#first one is the Almost Grimace. or like a wider more performative smile

[kagoutiss]

pays for his therapy

[highdramas]

forever is the sweetest con | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: language and tfatws spoilers? not really but just in case

word count: 2167

summary: bucky makes a friend in his neighbor and her cat.

note: hiiiii so happy that so many people enjoyed the world's a little blurry! i am going to be writing multiple one shots, all connecting and showing little snapshots from the life of bucky and the reader <3 you don't have to read them in order, but reading all of them will help you better understand the relationship!

enjoy! <3

“stupid fucking thing.”

the swearing followed by incoherent irritable grumbling is like a dog whistle to bucky barnes. he’s standing outside of his apartment, lingering in the hallway, waiting to see if the person will speak again. to the surprise of no one, bucky hasn’t put much effort into getting to know his neighbors. he gives curt nods as he passes them in the hallway, tries his best to muster a smile when he gets caught at the mailbox beside someone else. he thinks that it looks more like a grimace than anything, but still-- it’s something.

“son of a bitch.”

the voice is feminine, and it is angry. he’s trying to discern if there is any immediate distress, and if there is-- maybe he can help. he’s pulled from his thoughts quickly as a door swings open and a large box is thrown out onto the doorstep. “fucking hell.”

the door doesn’t close. it stays open, still swinging, as if recoiling from the force in which it was tossed open. bucky could very easily continue on his way to his apartment, put away the few groceries he had purchased-- mostly pasta and cereal-- and spend his evening how he spends most evenings. fighting off sleep, because he knows what comes the moment consciousness fades and the darkness swallows him whole.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he dashes to his door and places the bag at the entryway, turning back on his heel. he fiddles with his gloves as he grows closer and closer to the door. and then, he sees you.

bucky can’t see much-- the door is only cracked. but what he can see almost makes him laugh. you’re huddled over what he assumes is a cat tower. well, a sorry excuse for a cat tower, really-- it’s half put together with miscellaneous pieces strewn all around you. you seem to be studying the instruction manual, flipping through it before you eventually toss it to the side. “kitty, i don’t know about all of this,” he hears you say.

again, there are multiple options here in terms of what bucky can do. he can leave now, pretend he never saw anything. he can check on you, and then… and then what? he doesn’t know.

he knocks.

bucky takes a step back as you scramble to your feet, pushing your hair back. you open the door and up at the stranger. “hi.” the word is short, and he can tell that you are not in a good mood. “if you’re going to bitch me out about the noise, i’m sorry. i bought a new cat tower for my cat, and it’s a bitch to put together. and i hate building anything, so i’m basically useless.” you suck in a breath and muster a smile. “so, like i said. sorry. i’ll be a better neighbor tomorrow.”

you go to close the door, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing when he blurts-- “wait-- no.” he shakes his head, clears his throat. “no, i wasn’t gonna bitch you out. i was--”

what was he going to say? what was he going to do?

“i was going to say i could help. if you want.” he clears his throat and rubs at his chin with a gloved hand. “i’m alright at putting furniture together.”

you linger in the doorway and look at him. though there are countless people who look at him every day, oftentimes, bucky doesn’t feel like he’s being recognized. sometimes he wonders if he is secretly invisible, drifting through this too-long life as a ghost. but the look you give him is piercing, and the smile that follows makes his heart stop in his chest.

“i’m not gonna turn down someone building this god forsaken thing for me,” you open the door wider. “come on in.”

--

bucky finishes his handiwork on the cat tower within thirty minutes, but something about you draws him in, and now it has been an hour and a half and he has not tired of your company.

you are very charming. that is the first thing that bucky notices about you. and it’s not just your personality, either. everything in your apartment seems to drip in you. there is no wall that is bare, there are different colored lights twinkling around each window, plants galore. it makes him almost feel embarrassed about the state of his own home. if you can even call it that.

it’s not a home. it’s a place where he fights off his demons and drinks cheap beer and pretends that he is okay, pretends that he is not alone, pretends that he doesn’t need sam or his therapist or anyone else in order to figure out how to live in the present.

but yours. yours is a home.

there’s a pang of jealousy, nestled deep in his heart. he doesn’t care if the thought is unreachable for someone like him, someone who has done the sort of things that he has done-- he wants it.

the thought will never reach the light of day, of course. no, it will stay buried in his belly, churning with the guilt and the anguish and the loneliness, too.

“you good over there?”

“huh?”

bucky looks up to see that you’re looking at him. your head is tilted and your mouth slightly agape, and the look… he can’t quite place it. it’s more confusion and less concern, and in a weird way, he likes that. “yeah. i’m fine.”

he’s confused by the way that the corner of your mouth turns up. “you’re a good liar,” is all that you quip before you push up off the ground, dusting off your leggings. “do you like pizza? i’m starving, and i would cook us something, but i don’t want to subject you to that. my mom says the only thing i should ever make is cereal, and even that’s pushing it. says i use too much milk.”

bucky laughs.

and it shocks him. it takes no thought at all to laugh at your words, your charm, the way that you carry yourself with such easy self deprecating humor. you make him laugh.

you, on the other hand, don’t think anything of it. you raise your eyebrows at him. “well? it’s pizza or we’re eating two big bowls of honey nut cheerios.”

“pizza is good.”

you bite down on your lip and you nod, fishing your phone from your back pocket. “great.”

bucky studies you as you order the food.

he’s learning that there are many things that he envies you for.

every muscle in your body is loose and relaxed. you don’t walk, you seem to float-- drifting in and out of rooms, brushing past him, as if you’re made up of nothing but air and stardust. you joke with the employee on the other line and then you hang up and look back to him. “i said we’d go and pick it up. it’s my favorite place, just down the street.”

“yeah, that sounds nice.”

bucky follows your lead. he’d never taken off his jacket, or his gloves, but you hadn’t made a comment about them. you scramble into clothing suitable for a new york winter and then grin at him, face slightly obscured by the massive scarf. “ready?”

he nods, and then you set out. you’re quiet for a few moments, before you say, “you’re bucky, right?”

there’s a silence that settles between you, as if some jig is now up. you glance over at him. “that’s not a bad thing,” you say softly. “or an insult.”

“yeah, i know.” his elbow knocks against yours lightly. “but, yeah. i am.”

you nod and offer your own name in return, and that is that. you don’t allude to anything else that you might or might not about him, his past, or the fact that he was used as a hydra weapon for a majority of his life, now thrust into a brand new century. no, all you do is say, “bucky’s a nice name.”

“thanks, doll.”

the pet name rolls off of his tongue so easily, like breathing. he stops for a moment, leaning into the urge to be embarrassed, but you don’t let him. “no one’s ever called me that before,” you say, brushing against his arm. “i like it.”

“it’s what all the guys used to call their girls.” he stops. “not that, you know--”

“yeah, i know,” you laugh. “i know what you meant.” you glance up at him again. “like i said, i like it.”

bucky swallows his nervousness and instead comes reassurance at your words. “i can keep callin’ you doll, if you really like it that much.”

playfulness. ease. comfort. things he has not felt in so long-- yori has tried to pull them out of him when it comes to women, but it has always felt forced, too fast, not right. this feels right.

“you make it sound like it’s such a chore!” you gape at him, but your voice is not malicious in the slightest. you are holding james buchanan barnes in the palm of your hand and you do not even know it.

“it’s not a chore,” bucky reassures. “trust me.”

“whatever you say,” you point to a small hole in the wall shop. “this is it.”

bucky holds the door open for you and you smile and wink as a thank you and god it sends his mind spinning, intoxicated by even the look that you give him. your name is performed like a symphony by every employee in the shop-- they all grin and wave, some make small talk. they eye bucky who stands a step behind you. but you turn and you place a hand on his forearm and even through all of the layers he swears that your touch burns. “this is my neighbor--” you look to him.

bucky clears his throats and he musters a smile, somewhere between his normal grimace and the smile that only seems to form in your presence. “james.”

they greet bucky with kindness and send the both of you on your way with the large pizza and a free liter of diet coke. “her favorite,” the owner says pointedly, winking to you. “we’re always trying to tell her to stop. maybe you can get her to knock the habit.”

“i don’t think anyone can get me to stop drinking diet coke,” you joke, looking at bucky with a level of fondness. “but he can certainly try.”

“i’ll give it a valiant effort,” bucky says and he tips his head to everyone before he opens the door for you once more. he holds the pizza and you hold the soda, tucked beneath your arm, and you make the trek back to your apartment in comforting quiet.

bucky learns that you don’t have a dining room table. you call it a waste of space, so you two sit in front of your coffee table on floor pillows, eating off mismatched plates and drinking the diet coke out of mugs from the thrift store you frequent.

the night is growing quieter, and you think that both you and bucky sense that it is coming to an end. you think you might be a bit addicted to being around him. he reminds you of the smell after it rains and black coffee, of laughter under neon lights and gentleness.

bucky is beginning to gather his things to leave when a meow turns both of your heads. your eyes light up. “hi baby,” you coo and the cat goes right to you and you scoop her up in your arms, presenting her to bucky. “this is katherine. or kitty, as i call her. she’s normally pretty scared of people.”

bucky hesitates, looking between you and the cat. finally, his hand reaches out and scratches kitty beneath the chin. she purrs almost instantly, nuzzling her face into his hand. you watch, somewhere in between shocked and amazed, as bucky interacts with her. “no, i swear, she hates people.” you pause. “wanna hold her?”

“oh, i don’t know…”

you raise your eyebrows and then he looks back at the cat, who gives a yap. it seems to say: please? he huffs and it fades into a smile and he holds his arms out. you set kitty into them and watch as she curls into him, rubbing the top of her head against his chin.

a girlish laugh bubbles from the deep pit of you belly and you clasp your hands together in front of you, watching with hearts in your eyes. the corner of his mouth turns up as he continues to pet the cat.

“bucky,” you say, putting a hand on your hip. “i hate to inform you, she’s never gonna let you go now.”

bucky looks up at you through his lashes. you, with your easy and calm demeanor, your loud laugh and your inability to build even the simplest of furniture.

“i think i’m okay with that.”

[teawaffles]

There’s No Business Like Show Business: Chapter 3

“Fred. How’s their acting like to you?” Jack asked in a low voice.

They were seated at the edge of the stalls. They could also see Bond from where they were, completely focused on the stage.

“I’m not an actor myself, so this is just my personal opinion — but I think they’re awfully good,” Fred replied.

Jack gazed at the stage with a serious look in his eyes.

“I think so too. I won’t discount the fact that their sets and props look a little homemade, maybe due to a lack of budget; but when it comes to acting, each one of them is highly skilled. I can tell that the performers are all deeply familiar with the intent of the script.”

They were no theatre professionals for sure, but they possessed an eye for the true essence of their art.

The creases near Jack's eyes deepened as he quietly groaned.

“And best of all is that lady.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Moran agreed. With Fred included, all of them were focused on the lone person on the stage.

As Jack had pointed out, Maya, the chairwoman, was the standout actress even among the highly-skilled members of her own company.

Although she only held the lead role in “The Little Match Girl”, and was relegated to supporting roles for the other stories, the delivery of her lines, the movements of her body and hands, and even the slight shifts in her gaze — each and every one of her actions was perfectly under her control. They had seen a glimpse of this when she’d stood before her fellow company members previously, but this person on stage was completely different from the one who'd spoken to them at the entrance.

Even accounting for the fact that she had written the script herself, this level of sophistication in acting was not one which could be achieved by some run-of-the-mill actress. Moreover, the lines and pauses in the script had been carefully crafted to make it easy for the audience to relate to the stories.

From then on, the three of them enjoyed the rest of the play in silence, marvelling at her exceptional talent. Eventually, the rehearsal came to an end.

“——That concludes our performance. Thank you very much for coming.”

After her closing words, the company lined up on stage, silently waiting for Bond’s comments. While there had not been any flashy moments during the performance, almost all of them had sweat on their foreheads. Each breath they took revealed the depth of their concentration.

“…………”

For a short while, Bond stared at the stage without saying a word. Growing uneasy at the silence, the company members lowered their gazes slightly.

After what seemed like an eternity, Bond cleared his throat, and adjusted his posture. Seeing that, the company members straightened their backs.

“——If I were to summarise my thoughts, I think your acting has already reached a high standard. I’m sure all of you have put in much time and effort to achieve this.”

Their faces beamed at his compliment. But Bond would not allow them to be satisfied with that alone.

He rose from his seat.

“But that’s also why some bad habits have stood out to me. For example, the witch in ‘The Little Mermaid’: there were times when your movements were too exaggerated. I know that you wanted to emphasise her sinister nature, but the way you did so may turn off the audience.”

“Y-Yes……”

The actress who’d been singled out hung her head, perhaps out of shock. But Bond ignored this, and pointed to another woman.

“Now, you played the main character in ‘The Red Shoes’. I watched your steps after putting on the shoes — have you properly studied dance? It’s true that even some stage professionals may think that it’s alright to just mimic the real thing, but if you really want to make your performance more authentic, you must take the time to learn how to do it properly. Your audience will not be satisfied unless you show them a level of skill that will astonish even people in that profession.”

“Understood!” she responded with vigour.

“Next up is you: the way you project your voice——”

Then Bond singled out each of the performers in turn, highlighting in detail what they needed to work on. He only needed to watch their play once to spot areas for improvement at such a fine level of detail — his eye for the arts gave them all a sense of the former professional’s brilliance.

At last, Bond finished addressing every member of the company. But he then swept his gaze over the entire theatre.

“In addition…… this isn’t your fault at all, but your success today was only possible due to the small size of this theatre,” he said, with some distress. “If we were in a bigger venue, the hall would be wider and deeper to accommodate the larger audience. In other words, I’m afraid that with your current performance, your voices simply would not reach the entire audience.”

Maya paled.

“So, in order to accommodate the size of the venue……”

“Yes. The worst-case scenario would be that you have to rework the entire play. By the way, when is the opening night?”

“T—Two weeks later.”

The entire room was enveloped in silence. Even from where they were seated, Moran and the others felt the weight of their despair: all the hard work they had put in thus far, might just have amounted to nothing.

Even Bond, who had revealed this harsh reality, dropped his gaze and grimaced.

“Well, there are a fair number of productions that focus only on the stage, and do not account for the size of the audience, so you may not have to change——”

“——No, we’ll do it.”

Maya sharply interrupted his proposal.

“You’ve seen how I am; I’ve always been timid and hesitant…… but theatre is the one thing I will never compromise on. Especially now — this is a rare opportunity for us. For my fellow company members, for the people who’ve supported us this far, I want to show them something I’ve put every effort into making.”

“…………”

At her words, the rest of the company nodded in silence.

Even with the actual performance only two weeks away, Maya and her company had steeled their hearts and chosen to start again from scratch. That stubborn determination surprised Bond, and even Moran and the rest.

“U—Um…… Mr Bond, I actually have something I wish to discuss with you……”

Out of the blue, Maya’s voice had grown soft.

“U—Um, if it is alright with you, just for the next two weeks, could you sit in during our rehearsals? A—Ah, actually, just whenever you have the time would be fine……”

Bond chuckled.

Even after being told about all those problems, they refused to stand down, and even continued to ask for help. Their mental fortitude sparked hope in him, and he couldn’t help but let out a grin.

Bond shot the party in the stalls a questioning look. Moran looked to Jack and Fred in turn, before giving him a thumbs-up.

With that, the former flames of passion within Bond burned even hotter. He faced the company members with a determined grin.

“——Okay. But I will be especially tough on you all, so be prepared.”

Then, he called out to Fred.

“Fred-kun. I would like your help as well — is that alright with you?”

“Understood,” he replied, standing up.

“Bond, I’m always happy to teach knife-wielding.”

“And you can always ask me about gun handling.”

“Now that would be helpful,” Bond smiled at Jack and Moran’s jests, then turned back to the stage.

“Well then, everyone — for the next two weeks, let’s do our best together.”

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“During a performance, you must be always be aware of three things: the audience, the other actors, and yourself. If the feeling of being ‘watched’ becomes too strong for you, first direct your attention within yourself. Then, you will be able to focus on your acting once again.”

“I don’t advocate the idea of getting into a role. In the end, acting is just a skill: what you should focus on instead is how you are moving.”

“Although an effective way of bringing out emotions is to dredge up your past memories, I would advise you to avoid that. Recent memories are too concrete and vivid — if you must do so, use memories from your distant past. And be careful: if you frequently immerse yourself in negative emotions, you will hurt yourself on a spiritual level too.”

In a small theatre in Whitechapel, Bond’s instructions came forth ceaselessly.

He stood on stage together with the company members: carefully reviewing their movements, even acting them out himself as an example on occasion, and putting in every effort to raise the level of their production.

The remaining two weeks were short, but with their foundations already strong to begin with, Maya and her company steadily honed their acting skills to perfection.

One week left until the show. His work as an instructor had finally ended for the day, and he let out a sigh as he sat in the stalls to catch his breath.

“Good work today — fancy a sip?”

Having watched the proceedings from the stalls, Moran handed him a bottle of water. It was a beer bottle — very Moran-like — and Bond accepted it with a smile.

“Thanks, Moran-kun.”

Bond gulped down a single mouthful of water.

“So, how’s the play going?”

“At first I thought we would be hard-pressed for time, but they truly exceeded my expectations. I think we might just make it. ……Scratch that, we will make it.”

Moran nodded.

“That’s right. And they seem to be well-liked by the residents around here. I really hope they can pull it off.”

As Moran gazed off into the distance, a thought just occurred to Bond. He cocked his head.

“Come to think of it, you really didn’t have to tag along with me all this time, you know?”

Ever since the day Bond had agreed to lend his support to the company, his other colleagues had stopped over from time to time to cheer him on. However, Moran had made it a point to come to the theatre every day without fail.

Moran scratched his cheek in embarrassment.


“……Well, it’s not like I have anything else to do when there aren’t any missions. As a senior member of this organisation, I’m just here to see how my junior works.”

“Even though you’ve been skipping out on chores at the mansion?”

“D—Dammit, I told you before: I always do my share of the work, you know.”

Bond had said that half-jokingly, but his words flustered Moran nevertheless. It seemed he had not been entirely wrong about that.

Bond returned his gaze to the stage.

“……Thank you, Moran-kun,” he said quietly.

“Hmm? Didn’t you already say that earlier?”

“This one means something different,” he said, with a hint of mischief in his voice. Moran raised an eyebrow in bemusement, but the presence of a caring senior alone warmed Bond’s heart.

Just then, they heard the sound of the theatre doors opening.

As the two men turned to look, they saw a portly middle-aged man with a magnificent moustache standing at the entrance.

Maya hurriedly bowed in his direction. “T—Thank you so much for your help thus far! What brings you all the way here?”

From her formal manner, it seemed this was the very noble who had asked them to stage the opening act for his theatre.

“Ah, you’ve been working hard, I see,” he said as he stroked his moustache, a big smile on his face.

“Yes; with your assistance, we’ve been able to prepare for the performance in time. I’m sure the audience will be satisfied with——”

“Well, about that.”

The man interrupted Maya, still all smiles.

“——Your performance has been cancelled.”

“What?”

No one could believe their ears.

Her expression brimmed with confusion.

“U-Um, what do you mean……?”

“What does it mean? Just pretend our conversation back then didn’t happen. That’s all.”

The man made another simple pronouncement, then smiled as if nothing was wrong.

“Honestly, it’s just as well that this has happened, since I’ve also been troubled over your debut. So what I’m saying is, your company doesn’t have to turn up. That’s alright with you, isn’t it?”

The entire company was still in a state of shock. Then, Bond addressed the man directly.

“Now hold on just a moment. What do you mean, you were troubled? Then why did you ask them to perform? What’s more, isn’t it a little late to cancel the performance at this juncture?”

Hearing that, the man sighed in displeasure.

“Who are you, anyway? Someone connected to this company? I’m not happy to be asked so many questions at once.”

“Then I’ll summarise it for you. If you were going to cancel the performance so easily, why bother requesting Maya and her company to perform anyway?”

At Bond’s question, the nobleman shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, that’s simple. I just felt like it.”

“……What?”

Those shocking words froze him to the core.

“I’d heard about a reputable theatre company in the slums. Since there’s this notion of noblesse oblige anyway, I thought a performance would be a good topic for conversation and approached them. But then I grew to realise that the thought of poor people stepping onto the sacred stage of an official theatre just didn’t sit well with me. So yesterday, I finally decided to put an end to this madness.”

“How could you……”

He had asked Maya’s company to perform on a whim, and then cancelled their act on a selfish whim as well. And this was all decided just ‘yesterday’. Even though they had been putting in every effort into their play.

The nobleman continued.

“That’s all I had to say. You poor folk are living off the graces of the nobility, so be grateful that I even bothered to come all this way to talk to you. Now that I’m finished here, I’ll be leaving. The smell here is simply an assault on my senses.”

Right before he walked out, the man spat out one last line.

“Well, at least you all had a nice dream, didn’t you?”

“………!”

A violent rage surged within Bond. Somehow, he managed to grit his teeth and hold himself back. If he were to retaliate right now, he would be inviting unnecessary reprisal on Maya and her company rather than himself. So all he could do was look daggers at the nobleman’s back as he left.

The theatre was enveloped in a mournful silence. Everyone seemed to have lost their verve, and no one uttered a word. Bond was shaking with frustration.

Amidst the heavy atmosphere, just one man — Moran — gazed upon the situation with composure.

Finally, Maya, the chairwoman, mumbled in a thin voice.

“Um, I’m so sorry. I think, I’m not feeling too well……”

Then, with a hollow expression, she headed to the dressing room, her footsteps shaky.

[realcube]

TWO 

↪ arcade (love triangle) for anon — they picked tails

↪ featuring suga and oikawa 

↪ tw love triangle, unrequited love, slight angst & fluff

a game between aoba johsai high and karasuno high. a game between your own school and the school of the boy you had the biggest crush on. 

perhaps you were naïve to believe that you’d be able to creep into the opposite bleachers to cheer for karasuno instead of the school you wore the uniform of, but it was too late to wonder when you were halted in your tracks by a certain brunette captain who liked to pretend he wasn’t watch your every move as he casually called out, “(l/n)-chan! where are you off to? the game is gonna start soon, shouldn’t your pretty-self be cheering for me in the stands over there?” he sung, motioning to the aoba johsai bleachers, which were in the opposite direction to where you were heading. 

your eyes-widened, shocked that he not only noticed —when you seemed to sneak passed the vision of all your friends— but he also called you out on it. typical oikawa behaviour. “u-uh..” you stuttered, struggling to come up with an excuse on the spot when your eyes landed on suga from over oikawa’s shoulder, shooting you a kind smile as he stretched. 

apparently you may have been lost in your trance for too long though as oikawa was now standing directly in front of you, snapping his fingers by your face, “(l/n)! are you ignoring me or something?” he whined with a pout which usually made his fangirls soon but all he received from you was a grimace. did he do something wrong? why have you lost interest in him all of a sudden? just a couple weeks ago you were both feeding each other fruit out of your bentos and playfully pecking each other’s cheeks just for the laughs but now you were looking at him like he was the scum of the earth. 

“i’m not ignoring you! i just..” your voice trailed off as suga’s biceps flexing as he did his standing shoulder stretches held most of your attention. although, oikawa was quick to catch on to the fact you weren’t staring at him but rather slightly to the left, so he immediately whipped his head around to follow your line of sight, a snarl appearing on his — usually — attractive features forming a sneer when his gaze landed on the silver-haired karasuno player. 

“number two.” oikawa hummed, not recalling the boy’s name so simply addressing him by the number on his jersey. inadvertently mimicking your actions, he stared at poor sugawara for an prolonged period of time until caught a glimpse of your trying to creep away out of the corner of his eye, “where are you going?!” he asked, his offended tone matching how he placed his hand on his hip tilted his head. 

“uh, no where.”

he cocked a brow, his expression a mixture of mockery and disappointment. a sigh escaped his lips, his heart sinking as he finally gave in, “don’t tell me you’re seriously going to cheer for the wingless crows instead of us? turn your back on your own school and for what? a less than average-looking boy? you’re a simp and a traitor, (l/n).” 

honestly, oikawa thought his mini-lecture was nothing short of inspiring and compelling, there was surely no way you’d refuse after hearing such emotive language and it was unclear whether he was right or not as your only reaction was a giggle — a giggle that still cased butterflies to flutter in his stomach.  

“so, how about it?” oikawa almost stuttered, feeling the need to elaborate and taking this opportunity to confess, even though he had a grand plan to ask you out on valentine’s day, as it appeared as though if he held off any longer, number two would beat him to it.  “i’ll walk you back to your seat and after we win, i’ll take you out to that restaurant you were talking about? yeah?” he wore a confident smirk but on the inside he was freaking out, it took everything in him not to beat himself up for making such a hasty decision without any forethought — i mean, asking you out after calling you a traitor? even he wasn’t sure if he could get away with that — and allowing his nerves to show in his voice. 

but even with all these insecurities toiling at his self-esteem, the striking pain which hit him when he lost wasn’t any less. if anything, it was worse.

maybe losing the actual game had something to do with the fact that he lost you first; the team agreed that when oikawa wasn’t performing to his full potential, the whole team would suffer the consequences so when they all noticed the fixed frown on oikawa’s face, they mentally prepared for defeat.

worries and insults directed at himself spiralled through his mind, making him feel dizzy to the point where he might fall over. grabbing onto iwaizumi’s shoulder for support, he made his first mistake of lifting his watery eyes off the ground to survey the crowds of disappointed aoba johsai students in the stands above, all of them wearing looks of disgust, shock or sadness. 

yet his chest tightened the most when heard a familiar scream from the other side, “go, suga!”. wondering who’s voice that was, he scanned the spectators  parading the colors of karasuno, until he noticed one that stuck out like a sore thumb, a person wearing the fruity teal uniform of seijoh, who had a bright smile — wider and more genuine than oikawa had ever seen before — with two outstretched thumb-up. 

the one that had been congratulating someone named ‘suga’, who oikawa assumed was the silver-haired boy from earlier, and his suspicions were only confirmed as he watched the heart-wrenching sight of number two flashing an equally contagious smile towards you, followed by an exaggerated air kiss, “thank you, (l/n)!”

upon seeing that, oikawa consciously realised that although he enjoyed being number one, he’d give the world to be number two right about now. 

[nooneactuallyasked]

Diner Gal - Reggie x Reader Part 4

Requested: I am my own requester, we have fun here

Word count: 2,513

Warnings: Not enough Reggie? (Does that count? It does now lol)

Summary: Julie and the Phantoms ( + Flynn ) go to a musical diner/café/restaurant for inspiration and hopefully a future gig but they end up meeting a very special waitress.

Note: Sorry this took so long to get out, it’s quite a bit longer so that’s why. Also, can I just thank and say hello to @i-should-be-writing-my-own-fic​, all of your comments and reblogs are so sweet, you’re amazing! There will be more Reggie content coming up, this is a slow-burn, I hate when characters instantly fall in love, I feel like they need to make a connection first. Okay, enjoy!!!

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

---

“Alex, stop pacing! Reggie- what- what are you doing?”

“Practicing my bass.”

“In mid-air…….without your bass?”

“It’s called an air bass, if I’m made out of air my bass can be too.”

“Okay, you do that.” Julie grabbed her keyboard stand, standing in the garage doorway, “Luke make your bandmates calm down, I have to take this out to the car.” Without an answer, Julie stumbled out of the garage towards where her dad and the car were waiting.

Luke scribbled in his notebook, without looking up, “You guys need to chill out, as long as we’re all together we’ll rock so hard there’s no way Cal will say no!” Reggie smiles and points a finger at him, “Plus, Y/N will be there, she’ll be able to convince Cal for us.” He adds as Julie jogs back in, “Okay we should be good to go as you guys can all poof in your instruments. You guys should get ready to leave.”

“Alright, but let me finish this line. I am in the zone.” Luke scribbled some final words on his notebook pages before looking up, “Alex, get off the runway, you’re gonna fall over the table or something.”

“But what if he says no and not even Y/N can convince him? I mean, what if- what if he has other bands in mind and just said yes to Y/N because she works there? What if we play and completely mess it up!?” Luke deadpans Alex as his bandmate starts shaking his hands up and down, his pacing increasing.

Luke rolls his eyes, standing up and holding Alex by his shoulders, “Chill, we’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna do amazing, like we usually do.”

“Guys, we need to go. Like, now. So, hurry up, move it!”

---

“So, Cal, my good buddy, my favourite boss, um...would it be alright, and remember that I’ve been a faithful worker for such a long time, would it be alright if I skipped every other audition apart from Julie and her band’s?” Y/N dragged out, her voice rising in pitch, trying to convince Cal with her best puppy eyes whilst he stared back at her with a deadpan expression.

“No, sit down. We have some performers to listen to.” She sighed and sat down in the chair next to him, putting her elbows on the desk in front of them, “I saw that coming…” she leaned her cheek against her palm as Cal chuckled at her, “And yet you always ask.”

“One day…one day I successfully skip this bullshit, mark my words.”

“Sure, sugar-pie. Now stop your grumbling, our first performer comes in 2 minutes.”

---

I want your love, and I want your revenge

You and me could write a bad romance

I want your love and all your lover’s revenge

You and me could write a bad romance

Oh oh oh oh oooh-

The poor girl’s voice broke. Y/N could see it coming, her vowel technique needed a bit more work but the girl was obviously passionate, this would crush her ego.

“You can stop now, we’ve heard enough. We’ll let you know.

Y/N winced, Cal could seem really cold at times however the warm smile he gave every performer at the end of his mantra definitely helped ease any hurt they may or may not feel.

“I can’t wait to perform here, I know you’ll make the best choice. I’ll see you on Friday.”

Maybe this wouldn’t crush her ego, after all, it seemed the thing was infinite. The girl walked out, her high heels clicking on the floor as Cal sighed. She knew why, when auditions were open to anyone who could arrive on time it was hard to find people who had that spark when performing. It doesn’t matter how good your voice is if you’re boring to watch then you might as well not show up.

Friday’s were important, they were a chance for anyone to get on stage and become an overnight sensation. But it got complicated when there were so many people that they had to pick and choose. That’s why they tried to get as many people as possible to perform, everyone deserved a chance to live out their dreams.

“Alright, I’ll grab our next victims. See you in a sec.” Y/N stood up, her chair scraping on the floor as Cal rolls his eyes, “Try to make it not sound like we’re about to murder everyone.” She chuckles, “Sure, I can try but I can’t promise it will happen.”

Y/N walked out of the door and into the ‘waiting area’, this happened every month and yet she never got used to how tedious it was. She picked up the waiting list and scanned the names, “Yulie and the- uh, the atoms? Anton's? Uh, come on through.” She put down the list and walked out, only hearing a chorus of male voices, “Again? Really?” “None of us are even called Anton!” and an awkward laugh from a female voice.

She sat back down in her chair and turned to Cal, “One Yulie and the Anton’s coming or up, or atoms, I’m not quite sure.” Cal started laughing, “Sounds fun, maybe we’ll get some science jokes.” Y/N started laughing too, “As long as it’s not physics I think I’ll be fine.”

The door opened up and four familiar faces walked in, all looking slightly sheepish. “Hi, sorry, it’s actually Julie and the Phantoms. Sorry if we’re late at all, we didn’t really know what time to come.” Cal raised an eyebrow and Y/N chuckled,  “That would be my fault, I never got round to giving them a time. This is the band I was telling you about,” She turned to Julie, “Sorry, I completely forgot the name and the writing, no offence, didn’t particularly help me out.” Luke grimaced at her words as Julie started laughing, “Yeah, I’m thinking I’ll get someone else to sign us up to things in the future.”

Cal coughed to gain our attention, “As much as I love this friendliness we don’t have all day, we have all of your kit here, our guys brought it in earlier. What will you be playing for us today?”

“Oh, uh we’ll we playing a song called Edge of Great. We hope you like it.” Y/N smiled at Julie and Cal nodded, pen at the ready. She hoped for the life of her that they were actually good or Cal would never trust her judgement again.

Running from the past

Tripping on the now

What is lost can be found, it's obvious

And like a rubber ball

We come bouncing back

We all got a second act, inside of us

Julie sat at her keyboard, her finger dancing over the keys. She seemed lost in the music and it was obvious how passionate she was, it made even Cal, the ever poker-faced, break out in a small smile. Julie moves to the middle of the performing area, as the beat drops the boys appear causing Cal to double-take in surprise, Y/N snickers in response.

I believe

I believe that we're just one dream

Away from who we're meant to be

That we're standing on the edge of

Something big, something crazy

Our best days are yet unknown

That this moment is ours to own

Y/N nodded her head and tapped her feet to the rhythm, her smile grew wider and wider, Cal would never doubt her again and she got to listen to a killer band, today was looking up.

'Cause we're standing on the edge of great

(On the edge of great) Great

(On the edge of great) Great

(On the edge of great)

'Cause we're standing on the edge of great

Luke kept sending glances toward Julie as she was dancing in between them all, the stage presence was amazing. They were definitely at the top of Y/N’s list of potential performers.

We all make mistakes

But they're just stepping stones

To take us where we wanna go

It's never straight, no

Sometimes we gotta lean

Lean on someone else

To get a little help

Until we find our way

Luke and Julie gravitate towards each other, their excited smiles growing soft and caring; the chemistry was definitely a plus, it was incredible to watch, like watching history unfold. The two share a microphone as they sing the chorus, Reggie and Alex share a look and Y/N smiles, not even Cal could find a fault in their performance.

I believe

I believe that we're just one dream

Away from who we're meant to be

That we're standing on the edge of

Something big, something crazy

Our best days are yet unknown

That this moment is ours to own

Y/N started dancing in her seat whilst Cal laughed. She then had a brilliant idea, she stood up and tried to pull Cal up to dance with her. While he refused and tried his best to stay down, his efforts were almost futile against his laughing and Y/N’s upward pull on him.

'Cause we're standing on the edge of great

(On the edge of great) Great

(On the edge of great) Great

(On the edge of great)

'Cause we're standing on the edge of...

Luke went back to his mic and Julie came over to Y/N, she smiled brightly and they danced around together. They both felt like they had made a firm friend, the fun dance they shared confirmed that feeling, neither could have felt happier at that moment, they were lost in the music and everyone around could see it.

Shout, shout

C'mon and let it out, out

Don't gotta hide it

Let your colours blind their eyes

Be who you are no compromise

Just shout, shout

C'mon and let it out, out

What doesn't kill you makes you feel alive

Y/N moved back from Julie and sat back down, her smile still evident. Cal laughed at her and she pushed him with her shoulder. Julie turned to Luke as he moved toward her, the heart eyes were back.

Ooh-oh

I believe

I believe that we're just one dream

Away from who we're meant to be

That we're standing on the edge of great

Reggie and Alex joined Luke in singing the chorus as Julie continued her high belt which left Cal in slight shock and Y/N almost jumping and screaming in support and excitement.

Something big, something crazy

Our best days are yet unknown

That this moment is ours to own

Y/N smiled at Alex when he looked up, he beamed right back and continued singing and drumming with a passion that shined through everything else. She looked over to Reggie and sent a smile his way too. He winked at her and chuckled when she rolled her eyes playfully at him, though her smile widened in response.

'Cause we're standing on the edge of great

(On the edge of great) On the edge of great

(Great, on the edge of great) On the edge

(Great, on the edge of great)

'Cause we're standing on the edge of...

Julie went back to her keyboard and slipped her mic into the holder, Luke went over and looked her in the eyes as they sang to each other. The chemistry was off the charts!

Running from the past

Tripping on the now

What is lost can be found, it's obvious

When they finished and the boys disappeared Cal just sat there speechless, Y/N pushed his shoulder before giving them a standing ovation. “That was amazing!” She turned to Cal who was still seated, now thinking over what he just watched, “Oh come on, stand up, clap, stop pretending to be professional we both know you’re not! Book the band and we’ll have them for our last set, we’ll go out with a bang.” Cal still looked unsure, “I don’t know, what if-“ “Okay, no.” Y/N turned to Julie, “You’re our last performance on Friday. We have rehearsals every other day to check up on you, if you let me know where we can do it at a place of your choice. Your soundcheck will be at 2pm on Friday. Don’t miss it. Once again, you’re our closing act so you’re welcome to stay or go at any time between you soundcheck and your performance. We’ll let you know your performance time when we figure out the rest of the performance schedule. Thank you guys for coming, it was amazing, you’re definitely going places.”

Cal stared at her, his jaw slack in surprise, until he shook himself out of it and stood up, going to ask Y/N what she was doing, “What- you can’t just- we need to think about this.” She turned to him and deadpanned, “We both know you were gonna book them anyway, I’m doing you a favour, even you couldn’t help but smile.” Y/N turned back to the group, “Once again, thank you for coming. Ask the front desk for my info, give me a call by tomorrow to sort out a rehearsal time and space.”

Julie smiled widely, her chest starting to warm with a familiar jittery feeling of excitement, “Thank you! Thank you so much! I’ll definitely let you know as soon as I can.” Y/N laughed, “Don’t sweat it, someone needs to make decisions for Cal when he goes brain dead.”

“Hey! I’m still your boss!”

“I might as well be yours at this point” She shouted back without turning her head, causing a chuckle from Julie. She tried not to acknowledge the boys because if what they were saying was true, it seemed to be looking that way, she didn’t want to appear clinically insane to the public eye.

The boys themselves, however, didn’t really have much to add to the interaction. They were just standing there, slightly shocked by how assertive Y/N was when she was passionate about something. Reggie just stared at her, a slight smile spreading across his face.

“Okay, we still have some more performances to listen to but it was great meeting you and I guess you’re our final act now so welcome, whilst you’re with us you are our family so relax. As you can see, our dynamic isn’t the most professional so rules aren’t always completely followed to the letter.” Cal joined them, a smile back on his face. He put his hand on Y/N’s shoulder and they smiled at each other, “This one over here basically runs the place so go to her for anything and everything. I can’t wait to see your performance, good luck.” He turned and walked out into the ‘waiting area’ to find the next performer

“Well, it’s been a blast, I’ll see you next time.” Julie smiled at Y/N and then the boys poofed out, making Y/N jump and stare at the empty space left behind, “I’m not even going to ask…oh! Also, please tell leather boy to stop staring at me, or at least ask why?”

“Oh, sure, I’ll ask him what’s up. I’ll call you as soon as I can, see you soon.”

“Goodbyyyeee!”

---

Taglist:

@hereforthejatp​

@slutforjjmaybank​

@morganayennefertyrell

[bleepblopbloop56]

100 things to do under the stars

(Analogical, no warnings)

1: stargaze

  Virgil dragged Logan out from the warmth of the truck and into crisp fall air. They were in the middle of nowhere, it was nearly midnight, and the clouds were practically nonexistent. There wasn't a light for miles, aside from the still dimming headlights of Virgil's pickup truck. They had to be in someone's backyard or private property, but with a field so vast and expansive who would know to say anything. 

“Virgil-” Logan started before swiftly getting shushed by Virgil. He jerked open the door to the backseat, pulling out piles of blankets and pillows. 

  “Lo, i'm gonna need you to ignore how sketchy this looks and help me pad the bed of the truck, there's a meteor shower tonight and i want you to see it.” Virgil tossed him some handfuls of quilts and stuffed animals. It seemed as if he found every even remotely soft thing in his apartment and shoved it in the car. They passed the truck bed and Virgil hoisted him into the makeshift bed, before bracing the side of the truck and hoping for himself. 

 They stayed silent as they got comfortable, that was Logan's favorite part about their friendship, they could just exist around each other without any pressure to perform social cues like small talk.. They could just be. Logan reached down and intertwined their hands, making virgil's heart skip a beat. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, shifting closer to his friend “I needed this” Virgil swallowed roughly, laying his head closer to Logan’s as they watched the stars 

7: contemplate existence + 11: drink coffee

 “Do you think there's something else out there?” Virgil asked after a long stretch of comfortable silence. This time, they sat on the roof of the truck, coffee in hand and feet dangling off the edge of the truck. 

  “Be more specific.” Logan took a sip of his coffee, bringing it to his mouth with both hands. It provided a nice warmth against the chill of the night, something his black wool coat was vaguely failing to provide.

   “Life.. do you think we're alone here?” Logan wanted to say no with a definite certainty that Virgil was looking for, but that would be irresponsible to answer with a certainty he didn't have. 

   “Arthur Clarke once said ‘Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying.’” he settled on instead. Virgil grimaced and pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged and turned his body to face Logan. He tried to make eye contact with him, but Logan continued to look up into the abyss.

  “That's not what I asked,” he said “I wanna know what you think.” Logan took another slow sip of his coffee to stall. Eventually, he brought it away from his mouth and turned to face Virgil

   “I dont know..” he admitted “it seems.. impossible that there's an infinite universe beyond our capability of comprehension that is simply empty. I don't believe there will ever be certainty on our end, so,” he put the coffee down and laid down, putting his eyes back on the stars “i'd rather not worry about it.”

32: question your own mortality *

   “What do you suppose the point of it all is Virgil?”  he had become rather acquainted with the empty field he and Virgil spent nearly every clear night in. They hadn't even got out of the car this time before Logan started their nightly talks.

   “I thought it scared you to talk about things like that.” Virgil jokes to mask that he didn't have an answer. He jerked open the door but didn't get out. 

    “Do… Do you ever question why we're here?” Logan knew the answer to that, and Virgil constantly thought about his life and his purposeless existence. Virgil took pity on him when he noticed his big brown eyes sparkling in the light the car turned on. So mundane, and yet Virgil had seemed to romanticize the smallest things around Logan.

    “Get out, I wanna show you something,” Logan followed wordlessly. “I think..” Virgil continued, once they were out of the truck and on top of it “that it's different for everyone. For me, I just want to spend my short existence here experiencing life for what it is. Good and the bad, mostly good.” Virgil smiled softly as he laid down on the roof “ look at that… all the stars feel so close i could touch and yet impossibly far away. I can't see a horizon from here, it feels like I'm in the middle of all of them, here with you.”

    Logan laid on his side beside him, still not fully getting it. “You think you were put into existence to look at stars?”

    Virgil hoisted himself up on his elbows, craning his head back to continue looking at the abyss. “I think that's what i'm choosing to do with my existence, what are you choosing to do with yours?” Logan stayed quiet for a long time, just looking at Virgil and thinking before he jutted his head forward and kissed him. Virgil pulled back, heart beating  a million miles a minute. 

“Logan?” he whispered.

“If we get to choose what we do with our lives then i wanna spend mine like this, with you, and i've wasted too much time thinking.” he almost had tears in his eyes as he leaned forward again, letting Virgil close the gap this time. 

* (+ 53: have your first kiss) 

65: and your second

72: and third

83: and many many more

99: propose

   ��They continued going to their favorite spot for years, when they got older they bought the plot of land that they called theres and built a tiny cabin on the edge of the field. And one night, after 5 years of dating, virgil pulled logan into the middle of the field, walking this time. Fireflies and the moon are their only real source of light so far out in the field. 

Logan giggled as he attempted to keep balance while Virgil swung him around 

“What's got you in such a good mood?” Logan laughed, getting pulled into a nervous kiss by his boyfriend 

    “Virgil!” he smiled a little wider, “what's the occasion?”

   “Look up, and name all the constellations you can see,” Virgil asked quietly, hands fisted in his jacket pockets. Logan looked suspicious before doing as he was told, listing all he could remember the name of. Just as he was getting to the end of his list, Virgil cut him off. 

“Hey Logan?” When he looked back, Virgil was kneeling on the ground with a small navy blue box in his hands. “Can I ask you something?” 

Logan did not consider himself overly emotional, he nearly prided himself on it, and yet he couldn't seem to stop the hitch in his breath and rush of tears to his eyes. He wordlessly nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

    Virgil opened the box and revealed a ring with a simple diamond in the middle of a black band with stars engraved into the side. He stayed silent as the tears started cascading down his face. “Do you remember when you said you wanted to spend your life with me under the stars?” Logan  had to pull his hands to his mouth to contain the sob of happiness he couldn't. Virgil was also crying, a wide nervous grin on his face “will you make that official with me?” 

    “Yes!” Logan choked out, nodding profusely and collapsing into Virgil's arms when he stood up to hug him. He pulled back and kissed him, he kissed him for the millionth time with all the passion and love of the first. He pressed his forehead into Virgils, having to bend a little to accommodate for the height difference. 

“I love you” he mumbled, tears starting to end their freefall, even if only for a minute. “So so much”

100: get married.

    Roman bustled around their small cabin with the kind of nervousness more reserved for the grooms than the best man. He had been preparing this day- well, night- for months and had been more of a bridezilla than either of the actual men getting married. Guests were starting to arrive just after the sun went down and the stars were starting to peek through the darkness. Fairy lights shone just enough to allow the guests to find their seats without hassle, but not too much as to outshine the stars. 

    “Are you sure everythings ready?” Roman asked Logan once again, meeting a hard eye roll with an exacerbated grin. 

    “Yes Roman, I'm positive.” He couldn't help the feeling of joy riding in his throat when he checked his watch. He was getting married… to the most beautiful man on earth, under the stars, in his own backyard with all his friends… holy shit

    “Logan!” Patton called from the doorway, excited to be helping even if he'd been there since noon “its time! Come on “ 

    Virgil was…. He couldn't think of the right word.. Gorgeous, ethereal, amazing, perfect, genius, beautiful, unreal, indescribable… Logan felt in his heart as he was walked down the aisle by the designated group dad friend. He wore a velvet deep purple suit with black trims and converse sneakers, hair freshly dyed from a week before, and on top of his head sat a small crown with diamond stars. As much as he despised wedding traditions, this was his “something borrowed” generously lended by Roman to tie in the night theme. The wedding was small, neither of their families even invited to attend, and their friend group tiny but close knit. Patton bounced down the aisle with Virgil's arm intertwined in his, Logan didn't think the concept of “handing off the “bride ``'' was appropriate here, but neither of them could deny Patton's puppy dog eyes. 

The rest of the night went off without a hitch, dancing, kissing, crying, a small potluck with a modest red velvet wedding cake, and in the center of it all was stars. The decorations, the rings, the vows and the night sky, all of it was perfect. When all the guests left, and Virgil and Logan were finally alone, Logan pulled out a wedding present he had gotten for virgil. 

“What's this?” he asked, still riding the high of “Holy shit i'm really married” 

“Open it.” virgil undid the navy wrapping paper, and opened the box. Inside, there was a book titled “100 things to do under the stars, by Logan Cade” 

Virgils heart jumped when he realised logan had used his new last name.  

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 10

<- Chapter 9 | Chapter 11 ->

Summary: Can things ever be fixed between you and Frederick?

4,109 words

As you turned to leave, the door opened suddenly and struck you on the rump, nearly sending you sprawling on the hard laminated floor.

“Oh! Excuse me,” said the startled nurse, who, upon seeing who you were, greeted you loudly and deliberately by name. “Here to see Frederick?” she asked, holding the door wide open for you while klaxons blared up and down the corridors of your mind and your anxiety banged pots and pans together.

It didn’t matter what you answered at that point. Frederick was staring straight at you.

The nurse patiently held the door until you nodded politely and entered. Then she let it shut behind you, and you and Frederick were alone.

The room was silent except for the hum and beep of machinery. The air between you was still, but felt laced with invisible barbed wire, as if crossing the distance to his bedside was a treacherous task to be undertaken with extreme caution, and not just a handful of feet you could close in two strides. You scuffed your heel against the floor and cleared your throat. Neither of you wanted to speak first.

“Hi.”

“It is good to see you,” Frederick said, following your stiff tone.

“Is it?” you replied too quickly, too much frustration slipping into your voice by accident. Your heart skipped several beats at the thought that it might be true—that he was glad to see you. The possibility gave you hope. “It’s good to see you, too,” you said.

“I doubt that,” he said dryly. “I am hardly a sight for sore eyes.”

Your lips pressed together, unable to believe he had the nerve to be self-deprecating as you came to extend an olive branch, when the entire fight was about his appearance! “Shut up. Idiot.” The snap to your tone was undercut by a low waver in its pitch.

“A pleasure to hear the delicate birdsong of your voice.”

“Asshole.” Your shoulders shook with laughter at the familiar banter: his words dripping with playful condescension, but without the cutting edge of cruelty that had seeped into them recently. He was so charming when he was like this. You wanted him to be yours again—to be exchanging little barbs with him forever. Talking to him felt so familiar, but standing in front of the door with a field of invisible wires between you and the bed, unsure if this would be the last time, the heaving of your shoulders broke into a sob. You wiped your eyes, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

His eyes watched you with unwavering focus, though it was difficult to tell what emotion he was feeling.

“So, what’s this?” You risked a step closer to nod at the new material fitted tightly over his head and hands. It hadn’t been there when you last saw him, but you managed to hide the sting in your voice that you were out of the loop with his treatment, and asked with genuine curiosity.

“Pressure garments,” he answered just as factually. “To reduce scarring. Now that my skin has healed enough to tolerate wearing them, I have been instructed not to remove them longer than an hour per day.” His eyes rolled in annoyance. “I shall be looking into more fashionable alternatives as soon as possible, of course. I feel as though I am wearing a gimp suit made of women’s shapewear.”

You bit back another laugh, because that was exactly what it looked like he was wearing, and if you laughed again, you would definitely break down crying.

“I see you started physical therapy...” Your small-talk was growing strained. The distance between your bodies too wide. “...since I’ve been gone.”

He flinched at the word “gone,” as if you’d simply been away on vacation and not coarsely thrown out and told not to come back. All the anger he’d stuffed down like a knot in his diaphragm had long since loosened and been replaced by guilt, and the realization of his own failure.

“I… have missed you,” he said slowly, his longing for you overtaking his stubborn pride. His already-exhausted arm reached out to you, as far it physically could. It was pitifully narrow and trembling with the effort of extending. His arms used to be surprisingly thick and strong for a priggish man his size, but after nearly two months of laying in the same position and being metabolized by his own body as it healed itself, they were skeletal. And your heart lurched at the sight.

It no longer mattered if the distance was trapped with barbed wire or planted with hidden minefields. Your thin façade of indifference crumbled, and you threw yourself at the side of his bed, head falling onto the mattress under his gesturing hand just as tears began to flow. His arm sagged, drained of energy, to rest in your hair.

“I missed… you too… dummy...” you choked out between sobs. “Why did you… why did you….” You couldn’t manage to form the question around the lump in your throat, losing yourself in shaking. His gloved fingers moved in your hair, almost stroking it, though the movements were too weak and stilted. But he was trying, and you knew he was trying, and that made it feel better than any time he’d ever stroked your hair before.

His fingers paused their motion, and you wondered if he was about to confirm your fears and tell you to leave again. That he missed you, but it really was over. 

His chest rose and fell with a deep, preparatory breath. Then he whispered, slow and hoarse, “I should never have pushed you away. I was afraid you would never speak to me again.” He glanced surreptitiously at your finger. His eyesight was blurry and poor at close distance, especially with tears swimming in his vision, but he did not see a trace of the gold band he told you to pawn.

Peeling your wet face off the sheets, you gently grasped his hand in both of yours and pressed your lips to his fingers. “No, I should never have left like that. I’m sorry I took so long to come back. What you’re going through… it’s normal to be angry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I never said I was sorry,” he said, teeth clicking together in a slight underbite, as if he were trying to press his lips into a bored slant. You stopped kissing his hand and narrowed your eyes at him. He looked a bit shocked at his own mouth’s behavior when all he wanted to do was be overwhelmed by your forgiveness, his watery eyes widening in fear of your reaction. The next terrified, but genuine, words out of him were, “I am. I am sorry.”

“You could have called me.”

“I know.”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” you cocked your head with a half-smiling expression lost somewhere between pleased with how well you understood his quirks and annoyed. An hour ago, you would have said annoyed. Right now, you were leaning toward the former.

“Then you were mistaken. I did call. You did not answer,” said shortly, flipping the blame to you.

“When?”

“A moment ago.”

“Really?” You groaned, pulling your phone out of your pocket and showing him the black screen. “It’s off. Hospital rules.”

A huff of laughter hissed through his teeth. He was about to give up all hope of reconciliation when you did not answer his call, but it was because you were here. It was incredible how quickly a day could turn around. “Pam told me not to read into it going to voicemail...”

Pam. That nurse. You must have made a very obvious face, and Frederick must have seen it as broad as daylight, because a creeping smirk pulled at his cheeks, making his permanent grimace even wider, his eyes narrowed deviously.

“Are you jealous?”

“No!”

“You ought to be,” he insinuated. “She was wonderful after my ordeal with Abel Gideon. I tried to tempt her to come work for me, know you. But she is a stubborn woman. She likes helping people, and apparently a hospital incarcerating the criminally insane does not qualify. She has been... shall we say, supportive, since you abandoned me.”

“It isn’t fair to rub salt in my wounds when I can’t punish you for your insolence,” you grumbled, gently grasping his hand in both of yours and pressing your lips to his fingers. His brow darted upward under the mask with keen interest at the prospect of punishment.

The flirtation was mainly performative—he was far from well enough for any kind of sexual performance, and even the idea of it, at this point, made his gut squirm uncomfortably—but he enjoyed the playful innuendo. The bit of swagger and pretend-confidence. It set you at ease and put on a smile on your lips that he adored.

This was another part of your relationship that had been missing while Frederick was recovering. The sinful little promises in a glance, a dare in the tone of your voice. Things had been considerably less romantic lately, but suddenly it was like he was seeing everything as it used to be, all of the wonderful, exciting, sensual moments he had callously given up. He had shattered that old life. This moment of nostalgia that would soon be over. And suddenly, his flirtatious brow sank back to its usual place, and he became sullen and still.

“I wish that… I could take it all back. That we could return to the way we were before.”

You hesitated. This would be when you would normally have squeezed his hand or crawled into bed beside him, but you still were not sure how much physical contact he could take, and you desperately did not want to hurt him. You risked leaning so your upper body was resting halfway on the bed, and you could cuddle as close as you could without really touching. You looked him deeply in the eye, hoping, with a pinprick of pain, that he would not turn sour and accuse you of staring again. 

“I know things will be different now, but you’re getting better. It’s hard to see the progress because you’re here every day, but I’ve been gone two weeks, and all of a sudden your skin is healed enough to wear this… this Spanx ski mask, and you’re doing PT. Things won’t be the same, but they’ll be good again soon.”

“Between us,” he pressed the meaning you had not taken. “Things between us cannot simply return to normal. What are we to one another now? Ex-fiancés? I wish it were possible to go back to before I ended our relationship.” His voice was thick and mournful, eyes cast low, like he was giving a eulogy.

“Why can’t we?”

Frederick was taken aback by that. It was so obvious, anyone who had not been raised by wolves like you apparently had should understand it implicitly. “One cannot break off an engagement and simply take it back.”

“Why?”

“Because!” he cried, as if that in itself was an explanation. “I have failed you, hurt you. Proven my lack of commitment. One may glue a shattered glass back into the approximate shape of a glass, but it will always have sharp edges and missing pieces. It will leak. Its surface will be marred with cracks. When one has shattered a glass, it is easier to throw it away.”

“That is the saddest thing I have ever heard, Frederick. And you have clearly never heard of kintsugi,” you said. Frederick looked confused, and you briefly considered telling him to just fucking google it when he could hold a smartphone again, but just sighed and quickly explained, “It’s the Japanese philosophy of repairing pottery with gold so it becomes more beautiful and precious the more it’s damaged. It’s an overused cliché for recovery, but it’s way better than your morbid fucking glass���and need I remind you we are not dishware.”

Frederick stared, unable to come up with words for once in his life. You sat up. The hard plastic chair—your old frenemy—had been pushed out of the way in the corner of the room. You dragged it to the side of the bed so you could sit and hold Frederick’s elastic-gloved hand, and get out of the awkward crouch you had been in.

Soft and uncertain, afraid of the answer, you gathered the courage to ask, “Do you want me to be here? Do I just make things worse?”

“You are all that makes my days bearable,” he croaked. “If your presence worsens my mood, it is only in seeing your brightness dimmed on my account. But I am selfish. I would gladly drag you down only to have you by my side as I drown.”

“Then you do want to take it back? The breakup?” you asked, head swimming with hope. “You want to un-break up.”

“I do, but—”

“Good! So do I. It’s done,” you said, laughing through tears. “That’s all there is to it.”

A tear fell from Frederick’s green eye, and another pooled dangerously close to spilling on the lower lid of the sightless blue one. “It cannot be that easy.” It could not be so easy getting the love of his life back. His head trembled side to side, and you could tell he was about to protest.

“We are not fragile dishware.” You squeezed his hand gently. “We can decide to be whole again, and it will happen. I don’t care if there are supposed to be rules—if I’m supposed to feel betrayed and never trust you again. I don’t care. I am of the opinion that you should do whatever you feel like doing, and all I want is to live in your house, and steal your snacks. I want to sleep beside you every night, in our bed, and argue with you over stupid little things every day. I want you to push my buttons and rile me up, and help me relax and make me try new things. I want to make you feel safe. And I want to fuck you senseless. So if I want to, and you want to, then why don’t we?”

Frederick’s breaths were coming out erratically, and it was all you could do not to scoop him up in a full-body hug. “You will also have to stand my bitterness and abuse,” he added cynically. “You left that out.”

“No,” you leaned in close to the bump of his ear under the tight fabric. “Another great thing about not being pottery is that we can change when something isn’t working. We’re going to find some better way for you to cope than taking it out on me, because that sucks.” You leaned back with a satisfied grin, “But I don’t mind if you’re a pain in the ass sometimes—that’s the man I fell in love with. I love you, Frederick. Just love me, too, and it will be alright.”

“Just like that?” he asked, a challenge his tone, despite the hoarseness of held-back tears in his timbre.

“Just like that.”

“Should I not be in the proverbial dog house?”

“Frederick, you’re already in the literal hospital; no point making you sleep on the figurative couch.”

“The couch would be a marked improvement,” he admitted.

“Well, not just like that,” you said, sitting up from the side of the bed and putting your weight back in the chair. “There is one thing to do before we can be engaged again.” You dabbed the corners of your eyes and sniffed deeply to clear any remaining nasal drip. Frederick watched you anxiously as you reached into your bag to grab something. You pulled out a small, square, black velvet box and opened it, displaying its contents. Inside was a gold ring matching yours, but more ornate, with a few more diamond embellishments, and attached to a gold chain.

“What is this?” Frederick whispered.

“The ring. The one the EMTs had to cut off of you. I took it to the jeweler and had it soldered back together. It’s on a chain so you can wear it until your hands are healed enough.” His heart fluttered as you dropped to one knee beside the bed and held the box aloft. “Frederick Chilton, will you marry me?”

He welled with emotion, and for a few moments—long enough for your knee on the hard floor to begin to pinch—the only sounds he could make were hitched breathing as he fought not to cry. “Damn you!” he cursed through wet eyes, “Asking that when I cannot kiss you or hold you to me...”

“Your answer?”

“And what if I never walk again? What if this is life, forever?”

“Then I love you, and I want to be with you.”

“It is not enough!” he shouted, practically snarling with vicious intent, but not toward you. Wood burns because it has the proper stuff in it, and a man becomes famous because he has the proper stuff in him. You do not have the proper stuff, Frederick. He remembered Hannibal’s words to him the day before the Dragon burned him. It was so easy for Dr. Lecter to strike surgically at the deepest and oldest wounds. Now he was even less than he was that day.

“You are enough, Frederick,” your soft voice insisted, still holding up the ring and looking at him like your heart might break. “You’ve always been enough. You always will be. Please, marry me?”

“I am not an idiot,” he grumbled, light shining softly in his eyes. “Of course I will marry you.”

The truth was, he was still conflicted. As you smiled and wept and clasped the delicate gold chain around his neck, putting your own back on your finger, he thought of so many reasons he was unhealthy for you, so many things he should tell you. But he was selfish, and being with you felt good. It felt like breathing when he’d been deprived of oxygen. And pushing you away had been selfish, too. Maybe you were right, and the only thing that mattered was that he loved you. Because he did. He loved you more than he had ever loved anything.

“I need to touch you,” he whined, desperation in his voice, his arms shifting by helpless inches. “Please touch me?”

“Where can I touch you? How do you want to be touched?” You looked to him for guidance, and he explained the few painful spots with more severe or recent scars. Everywhere else was still tender, but healed enough to tolerate pressure and light caresses.

“I cannot do much in return,” he lamented, “but you may put your arms around me if it pleases you.” With some embarrassment, which would have reddened his cheeks if they were not already red with inflammation and hidden, besides, he added, “… I would… enjoy that.”

You complied readily, with a contented sigh, uttering soft praise and oaths of love as you crawled into the small bed with as much of your body as you could squeeze in beside him. It was a tight fit, but Frederick had fewer wires and tubes coming out of him than before, and every little jostle no longer caused him agonizing pain. His body felt so warm pressed close against yours, and the warmth spread out through your chest, multiplying itself like embers hopping from one dry leaf to the next, soothing every muscle until they were melting off your bones. You wrapped your arm around him and gave him a gentle squeeze, relishing the happy little moan it elicited as Frederick melted into you.

The air in the room was still and quiet except for the hum of machinery. But it was a comfortable, sleepy sort of quiet this time, laced with steady breathing and barely-audible whines as you cuddled into him.

“It’s amazing to be able to touch you again,” you whispered, smoothing your palm up and down his side.

He hummed in agreement, eyes closed. But he frowned at a thought that plagued him even through his dreamy happiness at having you beside him again. “I want more,” he growled, pleading to a higher power. “I am too impatient to wait a year to do such simple things as holding you. Walking.” Frederick’s body trembled. “Touching my skin without it burning is progress worthy of celebration?” he spat in frustration, then took in a long breath and held it to calm down. “My anger is not directed at you, dear. Sorry.”

“I know,” you breathed, tightening your grip around him, and releasing quickly when he gave a sharp hiss. “I hate it, too. I hate waiting,” you commiserated. Your hand skimmed over his chest, careful of the places he had warned you to avoid. It killed you needing to be so cautious when you wanted to climb on top of him and ride him hard into oblivion. But that would be a long way off. So you celebrated every little victory. Each new thing he could do that he couldn’t yesterday.

You kissed down his bandaged side and over his arm. Between his new compression glove and the bandages encasing his elbow, there was a bare patch of exposed skin. It was discolored, still reddened, and scarred, but looked intact. You pressed a kiss to it, warm beneath your lips. He shuddered, and exhaled slowly.

“Can you feel that?” you asked.

“Yes,” he breathed. “I have missed this.”

You wished there was more exposed skin for you to kiss. You glanced at his face. His mouth was uncovered. His mangled lip stubs gave a ghastly impression over his pearly white teeth, though you would never admit to him that you thought so. However gruesome they looked, the only reason you hadn’t kissed them yet was that they were badly injured where they’d been bitten off. It had not been a clean cut in any sense, the uneven tearing and bruising an impediment to the recovery of the wound’s edge. But if his face was fitted with this compression mask, then his mouth must have been healed enough. As you inspected the jagged flesh, you concluded that it was as sound as the skin on his arm.

A strange look came over Frederick, cagey and watery-eyed, and you knew he was holding in the urge to snap at you for staring, terrified of pushing you away again.

“Can I kiss you?” you whispered, lowering your mouth close enough to breathe his air, but waiting for his approval. His pupils blew wide with longing, eyes darting over your lips, and his tongue ran along the inside of his teeth.

“Is that a joke?” he let out a huff of cynical laughter. “You do not need to prove your devotion with these… displays of willingness to do the revolting.”

“It’s not a joke! I want to kiss you.”

“God, you are serious. That paraphilia of yours,” he tutted, teasing you. The sides of his eyes tilted, and he fixed you with a sober, sincere gaze—the deepest he had let you look into his eyes, for fear of being this close to his face, since being maimed. The green one was still that perfect, warm crystalline color of the crest of a wave curling toward Assateague Island. The blinded eye was a pure blue now, as if he had the North Atlantic in one eye and a Caribbean beach in the other. But you couldn’t blame him for not finding the beauty in his injuries, especially when they were still sore. “No,” he said. “I am not ready for that.”

“OK,” you nodded.

His eyes caressed your face lovingly, since he could not do it with his hands. “I would like it if you held me more,” he suggested, voice thick with his desire to feel you. Just not on his mouth. You kissed his wrist once more, slowly, savoring the feel of his skin on your lips, then settled yourself beside him again. You lowered your head onto his shoulder, careful not to put too much weight down, and draped an arm over his chest. Fredrick let out a vulnerable whine as he relaxed, and it nearly burst your heart.

One day, you would kiss him again. One day, you would have everything back. But it would be one day at a time. For now, this—laying beside him in his cramped hospital bed, nearly dozing—was enough.

This was plenty.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags:  @beccabarba / @caked-crusader / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @da-po / @madamsnape921

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 4 - 18

Honor Bound 4 - 18 (Undeserved Reputation) @badthingshappenbingo​​​​

Requested by @whumps-the-word​​​​

~

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3.

AO3

Cw: past captivity, implied whump of a minor, PTSD, dissoci@tion, death mention

~

Gray smiled gently as they drove, avoiding potholes in the road caused not by violence, but by the simple, innocent freeze and thaw of the ground. The sun was already high in the sky after more than three hours of driving. The sky was clear, the air clean and cool with the northern summer that was already well under way.

Edrissa sat in the passenger seat, almost completely turned around, chattering happily to Vera in the back seat. Every now and then, Gray and Vera met eyes in the rear view, and Gray could read something like gratitude in her gaze.

“…and there’s this store in Crayton that sells three different kinds of lace!” Edrissa said, the wispy blonde bun at the top of her head bobbing along as she spoke. “And there’s a lot of cotton, I mean, obvious, but they also sometimes have some nice linen and I think that’s what I’ll make Sam’s sling out of, so it breathes. Because it gets hotter up here than I thought it would, because I thought it wouldn’t get very hot at all and it’s already May and it’s been pretty warm, and the winter was so cold so I just kind of assumed it would stay cold. I mean, it’s been nice outside. Maybe when it gets a little warmer we can go hang out at the lake, maybe do a picnic, I mean it’s not very far from the house but it’s really pretty and I’ve already been in it and it doesn’t go that deep, but it is really cold. Before that I hadn’t been swimming in so long. But yeah, I think I’ll do the sling out of linen, and I hope they have blue because that’s Sam’s favorite color.”

She paused to take a breath. Vera grinned at her.

“It is Sam’s favorite color,” Vera said, and Gray was tempted to give Vera a conspiratory nudge. “What else have you been up to while we’ve b-been—” Her voice wavered for just a moment. “—gone?”

“Um…” Edrissa’s mouth twisted and she leaned towards Vera. “Yeah, um, a lot. Gray said, Gray said I could paint my room if I wanted, but I haven’t found the right color. They’re all so… so garish.” Edrissa flipped the stray wisps of hair out of her face and looked to Vera, eyebrows raised, as if she was waiting for something.

It was so good to see Edrissa looking for Vera to assure her not that she was safe, but that she was… cool.

“Absolutely,” Vera said with fervor. “Sometimes walls just need to look sophisticated.” Edrissa lifted her chin, and her mouth pulled into a wider smile at the word.

“Exactly,” she said with an emphatic nod. “Sophisticated. I was thinking I could do a whole thing with a mirror on the wall and, and maybe a nice painting if I can find one that captures the… the…” Edrissa stumbled for a moment, her eyes still fixed on Vera. “…the atmosphere I want.”

Sadness dragged at Gray’s heart. She hasn’t been allowed to make her own choices, any choices for two years. And I remember how much I just wanted to be me when I was eighteen.

They pressed their lips into a line to stop the corners of their mouth from falling.

“That sounds like such a great idea,” Vera said, her face breaking into a smile again. “And… Tori and I wanted to start a garden out back. It’s a little late for planting, but… if we get seedlings, would you want something?”

“Yes!” Edrissa cried, and distractedly tapped Gray on the shoulder. For a moment Vera looked at Gray in delighted surprise. Edrissa hadn’t let anyone but Tori and Vera touch her since she’d been rescued almost five months ago. Gray knew the easy touch on their shoulder spoke volumes of the healing she’d done just in the past three weeks.

I wonder how much of that is time away from Gavin. Gray pushed the thought out of their head.  

“Oh, my god, I totally forgot. Last time I was in Burmingham, they had little mint plants. Gray said they wanted some, and I forgot!” She turned to Gray with an unsteady smile. “I’m sorry, I—” Edrissa shivered. Her eyes went distant. She curled into herself slightly, shrinking back against the door of the car.

“It’s alright, Edrissa,” Gray said gently, never taking their eyes off the road. “I’m not hurt. I’m not angry. It’s just a mistake, right? Mistakes are alright.”

“Mm-hm,” Edrissa said uncertainly. She relaxed slightly.

“Remember your counting?” Gray said, low and calm.

Edrissa jerked her head in a nod. She took in a deep breath. “One two three four five,” she muttered, and shook out her hands at the wrists with each number.

“Good. Let’s do it again, together.” Gray’s hands were steady on the wheel, never faltering. Watching the pavement of the road disappear under their car.

Edrissa drew in another deep breath. “One two three four five,” she and Gray said together as she shook out her hands, her quavering voice mixing with Gray’s steady one.

“One more time. Deep breath, one two three four five.” This time, Edrissa, Vera, and Gray said it together.

Gray glanced at Edrissa, at how her shoulders hunched just a little more than they had before, at the dullness in her eyes that reminded them so much of… of Vera, when she was under. Their mouth made a hard line.

“S-sorry,” Edrissa murmured. “I j-just…”

“It’s alright, Edrissa,” Gray said evenly, passing the first few houses on the north outskirts of Crayton. “Everyone has moments, and you were just having a moment.”

“Having a moment,” Edrissa said softly. “Just having a moment.” She smiled tightly at Vera, the corners of her mouth twisting in embarrassment.

Gray’s heart ached for Edrissa, for the girl who had just been going on and on about her room and her fabrics not thirty seconds ago and was now trembling, embarrassed, frightened. Vera leaned forward and put her hand palm up on the center console. An invitation, not a demand. Edrissa fit her hand into Vera’s, and Vera squeezed.

“Tell me more about what plants you want.”

Edrissa offered a wider smile. “Um, I like osteospermum,” she said, her eyes shifting down. “And sunflowers. I like the tall kinds of flowers.” She looked up at Vera. “I had to get a book on plants that do okay with the, the climate up here, because down south it was always—” She cut herself off and swallowed hard. “I like the colorful tall kinds of plants. I’d try for a rosebush but I think it’s too hard for this year.”

“Hm.” Vera nodded. “Well, I’d like to try some raspberry and strawberry bushes. And we could build a shade for the garden, in case the sun is too much.”

“Y-yeah,” Edrissa said softly. She sat back slightly in her seat until Gray pulled onto the main street of shops. They eased the car into a spot along the sidewalk. When Gray stopped, Edrissa shook herself slightly and looked up.

Gray put the car in park. “I was thinking you two could get out here,” they said, indicating with their hand the store that had regular deliveries of fabrics. “I should go to the town hall and check in with Daniel Schiester. I understand your check-in was… rushed.”

“And good fucking thing, too,” Vera said quietly, her jaw clenching shut.

Gray dipped their head. “I don’t exactly appreciate the way he’s spoken to you in the past, so I thought I would make this visit alone. Make sure he feels in control of the situation. Stroke his comically over-inflated ego.”

“I swear to god, he’d make a great fucking syndicate leader,” Vera said, rolling her eyes. She opened the door and climbed out, moving stiffly. Edrissa got out, too, and drifted to Vera’s side.

Gray rolled the passenger window down and leaned towards it. “Shouldn’t take longer than twenty minutes. If you move on from here and I don’t catch you, I’ll meet you in the square in an hour, and we can get lunch. Sound like a plan?”

Vera nodded and cocked her eyebrow. “Have fun with DFS,” she said, snidely.

Gray’s brow furrowed. “DFS?”

Vera bent forward and leaned into the car. “Daniel. Fucking. Schiester,” she said, her voice nearly gleeful with contempt.

Gray snorted and leaned back. “Ah. I’ll have to try not to call him that to his face.”

Vera straightened and shrugged. “If you do, get pictures of his reaction.”

Gray laughed and put the car in drive. “See you soon,” they said, and pulled away.

∴

As Gray got closer to the town hall, their hands tightened on the wheel. Something itched in the back of their mind, something about how Daniel looked at Vera with fascination, with humor. As if he was watching a dog performing tricks. Saccharine. Amused.

Something in the back of their mind stirred at how Daniel looked at Gavin.

There was something there, between them. Gray doubted they had ever actually met. Perhaps it was just morbid, spiteful fascination on Daniel’s part, fascination with the syndicates who ruined the lives of the victims he saw every day. Perhaps it was buried rage, resentment that people like Gavin’s family were the reason Crayton had to exist at all.

Perhaps it was something else, though Gray wasn’t sure what.

Gray pulled in front of the town hall and parked the car. They sat quiet in the seat, staring at the front door, already feeling the tension headache starting. They breathed a sigh, turned off the car, and got out.

Inside the atrium it was cool, dark, and empty, just like it almost always was when refugees weren’t being processed. Gray’s hands tightened into fists and they began to climb the stairs to Daniel’s office.

The stairs creaked under Gray’s feet, their footsteps muffled by the dark green carpet. They made their way to the landing and turned in the direction of Daniel’s office. They almost hoped he wasn’t in today. Their hands clenched tighter as they walked down the hallway, almost feeling the urge to tiptoe, to not make any noise.

Gray grimaced. I’m being ridiculous.

They stopped in front of the door to Daniel’s office. They knocked.

“Come in,” came the deep, even voice. Gray’s face fell. They turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Daniel glanced up from his work on his computer, then looked up and pushed himself away from his desk. “Mx. Uriah,” he said, standing, and held out his hand. “Always good to see you.”

Gray’s skin felt cold as they shook Daniel’s hand once.

“Mr. Mayor,” they said stiffly.

“Ah,” Daniel said with a smile. “I suppose if I wanted you to call me by my first name, I should have begun with that courtesy. Forgive me.”

“Old habits, on my end,” Gray said, and forced their mouth into a smile.

“Right.” Daniel sat back into his chair and leaned his elbows on the desk. “What can I help you with?”

Gray had to stop themself from staring at the pictures of refugees on the walls. Those pictures definitely weren’t of every single refugee Daniel had saved, they couldn’t be. There couldn’t have been more than forty or fifty people in those pictures, and Gray knew Crayton could see that many in a busy week. Maybe those refugees held some meaning for Daniel. Gray didn’t want to pry.

If they were perfectly honest with themself, they didn’t want to ask.

“I’m sure at this point that you are aware that my family has returned from the south?” Gray said, meeting Daniel’s eyes.

Daniel grinned. “Ah. Yes. The triumphant heroes return, quite successful, I’m given to understand. Colleen Stormbeck is dead, and the region is destabilized.”

“That’s right,” Gray said. “They were successful, although at great cost to themselves.”

Daniel’s mouth turned down. “You don’t mean that any of them died…?” He turned to rifle through some papers on his desk. “When my people checked them in, all six were—”

“They all came back alive, yes,” Gray said, their heart twinging. Their gaze fell. “But they all came back with some sort of… permanent… mental or physical scarring.”

“Hm.” Daniel leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. “When you say they all came back alive, I’m assuming you’re not including the Stormbeck boy in your count.”

Gray blew out a slow breath. “When he left here, his name was Gavin Uriah.” They raised their gaze to meet Daniel’s, his eyes a cold blue that always seemed to pierce through Gray. “But yes. He is dead.”

Daniel huffed out a silent laugh. “Generous of you to allow him to take your name, considering everything he’s d—”

“I don’t wish to discuss the rehabilitation of Gavin Uriah,” Gray said softly, their cheeks reddening. “I am fully aware of your opinion of him, and of redemption in general. The fact is when he left here, I had become rather fond of him. And I’d like to let his memory remain for me what he was: a broken boy who died trying to set things right.” Gray’s stomach churned.

Daniel was silent for a moment, regarding Gray coolly across his desk. After a long moment he nodded and said, “Just more evidence for the syndicates’ cruelty, then. I’m sorry your family was the target.”

“So am I,” Gray murmured. They glanced around the office and returned their gaze to Daniel. “But they had to check in with your people in the dead of night and move on without proper processing, as one of them was gravely injured. I wanted to make sure nothing was missed, and answer any questions you had.”

“No, nothing was missed,” Daniel said with a winning smile, waving his hand. “I know that your team arrived in no condition to follow protocol, and the people who checked them in are very thorough.”

“Good,” Gray murmured. The hair on the back of their neck tingled. “Did you need anything from me?”

“Actually, I could use your assistance,” Daniel said with a smile. “Due to the instability of the western region, we are already seeing an increase in the frequency and number of refugees, and am very certain that will only continue to increase. Summer is always a busy season for us, but I am anticipating unprecedented numbers. At the moment, I currently don’t have the people to handle this efficiently. Your family is particularly suited to assisting with refugees, given the nature of your work. I was hoping to recruit you in the processing, if you’re able.”

Gray nodded. “Of course. I can’t speak for the others as they are all convalescing, but I would be happy to help. I will pass on the request. I have no doubt they will offer what they can, as soon as they are able to travel. A few of them may be ready now.”

“Whatever you can do will be appreciated,” Daniel said, and stood, offering Gray his hand. Gray took it. “Always a pleasure, Gray. When you and your family are ready we will orient you with our process.”

Gray nodded. “I’ll keep you posted. Until then, stay well, Daniel.”

“Thank you.” Daniel smiled and sat down. He turned back to his work.

Gray turned and left the office, closing the door behind them. They walked down the hall, their steps quickening, their shoulders tightening. They made their way down the stairs and across the atrium. By the time they pushed through the doors out into the sun, they were nearly jogging.

Continued here

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[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #3

A/N: My head start on chapters is (already) dwindling, but whatever… Here you go, Chapter 3, enjoy!

Warning: mild swearing

 Word Count: ~ 2.400

______________________________________________________________ 

Chapter 3: Charlie

To Lizzie’s astonishment, her friends kept their teasing to a minimum for the following week. Aside from Penny’s occasional prying and some suggestive jokes from Tonks, they all left her mostly alone as everybody resettled into their routines.

Skye was perhaps the longest to hold a grudge against her. Every so often she would make a snarky remark about “fraternising”, “competition” and “priorities”. But even she let it go as soon as her initial motivation to study wore off, and she fell back on her habit of copying all of her assignments from Lizzie.

Still, to avoid stirring talk about her and Charlie any further, Lizzie kept a low profile, concentrating on the vast amount of work the professors had started dumping on them instead. She’d seen Orion and McNully struggle with keeping up with their studies last year; but experiencing O.W.L. preparations first-hand was something else altogether.

“Honestly, this term is getting on my nerves already.” Skye slumped next to her on the windowsill in front of the charms classroom, where they were waiting for class to start. “So much work, so little fun. Can’t wait for the season to start properly, I’m itching to be back on the pitch again.”

Lizzie closed the book she had been reading. “Me too. I think Orion wants to find our new beater before we get back into practise though. I wonder who he has in mind to get a try-out.”

“Experience a try-out, you mean!” She snickered. “I swear, this guy is one of a kind.” She leaned back against the wall. “Remember your try-outs, back in the day?”

“How could I forget?” Lizzie replied flatly. “You, McNully and Orion were giving me nightmares.”

“But you made it in the end. With my help of course.” Skye eyed Lizzie’s bag that was resting on the floor beneath her feet. Sweeping down, she grabbed it and started rummaging through it.

“Speaking of help, my charms homework isn’t finished. Let me see what you’ve got.” She held the scroll up triumphantly before starting to copy its content down onto her own parchment.

“I am ever so glad to let you copy my work, do help yourself,” Lizzie remarked sardonically and picked up her book again. She had stopped her futile protests about two years ago.

They sat in silence for some time. Lizzie continued reading up on the counter jinxes they were covering at the moment, drowning out the noises of Skye’s writing and the chatter of her arriving classmates.

Suddenly, Skye shoved the parchment back into her face. “This is not one of your best works, if I may say so. I’d better go and ask Penny for help this time.” Skye got up and strode over to where Penny stood chatting to Rowan, leaving an open-mouthed Lizzie behind.

“All of a sudden my homework’s not good enough, or what?” she exclaimed in disbelief.

Skye just waved her hand in dismissal, already chatting to Penny, who flashed her a bright smile. Rowan left them standing, sitting down beside Lizzie, who had a bewildered look upon her face.

“What was that all about?”

“I have no idea. My homework doesn’t seem to be copy-worthy anymore. Apparently, Penny’s is, though.” Lizzie was still visibly confused.

“Just imagine, you are not the only one good at charms,” Rowan answered stiffly. “Other people can hold a wand as well.”

Lizzie raised her hands in defence. “Woah, easy there. That’s not what I was saying.”

Rowan shrugged. “It’s true though.”

Lizzie got up and stuffed her book back into her bag. “Whatever. You’re acting really strange lately, you know? If I have done anything to offend you, please enlighten me.”

Rowan pushed her glasses up her nose. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Lizzie snorted. “Right.”

When she saw general concern on her friend’s face, she felt her anger subsiding as quickly as it had arisen. “Listen, how about we talk this out over dinner. Just the two of us, like in the old times. What do you think?”

Rowan gave her a doubtful look. “The others will want to know why we’re ditching them.���

Lizzie shrugged. “So what? Can’t I have a meal alone with my best friend?”

A genuine smile broke on Rowan’s face at her words. “Alright, I’m looking forward to it.” Her gaze shifted to something behind Lizzie and she hurriedly got up. “Class is about to start, see you in a second.”

Wondering what had startled Rowan, Lizzie turned around. Charlie Weasley had dispatched himself from a group of Gryffindor’s and was making his way over to where she was standing. Lizzie cursed under her breath, hurriedly gathering up her things. She wanted to dart after Rowan, but Charlie was quicker than her. He caught her on her elbow, before she had a chance to walk away.

“Not so fast, sunshine.”

She cringed. Charlie had called her nicknames ever since she could remember. Given the raised eyebrows of Penny and Skye, she could make out over Charlie’s shoulder, the potential for misinterpretation clearly stood out to her all of a sudden.

Adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder she elbowed Charlie in his side.

“Stop calling me that.”

He eyed her curiously. It was unlike her not to come back at him with a witty remark but Lizzie wasn’t in the mood for banter. Despite her brusque reply, Charlie tilted his head and grinned at her.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been avoiding me this week.” He placed a hand on his chest in a dramatic gesture. “What did I do to deserve this rejection?”

Lizzie heard Tonks snickering and rolled her eyes at him. “Can’t blame me for wanting at least one week of peace and quiet before I let you get me into trouble again,” she shot back.

Charlie’s grin grew wider. “Ah, there’s my girl. Professor Kettleburn has asked me to help him prepare the Firecrab lessons for the third years tomorrow. Care to join me?”

She and Charlie had been helping with the preparations of the Care of Magical Creatures lessons ever since they had been able to partake in them. Having been good friends before, the work with the creatures had deepened their friendship considerably.

“Yeah, sure! But I need to be back for dinner on time.”

Their classmates had begun filing into the classroom, Charlie and Lizzie joining their ranks.

“Why, do you have a date or what?”

Lizzie searched for her friends until she saw Rowan waving and pointing to an empty seat next to her. She smiled.

“Something like that.”

She sensed Charlie’s curiosity. But instead of asking for further details, he just clapped her on the shoulder before he made off to sit with his own friends.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have you back on time, my lady.”

 *

It was still blazing hot later in the afternoon, when Lizzie leaned on the railing of the wooden bridge connecting one of the castle’s side entrances to the grounds.

She had been waiting for Charlie for a while already, but she didn’t mind being to herself for a change.

Her gaze swept across the spectacular view she had of the castle grounds from up here. She squinted at the sun hanging low in the sky. Its light already had that slight golden hue to it that heralded the coming evening. If she breathed in deeply, she could almost smell the first hints of autumn in the air.

She idly toyed with the dragonhide gloves she had been carrying in her back pocket. Her mind returned to Rowan, as it had done ever so often over the course of the day.

Lizzie longed to find out what was bothering her friend. She was tired of the permanent tension between them, never really knowing what she had done to make the otherwise shy girl so touchy.

She rubbed her eyes. She missed Rowan terribly. Her other friends were dear to her as well, but the friendship with her was special. They used to work together in class, usually finishing their task before everyone else. Rowan always knew all the necessary theory, while Lizzie had a knack for the practical application.

Right now, most of the times she ended up working with Skye. As much as she valued Skye as a friend, she was a scholastic nightmare. She just could not be interested in what she was supposed to be doing if it didn’t involve Quidditch. She was either complaining about practise not having started or bitching about whatever Rath had done again to annoy her. She made finding the focus needed to perform advanced spells close to impossible.  

Hurried footsteps approaching broke her out of her thoughts.

Charlie was running towards her, his face almost as red as his hair. No doubt he had been sprinting all the way down from Gryffindor Tower. He skittered to a halt next to her, hands on his thighs, gasping for breath.

Lizzie tapped her index finger onto her wrist. “Nice of you to join me eventually. What dragon has been keeping you?”

Still panting, Charlie managed to squeeze out a response. “Sorry – I – got – held up.” He took a deep breath and straightened himself.

“My brother Percy thought it appropriate to lecture me on ‘proper attire for handling dangerous creatures’.”

Much like Lizzie, Charlie was wearing only a shirt and some shorts.

“Apparently it’s dangerous to handle fire-shooting creatures without full-body protection,” he scoffed.

They had started walking down towards the creatures reserve.

“Actually, Percy is not wrong, you know.”

In their third year, when they had started to attend Care of Magical Creatures classes, they had made sure to be properly protected at all times. Professor Kettleburn provided ample example of what could happen if you took about handling magical creatures too carelessly.

But as they started helping him out on a regular basis, they had quickly established a routine of their own, which allowed them to dress a little bit more leisurely – as long as no younger students were watching.

Charlie grimaced. “I know he’s right, it’s just… He is always right. It hasn’t been a day since he arrived here, he hasn’t been lecturing me.”

He pitched his voice higher, imitating the condescending tone Percy Weasley had mastered at only eleven years old.

“No, Charlie, staying up past bed time is inappropriate. No, Charlie, you shouldn’t let them drink butterbeer in the common room. No, Charlie, you, as a prefect, should know this. Are you even listening, Charlie? I’m talking to you, Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.”

Lizzie couldn’t help herself. With every step away from the castle she could feel the tension bothering her gradually vanish.

A small giggle escaped her throat, quickly growing into genuine laughter.

She fought to contain herself. “Merlin’s beard, Charlie. I didn’t know you had such a talent for acting.”

He chuckled, bowing down low. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, puffskein.”

Lizzie giggled again, playfully shoving him. “Do you keep notes on these ridiculous nicknames of yours? And I know everything I need to know about you. Bill described vividly how you tried to turn your family rat into a dragon.” She pursed her lips. “Teeny tiny Charlie Weasley, dragonologist in the making.”

He shook his head indignantly. “Why, Elizabeth Jameson, that was science. I thought you’d have enough sense to understand that.”

They had reached the enclosure where the Firecrabs were being held. Gathering up their supplies, they set to feeding the creatures, chatting away over how they had spent the summer. Gradually, Lizzie felt herself relax more and more, losing herself in their work.

She watched Charlie stroke one of the younger Firecrabs under its chin. Suddenly feeling incredibly annoyed with herself, she walked over and knelt down beside him.

“You were right earlier, you know?” she said quietly. “I have actually been avoiding you, I’m sorry.”

He inclined his head. “I thought so. But why?”

For a split second, Lizzie contemplated telling him she had broken their agreement and told her friends about them kissing. He would probably be angry with her; Charlie didn’t appreciate being the centre of attention. She stood up. “Does it matter, really? It was stupid of me; I see that now.”

Charlie got up to his feet as well. “It does matter. If I have done anything to offend you, tell me straight to my face instead of running from me.”

Unbeknownst to him, he had almost echoed her words to Rowan earlier in the day. She could imagine how he felt.

She shuffled her feet uncomfortably. Formulating what had been bothering her made it sound even pettier.

“You know how everyone is always talking about us? Like they can’t grasp the fact a girl and a boy can just be really good friends? I’m so sick of it. Every time I talk to you or we’re down here, I have to answer questions from my friends. It’s just so…” she struggled for words, “…frustrating.”

Charlie looked at her in disbelief. “And that’s why you didn’t even want to talk to me?”

Lizzie bit her lip. “I told you, it was stupid.”

He shook his head. “You’re damn right about that.”

All of a sudden, he winked at her and gave her a lopsided grin. “Besides, would dating me be such a horrible thing?”

Lizzie could only blink at him wide-eyed, utterly at a loss for what to say.

Charlie burst out laughing. “You should see your face right now!”

When she didn’t join his laughter, he laid his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I was joking, alright? Relax. Just a nice little joke to brighten up your day.”

Lizzie let out the breath she hadn’t notice she’d been holding. “Very funny, I can’t contain myself.” She glared, poking him into his chest with her finger. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“No promises on that. But if it comforts you, I’d much prefer dating you if you learned how to breathe fire.”

She shook her head and walked past him out of the paddock, Charlie following close behind.

“Hey, Liz?”

She turned around. He was still inside the enclosure, resting his forearms on the gate that had swung shut behind her.

“Don’t listen to what everyone else is saying, alright?” His voice was earnest. “Screw what they are thinking. We are friends, you and I, don’t let anyone take this away from you.”

Walking back to where he was standing, Lizzie gave him a warm smile. The next instance, she was kicking the gate that supported his weight with her foot.

Laughing at the expression on his face as he struggled to keep standing, she finally felt completely at ease.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

[adulttrio-imagines]

Yandere!Illumi x Reader Pt 1

A/N: This is going to be a 2-part series since I git a little carried away and didn’t want it to be too long. I’ll post part 2 soon. It’s also fairly dark, so please proceed with caution.

EDIT: I originally posted this answering an ask I was sent sometime back, but tumblr kept messing things up so I’m just going to re-post this

EDIT 2: Part 2 HERE

Prompt:  “I would give up everything for the chance to see your laugh again.” 

The man in the suit is beautiful. 

 He’s beautiful in a raw, delicate way that mirrors the unbridled strength his long lashes frame. It’s an uncommon beauty, unique to strange lands far beyond the clutches of York New. Some might even call him odd, with his arrogant face and brittle nose, hunched over the small booth his weak chin and long neck gave him the appearance of an overgrown crane. But as you continued to push your legs to the limit, stretching them wider and wider as you contort your back around the smooth exterior of your pole, you couldn’t help but to tear your eyes away from your adoring fans and observe his demeanor. 

This isn’t the first time he’s been to your shows, and based on the regularity he’s appeared at the past few months, you doubt it’ll be his last. He stares at you with impossibly large eyes that never blink (their starvation is pronounced, you feel their hunger even from here), lazily swirling a glass of whisky in one hand as he rests his chin in the other. You can’t see his legs from underneath the table at this distance, but from his posture you can tell they’re long and just as impossibly slender as the rest of his body. As you saunter around the stage, entertaining the roaring crowd that shower you with dollar bills, you note the silky texture of his suit (it’s expensive), the glint of his heavy-looking watch (possibly adorned with gold), and from the way he so effortlessly balances his glass in a well-manicured hand, you can tell he’s well-bred, wealthy, and sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other noisy hooligans at the bar. 

The room spins in gaudy shades of pink and neon green as you twirl around some more, the rush of wind cooling your face. You make your way up the pole, taking extra effort to stretch your legs out and angling them just right to display the soft curves of your thigh, the heat from the room coloring your cheeks as you sneak another glance at the man. More than the money, you like the way his cheekbones arch and the pronounced slopes they produce, the way they shape his fine features when he curls his lips in pleasure and expose a set of perfectly straight teeth that makes your heart pound just a little too fast for it to be normal. 

You wink at the crowd before you, making sure to tilt of your waist just right to sneak a peak of your ass, teasingly arching your leg forward as you slowly hitched your already short skirt up just a little more, relishing in their excitement. You reward their charity with a flourish of your own, flashing your brightest smile when their thunderous cheers applaud your performance. 

Your eyes snap back at the man in the suit, who’s gaze has remained transfixed on you this whole time. He claps politely, but the amusement that your dance draws from your crowd isn’t reflected in his face as he returns your stare with an empty look of his own.

He’s beautiful yes, in a way that makes you want to twirl your fingers in his silky locks and tug then hard while you kiss into the early hours of the morning. A delicious shiver crawls its way up your spine and you blow a kiss to him. Groping hands reach out from underneath you, desperately reaching for your attention, but you keep your eyes on the strange man, who accepts your kiss with a curled fist. 

You lick your lips, unsure if the tremors you felt were from the rush of excitement, the heat of the room, the swirling pools of intent in his eyes, or a combination of all three. 

But you do know this. 

You’re making him yours.

.....

Your darling’s name is Illumi, and he doesn’t speak much.

It's not as if you aren’t trying. But he’s still as a statue and unmoving as stone, his face kept carefully blank as you dance around him like butterflies, slowly trying to coax him our his shell, whispering sweet words that drip with honey as you brush a hand against cheek (his skin is ice, and the tips of your skin freeze upon contact). He holds your eyes with his pair of dark abysses, directing your attention towards his mouth as you continue to wrap yourself around him, all but crawling into his lap, the hard wood of the booth creaking under your weight when you plant feather-soft kisses all around his face, paying special care to tease the corner of his lips as you press your hips hard against his throbbing groin.

He doesn’t return your steaming confessions, preferring to grunt one syllable answers in response to your questions, but he receives your affection with barely restraint lust, grabbing your thighs with spider-like hands as he nudges them open, letting out a low groan when you stop rubbing yourself against him and made movement to unbuckle his belt.

“Let me-“ He tells you between breathless kisses, “Let me take you home.”

You can barely contain your own pleasure as he slides a hand against the dip of your hips, struggling to nod.

“Sure.” You feel him smile, and a faint prick nicks the back of your neck.

The room goes dark.

And everything you know changes. 

......

The cellar Illumi keeps you in is better than most. There’s proper heating, a small equipped bathroom in the corner, and a warm nest of blankets for you to curl into whenever the coolness of the stone floor after a fit of misguided rage becomes too much and form sores on your delicate ankles.

There’re no windows here, so you make a game of counting the scratches on the wall, bathed in the comfort of the dark, to make time go faster, adding a collection of your own on the wall beside your bedding when the days slowly stretch into weeks, even when your nails are filed down to blunt tips and your fingers are raw and inflamed.

Sometimes the boredom of it all drives the final nail into your head and snaps your existence in half, and you would brokenly hum songs of distance past, following the buried memories of times long forgotten, dancing around the small room on delicate toes and graceful arches, so different from the bold movements you made from your stage at the bar, before the old pain from your left knee would force you crumpling to the ground and bury your screams into the blankets.

“Why won’t you eat the food I give you? Would you rather starve?” Illumi asks you calmly. You eye him warily and drop your gaze to the neatly arranged fruits that lined the plate. He visits twice a week, dressed in strange clothes dotted with circular yellow nubs of what you can only guess to be buttons, often bringing with him baskets filled with peace offerings of sweets and little trinkets, as if they will make you happy.

You nibble at a slice of apple, careful to keep your gaze on the ground as you fight down the urge to empty what little contents you had in your stomach, one part out of hunger, ninety-nine parts from the ache in your head when he slapped you into the stone wall and bashed your face into it with extra vigor for refusing to take a bite of the bread he brought down the week before.

“Good job!” And he’s empty, empty, empty. The hollowness in his joy almost scares you as much as when he leans down to pay the top of your head patronizingly, as if you were nothing more than a badly misbehaving puppy who finally learned to obey. His fingers dig into your scalp when he feels you flinch under them, and he rams you headfirst into the ground as you helplessly choke for air when he carefully applies pressure to your trachea, all but strangling you while staring down with sinking eyes that drown out everything else.

And you realize three things.

He’s neither human nor beast.

He’s a beautiful doll who carved his name into your flesh for no reason other than because he could do it.

And there’s nothing you can do to escape.

.....

“Dance for me.” Illumi demands one day during one of his many visits. You look up your cup of tea, and stare at the man sitting cross legged across from you on top of a checkered blanket, like some sort of demented underground picnic. Under the flickering light from his kerosene lamp, his skin looks especially pale, and the gaping holes that represent his eyes are especially haunting. His visits range in frequency, and you can’t tell if you like it more since his absence is peaceful, or hate it for how unpredictable he gets when he does see you.

Hesitantly, you get to your feet and walk into the center of the room where a lone pillar stands. You place a hand of it, inwardly grimacing from its roughness, and forcing your body to contort around it. But just as you start, he raises a hand and shakes his head.

“No, no, no, not that.” He says, hair shimmering like black waves out in the sea, as formless as his tone, “I want to see your other dance, the one you perform when I’m not here.” You blink, not surprised to learn that he keeps track of your movements frequently enough to see you dance on those rare occasions. Instead, you kneel down to his level and take a sip from your cup, smacking your lips loudly as you smile widely and say, “No.” He strikes you across the face, and breaks an arm for good measure. You can tell from how easily it crunches in his grasp that your nerves are destroyed, especially when it flop helpless next to you in the ground. It is the first time he inflicts permanent damage on you.. But it’s not the last. 

.....

You learn that your Illumi’s last name is Zoldyck. It’s hard to miss since it’s painted and hung high in every room he brings you in.

His change in mood is astounding and you’re cautious not too upset him. You’re unsure what flipped the switch, but suddenly your above ground for the first time in months and the sun that shines through the large French windows that span from ceiling to floor hurts your eyes, but it feels painfully good to feel the warmth of natural light grace your face.

You look wistfully out into the garden, where acres of woods stretched endlessly before your eyes, and a range of mountain lines dot the far edges of your vision. And wonder if you would even be so lucky to feel grass press against the soles of your feet again.

The Zoldyck mansion is huge, lined with riches and elegance that screams of old money, and it’s easy to lose yourself in the passage of time as you wonder aimlessly through the elaborate halls, admiring each ancient artefact that tastefully decorates each room. But even its size and grandeur pales in comparison to the aura Illumi exudes that makes you feel so insignificant and small, as if the universe itself would split and swallow you whole. You dance around the mansion, often in the dead of night on weeks where Illumi disappears into the shadows that cut unnaturally into the walls, your feet guiding you through both the lavishly decorated rooms to the empty halls. It’s easy to pretend that you were in a haunted mansion as you sang from door to door; you never see anyone else, but the continuous presence of following eyes that track each leap you take reminds you of old ghosts lurking behind corners. “Where’s your favorite part of your house?” You ask Illumi one sunny afternoon, when you’re both lounging in his sunroom and lapping up what limited time you had left with the sun before autumn arrived and brought the chill with it.

He is surprised by your question, as if no one has ever asked for his opinion in his life, and blinks impossibly slow in response. Placing a finger to his lip, he quirks his head and hums. “Hmmm. I don’t know. I don’t really care much for this house.”

And just like almost everything else he does, it’s horribly empty, and succeeds in shutting out your efforts and extension of friendship.

You return to starring listlessly at the lush gardens below, and make a mental note to ask Illumi if you could one day explore those grounds as well. There were only so many halls you could pass before turning into one of the many ghosts that haunt the mansion. 

..... 

Zeno Zoldyck is the first and only family member you ever meet. How you ran into him was mere coincidence. You’ve never left Illumi’s wing of the house. But by sheer coincidence do you run into the old patriarch on one of his rare ventures into the family library.

“It’s not easy playing chess alone. You don’t grow at all as a player if you’re only exposed to techniques you are familiar with.” He slams a pawn over your queen, ignoring the shriek of shock you return over his sudden appearance, and takes a sit across you. Despite yourself, you calm what nerves you had left and nervously prod your own pawn forward. He spares you fleeting glance and switches your rook out for his bishop.

And just like that, in the gaping hole that was Illumi Zoldyck’s home, you made a friend.

Zeno is a peculiar old man. He drinks only jasmine tea and likes it so hot it scalds the skin of his lips (you eye the scars that travel down his neck, self-inflicted and not from battle); like Illumi is gaze is piercingly empty, but unlike Illumi he can talk for hours on end and never fails to brighten your mood on days you felt as if your head was full of cotton and your eyes only saw the deaths of stars. You decide you like his straightforward ways and cheeky words, and you can only guess he likes how you’re the only person willing to entertain him in this lonely home on the most boring of days. He’s sprightly for an old geezer, and his wit tempt the corners of your lips ever so slightly.

And so you both meet once a week for a game of chess.

You’ll drink poison and burn your tongue if it meant filling up the empty spaces of time that suffocated you whole. 

“What was he like as a child?” You decide to ask one day. Zeno doesn’t take his eyes away from the board (you tried switching the pieces once, and now he knows better than to trust you). 

“Stupid. And ugly, if you ask me. Who knows what his mother ate.” He moves his king away from your bishop. 

“Like an ugly duckling.” You hum in agreement and move your knight over to his king instead. Grumbling incoherently, he retreats his king further. 

“Nothing like that. He’s was never really there,” tapping his forehead, he gives you a pitying grin, “I’m sure you understand.” You shrug in response. 

“He couldn’t have helped it.” His king narrowly misses your pawn, and you click your tongue in irritation. A comfortable silence draws on as you both analyzed the board. 

“Why do you defend him?” Zeno finally speaks after he slides his knight over to your king, and you bring your knees up to your seat, hiding the lower half of your face behind them before finally shrugging. 

“He was a child, there wasn’t much he could have done.” It’s difficult to ignore the bitter taste those words form, and you push them all away as you bring your surrounding pawn to his knight. Zeno frowns. 

“But he is now a man, and you are his prisoner.” 

You can’t help but sigh when his bishop finally corners your king, 

“I know.” 

..... 

On the nights where Illumi was home, he would occasionally demand you perform for him. Creeping hands dragging you from corner you curled into on the bed you unwillingly shared with him, not caring that the force of his careless throws injures your back further and colors your body with more bruises than you could possibly care to count.

“Why won’t you dance for me?” He demands you once again. It’s different this time though, you realize from watering eyes, choking on the cloud of poison that radiates from him, weighing you down to the floor as you feel your feet slowly turn to stone and merge with the tiles. You do not understand this sudden burst of anger (you think it’s anger; grief, rage and bitterness all swirl around you in endless clouds that it becomes very hard to differentiate one from the next) and you cannot stop yourself from begging for relief as the temperature in the room plummets to dangerously low levels.

“I can’t.” Dark circles creep dangerous close to the edges of your vision. He drives his foot further into your stomach.

“You can.” He nudges you hard, and the blood you cough out stains his foot.

“I can’t.” You want to scream in his face, and somehow he hears the resistance in your voice and digs his foot deeper.

“Why can’t you do this, for me?” He lifts you by your hair, forcing you to look right at him. “Is it because you can’t? Or is it because you won’t?” The last syllable rolls off his tongue with such harshness you never thought him possible of.

“Please,”  You plead instead, grabbing at his legs, “let me go.”

It’s only for a fraction of a second, but you see his eyes widen and the pure, unadulterated rage he spews strangles you, and it is so, so bitter that your heart stops and the world fades. He backhands you, and the stinging slap he gives hurts less than the searing pain that sets your chest aflame as holds your down and carves his name into your skin, right at where your collarbones dip and met, slowly and carefully etching something with needles he pulls seemingly out of his shirt. You put up a struggle, desperately screaming for someone, anyone to save you, but he just as easily pins you down and continues his task as if your screams were nothing (they probably weren’t).

“You are mine.” He says, after a long eternity, and your throat his hoarse and raw from all the begging. You can only stare at the name he forcefully carved into your skin with abject horror, shaking furiously, half from fear and half from grief, at how you would now be forever reminded of him.

He licks the blood off his needle, and whispers, “never forget that.”

[hailbop1701]

Down The Rabbit Hole: Extra Chapter

John Kennex X Female OC

Okay here is the extra chapter of "Down The Rabbit Hole"! @zecklein I hope you like it! I'm using a different format so tell me what you guys think! Let me know if I should stay with my old way or keep it this way! No beta for this so as usual expect typos!

-H❤🖖

Thea sat back stiff, her eyes narrowed at the woman sitting across from her. The woman’s hair was wild and the firetruck red dye was slowly fading showing her blonde roots. She sat there with a wicked grin her hand neatly folded on the table in front of her, “Harriet, I came because I was ordered to find out if you’ll be willing to give up your partner,” Hatty sat back in her chair eyes briefly flashing worry before it faded back into an insane mask. Thea nodded crossing her arms, 

“Yeah we know about them, the DA is willing to take the death penalty off the table if you’re willing to cooperate,” she said voice hard. Harriet chuckled leaning forward again, “What’s the fun in that?” she purred her cuffs clinking together. Thea sighed and Harriet continued, “ I just wanted to meet the woman who beat my game; well-done detective,” she congratulated and slowly clapped her hands in mock applause. Thea pressed her lips together to keep from talking back ‘It’s what she wants,’ she thought bitterly.

 “How many did you have to lose to figure it out?” Hatty asked with a deadly smirk. 

Thea gritted her teeth and kept her face blank; the heavy door opened behind her with a sliding clang, “Sorry detective time’s up,” a guard said apologetically. Harriet chuckled darkly, 

“Someone’s protective,” she sang leaning so she could see around Thea into the hall where detective John Kennex stood with his arms crossed. He gave Hatty a warning glare as Thea moved to the door, 

“It’s funny detective, death being both of our next great adventures,” Harriet called out cryptically. The door slid shut with finality when Thea stepped back out into the hall; John stood there with a worried expression on his face,

 “Are you okay?” he asked the scratches and bruise on his face still visible. Thea swallowed and took a breath, she started moving toward the exit without saying anything, 

“Thea,” John whispered placing a hand on her arm. The female detective stopped to look up at the man, 

“I’m pissed, I’m scared, I’m guilty, I am a lot of things right now John and all I know is that...if I pick an emotion I will fall apart. So I don’t want to feel at the moment,” she ranted huffing out ragged breaths. John nodded in understanding, the security door opened to allow them back into the main hall of the prison away from death row,

 “I get that more than you know. But I also found out the hard way that if you keep it all in, it will destroy you. I know you’re obsessing over the partner but please make sure you’re taking care of yourself, cause sweetheart you look like crap,” John advised with a smirk. Thea rolled her eyes and half-heartedly smacked John on the arm. They stopped at the main desk to get their weapons and ID’s back, 

“What did she mean when she said that death was the next big adventure?” Thea wondered aloud Harriet’s words repeating in her head over and over again. 

John was silent as they trekked out to the parking lot where Dorian and Max were waiting, “I think she’s just trying to freak you out but I wouldn’t let it go. Better to be safe than sorry,” he murmured. Thea grimaced and opened her car door, John held the door open for her “I’ll pick you up tonight, okay?” he gave her a look and she finally smiled.

 “I’ll see you tonight,” she whispered before shut the car door. Max sat in the passenger seat, “I recommend you dress up, the restaurant is four stars,” he said emotionlessly. Thea rolled her eyes “I swear Max,” she grumbled starting the engine. 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Thea was smoothing out the wrinkles in her little black dress when the doorbell rang, heels clicking against the hardwood floor of her apartment Thea rushed over to the door. Opening it Thea smiled, John stood there with a single rose in his hand.

 “Hey,” she breathed: John gave her a crooked smile, “Hey back, I uh I got you this,” he murmured holding out the rose to her. Thea’s smile grew bigger, taking the rose she sniffed it contently. 

“It’s beautiful John thank you,” she whispered butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Holding the door open wider Thea invited him inside, 

“Let put this into some water and we can go,” she said scurrying off to the kitchen. John stood in the entryway with his hands in his pockets, his black shirt sleeves rolled up to almost his elbows. Thea walked briskly back to him a jacket slung over her arm,

 “There,” she whispered breathlessly. John grinned taking her jacket and holding it out so she can slip her arms in. “It’s damn cold out,” he said with a wrinkle of his nose, Thea chuckled a quip on her lips but a sudden bang on the front door made them both jump. 

John furrowed his brows and held out his hand indicating for his date to stay back. He yanked open the door and looked down the hallway on either side. Empty. Turning John froze, there jammed into the door was a knife, and the knife was holding up an envelope with Thea’s name on it. Yanking the blade from the door John took the letter and turned the weapon carefully in his hands. Thea rushed over and snatched the letter from his fingers, she opened it and paled. 

“Dear Detective Redding, The capture of my love and partner will not stop the bodies from piling up. How many will it take before you figure it out this time? Let’s start with one. I hope to end with you, yours truly The collector” Thea’s mouth went dry after she read the note out loud. A polaroid photo fell from the envelope onto the floor depicting a young girl frozen brutally in time. She had a look of horror on her face, eyes wide open a silent scream on her lips. She was dressed as a ballerina posed in a glass case like a life-size doll. Under the photo in black ink, it says, “See a performance for your first date,” 

John snatched up the photo his phone already at his ear, “Go pack a bag,” he ordered. Thea numbly did as she was told. She ran up the iron spiral staircase up to her room, she grabbed an old duffle from her closet and started shoving clothes inside. She kicked off her heels and ran to the bathroom to grab her toiletries, shoving them haphazardly into a cosmetics bag she flew back into her room. John leaned against the railing of the stairs that led back down to the living room, phone still pressed against his ear. He watched her flit back and forth from her dresser to the bag that sat on her unmade bed. Zipping up the duffle Thea grabbed a pair of jeans and a simple long-sleeved shirt and raced into the bathroom. 

“Captain we have a problem,” John growled into his cell when the woman finally picked up, 

“What happened I thought you were on a date?” the older woman asked voice showing concern. John sighed, 

“I was about to be but it was interrupted, Killer’s partner showed up. Left a knife and note stuck in Thea’s front door,” 

“Is she packing?” Sandra asked the sound of shuffling erupted from the background.

 “Yeah she’s getting changed, we’re going to head over to her PD when she’s done,” he muttered sourly.

 “No, bring her to a safe house, I’ll call her captain,” Sandra said voice tight and John hummed in agreement. He was about to hang up when Maldanado whispered one last thing, 

“John be careful, both of you,” 

Thea opened the bathroom door dressed and hair hastily pulled up into a ponytail, her makeup was still in place and pair of combat boots were in her hands. She sat heavily down on the bed working to pull them onto her feet,

 “Did you call your Captain?” she asked breathlessly. John ran a hand through his hair, 

“Yeah she’s calling yours to fill him in and we’re going to a safe house,” Thea deflated at his words glaring slightly. “John-” he cut off her argument with a look of his own, 

“Thea it’s dangerous now, this guy made it personal and now it looks like he wants you. It’s my job to protect you now,” he said strode forward. He grabbed her duffle and swung it over his shoulder. He then grabbed a leather jacket from the railing nearby and held it out so she could put it on. Thea let the subject drop  ‘For now John,’ she internally growled. 

John ushered Thea out the door and toward the stairwell of the apartment complex. “Best we don’t risk the elevator,” he grumbled holding her hand as they went down the stairs at a quick pace. The sound of their echoing footsteps will the empty stairwell until they burst into the lobby, the man at the front desk jumped and Thea gave him a slight smile. John pulled her out the door over to where he parked his car; he clicked the starter stopping them several feet away. Nothing happened and they both sighed. John jogged over with Thea in tow, he opened the passenger door for her before opening up the backseat and tossing her duffle into it. Closing both doors John rounded the car and got in. 

“So much for our first date,” Thea muttered dryly. John snorted keeping his eyes on the road,

“I was hoping for a nice steak but I guess we’re gonna have to settle for MRE’s,” and Thea groaned at the mere thought. 

“It’s going to be a really long first date,” she warned sounding apologetic. John smiled a little, eyes flitting to her for a moment, 

“I don’t mind,” 

Yes I did keep it open just in case I wanted to play around with it in the future! 😉

Everything Tags:

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Down The Rabbit Hole Tags:

@zecklein

[witcher-of-the-northern-kingdoms]

The Beast of the Forest

Request: For a request, Perhaps Geralt and Jaskier get robbed by a band of thieves, who is led by a Robin Hood like character (the reader). Upon being captured and led to their encampment, jaskier notices the Geralt likes her because she has created a safe haven for a multitude of magical creatures who wish to live in peace Mx she is a fucking badass btw

So excited to write my first Witcher imagine! Hope you enjoy

TW: Language, graphic imagery

They never saw the attack coming. Jaskier was a distraction, and Geralt concluded that this would be the last time the bard would follow his track, if they survived (this was a common thought, from the elves to the djinn). Their hands were bound, back to back and in a dark room. Jaskier couldn’t see anything(nor would he if he were awake), but Geralt’s vision caught the silhouettes of figures looming around them. His head throbbed from the blow of the hilt of a blade, and anger boiled at the thought of being separated from not only his blades, but Roach as well. If anything happened to her - 

“Well well,” a voice disrupted the thoughts of the Witcher, stepping through what appeared to be a doorway with a candle barely illuminating their face. “What have we here?” Your voice purred from your lips as you examined the two men. The bard was groaning in annoyance, mumbling protests to his companion and the surrounding party. You lean down in front of the more intriguing one, with white hair extending passed his shoulders, and piercing golden eyes that watched you with stoic stubbornness. “A witcher? In my forest?” Your brow cocked as you studied his face, before your smirk grew wider. “Not only that, but the butcher of Blaviken!” A slight chuckle escaped you as you stood up. 

“Let the bard go,” Geralt began, his voice metallic and harsh, his accent dripping with Revalian descent. “Do what you will with me, but the human has done nothing.” His plead was heartwarming, but your smirk did not falter. 

“Now, why would I let our new performer go when we would love some entertainment? His ballads of you are quite catchy,” you announce, and chuckles erupted from around the group, obviously the band of misfits that immediately jumped the Witcher and bard. You slightly hum the popular tune, pacing around them like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. “Let’s say your coming into this forest is a blessing, dear Witcher.” You wave your fingers over the flickering flame of the candle. “We may not have much to offer other than your bard’s life, but we have a monster for you to deal with.” The cocky nature of your expression faltered for only a moment, but Geralt caught on. He knew this was more than greed, people’s lives were at stake. Still, the circumstances pissed him off. 

“I won’t do shit for you…” He muttered through gritted teeth, but something tugged at him. “Not unless you let the human go.” Geralt was a stubborn man, but if there were people in need, he’d help, regardless of the situation (though this one tested his patience).

“Oh in the mood for bargaining hm?” Your eyes wandered from the silver hair to that of the music man, still passed out from the potion. Silence loomed the air as you thought, but your pride wasn’t without falter. “And what will stop you from attacking once he’s free?” You inquired, though you had already made your decision.

“My word.” His tone was clear, if not raspy. You’d have to trust a Witcher was good for his world? Alright then. You leaned down, a hidden blade revealing itself as it pressed against the bard’s wrist and swiped up, ridding him of the restraints as his body toppled over. That seemed to be enough to rise him from slumber as you repeated the motion on Geralt. 

“Fuck! Good god…. Where - Geralt! Where are we?” Jaskier pushed up from the ground, rubbing dirt from his brow as he looked into the darkness. You nodded once to those watching the situation, and they began to filter out. Geralt realized they were there in case things turned sour against their leader. The witcher rubbed his wrists and stood up, ignoring the noisy man stumbling up. 

“Where is this monster?” He muttered, staring down at you with golden eyes. He was a good head taller than you, and the broad of his shoulders led him to be an intimidating individual. Still, you stood your ground, silence as you lead him out of the tent. 

Geralt had expected a lot of things; hooligans sharpening weapons, bandits fighting each other, mayhem in the camp of thieves. What he couldn’t anticipate was being wrong. Creatures that would only be susceptible to his silver blade wandered around, from elves to sylvan, even a bruxa walked around, daylight beaming on her skin. All lived in peace, but Geralt’s hand twitched for his sword, especially for the monsters he’s encountered before. He watched with suspicion, as a young cyclops - at least, younger than Geralt knew they could be called out. 

“Y/N!” The young girl shouted, running up to you and tugging your shirt. You leaned down to the young ones height as she whispered in your ear, and a warm smile touched your lips, resting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Well, you tell Miron that if he doesn’t show you respect, I’ll show him my boot!” You joked, lightly kicking out your foot as the girl laughed and ran off. Geralt watched carefully as Jaskier tried to come up with a plan, whispering all too loudly to Geralt, who was point blank ignoring him. Few things surprised the Witcher, but seeing creatures that would often meet the end of his sword talking intelligently to what appears to be nothing more than a human caught him off guard. 

“Y/N, was it?” Geralt asked, cocking a brow as you turned to him. “What is this monster your talking about?” Reality returned to you as you responded, looking back at him momentarily as you made your way to the edge of the camp. 

“We’ve recently had… animal attacks, at least, that’s what I’m saying.” Your tone was hushed, almost whisper to yourself, but you knew the heightened senses of the Witcher could hear. As you got closer to the edge and farther from the citizens, you continued. “He attacks at midnight, no earlier or later. We notice a circle of ash surrounded by the victims remains. We call him the Beast, but he has to be a-”

“A hellhound.” Geralt finished, watching you with careful eyes. You nod in confirmation.

“Not only that, he’s been turning our dogs into barghests, killing them and summoning his lackeys into their corpses.” You spoke this through gritted teeth, your own deer pet becoming susceptible to the attack. The empathetic side of Geralt understood, but his exterior was stoic.

“And you need me to kill it.” He continued, and you looked back at him as you stood at the edge of the forest. 

“We can’t compensate you, our funds go to those who are in need, which renders us broke.” You crossed your arms over your chest, not in defiance but in worry.

“Well, we’re poor-” Jaskier began, before feeling the brute end of Geralt’s elbow. 

“We’ll discuss compensation after the beast is killed. Can’t have a demon roaming on this plane.” Geralt said calmly, watching you carefully as you relaxed, another genuine smile touching your lips. 

“I thank you for your generosity, considering the circumstances.” You nodded to the camp, reminding them of their capture.

“I should say so-” Jaskier began, baffled by Geralt’s choice. Then he remembered, Geralt acted this way when Yennefer had entered the bar. He accepted to be near the beauty. Perhaps this was a similar situation. The connection between you two was apparent, Jaskier’s voice managing to not interrupt the eye contact. 

“I’ll show you where you may stay until Midnight.” You mutter, walking passed the two as heat climbed your face. What you didn’t notice was a slight tug on the Witcher’s lips.

Nightfall came, Jaskier was fast asleep in the bearskin blankets as Geralt wrapped his armor around his body, fitting comfortably as he downed his tawny owl, grimacing for a mere second before making his way out of a guest tent. He looked through the darkness, feeling the breaths of different creatures from a mile away, including dogs that were not breathing like they should. Another breath intervened, that of a human, as well as steps coming towards him. Quicker than lightning itself, you felt steel on your neck, not entering your skin but enough pressure to make you halt. You felt your pulse quicken but that didn’t stop you from smirking.

“And I thought it was customary to take a girl out to dinner before pulling your sword on her.” You said calmly, though your heart rate betrayed you. Geralt side and dropped his weapon, looking up at you carefully.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on a Witcher?” He muttered rhetorically. That’s when you got a good look at his face. His eyes were dark, as if pupil encapsulated their entirety, his skin was like chalk, as if he were nothing more than a ghost. For some reason you felt your entire skin prickle under his gaze. 

“Where I’m from, it’s not very common to meet a Witcher.” You responded, forcing your voice not to waver. As you spoke, a howl rippled through the air, not close but not far. Both your gazes washed over the dark treeline. Geralt let out a quiet grunt.

“It’s time for you to go home.” He said, looking back towards you. Immediately you protested, pulling out your own blade. Any decent hunter, let alone a Witcher, would recognize the silver that would aid in cutting down a monster. 

“No, I’m helping. This is my home, my family. I’ve failed them already I can’t again.” Your brow furrowed. Geralt thought for a moment, looking over you closely. You were able bodied, strong, but all callouses looked new, no more than five years old. The determination was attractive to say the least, and the man felt the desire to never say no to you.

“Stay close.” He said, walking towards the treeline and into the darkness. You didn’t dare challenge his order. His steps were pure silence compared to yours, stalking his prey with a clumsy fool by his side.

“Why did you wander into these woods anyways? There’s no main road.” You nearly whispered so anyone listening couldn’t hear. 

“I could ask you the same.” He responded, deterring the conversation. You gnawed your lip deciding if you should offer your truth to him, and let out a sigh.

“My kingdom was attacked my Nilfgaard, same as the rest of the continent.” You muttered solemnly. “The main reason was my parents believed that humans and elves could live in harmony. While most of the world disagreed, Nilfgaard took action to… rectify the world of their rule.” Your words were quiet to the world, but Geralt heard everyone.

“So then…” Geralt insinuated, looking over to you as you nodded.

“I was, at one point, a princess.” A smile touched my lips, before looking back at the distant camp. “Now, I rule for them.” The witcher watched you closely as you talked, the way your eyes glistened as you reminisce about your past, how your fingers played with a lock of your hair. You were fascinating to him. 

“Explains the sword. You’re braver than most, Y/N.” He complimented, turning his gaze back to the trees. You were sure he could hear your heart pick up at his words, but you did nothing but smile.

“Thank you, Geralt.” you said softly, tightening your grip on your sword so you may calm your heart rate. “Well then, I believe it is your-”

Before you were able to speak, a large creature pounced on you, causing you to scream and the blade to fall from your grip. A burning sensation marked your shoulder as the beast gnawed into it, nearly ripping the skin from your bones. A blood curdling scream passed through your lips, the world white with pain. The gnawing ceased almost instantly, but the pain remained. You felt everything fall from you, unable to move, unable to scream. You could hear a call, but it sounded so far away. 

Your whole body ached, but more specifically your shoulder felt as if it would’ve been better if it was gone. Your eyes twitched open, wincing at the light around you as you slowly sat up. Your shirt was gone, upper body wrapped in clean cloth, a stain of blood running through where the wound was at its worst. You looked around to get your bearings, and saw a white haired man sitting in a chair, asleep. You slowly slid out of the bed, wincing at the throb on your shoulder as you walked over to Geralt, watching as his breath passed through his lips, he seemed so calm, the stoic air around him nothing more than a peaceful aura. You slowly slid onto your knees, studying his face as you pushed a strand a hair from his eyes. This was enough to cause him to stir, but you didn’t move. Neither did he, besides the flickering of his eyes opening, and a calming breath as  he looked over you. 

“You’re awake.” He said plainly though his eyebrows rose in subtle shock. 

“You saved my life.” You returned, gently resting your hand on his. “I have no idea how to repay you.” He looked down at the hand on his, twisting his palm to grab ahold of your fingers and raise them to his lips. They were softer than you expected as they pressed against your knuckle, and your heart raced in response.

“Survive.” He said calmly, setting your hand back down. You watched his gaze closely as you slowly sat up, closing the distance between the two of you. The lips that met your knuckles now kissed your own, his hand traveling to your cheek as you leaned into him. The feeling was euphoric, all to perfect.

That is, until a certain bard stormed through the tent. 

“Geralt, we can’t keep waiting for her, we must leave! I am not comf-...” Jaskier stopped in his tracks, forcing the two of you to separate, despite that being the last thing you wanted. Your forehead rested on his for a moment before you sat back and stood up. 

“Perhaps it is time you were on your way, I’ll ask someone to fetch your mare.” You smiled, slipping on a loose gown for modesty. It was hard with your arm, but with gentle maneuvering you made it. “Thank you, again.” You said calmly, stepping out of the tent. Many people were ecstatic to see you moving, and you requested Roach be returned to the Witcher. The exchange was much too fast, shortening the time between you and Geralt gazing at each other longingly.

“Maybe next time you’ll answer my question?” You asked, running your fingers along Roach’s snout. Geralt’s eyes were warm as he mounted his steed.

“Maybe.” He said calmly, nodding gently to you as he rode off, Jaskier close behind with annoying words carrying around the camp. Suddenly, the pain in your shoulder didn’t hurt much anymore, it was your heart that took the blow. 

You hoped he’d answer your question.

[nautiscarader]

marcapoo 29

Smutember day 29 - Ecstasy, Markapoo, 1.6k, E

(Ao3)

If you liked my story, here’s a Ko-fi link if you’d be so kind ❤️.    

==================================

Hekapoo smiled, hearing the fabric of reality being cut, as she knew exactly who stepped through the portal. The sound was sharp, instantly recognisable, as the scissors that cut gateway were brand new. And, more importantly, she knew that Marco will be back. After all, it's been just five minutes since Star took him.

She moaned when she felt his hands on her waist, and his warm breath on her exposed neck, one that rivalled even the heat of the forge she was standing by. His body pressed gently against her back, and she moved her hips imperceptibly to feel him between her buttocks. She hoped he wouldn't notice her shivering... She turned around and met his cocky smile, so much different from the one of his teenage self she has seen so many years ago.

Their eyes met, and despite the passion and lust connecting the sparks in them, Marco had to ruin the moment, asking the obvious.  

- Sorry, H-poo, where were we before we were interrupted?

Next thing she knew, Hekapoo was flung into the air, just so Marco could carry her in his strong, muscular arms to her bedroom. Their lips met in a long, fiery kiss, while her arms, clutched around his neck disrobed him of his torn shirt, making him properly half-naked.

When Marco broke their kiss, he did it only to lay her on her bed, made of cool magical magma that retained its plasticity when they both jumped on it. Marco took the scissors again and wit a quick snipe cut Hekapoo's dress in half, letting it fall to her sides, exposing her ample breasts, and an appetising triangle of fiery hair that adorned her opening, where droplets of her juices sizzled away under her heat. Hekapoo spread her legs wider, showing him her appetising, thick curves.

- Is this what you want? - she asked, leaning seductively - Just jump me right here, and rut me senselessly? - Well, I would like to start with some foreplay... - Marco spoke, unable to look away from her sex. - Liar, liar, pants on fire.

She snapped her fingers, and indeed, Marco's trousers were set on magical fire, reducing them, as well as his boxers to dust in a split of a second. It was time for Hekapoo's eyes to become fixated at one detail of her lover, one that surely no one could ever miss... She licked her lips, catching herself drooling at the sight of Marco's thick, long cock that seemed to rise a degree up to a full mast, with each second she stared at him.

- Is this what you want?

Marco echoed, but was sharply pulled against her, her arms and legs locking behind Marco's back, as the two finally were able to make love for the first time. 

And she was so glad they have already done it, so that they knew each other's kinks and quirks.

Hekapoo cried when his lips kissed her breasts, and as the pleasure raged through her mind, she remembered.

Clone 245, that was his first. Though he was a man by Earth's standards, he was still a boy... and yet, he was able to pin her to the ground, and just when he was about to blow her flame, he kissed her. And after a long pause, he moved lower, rendering her as defenceless as ever with more of his caresses, peppered across her chest he slowly uncovered. He was gentle and subtle, and when the two joined their bodies, he let out a deep, yet high-pitched, girly moan. He lasted maybe ten minutes, and when he filled her with his spunk, he made the most adorable of faces, just before he collapsed onto her breasts. He loved her more, with his lips and fingers, and just when her body stopped shaking, he blew her away.

Hekapoo remembered that orgasm, though of course, through the hazy, collective minds of her clone. And finally she was able to feel it in person, as Marco worshipped her breasts and body with kisses in the same way, trailing down to her sex.

More memories came: 262, their second time; 275, first blowjob; 296, their first shared orgasm... Each one she only perceived partially, through the aftershock of each of her clones being put out, and each left her with a pang of wanton and need...

And as Hekapoo's memories flooded her, she came up with a devilish idea, just as Marco pressed her legs against her body and was about to ram himself inside her, just like he did with number 445.

- Wait. - she spoke, and her lover obeyed at once - I want to really feel it.

She snapped her fingers and dozen more clones, equally naked and equally eager for him, appeared and swarmed their bed, prompting Hekapoo to scoot to the side of the huge slab.

- Hekapoo? - Marco raised his brow, breathing heavily as swarm of naked women surrounded him - Not that I mind it, but didn't you want to be with me... you know, for real? - Oh, we will be. - she stated, smiling - Just wait a little longer... It will taste better...

She relaxed and moved her hand between her legs, already feeling the pain of his absence, while her clones kissed every inch of his body. Their eyes met, and with another look into her deep, flirtatious gleam, Marco understood what she has planned. And if her imagination was as raunchy as he suspected, he will need a lot more strength than he initially thought.

And so, Marco began his marathon: each of the clones was loved, fucked and rutted, while the fiery mistress watched and occasionally moaned, prolonging and delaying her own orgasm, while Marco and her duplicated writhed in pleasure. She marvelled how Marco's thick cock plunged in and out of every clone, forming a visible bulge in their wombs, how his hands close on their rumps when he took them from behind, or their horns when he face-fucked them. She drooled at the sight of his potent seed oozing out of each of the clones' holes or sizzling away when Marco came on their faces, all twisted in the grimaces of pleasure after he fucked them silly.

Hours went by, and Hekapoo kept sending Marco more of hers, seeing as he was not slowing down in any way. Maybe it was the magic of her realm, maybe it was his own virility... but one by one, each of her clones were claimed as his in one way or another, and left writhing and spent to the side of their spacious bed, crawling on their shaky legs to leave space for another one.

Hekapoo was mashing her pussy furiously, almost setting it on fire, and after hours, days, or maybe weeks, she finally cried his name, prompting him to jump her.

Their lips met once more, and for the first time, Marco hilted himself balls-deep properly inside her, driving her to her climax in just a single, powerful thrusts. But Hekapoo wanted more. With a snap of her finger, all of her clones disappeared and when their minds melted together, she let out a shriek.

In one, infinitesimally small moment, they both felt it. The power of tens, or hundreds of orgasms tore through their bodies all at once, making them expel all the air in their lungs as all of their nerve endings were set on fire. As memories flooded her, Hekapoo felt how hundreds of Marcos rammed themselves into her pussy, ass and mouth, all at the same time, filling her with gallons of his salty, warm cum, while Marco experienced them all as one, as if he was supplying Hekapoo with an unending stream of seed for hours.

Hekapoo writhed and quaked underneath her lover, unable to process a single coherent though, imagining how would she look like if she really had a hundred lovers taking care of her, one after another. She wondered how her red hair would slowly turn white under dozens of facials he bathed her with, and how her belly would swell, filled with litres of hot potent spunk, making her look as if she was pregnant.

Neither of them knew how long have they been climaxing, reliving the events of the past day...or week. Time was already wonky in her dimension, but in his arms, Hekapoo truly felt blissfully ignorant of its passing, until she heard Marco's grunt and she opened her eyes.

- Hekapoo, that was... phenomenal. - You said it, big guy. - she smiled ans kissed him - Now I am truly yours.

She wriggled herself from underneath his large, muscular body, just to perform one last bit of magic. She took her scissors and pressed the metal against the bush of her hair between her legs, instantly setting them on fire. Marco jumped back, but soon realised his lover was not in any danger, and as the flames died down, he saw what the fire left of her appetising triangle.

Though it was written in an alien language, he recognised the symbols. The same ones on his scissors.

- Now my body belongs to you, Marco.

Marco leaned for another kiss, but then a short, searing pain in his chest made him jump again.

- Hekapoo!

Marco looked at his burning hair, knowing what she has done to him when he wasn't looking.

- And yours is mine.

The two shared a soothing kiss, that cooled down their heated bodies, slowly carrying Hekapoo to a well-deserved sleep.

At least until Marco Diaz spoke

- Uh, I kinda lost count, so... shall we call it round two?

Hekapoo swallowed loudly and nodded.  

[instant-typo]

Title: Mark me down as yours 

Pairing: Sidney Crosby / Evgeni Malkin  

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, some light cursing, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Humor, Romance, Omega!Sidney, Alpha!Geno, Getting Together, Alternate Universe - College/University

Word Count: 2326

Summary:

Geno's got it bad.

There’s just something about the sight of Sidney holding something that belongs to Geno that makes his hindbrain salivate and activate all the embarrassing Alpha instincts buried deeply in his chest, somewhere below that repressed memory of his grandfather walking in on him at 16 and his highschool talent show performance during which he tripped over the cables on the floor and tore his jeans. So there’s that.

There should be a law against this, Geno thinks and drapes himself a bit more dramatically over his table top. Nobody should be forced to sit through a two-hour lecture on the history of data ascertainment and theories. What does he care about relativism and rationalism and theories that have been disproven already.

He’s not forced to attend these lectures, Seryosha likes to remind him.

Seryosha is not forced to stick his nose into Geno’s business, Geno likes to remind him.

He’s got his reasons. He’s got plans.

A plan.

Or, well, some parts of a plan. A plan-ish idea?

Attending a boring lecture and staring at the back of someone’s head who sits three rows to the front and seven seats to the right - he’s counted, several times - counts as somewhat of a plan.

Sidney, ever dutiful Sidney, is taking notes in that neat little handwriting of his, with prettily crossed ts and curled as, and the only reason Geno hasn’t left the lecture yet to return at the end and try and talk to Sidney then instead of waste his good time in the stuffy hall with hundreds of other suffering souls is because Sidney is writing with The Pen. The pen Geno has graciously lent him at the beginning of the two-hour hell when the sweet Omega had grown so adorably distressed because he had apparently forgotten his own pen and oh no Sidney how will you be able to take notes here better take one of mine yes really I’m sure here you go.

Seryosha had mocked him under his breath because apparently, Geno scrambling over three rows of crowded desks and almost falling over his own backpack to casually hold out the only single pen Geno had ever owned in his entire university life had not been a real smooth move.

Dick.

As if he knew.

As if he had any idea.

If he’d seen the smile on Sidney’s face or the soft blush on his round cheeks or had heard the stuttered thanks in that cute flustered voice, he would have understood!

There will be teasing he’ll have to endure later, but it is well worth it.

Sidney is somewhat of a legend on campus and one of the first things Geno learned about when he transferred some months ago. Captain of the varsity team, valedictorian of their year, volunteer at the local shelter, regular winner of dressing like a robber award in the unofficial college gossip newspaper.

As if dressing in unfitting, bland clothes will somehow hide all of… that.

They’ve exchanged words, once or twice. Or rather, sometimes Sidney talks at him, about a shared class or some team, and Geno will forget all his English and stare, probably like a bug-eyed creep, until Sidney wanders away again.

So he’s got that going for him…

Sasha had shown him a summary of thirst posts about Sidney’s… assets with so much manic glee once after tickling the secret of Geno’s little crush out of him and Geno had seen himself forced to delete Sasha’s final’s essay from his laptop two hours before the deadline.

(He’d given him the copied version he’d saved on a USB stick ten minutes before it was due because he’s not an asshole. That big of one, anyway. Also, because that Nicklas guy Sasha is friends with scares him. Not that Sasha didn’t totally have it coming, though.)

Anyway.

The sight of Sidney writing with his pen, his light blue pen with the broken off clip and scratched off font makes the Alpha in him purr and stretch contentedly. There’s just something about the sight of Sidney holding something that belongs to Geno that makes his hindbrain salivate and activate all the embarrassing Alpha instincts buried deeply in his chest, somewhere below that repressed memory of his grandfather walking in on him at 16 and his highschool talent show performance during which he tripped over the cables on the floor and tore his jeans. So there’s that.

It leaves him giddy and possessive, almost hot and as much as it soothes his inner Alpha it also wakes the hunger for more, to shower Sidney in things that belong to Geno, smother him in gifts and care and his scent and-…

A sharp elbow in his side tears him out of his little daydream.

The air around him is beginning to cloud with pheromones. His own, he notices sheepishly, other Alphas throwing him glares, Omegas close by shifting distractedly. Even Seryosha, who’s so used to Geno’s smell, is scrunching up his nose and turning his head away, jaw tense.

Embarrassing, to lose control of his scent like that, like a newly presented Alpha.

Geno’s eyes are drawn back to Sidney again, compact, cute Sidney whose ears are red and whose shoulders are drawn up and huh that’s interesting. He feels smug that his scent prods such an adorable reaction out of Sidney.

Sidney… ah, Sidney.

A look at the clock. Half an hour left.

Geno returns to his dramatic position on the desk and stares at the fluffy black strands of hair that curl at the nape of Sidney’s neck. They bop up and down with the jerky movement of his arm as he writes. He wonders what Sid would taste like, there, under his curls, where the skin is tanned and smooth looking and-...

Geno has to actively keep himself from thinking about that neck or jerky hand movements to prevent a repeat of the pheromone accident. Though it would be worth it to see if those ears would light up that enticing shade of red again.

Maybe later. Maybe once they are alone.

Nothing of the lecture has stuck in his brain by the time the bell finally rings and other students around him gather their things. He knows already that he’ll be cursing himself later during finals when he’s barricaded himself into one of the library’s corners, stewing over most likely Seryosha’ notes and understanding absolutely nothing. Oh well…

He casts another longing look at Sidney’s (very beautiful) head.

Worth it.

Geno stuffs his pullover and unopened notebook back into his backpack and stands, stretching his back just so that the slightest sliver of skin is visible over the waistband of his jeans just in case Sidney is looking. The Alpha inside of his chest purrs loudly when he does indeed meet skittish brown eyes that trail up over his chest and flee from his own when their owner finds himself being watched.

Alright. Geno’s practiced this in front of the mirror. He throws Sidney charming smile #4 and winks.

Sidney isn’t watching him anymore.

Instead, Sidney, sweet Sidney, is talking to Kris. Alpha, member of the photography club.

Genos’s mood sours as quickly as it had lifted.

And why would Sidney be talking to Kris when he could be looking at him, talking to him? Geno huffs out a breath of air and pulls his backpack up higher on his shoulder, leisurely walking down the steps of the lecture hall towards the pair. After all, Sidney still has his pen, right? He needs that pen. Now. Preferably before Kris can put that hand on Sidney’s shoulder!

(Also he really needs that pen because he only owns the one and he’s not gonna get laughed at by Sasha again when he inevitably steals one from the front office desk.)

Geno’s steps pick up and before he knows it, he’s rounded the last desk and casually joins the bubble of the two men. Well, it’s more Sidney’s bubble he’s joining.

“Hi!” There’s an awkward halting in the conversation and Geno’s smile grows wider and sharper with every second Kris’ hand keeps dangling in the air like a limp balloon between Sidney and him. Sweet triumph sings in Geno’s chest when Kris drops it and nods uncertainly, maybe to Sidney, maybe to Geno’s not so subtle please back off this is mine thank you. He prefers to think it’s the latter.

“…right. Right, uh… Your pen?” Besides him Geno can feel Sidney shift and when he chances a look down his face is flushed and his eyes are fluttering through the room like a scared little bird. Geno wants to wrap him up in several blankets and handfeed him Russian sweets while petting his head and telling him about how absolutely adorable he is!

Then Sidney looks up and their eyes meet and Geno is lost, can feel himself slipping and falling further and does nothing to prevent it. Sidney’s eyes are endless, cautious and so expressive at the same time, the soft brown brilliantly deep and drawing him in. Geno wants to make himself a nest in their depth and slowly unravel Sidney from the inside, wants to curl himself up in and around the Omega and be at peace there.

“Geno?”

Yes! That’s his name! His name on Sidney’s lips! His!

“Geno!”

He wonders if Sidney knows about Geno’s desire to show him what a perfect mate he’d be for him. How well Geno could take care of Sidney and his needs! He wonders if Sidney will allow him to prove it to him, if Geno were to ask him right now to please, please go out with me, let me buy you gifts and fall asleep with you, please let me court you, please. I have a grandma in Russia who sends me the good chocolate, I can provide for you!

“Earth to Geno?”

Geno startles, tries to catch himself smoothly against the edge of the nearest table and lands his hand smack dab in a puddle of… something. He grimaces and wipes it on his jeans. He’d… rather not now what that is. Ignorance is bliss, or whatever.

“Sorry, I’m…” say something that will impress him. “Very caught in, uh, Molyneux problem theory. Very interesting, uh, how he, uh. How he say that!” And that is precisely the reason he doesn’t talk around Sidney.

Sidney throws him a doubtful look over his backpack, though the corner of his lip twitches faintly, so Geno is cautious to count it as a victory.

“Really? I thought that was extremely boring, to be honest.”

“Oh God, yes, thank you. So boring? He not have any hobbies? Nobody love him, tell, ‘oh maybe go play outside, this not real problem’. If that his only problem, I’m like see him take SATs!”

Sidney’s hand is not quick enough to cover his mouth and the laughter that bursts out of him is so adorably strange yet flattering that all Geno can do is stand there and grin, like a stupid idiot probably. Had he counted the smile as a victory before, then he’s now high on triumph sticking his hands in his pockets to keep himself from doing something stupid, like hugging Sidney to his chest and not letting him go again.

Geno’s heart thumps heavily in his chest.

Now would be a good moment, he’s already talking to Sidney, he could just ask for one dinner.

And he’s definitely going to do it.

Once they are outside.

Totally.

They wander out of the classroom together, Sidney’s backpack bumping into his side with every step.

Yep, he’ll do it now.

“So, thanks again for the pen,” Sidney says, tugging on the straps hanging over his shoulders.

“Yep, sure, no problem.”

Sidney hesitates, then nods and takes a step back and Geno is an idiot. A huge, stupid, idiot. Maybe he could share some of his problems with Molyneux, because he has a lot of them!

“Okay, good. Well then, uh, see you next week?” Who’s he kidding, not even Molyneux would want his problems.

Sidney nods again, steps back, hesitates, then turns and sets off into the direction of the cafeteria.

And yeah, hate to watch you go, love to see you leave, or whatever, English, but man, he blew it. Totally combusted it.

Geno rolls his head back towards the heavens and groans his frustration at the century old gums stuck to the ugly white ceiling places when Sidney stops abruptly, then turns on his heel and marches up to Geno with an expression on his face that has Geno fearing for his bodily safety, for a short little second. He’s never going to admit that to Sasha.

“Actually, no.”

“No?”

“No! I’m not gonna see you next week. Well, no, uh, I guess I am. Unless you’re not coming? Oh man, what I’m trying to say is, I’m free this evening. And tomorrow. Wednesday is bad, because I have training then and Thursday is club meeting, but Friday would be good, unless you don’t want to watch the Habs game, then I’m busy because I really want to watch Carey Price and-...”

“Sidney-...”

“I want to go out with you. On a date!” Sidney stares up at him as if daring him to say no. His cheeks are an adorable pink, his lower lip an obscene red from his obsessive chewing and Geno is powerless against the slow smile spreading on his own.

“Tonight is good,” Geno says softly, catching Sidney’s fluttering hand in between both of his and giving him a slow, hopeful smile.

“Yeah? That’s… that’s good.”

They stand there, grinning at each other like lunatics, hands clasped between them. After a second they take a step back, probably because Sidney’s face looks like it’ll burst into flames any second now, dropping their hands to their sides. He can probably only stand so much soap opera behaviour.

(Sidney might have to get used to that. Geno has so many ideas stored in his head, he and his Alpha instincts have been holding back so badly, and he’s probably going to barf all of his gushy little feelings over Sidney’s weird cargo shorts.)

For now, Geno tugs him forward, towards the cafeteria, their pinkies brushing on every other step.

“I have grandma, in Russia. She send me very good chocolate!”

“Oh? Tell me more!”

[pesewla]

For the writing request, maybe a short fic/headcanons for tykillen having a secret relationship?

“Sleep well, Allen!” Lenalee called as Allen turned the doorknob to his room. He aimed a small smile at her and waved, secretly glad at the chance for quiet after such an exhausting day.

“You too, Lenalee,” he said. He pulled open the heavy door and disappeared into his room. It’d been refurbished the day before, so as he flicked on the lights he still was caught off guard - the wider, fluffier bed, large desk complete with several quills and a tank of ink, and gleaming white bathroom were all several times more exquisite than what he was used to.

He’d trained more rigorously today than he had for weeks, and his limbs were beginning to pulse and ache. Allen ran a hair through his white hair and grimaced at how his hand came back streaked with grime. Shower, he thought instantly, before he noticed the calculating pair of gold eyes staring at him from the shadows. Allen’s chest tightened infinitesimally.

“Tyki,” he murmured, wondering how thin the walls were. The man was seated crisscrossed on his bed, his long black hair let out of its pin and draped over his shoulders. He looked entirely too comfortable, at least to Allen. “I told you not to visit me at the Order anymore.”

The Noah’s face lit up instantly, as if he were pleased to just be acknowledged. “And when would you have me visit, then?” he asked smoothly, gaze aimed hungrily at Allen.

Allen scowled. “Never!” he exclaimed, voice rising in pitch. “Or, at the least, just on missions. Not in my room. I’m an exorcist.”

Tyki smiled, and Allen bit his lip to stop any unwanted reaction. “Oh, but it’s that much more fun to infiltrate the Order. I just have to walk through a few walls. Who knew it was so easy?” Tyki practically purred, and Allen wanted to smack the look of self-satisfaction off of his face. He noticed for the first time that Tyki’s coat was hanging on the coat hanger by the door; bastard had made himself at home.

“You’ll keep saying that, until you’re caught,” Allen mumbled. He shrugged off his own heavy jacket and rolled his shoulders, feeling a wave of exhaustion hit him like a freight train. “I know you’ve been here a few times, but for all I know, they bugged my clothing today.”

Tyki gripped his knees, leaning forward. His eyes never seemed to leave Allen’s face, taking in his movements like he was watching a performance. “And yet you claim to trust the Order so deeply,” he joked.

“Why are you here again?” Allen asked impatiently.

“I haven’t been getting much action lately. I’m bored. Plus, I just wanted to see a pretty face.”

Allen rolled his eyes. “You haven’t been getting much action because you killed all the exorcists,” he accused.

Tyki shrugged, leaning back a little and looking at Allen narrowly. “On orders. At least I don’t torture children.”

Allen winced. “That’s not funny,” he said.

“I won’t have many more chances to get caught here,” Tyki lamented, his mouth pressing together into a hard line. “That’s why I’m here, anyway. I want to warn you.”

Allen froze mid-stretch. From outside, a voice beckoned, “Walker-sama! Do you need any more towels or shampoo for your new room?”

“N-no!” Allen yelled back, voice rising in pitch – if they come in and see Tyki, we’re both dead – but he heard the maid’s footsteps recede quickly. He expelled a breath. “Warn me?” he prompted Tyki.

“The Earl is coming to dislodge you from the Order, any day now. Most likely Sunday or Monday. Prepare yourself.”

Allen walked forward and then promptly faceplanted into his new, fluffy bed, right next to where Tyki sat. His heart was pounding in his chest and he detested how much fear he really felt. He especially hated he had been struck with such deep, pervasive terror by simply hearing the words “the Earl”. Allen was pathetic.

“Why…? Why is he coming? He can’t make me leave…” Allen’s voice, muffled by the blanket, sounded too much like a disillusioned child’s. Maybe he was just a disillusioned child, after all.

Tyki placed a hand on the small of Allen’s back, and Allen shivered, before relaxing and accepting the touch. “He wants you. He wants the Fourteenth.”

The younger boy thought his heart might stop in his chest; it took a moment before his voice came back to him. If he weren’t already lying down, he might feel faint. “He knows? You know?” Allen said, voice very small. Tyki didn’t answer, but Allen knew the answer, and his heart sank again.

Allen felt another hand go around his shoulders, and with a deft movement he was pulled up into a rough sitting position, then into Tyki’s lap. Almost against his will, Allen found his face buried in Tyki’s hard chest. He frowned, face still hidden. “Don’t treat me like a doll,” he scowled.

“Don’t be a doll, then,” Tyki said, a hard edge to his voice. Allen started at how Tyki could shift from soft and seductive to hard and murderous in less than a second. He felt like he could get whiplash. “You will lose. To the Earl, and to the Fourteenth. I came to tell you to get your act together, boy.”

“Why?” Allen asked again, beginning to pull away from Tyki. Tyki kept him held fast in his spot, pulling Allen even more closely to his chest. Allen squirmed, even toyed with the idea of activating his Innocence, then decided against it. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you try to help me? You serve the Earl, yet…”

“I serve the Earl, but I also serve my own interests,” Tyki interrupted him, and began to stroke Allen’s dirty hair. “These are my interests.”

He waved the air above Allen, a little sarcastically. Allen thought he heard a knock on the door and tensed; then the moment passed and still no one entered. Thank God. Tyki stared down at him, eyes a touch cold. Given that Allen was totally immobilized in his lap and pressed against him, his mind screamed danger, even as his body melted against Tyki’s. “You’re just like me, boy. Just remember this – when it comes time to fight the Fourteenth, don’t fight fire with fire. You’re too soft and gentle, so you’ll always lose. You need to hang onto what makes you human.”

Allen was quiet, and Tyki seemed content to allow all movement in the room to stop, save for his slow combing of Allen’s hair. Allen carefully filed Tyki’s words away, somewhere in the cabinet of his mind labeled “Unexpectedly good advice”.

Still, the coldness blooming in Allen’s chest was starting to overtake the heat offered by Tyki’s body. Then Tyki spoke again, and the silence shattered. “In any case, I’ll be there to make sure you live up to my expectations. And where are you bleeding?”

“Hmm?” Allen asked, having gotten a little swallowed in Tyki’s musky perfume. I’ll be there, he says, Allen mused. “I’m tired. I’m -”

“I got that part,” Tyki murmured, and his slight laugh shook Allen’s whole body as he rested against Tyki’s torso. “I asked where you were bleeding. I can smell the blood.”

Allen felt Tyki’s warm palm move up the length of his arm until it landed on his bicep. Tyki’s long fingers felt around gingerly, and Allen made a noise of pain in spite of himself. “Ah, this is a nasty cut,” Tyki breathed. “Under your skin. Idiots at the Order can’t even treat their exorcists’ wounds?”

Allen made a face. “When I was training, I had an accident… And a group of finders came back badly injured this morning. I didn’t want to add to the clinic’s troubles,” he admitted.

“Ridiculous,” Tyki hissed, a little too sharply. Allen could swear that his gold eyes dilated like an animal’s, and the feeling of danger returned. Tyki’s murderous intent was as transient as it was intense. Then Tyki’s voice returned to the quality and consistency of burnt honey. “I’ll have to treat it for you, then.”

“You don’t have to,” Allen whispered, but he was powerless to resist as Tyki effortlessly lifted him up and carried him to the bright new table in his room, with a little plaque that read first aid. Tyki gently placed him down on a chair and then stood directly behind him so that his lanky arms enveloped Allen’s body as he worked. Allen felt his sleeve get rolled up and he winced as the first round of disinfectant was spread across the wound.

“No one else can help you,” Tyki laughed. Allen thought that maybe he wasn’t just talking about the first aid. A wave of sleepiness swept over Allen, and his consciousness wavered. “But I will… Hey, boy, don’t fall asleep just yet, you still have to shower. Of course, I can also help you with that part.”

“Tyki,” Allen mumbled. A shudder ran through him as Tyki spread salve over his bicep. “I’m scared. Of losing to him.”

“That’s not like you at all,” Tyki said, placing his chin on Allen’s shoulder lazily. He pressed a light kiss to Allen’s jawline, and Allen closed his eyes once again, feeling safe for the first time in a while. “Didn’t I tell you I’d help you? I’ve got Joyd under control, after all. Though you do seem to have a knack for incensing Noah memories.”

Tyki kissed him again, this time on his neck, so Allen finally turned to face him and kissed him softly and slowly on the mouth. Tyki made a disgruntled noise, but still didn’t break away for several moments, just tasting Allen. “…Don’t be so excited, boy. Let me finish your bandaging.”

A moment passed, and Allen felt Tyki tie a bandage over the cut and pat it lightly. Allen hummed, eyes still shut, Tyki still draped over him possessively. For just that moment, the horrible prospect of being caught kissing a Noah was lost to him. “…So, boy, am I going to have to bathe you after all? Because I won’t let you fall asleep so filthy.”

Allen paled, and broke away from Tyki’s embrace roughly. “Don’t be stupid, Tyki!” he shouted, and then ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Tyki snickered and settled back onto the bed again, lighting a cigarette as the faucet began to run.

[leftabit-leftabit]

Two faced friends - Prinxiety  - one shot

Romeo and Juliet, star-crossed lovers and blah, blah, blah. That’s the play they were getting ready for. Auditions, set pieces, props, the full whack! They were due to perform in a few weeks, and Virgil was creating the set for it all, while Roman auditioned for the part of the beloved Romeo.

Virgil had managed to bag the job of ‘Art Director’ which pretty much just included painting numerous set pieces such as castle layouts, the drop down background, and even fake trees. Yes, fake trees. As a result of this, Virgil’s once white overalls were now a literal rainbow of green, brown, grey and even yellow. He didn’t mind it though. Virgil had always been quite good at art, and found that it calmed his nerves, especially when he was anxious… which was all of the time.

The twenty year old let out a satisfied sigh, dipping the paintbrush into the pot of brown paint, wiping off the excess on the side of the tin. Virgil smiled, gently sweeping the brush over the paper-mache tree trunk, swirling and spreading it neatly across the structure to create ‘tree texture’ as Mr. Sanders, the leader of the drama club, would put it. Virgil wrinkled his nose, wiping it with the back of his free hand, smearing brown mixed with green paint across his sniffer and cheek.

Virgil didn’t mind the hard work. After all, he was doing this for Roman, his boyfriend of two years. Roman was the only reason Virgil had joined the College Drama Club in the first place, since it was his dream to become an actor, and Virgil just wanted to show how much he supported his boyfriend. That, and he also wanted to keep a close eye on Roman and the people he called his friends.

Grant, according to Roman, was his best and most loyal friend. Virgil thought differently. Especially whenever Roman auditioned for a play, Grant always seemed to be up his ass with praise and fake adoration. Virgil hated him with a passion. Grant with his dirty blonde hair, that was always swept back into a pathetic looking man-bun due to the length of it. The guy couldn’t even act! Virgil was surprised that Roman couldn’t see right through Grant like he could.

Virgil hadn’t noticed the fact that his grip had tightened around the paintbrush. He hadn’t noticed the fact that he was grinding his teeth, and clenching his jaw. He didn’t notice his magenta locks falling into his eyes, too blinded by the raging thoughts of Grant using Roman as a means to an end -

“I GOT THE PART!”

The young males head flicked to the side, negative thoughts completely dispersing as quickly as they had developed. A smile quirked at the corners of Virgil’s lips upon hearing the familiar smooth, yet vibrant voice he knew so well. He could hear Roman before he could see him. Virgil watched as the backstage door breezed open.

Roman sauntered through the doors, dressed in full ‘Romeo’ costume; a dark beige tunic, that clung tightly to his waist and rested just above his knees, a pair of moss green tights, which clearly well defined his thigh and calf muscles, and shoes that looked more like socks.

Virgil set his paintbrush to the side, his footsteps echoing against the hardwood as he made his way over to his boyfriend with a smirk on his lips.

“I knew you would!” The smaller male chuckled, eyes scanning over his boyfriend’s outfit, before letting out a low whistle. “You look good in tights,” he teased, watching as Roman wrinkled his nose with embarrassment.

“I’ll have you know, that tights aren’t as comfy as they seem.” The older of the two grimaced, trying to adjust himself accordingly.

Virgil took a step closer, getting on his tiptoes to press a kiss on the end of Roman’s nose. “Romeo, wherefore art thou?” He cooed, catching Roman playfully roll his eyes. “What scene did you audition with?” Virgil asked curiously, taking in the view of Roman’s flushed and freckled cheeks.

“You want me to recite it to you?” The taller male rose a mischievous brow, his thumb gently grazing over Virgil’s paint covered cheek.

Virgil bit at his lip as the heat rose in his face, tingeing his ears a light pink. He nodded dumbly, staring up and into Roman’s sweet, pea green eyes.

Roman chuckled quietly. “Well alright.” He smiled, leaning down a little to peck a kiss on Virgil’s forehead, who blushed at the action. “Did my heart love till now?” Roman began slowly. “Forswear it sight!” Roman cupped one of Virgil’s cheeks with his hand, while the other rested on his waist, pulling him closer. “For I never saw true beauty till this night.”

Virgil’s speckled green and golden eyes sparkled with awe. “Roman, that was -”

“Aren’t the little love birds adorable, Angel?” Grant’s gravelly voice interrupted, echoing throughout the backstage arena. His deep, pale blue eyes flickered with amusement.

Angel, Grant’s girlfriend, had a smirk pulling at the corners of her rose painted lips. “Oh, they are just precious!” She batted her false lashes, too long to even be considered natural, and let out a forced giggle.

Roman beamed at this, smile wider than humanly possible. “Grant! Angel! Where’s everyone else?” Roman chuckled as his hands slipped from Virgil’s waist and face, leaving the younger male a little dejected.

Grant and Angel made their way over, arm in arm. It was clear to everyone that they were a thing. Though, Virgil knew that Grant hadn’t been all that faithful… Angel was nothing but his little side piece. Not that Virgil cared. Why would he? They were both as stupid and vindictive as each other.

“They’re in auditions,” Grant explained with a smirk. “I have mine in about an hour.” He added quickly, eyeing up Roman’s outfit a little longer than he needed to, causing the corners of Virgil’s lips to twitch.

Virgil took a step so that he was by Roman’s side, in a sort of protective stance, which went unnoticed by his boyfriend.

“A little birdie told me that you got the part of Romeo.”

“Yes! Mr. Sanders said I smashed the audition! Isn’t that amazing!” Roman let out with an exuberant giggle that made Virgil’s heart flutter. Virgil had always loved Roman’s passion for his love of theatre. The fact was, Roman didn’t even know how amazing he was at it. He always felt the need to be reassured, and Virgil just wished Roman could see what he saw.  

“Fantastic!” Grant unhooked his arm from Angel’s, and rushed to give Roman a overly enthusiastic hug. Virgil had to refrain from rolling his eyes so Roman didn’t see his lack of excitement he had for Grant’s presence. “I wonder if you could put in a good word for me with Mr. Sanders?” Grant smiled as Roman hugged back.

“Of course! That’s what friends do, right?!” Roman pulled away from the hug with a large, genuine smile on his lips. He turned his attention back to his boyfriend, trying to encourage a smile from Virgil.

Virgil noticed Roman’s stare and quickly slapped on a grin. He shoved his hands into his overall pockets, wishing he had his hoodie on so he could hide his face in his hood.

Grant’s gaze shifted from Roman to Virgil. “Ah, Vincent! It’s so good to see you again.”

Virgil’s hazel eyes narrowed into thin slits. “You know that’s not my name, jerk-bag.” He muttered bluntly, letting his cheery facade slip, giving a side glance at Roman, who gasped in response.

“Virgil!” The older males face flushed pink, shocked at the outburst of his usually sweet and kind boyfriend. Yes, Roman agreed that Virgil could be sarcastic at times, but the way he had said it with such disdain made Roman wonder. Roman knew that Grant wasn’t very good with names, sometimes even calling him Romoron by an accident. Roman knew that Grant hadn’t meant it. “Apologize, please…”

Virgil’s eyes flickered to Roman, and he scoffed. “What?” Virgil could see Angel grinning smugly from the corner of his peripheral vision. How he loathed them. Roman actually wanted him to apologize to Grant… the person that only used Roman to get better parts in plays? “I am not apologizing to that douche bag! I don’t even know why you’re friends with him and the others in the first place!” Virgil felt his hands clench into fists, heart pounding against his chest mimicking a drum beat from one of MCR songs.

Hurt flashed across Roman’s features; his eyes becoming less vibrant and almost hollow, lips less full, brows creased. “Virgil…”

Grant offered a glance at Angel, who seemed to be enjoying this outburst a little too much so he gave her a nudge on the arm.

“No, Roman.” Virgil couldn’t stand it anymore. He hated the fact that Roman couldn’t see what they were doing, what they had been doing. “Are you completely blind?! They use you. Talk about you behind your back. They make fun of you!” Virgil screeched, voice cracking slightly.

The blonde man stepped forward, blocking Roman’s view of Virgil. “Listen, you creepy, raccoon wannabe. You need to take a much needed chill pill, don’tcha think?” Grant’s voice was dangerously low. Virgil knew it was because he didn’t want Roman to hear what he was saying.

“Both of you… Just stop.” Roman mumbled softly, face flushed and desperate. Roman’s eyes filled with tears that he was trying to hold back.

Grant whipped around to face his ‘best friend,’ lips overly pouted with sympathy. “Oh, now look what you’ve done, Vincent!”

The hairs on the back of Virgil’s neck pricked up like tiny soldiers. Virgil wanted nothing more than to slam his fist into Grant’s face. “Look what I’ve done?” He rose his brows which were hidden by his mass of purple bangs.

“Come on, Roro.” Grant wrapped an arm around Roman’s shoulder, looking up slightly at his friend. “Let’s get you calmed down, shall we?” The taller of the two sniffled in response, leaving the way they had came in, Angel following close behind them.

Virgil watched on as Roman left. He watched as Grant peeked over his shoulder, smirking smugly. He watched as Roman hugged Grant, resting his head comfortably on the others shoulder. He watched until the doors closed, leaving him alone in the middle of the empty arena.

---- 

Once Roman had calmed, thanks to the help of his friends, he made his way back into the audition room to put in a good word for Grant and the others. Roman had left his friends outside of the door, smiling at them as he entered.

Roman bit his lip, doubling back on himself about to open the door as he noticed that Mr. Sanders was no longer in the room… when he heard voices.

“What an idiot.” Grant mumbled when he thought Roman was gone.

Roman’s brows creased softly as he listened, resting gently against the heavy door. Who was Grant talking about?

“I don’t know how anyone can be that stupid!” Another one, Roman recognized the voice as Michael, snorted. “How can he be an amazing actor, and not know when someone is acting!” He added with a click of his tongue.

Confusion washed over Roman, still not fully understanding. Who on earth were they talking about?! Roman listened more intently, hoping for some kind of hint on the subject of whom this was about.

“Did you see what he was wearing?” Angel piped up, not bothering to hold in her cruel and high pitched giggle. “It didn’t even fit him properly! He looked like a fat sack of potatoes.” She added with a snort. “I don’t know what his boyfriend sees in him other than he can act.”

Roman found himself subconsciously looking down at the costume he was wearing, covering his stomach with one of his hands. Sure, it was a little tight… And maybe he wasn’t the best looking… Though, Virgil would tell him otherwise. Everything they were saying seemed to niggle at his insecurities. Roman gulped back tears despite the pure burning of his throat. Were… were they talking about him?

“Romoron is an absolute dimwitted, dunderheaded fool!” Roman heard Grant let out a loud, pompous chortle. “You’d think after all of this time he would notice that we were just using him.”

Romans gut tightened into knots, his eyes becoming blurry with unshead tears. This was how they really felt about him? What they thought of him? For a year and a half, this was what they had thought?! A tiny whimper pushed past Romans lips and he quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut, finally letting the tears spew over and down his cheeks.

He’d had enough of their taunting, their mocking words. Virgil had been right all along. Why hadn’t he listened to the only person that seemed to care?!

Roman sniffled, pushing the door open with shaky hands, storming past his so called friends. He didn’t care that they were calling after him. He didn’t care that he could hear them laughing as he ran away crying. He didn’t care. He really didn’t…

----

Virgil, now out of his dirty overalls and in his hoodie, made his way into the bathroom. He felt awful for what had happened. Roman probably never wanted to see him again, ever. But Virgil couldn’t just stand by and watch Roman get used by some actor wannabes.

The young male made his way over to one of the sinks, sighing as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Plum coloured bangs obscuring his eyes, as dry paint was still slightly smeared across his face. Virgil gave a light roll of his eyes before grabbing a few paper towels and wetting them a little. He was in the middle of wiping his face when heard sniffling and muffled sobs coming from one of the toilet stalls.

A frown made itself present across Virgil’s features. “Hello?” He asked softly as he shuffled his way over to the stall that was letting out whimpering noises. “Is… Is everything alright in there?” Virgil bit at his lip when the sobbing suddenly stopped. He waited for a second, unsure.

“V-Virgil?”

Virgil’s heart sank to his stomach, and his stomach twisted vigorously. He felt sick. Virgil heard a few more sniffles before he spoke up. “Roman? C-can you come out of there for a minute?” The younger male waited until he heard the small click of the lock.  

Red rimmed, swollen and watery, pea green eyes peeked from behind the bathroom stall door. Roman stood there, flushed and blotchy faced from crying, mousy brown hair messed up to an inch of its life, tunic frayed and splitting a the seams a little.

“Oh, Roman…”

“I-I…” Roman sniffled, tears threatening to spill from his eyes once again. “Yuh-you were ruh-right…”

The younger of the two felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. He rushed over and wrapped his arms around Roman, burying his face in his chest. “I’m sorry, Ro! I should have done something sooner.” Virgil felt Roman’s hands rest around his waist, pulling him closer.

Roman choked back a whimper and shook his head. “Nuh-no… I-it’s my f-fault…” His arms tightened around his boyfriend’s tiny waist. “I shu-should have listen to you…”

Virgil could feel Roman’s breathing stutter as he sobbed. He could feel his heart thud faster against his temple. Virgil could only snuggle closer, holding him tighter, in the hopes it may comfort the twenty one year old.

“The-they use me and… and I…”

“Hey,” Virgil began rubbing tiny circles at the bottom of Roman’s back. “None of this is your fault, okay? None of it.” He glanced up at his boyfriend with soft, and sincere eyes. “You didn’t ask to be used, Roman.”

“I feel so st-stupid, Virgil…” Roman snivelled, quickly wiping at his eyes. “They said I l-looked like a f-fat sack of potatoes!” Pulling away from Virgil, Roman buried his face in his trembling hands.

“Babe,” Virgil cooed, brushing his fingers against the others hands, gently removing them from his face. “Look at me.” Roman’s nose crinkled, whining out a no with a shake of his head. “Look at me,” Virgil urged calmly, resting his palm on the older males cheek. “You are my prince perfect, you know that.”

Roman’s green eyes glistened with tears, shining like little gems, salty trails dripping from them as he blinked. The younger of the two grazed his thumb over his cheek, wiping them away.

“You are the most amazing thing in my life, Ro. You are my life, and you’re so perfect. If those assholes can’t see that, then they must be freaking blind!” Virgil pointed an aggressive finger toward the door. “You can act. You sing like an angel, and not to mention that you look super sexy wearing those tights!”

Roman couldn’t help the choked up chuckle that pushed past his quivering lips. “I love you, Virgy.”

Virgil hummed in endearment, stepping on his tiptoes and pecking a kiss on Roman’s cheek. “I love you more!”