Balanthe (Older brother; alive)

OCCUPATION: Soldier, Spy, Terrorist.

AFFILIATION: None

WEAPONS: Short sword  and daggers

FIGHTING STYLE: Zardian Warrior Combatives (Alsales’ old aggressive form of Zard combat; generally a hand-to-hand style, but can implement swords and shield. Uses magic to create an impentrable defense of the body, where a blade will glance off the fighter’s bare skin).

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual/Grey-romantic

ABILITIES:

MAGIC:

Mind Control: He can weave his magic into other people’s minds and force them to comply to his will. He does not need to speak in order to use this ability, however, he can if he so wishes. He can use what is called ‘double-layering’, telepathically pushing the suggestion, while speaking it out loud with extra magic. Should he be unable to speak, however, Darus simply needs to use more power to push the suggestion on someone.

Should the person be stronger of mind, they can shake off his suggestion even under repeated use. However, normal people have rarely ever been able to do such a thing. Darus can use this ability on more than one person at a time, whether he’s in their presence or at a distance (so long as he can see the person he can send his suggestion, though incredibly long distances have proven to be weaker than closer ones). He has controlled up to thirty people this way using short-term orders. If he needs the person for longer, he will have to remain near enough to continue giving orders, or to push his magic more.

Suggestions can last for several hours depending on how much magic he used to control a person. If he weaved his magic into someone’s mind, they will be under his control for at least 24 hours, though it’s rare he will ever need someone for that long anyway.

Those he has used his control on are usually too confused to explain the situation, especially if he has altered memories or told them to forget things. Therefore they become unreliable even after the effect has worn off.

Over-use backlashes on Darus with severe migraines and only rest can bring his magic levels back to normal.

His mind control has made him an incredibly good at infiltration and remaining unseen, as those who have seen him usually are unaware of this fact later on and cannot give an accurate report of what occurred.

Teleportation: His second special magic. He needs to only think of himself being in another place and then push himself to materialize there. It takes far more energy than his mind control magic does. He can go practically anywhere using this magic, but he has to have at least seen a picture of the place he wishes to go to, or have been there previously. Over-use will cause severe pain over his entire body and render him immobile until he regains his strength. Darus has regularly done this to himself, and has learned to push through the pain, but this keeps him from using any other magic for the time being.

Armor: He can use magic to strengthen his skin to near-impenetrable so that it becomes armor. He can use it to shield only certain parts of his body, or his entire body although the latter requires more energy.

Physical enhancement: He can use his magic to make himself stronger, and faster for as long as his energy lasts.

Word Magic: Because his magic is not specific to any emotion or element like others might be, he has low-level of either. What he has is ‘word magic’ meaning he must speak aloud the specific incantation, unlike others. Darus carries a magic tome with him, of which he can cast Combust (a fire-based magic which bursts flames from beneath his opponents feet), Defend (temporary weak shield which can deflect one magic-based attack), Detonate (creates an explosion at a specific target), Burst (a gust of strong winds which will cut into an opponent), and Heal. Without the book, however, he cannot cast.

Because of his weakness in offensive energy-manipulative magic, Darus has done everything in his power to enhance all his strengths, as well as making his weaker skills (word magic) as best as possible.

NON-MAGIC BASED SKILLS:

Incredible hand-to-hand combat skills, as well as with blades. He’s an expert at concealing weapons.

As a spy, he has learned to make himself invisible with the use of disguises and can infiltrate almost any facility without being seen or caught.

He’s a public speaker, the kind of person who could probably persuade someone to come to his side; at least when he is attempting to be reasonable.

He’s a linguist and learns languages fairly easily.

He trains animals.

HEALTH:

Physical: Good health, in general. Has three jagged scars that cross from the right side of his face to his left.

Mental:

Poor anger management skills.

Has some sociopathic/psychotic tendencies.

HEIGHT: 6'7

HAIR COLOR: Light brown

EYE COLOR: Red

SKIN COLOR: White

BODY TYPE: Athletic.

NATIONALITY: N/A

REAL LIFE FC: Cillian Murphy

ANIMATED FC: –

PERSONALITY:

Patient | Aggressive | Cunning | Manipulative | Decisive | Dominant | Leader

ABOUT:

     Darus was born to a surprisingly poor family in Delenum Village. His father was an outcast, having once been a powerful Zard in Valden City. He broke several Sacred Rules and was stripped of his rank. His magic was sealed, leaving him with little of it to use. He found refuge in Delenum Village as a delivery man, taking goods from village to town to city. Sometimes he would act as an assistant to the healers, but for the most part his existence was one of disappointment. Darus’ mother was a Delenum native from a large family of farmers. Gotair and Lia met when the former was searching for work, and Lia’s father granted him a job as delivery driver for their foods.

    Darus was the third of their children, and the last. It was rare that couples ever had more than two or three children, as Ildrat were long-lived people who could wait thousands of years before deciding to have their next kin (and in that time could have changed partners several times). They were close and when they were young, before their paths were decided, they spent hours playing games together.

Darus grew up on Gotair’s stories of his time in Valden City, and the feats the High Master Zards. The three children were of strong magic, following from Gotair, as he continued his Royal Bloodline of Bala. Narie, the eldest, was also the strongest. She was unable to stay in Delenum for long as her magic grew unstable, and though Gotair knew of ways to help her, he did not have the means. He sent Narie off to Valden City to study in Zard Tower where she thrived. Narie returned to Delenum every holiday, and any length of time she was able. Darus learned even more of the Zards and became enthralled. He wanted to follow in Narie’s footsteps and bring peace to all of Praxon.

   The middle child, Roen, showed great skill in magic as well, but asked not to be sent to the Zards. He wished to enter into the military, for a war with Loesis was brewing and he wished to help. Neither parent liked the idea, but there was nothing that could be done. Soon they wouldn’t have a choice of whether to enter the military at all. Both Gotair and Lia were drafted when war really did break out, and Darus was left in Narie’s care. They moved to Valden City and as soon as Darus was of age, he joined the Zard Apprenticeship. It was a few years into his study when Narie died. She and the other High Master Zards were tasked with creating Alsales new Spirit Orb. The previous had been burnt out by an attack on Alsales. Narie believed that creating the Orb would help attain peace for Alsales, as it was a symbol of solidarity between warring nations. Darus wanted to believe that. He was devastated and almost left back home to Delenum. But it had been Narie’s parting words to tell him to keep going on with his Apprenticeship, and that she would always be with him through the Orb. So he continued on.

   Perhaps it was the words of his Master during the Apprenticeship, or perhaps it was simply seeing the continued ravages of the world, but Darus soon grew to hate Alsales. He hated the warrior ideology, the declarations of wanting peace and failing always to achieve it, the way in which those who did not have a powerful name were stepped on and forgotten. Faldren Dulin, the First Zard of Alsales, had a statue erected in Valden City, but the other Zards who lost their lives creating the Orb were forgotten. Perhaps it was that. For Darus loved his sister more than anything or anyone in the world, and Alsales had forgotten her cause; her sacrifice.

   These emotions stirred in him for years, and years. He began to formulate a plan against his country. During a truce when the King of Loesis was to change, Darus was sent with his Master, Gelena, to oversee the ceremony and pursue an alliance with the new King. Darus met the young Petric Danfert and the two of them became allies in their want of destruction against Alsales. Darus, for vengeance, Petric to show that the Veruna could be as strong as the Ildrat.

  Darus made Master. Gelena, celebrated with him that night and he told her of his plan. He thought she would understand, that she was of the same mindset, but it turned out she did not have the spine. He was forced to kill her. When the Zard Council came to investigate her death, Darus claimed she committed suicide. Using the even as an excuse, he resigned his Mastership and left to become part of the military.

  He spent years going back and forth from Alsales to Loesis, using his skills to bring his own plans into fruition. Eventually Alsales overpowered the Loesian army and won the war. Darus decided it was time he step out of the shadows and finish what he started.