#just had to um. suspend my disbelief for a bit

[propertyofkylar]

crawls in covered in blood

Harper 19 👀?

doctor's orders - m!harper x gn!pc

tags/warnings: 19. kidnapping, drugging, dubcon, medical kink, reader's genitalia left ambiguous

word count: 1810

note: wow....i hope THE harperfucker enjoys this...

“Mhm. And how has your mood been lately?”

You shifted slightly in your chair, sitting on your hands. Dr. Harper was a strange one. He was something of a therapist and psychiatrist. But he also treated injuries, and you had heard he’d even done gynecology work, so you still weren’t entirely sure what kind of doctor he even was. But the pills he prescribed worked well, so you came every Friday to see him. 

“Um,” you hedged a bit, but Harper’s encouraging smile urged you forward. “I mean, it’s not great. You know? Things kinda…suck.”

Harper nodded as you spoke, looking the perfect image of a doctor as he jotted down something on his notepad.  

“So I guess I’ve just been kind of…down. If that makes sense?” You offered. 

Harper nodded again. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Huh?” You hadn’t expected that. Harper offered you a warm smile. 

“I’m experimenting with more herbal remedies,” he explained. “I’ve purchased some tea leaves that claim to help with feelings of depression and anxiety. I thought you might like to try some. I know you like the pills, so this would just be a supplement of sorts. It may help lift your mood, even just a bit.”

Something made you feel a little uneasy. But your doctor had never steered you wrong before. And it was just a cup of herbal tea. What’s the worst thing that could happen? It would taste bad?

So, you nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

Harper gave you another smile and stood up, busying himself with an electric kettle in the corner of the room. You watched idly from your seat. Maybe a warm cup of tea would be exactly what you needed. 

Several minutes later, Harper handed you a steaming mug. An herbal smell of chamomile, lavender, and something else you didn’t recognize wafted towards you. “If you like it, I’ll send it home with you along with your meds.”

You thanked the doctor and took a sip. It was warm with a mildly sweet taste. “It’s good,” you said, going back in for another sip. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Harper said. 

At the very least, a warm drink would make you feel better temporarily. The doctor made idle chitchat with you as you continued drinking. By the time you had emptied the mug, though, your head was feeling a little fuzzy. 

“Are you alright?” Harper asked, only seeming mildly concerned. “The herb blend does have a relaxing effect. It may be that it’s making you tired. 

“Mm…yeah…” you rubbed your eyes, suddenly feeling groggy. “Haven’t been sleeping well lately…”

“Don’t worry,” Harper was leaning forward in his chair, almost in anticipation. “Close your eyes. My next appointment isn’t for a while. You can sleep here for a bit, no worries.”

“‘Kay,” you murmured, your eyes shutting of their own accord. “Just a lil bit…”

You were out like a light. 

When you came to, you had no idea where you were. 

It didn’t feel like you were still in the hospital, though it still seemed like a doctor’s office of sorts. But the light was harsh and artificial, and you got the feeling this room wasn’t used too often. 

Also, your arms were bound to the bed, which wasn’t great. 

“Mm?” You were still quite groggy, so actual words didn’t come out of your mouth. You suddenly became aware of a figure looming over you, smiling. “D-doctor…?”

Harper undid your arm bindings, inviting you to sit up. “Sorry for that! I didn’t want you to move around or get violent in your sleep. The…tea effects are a little unpredictable.”

You rubbed at your sore wrists - how long had you been like this? - as you took in the surroundings. “Where did you take me?”

Harper rolled a chair next to the bed, stroking your hair in a rather unprofessional manner. “This is my private office. You need a more intensive therapy.”

You blinked. “I do?”

Harper nodded. “Yes. Your depression and anxiety is rather treatment resistant. I want to try some different things with you to help you get better,” he slid his hands to hold yours. They were cold and smooth. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

There was something wrong. Something was off. But your brain felt so, so fuzzy. “Yeah…that sounds nice.”

Harper beamed and clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Now, let’s begin,” he pulled his notepad out and studied it closely. “You say you’ve experienced rape and sexual assault. Is this right?” 

You shifted uncomfortably. “Uh…yeah.”

He nodded again and checked something off on the notepad. “Good. Then we are going to have sex.”

“What?!” Your ears were ringing. Did he just say that?

Harper set down the notepad and looked closely at you. “You say the assaults cause you trauma. Correct? I can show you how sex can be pleasurable and it will sort of rewire your brain.” He smiled placidly at you. “Don’t worry, you can trust me.”

It was weird. Something felt off. But…you trusted him. So you found yourself agreeing.

“Good!” Harper smiled warmly at you, standing up in front of you. Despite the smile, there was something oddly intimidating about him. But he was a doctor, and you weren’t. So it was probably okay. Right? 

The doctor sat next to you on the bed, moving closer then he’d ever been. “The first step is foreplay. This usually begins with kissing. Are you comfortable with that?” His breath was warm on your face. You nodded. 

And then the two of you were kissing, Harper’s mouth surprisingly cold, much like his hands were. “Very good,” he murmured. Harper practically tugged you into his lap and your patient gown rode up, making you suddenly very aware that there was nothing on underneath. Wait, weren’t you in a therapy session before? Where did your clothes go…?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you realized you could feel Harper’s cock rubbing against your most sensitive areas. The feeling drew a whimper out of you, which sparked Harper to reach under the gown and grab at your back. 

“P-please,” you whined, grinding down on Harper. 

But he did not relent. “Please what?” He asked. “You need to be specific.”

“Please…” you sucked in a deep breath. “Please, fuck me.”

“Very good,” Harper pulled away and beamed. “You’re a very good patient. You learn quickly.”

He reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a small tube. As he squeezed the slimy fluid onto his fingers, you realized what it was - lube. “This may be cold,” Harper said before slipping two fingers into your hole. You bit down on your lip and groaned as the doctor scissored his fingers inside of you. It felt good, but it also felt methodical and practiced.

You pawed at the bulge in Harper���s pants, which he was not expecting judging by his sharp intake of breath. “T-that’s enough,” he stammered, momentarily losing his cool composure. “I think you’re ready now.”

Harper pulled his hand back and unzipped his pants. With one movement he tugged down his pants and boxers and you were suddenly staring directly at his thick cock. It was flushed and twitching, and the bead of precum on the tip gave you the sudden urge to lick it. 

But that wasn’t what was going to happen, at least not today, as Harper was stroking his dick with additional lube, and the way he was looking at you - no, leering - was decidedly unprofessional. You were too far gone at that point, though. The only thought in your head was how badly you needed that cock inside of you.

Your doctor grabbed you by the hips and, ever-so-slowly, lowered you down onto his cock. Harper practically hissed as you sunk further and further onto him, until your hips were flush with his. 

“V-very good,” Harper managed to get out, his face turning red. This was an act you were quite familiar with, and your instincts kicked in. You started moving up and down, Harper’s hands still gripping you tightly, and he began rocking his hips in unison.

Harper seemed practiced in every aspect, with his cock managing to hit every sensitive spot inside of you. He was consistent, too. Every thrust was almost rhythmic. It made the hospital bed creak and squeak, and if you weren’t almost entirely fucked out of your mind, you would’ve worried about its stability. But all you could focus on was riding Harper and how fucking amazing it felt. Maybe it was that tea you had, or maybe your doctor was just that good at fucking.

His grip on your hips only added to the pleasure and you quickly began feeling heat intensifying within you.

“I think,” you tried to start but were cut off by your own moan. “I’m gonna…” 

“Cum,” Harper said plainly, though clearly struggling to stay calm. “You can cum. It’ll - haa - be good for you and your…fffucking treatment.”

You didn’t need Harper to tell you twice, his hips slamming into you. You grabbed onto his shoulders and cried out as the orgasm wracked your entire body. You squeezed your eyes shut, but when you opened them, you noticed Harper was staring intently at you. It felt as though he was staring into your soul.

After several more thrusts, you could tell Harper was about to hit his limit as well. Never easing up on his grip, Harper held you down as he came, filling your insides with his hot cum. The two of you stayed connected for a few moments before he gently pulled you off, you letting out a whine at the loss of contact. Harper quietly studied his cum leaking out of your hole and dripping down your leg, then jotted down a few more notes in his notebook. You wondered what he was writing.

“Well,” Harper smiled at you, straightening his clothes out. “You did a great job. You’re a fast learner. I hope that was pleasurable.”

You could only nod in response.

“However,” Harper looked down at his notebook with a slight frown. “I’m afraid you still have a long way to go. This is only the beginning. I’ll need to keep you here at least for a few more days for further studying and treatment.”

“Oh…” you mumbled. In your post-orgasmic state, you struggled to understand what was going on. But maybe a longer stay wouldn’t be so bad.

Harper stood up, clutching his notebook to his chest, and gave you a few soft pats on the head. “No worries. I’ve already communicated with your guardian and school, so everything will be just fine.” He gave you another grin, one that felt a little less genuine, and made you feel a little uneasy. “Trust me. There is no better place for you to be right now than right here.”

And with that, he left the room.

[docrobinavitch]

force of nature, pull of gravity | part two

dr. robby x f!attending!reader PART ONE masterlist content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, the entirety of this fic navigates grief in depth, death of mentor (adamson), death of a child/family member, swearing, canon medical events, angst, angst, and more angst words: 8.7K synopsis: we learn a bit more about the origins of reader and robby's relationship in flashbacks, reader and robby continue to butt heads during shift, and robby comes to terms with his feelings while reader tries to figure out how to break some news to him. a/n: well!!! we are back and we are still not done. i really wanted to contextualize their relationship some more for you guys so i ended up writing some flashback scenes that i really adore and while they are a bit angsty as well, i think they are a bit lighter than Present Day so it should break up the trauma i am inflicting i think lmao. also i like purposely took some liberties with the timeline in the season hope thats cool pls suspend ur disbelief anyway!! i think one more part should do it. as always enjoy and my inbox is always open to yap. pls yap with me about them. i beg. <3 syd

The both of you were in and out of Mr. Spencer’s room over the next hour. Robby thought about telling you you didn’t need to follow him back in every single time, but if he was honest, it was your presence keeping him from spinning out. Kept him from seeing Adamson in that bed instead of Mr. Spencer. 

When you rushed out of the room after he called time of death on Mr. Spencer, Robby thought about following you, making sure you were okay. He wasn’t okay, for a myriad of reasons, one of which being that after he was sure you hated him, you had extended an olive branch. 

It was so like you, to try and martyr yourself for him, it had only made him hate himself a bit more, watching you desperately trying not to spiral in that room. For him.

And when you slipped your hand into his, it felt like forgiveness.

He knew things weren’t back to normal. He wasn’t even sure what normal looked like anymore. 

But it was enough, for now, that you reached for him. 

The next time he saw you, you were at central with Jake. He wasn’t sure what the two of you were talking about, but you were smiling. Laughing, even. The sight of it nearly knocked him out. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you really, truly smile.

It had to have been before Adamson, before the pandemic. When things were easy between the two of you. When he could touch you whenever he wanted and you would pull him closer instead of pushing him away. 

“Robby,” Jake called out to him when he spotted him and Robby watched as the smile faded off your face. Watched as you stood from your seat and walked off.

He acted like he hadn’t noticed, but it had been fucking him up that the sight of him alone seemed to ruin your mood. He looked down as you passed, caught a whiff of your shampoo as you did and had to close his eyes against the memory of you in his bed. The way his pillows would still smell of your shampoo even a few days after you had left.

“I thought she moved to the night shift?” Jake asked as he nodded in the direction you had walked off in and Robby looked up, shaking the thoughts from his head.

“Uh, yeah… Yeah she, just. We were understaffed so she’s helping out.”

He nodded, “It’s been like… Four years since I’ve seen her?”

“Yeah,” Robby nodded, “Yeah, she’s um, she’s been busy.”

Jake smiled, “I’m not a kid anymore, man, you don’t have to lie to me.”

Robby frowned, shaking his head, “What’re you talking about?”

Jake shrugged, “I mean I think it’s obvious that you guys were dating or something and it went bad—“

“No, it’s not— It’s not like that—“ He sighed, “Look, let me get you the tickets, okay?”

As Robby stormed past the hub again, Trinity watched and then looked to Perlah and Princess, who were also watching and murmuring in Tagalog,

“You guys know about everything around here, right?” Trinity asked.

The two nurses turned and smirked, “Obviously.” Princess said.

“What’s up with Robby and Y/N? Are they sleeping together or something?”

“Oh, old news.” Princess said.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Perlah said, “Ancient history. Long and tortured. There was a bet going for a while, before the pandemic, if they would finally get together. Officially.”

“What are we talking about?” Langdon asked, leaning over the hub.

“You remember the betting pool on if Robby and Y/N would ever get together?”

He nodded and sighed, “Yeah, I think we all lost that one.”

Princess smirked, “I don’t know. There’s still time.”

“You think?”

Perlah nodded, exchanging a look with Princess, “Adamson was always right about this kind of thing. He had $100 on them getting married one day.”

The smiles they exchanged were tinged with a note of sadness. Adamson was always right about this sort of thing.

“Well, now that she’s back on the day shift, maybe it’s time to revive the betting pool.” Frank smirked.

***

“So, what’re you up to this weekend?” You and Robby were walking home from a shift. Your place was about a block away from his and so he had taken to walking you home. You were a third year resident now, Robby an attending.

Your feelings for him had waxed and waned, never completely smothering, but you had dimmed the embers enough that they became just white noise. He never seemed to notice.

You sighed, “My cousin’s getting married tomorrow, but I… I actually don’t know if I want to go.”

“Why not?”

You bit your lip, “I checked off the plus one option six months ago thinking that Josh would come with, but…” Josh had been your on again off again boyfriend for the last year. Right now, you were decidedly off.

But he would call again. Whenever the girl he left you for got bored of him.

“I could go with you.” Robby said and you looked up at him, narrowing your eyes, “Yeah, I don’t have anything going on.”

“Really?” You had made it to your apartment, and you stopped outside the multi family home. You could hear the cicadas and the distant sound of sirens cut through the stillness of the evening.

He nodded and smiled, hands shoved in his pockets, “Yeah, why not? It’ll be fun.”

And it was fun, toting Robby around to meet your family, gently correcting them when they referred to him as your boyfriend. But he was a good sport about it all, bragging about how good of a doctor you were to anyone who would listen.

“You’re embarrassing me,” You hissed, but secretly you were pleased. You never tired of hearing him tell you that you were good. That you belonged.

“Why? You’re not used to people speaking highly of you?”

You frowned, “That was mean.” You said softly.

“I didn’t mean it to be.” He said gently, “I just meant… Doesn’t he ever brag about you?”

“Who?”

“Josh.”

In truth, you hadn’t thought about Josh all night and it irritated you to hear Robby bring him up like this. You rolled your eyes, “What does it matter? We broke up.”

One side of Robby’s mouth turned up and he ran a hand down his beard. The beard was relatively new. It had been an effort to keep your infatuation stifled as he had grown it out. You didn’t think you liked beards until he grew one. It was insufferable the way he made everything look so sexy.

“Yeah, I know, I know. But I also know you’ll pick up the phone the next time he calls.”

You shrugged, grabbed a flute of champagne from the waiter who was floating them through on a tray, “He might not call again.”

He laughed, “Right.”

“What?”

He shook his head, “He’ll call.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

A slow song began to play and couples all began to drift to the floor. Robby placed his champagne on the nearest table and extended his hand to you, “Dance with me?”

You fought a smirk, but put your hand in his all the same and let him lead you to the floor. He took your free hand and placed it on his shoulder. Sliding his other hand around to your lower back, he gently pulled until you were nearly flush against him.

This close, you tried not to show how much it flustered you. If you moved your face just a few inches, you could kiss him.

“He’ll call,” Robby said softly, “He’d be an idiot not to.”

You hummed, “Right. Which as my friend is something you have to say.”

“No,” He shook his head and then bent your foreheads together. “No, I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re smart, funny, compassionate… absolutely stunning.” You swallowed and had to break his stare for fear he’d be able to look right through you. To see effortlessly how much his words affected you. 

“Your only flaw is that you always take the last protein bar from the break room and never replace them after.”

You laughed softly, “But I always split the last one with you.”

He huffed a laugh, “See? Generous as well. The whole package.”

You allowed yourself to look back up into his eyes as the two of you continued to sway gently to the music, “Thank you for coming with me.”

He nodded, “I’ve got you.” 

You watched as his eyes tracked across your face, down to your mouth. You were still so close, his hot breath fanned your lips.

And when you bit your lip you heard his breathing falter. So slowly, you almost didn’t notice it, he leaned closer to you.

“What are you doing?” You whispered. Your lips were almost brushing. But you didn’t move away, didn’t make any indication you didn’t want him to kiss you.

His eyes darted up to yours, pausing. You couldn’t read him, what it was he was thinking. But maybe he could see it in your face, the way you wanted him. Maybe he had known this whole time.

He didn’t answer your question, but pushed his lips into yours. It was soft and chaste, you barely got a taste of him. He pulled back and you moved with him, chasing his lips with your own. You had waited for this for God knew how long and he was going to tease you like this? No, no you wouldn’t allow it. 

When you deepened the kiss, your tongue sliding against his, he groaned into your mouth and pulled away again. When you tried to follow a second time, he laughed before tugging your hand, “Not here.” He said and then began pulling you away from the dance floor.

Your heart pounded as he headed down abandoned hallways, searching for an empty room, which he found after a couple of minutes. 

It looked like an abandoned rehearsal room. Wooden floors and the far side wall were floor to ceiling mirrors. You noted the redness around your mouth from where Robby’s beard had rubbed against you.

Chairs were stacked up against a wall and a dusty piano and bench sat in the corner.

Robby closed the door behind you before he was kissing you again, pushing you up against a wall immediately. There was no talking, only frantic panting and desperate moans. The occasional murmured curse he pushed into your mouth, always a hint of disbelief behind it, like he wasn’t quite sure this was happening either. 

He hitched one of your legs up to his hip, his hand sliding greedily up the exposed skin of your thigh and under your dress until his fingers brushed against the lace of your panties.

The heat of his touch made you feel lightheaded. He gripped your jaw and pushed your face to the side so he could kiss down the column of your throat.

“Do you… Do you have a condom?” You asked breathlessly.

His hands froze and he pulled back marginally so he could see your face. And when you looked back at him you thought you saw fear there. For a second, you were sure his panic mirrored out of your own eyes. You seemed to have broken some sort of spell and you could see him retreating behind his eyes. Going somewhere you couldn’t follow.

And then the door opened and Robby jumped away from you, your previously hiked up dress now cascading down your legs. Erasing all evidence of Robby’s want. Though you could still feel his phantom touches on your skin like burns.

“Oh—Shit—Sorry—!” Someone stammered and then there was a giggle. Another couple looking to do what you and Robby had just been doing. 

The door closed again and Robby ran a hand from the back of his head, down to his neck, “Do you know them?”

Wordlessly, you shook your head.

He nodded, but wouldn’t look at you. Then, he started pacing, hand to his mouth, long strides in front of you. You watched him for a few moments, picking at your cuticles.

“Could you stop that? You’re freaking me the fuck out.”

He stopped and looked up at you, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I—“ He raised his hands as if to touch your face, then thought better of it and dropped them, “I’m sorry.”

He was apologizing. You wanted him so badly you couldn’t see straight, and he was apologizing, the regret dripping off him. Like he could sweat you out of his system if he tried hard enough.

You shook your head, stomach dropping with every second that passed. You were starting to feel nauseous, “It was that bad, huh?” Your tone was joking, but you dropped your head and looked at your hands.

“No.” He said emphatically, “No, it’s–It’s not you–”

“Really?” You scoffed, “Because it kinda feels like it is.”

He pressed his lips firmly in a line, “It’s not, I just–I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

You nodded slowly, prayed that the pain of the rejection didn’t flash on your face like a neon sign.

“It was just a kiss, Robby,” You said more dismissively than you felt, “It’s fine. It doesn’t have to be this big thing. I’m not a kid.”

You pushed past him, needing to get out of the room so you could breathe again. 

He followed a few steps behind, “I didn’t say you were, I just—I want to make sure we’re on the same page because your friendship is really important to me—“

“Robby,” You interrupted, turning to face him. You didn’t want to hear anymore about your friendship when his hands had been up your dress just minutes ago, “Message received, okay? We’re good. I promise.”

Those brown eyes looked you over sadly, searching, as if he were trying to figure out if he believed you or not. Finally, he nodded, “Okay.” 

The drive home from the wedding was quiet except for the erratic drumming of Robby’s fingers against the steering wheel.

When he pulled in front of your place, he got out of the car before you could tell him not to, coming around your side to open the door.

Silently, you got out, let him walk you to the door.

“I’ll see you Monday?” He asked, hands in his pockets, shoulders shrugged up to his ears.

He was nervous, you realized. Maybe thought you were mad at him. But you weren’t, not really. You were more upset with yourself for believing for just a second that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him.

If he wanted to just be friends, you could take that. Because the truth was, you hadn’t had a friend who understood you the way he had in years. Maybe ever. 

So you smiled at him and nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see you Monday.”

He nodded back and looked like he was about to turn and walk off, but instead pulled you into a hug. Head resting on his chest, you sighed and closed your eyes. He kissed your hair before pulling away and walking off, hands still shoved in his pants pockets.

You watched him go before letting yourself inside.

Robby had been right. Josh did call you that night. And when he slipped between your sheets, the only way you could come was squeezing your eyes shut tight and pretending it was Robby’s hands on you. Robby’s tongue in your mouth and between your legs.

You didn’t see Josh again after that.

***

You were walking towards the ambulance bay for a quick break when Cassie McKay called out to you.

“Hey, McKay,” You smiled, “What’s up?”

“I—“ She shook her head, “I’m sorry to bother you with this, but I’ve already talked to Robby about it and… And I just think that he’ll be more likely to listen to you—“

“Listen to me about what?”

After a moment, Cassie launched into a story about a mother who had self induced vomiting to get her son to bring her here so she could get him help. Help because she feared he might do something awful.

“He has a… list. Of girls.” Cassie shook her head, but you didn’t need her to finish. You knew exactly what sort of list it was.

“And you think Robby isn’t handling it correctly?”

McKay sighed, “He hasn’t called the cops. The kid ran out of here hours ago and his mom can’t reach him. Says he never showed up at school.” She shrugged hopelessly, “I don’t know, I just. It doesn’t feel right.”

You nodded and swallowed. It didn’t feel good to you either, “I’ll talk to him. Thank you.”

It didn’t take long for you to find him, he was talking to Samira about something when you came up beside him.

Perhaps more out of habit than anything, you put a hand on his arm to get his attention and his eyes zeroed in on you immediately. 

You pulled your hand away, “Could I talk to you for a second?”

He nodded eagerly and it sent a pang through you for a moment, seeing how badly he wanted your approval, your forgiveness, “Yeah, of course.”

You led him into an empty exam room and closed the door, but before you could say anything he had started talking.

“I know you brought me in here to… To talk to me about something care related probably, but I just wanted to say that…” He sighed, “I… Really appreciate you helping out with Mr. Spencer. It felt like… like old times. Having you there.”

It stumped you for a second, hearing him so clearly communicate what he was feeling. It hit you then that he was trying. Really trying, maybe for the first time since you had known him. 

Once the surprise wore off you gave a short shake of your head, “Yeah, of course.” You swallowed and met his gaze, “I’ve got you.”

And you meant it. Pushing all the bullshit aside, you could never not care about him. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to turn off the instinct to run to him if he was falling apart.

He looked at you now with those big, sad eyes and it took everything you had not to open your arms to him.

He cleared his throat, “Anyway, I know that’s not why you grabbed me, so what d’you need?”

You nodded, “Yeah, so I heard there’s a mom here who made herself sick to bring her potentially dangerous son here and now he’s eloped?”

“Well,” He said slowly, “He was never a patient here so I think ‘eloped’ might be an unfair characterization—“

“Robby, why haven’t you called the police?”

He stared at you for a moment before scoffing, crossing his arms, “Since when are you itching to call the authorities?”

“McKay said he had a hit list.”

“That’s not—“ He ran his hands over his face, “We don’t know that, alright? Calling the police in prematurely could ruin his life—“

“How so?” You said, and now it was your turn to scoff, “I mean, can we be fucking serious for a second here? He’s a white man, a kid. If we’re wrong and there’s no evidence of him planning an actual crime, then the worst that happens is he comes in for a psych eval.”

He was shaking his head, “Involuntary psych holds can be very traumatic as you know—“

“I think prison and a bunch of dead teen girls would be worse, don’t you?”

He was irritated that you were calling him on this, you could tell. It was rare for the two of you to disagree on how to handle patients. When you did, it tended to get ugly. Quickly. Both of you were prideful and stubborn.

“While I appreciate your professional opinion,” He said slowly, “It is just that: your opinion. Which I will take into consideration, but I’ll remind you it’s my call as senior physician.”

You barked a laugh, “Okay, sure, pull rank—“

“I’m not pulling rank—“

“Adamson would’ve called the cops by now.”

The silence that fell was painful and ugly and part of you wanted to take it back when you saw the look on his face. It was too far and on today of all days. It would have been kinder for you to have hit him.

“Wow,” He said finally, and raised a hand to scratch the back of his head, turning away so he didn’t have to look at you, “Really? Is this what we’re doing now?”

You swallowed, “You are failing that kid and his mom and those girls every second you let pass without calling the police.”

He nodded, still not looking at you, “Yeah, thank you for your advice. Is that all or did you have any other wisdom you’re dying to impart?”

“You don’t have to be an asshole about it,” You said, skirting around him to get to the door, “I’m just trying to help, which is what I thought you wanted.”

He laughed humorlessly as you opened the door, “Right, yeah. Very helpful.” 

You sighed and turned back to him, “If you’re wrong about this, could you live with it? Because with the way you blame yourself for literally everything, I don’t think you could. And I fucking care about you, believe it or not, and I don’t want to see you falling down a hole you can’t climb out of.”

He scratched at his beard and finally looked back at you, a rueful smile on his face, “A bit late for that, I think.”

He pushed past you then as Whitaker called out for his help with something.

***

Robby’s eyes were glossy as he stared at you from across Central, hands gripping the chart in his hands too tightly.

Adamson came up beside him, followed his gaze to you and the new general surgery fellow, and stifled a smirk. 

He had watched the two of you do this will they/won’t they dance for years now, quietly hoping the both of you would get it together eventually. You were good for each other, he thought. Balanced each other out, listened to one another. Robby always knew when something was bothering you long before Adamson had picked up on it. He was the only one who seemed to be able to get through to you when you allowed self doubt to take over your every action and treatment plan. And you glowed under the light he shined your way. 

In turn, you were able to get through to him when he was being hard headed and self absorbed. When he couldn’t see past what was right in front of him to the bigger picture. You broadened his perspective, made him a better doctor for it every day. Made him a better man. 

Before you came along, Adamson worried about the way Robby tended to carefully pack away any unpleasant feelings, assuming that once packed away they could no longer damage him. He seemed to let you in more than anyone else, but not quite enough.

Adamson thought you could get there with him, though. Once Robby stopped packing away his feelings for you along with everything else.

“Something on your mind, Dr. Robby?”

Robby straightened and looked to Adamson, blinking away the glazed over look he’d had just moments ago when staring at you, “No, no, I, uh–” He looked back at you for a second then again to Adamson, shaking his head, “I just, the new fellow’s been down here a lot, seems sort of unnecessary, don’t you think?”

Adamson smiled slightly and turned his attention to you and the fellow. You were still discussing a patient, he thought, but the fellow was standing very close to you. And you made no move to widen the distance. In fact, when he leaned in to say something quietly in your ear, a hand on your upper arm, you leaned into him.

He sighed and turned back to Robby whose jaw was now clenched, “I think he’s doing his job, if a little flirtatiously. Maybe you should be honest about what’s really bothering you.”

Robby balked, “I–” He couldn’t stop himself from looking at you again, that wide smile on your face as you looked at the fellow, “It’s not like that with us, you know that.”

Adamson nodded, “Right. And how did your romantic weekend getaway to the mountains go?”

Robby flushed bright red as he looked back at Adamson, “We went as friends. I wanted to show her the new cabin I bought. We slept in separate rooms.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. You had slept in separate rooms, separate beds. But that hadn’t stopped him from railing you in the shower, eating you out on the floor in front of the fireplace, or pushing himself inside of you while you sat on his kitchen table, begging for more of him, deeper, harder.

Adamson shrugged, “Okay. If that’s what you need to tell yourself.” Robby was still staring at him, slack jawed and blushing, “Look, I don’t want to meddle in your personal life. But I feel as someone who has known you both for a number of years… It’s just obvious to me that you love her and I don’t know why you don’t do anything about it.”

“Of course I love her,” Robby scoffed, “So do you.”

Adamson tilted his head knowingly, “Not the way you do, son.”

Robby knew that there was probably some truth to what Adamson was saying, but that scared the shit out of him. Being friends with you, he could handle. He was good with being your emotional support in the hospital and occasionally outside of it. Regularly sleeping with you, he could also handle, and was in fact, very good at it, as it turned out. But being in a relationship with you, admitting that he was in love with you, he wasn’t sure he could be good at that. He didn’t think he was capable of the vulnerability that would require. You would get sick of constantly begging him to open up to you, to communicate how he felt clearly. And then he would lose you fully. He would lose everything.

So he shook his head at Adamson and started backing away, chart in hand, “It’s not like that.”

But still, he showed up at the bedside of a trauma patient you were caring for, the fellow across the gurney from you. 

You looked at him strangely when he gloved up and pulled on a surgical gown, “Robby, I think we have enough hands on this one.”

“Oh, I know, I’m just observing,” He said smiling, “Seemed like an interesting case.”

The new fellow didn’t catch on to what was going on, but you were pretty certain this was Robby being jealous. His arms were crossed, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His eyes weren’t on the patient, they were on you. And he had that fucking hungry look in his eyes, the same one he had the first time he finally gave you what you wanted, pressed you into a wall and made you come with his fingers. His eyes had glazed over as he watched you come undone.

It was fucking unfair of him to be looking at you like that now, just when someone else was giving you romantic attention. It was also unfair that it turned you on.

When the patient was stabilized, the three of you began to walk from the room, but the fellow put a hand on your arm, slowing you to a stop, “Hey,” He ripped a piece of paper from his notepad and handed it to you, “If you… Ever need anything outside of the hospital, that’s my number.”

You tilted your head, smirking, “Need anything like what, an emergency thoracotomy?”

He laughed and looked down, a flush working its way up his neck, “Uh, no, I was thinking more along the lines of… dinner, sometime, maybe?”

Before you can answer, Robby’s hand is on your shoulder, “Sorry, champ, Adamson needs her, it’s pretty urgent.”

He steered you away and walked quickly, arm around your shoulder.

“Where are we going?” You asked, annoyed, “I know this isn’t about Adamson.”

He said nothing until he had pulled you into an empty on-call room, closing the door shut behind you and then pushing you up against it.

Immediately, his mouth was on yours, hungry and desperate, teeth digging into your lower lip. Despite your annoyance, you immediately melted into him, reaching your hands up to knot them in his hair which was longer than usual, beginning to curl around his ears.

“You’re so fucking insufferable,” You murmured and tugged on his hair for good measure, “Got you so worked up over some general surgery fellow I don’t even like–”

Robby pulled away for a moment, ignoring the way you whined at his absence, “You don’t like him?”

You sighed, “Not really, he tries a bit too hard.”

A smirk stretched across his face, “You like men who play hard to get, then?”

You rolled your eyes, “I would’ve thought it obvious.”

He kissed your neck and slipped a hand between your thighs, rubbing you over your scrub pants, “I’m not hard to get, look how easy it was for you to get me in here.”

Your lashes fluttered at his touch and you swallowed hard, “You don’t really want me, though, not the way–” You cut yourself off before you could finish; not the way I want you. There was no point in admitting it when he didn’t feel the same. In fact, he might cut everything off if he knew how you felt in some fake chivalrous attempt to protect you.

He pulled away again, “What? What were you gonna say?”

You shook your head and tried to pull him back to you, “Nothing, keep kissing me, please.”

But Robby remained firm, searching your eyes, “Not the way that guy wants you?”

You sighed in relief that he hadn’t seemed to catch what you really meant to say, “Well, you don’t,” You said, “This is just fucking” You said, gesturing to the space between the two of you, “He wants to date me. Take me out to dinner.”

He nodded slowly, “You can date whoever you want, you know? Just say the word and I’ll back off.”

You dropped your head so he couldn’t see the irritation on your face. You don’t know what you expected, that he’d offer to take you on a real date? He’d finally admit to being in love with you? Obviously he wasn’t, maybe he just liked the way your desire made him feel.

“So you won’t act like a rescue dog with food insecurity the next time someone flirts with me in front of you?”

He smirked and leaned in again, kissing up to your ear and catching your earlobe gently between his teeth, “I’ll do my best, but no promises.”

Robby got down on his knees, pulling down your pants as he went and looked up at you. Your breath hitched in your throat. He had done this many times now and it was your favorite way that he made you come, which was saying a lot, because he was pretty excellent at making you come in a variety of different ways. But there was something about the way he moaned and sighed into you with his mouth on you that felt reverant, like worship. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine those moans sounded a lot like I love you. 

“You have to be quiet,” He said, kissing the skin of your inner thigh as he hooked one of your legs over his shoulders, “Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you nodded, “Yes.” You whispered.

With one of your hands knotted in his hair, you stifled your whimpers as he licked and sucked, and fucking moaned into you. When you looked down, he was stroking himself simultaneously and you thought you might combust. The thought of him being so turned on by your taste and your pleasure, by the idea of someone else getting to have you, it drove you wild. 

He could love me. You thought, desperately, muscles beginning to tense low in your belly, He could love me and he could be mine and we could do this every day and I would never tire of it. You bit down hard on your free hand to muffle your moans. In your mind, you imagined what it’d sound like if he whispered I love you into your mouth. And then you came, hard, hips grinding into his mouth. He had told you to be quiet, but he moaned loudly against you when he felt your release, and then he was coming too, moans turning to whimpers that made your skin tingle.

You cleaned up and redressed quickly in silence. When you went to open the door again, he pressed a palm to it, closing it again, “Did you want to grab take out after shift from that Chinese place you like? We could rent a movie or something, you can stay the night at my place.”

Yes, normal things to do with the guy you were just fucking who didn’t love you. You forced a smile and nodded, “Sure.”

Maybe one day Robby would fall in love with you or maybe one day you’d meet someone who’d make you forget all about him. But until then, you weren’t sure you’d ever be strong enough to say no to him.

***

Robby was on edge. He was snapping at people. He had reamed McKay out for going to you, even though he thought she had probably been right for doing that. 

And what upset him the most was that he still hadn’t gotten around to apologizing to you, like he’d been meaning to do for days now. Instead, he had made it worse, like when he fucking brought up Jack to throw in your face.

You were close by and yet always out of his reach, slipping by during a trauma, carefully avoiding brushing against him. It was fucking with him.

Because if this were a few years ago, he wouldn’t have had any qualms apologizing to you. It wouldn’t have been so difficult. He had groveled for you time and time again in the past. But it felt different now. There were now years of silence and tension between them and he was afraid of what he’d find when he cut through it.

Maybe you couldn’t see past this one. And of course, he’d understand that. Even if he said otherwise he could see that he had abandoned you when you needed him most. When he needed you most. It was why he was so eager to deflect it off himself, because most days the guilt of it threatened to eat him alive.

And then if you didn’t forgive him what would he do? How was he expected to keep going after losing both you and Adamson? He couldn’t fathom his life without both of you in it, wasn’t sure who he was without you.

Adamson would have called the cops by now. It hurt spectacularly when you said it. But with you out of the room, out of his reach, he was able to see that you were likely correct about that. 

As much as it stung for him to admit, you and Adamson had always been on the same page about social issues and how best to handle them in the ER. Robby was empathetic to a fault, couldn’t see past the patient in front of him. You, on the other hand, had always had this almost supernatural ability to predict every outcome and how best to avoid or bring them to life.

Robby wasn’t bad at this stuff necessarily, but of the two of you, he was more likely to get it wrong. And Adamson would’ve wanted him to listen to you.

So after much contemplation and standing at the hub with his head in his hands, he picked up the phone and called the police.

It had been a couple of hours since then and he had been pulled from case to case with no end in sight. But finally, finally, he got to the hub and saw the police speaking with David’s mom. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Dana, “Have you seen—“

“Yeah, she’s with the pediatric drowning.” Dana looked up at him, concern written all over her face, “I wanted to grab you earlier, but you’ve been all over the place.”

A pediatric drowning. Fuck. Fuck. “Where?”

Dana pointed to the trauma room behind him and Robby was immediately grabbing a pair of gloves and pushing the door open. The girl had to be only six or seven. She had been intubated, a nurse using an ambu bag to administer oxygen. Whitaker was on top of the gurney performing CPR. Bags of warm saline were strapped to the girl’s chest. The girl’s parents were by her side, in tears as they murmured reassurances to their little girl.

You stood a few strides away from the gurney, face pallid and eyes bloodshot. Your hands were clasped in front of you, but they still shook.

“She feels warmer,” Her mother said, “That’s good, right?”

A nurse did a temperature check, called out a number above ninety degrees. You swallowed, “That’s warm enough for her heart to respond.” Your voice shook, “Rhythm check, Whitaker, pause compressions.” 

When Whitaker lifted his hands, you closed your eyes at the sound of the long, single tone, “Still asystole,” You said, and your voice sounded broken, “Resume compressions.”

Robby stood himself next to you and leaned down slightly to murmur in your ear, “I can take this one, why don’t you go get some air.”

You shook your head, “This is my patient. Her parents trust me. I’m not going to shove them off on a doctor they don’t know on the worst day of their lives.” You said quietly.

There wasn’t time to argue, and besides, you were right. For the best patient care, consistency was best. Especially when it looked this bad. That didn’t mean he liked it though. His hands itched to drag you out of the room, but he clasped them behind his back instead.

The phone rang and your eyes followed Mateo when he picked it up, “Potassium level’s back. 12.2.”

Robby watched as your chin gave the slightest wobble, and then you shook your head slightly before taking in a shaky breath.

Hands still clasped, you walked behind Robby to get to the girl’s parents. You lowered yourself to their level, eyes unfocused as you stared at that girl on the table.

If you blinked, it was your niece on the table instead, hair still wet from the pool. The temporary tattoo of Doc McStuffins you had given her a few days ago had begun to peel and fade from her upper arm. It was your sister and her husband sitting next to her, wailing when you told them there was nothing else they could do.

You blinked again and you’re back in the present. You squeezed your hands together when you felt them shaking again. Steeling yourself, you shifted your gaze to the parents.

“No one has ever survived a cardiac arrest with a potassium level over eleven. There is absolutely no chance for recovery. I am so sorry. Amber has died.” Your voice broke on the last sentence, but it didn’t quite matter. You weren’t sure her parents had really heard you. Immediately they were hyperventilating and sobbing and it took everything you had not to run from this room. You clenched your jaw, “Before we stop, do you think her sister would like a chance to say goodbye?”

“No,” Her dad said tearfully, “No, she shouldn’t see her like this.”

You nodded, your own tears threatening to choke you, “Okay. You can stay with her for as long as you like. We are going to stop now.” You nodded to Whitaker who lifted his hands, the monotone beep once again filling the room, “Resuscitation efforts discontinued at 1751.”

You rose to standing and waited for Mateo to turn off the alarms, “Excuse me,” You murmured as you pulled your gloves off and then you were leaving the room.

Vaguely, you heard Robby call out your name behind you, but you didn't stop until you were in the ambulance bay. You backed yourself into the wall and sank to the ground, desperately trying to level your breathing, but you continued to shudder and hyperventilate with your head between your knees.

There was a shadow in front of you and you didn’t need to look up to know it was Robby, lowering himself to the ground beside you. When you felt his arm around you, you didn’t pull away, you pushed yourself into him instead. He responded by basically pulling you into his lap, your tear stained face pressed to his neck.

“I’ve got you,” He said softly. One of his hands was in your hair, scratching gently at your scalp, “It wasn’t your fault.” He said, and you knew he wasn’t talking about Amber. He was talking about your niece, Gemma.

He had been there that day when the EMTs wheeled her in and you were on top of the gurney, soaked to the skin and performing chest compressions.

It was her pool party, her birthday. And because it was her birthday, she had decided she was a big girl now and didn’t need her swimmies. No one saw her take them off. No one saw her drift to the deep end. It was only when your sister had called out to her that it was time to blow out the candles that anyone realized she was missing. That no one had been watching her. At that point, it had been at least twenty minutes since the last time anyone could remember seeing her. It was anyone’s guess how long she had been underwater.

But you had seen miracles before. People whose hearts had stopped, had been underwater for far longer than should be compatible with life, and their hearts had restarted. Gemma’s could restart too. It was you who dove in and pulled her from the pool, calmly shouted instructions to the people around you as you started compressions.

When Robby pulled you into the family room to tell you that her heart was still in asystole, that her potassium level was too high, you had shaken your head in denial. “No,” You said simply, “No, keep trying, it’ll… It’ll go down.” You both knew that wasn’t true. A potassium level that high indicated irreversible cell rupture.

“Honey, I’m so sorry.” Robby had said with bloodshot eyes, shaking his head, “I told you first in case you wanted to be the one to tell your sister. But I’ll do it if you can’t.”

You had done it, chin wobbling, and voice breaking. You had taken it when she screamed at you that you needed to do more, just saying you were sorry over and over as you looked at Gemma’s still body, tears streaming down your face.

You don’t think your sister blamed you exactly, for what happened to Gemma. But you did think she could no longer look at you without seeing how you hadn’t been able to save her daughter. Your goddaughter. She had stopped calling years ago and you had stopped trying.

Now Robby’s holding you, kissing your head, repeating that it wasn’t your fault over and over until your breathing slowed and settled.

Eventually, you sat up, pulling away from him sniffling, “Sorry,” You said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have fallen apart like that. It’s been years.”

He gave a slight shake of his head, “That’s not something you just get over.”

You stared intently at your fingers, picking at your cuticles, “Thank you. For trying to help.”

“Always,” He said, his voice rough. When you looked at him, his eyes were red rimmed as well, but he was smiling softly at you, “That’s what we do, isn’t it?”

You sighed, and turned away from him, looking back down at your hands, “I wanted to talk to you about something–”

“If it’s about David, the teen with the… list, I called the police. They haven’t been able to find him yet, but they’re looking.”

You blinked in shock, “You called them?”

He nodded, “You were right. You’re always right about that sort of thing. I need to listen more, to… Lean more on my staff for support,” He smiled sadly, “I’m not used to having you on shift anymore, I forget what it’s like to fully trust another doctor at work like that. I’m sorry for not listening.”

You tried to smile back, but ended up biting your lip instead, turning away from him. He wasn’t making this easy, “That’s good, that you called. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“Okay, what’s up?”

You rose to standing again and waited until he followed suit, “Um, I wanted you to hear it from me first, before… Well, before people start talking.”

Robby’s heart rate was beginning to pick up. What the fuck were you about to say that would have you so nervous, so scared to tell him? Were you… Were you seeing someone? And then a different, larger fear took over, that maybe you were engaged. Or married, even. He hadn’t really spoken to you in about three years. It could be true.

And he was shocked to find out how much the prospect of it sent dread curdling in his stomach. 

He had always known, even before your falling out, that it was a possibility. Likely, even, that some day you’d fall in love with someone else and maybe you’d box him out of your life completely. Surely, your complicated history would make any romantic interest uncomfortable. He wouldn’t blame anyone else for not wanting him in your life. But it had never happened and he suspected it may have partly been because you were a little bit in love with him.

Now, though, you said you still cared, but there was a guardedness about you now he had never seen before. Maybe you had found someone who would love you the way he hadn’t been able to. It would break his heart, but he could be happy for you. He owed you that much.

“I’ve accepted a job offer at Presby,” You said, “I’m putting in my two weeks with Gloria on Monday.”

He thought maybe he’d heard you wrong and so he waited. Maybe for you to clarify or for his brain to fully process, because there was no way that’s what you had said. That you were leaving. Just when he had gotten you back. Just when he was starting to feel like there was a path back to not being so hostile all the time.

But you didn’t correct yourself, just stood there staring at him, waiting for him to say something.

“No,” He said softly, then again, “No, you can’t.”

You tilted your head, looking at him sadly, “Robby–”

He felt like the world was imploding around him, “I know–I know I fucked up. With Adamson, with the way I handled everything, with Collins. I’m sorry. I–I should’ve been there for you, I should have let you in. I should have gone to grief counseling–I’ll go to grief counseling–”

“Robby, please,” Your eyes were watering again, “Please don’t do this.”

“This is what you wanted though, isn’t it?” His voice was frantic even to his own ears, panic coated every single word, “I can still do it, I can be better. I’ll be better, but you can’t– You can’t go, you can’t leave me here. I don't know how to do this without you.” He swallowed, “I don’t think I can do it without you.”

“Yes, you can,” You said softly, “You’ve done okay the last three years.”

“No the fuck I haven’t!” He laughed incredulously, “I’m a fucking wreck without you.”

“And you’re a wreck with me, Robby. Fuck, we’re awful for each other! Can’t you see that?” Tears were streaming down your face.

“That’s not true,” He said, shaking his head, “We’ve had a bad few years, but that’s my fault and I can work on it–”

“Like you promised to work on it four years ago?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed, “I get it, I understand why you’re angry, that I’ve hurt you, but I’m telling you, we can fix this. All I want,” He said, voice breaking, “is a chance to fix this.”

You looked at him sadly, chin wobbling, “It’s too late.”

“It’s not–”

“Yes it is–”

“I love you.” He said, shaking his head, “Please don’t say it’s too late.”

You blinked at him, “I love you too, Robby, but it–”

“No, not–” He sighed in frustration, “Not like that. I’m in love with you and… And I know I’ve been avoiding it for almost twenty years now, but I’m… I’m ready now. To try. With you.”

You stared at him for a moment and rubbed at your eyes, “You don’t mean that and it’s fucked up of you to say that to me to try to get me to stay when you know how I feel about you. How I’ve felt about you all these years.”

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you either, but it’s not like I have a choice now–”

“Yeah, you do!” You shouted, throwing up your hands in exasperation, “You could have continued to fucking push it down the way you have for years instead of doing this to me now when I’m finally trying– When I finally feel able to–” Your voice broke, “When I finally feel like I can close the door on us.”

You looked desperate in front of him, tears streaming down your face. He hated this, that it had come to this. He had been so stupid for years and years, convinced he could never get you what you needed, but never willing to try to be that for you. Maybe it was unfair and selfish of him now, but he couldn’t just walk away.

Carefully, he lifted his hands up to cradle your face and was shocked when you didn’t move away from him, but bent your foreheads together, nudging your nose against his.

“Please don’t,” He said softly, pleading, “Decline the job offer. Let me try just one more time and then… I swear if I can’t do it this time, I’ll leave you alone. You’ll never hear from me again, if that’s what you want.”

You sighed heavily, closing your eyes. Robby kept his eyes on you, though, watched as you wet your lips with your tongue.

“Let me go.” You murmured softly, and he heard the tears caught in your throat.

He shook his head against your forehead, “Never.”

Your chin wobbled, but eyes still closed, you inched your mouth towards his. You tasted just like he remembered, except for the saltiness of your tears. He held you to him with a hand on the back of your neck as he kissed you deeply, hoping you could feel it, that he meant it this time. That he was trying. That he would do anything to keep you here, with him, like this.

You whimpered as you opened your mouth to him and he sighed into you, his hands shaking as they touched you, explored you like they used to–

The ambulance bay doors slid open and the two of you sprang apart as Dana walked outside. If she noticed any weirdness between the two of you, she didn’t say anything. 

She looked from Robby to you and then back again, her expression unreadable as she held a phone to her ear, “There’s an active shooter at Pitt Fest.”

[undercoverluverr]

DO IT FOR THE GRAM PT TWO!

Content: hamzah and you go out on a date!

Warnings: mentions of smoking, bad language, kissing?

part one at the bottom!

Present day ~

It was around 6 p.m and I was half-melted into the couch, watching whatever reality show I’d left on for background noise. All I’ve caught onto is that girl 1 tried to steal girl 2 man but apparently he’s been sleeping with girl 3… I don’t know. I was contemplating dinner, or realistically, whether I had enough energy to microwave leftovers—when my phone started buzzing on the armrest.

Hammock aka Hamzah.

I smiled before I even answered.

We’d been close since the podcast episode. There’s something about the way Hamzah joked—half absurd, half genius—clicked with me instantly. Ever since, he’s just… stayed. Showed up. Stuck around. Like a really charming virus.

I picked up the call. “Hellooo?”

“Hey,” he said, voice scratchy, like he’d been rehearsing it. “Do you—um…” he cleared his throat. “Do you wanna like… go for dinner or something?”

I sat up a little. That stutter? Not normal. He never hesitated around me. Ever.

“Yeah, of course. Where should we go?” I asked, already walking toward my closet, cringing at the stained hoodie I was wearing.

“I made a reservation,” he said quickly. “I’ll pick you up in forty-five.”

“What?” I nearly squealed.

“Dress nice,” he added in a low murmur, voice suddenly dipped in something thick and smoky. Before I could respond, the call ended.

I blinked down at my phone like it had personally betrayed me.

“What the actual fuck!”

I took a hit from my pen, then my vape for balance. Short notice stress required chemical assistance. My closet exploded. My room turned into a war zone. By the time I landed on the green dress, fishnets, and tall black boots, I had five minutes left and eyeliner halfway on.

That’s when I heard the knock. Followed by the call.

I answered it, already rolling my eyes. “You are so impatient, Hamzah.”

He laughed, the sound lazy and loaded. “I’m patient when I need to be, baby.”

He took a drag of something and I heard the faint crackle. “If you want a hit off this, you better hurry your ass out here.”

I didn’t even respond—just launched my eyeliner across the vanity and bolted downstairs, heels clacking like gunshots on tile.

I opened the door.

There he was. Leaning against the brick wall like he’d been carved into it. Shirt open at the collar, black suit sharp enough to cut someone, joint between his fingers like it was made for him. His blond buzzcut that drove me crazy not hidden by a beanie for once, and I had to bite my lip. Actually had to.

He turned and looked at me.

The stare was mutual, intense, and not even pretending to be casual.

He handed me the joint wordlessly, and I took it with my left hand. His fingers wrapped around my right, warm and slow, and he led me down the stairs like we were already somewhere sacred.

“You look beautiful,” he said quietly.

“Don’t be all cringe on me,” I muttered.

He licked his bottom lip and bit it lightly, head tilting. “Get in the car, baby.”

I stepped on the joint to put it out and climbed in, still reeling. The way he was acting. The way I was acting.

The ride felt suspended in something strange and cinematic. He drove faster than usual, windows cracked. I connected my phone to the car. Daniel Di Angelo’s “ride for me” poured out, smooth and gritty. He didn’t say anything, but he smirked like he liked the vibe.

I stared at him sideways. The streetlights painting him gold.

“Hamzah?”

“Yeah?” He glanced over at me, slowing at a red light.

“…Is this a date?”

He laughed, sudden and real. “Yes, it’s a date. I thought that was obvious!”

“Shut up! It’s not like you asked me.”

“Fine,” he said, eyes glinting. “Will you go on a date with me?”

I crossed my arms dramatically. “Nope.”

“What!?” He gawked in disbelief

“Take me home,” I said flatly.

“You can’t be serious—”

“Of course I’m not serious,” I said, smiling now. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

He laughed, full chest, relief flooding his voice. “Good,” he said as the light turned green. “Because we’re here.”

⸻

The restaurant looked like something out of a movie. Like a place people propose in. While Hamzah checked us in, I tried to guess where we’d be sitting. Booth? Back corner?

Wrong.

The hostess led us up a flight of glass stairs to a rooftop patio lit by string lights and candlelight. Our table was in a private alcove. The CN Tower lit up the skyline behind him like we were on the cover of a softboy album.

“Hamzah!” I gasped, leaning over the table.

He smiled with teeth, so big and boyish I almost melted. “I had a feeling you’d like it.”

My foot tapped his under the table and stayed, sliding up his leg softly. “I love it,” I said honestly. “All of this is so… perfect.”

He furrowed his brows, leaning back with a smirk. “Don’t get all cringe on me.”

I kicked him lightly. “Stop it.”

We ate slowly, comfortably, like we’d done it a thousand times. I gave him the cucumbers I hated. He passed me bites of his risotto without asking. We shared dessert without talking about it.

After dinner, we wandered the rooftop. I hit my vape while he talked about the constellations like he knew what he was pointing at.

I turned toward the CN Tower, neon against the ink sky. When I looked back, Hamzah was watching me.

“What?” I asked, soft and dizzy from food and affection.

He stepped closer, just a little. His hands hung at his sides like he was waiting for the right moment.

“Can I kiss you, baby?”

I blinked. And then I giggled, beaming up at him. “Yes hamzah.”

He laughed at how fast I said it, hands coming up to cradle my face. He kissed me softly, sweetly, like he was testing the pressure. Like he’d wanted to for a long time.

⸻

He drove me home after that. No rush. Just soft music and shared glances.

Back at my place, I kicked my boots off at the door and yawned harder than I meant to. He caught it.

“Tired?” he asked, voice warm.

“A little,” I mumbled.

“C’mere,” he said.

I didn’t question it. We curled up on my bed—fully dressed but tangled, my head tucked under his chin, his fingers playing absently with the hem of my dress.

He kissed me again, and again, and again until my lips were sensitive and his were pink and plump, I swiped my thumb over them before pressing one more long kiss on his lips, soft and sweet before I cuddled back into him.

The last thing I remember before drifting off was his hand on my back and the sound of him whispering, almost like a thought out loud

“I think I’ve been in love with you since Martin introduced us.”

I smiled into his chest.

“I know.”

Then sleep took us. And everything felt finally, perfectly quiet.

Chapter two already 😱😱😱

Guys prepare for the next chapter because it’s gonna be long, angsty, and spicy as fuck.

Post fight hamzah gonna be a beast

part one:

[stardustsides]

A Midwinter’s Tale

Synopsis: Roman can’t say he’s ever had a stranger camp out in his yard before. He also can’t say that he’s ever met someone who carries their broken heart in a paper bag, but hey, first time for everything, right?

Ship: Royality

Word Count: 2,022

Content Warnings: Divorce mention, death mention, car accident mention

Author’s Note: This is a little wintery oneshot based on the play “Almost, Maine” by John Cariani, which I was in a few years ago! This is magical realism, so just suspend your disbelief :-)

~

There was a man in Roman’s yard.

Roman watched him from his window—he was hard to make out in the dark, but he was fairly sure that he wasn’t from Almost; he’d recognize him if he were.

He stared as the man wrestled with what looked like a tent—is he pitching a tent in my yard?—and set up a telescope, angling his face towards the sky full of stars. There had to be thousands of them—that was one of the perks of living in the middle of nowhere, no light pollution—and although he couldn’t clearly make out the finer details of the man’s face, he could see the way he clasped his hands in front of his chest in utter delight.

For a moment, Roman contemplated just leaving him to his own devices and going to bed, but he had to admit that he was intrigued—it wasn’t every day that someone would camp out in your yard, after all, and he couldn’t remember the last time someone from out of town came to visit.

He hastily stuffed his feet into his slippers, slipped his warmest robe over his flannel pajamas, and padded downstairs. He could see the man much better out of the downstairs window, and, for reasons he couldn’t really explain, he spent a moment just watching him stare at the sky.

After a second, though, he realized that he was probably going to look like a total creep if the man saw him, so he decisively opened the door and quietly slipped out into the freezing winter air.

He shivered—growing up in northern Maine had instilled a high tolerance for cold weather in him, but a small part of him still wished that he had worn a coat—and stood on his doorstep. The man didn’t seem to notice him.

“Um…hello,” Roman started, venturing closer, and the man startled a bit, turning to look at him.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, both mittened hands springing to his heart, possessively clutching a brown paper bag. In the back of his mind, Roman registered that the man was very pretty—he had what he’d describe as “puppy dog eyes”, big and wide and brown, partially obscured behind a pair of round glasses, and a generous amount of freckles scattered across his rosy cheeks and nose. He had both a knit pom-pom hat and earmuffs on, but Roman could still make out a curl of brown hair sticking out from underneath it. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there!”

“It’s okay,” Roman responded, looking quizzically at him. “Can I…help you?”

“Oh! No, that’s okay, thanks!” He said cheerily. “I’m just here to see the northern lights.”

“…Okay,” Roman said slowly, cocking his head. “I’m sorry, it’s just—you’re in my yard—?”

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind!” He chirped. “I just needed somewhere to camp for the night, and this is just such a great stargazing location because of how open it is, so I’ll only be here for tonight and then I’ll be gone!” He paused. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said again emphatically. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” Roman said, smiling a bit. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh! Good!” The man sighed with relief. “Y’know, it said in your brochure that you wouldn’t mind—see, I’m a hiker, and it said in this brochure—“ he produced a thick pamphlet from the inside pocket of his winter coat, “that Maine people generally won’t mind, because you’re all about exploration and adventure and all that, so!” He let out a happy huff of breath. “I’m glad that you’re so kind and that you’re letting me stay here, because I really need to!”

Roman tilted his head, amused. The man was all smiles, and the way he spoke was endearing, as if he couldn’t talk as quickly as he thought of new things to say. “Why do you need to?”

“Because I need to see the Northern Lights tonight! And this is the perfect spot! It’s so open,” he repeated.

“It used to be a potato farm,” Roman explained. The man nodded.

“Makes sense. No trees! Are you a farmer?”

“Oh, no. I’m a waiter,” Roman paused. “I’m really a writer, though.”

The man gasped and clasped his hands together. “A writer? What do you write?”

“Oh, mostly just romances. I’d like to get more into fantasy, though.”

“Wow,” the man breathed, looking genuinely amazed. Roman was oddly flattered. “That’s incredible! Wow. A real writer! Are you published? Wait, no—that’s a stupid question, it doesn’t make you any less of a writer if you’re not published, of course, and I know that there are some people who just write for themselves! Are you one of those?”

Roman couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the word-vomit. The man was looking at him, those big brown eyes wide and unfathomably earnest, and Roman’s heart felt a little melty all of a sudden.

“Don’t worry! I’m technically published, in the Almost town paper, so I have an audience of about twenty.” The man laughed, a light, bell-like sound, and Roman’s smile only grew wider. “But I’ve been trying to sell my creative work to actual publishers. You’re right, though—I do mainly write for myself, and what I’d want to read.”

“That’s such a great talent to have,” he sighed wistfully. “I’ve never been much of a writer—I’m more of a traveller, meet all the people I can, y’know? Gosh, don’t you think it’s crazy how every person you’ve ever passed on the street have their own lives that are just as complex as yours? That’s so much life!”

“So many stories,” Roman agreed, and the man nodded, the tuft of curly hair bouncing against his forehead. “That feeling’s called ‘sonder’, by the way.”

The man’s face lit up. “Really? I had no idea there was a word for it!”

Roman grinned. “Yeah, well…it’s funny, because when you live in a town as small as this, you never really get that feeling, because you already know who everyone is.”

“That’s true! I hadn’t thought of that!” The man paused for a moment, thinking. “What town is this, by the way? It’s not on my map.”

“Well, we call ourselves ‘Almost’, but it wouldn’t be on your map, because we’re not technically a town. To be a town, you’ve gotta be organized, and, well, we almost got around to doing that, but never did, so now we’re just ‘Almost’.”

That bell-like laugh again. “Well, it’s lovely up here. So much sky.” He gasped. “Oh! Where are my manners? Set up a tent on someone’s lawn and don’t even tell them your name! I’m Patton.”

“Patton,” Roman repeated, trying it out. It was a soft-sounding name, the kind of name that sounds familiar even when you’ve never met anyone else with it. It suited him. “I’m Roman.”

Patton smiled, and it was dazzling. “Nice to meet you, Roman.”

And for a moment, they stood in companionable silence, staring up at the sky and listening to the sounds of the midwinter night all around them, when suddenly Patton gasped, a ragged, shuddery breath that made Roman jump.

“I need that!” He yelped, pointing at his brown paper bag that had somehow found itself into Roman’s hands. Roman stared at it quizzically. He didn’t remember taking it.

“Oh, I’m sorry—“ he started, handing it back to Patton. He snatched it back and held it close to his chest, relaxing a little.

“No problem,” Patton replied, infinitely calmer than he was a second ago. Roman stared, bewildered. When Patton made no move to explain what had just happened, Roman cleared his throat again.

“So,” he started. “Where are you from?”

“Oh,” Patton started, and waved his hand around vaguely. “I wander a lot, you know, travel around, but my husband and I had an apartment in Colorado.”

“Oh, you’re married?” Roman felt the tiniest twinge of disappointment.

“Well, not anymore,” he responded. “We had been separated for about a year, but since he died recently, I’m here to pay my respects.”

“Oh,” Roman said dumbly, unsure of what to say at such a revelation. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Patton shrugged, but his eyes stayed trained carefully on the sky. “My mom used to tell me stories when I was little about how when you die, the northern lights are the pathway leading you to the afterlife. Like, the lights are the souls of the recently departed and all that. So I have to see the Northern lights, because that’s him.”

“Oh,” Roman repeated.

Patton glanced over at him sheepishly. “I know it’s silly.”

“No,” Roman blurted. “It’s not silly at all.”

Patton smiled then, a sweet, sad thing that made Roman feel warm from the inside out, like drinking a mug of hot chocolate or a bowl of his favorite soup on a cold day.

And then Patton gasped again.

“I need that!” he wheezed, clutching his chest and grasping at the brown paper bag that had, once again, inexplicably found itself in Roman’s grasp. “It’s—my heart, I need it, give it back—“

Roman practically threw the bag at him, and, once more, Patton’s expression settled immediately. He looked completely normal, if not a little embarrassed.

“Thanks,” he said, catching his breath. “Sorry.”

“Um…no problem,” Roman said belatedly. A thousand questions were firing in his head, and he grasped at them desperately, willing his voice to work. “Your heart?” he managed finally. “I’m sorry, is that what you—?”

“Oh,” Patton looked down bashfully, the embarrassed smile on his face contradicting the ever so slight waver in his voice. “Yeah. Uh…well, last year, I came home early from work, and found my husband in bed with someone else, and, well, when I saw, my heart just broke. Shattered. Into nineteen pieces.” He held up the paper bag and shook it. “Put it in here, and I’ve had to carry it around ever since.”

“Oh,” Roman began, unsure of how to respond. “I’m so sorry.”

“A few months later, he came back—knocked on my door, begging me to take him back, and—well, I’ve never had the easiest time saying ‘no’ to people, so telling him to leave was the hardest thing I’ve ever done…he was so upset that when he left, he didn’t notice the car headed right for him.” His voice broke off, and he lapsed into silence. “I can’t help but feel like I killed him.”

“No,” Roman said, with a conviction that surprised both himself and Patton. “Patton, I—I’ve only known you for ten minutes, and even I can see that you’re one of the most goodhearted people out there. It isn’t your fault.”

Patton hastily wiped a tear from his cheek. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…you must think I’m crazy, a strange man with a broken heart in a paper bag crying about killing his ex-husband on your lawn.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” And just like that, the bag somehow found itself in Roman’s hands again. He held it out to Patton. Patton hesitated.

“It’s never done that before.”

“Does it hurt?” Roman asked, suddenly curious.

“Sometimes. But in an empty way, like how your stomach hurts when you’re really hungry. Mostly, it just feels hollow.”

“Have you ever tried to…piece it back together?”

“Yes, but it’s never worked. Glue, tape…they don’t stick.”

Roman clutched the bag tighter. “…May I?”

Patton’s eyes grew impossibly wide, and he nodded haltingly. Carefully, Roman opened the bag, and peered into it. It looked like shattered red glass. He took out two pieces. He could hear Patton’s breath catch.

They sealed back together seamlessly.

They looked at each other in stunned silence. Patton held his chest, but he didn’t seem to be in any pain.

The Northern Lights exploded overhead. Patton gasped, and tilted his head back in awe. “Goodbye,” he whispered into the night.

He looked back down at Roman, who had found himself on one knee. He normally would have been mortified, but instead, all he could do was hold out the delicate glass heart, whole and lovely, to Patton.

He smiled tearfully down at Roman and laughed a bit. “And hello.”

[richardgrimes]

the raptor kitchen scene was the absolute HARDEST scene to write. whew

[goldenheartgirl1]

Ch.3-Training the Thunder (TWST Mafia AU)

“SILVER!”

The echo could have woken anyone up, Silver was just unfortunate to be the one getting the yell less than a foot away from his relaxed form. His mix of light-blue and light-purple eyes opened quickly and his hunched over form shot up straight in his seat. It took a second to recall where he was but after looking around the room he started to remember. Silver was doing some paperwork and was sitting in one of the interrogation rooms for some peace, which accidentally lolled him to sleep even with his phone playing some music to try and keep him awake. He pushed back his silver hair and turned his head to show his coworker that he was awake now, said coworker was his partner Sebek, who was glaring at him with disbelief. Both of them were wearing similar outfits, simple white pants paired with black tank tops and green ties, their shoes were also black and they wore black gloves that covered their wrists as well. Silver had his hair draped whereas Sebek had his hair down and the lightning bolt lock of hair hung over the bridge of his nose, normally Sebek would slick his hair back but when they were not on a job he wouldn’t bother doing so.

“I can’t believe you fell asleep in here again! And you didn’t even tell anyone! What if someone snuck in and slit your throat? I can’t protect you and Malleus at the same time!”

“Sebek..I am awake now, you can tone your voice down. Besides, father is probably watching Malleus right now..” A sleepy yawn escaped which somehow aggravated Sebek further.

“What kind of assassin are you?!”

“Sebek!” Another voice called, making both men freeze as they looked to the door.

Whereas Sebek and Silver wore their casual office clothes, Lilia was almost always in his spy outfit. Different from the normal “all black” routine most spy movies portray, their agency relies on casual appearance that is easy to upgrade or downgrade on the field, such as running to a crowded location while ditching a jacket and taking out a beanie to cover their hair. The shorter man wore a white dress shirt and midnight black pants, the legs of the pants were neatly tucked into his black boots that had two inch heels to them, and around his torso he wore black combat suspenders. Around his upper arms was a large black overcoat that draped carelessly, the end of the coat nearly grazing the floor, the inside of the coat was colored with a neon green and silver buttons were left undone so the coat was more of a cape. Lilia’s blood red eyes stood out from his pale complexion and the forest green eye shadow, despite his youthful appearance he is at the age of 34 and the longest living member of the Dorniger Drache.

Lilia was well known as the Phantom Commander, but despite his title and disposition he was rather odd. He brushed his black mid-length hair, which was colored with magenta highlights and questioned calmly. “What is all the hullabaloo about boys? Sebek you know better than to rattle our eardrums this late at night, and Silver you should not egg him on, you know how sensitive he is.”

“Sorry Lilia!” Sebek said, toning his voice down a bit but it was still at an undesirable volume, he bowed in front of his superior while Silver stood up from his seat.

“My apologies father, I meant to get some work done but..my um-”

“Narcolepsy. I know Silver,” Lilia spoke with a smile and walked closer to the two, gently brushing Silver’s hair back a bit as he added. “But that is why it is so important for you two to get along. You both are going to be our agency's future and you need to work together. Which is why I have a job for you two.”

Sebek immediately stood tall and looked at Lilia with enthusiasm, it was not uncommon for them to be given missions but Sebek could not contain his excitement. “What is it, Lilia? Assassination? Protection detail?”

“No~ Something easy! Good old fashioned stakeout!” Lilia replied, matching Sebek's fervor as he looked at them both and clapped his hands together. “Which means you both need to blend in and be quiet.”

“Who is the target?” Silver asked, still trying to shake off his drowsiness, Lilia only chuckled and left the room.

“Follow me, this is officially a debriefing.”

The two assassins in training followed their shorter supervisor, their foundation was actually smaller than most would think, it was a simple stone office building that consisted of 5 floors. Two of those floors were underground, one being their supply room of weapons and lethal toxins, and the second one was their secluded room for debriefings and video calls. The three floors that actually had windows were general offices and the interrogation rooms were in a corner of the fourth floor. In the north of Nirvana’s Steel they resided, the mountain like landscape was home to their office and several houses that belonged to those of famous families, and to those that did not want great internet service. Thorns Valley was the place that Silver and Sebek grew up, raised in this career of espionage and death by Lilia and their boss Malleus.

As they reached the last floor, the three entered a room that was locked in metal similar to a bunker and inside a TV screen was connected to a live feed of the Golden Sand district. Silver and Sebek took a seat at the table in the room while Lilia took the remote from a computer desk, playfully tossing it into the air before catching it and zooming in on a woman. “This is Madam Lisha, a woman of refined taste that enjoys working at her lawyers firm, however we have a tip from Jamil about stealing from the firm. You two are to watch her, from work to home, keep tabs on her and see if you can find anything out about her stealing.”

“Are we permitted to hack into her computer?” Silver questioned and added. “Just watching a person won’t give us answers.”

“Yes, all the hacking, microphones, and cameras are allowed.” Lilia confirmed before continuing his debriefing. “Along with that, I will ask you both to stay together this entire time, no divide and conquer this mission.”

Sebek narrowed his gaze a little in contemplation, asking politely and with a regulated tone. “With all due respect Lilia, should we not get this done as fast as possible?”

“No, Malleus specifically wants you both to take this slow, other agents are too busy and we need our top prodigies on the case.” Lilia smirked and turned the TV off, leaving the room basking in a bronze color from the lights. “We have faith in you both, all the information you’ll need has already been forwarded to your emails.”

“Thank you father, we will leave tomorrow.” Silver replied, standing up and bowing along with Sebek.

“We won’t let you or Malleus down!” Sebek’s raucous voice rang out, then the two proceeded to leave while Lilia stayed behind.

The presence in the shadows of the room was not unknown to the master assassin, but he did not look away from the door when it sealed shut, a husky voice disrupted the silence. “Are you certain they can cooperate?”

“They will, for the sake of the mission.”

“I trust your judgment Lilia, however..”

“I have gotten the evidence already, just in case she tries to run or the boys make a mistake. I thought you said you trust me Malleus~” Lilia teased and glanced over his shoulder to the darkness. “I’ve done this far longer than you.”

“Just making sure you have not completely lost your mind. Just make sure to check on them.” The voice joked back with a throaty chuckle. “We don’t need this to be another “Spindle Needle” failure.”

“You wound me Malleus, I always deliver the best results.”

Silver and Sebek were quick to go home and sleep, by five in the morning of the following day they had taken a black car of supplies and drove to the target's residence in the Rose district. Taking their time to find the perfect stakeout spot, they rented a condo directly across from hers and set up their supplies inside, having to bribe the owner some extra money for not asking questions. Sebek commented immediately about how “simple” her living style was, rather than owning a house if she did have the money to spend, only he was reminded by Silver that she was playing it smart by not flashing her wealth. Pictures that have been taken of Madam Lisha were rookie pictures from their coworkers, but her sense of fashion showed it all even if her home didn’t. Designer purses, shoes, fancy coats, the woman was a walking want-to-be model coated in jewelry and fictitious paparazzi. After reviewing the pictures, both assassins waited patiently for the day to truly begin, deciding to wait until Lisha left before they snuck into her condo to plant microphones in every room and a camera in her living room.

Stakeouts were not as exciting as most shows would make them out to be, but it did provide agents with the needed skills of secrecy and blending in, plus most agents learn to cook on their first stakeout. However, both boys were not a fan of stakeouts for one particular reason, they drove each other insane. If Silver fell asleep Sebek would yell at him, if Sebek burned something in the kitchen then Silver would become agitated, it was always something that would upset one or the other. They had a consistent pattern of listening to Lisha when she was home and then following her to work to take pictures, the woman seemed to be completely oblivious to their presence and it was easy to throw on a hat or a different outfit when tailing her. One evening though she was watching a movie so Silver decided to turn the volume down and was drinking an energy drink to try and keep himself up.

“Silver! Where’s the pasta?”

“Second shelf.” Silver replied, rubbing his eye and getting out of his seat to walk to the kitchen. “Did you get the sauce too?”

“While you were asleep, yes.” Sebek scoffed as he heated up a pot of water, getting the sauce out as well and Silver leaned on the counter a bit.

“Sebek, for the last time, I can’t control when I sleep.”

“No but you could do something about it! Take medication, therapy lessons, or even get a dog that will keep you guarded.”

“All of those things can hinder my work, plus I don’t want to put my father through any more trouble..”

Sebek scowled a bit and responded spitefully. “I can’t believe Lilia even took you in as an assassin.”

“He didn’t take me in as an assassin,” Silver glared at the back of his associate. “He took me in as a baby and happened to see my potential.”

“There you go, bragging again, you’re so conceited! Your narcolepsy has gotten you and I into terrible situations and all you can do is apologize deeply to Malleus and Lilia.”

“How am I being conceited? At least I am not envious of everything that someone else is better at.”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Sebek screamed at Silver, turning around to show the anger in his lime green eyes, to which SIlver only stood tall and raised his voice an octave.

“You know what I’m talking about! You always have shown distaste in everything I have done, the fact that I beat you in hand-to-hand combat, that I can mix up a better paralysis formula, and most ludicrously you hate me just because Lilia took me in before you!”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh it’s not, is it? Then tell me Sebek, what is the reason you have for constantly insulting me?”

Sebek fell into silence, the long stare they were holding was broken when he looked down, his hands shaking with anger as he grit his teeth. Silver waited patiently and wondered if perhaps his words were too harsh, they had known each other since they were five when Sebek was brought to Malleus’s home and over the years they trained together. If Lilia was too busy to watch Silver then Sebek would stay by his side and they would play games to pass the time, even when they were in training they still found things to talk about. A deep exhale left the silver haired man as he began to prepare his apology.

“Sebek I didn’t mean to sound so bitter and-”

“No..” Sebek interrupted, his voice tremulous which bewildered Silver but he said nothing as he listened. “You’re right, I’m..I might be a little..not Jealous! But it frustrates me that you always seem to take the attention of everyone even when I do twice as much work as you. I stand in for extra shifts, do more paperwork than most, I do everything I can to stay ahead but it’s not enough.”

Silver watched as Sebek practically slouched against the counter, giving the man a moment the purple/blue eyes flicked over to the stove and Silver walked over to turn the heat off. When he turned around he gently patted Sebek’s back, noting down the flinch that came from him. “Sebek, I’m sorry if I made you feel inadequate, but you know father does see you as a valued member.”

“He does?” Sebek questioned, looking at SIlver with a dismal expression and his eyes sought for a lie.

“Of course, two weeks ago when you passed out at your desk Lilia disclosed to me that you should take a vacation, and that if you work so hard you’ll make yourself sick. I told him not to worry though, I know you have a self care routine and you take time to yourself when you don’t work. You’re not an idiot, you know when you’ve had enough.”

The words rang with honesty and Sebek finally allowed his guard down to stand tall again and sheepishly said. “I didn’t know that I worried Lilia..”

“Of course you make him worry, I make him worry too, it’s in his nature. But the point is, no one can be good at everything. I will admit, you’re better at programming electronics than I am, I just get so bored learning about it that I fall asleep everytime.”

That revelation made Sebek smile a little as he raised his head up higher with the praise. “Well if you want to try again at some point I can teach you! But you have to help me with the paralysis formula in return.”

“I can agree to those terms.” Silver replied with a tired smile and turned the stove back on. “Let’s get dinner ready now, I’m starving.”

Despite how unwanting the conversation had been at the start, the night dragged into a quiet and casual night with the two eating and discussing what proof they could gather. Soon enough they were in their beds and sleeping the way the rest of the evening. By the time morning came a renewed sense of purpose had driven the men to a more theatrical performance, Sebek taking the time to sneak into Lisha’s desk when Silver had fainted in the lobby. The quiet man had been to the hospital plenty of times due to his illness, he knew how long it took for an ambulance to arrive and just how soon people reacted to calling 911. Sebek wasted no time sneaking past the crowd to the front desk where Lisha worked, cameras were not his concern since he had them filled with static by a mechanism of his own, and he added a bug to the computer the woman worked at. When the ambulance did arrive that is when Silver concluded his act and “woke up,” to which Sebek reentered the scene and claimed to be his brother that explained his narcoleptic tendencies.

After confirming ID’s with the fake ones Lilia provided them, the two were let go and they sat in the car for the remaining time. Sebek was able to get some valuable intel from Lisha’s computer, letting Silver sleep in the back seat while Sebek sat in the driver's seat with his laptop open on the center console. Once Lisha had returned to her home, Silver listened to a conversation she was having on her cell phone about today's “incident” and how she planned to take a vacation soon, to which he warned Lilia on a secure line before going to bed that night. A total of five days on the job and Sebek smiled with pride when he found the source of her income, then proceeded to report it to the agency. The next day both of the assassins moved out and were on their way back to speak with Lilia on their task, staying in the debriefing room as both took turns to talk.

“Madam Lisha was illegally giving out trial information to the people that wanted to hear about it. Victims, prosecutors, defendants, even the press that wanted a scoop.” Sebek explained, showing Lilia the files that he printed off with emails and coded documents.

Silver took the torch from there and motioned to the pages of phone calls and credit card purchases. “Her money was given to her in cash then she deposited it into her bank, the many phone calls we recorded were mainly ones with close friends and family members who she guilt-tripped into giving her more money in the act of being in debt.”

“Interesting~” Lilia smiled at the two before asking. “And her employer knew nothing of this?”

“No, we’ve checked his records and emails, she was working alone. However she did occasionally “entertain” the few people that tried to get in her way.” Silver added, looking at Sebek and nodding his head.

The lime green eyes lit with excitement at his turn and turned the TV on to show the tiny red dot on the screen, located right on Lisha’s condo. “We removed the equipment, but I thought it would be best to leave a bug in her phone. Even if she does leave for her vacation she won’t be leaving her phone, so we can keep an eye on her.”

“Very good, I’m impressed. I will contact Jamil, I think he will be ready to give a clue to either Azul or the police. Depending on how merciful he feels he needs to be with her.” Lili replied, walking over to them and placing a hand on each of their heads and petting them a bit. “I’m very proud of you both! Go ahead and take the next couple days off ok? Watch some movies or go hiking, whatever you’d like to do to relax.”

Both quickly stood up tall and spoke out loudly. “Yes sir!”

Sebek quickly left in excitement, feeling as if he really had accomplished a great task no matter how minor the mission was. Silver waited until he left before looking at Lilia and asking softly. “Father, why do you have Sebek and I always working together?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He keeps you on edge, ready to fight, you can fight your narcolepsy when you know there’s someone who relies on your help.” Lilia replied with a smile as he turned off the TV and lights in the room, gesturing to Silver to walk with him as he continued to elaborate. “His booming voice is the only thing I’ve seen you wake up so fast from, it takes three alarm clocks to get you up on a normal day. Plus, you both have skills that the other one does not, Malleus and I were hoping that you both would learn to work together as a duo.”

“Like..how you and Malleus used to work together on the field?”

“Khee hee~ Is it that obvious? Malleus and I were the top team until he had to take over the business on his grandmother's wishes. Oh, I miss those days sometimes. Now come along, how about I make some dinner?”

“Actually father, let me do that, you look tired.”

“Eh? Do I?”

[artificialqueens]

Between Two Lungs (It Was Released) (Sasha Colby x Anetra) - Athena2

Summary: Anetra weighs her options. She could try to find a doctor who will do an expensive surgery that her insurance likely won’t cover, that will remove her memories of Sasha. She could be cured if Sasha returns the feelings of love for her. Research tells her some cases have resolved by getting over the person, so she can just stop loving Sasha. The problem is, Sasha isn’t someone you can just stop loving. (Hanahaki au) A/N: So I’ve surprisingly never done a hanahaki au, though I’ve wanted to for a while. This idea popped into my head and wouldn’t leave until I wrote it. Thank you so much to Writ for encouraging me to do this when I just had one scene idea, for helping me with my mini-spiral, and for looking it over. You are truly amazing and I can never thank you enough. Please comment if you like, it means a lot!! Title from Between Two Lungs by Florence + the Machine (Also the flower info I got is from wikipedia so if anything is inaccurate please suspend your disbelief)

Anetra lays the flower on the florist’s counter. Five silky petals, dark pink with yellow at the centers. The intersection of the petals stares at her like an eye, questioning why she coughed it up last night.

“How did you get this?” The florist asks. She seems almost suspicious.

“You know what it is?” Anetra asks instead.

“Yes, it’s a plumeria. Really nice color combination, too. They don’t occur naturally here. You could try to plant one, but it’s difficult. The closest place you could get one is Hawaii.”

Anetra’s blood runs cold despite the sunny warmth of the flower. “Um, a friend brought it back for me,” she says, and then she runs out of the shop, her chest constricting with what she fears might be another flower.

A pretty pink flower that grows in Hawaii.

Well, Anetra thinks, shit.

—-

Anetra scrolls through internet entries on plumerias with shaky fingers. They’re native to Hawaii and other warm climates, and require lots of sun and warmth to thrive. Plumerias symbolize positivity, and are the flowers used in Hawaiian leis. She reads that in Hawaiian culture, they can also be worn in someone’s hair to indicate their relationship status. A plumeria over the right ear means someone is available, over the left ear means they’re in a relationship.

If Sasha had one in her hair, it would be over her left ear.

But not for Anetra.

—-

Anetra weighs her options.

She could try to find a doctor who will do an expensive surgery that her insurance likely won’t cover, that will remove her memories of Sasha. She could be cured if Sasha returns the feelings of love for her. Research tells her some cases have resolved by getting over the person, so she can just stop loving Sasha.

The problem is, Sasha isn’t someone you can just stop loving.

—-

There’s a fourth option, but she won’t think of that one.

—–

“Hey, Anetra,” Sasha greets when she gets in the door. She’s at the stove, and the scent of butter and blueberries hovers around her.

“Hi.” She clears her throat to hide the hoarseness in her voice. Just a few petals since the first flower, but her throat has been sore regardless.

“I passed this stand selling blueberries, and I really wanted pancakes, so I made breakfast for dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Anetra smiles despite everything. “You make the best pancakes.”

“They’re just pancakes,” Sasha says, but she can’t hide her smile.

“Yeah, and they’re the best.” Anetra joins her by the stove, holding up the plate so Sasha can add the last pancake to the steaming stack.

The pancakes go down easily, and seem to neutralize the worst of that aching weight in her chest.

——

She doesn’t know how to make herself stop loving Sasha. Honestly, she doesn’t know when she started loving her in the first place. In some ways, it seems like she’s always loved Sasha, like her heart has always known her.

They met when Marcia introduced them, and Anetra found that Sasha was every bit as beautiful as Marcia had promised. It would have been easy to hate her for that if she was anyone else. But Sasha also delivered on being just as sweet and kind as Marcia said she was. She spent hours volunteering at a trans youth center. She greeted all her friends’ problems with open arms and a listening ear, had seen countless shirts stained by tears. She would spend hours shopping with you to help you find the perfect outfit. When she went walking, peoples’ dogs ran up to her like she was some Disney princess.

When Anetra’s lease was up and the landlord was raising the rent for the renewal, Sasha said that she had an extra bedroom and would love a roommate, where Anetra learned that in addition to being beautiful and kind, Sasha could be goofy and ridiculous, would get so into her singing in the shower that she’d splash water everywhere. She made Anetra feel like they had a little family, just the two of them.

Maybe the night the first flower came up was when the love officially started. Nothing special happened that night. They made dinner together and folded clothes with the TV on in the background, and Sasha was so tired she accidentally put on one of Anetra’s sweatshirts, then went to bed early. Anetra intended to follow her, only to end up hunched over the garbage can with a weird tickle in her throat. She expected to throw up, only to cough, chest constricting in pain, until a flower tumbled on top of the tissues in the garbage, bright pink shining against the white.

Plumerias take a long time to grow. Maybe the seeds were planted from the moment they met, nourished by Anetra’s love, and that night was just the first bloom.

—–

The first day Anetra coughs up two flowers at once—gasping for breath, clutching to the sink with white knuckles—is the same day she gets home and finds Sasha wrapped in a blanket on the couch, wine glass in hand, eyes red even though she’s not crying anymore.

“What’s wrong?” Anetra is next to her in an instant, eyes searching for ways she could be hurt, any tell-tale signs of what’s wrong—

“Leah and I broke up,” Sasha says quietly. “It was mutual. We just—things just weren’t working. I don’t think we were right for each other, deep down.”

In some perfect fantasy rolling in Anetra’s head, Sasha would lean over and give her a kiss and confess the love that would save Anetra, take away the flowers killing her from the inside. Instead, Sasha stays where she is, her shoulders drawn tight, and Anetra aches, aches for the hurt Sasha is feeling. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t think so. I usually know my feelings, but I don’t…I don’t know what I need or what I’m feeling right now. Everything just feels confused and messy.” Sasha sighs and begins playing with her hair, one of her only nervous habits.

“I think it’s normal to be confused about feelings sometimes. Especially after a breakup.” Anetra has never been as good with emotions or words as Sasha is. Sometimes she thinks too long about how exactly she wants to say something, and it grows too late. Sometimes she avoids her own emotions so long that she doesn’t know what to do when someone has them out on their sleeve. “How about a hug?” Anetra asks, because she knows her arms are always enough.

Sasha nods. Anetra opens her arms, and Sasha sinks into them. She pulls Sasha to her chest, her head settling right over the flowers burning in her lungs.

—–

All things considered, they aren’t the worst flowers she could be coughing up. They’re not anything huge like sunflowers; the petals grow to about four inches in length. They’re soft and rounded, no hard roots or vines, no thorns like roses would have. They’re often used in perfume and carry a sweet, fragrant scent, usually the first thing Anetra notices when her head stops spinning and she can breathe again. It figures that even in this sickness, Sasha is still making things as easy as she can for her.

Plumeria leaves are thick and leathery and can grow up to a foot long. Anetra is hoping the sickness applies only to flowers.

—–

Anetra had thought, in some desperate way, that it would get better now that Sasha was single. Now that there’s a chance of her returning Anetra’s love, however small it might be. It seemed like a blessing from the universe for her to magically become available. Instead, it gets worse. The dizziness, the constant shaking in her hands. The squeezing in her chest that takes longer to go away. It gets worse, because Sasha isn’t in a relationship that’s keeping her from loving Anetra. Now, Sasha’s out of her relationship, and she still doesn’t love Anetra. There’s no excuse any more, no rationale. Sasha just doesn’t love her, and that’s it. That plumeria shifted from Sasha’s left ear to her right, but it’s done nothing to ease the pain blooming inside Anetra.

Just being around her is starting to hurt, a fist squeezing around her chest. Just seeing her smile is starting to rob Anetra of more and more breath, like the flowers are growing in response to the sun that is Sasha.

She’s done her best to hide it around Sasha and her observation skills, smothering her coughs and hiding the pain. It’s tempting, sometimes, to tell her the truth, let Anetra’s feelings blossom like the flowers, and see if Sasha returns them. But it would be worse to know for sure. To be outright rejected, and have that option struck from the cure list.

One night they’re getting dinner ready and her throat is on fire, tingling with flowers ready to emerge. She runs to the bathroom and just has time to get the water running as a cover before she bends over and surrenders herself to the porcelain.

The flowers taste bitter on the way up, though still tinged with that sweet scent. Three flowers land in the sink; the most in one go so far. Red this time, a dark, angry red. She’s wondering if the flowers normally change colors when she realizes the red is dripping off the petals and turning pink in the water, that the bitter taste is still in her mouth.

Blood.

She waits for the spinning to stop and lifts her head. Blood drips down her lips to her chin, the red dark and scary against her face that’s about as pale as the sink. It makes her look like a vampire in some horror movie, and she would laugh if it didn’t hurt so bad.

“Everything okay?” Sasha asks when she gets back, throat raw and mouth still bitter even after rinsing.

“Yeah.” It doesn’t even sound like a lie. “Thought I had something stuck in my throat, you know? Figured you didn’t want to watch me hack up a lung in the kitchen.”

“Definitely not, thank you.”

Funnily enough, Sasha does always like to have flowers in the kitchen. The lack of oxygen must be getting to Anetra’s head, because part of her wonders if Sasha would want flowers that tore her insides apart, that would drip blood all over the counters.

—-

There’s no conclusive report on how long the disease lasts. An average seems to be about three months, but some people manage for a year. Anything longer is practically unheard of.

Anetra’s done taekwondo most of her life. If there’s one thing she has, it’s stamina and endurance. The ability to continue on through soul-deep rejection and bone-deep exhaustion and pain.

In other words, those flowers are going to have to work for it.

—–

One morning she wakes with the sheets kicked to the bottom of the bed, sweat soaking the collar of her T-shirt. Her whole body is on fire. Her cheek burns against the pillow, but the worst is the burning in her chest, unrelenting no matter which way she turns. There’s no way she can do anything but lay here today, and she texts Sasha to say that she’s sick.

There’s a knock on the door not a minute later, because of course Sasha is too good, too caring, to not at least check on her. “Anetra, can I come in?”

“Yeah.” It’s faint, scratching at her throat, but she doesn’t have the strength to be louder.

“I just wanted to see if you need anything before I go—shit, you’re really sick.” Sasha’s hand rests on her forehead, and the flowers twitch inside. Having Sasha this close is like being near a fireplace, and she’s already in flames. Anetra winces, and Sasha tears her hand away. “Your fever feels really high. Are you sure you’re okay? I can stay home if you want.”

“‘M’ fine.”

“Do you want Tylenol?”

“Please.”

A minute later, Sasha is back with two pills and a glass of water so cold it makes Anetra’s teeth chatter. The pills burn her throat, and it makes her cough violently into her arm. Sasha rubs her back through the coughing fit, and Anetra just prays that a flower doesn’t come up, because if Sasha sees her coughing up a flower, her concern might finish Anetra off right here.

“Text me if you need anything, okay?” Sasha lays a washcloth on her forehead. It’s cold, but it does nothing to tame the fire burning through her.

“I will.”

“Get some sleep. It’ll make you feel better.”

Anetra holds her breath as the burning worsens, waiting for the door to close—then the garbage can is in her hands as she spits blood and flowers into it. One of the flowers has a thin stem attached now, like it’s coming from deeper inside her.

The day passes in a haze. Pink flowers. Red blood. Brown hair. Hazel eyes. She can’t tell the difference between reality and dreaming, because even her sleep is just a blur of color like a watercolor painting. The scent of the plumerias follows her there too. Anetra stares at the ceiling and tries to breathe through the pain winding around her chest. She imagines the plumerias knotting themselves into a lei around her ribcage, squeezing her bones in a noose of sweet flowers.

In the heat pouring off her skin, the day melts around her. Finally, after what feels like both hours and years, there’s a knock at the door, and Sasha’s voice. “Are you hungry? I brought soup. It’s your favorite, from that Puerto Rican restaurant you told me about.”

Sasha comes in with a takeout container and a spoon. The restaurant is one Anetra mentioned maybe twice, half an hour out of the way of Sasha’s commute, and Anetra can no longer tell if the heat in her face is from the illness or her love. They’re one and the same, aren’t they? She manages to eat the soup, and when she coughs up three more flowers that night, the soup somehow stays down.

—–

“Do you think this is okay for a coffee date?” Sasha asks, smoothing her orange blazer.

“It’s perfect. You—you always look perfect,” Anetra manages around her dry throat, tingling with that feeling that’s become too familiar.

“Even in my pajamas with the french fries on them?” Sasha teases.

“Especially then.” Anetra forces a smile as Sasha leaves.

Anetra manages until she’s out the door, but then she can’t even get to the bathroom before she doubles over, squeezing her eyes shut against the gray spots darkening her vision. Sweat runs down her neck, a return of that fever from before. She coughs and coughs in the living room, the flowers fluttering down at her feet. But something feels wrong—wronger than the wrong that’s been plaguing her for seven months.

She tentatively reaches toward her mouth and feels something much thicker than the flowers, and her stomach drops as she pulls at it. She pulls until she feels completely raw and empty, like she ripped all her insides out, until she sinks to her knees in a shuddering heap.

In her trembling hand is a plumeria leaf the length of her forearm, spring green and streaked with violent red.

She has to be reaching the end, then. There’s simply no way her lungs can take that many more leaves sprouting inside, the love taking deeper and deeper root by the day. She imagines plumeria branches bursting through her skin, turning her into a tree that managed to survive where it shouldn’t have solely because of love.

Her movements are slow as she cleans up the flowers. She doesn’t count them, but there’s enough for a floral arrangement. She buries them in the kitchen garbage when the door suddenly opens, and it’s enough to jolt Anetra back into the world a bit.

“Sasha?” she asks in disbelief. “What are you doing back so soon?”

“I need to talk to you.” Her jaw is tight in that way it gets when she’s tense or nervous, and Anetra immediately ushers her to the couch.

Sasha takes a breath. “So, I left, and then I stood in the lobby for ten minutes, trying to talk myself into going on the date. But I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t go through with it because…because I realized I’d just be thinking of you the whole time. Because I love you.”

Tears flood Anetra’s eyes, and she loses what precious little breath she has left. When Sasha wipes the tears, she thinks her rib cage might be expanding to make room for the branches.

“I think that’s why it didn’t work with Leah. Why I felt so weird about it later. I think I’ve loved you all along, and it just…it took me a while to realize it. I think it took so long because in some ways, it feels like I’ve always loved you, you know?” Sasha takes another breath, rubbing her knee. “Anyway, maybe you don’t—”

“No,” Anetra says quickly. She needs to get her words right, and she needs to do it now, before she sprouts branches. “I understand what you mean. The truth is, I feel the same way. I love you too. I have for a long time.” Maybe it’s her imagination, but she swears the air in the room gets lighter, gets into her lungs easier. She hadn’t realized just how hard she’d been fighting for every breath lately, until she takes her first unobstructed one.

“You’re not just saying that?” Sasha asks softly.

Anetra takes her hand and squeezes with whatever strength she has. There’s no way she can let Sasha doubt her. Not when Anetra’s love for her nearly tore her apart. “I’m not just saying that. I love you, Sasha. I really do. I love you when you flood the bathroom dancing in the shower. I love your laugh and your smile and everything about you.”

“I love you too.” Sasha throws her arms around Anetra, and the tightness around Anetra’s chest isn’t painful anymore; now it’s coming from Sasha’s embrace, not the ring of plumerias. She can feel her chest lightening, like the flowers are dissolving, can feel that faint dizziness always hovering at the edges of her vision clearing itself up. It wasn’t too late. She’s still here. She’s still here, and she’s going to give Sasha the love that burned inside her for so long.

“Give me one second,” Anetra says. She runs to the kitchen and uncovers one of the plumerias. It’s the only one that somehow avoided her blood, and she carries it back to the living room.

“Anetra, how did you get that?”

“Please don’t ask.” Anetra takes the flower and gently slides it above Sasha’s left ear before pulling her into another embrace.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Ok going back to the FaceTime thing imagine Vampirerry calling y/n butt naked with a rose in his mouth and she picks up sobbing in the break room about a shitty customer. And he’s just there like oh shit um just a second. 😂🤣

STOP THAT’S SO FUCKING FUNNY

Harry poses himself on the bed with his ankles crossed and his arms folded behind his head, making sure that his biceps are flexing and that she can see his toned chest glistening with oil in the dim lighting of his room (he’d rubbed himself down for the sake of production quality, well aware the whole wet look aesthetic is a big factor in visual stimulation these days). He props his phone up nicely on its side so it gets the width of the shot perfectly, opting to entertain himself as he waits, humming through the rose stem in his mouth and wiggling his toes impatiently as the call rings periodically.

When Y/N finally picks up, his excitement gets the better of him, and he immediately speaks up with a seductive twang echoing within the syllables of his suggestive words. “Thought I’d do something extra special for our daily break chat today, since I know how much you love it when I put on a show—”

Harry is only halfway through his sentence when he registers her puffy eyes and the faint sniffling sounds permeating through the speaker. The image of his crying girlfriend materializes across the screen, tears rolling down her dewy cheeks as she wipes at them with the sleeve of her sweater, her waterline irritated and red as a result of her emotions. His jaw drops open in horrified surprise, the flower falling from in between his teeth and plopping onto his bare chest with a pathetic thud. “Oh, fuck.”

“Hey, H.” Y/N’s voice comes through as a weak, trembling murmur, which gives away that she’s obviously trying to hold back more tears. She’s yet to realize the atrocity she’s about to encounter. “Just give me a second, I had a fight with a customer earlier and I’m just processing it so I can— what the fuck?”

Shit.

The young woman’s eyes blow wide as saucers, her brain throttling as it absorbs the preposterous image before her, leaving her disoriented as she gawks at the nude vampire in appalled shock. All her motions freeze as she takes in his exposed frame and the romantic candles littered around his bedroom, her hand suspending in midair during its route towards her leaking nose, only to go slack in disbelief as the reality of the moment begins to fully set in. Harry blinks at her blankly in return as he sits there absolutely naked, extended sultrily over his silk sheets with a wild and stunned expression painted over his handsome features, his reaction analogous to that of a deer caught in headlights. The pair contemplate each other in awkward silence, and all that can be heard is the sound of the cash register dinging in the background of her call.

Harry pipes up first, his voice panicked, embarrassed, and rushed. “I can explain.”

Y/N’s arm drops into her lap hollowly. “I don’t think I want you to.”

“Just— Just give me a second, I— hold on—” He immediately scrambles to grab the comforter, yanking it over his groin in an attempt to regain his modesty, as well as to respect the atmosphere of the room. It’s evident he’s caught her at a bad time, and the last thing she needs is to have his dick slapping her across the face while she’s bawling her eyes out in the back room of her workplace. “Sorry, I just— it was meant to be a surprise, I didn’t know you were— like, I assumed you were alright so I figured, ‘hey, why don’t I do a boudoir type thing to spice up her day and give her something to think about for the rest of her shift,’ but obviously that isn’t the mood right now ‘cause you’re sad and you’ve got a bit of snot running across your upper lip there— no, along your Cupid’s Bow, babe— a little to the left and— yeah, you got it. God, this panned out way better in my head.”

Y/N finishes wiping below her nose, sniffling lightly as she watches her boyfriend fumble and grumble to himself, evidently struggling to find something beneath his duvet. “Harry—”

“Just give me a minute, sweetheart, I had my boxers laying around here somewhere. I tossed them off before I called you but I don’t know where they landed…” He’s clawing at the sheets and whipping his head back and forth, spewing flower petals everywhere (he’d set them up as supporting decorations to his softcore erotic scene) as he rummages through his bed, his temper flaring as he desperately skims his hands over the mattress. He grunts in mortification as he pauses for a moment, reminiscing through his prior actions as a means to find his misplaced briefs. He mutters to himself in thought as he uses the knuckle on his thumb to scratch above one of his furrowed brows, almost as if to help pry the vague memory loose from whatever crevice it’s chosen as a hiding spot. “Fuck’s sake, I know I threw it somewhere on the bed. Christ, you’re an idiot— you should have asked first. What the fuck is wrong with you, anyway? Who the fuck calls someone with their balls out like that in the name of romance? Especially without permission? Bloody moron.”

Y/N’s tone weighs in soft and quiet as she repeats her previous statement. “Harry...”

The immortal bends over the side of the bed, reverting to scouring the floor for his underwear in a futile aim to patch up the exasperating circumstance. His accent carries over his broad shoulders, the muscles of his back shifting and contracting as he coasts his palms blindly along the carpet beneath his bedpost. “Hold on, love, I—”

“Harry.”

The newfound adamance behind her attitude snaps him out of his frantic stupor. He jolts his gaze back towards his phone, and what he sees makes all of the burning humiliation funnel straight out of his system.

Y/N’s face, by some miracle, no longer looks exhausted and somber. Though her eyes are still swollen and her lips are still raw, the watery frown that had been etched across her cheeks has practically dissolved into smoke, replaced by a faint, amused smile and an oddly bright sheen across her glossy irises. Tears have stopped streaming down her nose, and the gentle sobs that had been forcing their way out of her throat have faded away, replaced by the unmistakably familiar sound of her sweet giggles. It’s like a switch has been flipped, and it startles his flustered mind beyond understanding.

The vampire ogles in foolish awe as his partner’s woes melt away like snow under a radiating furnace, her laughter rising in giddiness the longer his face remains contorted in absurd wonder. He slowly rectifies himself back atop the sheets, slouching his back in hesitant surrender as he wrings his large hands nervously, his curls mussed and tangled from his frenzied treasure hunt, blown across his forehead in the heat of battle. He swallows thickly, raising an eyebrow gingerly in plain confusion. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you—” Y/N’s snickers interrupt her sentence, and she clutches over her stomach in overwhelmed glee, taking a few moments to compose herself accordingly before attempting to continue. “Because you really called me naked in the middle of the day, and then your face when you saw me crying— it was— Oh my God, it was priceless! And the way the rose just fell out of your mouth— you looked like you were about to barf! And then you started throwing pillows and shit everywhere trying to find your underwear, and I could see your bare ass peeking out from under the comforter when you bent over, and it just— it’s so fucking funny!”

The girl proceeds to indulge her humor even more as a result of his comedic disgrace, and Harry finds himself chortling along with her. He’s not usually too keen on being the punchline a joke, but when it comes to Y/N, his habits have been disproven more times than he can count. He’s more than happy to be a court jester at the moment, especially if it’ll help tide over the self-loathing that he’s feeling as the aftermath of his clumsy mistake, and even moreso if it’ll cheer her up after a shitty shift.

He speaks through bundles of boyish giggles, rubbing at his temples in order to calm the last of his nerves, his words sheepish and delicate as they crackle through the speaker, reiterating his previous points. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked first.”

Y/N shakes her head at him mockingly, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. “Oh, y’think? I have no problem with you playing camboy, but maybe don’t do it while I’m at work, yeah?”

The corners of Harry’s lips drop into a deadpan scowl, releasing a peeved whine that insists on his innocence. “It was meant to be a gift! A nice little surprise.”

The human juts her chin towards the camera at a downward angel, emphasizing something that lies off the bottom of the screen. “There’s nothing little about that surprise.”

Harry glimpses towards where she’s signaling, his sight landing on the area between his thighs. The region is still covered by his duvet, but there’s a prevalent print showing through the fabric, courtesy of the pregaming he’d done before the call, which he’d preformed solely for her viewing pleasure. Sort of. It had been for his pleasure, as well, but mostly for hers.

He glances back up at Y/N with a sly smile, his front teeth digging into his bottom lip as he keeps a cap on all the filthy comments threatening to spill over his tongue. “I suppose not.”

“So what did you have in mind, exactly? A virtual lap dance?”

Harry’s attention momentarily slips towards his peripheral vision, where an array of sex toys lies atop his nightstand, arranged in a neat line and coordinated by size, color, and mode of stimulation. “I was thinking more of a ‘choose your path’ type of experience.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Y/N leans forward closer to the phone, balancing her elbow on the table before her, propping her chin in her awaiting palm and tapping her fingers playfully across her jaw. Her voice drops in volume and pitch, taking on a lascivious tinge as she gazes at him through heavy lashes. “So what are my options, then?”

“I’m so glad you asked.”

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

jaw on the floor anon here again: truthfully i kept stopping to like. scroll back up and reread certain parts bc it's all cascading balls to the wall insanity. especially the biblical allusions like "on the 7th day gojo wants to take part in the act of creation," or smth like that.

and then the idea of a curse manifesting off the reader's sheer terror in the situation. the dog motifs. the way he phrases it like yh this is how i NEED my debt repaid. the mind games of it all like giving some semblance of agency but before that when he turned his infinity on and visited the room at night to see the clothes himself?? mr gojo..sir, um ur TWISTED.

the boiling frog analogy yeah there's so many little nuggets of foreshadowing that made me fully stop in my tracks at the "don't hate me too much, kay" line. "he supposes he's made you in his image" i feel like rolling around in the biblical intertextuality i love that so much. and the changing seasons!!!!

i like that even though it was dc the pacing allowed for the expected dread to set in & it wasnt just jarring for the sake of shock value or whatever which is often what happens when ppl do yan. this felt like a character study gone wrong but like in the best of ways

THE HIGHEST PRAISE. HELLO!!! MY BELOVED!!!! im so glad my biblical allusions were charming and fun sdkjfjsdk i truly think all the religious imagery was one of the most fun elements for me to explore EVER. like it was quite cathartic for me to examine gojos character in that way bc he does often get the god comparison but he's not quite!! longing is human but apathy is so godlike!!! ill eat him alive.

the curse manifesting on readers terror was one of my favorite parts to write!! i remember coming up with the idea while i was cooking and stopping everything bc i really think it had exactly the right details of illness in it. and im glad all the foreshadowing came through AAAH!!!! the different aspects of repitition like seasons, time, and biblical references were also very funny to write so the fact u enjoyed them makes me happy esp bc it was quite hard to execute for it being my first time having done it

COMPLIMENTS ON PACING MEAN THE WORLD. it was the thing i was Most Nervous about the entire time. i think yan really really requires people to suspend disbelief a little bit but i wanted it to feel like. less for shock value and more that there is just something So Wrong about his love map. a character study gone wrong was the exact vibe i was wanting so im !!!!!!

[usergreenpixel]

JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 4: IN THE REIGN OF TERROR: THE ADVENTURES OF A WESTMINSTER BOY(1888)

1. The Introduction

Well hello there again, dearest readers! I’m back at it again and this time I brought you something more obscure.

Honestly, I would’ve never found out about this book had I not seen the category for books set in the French Revolution era on Wikipedia after a deliberate google search.

“In the Reign of Terror” is an adventure novel aimed at young boys that was published in 1888 by one G. A. Henty, an English novelist who has other adventure novels to his name too, but today we’ll only take a look at this one.

It’s available on Project Gutenberg in the ebook format and is in public domain so it’s free to download, which is how I obtained the book.

2. The Summary

The book takes place in the French Revolution era, specifically from 1790 to about 1792. It tells the story of Harry Sandwith, a boy whose physician father sends him from London to Burgundy to live with Marquis de St. Caux and his family.

As the brother of the Marquis had been cured by Harry’s father during his stay in London, the entire arrangement was his idea. The Marquis himself also believes that by having an English companion, his sons can learn a lot about English customs while Harry learns the language and the traditions of France.

But as the Revolution is drawing nearer than ever, clouds gather above the heads of Harry’s host family and Harry himself...

This is the basic premise of the story, but how did the finished product turn out? Let’s find that out for ourselves, Citizens!

3. The Story

Now, at first the story itself seems a bit implausible on the level of the premise. The Marquis believes that his sons should learn a thing or two about masculinity and sports from Harry, as English boys are supposedly more manly than their “feminine” French peers.

I find it hard to believe that a French nobleman would think this way but I was still willing to suspend my disbelief somewhat because Anglophiles do exist and despite the rivalry between France and the UK, the two countries did borrow bits and pieces of culture from each other.

Here’s the part that gave me pause and kind of ruined the experience for me. The entire book reeks of a sense of English superiority. Harry, the main character, is English and is portrayed as the bravest, strongest and most masculine member of the cast, while his French companions, Ernest and Jules, the sons of the Marquis, are basically treated like feminine “sissies”.

(Spoiler alert!)

For example, in the beginning of Harry’s adventures, the daughters of the Marquis are attacked by a rabid dog and who saves them? Harry, of course. This is one of the instances where the author demonstrates how strong English boys are and this is the moment after which Harry is finally seen as an equal by the noble siblings.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for patriotism and taking pride in your country. I’m Russian and proud of it. However, too much pride and you get this obnoxious sense of superiority. If you need a prime example of how that usually plays out, look at the Axis during WW2.

What Henty chooses to portray is specifically a sense of superiority. Characters like Harry’s father take pride in the fact that England has less strict class divisions, that apparently English commoners have already obtained more liberties while the French peasants are merely a mob of bloodthirsty savages, etc.

Don’t know about you, Citizens, but I really don’t like such narratives shoved in my face and considering how often this nationalism shows up, I had a lot of trouble getting through the story.

I’m all for healthy patriotism that acknowledges the good and the bad in one’s country but this is just too much nationalism for me and I believe that the book would’ve been more enjoyable without this narrative showing up every couple of pages or so like jumpscares in a bad horror movie.

4. The Characters

I know this was the 19th century so the audiences were probably not pampered with complex stories and characters as much yet, but honestly I didn’t find Harry a truly likable and relatable protagonist.

(Spoiler alert!)

He starts out as a pretty average school student but while in France he proves to be heroic - killing a rabid dog, slaying a man eating wolf (not completely by himself) and generally always proving himself to be the manly hero that Ernest and Jules can never be. Basically it was easy to predict that he will emerge from any trouble victorious so I didn’t have many reasons to be worried about him.

The sons and the daughters of the Marquis all end up liking him. Too much may I add.

In short, I personally got a bit of Harry Stu vibe. 😉

He does have one glaring flaw that unfortunately doesn’t do him any favors in my eyes. The English superiority complex that the author expresses in the story shines in Harry brighter than the Sun. He doesn’t express much empathy either.

(Spoiler alert!)

When Harry saves a man from getting attacked by an assassin and sees that the man is scared out of his mind, the first thing Harry feels towards him is disdain for apparently being a “pussy”. Um, hello, Harry?! How would you react if you got attacked out of the blue! Not everyone is as “strong and manly” as you are!

Then Harry also regrets saving the man when it turns out to be Robespierre. Our protagonist, dear Citizens!

Speaking of Robespierre, here (and this goes for most French characters) he is portrayed as a weak feeble “sissy”, thirsty for blood but neat and frugal in outfit and lifestyle, someone who won’t hesitate to have half of France slaughtered. Of course. 🙄

The female characters are bland helpless ingénues. Also typical of the literature of the time period.

By the way, Robespierre is the only revolutionary who is actually featured in the story. Marat and Danton are mentioned but it’s all negative in their department too, especially when it comes to Marat.

The Parisian crowd is little more than a bloodthirsty mob of savage uneducated peasants ready to slaughter all nobles just because they’re well, nobles.

Honestly, nothing new here.

5. The Setting

Honestly, I feel like there weren’t that many descriptions and those that were present simply weren’t vivid enough to immerse myself into the story. Too many descriptions are bad too, of course, but here the opposite happens - too little descriptions so sometimes the surroundings feel like vacuum and there’s not enough world building to imagine yourself in that era, beside the characters.

It’s all just bland caricatured setting one would expect from an amateur puppet show at daycare.

Remember, dear Citizens. Even if you write about your own era and country, world building is extremely important so please don’t underestimate the power of good and vivid descriptions, just use them in moderation.

Anyway, onto the final point.

6. The Conclusion

Despite all the drawbacks, I didn’t quite hate the book. I simply think it could’ve been written a lot better, without shoving the supposed superiority of England in our faces, without bland characters, without the unlikeable protagonist, without cardboard settings and definitely without machismo and layers upon layers of Thermidorian propaganda.

I wouldn’t recommend this story unless you really want to kill time and have nothing else to do.

With that in mind, allow me to conclude the fourth meeting of our Convention. Stay tuned for the announcement of the topic of the next meeting and have a good day, Citizens.

Love,

- Citizen Green Pixel

[rikalovesrice]

Brother

A ficlet inspired by this thread on Twitter, some “Douxie During Trollhunters” stuff I was working on a while back, and my love for Douxie and Jim being best bros UwU

@aaronwaltke and @biancasiercke if you guys ever wanna give this a read (Absolutely zero pressure! Just sharing💙)

Also a big thank you to my good friend @nikibogwater for proofreading for me! ^_^

Please enjoy!

~ ~ ~

Douxie still remembered the day a seven-year-old Jim Lake Jr. came through the door to Benoit’s, tugging his mom in after him by her hand. His big toothy smile when he exclaimed that it was his mom’s birthday and that he was paying for all of it, even the drinks.

“Are you now?” Douxie asked, handing the pair of them menus. They’d chosen a two-top right next to the windows, the backdrop of Arcadia under a soft orange sunset in full view. 

“I helped mom clean,” Jim said. “Like a lot. So I have lots of money.” He crossed his arms, throwing his mom, Barbara Lake, a cheeky grin. His black hair was on the long side and messy, sticking up and flopping in various places including over one of his eyes, though it did virtually nothing to hide his pride and excitement.

“Can you believe he wanted to spend his whole allowance on me?” Barbara said.

“Uh yeah! You’re the best mom ever!” Jim leaned towards Douxie, feigning a whisper. “She’s the best mom ever.”

Douxie chuckled. “I’m sure. And it looks like she’s got a great son to match.” Jim beamed, though a hint of shyness bloomed on his face.

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Barbara asked.

“Oh, quite alright. You can call me Douxie. I’ll be your server tonight.”

“Well thank you, Douxie.”

“Mom, can I get a milkshake?”

“Why are you asking me, little man? You’re the one paying.”

“Oh yeah.”

One shared entree of well done steak, a milkshake, and two free slices of cake (accompanied by Douxie’s acoustic guitar and a birthday song) later, Jim caught Douxie by the hem of his jacket after he’d set their receipt down. 

“Wait, Mister Douxie I uh…” Jim dug deep into his pockets, rummaging with a look of determination.

Douxie smiled, kneeling down beside him. “What is it, little man?”

“Um, wait, wait I need to...Oh!” Jim smiled big as he pulled a single coin out of his pocket. He held it straight out to Douxie, his eyes seeming to sparkle. “This is for you! Mom said that you should always tip people.”

Jim placed the coin in the center of Douxie’s palm. It was a nickel, a small bit of rust darkening ol’ Tommy’s profile. Douxie glanced over at Barbara, who was gazing at her son with an expression nothing short of pure endearment, glowing with pride. Douxie closed his fingers over the nickel and held it to his chest.

“A fine tip, indeed,” he said with a soft smile. “Thank you very much, Jim.”

Jim beamed. Then he was springing out of his chair, giggling as he gave Douxie a hug. How long had it been since he’d been smothered by someone who wasn’t Archie? Maybe long enough, because Douxie’s brain stopped working at the gesture, as did his arms. It registered more with every second that passed, the feeling of Jim’s small arms wrapped around him and his head on Douxie’s shoulder. Even without seeing his face, Douxie somehow knew Jim was smiling into his jacket. Something welled up in his heart, warm and touched. Douxie hugged Jim back, one hand on his back and the other gently holding his head.

“You’re awesome Mister Douxie!” Jim said as he pulled back, his hands still on Douxie’s shoulders. “Mom was really happy.”

“Hey now, I’m not the one who bought her dinner tonight.” Douxie ruffled Jim’s hair.

“Alright, Jim, Mister Douxie has to go back to work,” Barbara said softly. Jim’s expression fell and he began to wring his hands.

“No worries.” Douxie gave Jim’s shoulder a squeeze, tilting his head to look Jim in the eyes. “Chin up, buddy.  Next time you come in, I’ll still be here.”

Jim beamed. “Cool!”

“Go on, then.”

Jim hopped to his mother’s side, taking her hand. When he was distracted by one of Douxie’s co-workers wrestling with a malfunctioning blender, Barbara reached into her purse and pulled out a bill. She slipped it into Douxie’s hand, silently mouthing a thank you. Then the pair were off, stepping back out onto the streets of Arcadia under a pleasant evening. 

Douxie unrolled the bill.

Twenty dollars.

His eyes shot to the window in disbelief, catching Jim giving him one last wave goodbye. A deep breath turned into soft chuckling. Douxie waved back.

See you, little buddy.

~ ~ ~

The morning Archie reported Kanjigar’s death, they’d booked it to the canal. The last thing they wanted was for the Amulet of Daylight to wind up in the museum or in some kid’s backpack. Douxie would pick it up and then head right back to Arcane Books. So a brisk ten minute walk later, they were peering down the deep slope of the canal and spotted what must have been the remains of the Trollhunter. A heap of broken stone, just out of reach of the shadow of the bridge. Douxie closed his eyes, taking a moment to honor the fallen Protector of Trolls and Man. Wondering if, somehow, Merlin was doing the same.

“Alright Arch, let’s go — “ Before they could take another step, what looked like a boy on a bicycle suddenly launched over the other side of the canal, suspended in the air before diving back down and landing on his wheels. The boy skid to a halt and turned to holler behind him, up from where he’d come.

“Jim?” Douxie whispered, recognizing that head of black hair and those skinny legs. “A bit late for school, isn’t he?” Then Douxie felt a pinch of panic seize him. He prayed the kid would stay away from that odd pile of rocks.

“Come on Tobes!” Jim hollered.

And not a second later…

James...Lake.

A deep, echoing voice rumbled out into the atmosphere, buzzing in Douxie’s ears. Shock and disbelief struck Douxie like a manticore’s tail. He and Archie shared a look. The panic spiked.

Douxie watched, his heart beginning to pound harder and harder, as Jim faced the stone rubble, slowly removing his helmet. Another familiar face, Toby Domzalski, came struggling down the canal, falling onto his face as Jim passed under the bridge and approached what was left of Kanjigar.

“Do you think he heard the voice?” Archie said.

“No...It can’t be…He’s not…” It couldn’t be. Jim wasn’t a troll. Jim wasn’t a troll. And yet —

James Lake.

The voice rang out again. Jim yelled and fell backwards in surprise. 

“That pile of rocks knows my name!” Jim exclaimed, scrambling closer on his hands and knees. Douxie stared, mind still suspended in shock but gut starting to sink with dread as Jim dug around the rubble, eventually unearthing the Amulet of Daylight, its distinct soft blue glow ever hard to miss. 

Everything in Douxie wanted him to somehow swipe it from Jim’s hands. 

Because not him. 

Not Jim.

But Douxie also knew better. 

“What should we do, Douxie?” Archie asked. They ducked behind a tree when Toby started shouting for someone to reveal themselves. Made sense he would think it was a trick. Only magical beings or the chosen could hear the Amulet.

Only magical beings.... Or so Douxie had thought. Jim slipping the Amulet into his bag was a nail in the coffin.

“Well...we can’t take it now,” he said, eyes still trained on the boys. “The Amulet... seems to have made its choice….”

In the distance, the school bell of Arcadia Oaks rang out. Jim and Toby hurried back to their bikes, quickly mounting and taking off. When they were long gone, Douxie stepped out from behind the tree without a word, sliding down the canal and standing over the pile of stones. He stared off in the direction the boys had left, his mind reeling like nothing else, trying to comprehend what he’d seen and what it meant. 

Why it had to be Jim.

Archie joined him, climbing up on and inspecting the rubble.

“I know...the Amulet doesn’t make mistakes,” Douxie said quietly. “But...a human Trollhunter? And he’s only a child…” His voice quivered, pangs of worry and dread striking his heart.

“It’s...certainly a first,” Archie said, leaning a paw on Douxie’s leg. “I’m not sure what to make of this myself.” There was a long beat of silence before Archie spoke again. “What do you want to do, Douxie?”

What could they do? Was there anything to be done now? That and there wasn’t anyone he could discuss this with, at least who would know more.

If only you were here, Master… Douxie thought, one hand balling into a fist. He stewed in his thoughts for a moment longer before scooping Archie up onto his shoulders and heading back up the slopes of the canal.

“Douxie?” Archie said.

“We’ll keep doing what we’ve always done,” Douxie said. “Watch...and protect.” He didn’t have any answers. But it was done. The new Trollhunter had been chosen. 

Something stirred in Douxie’s chest, growing stronger as he remembered the smiling face of a seven-year-old boy who’d tipped him a nickel. Stronger still because Douxie knew. He knew what it was like to be so young and have so much, far too much, thrust upon him. Having his hand and the growth of his strength forced. The secrets that had to be kept, even from the ones he loved most, for their own safety. Pain he hadn’t known was coming. 

The loss. 

The loneliness.

The weight of the world.

When Douxie retired to his cot that night, he approached the small shine of silver on his nightstand. No, he didn’t have a clue what any of this meant. But what Douxie did know was that he’d be Jim’s greatest ally.  

He picked up the nickel and held it tight, a promise burning deep within him.

I’ll protect you.

~ ~ ~

Author’s Notes :

So I imagine that Jim and his mother ended up not frequenting the diner as much since Barbara was always so swamped and Jim was learning how to cook more at home. So Jim eventually just forgot about his first meeting with Douxie. But Douxie of course still continued to look out for him as best as he could. And I believe this is why Douxie saw Jim as family, even though he seemed to have only known him for a short time. In reality, though, Douxie always loved the kid💙

God bless and thank you all so much for reading!💙

[ubemango]

delicacies of the season (m)

part 3: days apart

note: hey!! What’s up!! first, I officially have named this series!! it’s right up there for ur viewing glory! ok anyway here’s something before I disappear for the next four weeks because I am drowning in school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also just a side thingie for this story: I’ve already established that oc isn’t on birth control but here I’m implying that they’re doing natural planning (i.e. fertility awareness where the person who menstruates keeps up with their cycle and thus only has sex when their cycles allows for it). PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU KNOW THE RISKS!!!!!!!! Oh Lord putting your impregnation chances up to God?! I couldn’t do it. But also this is fanfiction and nothing bad will happen to this couple so let’s all just... suspend disbelief for a second ok

PAIRING. taehyung/reader GENRE. romance, farmer au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 2.5k WARNINGS. kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a good ol’ creampie bc wot is the ubemango experience without one :/ SUMMARY. Taehyung missed you.

Auntie Gaeul comes over when the rooster crows to tell you to check out the passion fruits today. They’re ripe not because she’s seen them but because she just knows. Call it the Elder Instinct for Ripened Foods. You tell her you’ll give her half the harvest, and she swats at you before she leaves.

“Stop being so polite, I’m not that old,” she spits in jest. “And make some of that honey iced tea your grandma makes. If there’s extra, then I’ll have some.”

Taehyung would probably like some, too; he chugs down anything with passion fruit like he’s about to go into hibernation. And when you come back home from the fields with a basket-full perched heavy on your back, you resolve to make some tea right away to bring over to his house to see if he’s there. You haven’t seen him in five days—his cousin had the stomach flu, and his aunt needed the extra help with tending to the livestock. Being the eldest nephew (and the only one who can drive a motorcycle) had him obligated right from the get-go.

“Grandma! Can you show me where you put the honey jars, I can’t remember where they are. And can you help me peel these—um. You’re not Grandma,” you stop.

Taehyung looks up from where he’s perched on the stairs of your awning, flicking bits of strawberries to the ground for Danbi to eat. Your little puppy scrounges it up so fast she nearly falls over on her fluffy bum.

“I told her to go play bingo with the rest of the granny crew, someone’s betting chicken feet,” he says. You smile wide when he trods over to you for a short kiss, slipping the strap of the basket off your shoulder to put on his. The hand he keeps low on your back is as warm as the ten AM sun. “Hi. I missed you.”

“I was just gonna go see if you were home,” you say. He smells like the wind. Something you’d scrunch your nose at but he makes it work. “When d’you come back? How’s Daeshim now?”

“An hour ago. And he’s better. He ate up all your ice cream, only thing he could keep down.”

You frown. “Poor baby.”

“I know. You gonna clean these now?” He nods his head toward the water basin, carved rock he’d installed for you on your third anniversary.

“Yeah. Can you start? I’ll just wash up quick,” you offer. Suddenly you’re aware you’ve got an ugly shirt with oil stains and holes in random places—nothing Taehyung minds, but the occasion probably deserves better.

“Got it, boss,” Taehyung says. He slaps your ass before you run to the bathroom. A familiar signal of his intentions but he’s too polite to bring it up so quickly.

“Hey!”

“Hurry up,” he calls. As if you’re going to take another five days to get back to him but you get it. You missed him, too; a little more than you’d like to let on. Your grandma is great company but she watches her TV too loud and she hates when you’re not there to sit with her because she might need your help switching channels. It’s a miracle you didn’t jump Taehyung the second your eyes landed on him.

You change into whatever shirt you’ve tossed on the floor that looks semi-presentable. It’s too early for your sweat to reek like it does under the afternoon heat, but you spritz some perfume on your neck anyway. Just for upkeep, because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t anticipating sex, a sloppy makeout session at the least. Danbi’s too hyper to be left alone, plus your grandma likes making surprise visits at your house because she’s a forgetful woman.

By the time you’ve come back from scrubbing the dirt and dead ant bits caked under your nails, Taehyung’s a third of the way through the basket, tossing the clean passion fruit into a bucket Danbi is trying so hard to climb into. She yelps when her fat paws slip at the edges.

“Danbi! Mama’s gonna be mad if you get hurt. I’ll give you some later.”

“Go play with your toy,” you call out to her. “Danbi! Go!”

Her ears perk up at your command, and she pants and pants till she decides to go in the complete opposite direction of the ball and into the patch where all the potatoes are. She hasn’t hit her teething phase so you’re safe from her snuffing anything out with her mouth. It’s her fur you worry about. She’s such a nice shade of white amongst the semi-wet dirt, it almost hurts seeing her get soiled.

“Like a little cotton ball,” Taehyung says. He points to the bucket. “This good?”

You nod—it’s enough to have extra for Auntie Gaeul. “Yeah. Wanna carry it to the kitchen like a good man?”

“As if I’m not one already,” he snorts, grabbing the handle. “Danbi, come!”

This is how it always goes. Taehyung ogles from over your shoulder (usually he’s off to the side but he’s a lot clingier, not that you mind) while you do your business because you don’t trust him with a knife. Not since the time you’d tasked him with chopping garlic and he’d nearly sliced his palm open when he tried crushing them first.

And now you’ve got a new addition to the routine: Danbi sniffs around the dried leaves for the fire, sneezing when she breathes the ash in too hard. You hear her collar jiggle as she explores the earthenware stacked on the side. You made sure Taehyung left the door open because she gets antsy fast.

“Can I just say that I have a thing for seeing you use a knife,” Taehyung says, hands stroking your tummy because he’s got nothing better to do.

“You’re really bad at hiding how turned on you are.”

“Who said I was trying to hide?”

You laugh. “What are you trying to get at, mister?”

“I’m saying I missed you,” he says simply.

“So that’s why you kicked Grandma out the house,” you tease. Taehyung splutters in your ear.

“No! They really are betting chicken feet. What do you think I am?”

“Horny.”

“Ugh.”

You turn your focus back to the chopping board. Taehyung lets the sound of the knife smooth down the goop of the insides fill the space.

“...Are you mad if I am?” He whispers tentatively.

“Oh my god. It’s ten in the morning.”

“You think my dick cares?”

“You think I care?” you joke.

Taehyung gasps. Like his heart just shattered from your vitriol, but all you want is to finish cutting up these damn fruits before you’ll allow his hands to touch you. “Wow. You—? Okay, fine.”

“Wha—”

“I appreciate your hard work,” he coos. He wraps himself around you even tighter, traces a slow kiss on your neck. “Really. But don’t pretend you didn’t miss me too.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You’ve got a fucking mouth on you.”

And that gets you to shut up. Taehyung only swears when he wants you to stop talking. Not for the sake of real anger but to show you he’s got something brewing, and you’re here to take whatever it is he’s about to give you.

“I just wanted to be a good fiance and visit the one I love the most after five days because I missed them so much.”

His teeth catch the lobe of your ear. Biting down softly because he’s still aware you’ve got the knife in your hand, but you’ve lost all motor skills the second he started his little bit. You drop the handle slowly. At the last second you push all the shit you’ve laid out on the counter to the farthest corner. Something tells you this space is being defiled this morning.

“Good. Are you wet?”

“N-No.”

“Then we’ll have to do something about that, huh.”

You watch his hands glide up, and you’re half-expecting him to fondle you gently, the way he teases you when you think he’s taking it slow. But instead he goes right for the kill: using those long fingers to pinch right at your tits just to get you to gasp into the feeling. You roll your eyes shut, let your head fall back on his shoulder.

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” you whine.

“Take your shirt off for me.”

You’ve never exposed yourself to kitchen utensils and rice wine on the pantry shelves before but Taehyung makes you want it. He shows his appreciation for your compliance with another hard grope of his hands, this time with his mouth sucking on your neck too. Craving your skin like he’s been absolutely deprived. The calluses on his fingertips rub your nipples raw.

“You smell good,” he croons. “Come here.”

You nearly tip over from how fast he spins you around, but he catches you easy, tongue on yours in the next second. The desperate tug of his lips on yours, the smack of your spit when he pulls you in deeper, all the intricacies of needing someone else to save your own sanity—it culminates here, and now your ass is up on the cold of the counter, Taehyung pulling back from one last kiss to drag that same heat down your body.

“Please let me eat you out here, holy shit.” He tugs at your pants, slides your underwear down with it. Mouthing hungry at your mound because you haven’t answered him yet, so you just groan a quick please, yes and he doesn’t even look at you before he presses his tongue inside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the guilt of ruining this space with your (embarrassingly) uncontrolled libido is raging. But you could care less with the way Taehyung swipes his tongue around your clit, gets you clawing at his hair for brief respite. You’ve most definitely exceeded wet boundaries. His chin practically shines.

And he knows it’s because of him. Not just from his mouth but the knowledge that he wants you trembling towards a heady orgasm, the kind that consumes you whole. His laving gets bolder with every stroke, every moan you try to keep stifled but it’s useless. “Taehyung. Oh my g-od, fuck—no d-don’t use your fingers, I’ll come.”

He laughs, adjusts your thighs so you’re not cramping. “Think you’ll tap out?”

“I wanna come on your dick,” you pants.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “You’re perfect. Oh my god. I’m so fucking hard. Can I come inside you?”

“Yes yes yes yes, just get inside me already.”

Taehyung’s foot gets caught on his pants when he shoves them off, nearly crashing face first into your pussy again. And he laughs and you snort and when he’s naked waist-down he kisses you again, a little slower this time, a breather for just a moment.

“I know it’s only been five days but I missed you. A lot.”

You trap his hips with locked ankles on his back. “I know.”

“It’s just—I had to shovel so much horse shit—”

“Oh don’t say that!” You bat at his chest.

Taehyung snickers. “Sorry. Ahh, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You can stick your dick inside me and we can go from there,” you suggest.

“I like the way you think, missus.”

It’s almost laughable when he sinks right in. No resistance, just the slick of your arousal and his spit, an unholy mixture for this thick sacrilege. Taehyung’s eyes stay locked on the sight.

“Fuck yeah. Oh baby…”

If it’s got him uttering curses this early in the round then you’re definitely worse off. You’ve got one profanity for every inch he’s claimed inside you, all lined up behind your teeth but you don’t have the brain capacity to get them out. He fucks you straight to incoherence.

Your delirium keeps you mum. Taehyung will make up for it. He slots his hand up the back of your thighs, hits deeper when you arch through the pleasure. “Holy fuck that’s so good,” you whine. “Taehyung—oh god.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just pants hard with every moan you’ll give him, and you watch the sweat glow on his collarbone, the thick of his neck. Places you claim with your mouth when you lean forward because it’s too hard to keep balance without his gravity.

Taehyung breaks when you bite. “Sh-it. Oh fuck you’re so hot. ‘M not gonna last, shit.”

“You’ll fuck me when you come?” you plead, hold his gaze. He’s just as gone as you are. “You’ll fuck your cum inside me?”

“Yeah baby. I’ll give it to you. So fuckin’ good.”

He never lets up. Just keeps that steady fucking, stiff with every drive into your slick till he adjusts your knees with one push. Pussy open to the angle that gets you begging for his thumb on your clit because it’s right there. You fall back on your hands, no steady grip because Taehyung’s faltering too.

“Oh—!” You flutter your eyes shut to pending ecstasy. “Tae—please—harder—right there right there don’t stop!”

“You gonna come for me?”

It’s a rhetorical question. You know he sees the way your chest collapses, the rub of your clit in quick gestures for your high. He’s got you right in his hand.

“Fuck—ohhh yes!”

“Ugh,” he whines. It’s nearly lost to the ringing in your ears, the clench of your pussy from his pounding. You cream him so good when the orgasm’s strong enough, pulsing hot, the rough intensity. And that’s not lost on him when he cries: “God your pussy’s so wet. Holy shit.”

Usually you’re spent by the time your vision’s cleared to the sight of Taehyung fucking you through it. But he’s promised you something, and you’re greedy for it.

“Come inside me,” you urge, guiding a hand through his hair, pulling hard at his nape. He keeps his eyes on his dick priming you for those final strokes.

“I’ll fucking come,” he snaps. “You ready? I’ll come so good for you baby. Come so fucking—good—!”

He stiffens with a shout, grinds his teeth, lets his orgasm splash inside with so much heat you mewl. And he keeps minimal movement, thrust for soft thrust because it’s too much with the squeezing you tease him with.

“I.” Taehyung clears his throat, panting to a stop. “I… wow.”

Your ass is rubbed raw against the counter. But you’ll risk it again to see the glint in his eye when he pulls out and watches his cum drip down your hole, onto the floor for you to clean when your legs aren’t jelly.

“Wow,” you repeat.

“Do… Am I… Am I ovulating?” He looks genuinely confused. “I don’t… I’ve never been that horny before.”

You snort. “Five days felt like forever, huh.”

Taehyung kisses you slow. “If it means we get to fuck like that again then I’m going to the city for a month.”

“Hey!” You pinch his arm, using his bicep to stand up, tiptoeing around the mess on the floor. “God. Help me clean up here, please. And where’s the dog?”

(Danbi sleeps peacefully in the wicker basket, head lolled on one of the passion fruits. You make sure to bring her over to Auntie Gaeul’s for extra snacks.)

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 3

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Winter soldiers on, the cold and occasional snow giving way to the promise of spring. Her birthday comes and goes, celebrated at her mother’s with her family as it had been before there was someone else to lay claim to her time on special days. The vacant spaces in her apartment that had been occupied by Ethan’s books and clothes, his toiletries, and VHS collection, begin to be filled by evidence of her new, single life. Her solitary toothbrush in the cup by the sink starts to look normal, the indent on her finger where his ring lived begins to fade, and the silence she arrives home to at the end of her workday becomes mundane instead of painful. Though this change was initiated and welcomed by her, change is always hard. She goes through the motions of being okay until one day in early April, she realizes that she is. The budding crocuses bring with them the optimism of a new life, another chance. A third chance, as it were, to get it right. Now she only has to figure out what right is.

Though they’ve always been close, she and Missy become even closer, taking up the space in each other’s lives that would otherwise be consumed by boyfriends or lovers. They are each other’s better half, sharing the minutiae of their workdays and staying available for unexpected illness or the need to move heavy furniture. While every human needs other humans to thrive, the Scully sisters fill that need with each other, shunning the idea of casual dating simply for the sake of companionship. There is no companion more perfect than the one who has known you since before you could understand the need for such a partner in life, and who is by your side not out of obligation, but because their soul is stitched so firmly to your own. They have always pledged their dedication to each other through thick and thin, and the new year of 1997 proves that to be a sincere promise on both their parts.

As such, they sit at their favorite local coffee shop on Sunday afternoon when Missy finally dares to ask her sister the question she’s avoided for the past four months. Not because she was afraid of her reaction, but because she knew Dana wasn’t ready to talk about it.

“Have you heard from Mulder at all?” she asks so casually that Dana flicks her eyes up and stares in disbelief, not sure that she heard her right.

“What?” Dana asks, her heart having lept for one single beat at the mention of his name.

“Mulder. Have you had any contact with him, or seen him?” Missy is misleadingly casual, acting as though this is not a question she’s been waiting months to ask.

“No,” Dana says flatly, her eyes dropping down to her coffee cup. “I wouldn’t expect to.”

“Does he know that you and Ethan split?” Missy asks next, her feet folded underneath her in the oversized armchair.

“I don’t see how he would,” Dana posits.

“Have you considered reaching out to him?” Missy tries, watching her sister for signs that she is going to shut the conversation down.

Dana shakes her head glumly. “After what I put him through, I’m sure I’m the last person he wants to hear from. That was nearly nine months ago, he’s probably long since moved on.”

“Have you? Moved on?”

Dana pulls in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I don’t know how to answer that. What does it mean, to move on?”

“Do you still think about him?” No assertions, just gentle questions, leading her sister to the conclusion she knows she needs to come to.

Dana nods softly. “All the time. Every day.”

“Then I think your answer would be no. You should contact him, Dana. It feels like unfinished business.” Missy has a thing about unfinished business. She believes it prevents you from achieving your full potential in life.

“Missy...what would I even say? ‘Sorry I broke your heart, good news is it didn’t even work out so it was all for nothing’? I don’t want to cause him more pain than I already have.” Her tone is resigned and defeated. Another regret she will come to live with, pinned to her lapel with a collection of other mistakes that she can never quite atone for.

Missy shrugs. “You know what I think. The rest is up to you.”

Missy is right. The trouble is, she doesn't trust herself to make these decisions anymore. She’s proven to herself that she doesn’t know how to make the right one.

———

“Excuse me,” a rough, nasally voice calls from behind her. She turns to see a red nosed young man in the doorway of the pathologist’s office, slumped against the doorframe with watery eyes. “I’m here to pick up an autopsy report, for, um...I think it’s Richards or something.”

Scully has worked with this courier before, and compared to his typical demeanor it’s easy to tell that he’s unwell.

“Are you alright?” she asks as she uses her feet to push her rolling chair over to the file cabinet, retrieving the report in question.

“Uh, not really, no. But if I call out sick one more time I’m gonna get canned.” He leans his head against the cool metal of the doorframe. She suspects he’s feverish.

“You don’t look well enough to work. Where is this headed?” she asks, still holding the file in her hand.

The young man blows out a stream of air and she holds her breath for a moment, not wanting to inhale whatever he’s infected with. He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket. “Hoover Building, Behavioral Science Unit. Agent Kissop.” He stuffs the paper back in his pocket and looks around, taking refuge in the extra chair near the end of her desk.

She feels a little flutter in her belly; what are the odds?

“I’ll tell you what,” she begins, “I was just about to head out for the day and I live in Georgetown, so I’m going that way anyway. Can I drop this off for you? You don’t look well enough to drive and I’d hate to see you on the news in the morning if you cause an accident.”

He sighs deeply, the biggest display of excitement he can muster. “Are you sure? I’d really appreciate it,” he says, his eyelids barely maintaining half-mast.

“No problem at all,” she replies, gathering her coat and purse. “You get home and take some Tylenol, okay? And get some rest.”

He nods weakly and she leaves him there, climbing into her car with the file and a pounding heart. She can’t help but feel like this is a sign. She’s been thinking about signs a lot lately, and she’s recently resolved to start paying attention to them.

———

Mulder stands beside the copy machine, doing his Wednesday afternoon ritual of fighting with the toner cartridge and cursing profusely. From around the corner, he can hear AD Kirkbride drumming up his own song of profanity, which is more of a daily ritual than a weekly one.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kirkbride is shouting. “Now that dipshit is conning goddamn doctors into doing his pathetic job?”

Another much softer voice answers him, but Mulder can’t quite make out the words. He moves closer to the open door, bored enough to bother eavesdropping and seeing which of his colleagues is going to get their ass handed to them today.

“Yeah, I’m sure he is sick, that fucking lowlife. He’s sick every fucking week, it’s always something with him!”

“Sir, I don’t know what the history is between you and the courier,” answers the other voice, and it’s familiar in a way that makes him stop in his tracks, his stomach clutching in a mix of nervousness and excitement. “Can you direct me to Agent Kissop, please? Then I’ll be on my way and you can work it out with the courier service.”

It’s Scully. It’s her, he’s sure. He’s been dreaming of that voice for months, the soft sibilant S’s and the way her plush lips rest against her adorable overbite. Without thinking, he enters Kirkbride’s office and sees her standing in front of his desk with a file in her hand and an exasperated look on her face.

“Scully?” he asks, and she turns to him. Her hair is a bit longer, now just past her shoulders, and she’s wearing black slacks and a white blouse. She’s as beautiful as ever, maybe even more than he remembered. She doesn’t look all that surprised to see him. If anything, she looks relieved. Emotion boils up in his chest immediately and he feels his throat constrict.

“You know her?” Kirkbride asks, gesturing to Scully, and Mulder nods. “Great, then show her where Kissop sits so I can call the fucking courier service and tell them to fire that lazy asshat before I strangle him.”

Scully walks towards him and he turns wordlessly to show her out of Kirkbride’s office and down the hall to where Kissop sits. His heart is beating slowly but firmly, his pulse resounding in his ears. What is she doing here? Did she come here to see him? And if so, why? When they arrive at Kissop’s desk, Scully hands her the file and they exchange words that Mulder doesn’t bother to listen to. Then Scully looks at him hesitantly and slowly turns to walk away, towards the exit. He feels suspended, unsure if he can believe his own eyes that she is really here, and entirely conflicted over what to do about it if she is. He’s spent nine months trying to forget her, but she’s as real and alive as ever, standing before him. His self-protective instinct says to let her go, but his heart says to run after her.

“Quit standing here like a dumbass and go talk to her,” Kissop orders him, clearly picking up on some tension though she doesn’t have the faintest idea what’s causing it.

Shaken from his daze, Mulder follows Scully into the hallway.

“Scully,” he calls out, and she stops walking but doesn’t turn around. When he catches up to her, he touches her shoulder and she turns to face him with wet eyes.

They stand there for a moment, looking at one another, an expectant feeling hanging over them. He wants to touch her, to feel the press of her body against his again, but he doesn’t dare. That would seem like a relapse, of sorts.

“Would you have coffee with me?” she finally speaks, her voice small and unsure. It’s an invitation she is not at all confident he will accept.

“Okay,” he answers, and they walk out of the building side by side, silently.

They seem to understand without saying so that Mulder will lead them to where they ought to go, which is a little cafe called Burial Grounds just a block from the front doors of the Hoover Building. They stand in line stoically, tension crackling between them like static as they order something that will occupy their hands and give them a safe place to avert their eyes while they talk. They sit at a small table near the door and wait, glimpsing at each other’s faces and then away, summoning courage. Because this was at Scully’s invitation, it seems like she should have the floor.

“Ethan and I aren’t together anymore,” she finally blurts out, and his first instinct is to look at her hand, which is indeed bare of any jewelry. Next he looks at her face, considering her expression and whether she takes this to be good news or bad. She looks pained, but not about what she’s just said. She’s had this look on her face since he first spotted her in Kirkbride’s office. He’s unsure if he should be offering congratulations or condolences, and irritated that he’s being put in the position to figure it out, so he says nothing.

“I’m sure that I’m just about the last person you want to see,” she continues, her ocean irises tracing the logo printed on her cup. It wasn’t a question, but if it were he’d tell her that she’s the only person he wants to see, the only one he ever thinks about. The reason he can’t sleep and, when he does, the only thing he dreams about. “If it’s okay, there are some things I’d like to say to you. I understand if you don’t want to hear them.”

She flicks her eyes up to meet his for a moment and he nods softly, keeping his expression neutral. She returns her gaze to the skull and crossbones bearing the name of the coffee shop.

“I have always believed that life is about making the right choices. That we are presented with an ongoing series of options, opportunities and situations, and that we are tasked with determining the right choice that will put us on the path towards the best possible life. But as of late,” she pauses to take a sip of her coffee, stealing a glance at him before she continues, “I’ve come to believe that there is actually only one choice. One path we’re supposed to be on, and there are signs along the way to pay attention to. The choices might not always make sense at the time, but in the grand scheme of things, they are the ones you need to make in order to have the best possible life. Or the right life, the one you’re supposed to have.”

She pauses and slides her hand across the table, covering his with her own. The soft warmth of her skin electrifies him a little, sending a flush to his belly. She brings her eyes up to meet his, her brows knit with emotion as her chin gently puckers. She’s so beautiful it physically hurts.

“I ignored the signs,” she says tightly. “I made the wrong choice, Mulder. I thought I was doing the right thing, the best thing, but I was wrong. I’m so sorry that I hurt you.”

He feels his chest tighten, a telltale precursor to tears, and he looks away from her. Why is she doing this? To make herself feel better? She pulls her hand back and sniffs, then stands and slings her purse over her shoulder.

“Thank you for having coffee with me,” she says, and then he watches her leave. He sits there, staring at the pink lipstick that stains the rim of her cup, wishing she’d given him some more time to absorb it all. Wishing she’d never made the wrong choice.

[tinyboxxtink]

"Not My Yacht" *Chapter 4*

Part 3

Part 5

Mwahahahahaha!

Okay so-- obviously, this story is taking place in an alternate universe. Clearly. I need you all to follow me along on this journey, suspend your disbelief, yeah? I did my best at a backstory, I went over it for a long time. I'm pretty sure every detail is covered. If not, I apologize, let me know and I'll fix it.

I think this is gonna be one hell of a ride, people. I'm super excited, are you?!

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

(should I keep tagging @storiesofsvu ? I'm gonna do it until she says for the love of god STOP. 😂)

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

There was a very long, awkward pause before Rafael finally spoke:

“....What did you just say?”

“Please don’t make me repeat it,” You bit your lip as you looked at him with very sad, still very frightened eyes.

“I...I don’t…how...why...HOW is this man your husband?!”

“I...Well, he--” You muttered.

“He’s a PSYCHOPATH, Y/N!”

“Well he wasn’t when I met him!” You screamed unintentionally. You hadn’t meant to be that aggressive, but your instincts kicked in whenever a man yelled at you now.

“...I mean, I guess he was but you just said it yourself: He’s smart. He’s slick. He was sweet and charming and handsome, and I just-- we just-- “

“He seduced you,"

"I fell in love with him, Rafael! Jesus, it wasn't a one night stand. We were in love," You took a shaky breath. "Look I was a young, naïve, impressionable broke college student, okay? And he-- he was kind, and generous, and--”

“I don’t, I can’t have this conversation with you,” He started to walk into his secret room to get your clothes so that you could leave.

“No, please Rafael,” You grabbed his arm. “Please, let me explain? Please,” You pleaded with him.

“....Fine,” He sighed, unable to ignore your whimpers and tears.

“He wooed me, he gave me everything and anything I asked for. He lived in this giant loft uptown, I thought he was amazing. Looking back on it now, the loft was probably owned by people that he murdered and he’d kill people to get things I wanted, but I didn’t know that at the time!” You paced the floor while thinking out loud.

“And then when he asked me to marry him, I was ecstatic! I thought it was going to be my fairy tale ending before I was even 25, I didn’t know--” You suddenly stopped pacing and stopped talking, the memories of that period in your life coming back to you in disturbing waves.

Rafael saw how much you were in distress telling your story. Even though he was disgusted that you were ever intimate with this lunatic, he couldn’t help but feel for you. He stood up and took your hand, leading you to the leather couch in the corner of the room. He sat you down and motioned for you to continue if you could, while still holding your hand.

“I didn’t know that he was just trying to get me to be-- ‘his’, so that he could do whatever he wanted to me,” You barely got the words out while you still burned holes into the carpet with your eyes.

“Oh God, Oh-- Y/N,” He took your other hand but didn’t force you to look up; he wanted you to tell the rest on your own time.

“After we got married he started hitting me for stupid stuff like putting the dishes in the dishwasher wrong, or folding the towels the wrong way. And then he’d--” You felt tears catch in your throat. “He’d make me have sex with him whenever he wanted,”

“Carino,” Rafael instinctively put his arms around your shoulders, pulling you closer towards him. He just wanted to comfort you, he didn’t want to think about what else that monster did to you.

“I--- I didn’t know what to do. I had just graduated, he was paying for my law school, he was paying for everything I had in my life. I felt like I was trapped, so I just-- I put up with it,” You tried not to cry, you swore a long time ago you wouldn’t waste any more tears on him. But right now you couldn’t help it.

“But then it started getting worse,” You finally raised your head to look at him. “He started beating me when he was angry over other things, sometimes within an inch of my life,”

Rafael didn’t know what to say, he knew you weren’t finished so he just kept rubbing the back of your palms with his thumb comfortingly.

“I finally knew either I had to leave, or die,” You got your tears under control as you remembered how strong you had to be back then. And ever since. “So one day when he was on one of his ‘business trips’-- which now I know were probably killings or heists or worse, I packed everything I could fit into two suitcases and I just-- I left,” You sighed.

“I didn’t have anywhere to go. My parents live in Florida, I didn’t really have friends at school, which wouldn’t have mattered anyway because without him paying for it I had to drop out. I slept on the streets for months!” You unconsciously moved closer into Rafael’s chest as you relived the horror.

“Finally I-- I did something that I never thought I would do in a million years, but I was desperate Rafael. You have to understand that,” You looked at him with a terrified look, like he was about to kick you out of his office for real after what you were about to say.

“I do,” He put a hand to your face. “Whatever you’re going to say, I understand,”

“Okay,” You nodded softly. “I...I became an escort,” You turned away from him and his soft hand on your cheek. Even though he just assured you he understood, you could feel the judgement.

“Not a hooker,” You quickly added, like that made it any better. “An escort-- for older, wealthy gentlemen callers,”

“Ah,” He nodded. “I see,”

“...I changed my name, cancelled all my credit cards and got new ones in my new name. And I started making pretty good money. Enough for a small apartment and food anyway,” You continued. “I had accepted the fact that my life was going to be just what it was at that time-- living my life out as a whore,”

“You’re not, and never were and never will be, a whore Y/N,”

“Rafael, please,” You shook your head with a sarcastic laugh. “Maybe I was a fancy whore, but still one nonetheless,”

“No you--” He didn’t want to get into female derogatory slurs with you right now, so he just let it go. “...Okay, continue,”

“So then I just-- got lucky,” You played with the buttons on his shirt once again nervously. “I shouldn’t say lucky, that’s awful to say about a person’s death,”

“...Death?”

“Yeah um,” You picked harder at the buttons. “A regular of mine, Bartholomew Ridgewood. He was a very wealthy stockbroker who had no family or friends, just-- me, apparently,” You shrugged. “He had a heart attack and died, and then his estate contacted me to let me know that he had left his entire fortune and penthouse to me,”

“Seriously?” Rafael almost laughed at the crazy notion.

“I know right?!” You suddenly exclaimed. It really sounded like something out of a soap opera. “So, I used the money to immediately enroll back in law school, and got a job with Rita, and-- here I am,” You motioned towards yourself, in a ‘ta da’ fashion.

“So, let me get this straight,” Rafael began going over detail of your story in his head. “You actually have a huge fortune, but you’re still going to law school, AND holding down a job?”

“...Yeah,” You pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Why?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Why?” You half laughed. “Well for one, because I don’t ever want to have to depend on a man’s wealth to survive ever again,”

“How would that even happen? Did you blow through it that fast?”

“No!” You suddenly stood up in anger, not believing he was questioning you now. “But it still scares me that something will happen to it, and I’ll be helpless again,” You crossed your arms. “And two, I want to help people like me, without a voice. And three, a recommendation from the District Attorney to any law firm is a very highly coveted accomplishment, Rafael,”

“Right,” He nodded. “So much more coveted than a lowly DA’s recommendation,”

“Are you-- Are you serious?” You laughed in disbelief. “Wha--How, HOW did you get to that from any point in my horror story?”

“I don’t-- I don’t know, maybe if I had known you sooner I could have protected you,” He rubbed the back of his neck. Why DID he say that? Why was he suddenly jealous that you had consciously chosen to work for Rita over him? Why did that even matter at this point?

“No, you couldn’t have,” You shook your head as you sat back down next to him. “I got away from-- By the way he went by Tommy Richmond back then, if you want to add that to your case file,” You pointed to the folder on the desk.

He stood up and walked over to it, pulling papers out of the folder and examining each identity he had found so far. Tommy was on the list from a few years ago. Eric Braverman was next on the list, then Eddie Warshack and then Billy Forsythe, before William Lewis. Eric’s ID was from Connecticut, Eddie from Pennsylvania, and Billy from Ohio.

“....So this shows that once he left New York he went south, but then came back up? That doesn’t make any sense,” He flipped through the papers as thoughts ran through his brain.

“Doesn’t it though?” You stood up and walked over to the desk. “He came back for me. He’s probably looking for me. Maybe he thought I fled the state and he went looking and came back,” Your face turned paler the more you thought out loud.

“I have to get out of here,” You suddenly decided out loud. You briskly walked to the secret room and pulled your clothes out with one minute left on the dryer, but you didn’t care. You were quickly putting them on when Rafael ran in after you.

“What? No, no you don’t,” He tried to stop you from unbuttoning his shirt. “Not now that I know he’s looking for you, you’re not going anywhere,”

“Look Rafael,” You stopped undressing and looked at him very seriously. “He’s smart, and he’s fast. I’ll bet you right now that he is doing some very specific research on anyone that was in that station the day you picked him up. And that includes you,”

“And why would he waste time on that if he’s looking for you?” Rafael raised a curious eyebrow.

“Well obviously if he thinks he’s at risk of being caught I’m the furthest thing from his mind right now! And he’ll study you all like lab rats, trying to figure out your fears and weaknesses, and prey on them. That’s exactly how he manipulated me,”

“So he researched you?”

“No, I don’t think he needed to back then! I just fell into his arms, no hard work on his end required,” You scoffed at your naivete as a young girl.

“....So why do you need to leave?” He crossed his arms.

“Because he’ll figure out we’re....involved,” You gestured between the two of you.

“Involved?” He half laughed. “Y/N we haven’t even-- we haven’t done anything but talk!”

“And yet I’m standing here in your office in only my underwear and your shirt like you said, a sex fantasy!” You gestured to your still scantily clad body.

That gave Rafael an idea.

Without warning his arms were suddenly around your waist, pulling you roughly into his awaiting mouth. You were shocked at first, but soon welcomed his tongue into yours as it began exploring your mouth. His hands slowly moved up your waist through his shirt, approaching your bare breasts. Before he could reach them, you pushed him away.

“What the FUCK are you doing?!” You yelled angrily. “Do you really think now is the appropriate time to do this?”

“Well, if Lewis thinks we’re ‘fraternizing’, shouldn’t we actually ‘fraternize’?” He gave you a smirk.

“He doesn’t think anything yet! I have no idea where he is, you have no idea where he is,” You sighed in frustration.

“I do know where he is,” He traced your palms with his finger sensually. “He’s locked in the tank at the station,”

“...Really?” You were suddenly feeling much safer, and arousal quickly came along with it.

“Really,” He nodded, cupping your head in his hands by your jawline so his thumbs ran against the side of your temples. He gently massaged them, making you relax even more.

“...And you’re not just trying to have sex with me so I won’t run off on you?” You did your best to keep your wits about you, but it was growing increasingly difficult with the smell of his cologne wafting from his hands into your nose. It was intoxicating.

“Maybe I am,” He chuckled, “Or maybe, I’m just acting on things I know we’ve both felt since yesterday on that boat,”

“That’s assuming a lot, counselor,” You bit your lip as you tried desperately not to look down at his mouth while he moved his face closer.

“Is it, though?” His smirk grew more devilish as he continued to close the gap between your lips.

“I…” You tried thinking of anything but his tongue inside you, but it was a losing battle. “....Screw it,”

You grabbed his head and thrusted it against your burning lips as your tongues once again began to do a tango in between your mouths. His hands moved upwards quicker this time, and this time you let them. You jumped onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist as he fell against the desk to support your weight. He picked you up and carried you to the leather couch, laying you down and crawling on top of you while never removing his mouth from yours.

You were both so happy and so enthralled with each other you didn’t notice the door was cracked open, and two dark eyes peering behind it.

[sondepoch]

A Sleepover of the Ages (Simeon x Reader x Asmodeus)

When Diavolo's retreat gets extended, you want to relive your favorite human tradition: a sleepover! But you quickly learn that there's a difference between a human sleepover and one with an angel and a demon. Still, that won't stop you from enjoying the night with these two precious boys.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

Three days and two nights.

That's how long this retreat was supposed to be.

And you've (miraculously) managed to survive three days and two nights. So why is it that you're still in Diavolo's castle?!

"I can't believe the retreat got extended," Asmodeus murmurs, groaning. "I would have brought even more luggage if I'd known this would happen!"

"Don't worry too much," Simeon responds with a light smile as he opens the door to your room. He pulls it open and sighs at the bareness of it. Each of you have already packed up and prepared to leave, but it seems that you'll all be needing to unload your things once more. "At least, Lucifer will be making sure that there won't be any other pillow fights."

You let out a light laugh at that, remembering the Avatar of Pride's hour-long assault from the night before. It had resulted in everyone collapsing on the floor somewhere or the other, knocked out by one of his many pillow throws of death. Even Solomon's protective spells ended up useless, the white-haired mage just another body on the floor after Lucifer's anger was unleashed. (Though you suspect that the elder demon was also doing it to have fun.)

But this retreat hasn't been all that bad.

You've managed to secure another pact altogether, with Asmodeus—but now that you'll be spending an entire night in the same room as him, you can't help but think that it might end up being a curse in disguise.

"Hey, MC~" He coos, using his demonlike strength to pull you into his bed. "Now that Mammon isn't here to disturb us, how would you like to sleep with me?" You feel your face heat up at the words. The demon made it sound innocent enough, as if all you'd be doing was sharing a bed, but you can already tell that his intentions are far from pure.

"Asmodeus, don't disturb MC." Simeon's disapproving gaze flits over the demon as he pulls you from his grasp, and you're forced to remember that while demons are of unimaginable strength, angels seem to also share in those superhuman qualities. You have to avert your eyes from Simeon's toned muscles when he unclasps the white cloak around his shoulders.

"Oh my~" Asmodeus teases, at Simeon's side in an instant. "Is this what you've been hiding from us these past three days?"

Asmodeus wraps Simeon in a strange embrace from behind, not hugging the angel as much as he's feeling up his muscles. "Don't worry, I could treat you instead."

"Asmo, stop flirting with him," You murmur, flopping onto your bed. You toss a glance toward your luggage which Barbatos had magicked back up here before turning your gaze away. Nope. You're not going through the hassle of unpacking all over again.

"Thank you, MC," Simeon murmurs with a sigh, his usual smile back on his face. He flashes you a look-what-we-have-to-deal-with look, and you can't help but wonder how he manages to stay in such good nature all the time, especially when he's constantly in the presence of his natural enemies. "Anyway, I was planning on sleeping now. This whole retreat has been rather exhausting, wouldn't you agree?"

"Wait!" You murmur, startling the two men. You let an eager smile spread across your face, silently praying that your human charms will be able to convince them of what you're about to suggest. "Why don't we all stay up?"

"Oh~?" Asmodeus coos, clapping his hands together. "A three-way! I didn't know you were confident enough to take us both at once, but if you're up to it then—"

"I don't think that's what MC was trying to imply." Simeon shakes his head and you can't help but think that he's like a chaperone for Asmodeus. He turns to you. "We should stay up doing what?"

"Just stay up! We do it all the time in the human world!" You let your smile widen, memories of your time with friends in the human world flashing through your mind. "It's called a sleepover! If you have a few friends gathered together and you're all supposed to be sleeping in the same room, you just stay up the whole night and watch movies or talk and have fun and stuff. They're awesome!"

Simeon brings a gloved hand up to his face, considering the idea. "I suppose Diavolo's objective with this retreat was to bring the three realms closer together. Trying this human tradition may not be such a bad idea."

Next to him, though, Asmodeus pouts. "Ehh? But if I don't sleep my face will be all puffy in the morning!" He brings two hands to his cheeks, feeling his soft skin. "And my skin is already suffering from Lucifer's pillow attack last night..."

"Nope!" You jump off the bed, suddenly refreshed. When you proposed the idea of a sleepover, you were really only trying to get Simeon to agree. With his consent, you have no hesitations about forcing Asmodeus to play along irrespective of how the demon feels about it. "You're staying up! It's decided! We're having a sleepover!"

You clap your hands eagerly, and the two men in front of you seem to let go of their final doubts after seeing how happy it makes you.

"So how does this 'sleepover' begin? A traditional ritual? A prayer for a fulfilling night? A sacred chant?" Simeon's gaze is serious, and you have to stifle your laughter.

"Um, most of the sleepovers I've been to have started off as a pool party. But that doesn't matter!" You pinch the fabric of the bed you've spent the past two nights sleeping on. It's a bit on the thicker side, but it should work. "Let's start by building a fort!"

You started off eager, beyond optimistic about the idea of having a sleepover when you haven't had one since leaving the human world...but you quickly find that there are some differences between your normal human friends, and the demon and angel sitting in front of you.

"A fort? You want us to cast a fortification?" Simeon asks with concerned eyes, uncertainty creeping in. He glances around the bedroom, wondering how you plan to turn it into a protected stronghold.

It takes all your power not to facepalm then and there.

At Asmodeus's next words, you can only stare in disbelief. "No! MC means a military fort! It'll be tough, but we should be able to transform these walls with some high-level sorcery."

After you manage to explain that what you meant was a blanket fort, though, both Simeon and Asmodeus end up being shockingly helpful. Apparently, living for thousands of years gives you a pretty deep understanding of how to manipulate fabrics, and within minutes the two of them have suspended your bed-sheet in the air, somehow managing to tie the four corners to the three bedposts that are closest to the center of the room.

From there on, you all work together to double up two quilts on the ground as a makeshift carpet, and after the skeleton of the blanket fort is completed, everything becomes about the aesthetic.

You and Simeon creep around on your knees inside the fort, straightening out corners and tightening knots that need to be tightened. Outside, Asmodeus dances around, tossing additional blankets on top of the fort to create velvety walls to the structure. He spends nearly five whole minutes fiddling with the two blankets closest to the door, attempting to get them to match the shape of an opening curtain before you finally pull him inside.

"This is perfect!" You exclaim as you gaze around the fort. The bedposts that support the blanketed ceiling are fairly high up, so you're able to lean your back against the bedframe and sit upright with no problems. Simeon, on the other hand, is struggling.

"It's...low," He murmurs, craning his neck down. He keeps a hand on top of his head, earnestly trying his best not to disturb the ceiling of this fort, but you can tell that it's a struggle.

"No problem!" Asmodeus exclaims, extending a hand outward. He's more energetic than usual, which is surprising, given how mopey he originally was about the idea of staying up the whole night. He closes his hand into a fist and instantly, the entire fort begins to glow a faint purple, a mirror of the magenta hue radiating off Asmodeus's body.

You glance at Simeon, wondering whether the angel is as concerned over Asmodeus's actions as you are, but he seems nonchalant as the demon continues casting his magic.

And after the spell is complete, you understand why.

"Woah!" You exclaim, glancing around wildly. "I had no clue you could do that! Why didn't you tell me? This blanket fort looks amazing now!"

You glance upward, unable to even close your mouth in awe of how brilliant the fort looks. In truth, the fact that the three of you had managed to erect a ceiling for the fort already put it above all the blanket forts you'd built with your human friends, but this? Asmodeus's spell completely reworked all the blankets in the fortress: the fabrics move on their own, straightening and reknotting themselves until the structure has completely shifted. For starters, the ceiling is now a dome, the topmost part of the blanket knotted around the chandelier in your quarters. And the way the rest of the quilts draped down from the top truly makes your fort look like a princess's room, the most brilliant fort you've ever seen.

"A job well done, Asmodeus," Simeon compliments, now able to sit upright.

"Call me Asmo," The demon says with a wink. Asmodeus—or Asmo, rather—then turns his gaze to you, where you still have your mouth dropped open in awe of how beautiful this whole setup is. "Oh my, MC~ You certainly seem impressed. If you want, I have something even more remarkable in my pants that I could show you. I'm sure you'd love it~"

Yep.

Moment ruined.

Congrats, Asmo.

You flash the demon a dirty look, but even you can't hold up the facade for long before your frown turns into a laugh. You flop down on the soft floor, spreading your limbs out like a starfish while Simeon stretches next to you. "This is the best fort I've ever seen."

"I'm glad. This was...surprisingly fun, given that all we did was rearrange blankets." Simeon ruffles your hair, his smile bright as he gazes down at you. "What's next on the sleepover agenda?"

"Ehhhh?" You let your mouth drop in mock disbelief, ignoring how much your whine sounds like Asmo's. "You don't want to savor how awesome this is? Lie down on your back! It feels so good to appreciate all our hard work!" You pat the empty spaces next to you, inviting both Simeon and Asmo to lean back with you.

You know that they're only doing it to humor you, but they finally lean back by your side. "Oh," Simeon murmurs softly when his back presses into the ground. Asmo makes a similar sound, and you can't help but smile.

It's something you've done in every sleepover.

People always live such rushed lives. Even in their relaxation, it's hard to fully lie back and just chill, which is why you always make your friends do this. It doesn't even matter if the blanket fort attempted was successful or not—there's something about just leaning back and looking up, letting every muscle in your body loose and simply bathing in repose, that nothing else can replicate.

And while your human friends didn't always appreciate it, the sounds of contentment coming from Asmo and Simeon are more than enough to tell you that they understand you. 

They get it.

"I could stay like this for the rest of the night," Asmo murmurs with a content sigh.

"Do that and you'll fall asleep," You respond. "And that breaks rule number three of all sleepovers!"

"Rule number three?" Simeon asks. "There are rules to sleepovers?"

"Of course," You stretch your hand up above your hand, shifting it with one eye closed until your palm is centered in the blanket fort's dome. You extend one finger up. "Rule number one: What happens in a sleepover stays in a sleepover."

Next to you, you hear Asmo smirk at that rule. You can already hear the flirtatious comment on his tongue before you raise a second finger and continue, not even giving the demon a chance. "Rule number two: No secrets! Whether you're playing truth-or-dare or FMK, you have to be completely honest! And you don't need to worry about any secrets getting out, because rule number one prevents that!"

"What's truth-or-dare?"

"And what's FMK?"

"Um...on second thought, it's best not to play either of those games when Asmo is here." You chuckle lightly, holding back a shudder at all the lewd innuendos that he would throw your way if you were to introduce either game to him. "And the third rule, the last rule, is to stay up as late as possible! That means no sleep!"

"Eh?" Asmo whines. "But it's called a sleep-over!"

You let your hand drop to the blanket you're on top of.

"Hm," Simeon says, thinking out loud. "So how do we bind ourselves to these rules? Do you swear on your lives? Or perform rituals? Or is it just that you're subject to God's wrath if you fail to properly adhere to them?"

You twist your head to the left, staring straight into Simeon's emerald eyes at his question. He's not serious, is he?

And as usual, Asmo somehow manages to top his comment, suggesting something even more outrageous.

"Oh, you angels are so uncreative. Humans obviously make blood pacts."

You sigh helplessly, unable to do anything but shake your head at the ridiculous propositions tossed forth by Simeon and Asmo as they continue to debate how humans ensure that these rules are followed through with, each idea worse and more unrealistic than the last.

"It's an honor system," You finally say, when their debate comes to a standstill. "A sleepover is all about trust. Trusting the people you're spending the night with, and letting them see a new side to you, no matter how vulnerable. You just have to trust that everyone will stay true to the rules."

"I had no clue you trusted us so much~" Asmo teases, rolling over so that he's on his side and staring straight at you. He tilts your chin up toward him and leans in dangerously close. "Is it truly wise to trust a demon?"

You stiffen.

Asmodeus's eyes are bright with the fire of his namesake. Lust, his eyes spell out as he looks at you, gaze unwavering with that devilish smirk on his face.

You're frozen. And as Asmo's lips draw closer, you feel a smidgen of fear seep in.

Simeon is the one to snap you both out of it, placing a tender hand on your shoulder and a more admonishing squeeze on Asmo's. It's subtle, but the protective gesture means more than words can say.

Next to you, Asmo laughs, sitting up to face Simeon. "You two are no fun~" He teases, the normal flirtatious grin back on his face.

Simeon sighs for the umpteenth time. It suddenly dawns on you that it was no coincidence that Diavolo placed you in the same room as a demon and an angel. There's no doubt that Solomon can hold his own against his roommates, but Simeon's purpose here isn't just to rest in the same room. He's here to protect you, the only other human in the entire Devildom. So that his angelic qualities can negate whatever demonic attributes Asmodeus may have brought with him into the room.

But still, your words from barely thirty seconds ago flash through your mind.

A sleepover is all about trust. Trusting the people you're spending the night with.

You drag your hand forward, hesitating for a moment before you place it on top of Asmo's. His hand is larger than yours, but you give it a squeeze. "I do trust you, Asmo." You flash him a smile and turn toward Simeon, lacing your fingers with his when his palm is under yours. "And I trust you, too."

Your smile is dazzling as you grin at them, all fears of angel and demon alike vanishing. That alone is enough to melt all the tension in the room, and within seconds both of the men and your sides are relaxed once more.

"What's next, hm?" Simeon asks. He'd started out hesitant about this whole idea, but he now seems eager to see what plans you have in store for them.

"We should tell scary stories to each other and cuddle up when one of us gets scared~" Asmo exclaims with a chuckle. He says it as a joke, but his guess is spot-on.

"Actually, Asmo's right."

"Whoa! Does that mean you'll reward me, MC~"

"No, Asmo." You smack Asmo's arm before he can protest, giving it a gentle whack to tell him to tone it down. Given that he's one of the strongest demons in the entire Devildom, you probably had no reason to hold back on him, but your more docile instincts from being surrounded by non-indestructible humans always prevail. "But you can start us off!"

You flash the demon an expectant grin, pulling yourself into a seated position. In truth, you have high hopes for this story. Back in your days in the human world, the scary stories used to be your favorite part of every sleepover—but none of the tales ever really measured up. (Except for that one time your best friend read off a horror story about clowns and your other friend then barged into the room in full horror-clown makeup, laughing like a maniac. Yeah, that was terrifying. Short-lived, but utterly terrifying.)

"Get ready to be scared," Asmo warns as he lets his body glow purple again while he casts another spell, and when the purple light has faded it's so dark that you can't even see Simeon's face. You wrap your hand around his, the eagerness you were feeling one second ago now turned into a queer mix of both dread and excitement.

A horror story from a real demon. That's the dream, isn't it?

And so Asmo begins.

And so Asmo also fails.

By the time he's complete, you're left more confused than anything else.

"Asmo...what was the scary part?" Simeon asks, voicing your every thought. You think back to the plot of the story Asmo just shared, from the beginning where there was only the princess in the castle guarded by the dragon to the end, where she and the prince who saved her lived happily ever after, and the middle which was mostly about her falling in love.

"Yeah," You agree with Simeon after another moment's deliberation. "Was the fight scene between the dragon and the prince supposed to be the 'horror' part?"

"Eh?" Asmo exclaims, using his magic to turn all the lights back on. He turns to you with his mouth wide open. "The entire story was terrifying! The dragon was the most handsome in the entire kingdom of dragons—he was protecting the princess! But then the prince came and saved her, and he wasn't even super attractive. And the princess chose the average prince over the beautiful dragon just because she was raised to believe that the dragon was a monster! How terrifying is that?"

You stare at Asmo in disbelief. A part of you should have expected this from the demon; it might have been scarier if he'd actually come out with a true horror story.

"Oh, Asmo. Did you find this story scary because you're afraid that you'll be the dragon and that some prince will steal the princess MC away?" Simeon murmurs with a twinkle in his eye, a slight smirk on his face. "Oh my, does that make me the prince?"

For the first time, you see Simeon teasing and Asmo sulking as the latter pouts and crosses his arms. "Dragons are cooler! Right, MC? Aren't demons better than angels?"

You smile, pressing a quick kiss to the cheeks of both Asmo and Simeon. You had hesitated before doing it, but the look of surprise and wild blush on their faces makes it worth it.

"They're equally cool. Now, Simeon! Your turn!"

You and Asmo give the angel a moment to collect his thoughts before he takes his turn to regale you with a brilliant story. To his credit, he really tries to include horror. You can tell by his use of the "evil clown" and "omniscient witch" that he's trying his best. Unfortunately, his angelic spin on the entire plot makes the story sound like a kid's movie.

Impressive, but not quite what you're looking for.

"That...wasn't scary, was it?" Simeon drops his head when he's done. You pat him on the shoulder, comforting him by saying 'at least it wasn't like Asmo's' and then it's your turn.

And if there's one thing you're good at, it's telling horror stories.

It takes you a moment to pick one, but you finally settle on the tale of Bloody Mary.

By the time you finish, ending with an ominous warning about mirrors (more directed to Asmo then anything else) you're satisfied, and you can feel how stiff Simeon is. The uncomfortable look on his face lets you know that you did a good job with your telling, but you can't help but feel a pang in your heart when he quietly asks why you had to make it so scary.

But if your horror story was bad, Asmo makes it even worse.

"Hey, guys..." He trails off, and for the first time, you hear what must be Asmo's completely serious voice. You and Simeon look at each other worriedly, probably wondering the same thing. Did we break Asmo? But the demon's next words are truly chilling. "The human tale of Bloody Mary is true. She's a demon. I met her four thousand years ago. And...I think we should summon her."

Asmo pulls out a mirror—you momentarily wonder how he managed to pull one out so quickly before realizing that this is the narcissistic Asmo himself—and he begins to recite a demonic chant.

In seconds, you and Simeon are wrapped in each other's arms in a meek sort of protection, screaming together and at Asmo to stop and not summon the terrifying woman you just spent the past half hour depicting as the scariest entity in the world, before Asmo finally drops the mirror.

The pin-drop silence that follows is deafening, and you cling to Simeon tighter, quietly thinking that if Bloody Mary really does appear, then you'll sacrifice both men in the room and make a run for Lucifer's quarters before anything can happen to you.

But Asmo is the one to break the silence.

"Just kidding~"

Cue the next round of screaming.

You and Simeon team up to throw every pillow in sight at the demon, snatching them back as soon as they hit him to leave him with nothing to defend himself. "Ah!" Asmo exclaims, covering his face. "Not my face!" You suddenly wish for Lucifer, furious at Asmo for being such a little devil. You were actually scared for a moment there.

"Enough, enough!" Asmo groans out after what feels like an eternity of whacking him with feather-stuffed pillows. He breathlessly crawls next to Simeon and leans his back on one of the only spots in the entire blanket fort with a bed. "If I'd known you two were such scaredy-cats, I would have been a little less convincing," He murmurs with a wink, snuggling up against Simeon. "But this angel here looks so cute when he's scared~"

Simeon makes no motion to shake Asmo off, only leaning back on the bedpost.

"What time is it?" He asks with a yawn, and you can tell that the sudden exercise of assaulting Asmo via pillows tired him out.

You check your D.D.D. and are surprised to find that it's already well past four in the morning, telling him as much.

"But we can sleep now if you like," You murmur when a wave of drowsiness hits you. Like it's contagious, you can tell that even Asmo seems tired.

"B-but rule three!" Simeon exclaims, surprised.

"Rules are meant to be broken," You smirk, stretching yourself out across Asmo and Simeon. All the pillows in the room have been tossed to the corners of the room courtesy of Asmo, so these two boys' laps would have to suffice for your slumber. "That's why we don't have any stupid blood oaths to bind ourselves to them. Humans need sleep, hm?" Your words tumble out in more of a mumble than anything else, and you can feel the smile on Simeon's and Asmo's faces as they watch you drift off in their laps.

Vaguely, you hear them continue to talk. For how long? You can't be sure. But by the end of the hour, the room is dark and silent once more, the three of you separated only by the thin veil of dreams.

***

"I'm sorry, Diavolo," Lucifer mumbles in a huff, crossing his arms. The demon is worked up, Diavolo can tell, but he's unsure of how to comfort his friend so he simply lets Lucifer continue to rant. "All three of them were down on time these past three days, so I just assumed that they'd wake up on their own today as well."

"Do not fret, Lucifer!" Diavolo exclaims with a pleasant grin. His walk is brisk as he makes his way to the room where he knows you, Asmo, and Simeon are to be staying in, and he's almost excited to hear what excuse the three of you will throw his way.

In fact, that's the one thing he loves about the members of the House of Lamentations.

The seven brothers are each exotic in their own way, only Lucifer being responsible enough to give him full honesty and transparency. The other six are reliable, no doubt, but their methods are always entertaining.

Diavolo opens the door with a master key, entering the room with Lucifer hot on his heels. But the sight that greets him is beyond strange.

"What did they do?" Lucifer asks. Diavolo can sense his anger, and a small part of it finds it amusing. Truly. Lucifer's anger exists for my lack thereof.

He glances around the room, wondering how much time it took to do all this tampering. Every single blanket in the room has been stripped off the bed, likely stuffed inside the large dome-like structure (which, in turn, is also made of blankets) in the center of the room.

"Why, they've created their own castle in my castle," Diavolo jokes, pulling back the makeshift curtain that forms the entrance. He's about to enter when his eyes catch sight of the three people he's been looking for.

Next to him, Lucifer's breath catches in his throat.

For the first time in four hundred years, both men are stunned into silence.

All three of you are sleeping on top of one another, the first union Diavolo has ever seen of the human world, Celestial Realm, and Devildom.

"What are they..." Lucifer mumbles, but Diavolo places a quick finger to his lips. He doesn't want to disturb this.

His eyes skit over the three of you, taking in the image so that he can perhaps describe it to a demon painter. It's...truly inspiring.

For the first time, demon and angel are slumbering together in peace, with both Simeon and Asmodeus sleeping in upright seating positions. Their backs are pressed against the bed, and while Simeon rests his head against the pillar in what seems like a somewhat uncomfortable position, Asmo has made himself cozy, resting his head delicately on Simeon's shoulder with a hand wrapped around the angel's muscular arm.

You, on the other hand, must have been reluctant to sleep sitting up. You lie on the floor, lower body stretched out with Simeon's white cloak draped across your legs, upper body thrown across Asmo's lap. Your head rests on Simeon's upper thigh, arms wrapped around his waist while you bury your head in his stomach in what looks like an awfully human, childlike pose.

And the two men both have their arms resting on your body, one of Simeon's gloved hands nestled in your (h/c) locks with Asmo's free arm tossed over your body in a quiet pull to get you closer to him.

It's a sleepover of the ages: the first of its kind in thousands of years. 

All of you rest with smiles on your faces, and the way Diavolo's face brightens up at the sight of you is enough for anyone to know that this is what he's been seeking in his journey to unite the three realms.

The future ruler of the Devildom pulls Lucifer out of the room, giving the younger demon no chance to disturb the three of you in what Diavolo hopes is the first of many more nights of happiness and union.

I'll extend the retreat even longer! He thinks joyously, a grin spreading across his features as he recalls the sight of the three of you once more.

It's the first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have all been so content with one another. The first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have been comfortable with each other enough to sleep without any protections. The first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have placed enough trust in each other to slumber so vulnerably.

Diavolo grins.

His plan to unite the three great realms of the world has finally begun to piece together.

The content, trusting smiles on your faces as you, Simeon, and Asmodeus slumber are Diavolo's testimony to that fact.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 5.1k

Notes: If you guys are interested, I might consider adding a second chapter that's a bit more adult, but for now ill leave this as just some wholesome fluff~ aghhh Simeon is too precious x3 ALSO YEY IVE FINALLY ENTERED THE OBEY ME FANDOM

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I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[pennamesmith]

For Want of a Skeletor

Entrapta hosts a Princess Alliance meeting at the Crypto Castle and absolutely nothing goes wrong. More Skeletor stories!

*

The lights were on late in Dryl. 

Stars shone outside the windows. Entrapta sat hunched over her desk, studying datapads and readouts. A polite cough from the laboratory door caused her to look up from her work.

“Oh! I’m sorry Hordak, did I wake you?”

Her partner stepped softly into the room and shook his head. “Imp did. You know how he gets when either of us take too long to come to bed.” 

Hordak crossed the cluttered floor and joined Entrapta at the desk. He was holding Imp in his arms, and the smaller, winged clone whined plaintively when he saw her. Entrapta kept her screens on, but leaned gratefully into Hordak’s side and curled a tendril of hair around his waist. She yawned, despite herself. 

“I know. I just want to make sure I get everything right before the other princesses come over tomorrow.” She glanced back at the data, nervously tapping her fingertips together. “I’ve never hosted an Alliance meeting before! And this rescue will be our biggest mission since… well, you know. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

Hordak smiled. “Your diligence is admirable. But I also seem to recall someone telling me that imperfections are beautiful.”

Entrapta stuck out her tongue. “No fair.” 

“I’m afraid the science is sound. Come to bed, my dear.” 

The scientist scoffed, but she did not protest when Hordak gathered her up in his arms. She wrapped more of her hair around him, and Imp settled sleepily in the resulting nest. Entrapta could already feel herself drifting. 

“You will be a shining star tomorrow,” Hordak promised, as he carried his family back to rest. 

“Tomorrow,” echoed Imp.

*

The next day saw the Crypto Castle’s largest meeting room filled with princesses, dignitaries, and other honorary Alliance members. While Scorpia and Perfuma admired the tiny refreshments laid out for everyone, Mermista split her time between groaning at Sea Hawk’s boasts and trying every available chair to find the most comfortable one. Glimmer and Bow stepped uneasily around the edges of the room, watching carefully for anything that might be a trap, and Frosta followed their lead. Netossa and Spinnerella tried their best to find a chair Swift Wind could sit in. 

Adora and Catra, wearing increasingly baffled expressions, were conversing with two domestic-looking robots who sat at the head of the table next to Entrapta. One was tall and skinny, and the other wore a welded-on handlebar mustache. 

“Entrapta has parents?” Catra was asking, her face a galaxy of disbelief. 

“Adopted, technically. Or adapted,” the skinnier bot explained. “We’re Entrapta’s parental units. She built us when she was six. You must have seen the painting in the foyer.” 

“Yeah, we’ve been here pretty much the whole time,” the mustachioed model added. “You kids sure made a racket during your last few visits. What was that all about?” 

“Uh,” Adora faltered. 

To her immense relief, Hordak swept into the room at that very moment, flanked by Imp, Emily, and the reprogrammed Horde drone Entrapta had dubbed ‘Skeletor.’ 

“Welcome, everyone,” Hordak boomed, bringing the gathering to a respectful hush. 

“Witless fools! I’m in charge now! And if you know what’s good for you you’ll do as I say!” Skeletor shouted. 

Hordak scowled and shooed the fussing robot away from the table. “Pay no mind to that one,” he grumbled once he’d regained the floor. “Now then. Please allow me the honor of introducing the unparalleled mind who has made this operation possible, Princess Entrapta.” 

“Thank you all for coming!” Entrapta started, while everyone took their seats. “I know you’re all excited about what we’re planning, but there’s still a lot of preparation to do before we can take off. As the chief science officers for this mission, it’s vital that Hordak and I gather as much data on your abilities as possible! Interdimensional travel is severely unpredictable and —” 

“Hold on,” Mermista interrupted. “Exactly how high are the chances of us getting mutated by cosmic space energy or whatever? Because I only want cool mutations, not gross ones.” 

“Maybe thirty, thirty-five percent?” Entrapta guessed. She shrugged. “A lot of this is theoretical. You guys will be like my guinea pigs! By which I mean the small robotic animals in the castle I protect and care for. And experiment on, sometimes.” 

She laughed heartily. Glimmer and Bow shared a nervous glance. Perfuma turned slightly green. 

Entrapta regained her composure and pointed back to the display board. “Ahem. Anyway, the good news is we already know some things about where we’re going! Probably.” She shuffled her notes, gaining confidence as she spoke.

“Before Adora found the Sword of Protection, historians debated ancient records of She-Ra. Some claimed she was called ‘Her-Ra’ and fought for the ‘Power of Grayskull.’ But I theorize that what those archaeologists actually uncovered was evidence of —”

“I have a question!” Frosta yelled. “Will there be hunky guys in the other dimension? I’m asking for a friend.”

“It’s funny you mention that, actually,” Entrapta replied. “Listen, just let me finish and…” 

Unfortunately, anxious impatience had already gripped the assembled Alliance members. They clamored with questions, all talking at the same time. Entrapta shrank back in her seat and pulled her welding mask down, seeming to reach for something under the table. 

Hordak stood up. Just as it looked like he was about to do something violent, a loud alarm sounded and the lights in the room flashed red. 

“Uh-oh.” Entrapta glanced around at the assembled company. “Um, get ready to tuck and roll everybody!”

“Get ready to what?” Mermista cried out, but it was already too late. Multiple trap doors swung open across the meeting room floor, and with flailing limbs and startled shouts the guests were sent tumbling down chutes in every direction. In moments they had all vanished.

“I always feel so much better after doing something bad!” Skeletor cackled. “Now we begin phase two!” 

*

Adora and Catra, who had clung to each other as they fell, landed with a bump in a darkened, underground space. As soon as they arrived, bright lights flickered to life and a huge screen lit up against the wall. 

Entrapta’s face appeared on the monitor, larger than life. “Oh good! You’re alive,” she chirped when she saw the other two. 

Adora clambered to her feet. “Entrapta! What’s going on?” 

The scientist glanced away. “Well, I guess Skeletor didn’t like that we were ignoring him. So he stole my map of the castle and activated the security systems! Which means we’re all lost in the labyrinth until I can catch him. Isn’t that great?” 

“It’s something,” Catra groaned, rubbing her head. 

“Exactly! Now, without my map I can’t come find you. But if you can make it through the traps, the hallway you’re in should take you back to the meeting room. Then you’ll be safe until I can fix things!” 

The screen dimmed again before Catra or Adora could protest. Left with few other options, they turned to get a good look at whatever dangers lay ahead. 

They were standing at one end of a long corridor. Square blocks floated along its length, suspended in midair with anti-gravitational tech. An interrogative punctuation mark flashed on one, while a squat robot with painted-on angry eyebrows shambled slowly back and forth beneath it. 

Catra took it all in. “You have got to be kidding.” 

Adora had already drawn her sword and begun to venture forward. Catra was about to follow her, when something made her ears flick. A suspicious frown crossed her face.

“Hey, Adora!” Catra called. “Listen!” 

“What?” 

Catra pressed her ear to the wall. “There! Do you hear that?” 

“Obviously not,” Adora huffed. “Now stop dawdling, the first puzzle looks pretty easy.” 

Catra stayed where she was. “Hold on a second. This part of the castle feels familiar. I remember walking through here back when, uh, back when it was still Horde territory.” She coughed awkwardly, and then reached up to tilt the frame of a big-eyed kitten painting. “Look!” 

Something clicked and the wall slid open, revealing a new passageway. Distinctive laughter could be heard coming from the other end of it. A purple neon sign reading “Secret Entrance!!!” buzzed to life. 

Adora sighed and rolled her eyes. 

“One time Entrapta had me and Scorpia over for a life-size Snakemen and Ladders game that got a little out of hand,” Catra explained as they entered the tunnel. At the far end there was a brightly lit office; inside, it was filled with laboratory equipment, video monitors, and a humble but dignified desk. 

Hordak was sitting at the desk, in what appeared to be a smaller version of his old Fright Zone throne. It swiveled. Entrapta was sitting on the desk, and she waved as the other couple entered. 

“Myaah! Sleep gas and stun-rays only, my evil minions!” muttered Skeletor, who was busy working the video monitors. On closer inspection, Adora realized that each of them showed some of the other princesses as they traversed the castle labyrinth. 

“Welcome to mission control!” Entrapta sang, spreading her arms wide. “Hordak didn’t think you’d find us, but I had a hypothesis you might.” 

“It was a ruse!” Adora gasped, scandalized. “You’re not lost at all!” 

“You really need to hang out with Entrapta more if that still surprises you,” Catra observed. She looked at the monitors. “Ah, are they gonna be okay?” 

“Better than!” Entrapta sprang off the desk, hanging by her hair as she showed off multiple datapads. “Everyone was getting a little… distracted upstairs, so I just decided to speed things up a teensy bit! The princesses using their powers to escape the maze will let me get all the readings we need, and then we can have a nice little party! I had the baker make tiny cakes.” 

“I made sure Hordak’s doomberry pie was especially tasty!” Skeletor piped up. 

“And it’s all perfectly safe!” Entrapta promised. Discreetly, a ribbon of hair reached out to push a blinking button. On the monitors, Mermista and Sea Hawk were rescued from a robot shark attack by a convenient change of the currents. 

“This is hilarious,” Catra laughed, looking more closely. On one of the screens, Swift Wind was gleefully running loop-de-loops along a curving racetrack. “I think they’re actually having fun in there. Can we stay and watch?” 

“I’m afraid not,” Hordak said. She-Ra’s — and your — assessment is the most important of all. But we’d love to have you over to the castle for dinner soon. Shall we say eight o’clock next week?” 

“That sounds nice!” Adora chimed, before Catra could stop her. 

“Splendid. I’ll cook,” Hordak concluded. Then he pressed a button on his desk, and a trapdoor sent the younger women plummeting through the floor. 

Catra and Adora yelped in surprise, only for their fall to be cut short by an enormous pile of pillows on the level below. They struggled to their feet. Another corridor stretched away in front of them, filled with further challenges. Floating gold coins, each about four feet tall, indicated a pathway. 

“Try not to have too much fun,” Hordak called good-naturedly as the trapdoor slid shut. 

“Use the warp zone! It’s faster!” Entrapta added. 

“Have a nice trip down!” said Skeletor. 

*

Hordak settled back in his chair (it had soft armrests, and a cushion for lumbar support) and watched his partner at work. Entrapta flitted from screen to screen, taking notes and making adjustments. On one display, Bow and Glimmer had met up with Netossa and Spinnerella while navigating a cage minefield. On another, Frosta was making an ice bridge to help Perfuma and Scorpia cross a slow-moving spike trap. 

“I’m sorry you had to use your backup plan. They really are utter fools if they ever doubted your genius,” Hordak mused. 

“Different people have different strengths and weaknesses,” Entrapta replied, without looking up from her work. “And a good scientist collaborates whenever they can! Even if that requires a little creativity sometimes.” 

Hordak nodded. “Fair enough. Nevertheless, I would not blame you if you wished to have nothing more to do with the Princess Alliance. Even their attempts to help you can seem… insensitive. You’re not obligated to forgive that.” 

Skeletor looked up from his control panel and shook a fist. “Don’t you get awfully tired of being a hero all the time? Don’t you ever feel like doing something evil?” 

“They’re trying to be good friends,” Entrapta defended. “And so am I. And if I really did need their help, maybe things would be different. But I’ve got it all under control!” 

She vaulted across the room, flipping switches and turning dials along the way. On the monitors, Perfuma’s fall from a tall platform was gently broken by a sudden anti-gravitational field. 

“Besides, forgiveness isn’t always about the person being forgiven. It’s also about taking back potential energy that was lost.” 

“Did you learn that in my brother’s therapy group?” Hordak asked. 

Entrapta smirked. “Actually, he got it from me.” 

A pleasant ding sounded and Entrapta clapped her hair. “Hooray, everyone made it back! I’ll calculate the high scores and then we can continue the social experiment!” 

“You astonish me every day,” Hordak purred as he rose to follow her. Entrapta put out her hand, and he took it. 

“Wait for me!” Skeletor cried out. “You might get lost by yourself!” 

*

One week later, a much smaller gathering of royals met in Dryl. 

Catra and Adora sat together in one of the Crypto Castle’s least intimidating dining rooms, listening with barely-contained delight as Entrapta’s parental units thoroughly embarrassed their former boss. 

“...And so I said to him, ‘I have charging ports Hordak, can you download raw data offa me?’ Ha! Oh, you shoulda seen his face!” 

Hordak slouched in his chair. “I do not think we need to bore our guests with the details of this particular story,” he protested, feebly. 

“Oh, I’m not bored at all! I want to hear everything,” Catra said. She leaned forward, grinning. “So, was this before or after you hooked him up to the lie detector?” 

Entrapta giggled, and gave Hordak a gentle pat on the shoulder as she reached for another helping of his tiny quiche. All things considered, the night was going surprisingly well. 

It was exactly what Entrapta wanted. 

After dinner, wheeled bots carted away the leftovers and dirty dishes. Hordak poured coffee for himself and Adora, and the parental units retired to wherever it was they lived in the cavernous castle. Entrapta, lost in thought as usual, felt a familiar feline presence approach her. 

“Thank you,” Catra said, sincerely. “Not just for this. For everything. For being so nice all the time. For making this mission happen. It means a lot to me.” 

Entrapta smiled softly. “To me, too. Everyone makes mistakes. It would be a shame not to learn from them when we can.” 

“Did you say something?” Skeletor squawked, suddenly materializing in the doorway. 

Entrapta, unbothered, immediately produced a datapad. “Oh we’re just talking about the big rescue mission! Actually, you should probably take a look at my data, Skeletor. I haven’t told you much yet, and we might need you!” She held the blinking screen out happily. 

Skeletor looked at the datapad. At first he seemed confused; then he boggled as he registered the information in front of him. “Eternia?” he gasped in disbelief. “Grayskull?” 

His voice rose to a fevered pitch. “He-Man!”

For once, Skeletor had no words. He shrieked incomprehensibly instead, fists shaking. 

Hordak chuckled. “It’ll be just like the old days!” 

Skeletor screamed.