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dreamerstreamer · 4 years ago

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Telltale Talent

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] When Dream tries to teach you how to spar, he learns that you’re more than what meets the eye.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: this was requested by an anon who wanted a fun sparring practice with a surprise! here’s to the first fic of 2021, and i hope you enjoy <3

Clay stared down at the map on his desk, his fingers curling tighter around the quill in his hands. A mess of scribbles and circles gazed back up at him as he made another mark. He bit back the sigh that threatened to escape his throat, his brow twitching.

You were doing it, again.

He could feel your eyes on him from the other side of the room, practically boring a hole through his skull. He clenched his jaw, chewing on his lip as he tried to focus his attention on the map lying before him. If you were going to do what he thought you were going t—

At that exact moment, you opened your mouth, but he spoke before you could.

“No.”

Almost immediately, a whine flew from your lips, and you thrashed your legs in annoyance. “What?! Why not?” You frowned, determination etched into your features. “It’ll be a good experience!”

This time, he actually did sigh, lifting his head to look at you dead on, balancing his quill between his fingers. “For one, it’s not like you’re not going to go into battle, anyway.”

Your frown deepened, a line forming between your brows as you shot him a longing look. “That doesn’t mean you still can’t teach me how to spar.”

He pursed his lips, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. “There’s no need to.”

For a few seconds, you simply stared at one another, your eyes swimming with resolve as he grimaced. Then your face lit up, and you shot your arm into the air, making him jump.

“Self-defence!” you shouted, your entire body practically glowing with hope. “If you teach me how to spar, then I could use it for self-defence purposes.” Before he could open his mouth to retort, you cut him off with a cold look. “Clay, you can’t tell me that there’s no chance that I won’t ever have to defend myself—you just can’t.”

Clay blinked at you, glowering. You weren’t wrong, per se. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but there was still a very real possibility that at any point, you could be in danger, regardless of whether or not you were on the battlefield. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you were capable of keeping yourself safe, but teaching you how to fight would mean having to admit that there may come a time where he couldn’t be there for you.

The mere thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He stared at you for a long moment, taking in the sight of your pleading face and clenched hands, your eyes desperately searching his. Then, he sighed once more, setting his quill down in its holder. “Fine.”

You let out a delighted squeal, springing to your feet before bounding over to his desk. Bending over, you pressed a quick peck to his cheek. His heart skipped a loving beat in his chest, and his cheeks flushed pink.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Clay!” you cried, flashing him a bright grin as you pulled back. Your eyes curved into crescent moons as you giggled with glee. “You won’t regret this, I promise!”

He rested his head on his hand as he watched you cheer to yourself, pumping your air in a successful dance. A small smile flitted across his face, his emerald eyes crinkling at the corners as his map lay forgotten on the desk.

Oh, who was he kidding? You were far too cute to say no to, even if he wanted to.

“So, what’s first?”

He hummed, tucking a hand under his chin. Above you, the midday sun beat down on you both, the clouds watching with eager eyes as Clay paced around the clearing.

He was lucky to have found a spot within the forest that was both open and had plenty of soft grass. This way, you’d have a proper spot to practice while also having some semblance of cushioning beneath you in case you fell. As much as he wanted to simulate a real fight scenario for you, he didn’t want you to actually get injured. He could hardly manage to keep his cool when you got a simple scrape on your finger—there was no way he’d remain calm if you got hurt in a fight, practice or not.

His steps suddenly came to a halt, and he turned on his heel to look at you with a thoughtful glance. “Before we even properly start practicing,” he began, raising two fingers, “there are two things you should know and remember.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you let out a small whine, your shoulders sinking at your side. “Aw, is this a lecture?” You frowned. “I just want to skip to the fun part, already.”

Clay rolled his eyes as shook his head, but you didn’t miss the tiny smile on his lips as he wagged his fingers at you. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m the teacher here, so you better pay attention.”

You shot him a sour look, then quietly grumbled, “Well, you’re not a very fun teacher.”

He scowled at that, placing a hand on his hip. “We’re getting there!” His gaze softened, and his tone grew gentle as he offered, “Let’s just do this first, okay? I promise I’ll keep it short, and you will get to try a real spar, today.”

Your frown was slowly replaced by a smile, and you sent him a keen look, shifting forward onto your toes. “Okay.”

He grinned, taking a few steps back from you until he was standing on the opposite side of the clearing. “Good. First,” he said, pointing his two fingers at his eyes then to yours, “never take your eyes off your enemy.” He cocked his head as he lowered his arm. “It may seem obvious to you, but you’d be surprised by how often people forget in the heat of the moment.”

Your gaze was serious when you nodded, and he was almost taken aback by how quickly your demeanour had changed. “I can do that.”

He blinked for a second, then sent you another encouraging smile. “Perfect. Second,” he carried on, pointing downward, “remember that your feet exist.”

“Okay—wait.” You froze, your eyebrows furrowing together as confusion flickered across your face. “What?”

He chuckled at your confused expression, dropping his arm. “I know it sounds dumb, but it’s true! You see,” he explained, tapping a finger against his temple, “the human brain is kind of dumb, and a lot of the time when it comes to fights, a person’s first instinct is to focus on their enemy’s hands and immobilize them.” He raised his hand toward you, curling it into a tight fist. “After all, they are pretty effective weapons. But your feet can be just as, if not more, powerful.” His gaze darted back to yours. “Do you follow?”

Slowly, you nodded, your eyes staring directly at his knuckles. “In the same way,” he continued, “it’s also good to remember that your elbows and knees are two of the strongest parts of your body.” He raised one hand, the other reaching over to tap his elbow. “Don’t be afraid to use them, because they can be especially useful.”

Your lips parted as you bobbed your head. He could practically see the gears churning in your head, and he almost wanted to coo at how focused you looked. “Feet, elbows, knees,” your murmured quietly to yourself, huffing. “Got it.”

He dropped his arm, his lips quirking. “Awesome.” He turned slightly to the side, shifting his weight onto his back foot. “Now that the so-called boring part is done, do you just want to give it a first go and try a practice fight? First person to knock the other person over wins.”

Your eyes lit up, and for a split second, Clay could have sworn he saw something dark flicker through your gaze. But it was gone as soon as it had appeared, and he was soon blinded by your dazzling grin. “Sure!”

His expression mirrored yours as he brought his arms up in front of him, his hands forming fists. In front of him, your eyes quickly scanned him up and down, and you slowly moved to copy his stance. He felt a tinge of satisfaction shoot through him. You were a fast learner.

“I’m ready when you are,” he called, cracking his neck with a grunt.

Your eyes narrowed, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, and for a moment, all was still.

Then, in a flash, you were charging toward him, stopping only just in front of him to throw your fist at his skull. He smiled at your earnest effort, quickly twisting to the side. You nearly toppled forward when your fist met empty air, and he reveled in your widening eyes. A split second later, you leapt back, swinging your left leg up and into his side. But just before your shin made impact with his hoodie, he lifted his arm, his hand quickly latching onto your ankle and holding it in place.

“Ooh, nice try, sweetheart,” he hummed, shooting you a crooked grin. He drank in the shocked look on your face as his expression grew a fraction darker and his grip on your ankle tightened.

“But not nice enough.”

He swiftly threw down your foot, watching as you stumbled back at the force. You didn’t get the chance to regain your balance before he was suddenly looming beside you, his fist flying toward your nose. With a yelp, you ducked, your arm shooting above your head to grab his arm in midair. He blinked as your fingers dug into his sweater, curling tightly into the fabric. Then, a devious grin crept onto his face.

As much as you may try, he had the upper hand when it came to brute strength.

But to his shock, he felt something sharp and hard slam into his gut, knocking the air straight out of his lungs. He quickly back-pedaled, but your hold on his sleeve didn’t let up. He only barely caught a glimpse of your kneecap before you stepped behind him, twisting his arm around and pinning it to his back. Just then, he felt something brush against his ankle.

No way.

In the blink of an eye, his legs were flying out beneath him, and he was flipping into the air. With a thud, he slammed into the ground, a dull ache shooting through his back as the grass cushioned his fall. Before he could even react, you quickly placed your foot on his chest, keeping him thoroughly pinned down.

His eyes were the size of saucers as he took in your half-shaking figure, your eyes trained on his fallen form. You panted above him, your fists slowly uncurling. “Was—was that good?”

Clay gaped at you, his head spinning with what you’d just done. You had just knocked him, a trained soldier and practiced assassin, flat on his back with practically no instructions whatsoever. He had only given you two—well, two and a half—simple tips before putting you on the spot, and you still managed to take him down.

There was no sugarcoating it—you were a prodigy.

If he wasn’t in love with you before, then he definitely was, now.

Pride swelled in his chest as he closed his mouth, swallowing. He stared at you for a moment longer before shaking his head free from his reverie. He couldn’t wait to teach you more.

“[Y/N],” he breathed, his lips stretching into an awed grin, “you’re amazing.”

You blinked, pointing to yourself in surprise. “I-I am?”

He nodded without even an ounce hesitation, his grin growing even wider. “Very.” With a small grunt, he pushed himself back onto his feet, dusting off his behind before turning back to you. “Now,” he said, “do it again.” His eyes glinted with something akin to mischief. “I won’t go easy on you this time.”

You tilted your head at him as a devilish smile of your own tugged at your lips. “In that case, neither will I.”

He raised a brow at you, but he couldn’t stop the affection bubbling up in between his lungs. He felt his heart beat faster as you settled into a fighting stance, your arms raised in front of you. “That’s the spirit.”

Your eyes locked onto each other, and for a moment, all was still.

Then, you came barreling towards him, your eyes glimmering in the sunlight. His lips curled into a smirk as he raised his foot.

Perhaps teaching you to fight wasn’t too bad of an idea, after all.

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lightsovermonaco · 4 years ago

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His Good Sweater: Chapter 5

Masterlist

Shoutout to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my sounding board and beta reader! She's the absolute best a girl could ask for, thanks my love!

Word Count: 3.0k

Recommended song: "The Heart is a Muscle" by Gang of Youths

You woke before the sun, Pierre's bare chest pressed to your back and an arm slung over your middle. You wiggle in his grasp, trying to be sneaky as you turn to face him but ultimately waking him. You run a finger over his lips as they curve upwards before biting lightly. You draw back and he laughs quietly.

"Morning," You whisper, head throbbing slightly. "I feel like I got hit by a train."

"Knocking back four or five shots in a few hours will do that to you." Pierre stretches, arching his back and exposing his neck. The slight mark you left the night before had darkened into a true, unmissable bruise. The reminder of it sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn't resist ghosting your lips over the hurt.

He sighs, cupping your chin and bringing your mouth up to his. The kiss is lazy, both of you still too ensnared by sleep to put any heat into it.

You stayed tangled in him until Yuki called to remind Pierre they had to be at the airport by eight. You helped him pack as slowly as you could manage, a stone settling in your gut. When the time came, Pierre hadn’t wanted to leave, only relenting when Yuki called again to say the jet was waiting on him.

The longing wasn't something that normally hit you this hard when Pierre left. It was new, the edges raw and unhealed when you poked at it. Everything on campus Tuesday reminded you of him, from the sunlight hitting the lab table to the rare cloudless blue of the London sky.

Just when you’d gotten over the sting of his absence, the news broke. Charles sent you the link to the article, simply captioned, 'You will want to read this.'

Gasly snogs mystery girl in London bar, the headline read. And fuck, that was a grainy picture of you standing between his legs, fingers tangled in his hair. You scroll through the article, heart in your throat, praying you weren’t called out by name.

By some small miracle, whoever had taken the photos hadn’t gotten one of your face. Against your better judgement, you checked the comments.

That was where your name came up. Fans had connected the dots. Your hair had been up that night, but it was the exact same shade as the picture. Your instagram had been filled with photosets of London for months, and Pierre had flown out early before Silverstone. Clearly he had been meeting someone. Anyone with half a brain could figure out that you were the one in the photos, even if the article didn't mention you directly.

The first DM didn’t come for a few hours. It was nasty, the user hurling cruel words at you that struck your chest like tiny knives. Plenty more followed, threats and names alike.

Gold digger.

Does she really think she deserves him?

He could do so much better.

You couldn’t bear attending classes. You sent Pierre the link to the damning article and stayed in your apartment and sobbed. The fans- if they could even be called such a thing- pulled no punches. Every DM and comment struck home, until you eventually had to turn your phone off and curl up in bed, defeated.

People are cruel, you thought, wiping the tears that streak down your cheeks.

You kept your phone off for a few hours before you gathered the courage to check it again. You immediately uninstall any and all social media, unwilling to let it affect you further than it already had. But messages pour in, most from Pierre and a few from your brother.

Hell yeah! Was all your brother sent, along with a screenshot of the article. Your mouth twists, the memory of the comments washing over you again.

Pierre’s messages were the ones that broke you. There were close to a dozen of them, accompanied by missed calls and panicked voicemails.

“Are you okay? Please pick up the phone, my love, I need to hear that you’re okay. I love you. Please call me back.”

The last message, time stamped from a half hour earlier, simply said, “I’m getting on a plane.”

A fresh sob wracks your body. You press a hand to your mouth, trying to silence it. God, he was so pure hearted. You knew the comments would hurt him just as much as they hurt you, if not more. He would blame himself, when in reality, it had been a mutual mistake. Either one of you should have recognized the risks of your actions. But you couldn't let him risk his career for it. You could make it through… somehow.

I’m okay, you type, hating that you had to lie. You don’t need to come to London.

I’m already in the air, He informs you, and you curse softly. He would have hell to pay upon returning to Austria, even if he had somehow convinced Tost to let him leave at the last minute.

I'll be there soon

The flight from Vienna to Heathrow was about two and a half hours, which meant you had that long to pull yourself together. You didn’t want Pierre to see you broken. You shower and change into slightly less ragged sweatpants and an oversized shirt. You grab your laptop, quickly emailing your professors to apologize for missing lecture unannounced and informing them you wouldn’t be there the rest of the week either. You'd need time to sort out your head before facing your peers.

Pierre’s knock came far too quickly. You’d barely assembled your face into a mask of resolve before the door opened. Whatever semblance of control you'd managed to construct came crashing down at the sight of him. He looks just as distraught as you, eyes red and cheeks flushed.

Before he says a word, he gathers you in his arms, tucking your head to his chest. Your lip wobbles, and when he whispers “I’m so sorry,” the tears fall in earnest. For less than a week, you’d been on top of the world with Pierre by your side. You’d gotten to enjoy the idea of being his girlfriend for six days before reality stepped in and ruined it.

You clutch at his shirt, fighting hard to piece yourself back together. Now that he was there, the dam had burst and no amount of willpower could keep the sobs back.

Pierre sweeps you up, one arm under your knees and the other keeping you tight to him as he carries you to your bedroom. He climbs into bed, shoes and all, and keeps you in his lap as he strokes your hair. He sniffles, softly enough that you know he's trying to be strong for you. The realization that he's crying too just makes it hurt that much more.

"I'm sorry," He whispers again and again, as if the two syllables were the only ones he remembered. You can't find your voice to tell him you don't blame him or how much his presence means.

Instead, you press your face into the soft cotton of his sweater. He doesn't move except to stroke a calloused hand over your hair. You let his presence wash over you until your breathing turns more even and your fingers stop trembling.

"H-how were you able to leave Austria?" Your voice shakes, but you tilt your head up to face him. He quickly wipes away the wetness on his cheeks with a sleeve.

"I just left. The only one I told was Yuki. He said he'd cover for me. I saw the comments and I couldn't think straight. I didn't want you to believe them." The look he turns on you is an apology. "When I called and it didn't even ring, I had to get to you."

"I don't think you'll be welcomed back with open arms," You point out, and he presses a tender kiss to your brow.

"They can be pissed at me all they want. I don't care. I needed to be here." You wouldn't admit it, but he was right. The fact that he'd risked everything to comfort you helped you ignore what those users had said. Nothing could ever erase the words, but Pierre’s presence dulled their impact.

“I already petitioned for the article to be removed,” Pierre says softly. “Don’t know if it’ll amount to anything, but it’s worth a shot.”

You nod and wipe your nose on your sleeve. “It’s so much worse than I imagined.” Pierre’s cheek comes to a rest atop your head, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your arm. “I get that I’m not the only one that loves you. But it’s like they don’t remember that I’m human.”

“People are bold when they're speaking to a screen instead of another person.”

"It was so much easier before anyone knew," You say, words dipped in longing. Rumors had never swirled when you had kept your distance, you'd made sure of it. But now that the secret was out… Would your life be spent dodging threats and dealing with negativity?

He pauses, thumb stilling. “Do you… Do you want it to go back to the way things were before? When we were... friends?"

Your head whips around. “What?”

“It isn’t fair that you have to go through this because of me,” He explains. “I hate the fact that I’m the one causing you pain. The way you’re being treated is only because I live in the spotlight.”

“It’s not your fault,” You assert, placing a hand on his stubbled cheek. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

“Maybe it would be easier if we-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” You say sternly. You force him to look at you, his eyes storming like the sea. “We’ll figure it out. Our emotions got the best of us last week. We just have to be more careful, keep this behind closed doors. We don’t need to flaunt it, right? Just tell the press that you want to keep your private life private, and I’ll take a break from social media. We can figure it out.”

Pierre nodded in agreement. His voice is scratchy, like he had swallowed gravel. “Alright.”

“It’s us against the world,” You tell him, “And I couldn’t ask for a better teammate.” Your lips ghost against his in an attempt to reassure him. He returns the kiss, firmer and more confident. Your hand slips to the nape of his neck, drawing him in as your tongue glides against his lower lip.

Last week, you’d fucked. But tonight, the sex was something else entirely. It was soft sighs and languid kisses, whispered words of adoration and promises of endless love. Above all, it was an affirmation. Pierre loved you; heart, mind, and soul. In every sense of the word. He would let nothing come between you and himself. Not his career, jealous fans, or the thousands of miles that may sometimes separate you.

Pierre offered you his heart, and you accepted it without question.

**********

The few precious hours Pierre managed to give you were enough to keep you afloat the rest of the week. The break from seemingly endless lectures helped to reset your mind and give you time to focus on yourself.

Pierre called as often as he could, and texted when he couldn’t. You filled him in on the little things you did to keep busy, like how you spent all of Sunday rearranging your tiny apartment so that your bed was as close to his in Austria as you could get it. Monday night, you fell asleep on Facetime with him as you tried and failed to write a term paper for your architectural history class.

Pierre’s visit and subsequent calls had made you feel invincible. But the moment you walk into the lecture hall on Tuesday, everyone’s eyes are on you: the first test of your newly minted confidence. Chin held high, you meet a few of their stares and take your usual seat at the front. The moment you start to question yourself, if you're ready to face the scrutiny, your phone buzzes with a text from Pierre.

Ignore them. Remember that I love you. I’ll call you tonight.

Once again, he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. It amazed you that a handful of carefully selected words could grant you so much strength. But it was proof that Pierre recognized and accepted your fears and was willing to help you work through them.

You take a breath, letting the whispers of your classmates fade until they were nothing more than a faint hum. You turn your focus on the professor as she enters, falling into your usual cadence. Easy. You could ignore the gossip until they got tired of it and left you alone. Their fascination couldn’t last more than a few days.

You made it through the rest of your classes and walked home without incident. No one ran up to you and demanded you explain your relationship with Pierre. Your worst fears had been abated. The stress of it rolls off your shoulders when you make it to your apartment. It was already 7 o’clock, but Pierre hadn’t called yet. Seeing as Austria was an hour ahead, you weren’t sure he would hold to his earlier promise.

Your stomach growls, and you leave your bag next to your bed before heading to the kitchen. Dinner was a box of macaroni and cheese, simple but delicious. You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at your phone every few minutes, hoping to see Pierre’s name on the screen.

Coming to terms with the fact that you probably wouldn't be getting a call, you settle into your favorite chair and crack open your laptop. Term papers didn't write themselves, and you still had a few thousand words to write. You lost yourself in theories and articles for a few hours before your phone breaks your concentration.

You awake?

A smile splits your face. Yeah. Working on this never ending term paper.

I'll leave you to it. Love you, sleep tight.

You laugh quietly. You agree with his 'school first' mentality most of the time, but there were exceptions to every rule. You call him, heart stuttering when he answers.

"You're supposed to be writing."

"Well, nice to hear your voice too," You say playfully. "It was boring me anyway. Who wants to read twenty pages comparing Roman and Greek columns anyway?"

"I'm pretty sure your professor does," He says with a laugh that warms your bones. If only he were standing in front of you so you could feel his chest rumble beneath your fingertips. Wanting to see his face, you switch to a video call.

"I was wondering how long that would take," He teases, smile wide and welcoming.

"I miss you," You say softly, padding to your bed. You'd accomplished enough that you could push off writing more until tomorrow. "I wish I could come to Japan this weekend."

"Me too, my love," He responds, voice tinged with longing. "It's one of the more challenging circuits on the calendar. And you've always wanted to visit Tokyo."

You weren't surprised that he remembered that silly dream of yours. "Send me something that reminds me of you." You flick off the lights before climbing under the covers, pulling them up to your chin. "Something cute and sweet."

"I fly out tomorrow night to meet Charles. I should have some extra time to do some window shopping."

"You and Charles going on a date?" You tease, propping your head on a hand. Now that you were cozy, it was hard to keep your eyes open.

He shakes his head. "He's been… helping me with the press. Tackling it all."

"Oh." The mood sours. You decide not to dwell on it, turning to humor instead. "Give him a kiss for me as a thank you."

"He would love that," Pierre laughs. Comfortable silence blankets you, broken only by Pierre humming softly. It was a song you recognize as one of his favorites; it must have been stuck in his head.

"What time do I have to wake up on Sunday?" You mumble, struggling to stay awake while he was unknowingly serenading you.

"Do you want to watch the prerace stuff?" Papers shuffle softly on the other end as he figures it out for you. "If you do, probably like 3:30. If not, the race would be at five your time, so maybe 4:30."

"That's early. You're lucky I love you enough to sacrifice my beauty sleep."

He didn't hesitate before responding. "Luckily you don't need sleep to be beautiful."

Your mouth curls in a sleepy smile. "When you say things like that, I hate the distance between us even more."

Pierre scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't have a break for another month or so."

"I know."

Silence falls again, both of you lost in your own heads.

"You should sleep," He says finally, and you nod. Your first class was only 6 hours from now. "I'll sing to you if you promise to close your eyes and try to sleep."

Despite your best efforts, you yawn. You often called him for a song when you couldn't sleep and the time difference permitted it. Just hearing his voice was soothing enough, but a song? It was heaven. "Shouldn't be hard to do." Sleep came within minutes, Pierre's soft song your lullaby.

Tagging: @flashcal @sunshinesewis

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cno-inbminor · 5 years ago

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domus

a/n: here we have another short drabble dump! i wrote this up very quickly -- i’m still working on that long fic i’ve been talking about! i apologize for taking so long to put it together. pls take this short fic as an apology for now. stay hydrated, wear your masks, and be safe! love you all so dearly <3

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else.

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi

wc: ~3.7k, will probably have other parts in the future.

genre/warnings: angst with dashes of fluff; mentions of alcohol

pt. 2 | pt. 3

edit: now crossposted to AO3!

When you’re in love, you spend weeks and months wondering why time won’t stop. You sit and ponder over why you’ll have to die someday and leave behind the person you’ve dedicated your entire soul to, or what might happen if your death came early and you didn’t get to say goodbye. You wonder why the seasons seem to pass you by so quickly, that in the blink of an eye, you go from enjoying a cup of iced tea on the porch to holding a mug of hot chocolate inside watching snowflakes swirl in their journeys to the ground.

But when love ceases to exist, time seems to stop. The days drag for longer, the seasons crawl at a turtle’s pace, and the inevitable end feels less terrifying. You no longer fear the eventual sagging of your skin or the spider legs that grow at the corners of your eyes. You no longer cling onto a hope that there will be a lover’s hand holding yours at your bed of eternal sleep. You simply become, just you. Solitary, single, independent you.

It’s no longer you and someone else. The realization stings so badly that it physically hurts you, a whimper leaving your throat. You shakily reach over for the next blouse and fight back the tears, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip. The skin is chapped and broken to the point that you would need layers and layers of chapstick to save any semblance of it, a terrible habit that you wish you hadn’t possessed. It’s muscle memory, the way you fold the blouse in half, fold the sleeves in, bending it over your arm before it lands in a neat stack of other tops in your suitcase. Your eyes take a glance at the clock, and you gather you have about another hour before you needed to leave for the airport and make it on time for your flight.

You ignore the male figure hunched over on the edge of your bed, tuning out his pleas and broken promises. He begs you to give him time, to implore that it’s all his fault and he’ll make it work for the two of you. Tetsuro promises that he didn’t mean to and that it wasn’t anything you did, but you feel so empty inside that you can’t even find the energy to argue, to turn on him and say that he was pretending to take all the blame so it’d be a better explanation to all your friends. A relationship involves both parties, and while there were special exceptions, this wasn’t one of them. Something was clearly wrong with you, and you were okay with that. You were just tired of Testuro attempting to take everything onto himself.

“I thought it’d be best to come clean with you,” he says, throat hoarse from lack of hydration. “I know you would question it and I haven’t done anything, I swear, I know you’re amazing and don’t deserve to live a lie and—”

“Do you want me to say ‘thank you’?” You interjected quietly, morosely. Your hands slide open the underwear drawer and take out a week’s worth of underwear, bras, and bralettes. “Do you want me to express my gratitude in your honesty for telling me that you don’t love me anymore? You can easily buy a trophy online and make the inscription yourself. ‘Most honest man alive’? Is that what you want?” You ask, tone flat and not possessing the least bit of amusement and humor.

“Can’t you give me some time? I’ll try, I’ll try to figure out what went wrong, and I can love you again. We can still get married and everything, but please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving forever, Tetsu. I’m just gone for a week, maybe more.”

“Where are you even going?”

“That’s none of your business,” you quickly reply, defenses back up as you make a beeline for the bathroom. You pick up all the toiletries you can, the ones that would be allowed in your carry-on. Strangers won’t care about your missing skincare routine and your complexion not looking its best.

“What if you get lost? Or kidnapped? What if people ask—”

“Easy. Just tell them I had a last minute business trip, family emergency, whatever floats your boat.”

“Can’t you see that I’m trying? I—”

“This isn’t just about you!” You snap, whirling around to look at him for the first time in the last hour or so. Testuro notices with a pang in his heart that your cheeks have sunken in slightly since he broke his revelation to you just last week, the eye circles darker than ever. But your eyes are soulless, dead, no shine or spark that he’d wake up to every morning even muddled with sleep.

“You can’t just expect me to be okay and continue to bend over backwards for you without question. The least you could do is give me my time, give me some space to think about all of it. That’s the bare minimum.”

And with that, you zip your suitcase shut, grab your passport (even though you probably don’t need it), keys, wallet, and phone, and walk as quickly as you can to the front door. The scheduled Uber will arrive in just a few minutes, and as you slip into a pair of flats, you can hear the creak of the bed and Testuro’s padded steps nearing you.

“Just be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything, anything. You’re still one of the most important people to me, so just – text me at some point. Let me know you’re alive at least.”

“You need to rest. You’re on call tomorrow,” you digress while opening the door.

“(Y/n)—”

“I’ll text you. Promise.”

And the door shuts behind you.

Your relationship with Akaashi Keiji is…hard to explain. In fact, you’re not even sure what to refer him as in your life. Anytime you spoke of him or attempted to explain, you’d fumble over words and draw blanks. While it was irritating and aggravating at times, you learned to just accept it.

Akaashi Keiji was the neighbor down the street, two years older, and someone who had known you since you were 8. Your moms were attached at the hip not longer after you moved to Tokyo, and that meant holidays were spent together, impromptu get-togethers and dinners were a common occurrence, and you saw him frequently at school. He was a quiet soul, gentle, but reserved. In fact, most of the things you knew about him were secondhand conversations from your mother talking about the family, because honestly his mom was basically your second mom now, and your mother trusted you with everything. His past, his troubles, his personality all relayed through your mom from his own, and when you saw him in the hallways, he wasn’t much of an enigma to you. Many other girls had found the mysterious air around him to be attractive, that the pretty setter who only ever smiled around his volleyball team and kept a tight circle of friends had something significant beneath the layers.

Keiji grew up with you, playing Smash on the Wii to pass time as your parents gossiped away. Sometimes, you’d play an intense game of Monopoly with him, a game that typically tipped in his favor. He never said much about himself, always relayed more about others that overlapped in your lives. The most he ever spoke to you about was when it came to teachers at school, even giving you some of his old notes and pointers. But even you could tell that he kept his guards up, and you wondered if he even classified you as a friend.

Your go-to explanation of Keiji’s standing in your life was a family friend. But that insinuated you were close with him, which you weren’t at all. No matter how many times he walked home with you (mainly at the pushing from his mother), no matter how many times he was forced to entertain you at dinners and holidays, no matter how many times he gave you a small smile in school, there was such a large gap between the two of you. He always seemed so different around his team, like they had the privilege of knowing the real him, and at times, you felt…jealous.

And the weird thing is that you can rely on him somehow – whether it be because he’d get an earful from his parents if he didn’t help you when you asked it or out of the goodness of his heart, he was simply always there. Sometimes, you were bold enough to text him about a show he talked about in the past, and he would reply quickly as if your unexpected, rare text about something benign didn’t faze him at all.

Yet despite the distance, despite the lack of any semblance of an actual friendship with him, he was the first one you thought of when all this happened. He was the one you wanted to see – maybe it’s because he was the closest thing to home, and you didn’t want to go back to your parents explaining everything. It’s been a while since you’ve been back in Tokyo, ever since you moved to Sapporo for your job and Testuro got matched for a residency at a hospital there.

At 7PM on a Friday afternoon, past the baggage claim with the sunset beaming in through the sliding glass doors, you stare at Keiji’s contact on your phone, thumb hovering hesitantly over the call button. You could count the number of times you’ve called him on one hand, but this was an emergency, right? Is this why your heart is pounding against your chest, so anxious that you feel like you’ll break into a cold sweat any time soon?

You jump into the deep end.

Your hand nervously brings the phone to your ear, waiting with bated breath as the dial tone echoes in the chamber of your brain. Part of you wants him to miss the call so you can avoid this awkward conversation, but another part of you desperately wants him to pick up as if he’ll be able to save you.

Oh god oh god oh god, you panic as the tone stops, there’s a pause, a rustle, and then a hesitant, “—Hello?”

You didn’t plan this out. You’re not ready for this. Shit, what are you supposed to say?

“—hello? (Y/n)?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

Wow, you’re a terrible conversationalist.

“…um, I haven’t actually. I was about to warm up some leftovers?”

Your eyes focus on the taxis driving by, picking up passengers as they get waved down. Maybe you should just find a cheap hotel nearby, continue this conversation tomorrow.

“Well…I’m in town, actually. I just landed about 30 minutes ago and realized I didn’t have anywhere to go and I don’t really want to call anyone else and I don’t exactly know who else to call so I just, um, thought about calling you and asking if you’ve had dinner? Which if you’re busy and stuff, that’s totally fine, I should’ve texted you beforehand instead of springing this on you and—”

“(Y/n), it’s okay, alright? It’s okay. I’m not busy, so you can stop by. Did my mom ever give you my address?”

Keiji’s brief attempt to calm you down works, surprisingly. You allow yourself to take a deep breath despite the stale airport air, but it was some much-needed oxygen. This is going to be okay, Keiji doesn’t hate you quite yet.

“N-no, she never did.”

“That’s fine, I’ll text it to you. My place is about 30 minutes from the airport, I’d recommend getting a taxi instead of an Uber. I’ll order some delivery—”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“You still like the miso ramen from that shop not far from your house, right? They opened up a second store not far from where I live.”

How did he remember that? You’re pretty sure your own mother had forgotten that fact by now.

“Y-yeah, I do,” you smile to yourself. “I still think about it sometimes.”

“Sounds good then. Get here safely then.”

“Okay. Thank you loads again. I’m sorry for all this—”

“Don’t worry about it. Keep me updated, see you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Not 30 seconds later, a text arrives to your phone with an address, a keycode for getting past the main door, and other relevant instructions.

Keiji’s apartment is exactly as you expect it to be – prim, proper, neat almost to a fault, with minimalist decorations. The apartment complex he lives in is rather high-end, if the security guards standing outside the main entrance indicated anything. You almost feel completely out of place or like a bug on the wall as you step in after him, a rather comfortable silence between the two of you. His kitchen is spotless and almost sparkles back at you, and the only thing that seems out of place are the containers of your ramen he so kindly ordered for you.

“Your place is really nice, it’s really…you,” you comment, setting your stuff down at the door. Keiji indulges you with a quiet laugh, making sure that there wasn’t anything that would be in your way. His glasses are perched on his head, an old monochrome t-shirt on his shoulders and sweatpants hung low on his hips, yet in this apartment that almost seems like it should be in an interior design magazine, he looks at home. His ethereal beauty, the softness in his eyes, the gentle up-turned strands of his hair – he belonged here.

“The ramen came not too long ago, so it’s still hot. I’ll go ahead and put it together, you can put your jacket on the couch.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Instead, you fold your jacket over your suitcase and quietly make your way into the apartment. Straight across from you are doors to a balcony – darkness had long taken over the city, so you see nothing but your reflection at first. But as you near the plexiglass, the reflection disappears into the view and you almost gasp from the beauty of it.

Blinking lights, flashing billboards, and the brightly lit Tokyo Skytree peer back at you. It only hits you now how much you’ve missed home, and that even though Sapporo was one of the largest cities in Japan, it still wasn’t Tokyo.

“I never get tired of it,” Keiji chimes in while carrying your bowl of ramen to the dining table.

“It’s an amazing view, I can see why you’d live here,” you reply while moving away from it. The table also has two empty wine glasses, and just as you’re about to ask him why they were there, he returns with a newly opened bottle of chardonnay.

“I haven’t had a lot of time to restock the wine fridge, but I knew I was going to kick myself for not having a bottle of that dessert wine we had before you went off to college,” he said with mirth and amusement. “You remember that one?”

“Yeah,” you nearly splutter, almost flushing that once again, Keiji was remembering details about you that you didn’t even know. “Your mom wanted to throw me a graduation dinner and you made it back in time after finals. And she had a bottle of it and between the two of us, we probably drank most of it. Our parents said it was too sweet.”

He nods and sits across from you, elbows on the table as you mutter, “Itadakimasu,” and start eating. You finish your meal silently for the most part, making small talk here and there. Keiji refills both of your glasses and the two of you sip the wine demurely, and while he seems okay with the lack of an explanation, you’re struggling to find the right words.

“So what’s with the impromptu trip to Tokyo? Are you going to see your parents?”

“Should I try to lie to you?”

“It’s up to you.”

Oh, okay then.

But he looks expectant, as if he knows you wouldn’t lie to him – in fact, you’ve never lied to him before. There was never any need to, but did that just mean neither of you ever cared enough?

“Something happened with me and Testuro. I don’t want to bore you with the details, but at the end of the day…I just needed to get away, as cliché as it sounds,” you laugh brokenly. Keiji continues to carefully observe you with a stare that you can’t escape. “I don’t want to tell my parents – you know them, they’ll ask a million questions. Without thinking, I booked a ticket to Tokyo and…now I’m here.”

That was a lie. How are you supposed to tell Keiji that he was the first person you thought of in an effort to run away? You and Keiji have never gotten personal before, he made sure of that. The last thing you want to do is weird him and scare him off.

“…did he cheat on you?” Keiji asked. His voice is darker in his inquiry, deeper than you’ve ever heard before. He has his hands folded in front of his lips and his eyes harden. Testuro may be an old friend to him, but you were in his life longer.

“Nonononono,” you quickly wave off. This isn’t the time to slander your…boyfriend? Could Tetsuro still even be your boyfriend if he no longer has any feelings for you? “Nothing like that.”

“That’s good to hear. If you want, you can tell me another time then. You’re welcome to stay here until you go back to Sapporo.”

You look up at him, eyes incredulous. Could Keiji really be this comfortable with you?

“I wouldn’t mind staying tonight, but I can stay in a hotel for the rest of the week that I’m here.”

“Nonsense,” Keiji refutes, standing from the table and taking your wine glasses to the sink. You follow with your bowl and he starts washing them before you can even offer. “Mom would kill me if she knew I let you pay for a hotel when I have a perfectly functioning bed you can stay in.”

“I mean, if it’s not a bother…”

“It’s not. The futon’s pretty comfortable, I’ve definitely fallen asleep on it plenty of times.”

“We can switch, I would never let you sleep on the futon for a whole week.”

“If you say so then. But for tonight, you can take my bed. Let me grab you an extra towel so you can shower. I’m sure you’ve had a long day,” he says while drying everything off, folding the kitchen towel neatly before heading off to his room. He returns with a large, soft grey towel and you shyly take it from him with a word of thanks, but he stays there in front of you, waiting for something.

“I’m really glad you picked up the phone,” you whisper softly, feeling the effects of the alcohol. You’re entering uncharted territory for the two of you, and this could either kill or strengthen this odd distant friendship. “I meant it when I said I didn’t know who else to call. You were the first person that came to mind and just…I don’t want to make this weird, like you can kick me out,” you begin to ramble. “Don’t feel like you’re obligated to take me in because your mom would be disappointed if you wouldn’t, you’ve already put up with me for over 15 years and it’s fine, I can be on my own and—”

Smooth, calloused hands delicately hold your face, large palms and nimble fingers cupping your cheeks. Your words die on your tongue as Keiji stares straight into your eyes, holding your gaze until your breathing calms down to a steady, languid pace. “You’re my friend, (y/n). So it’s good that you called me.”

“I’m your…friend?” You ask unsteadily, feeling a sense of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms with the corners of his lips turning up slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now go shower.”

“Okay.”

You’re fast asleep before Keiji finishes his own shower, his bedroom door left ajar as the hallway light beams through. He pauses in the midst of drying his hair with a towel, letting it bunch and hang off his neck as he cautiously pushes the door open. Keiji notices your even breathing and how much more relaxed you look in sleep. You’re curled up on your side with the blanket pulled up to your face and he can’t lie: it’s adorable and cute, and he shouldn’t really be thinking these things.

He sits on the edge of the bed in the little space that’s provided, lithe fingers reaching out to brush back a few stray wisps of your hair. Watching you sleep pulls him back into a fond memory he’s kept of the two of you, one that might’ve held very little significance to you but meant something so much more to him. He knows you know him well, he knows how much his mother babbles on about him, and adults were more prone to gossip than the rowdiest of teenagers – he’d be painfully oblivious if he didn’t think you knew that much about him, or more than the average friend.

But it’s comforting to him, sometimes. Knowing you, how kindly you think of others, he might not have to explain what he’s feeling in the moment. You would be able to know, and that soothes him to some degree.

Maybe he had a little bit too much wine as well, but ever so subtly, motions steady and unhurried, he deftly leans closer and closer until his lips brush the apple of your cheek. He lingers for no more than a few seconds and sits back up, gazing at you before standing. His hands adjust the blankets and make sure you’re properly tucked in. He pads away, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible as to not wake you.

And when he’s found a comfortable position on the futon with his most comfortable throw blanket, he realizes, begrudgingly, that this week will fly by too fast for his liking.

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eureka-its-zico · 4 years ago

Text

Half Bitten Part 4

Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

A/N: So no one really asked for a continuation of this. I just work on stuff when I’m stuck on other things and I love supernatural stuff. My only hope is that someone out there enjoys this just a little. As always, thank you for reading. Much Love, Jenn

Jimin X Reader (for now?)

Words: 8620

Genre: Vampire supernatural goodness

Warnings: some slight gore

The surge of fear that rushed through you left a sickeningly sweet taste of copper on your tongue. For that brief moment, as your eyes focused in and out on his figure, you wondered if maybe you’d bitten your tongue. A mixture of shock from the wound on your leg and the frigid air making your teeth begin to clatter unapologetically from the cold. That wasn’t even mentioning the blood loss from your wounded leg was starting to show itself: your eyes running over him in doubles when you knew damn well there was only one of him. The spyglass vision made it increasingly harder to focus, and the more you did focus on him the more you felt the absurdity at noting how attractive he was.

From Jimin to Namjoon and now this guy, they all held on to that otherworldly energy. It demanded to be admired and touched: a dangerous game to hypnotize right before they stroked. A small part of you wondered if there was a convention? A secret meeting place to find the most attractive people on the planet and turn them into vampires.

It was the worst, most ridiculous, time for your thoughts to shift to the absurdity of looks but it also felt equally absurd that you were running for your life. From vampires. You knew the fear that quickened your blood should’ve been enough to send your feet packing in the other direction. Yet, there you were woozy from blood loss and your limbs on fire from adrenaline.

You were vaguely aware that your new dangerous stranger was edging his way towards you. Blood soaked eyes smiling to the soft hum of a song he’d originally hummed but was now breathing into the space between you. It was hauntingly beautiful and serene. The words took ages to reach you, but when they did your heart thundered wildly. A scared rabbit caught in the view of a viper.

“Your scent is so pure. It tastes so rich. You’ll try to hide. you’ll never get far. I love the chase. I’ll find you wherever you are.”

The words danced sickeningly sweet inside your head. The angelic sound of his voice almost enough to make you overlook the words. But your brain knew something wasn’t right, and it sent you turning on your heels and attempting to sprint away from him.

You’d felt like a fool. You’d been so starry-eyed as you watched him he’d already begun to pace towards you. A delicate shift of his feet that practically left him dancing and a few feet closer to you than before.

Your late response to turn tail and run; digging in and shifting you forward, hopefully, as far away from him as your injured legs could carry, felt too late. The sensation was so overwhelmingly it took everything in you not to scream. To yell into the void of the night for a help that would never come. The anxiety of not knowing when his attack would come ripped your stomach apart and your heart nesting snuggly in your throat.

With every pounding of your feet into the asphalt the nerves in your injured leg sent electrical jolts of pain throughout your body. A screaming reminder that you were wounded prey, and the agony you felt now wouldn’t compare to the future he had in store.

You held on to a dim hope you’d had a chance of getting away, but with the first brush of a body moving past you, faster than your brain could register, you knew that hope was non-existent. You barely had time to register the second gust of movement, now to your right, and you weren’t able to stop the soft yelp that crawled free from your throat.

His windchime-like laughter resonated around you as if he was impossibly close. Behind you. Beside you. All around you. The playful sound erupted and consumed you until it was the only sound you could hear.

He kept toying with you, herding you, whichever way he saw fit. The progress you thought you were making to safety dissolved quickly at the realization he had you moving in circles. Your mind was now blaring warnings wrapped up in frantic thoughts that left you dizzy with panic.

He wasn’t safe. He wasn’t Jimin who was there to care for you. He was obviously one of Namjoon’s people. This mystery man who tormented you.

RUN!

Your brain kept scrambling the words around. The flight of nerves urging you to keep moving not caring that you were attempting just that. The neon of the Chinese food restaurant that’s been on your right now seemed on your left. Had he completely made you do a one-eighty?

There it was again - that clamoring of panic in your chest. It definitely wasn’t helpful, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to help save you. Just another thing to add to your growing shit show of a day. It didn’t matter if you were going to be able to get away. Realistically, you knew the chances of that happening were narrowing down slim to none. It didn’t stop your legs from tearing to your left back down the street, legs pumping, and started saying a prayer that you’d magically turn into The Flash. If vampires and witches were suddenly real it didn’t seem like too much of a stretch to become a superhero.

Gosh, how you’d seemed to find a street with literally no one on it seemed horrifically convenient.

“Silly rabbit,” his voice whispered down your spine and instantly caused a scream to catch in your throat like bile.

Somehow, it seemed even the buildings were helping him play tricks on you. The acoustics of his voice bouncing around as an endless echo to disorient you from knowing which direction he would come from. That knowledge alone made a soft hiccup of a sob leave you. You weren’t even aware of the tears stinging against your eyes; your only focus on your escape and cursing your legs as they struggled to pick up the pace. You bite down on your lower lip to keep from letting one tear escape. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

“There’s no place you can run that I won’t find you.”

If you were feeling good about your odds, you would’ve told him to go fuck himself. The declaration is already solidly forming on your tongue and patiently waiting for you to send it off. Unfortunately, the odds were never in your favor.

You didn’t have to look back to know he was still giving chase.

You struggled to stay focused. Your gaze landing on a liquor store - neon lights flashing with the grace of a motel vacancy sign - gave you a destination to strive for. The earlier choice of the Chinese restaurant now a thing of the past. He’d turned you around so much you weren’t sure if it was ever real.

What you needed now was a home base that would possibly give a semblance of safety if only you could reach it. It felt damn possible. The feeling of the crazy bastard behind you somehow leaving you, but the anxiety of being chased still resided.

You were mid-run, feet still lifted off the ground, when an arm snaked around your front and collided your back against a hard chest. A flutter of a moment passed, not long enough for his foreign touch to register, before your neck was exposed by a violent tug of your hair and sharp canines sinking down into the soft skin of your throat.

That sob you’d held down ripped its way violently from your lips. Mixing together with a scream that shook through you and landed like an earthquake around you. His strong arms dominated you with ease, and continued to constrict across your body to keep your arms useless at your sides.

The sensation was one that reminded you of your time in second grade. Mrs. Mann’s beloved python that sat motionless a majority of the time in the back corner of the class. You never seen it move until it was feeding time - never live bait - but even then you could still remember the abruptness and strength of the way it matched onto its food. The greedy way it swallowed its’ meal whole after its body made sure one last time the bunny was dead.

This was what you remembered now as his arms continued to pull your body closer; impossibly closer. The hand that held your neck letting go to secure itself on your opposite shoulder. This man was your boa: squeezing his meal until he popped bones and killed every ounce of oxygen from your lungs.

The pressure was so great that it left your mouth hinged open. Your jaw unable to collapse, mostly due to your body howling for air. The flashing twenty-four hour liquor sign was a comical five feet away. The promised salvations hum of low voltage electricity and spastic red glow turned into a blur. The tears you’d refused to shed now slid effortlessly down your cheeks.

The only thing you could be aware of was that you weren’t breathing. Your mouth was still wide open, but your lungs refused to take in air. It didn’t matter that your body ached for it. It focused more on the sensation of a hungry mouth that sucked hungrily at your neck. The sharpened dog teeth that were sunk deep into the skin no longer ached.

There was a moment you felt something hot slide down your neck and you wanted to yell. Your mind registering it as drool; not being able to comprehend it was your blood seeping between greedy mouthfuls as he drank. It was strange that after all this, your body was still aware of the placement of his hands. His arms still holding deathly tight, and yet you were placed securely up against his chest.

If someone were to walk by all they would think was that you were just a young couple. Your boyfriend casually holding you from behind and laying kisses on your throat. They wouldn’t notice that the way his arms held yours it kept you from reaching out a pleading hand for help. At this point, you were so weak you weren’t even sure you’d have the strength to lift a finger, let alone a hand.

The sting of his teeth that found their home in the hollow of your neck began to fade. Your mind was now only able to recognize the euphoric sensation that began to dance through every cell of your body. You no longer felt the need to fight him. Why would you when your body suddenly felt heavy and his arms so secure?

In all the chaos of a few minutes the pain fueled down into an annoyance that went to the backdrop with the sensation of numbing pleasure. Whether it was blood loss, or defeat, your body began to relax against the undead stranger. A quiet urge to allow him to drink you down until you were nothing. You were sinking deeper against his strong chest; the euphoric feeling that coursed through you had now consumed you.

You were vaguely aware that he was no longer holding you so tightly. An arm had found its way out of his hold and instead of fighting him off, it guided your hand up to his head. Your fingers now laced in his hair and holding on in pleasure. When your fingers dug and pulled against the hairs on his scalp, his arms moved to pull you closer but didn’t remove your hand. His mouth giving a -lord help you - playful bite that sent a thrill to the ends of your toes.

And just like that, your lungs found air, and fuck - you moaned.

A part of you hated the sound that escaped your mouth. That hatred growing stronger when you swore you could feel his lips curl into a smile. As fast as it all must have happened; it felt like an eternity. One you loathed and yet, were silently hoping would never end. You were so lost in the fuzziness of your thoughts, the sensation of him, that when you were flung violently from his arms the last bit of air you’d had left was knocked from them. The asphalt catching your body as it came to a painful multiple rolling stop.

An eruption of a roar you knew came from the one who’d captured you: enraged at having his meal taken away was your only guess at how angry he truly sounded. You were too tired, too drained, to be afraid. The small part of you that was still capable of common sense knew you should’ve been terrified. To be terrified meant to flee but the amount of energy that would take was not something you had at that moment.

You were barely able to muster enough of it to flip yourself onto your back. Your neck now alive with a bitterness at how rough he’d been. The feeling that was creeping back into your limbs made it inch by aching inch that it was not happy. A groan left your lips as you mustered another fit of strength to move yourself to your side. Your eyes landing on the one who’d rescued you.

Jimin stood in the middle of you and the man. The other man who, even from this distance, plainly wore your blood smeared haphazardly around his mouth. A small amount decorating the hollow of his neck that he now wiped away in agitation. While he seemed particularly calm, annoyed, but calm Jimin seemed to reflect his opposite.

Jimin’s body seemed consumed by a rage that reflected in the crease of his brow and the hard set of his shoulders. His jaw tight as he straightened out his body back to his full height. The other man before him appeared to be a few inches taller, but Jimin’s rage made him appear larger than what he was.

“Jungkook!” Jimin’s voice rang out. The animosity in his voice radiated against your skin like a flame that threatened to eat you alive. “You dare taste her? Mark her?”

Jungkook didn’t give Jimin the satisfaction of answering him right away. Instead, you watched a coy smile spread on his blood-stained lips. His thumb dragging across the bottom and ended with it pressed inside his mouth. His tongue seductively working to clean up the mess you’d made. Jungkook didn’t let his thumb come back out until it was completely licked clean; his crimson eyes watching your face as he did it. The intensity of his gaze left an aching shiver on your skin and the heat on your cheeks enough to tell it wasn’t all completely out of fear.

Jimin must have sensed it too. His gaze turning back to take you in at your current state, and finding your eyes glued to Jungkook’s position. The hurt Jimin showed wasn’t something that you could fully comprehend. You weren’t his to have. You belonged only to yourself. The person that he remembered, the woman he’d loved so many centuries ago, was not you. You were your own person.

So why did the pain that rippled across his face make your heart ache?

“You place an apple in front of Adam, Jimin and ask him not to take a bite.” He tsked him. The same finger he’d used to clean up your blood now teasing him in a tick tock motion. “You should remember: Adam always was a fool for the most delicious delights.”

“She is not yours to have! You play me for stupid, Jungkook. I know that blood alone is not hers. Did you plan on making her drink from you?”

Your body became rigid as Jimin’s words embedded themselves into your chest. The fear that’d begun to reside came racing back and forced you to look at Jungkook closer now. You weren’t sure what it was that Jimin had seen that you did not. You feverishly scanned him until, there, the sleeve of his shirt that sat on his wrist was stuck to his skin. The blood there was still bright and fresh and only beginning to brown at its edges.

It was the same side that held your head to him, neck exposed, earlier until he’d let it go. You’d thought Jungkook released you because he’d realized you were no longer going to put up a struggle and now the sickening feeling of knowing he’d meant to do something more ominous left you feeling nauseous.

Jimin knew what he was trying to do. You knew from Jimin explaining about blood being a conduit that if you’d taken even a little of blood, Jungkook would’ve been able to find you. Wherever you were. No matter what.

“I was only doing what MY King asked of me.”

“I could kill you for what you’ve done here.”

The playfulness that’d controlled Jungkook from the unfortunate moment you’d met him disappeared like smoke. His features hardened with a sinister look as he gave Jimin his entire focus.

“You could try, old King, but you will fail.”

Jimin’s squared shoulders seemed eager to do just that until another voice joined the two men.

“Now, now Jungkook. We don’t need an all-out fight on this beautiful night do we.”

You knew the owner of the voice long before Namjoon - the asshole himself - stepped out like magic beside Jungkook. A friendly hand resting on his shoulder until Namjoon moved to stand a few inches in front of him. But it wasn’t just Namjoon himself that appeared like magic from the curtains of the night. Two other figures joined at the edges of the men, making a symbol of an arrowhead, and one of these new introductions to this wildly fucked up play was holding the arm of your best friend.

“Alice”

At the sound of your voice it brought Namjoon’s full attention back to you. His brow creased in a momentary show of confusion at how cute you must have been looking: a bloodied heap in the middle of the road. He only needed to look to the man beside him on his left to understand your current state. Or perhaps he already knew. Jungkook’s earlier words of his orders swimming back to the surface of your recollection.

Namjoon held you in his vision for breadth longer and moved his eyes over to the form of your friend.

“You can still change her fate, Y/N. All you need to do is come with me.”

Namjoon’s eyes held tightly to you: all of them seeming to watch your exhausted frame. Your mind struggled to comprehend what he meant and what it was exactly you’d have to do to change it. You’d barely been able to move up onto your knees. Your palms still needed on the asphalt of the road to keep you steady. Your whole body shuddered in exhaustion, but looking at Alice now, at what he had done was enough to make the exhaustion disappear and icy fury made your body rigid.

“She won’t be going anywhere with you,” Jimin snarled.

His comment snapped their attention back to him. You wanted to tell him yourself that you could make your own decisions. Not even he got to make them for you and yet, you couldn’t muster enough strength to care. Whatever you had left in you needed to be used to rescue Alice. Her lights still on with nobody home.

“Jimin. I don’t think you’re in any place to be making threats, old friend.”

“It is more than just a threat.”

Namjoon took a step forward and splayed his arms out to indicate the men beside him. They were so caught up in their pissing contest. All you wanted was to know what you needed to do to get Alice back. All the way back and out of this trance he’d flung her in.

“It took you long enough to come to your supposed “loves’” aid.” Namjoon’s words were filled with a sharp teasing; sharpened and dripping with sarcasm. “It took Jungkook using her as a snack for you to finally come running.”

“She enjoyed it.”

The heat in those three words were enough to send your cheeks heating with warmth and your eyes searching for the safety of the pavement. You wanted to shout your denial to Jungkook that he was wrong. Not a single part of you enjoyed what had transpired between the two of you, but that lie died long before it’d ever brushed your lips.

Jimin must have realized it too, because now his earlier lividity returned. His eyes flickering with a murderous rage in Jungkook’s direction.

“Hmm, maybe I should give her to Jungkook to finish what they’d started. What do you think, Jimin? Or I could always just give him Alice.”

Your head snapped back on Namjoon’s moving figure. His right hand resting under his chin as if he was stuck in a philosophical debate, and not the fate of an innocent woman.

“You touch her and I’ll kill you.”

The coldness of your words stopped him short. Jimin, who’d been moving back towards you, didn’t take another step. You couldn’t believe it was you who’d spoken. Your own voice carrying a warning that was swept up in the air around you. Threatening something much darker than even you were able to understand.

For a moment, you could tell you’d caught him off guard but Namjoon was quick on his feet. The hand that held his chin a second ago now moved to usher forward the man to his right. The one who was holding tight to Alice.

“Oh, Y/N. Of course, I don’t want to do anything to your dear, sweet, and innocent little Alice. That’s why I’m giving you this choice.”

The man whose face eerily held an angelic softness handed her off into Namjoon’s waiting embrace. Only taking a single step back; his dark almond eyes transfixed on you as if you were something dangerous, and not the other way around. His eyes speaking plainly: he wouldn’t let you do a damn thing to his King.

“Stop giving her speeches of fairness. We both know you don’t have a fair bone in your body. All you know is how to do is take,” Jimin sneered. “I know even if she still says no you won’t stop hunting her until you have her.”

A flash of annoyance struck over Namjoon’s features like lightening and just as fast after it came, it was gone. His face smoothed back to its porcelain indifference. The only thing that showed his displeasure was the way his eyes were beginning to bleed crimson.

“I would rather her to come willingly.” His reply was stated matter of factly. Namjoon’s eyes darting back to where you still sat on the floor and took a cautious step towards you. His hand on Alice’s arm forcing her to move with him. “But make no mistake, Y/N. I will have you. I will take you. One way or another.”

A scream echoed around you, and it took you a moment to realize it was coming from yourself. All the frustration. The guilt. Anger and grief that’d been building in the last twenty-four hours came out in a wave of exhaled air before you could stop it; before it could swallow you whole.

“What will it take for any of you to get it through your thick stupid skulls! I am not a prize or some reincarnated lost love you two fought over because one was captain steal-your-girl. I’m literally no one! I’m just me.”

Namjoon released the grip he had on Alice’s arm and took another step toward you. His body language stating clearly he did not find Jimin’s presence between you in the least bit threatening. The pity that he showed you now, etched into the fine features of his face, only seemed to poke at the Amber’s of the animosity you felt towards him more.

Why couldn’t any of them understand that you were not what they wanted you to be? You were yourself and always will be. And, at this point, you were more than happy to be your plain Jane ordinary self.

He crouched down until he was leveled with your position on the pavement of the road. While he adjusted himself to your height you allowed yourself enough time to push up off your hands. Your butt now sitting on your calves and the pressure of the added weight sent the jagged pebbles deeper into your knees. As uncomfortable as it was you could deal. At least now you were looking him squarely in the eyes: no more cowering.

“You really don’t understand, do you?”

“Namjoon.”

Jimin said his name as a warning. In return, Namjoon continued to ignore him. His brow furrowed tight at his attempt to intrude on his would-be heartfelt moment.

“Your great-great-great grandmother is long dead. There is no bringing her back. Jimin and I have long accepted this. However.” Namjoon paused for a millisecond. Long enough to make your skin itch with the desire for him to hurry up and finish it. “The power that courses through your veins, Y/N it’s centuries old. Older than even she was. Your blood is what we are all after and the magic that flows in it.”

“I can’t even make a quarter disappear.”

Namjoon’s eyes sparked crimson to obsidian in a wild dance as he struggled to get his anger under control. While he didn’t seem to find your small joke funny you’d earned a snort of laughter from somewhere behind him. Even Jimin’s titled head wasn’t enough to hide the small smile that lifted his lips.

“In time you will learn.”

“I don’t want to learn! What part of that aren’t you getting through your thick fucking skull.”

“That’s enough!” He roared. His face was fully changed now. All teeth and bleeding eyes with a power that shook the fabric of the night to its core. Namjoon’s change caused everyone around him to join in, until you were painfully aware you were the most human on of the group. “Either you come with us now or I rip your friends’ head open like a Pez dispenser.”

Your eyes zeroed in on him. The threat he made ruthless but one you knew deep down in your gut he’d meant.

“I’d like to see you fuckin try.”

A mouth full of teeth smiled wickedly back at you. His feet obliging you by moving the few steps he’d taken away from Alice back to her side. Where she continued to stand patiently waiting like a zombie.

There are moments in your life that don’t feel that important. These small decisions that you don’t realize put you on a deeper path to harder ones that you’ll have to make. Those small repercussions building themselves into a mountain of a moment.

This is what it felt like now. All those decisions in your life you’d made suddenly seemed to expand like an endless sea of stars. So many of them that they couldn’t possibly be connected; and yet came together to create this constellation of your life.

You watched Namjoon house the words you’d spoken in his mind. The way his face contorted into something that was worthy of pure nightmare fuel. The resolve of strength you’d had to tell him to basically go fuck himself was gone in that instant, because you were made painfully aware that the individuals before you were god-like. What could a helpless mortal do in the face of a god?

Namjoon proved to you the answer to that was nothing. His speed moving him faster than you could process. You hadn’t even realized he’d moved at all until Jimin was simply in front of you; guarding you. He was now completely standing between Namjoon and yourself. Jimin’s hand catching Namjoon’s wrist; his fingertips milliseconds away from the tip of your nose.

The two of them were locked in a battle of wills. The strength they commanded showing itself in the struggle of a dance of tug-a-war without any rope. If Namjoon gained an inch Jimin was quick to take it back.

“Move!”

Without question you obeyed and were up on your feet immediately. Jimin didn’t give Namjoon another moment to force him back; his free hand shot out in a blur and connected with his chest. The sheer strength behind it sent him flying back almost a dozen feet before he gained back his footing. A snarl cutting through the air between them and Jungkook and the two other companions were at his side.

Suddenly, you were painfully aware how outnumbered Jimin truly was.

“Ugh – Jimin.”

“Not now!”

He waved you off as his eyes scanned in other bodies appearing from the shadows behind the four. Like a fool, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe some of these were on your side. By the way Jimin was staring at them, however, you knew that was most definitely not the case.

“Where a little outnumbered here. Don’t you think!?”

Was that your voice that cracked? No, no. You were perfectly calm. Super calm.

Out of your peripherals you were able to catch a flash of movement. That flash was all you seen before teeth were inches from snapping in your face. A scream worked its way up your throat and was torn from your lips as foreign hands gripped your shoulders. You moved to block your face in a weak attempt just before those same hands disappeared.

Jimin was behind him in seconds and ripped him off you. The two of them moved in a blinding speed of punches and blocking until Jimin’s hand exploded out the back of the other man’s back. Your hand flew to your mouth to stop a scream short; the gruesome mess left you feeling a bit lightheaded as you unwillingly noticed pieces of shirt and...other things dangling at the end of Jimin’s hand.

It was a devastating wound. One that would’ve killed any normal man, but this wasn’t an ordinary man or a man at all. Jimin’s blow was only meant to wound, not kill, and this perfectly insane stranger was still trying to snap his way towards Jimin. His hands grabbed Jimin’s shoulder and used it to pull him forward. The movement made a sucking noise and made you question if the contents of your last meal were about to reappear like magic.

Jimin knew the intentions of the other man and quickly drew his arm back. In the same breath, he followed it up with his palm slamming into your would-be attackers chest. The force of the blow sent him back like a limp ragdoll into Namjoon’s growing group.

“We need to get out of here!”

You couldn’t stop the panic dripping from your voice as you watched him narrowly escape another attack. This new body formed itself from the shadows and split free from its darkness with the flash of a blade. Jimin dodged each whirlwind of blows and strikes with an ease that you weren’t sure came from raw power or age. His attacker tried to switch up his attack by sending a flurry of double kicks towards Jimin’s abdomen. This must have been the opening Jimin had waited for.

Jimin allowed him to land a kick to his side and when the man went to pull away Jimin locked his leg in place with his forearm. Jimin’s fist rushed in a speed of movement to land powerful blows into his exposed stomach and face. When the man tried to stab his blade into Jimin’s back, he easily grabbed his wrist and knocked the knife free from his hand. He was so focused on the knife that he wasn’t aware of the man coming from behind him. Your eyes danced back and forth, in decision on whether to speak or move weighing heavy on you.

“Behind you!”

You decided on both. Your feet carried you forward as you shouted your warning to him. What you were going to do against a supernatural creature, you had no idea. You just knew you needed to do something. No matter how aware you were that you were incredibly useless in moments like this. Whatever happened when you finally reached him, you knew it was not going to end well for you. And that knowledge made your stomach turn until your body practically vibrated with anxiety.

The man with the blade was now on the floor under Jimin’s boot. Another came sprinting out of the darkness a mixture of snarling teeth and determination. Jimin used the man under him as a soccer ball and sent him flying into the other man. His body turning in a fluid one-eighty to to defend his back against another.

You weren’t a hundred percent sure what overcame you. Why you felt the need to scream with what you figured was a war cry. The only thing that came out of it was now the singular attention that had been on Jimin now became equally shared between you. A man who’d been heading towards Jimin and the others derailed and was coming straight for you. Suddenly, that new found bravery dissipated and your fear sent the world around in slow motion. Your feet felt stuck in molasses; each step heavier than the last and a silent pleading for you to turn back. But you couldn’t turn back now.

You braced yourself for whatever was about to happen. One minute, he was two feet from you, and the next he was screaming on the road. A man held on to the collar of his shirt and what was left of his upper body. The rest of him was laid out on the street in a mess of gore.

The man who’d entered stage right held his own blade that looked more like a short sword. His arm slinging the blade back to whip off the blood onto the street.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

You spoke to no one. The words weight no more than a whisper and yet, to you, it felt like you’d been shouting. Crazy sword guy gave you the barest of glances before he was off. That blur of speed brought him to help clear the remaining men off of Jimin until the two of them were standing at each other’s backs.

“Nice of you to finally make it, Hoseok.”

Hoseok, aka sword wielding-guy, had the grace to look embarrassed. Hoseok’s body bent at a stiff ninety-degrees towards Jimin who seemed too busy dusting off his coat to notice.

“I apologize that Jin and I were not here sooner.”

Jimin waved him off. His eyes scanned the surrounding darkness and a part of you wondered what it was he saw there. You wanted to ask him, but the possibility of bad news kept you silent.

“And where is Jin?”

“Waiting.”

What could he possibly be waiting for? You wanted to ask but in no way wanted anymore attention on yourself. A scream that demanded to be found sounded in the night around you. It circled around and asked to be followed. Your eyes locating the origin of the voice in a matter of seconds to Alice. No longer the vacant girl she’d been the last hour and more herself: the terrified edition. The terror in her eyes was enough to make your breath hitch in your throat.

“V.” Namjoon motioned with a flick of his finger and the man obeyed.

V. He’d been the one who you thought looked Angelic. His eyes were bright, open, and reflected nothing but bad intentions. Pillow soft lips curled up into a sneer of a smile as he stepped forward. He dragged Alice with him pulling her with such force you were worried he would simply tear it from the socket out of boredom. The sounds Alice made to accompany his aggressive movements only solidified your assumption.

For all the beauty their afterlife had given them, it did nothing to hide the monsters underneath. Even the devil was an angel once.

“Let’s speed thing up, shall we? Either you turn yourself over to me now, Y/N, or I’ll kill her.”

To prove his point, Namjoon reached out to take her from V. His large hand closing around her throat and lifting her up effortlessly. Her dangling feet struggled to kick him, flailing hands scratching at his arm, and to silence her Namjoon noticeably squeezed her tighter.

“Stop it! Please!”

The words came out in a sob. Your body struggling to take a breath. A fear that if you did, if you moved at all, it would be all he needed to hurt her more.

“If you want to stop this than I suggest you do as you’re told and get over here. Now.”

The previous cat and mouse coyness in Namjoon’s voice completely vanished. Every word he spoke sent a sliver of fear down your spine. You weren’t going to argue with him as the fight had left you the minute you’d heard her pleading. You moved to take a step forward and found your legs were refusing to move. The more you struggled against the sensation the heavier the feeling of sinking in quicksand became.

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

The threat in Jimin’s voice was palpable. The anger that clutched his jaw made you want to instantly apologize for even considering leaving. Almost. Your own anger was bubbling to the surface finally and a hushed, “Fuck you,” rumbled free from your chest.

“Why can’t I move?!”

“Because I’m not letting you.”

There was a split second where it crossed your mind that he had to be joking. You felt so sure it was a sick prank only to see no part of him was joking.

“What does that even mean? You aren’t letting me. I don’t need your permission.”

Jimin’s mouth opened but it was Namjoon’s voice that cut through.

“It means that this is pointless. You didn’t tell me he’d given her any of his blood.”

Why was he saying this towards Alice? Your brow furrowed as confusion began to roll through you in waves. There was no way your brain could comprehend what you were seeing. Namjoon’s arm no longer held her off of her feet. He’d set her down but kept a firm hold of her neck. And Alice. Your best friend. She no longer looked one bit terrified. Instead annoyance had taken residency all over her face.

“Alice.”

You hated how little your voice sounded. How much it showcased the betrayal you felt. That annoyance that’d wrapped itself around her like a shroud only seemed to grow larger when she glanced in your direction.

“She never mentioned anything to me about him feeding any blood to her. Just that they’d had sex in a dream a few times.”

Heat washed over your face. A blend of anger and embarrassment with you not really knowing which one it was that colored your cheeks.

“Alice!”

Christ. Were you a broken record.

You might as well have been talking to the wind. Alice looked away from you and back at Namjoon. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Her eyes were strictly for him. A comical cartoon version with her eyes filled with hearts flashed in your head. And slowly, as you watched her continue to look at him like a lovesick puppy, a horrible realization began to spread. Your chest tight and ready for whatever heart break came next.

Months ago, Alice talked about meeting a guy at a bar. A night when you were supposed to join her, but lied about catching a stomach bug. She’d gone on and on about how he looked. She’d gone into even more detail about the way he’d fucked her. You’d thought he sounded like someone who just wanted a piece of ass. Hated him before you’d even met him. Now your mind was flooding with all the descriptions Alice had ever given.

It had been Namjoon she’d met that night in the bar. The night you’d ditched her.

Slowly, your eyes moved from her hopelessly devoted figure to the man who still held onto her neck. An unseen collar and his arm was the leash.

You never hated someone before. Not really. Sure, you’d said it nonchalantly in passing. Thought you’d understood exactly what it felt like in moments with people that you were sure the only emotion you’d felt was hatred. Looking at Namjoon now – you knew you were wrong.

This hatred was fire in your blood. It threatened to climb up your throat and release out from your mouth until all the air was spent from your lungs. Most of all, this hatred would only be sated by blood.

You hadn’t been aware that your body was moving until you felt a sharpness in your chest. Your hand moved up to clutch absentmindedly at your heart. Was it possible to feel your heart break and be this angry all at once?

“Y/N – stop!”

Jimin’s voice dripped with the command. A command you wanted to tell him to shove his commands up his ass, but your body listened nonetheless. You felt rooted to that very spot. You were too angry to make sense of this. It forced you to close your eyes and attempt to concentrate. No matter what you did you could not get yourself to move.

Jimin walked to where you stood. His body moved to stand in front of you and cut off what little you could see of Namjoon and Alice.

“Out of my way, Jimin!”

“No. You are too angry right now to see this is what he wants. It’s just another trick to get you where he wants you.”

“Well it’s working.”

“You need to try and calm yourself – “

“Fuck you,” you snarled. Your world was narrowing; wilting down to a tunnel vision that only housed enough room for two. “I’m done with being calm. I’m through with being scared.”

A snort of laughter brought your attention through the tunnel and landing on Alice. She was no longer held like a dog on a leash. She stood proudly behind Namjoon at his side. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her eyes stating plainly: you’re a joke.

“What are you going to do, Y/N? All you’ve ever been since I’ve known you is weak. I don’t even know why they’d even fight over someone as pathetic as you.”

Her words stung. Why would she say that? Was he making her say things like this to you?

“Alice. I know this isn’t you.”

Alice shook her head and moved forward. Her arms falling at her side as she regarded you with the same disgust she’d show a piece of shit on her shoe.

“And what do you actually know about me, Y/N? You’ve always known what I wanted you to know. The person I made you believe I was, is all just someone made up. Imaginary.”

“How can you say that to me? After all the things we’ve been through. The things we told each other. You can act as tough as you want in front of Namjoon, but you and I know the truth.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “But how else do you think they found out where we lived? Why did it feel like someone was following you at all your favorite spots? I told him, Y/N. I told them everything I knew about you.”

That fire that’d raged in your blood smoothed into ice. The shock of her words rocked you, and you knew that was exactly what she’d wanted. Alice was not who you thought she was. She’d made that abundantly clear.

That girl didn’t exist. And all those times you’d come home terrified. Your heart crammed so deep in your throat you’d thought you were going to die from panic. All because you’d thought you were being followed. Alice joked and comforted you into believing it was just your mind playing tricks. When, in all actuality, it had been her doing the entire time.

Alice was a major key player in where you were standing. Surrounded by a pack of wolves.

You were vaguely aware of Jimin at your side. The faded sounds of his voice beside you eventually grew silent. His companion, Hoseok, somewhere off around you. The two of them faced Namjoon and his men. In between making sure they weren’t trying anything, he sent cautionary glances towards you. He must have been able to feel it; sense it.

The flame of your hatred, your betrayal, that had extinguished earlier was roaring back to life. The anger far surpassing what you felt capable of containing inside you. A dark part of you wanted to scorch the earth they stood on.

Show them.

Burn them.

The softness of the whisper tickled across your ear and raised the hairs on your arms. The sane part of you – what was left of it – knew something wasn’t right. You tried to play it off as just thoughts. The sinister feeling a part of you, a part that all humans had inside them when they were pushed too far. But it whispered again. This time gentler and promising: “Show them the price for a Witch's fury.”

“I don’t know how.”

Your words hung in the darkness of the night as you waited for a reply. The cautionary energy was pulsating now. All eyes wondering if you’d gone insane for talking to yourself. But they couldn’t hear them. The women who felt like friends; relatives.

“Whatever you hear – whatever they’re saying – you must fight them.”

Jimin was back inside your vision. His eyes searching yours to see if you were still with him. You were both present and not. Lost to voices that made you wonder if he could hear them too.

We can show you.

We can teach you.

Let

Innnnn…

Your eyes looked back over at Alice. The one person you’d held the closest in your life, second to your own mother. Flashbacks of every moment you’d shared together. From special drinks you’d created on girls’ nights while binge watching ‘The Great British Baking Show,’ and ‘Friends.’ The two of you, drunk, and believing you could easily make a three-tiered cake from scratch. The trips you’d taken. The help you’d given.

All of it had been a lie. A well-crafted play for her just to hand you over to the very monster she proudly stood beside. Looking at her now was enough for you to make your decision.

Jimin must have sensed it. His mouth framed in an unfinished shout that never got a chance to be heard. Silently, you let the sickly-sweet voice know you agreed and suddenly you weren’t the only one in your body.

It felt like dozens of women – yes, women – were housed inside you. Each of them held their own rage at a betrayal they’d suffered. Each deceit seeped into your bones like a cancer.

Jimin’s hand reached out to touch you; could feel the unspoken bound he’d made inside you make a weak attempt to soothe you. It was a warm sensation that moved from your core and up. A ghost of a hug that was only felt by its warmth.

He was trying to drive whatever darkness you’d allowed in, but your wrath - your hatred - was too strong. It easily pushed back whatever weak attempt he’d tried to bring you back, and sent your hands out against his chest. The force of it sent him flying back; his feet struggling to stay grounded as his feet dragged on the asphalt.

“We are not your playthings.”

When you spoke, it wasn’t just your voice they heard. Your feet that had felt rooted were now moving forward. Your hands that had trembled were steady as they went to the wounds on your throat. The still pulsing wound in your leg. Each hand moved into the aching wounds to release fresh blood in your palms.

A voice inside the chaos came forward. An old oak among raging storms and housed itself there to teach you. All magic flowed through a balance in the universe. You could not give without it taking. This was how balance worked. A debt was owed when you used it for something dark, and this price you would pay with blood.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Alice no longer looked smug or amused. She looked terrified as she moved to stand closer to Namjoon.

“That parasite will not save you from me, girl.”

Your voice was dry and worn with age. You rode out her fear and moved to kneel in the road a mere feet from her. Your bloodied hands working symbols into the ground as you began to chant in a tongue you did not know.

All you knew was that the fire full of rage that sat deep in your belly would soon consume her. When the last of the words left your lips, a blue flame snacked along the blood you’d spread until it grew and grew; spreading wings to create a small lake of fire between you.

You rose to your feet and looked out among the faces of those that’d wish to harm you.

Harm us.

You watched as their bodies became tight with anxiety; some of Namjoon’s lackies fear seeped into the air like a sickness. Good. They should be. With an unholy shriek the fire that crept around them spread wide as your arms rose around your head. The only driving thought you had was that you wanted it to cleanse them.

The fire rushed first towards Namjoon and Alice. V and the other broody one you’d yet to learn of his name, quickly grabbed her and were gone. Namjoon offered you a brief look of irritation before he dodged out of the way. The sound of screams brought your attention to your left and watched as your flame licked up, up, and up until it consumed. The vampire with the fist-sized hole in his chest was now struggling to put himself out.

A smile that was not yours curled your lips and a sickening feeling of joy at watching him die made you suddenly grow ill. This wasn’t you. This hatred. This destruction. You didn’t want to be a murderer. The sickly voice that’d whispered reassuringly earlier was now hostile. It wanted to stay.

Your feet began to back peddle away from everyone as best you could. You had no idea where it was you were going, but anywhere that would be safer for them. You turned to start running again and held your hands over your ears as a scream shook across your skull. Only you could hear them and how they pressed hard inside your skull. The pressure overwhelmed you and made you believe at any minute your eyes would be pushed out.

You’d only gotten a block when your body could no longer take the pain. Your feet caught on the edge of the sidewalk and you went crashing down. The screaming in your head had only grown louder and caused your vision to begin to blur. Maybe your head really was going to explode after all.

You turned your face to look up towards the moon and were greeted by the sight of Jungkook. His fist connecting with your cheek was the last thing you seen before everything went quiet and dark.

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maybankiara · 3 years ago

Text

PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)

18: MR. WHITE CLAW

summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead.

w/c: 4.4k

a/n: long one! sorry about it. i promise it won’t happen a lot. also, if i catch one of yous hating on holden you’re gonna catch these hands. <3

read on wattpad

previous part | series masterlist

Me | 6:42pm I swear it’s fate that you’re coming back today because you know what Me | 6:42pm MARIANNE IS MAKING GOULASH TOMORROW Me | 6:43pm surprisingly unrelated to you coming back but hey!!

Drew | 6:45pm no way! Drew | 6:45pm Does she make good goulash?

Me | 6:46pm I’d be able to tell if she ever made it before lmao Me | 6:46pm it’s her first time Me | 6:47pm but she’s a pretty good cook overall so!! I wouldn’t expect like a masterpiece or whatever but a decent meal??? Me | 6:47pm f yeah

Drew | 6:48pm I’m inviting myself over Drew | 6:50pm what time should I come by?

Me | 6:57pm if you think for one (1) second that this wasn’t an invitation Me | 6:57pm you are terribly wrong, mr. white claw man

Drew | 7:01pm ok but WHEN SHOULD I COME OVER

Me | 7:02pm oh right

Drew | 7:05pm ???

Me | 7:05pm Marianne says goulash will be around 6 but you can come over at like 4 or 5 so we can catch up!! Me | 7:06pm I still need to show you the album!! I developed some photos I took since we hung out

Drew | 7:07pm 4 sounds great, can’t wait!! Drew | 7:07pm I’ll make sure to bring some White Claw Drew | 7:07pm What does Marianne drink?

Me | 7:08pm Vodka Me | 7:08pm Tequilla Me | 7:09pm jk you don’t have to bring anything, we have enough alcohol in the fridge

Drew | 7:10pm Still bringing beer

Me | 7:10pm And good vibes

Drew | 7:10pm And good vibes, of course

Me | 7:10pm Gonna be good 😄

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The bell rings shortly past four o’clock, and Addie buzzes their guest in with a smile on her face. Marianne peeks from the kitchen, leaning over the corner, strands of her hair falling from underneath the headband-bun combo she’s sporting for the cooking.

‘Is it the celebrity judge?’

‘Sure is a judge,’ Addie says, unlocking the door. ‘Not so sure he’d like the celebrity title.’

The door opens and reveals a smiling Drew, in his usual attire – a simple grey tee with a Queen logo on it, black jeans, and a baseball cap. Greetings are exchanged, and then Drew’s taking his shoes off as Addie warns him that maybe Marianne might be a bit much today. There’s a casual whiff of cologne that Addie catches – it’s similar to Holden’s minty one, but simpler.

‘You ready to munch on some British-French-American-Hungarian goulash?’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Is anyone ever ready for that?’

‘Nope. But Marianne has just called you the celebrity judge of her nonexistent cooking show, so you’ve got no choice but to be ready.’

‘Fair,’ he says, just as Marianne shouts from the kitchen, ‘I’ll have my cooking show soon!’

The self-proclaimed chef pops out of the kitchen, wielding a spatula covered in a dark red, thick liquid. Her red-and-white apron is tied haphazardly around her waist; both the apron and the sweatpants have already become victims to her cooking, and the bun seems to be getting looser by the minute. Marianne flashes the two a massive grin, one finger pointed at Drew.

‘Drew!’

‘Marianne!’

Her grin widens so much Addie’s worried it’ll rip her cheeks. She wiggles her finger, then, in a come here motion. ‘I need your goulash expertise, stat.’

‘Give the man a moment to breathe,’ says Addie. Next to her, Drew chuckles.

‘Do you want to enjoy the goulash?’

‘Yes?’

‘Then let the ones who can make it good do it and stay out of it.’ Marianne crosses her arms over her chest, and a drop of liquid falls off the spatula. She doesn’t even notice. ‘Drew?’

‘Coming right up, boss.’

With a pat on the back from Addie, Drew departs into the kitchen. Marianne is already listing off all the things that she’s put in the goulash, how she’s done it so far, and how the internet has told her needs to be done from now on. Addie tunes most of it out – while she thinks Marianne is one of the best cooks she’s ever met, after living with her for over a year, some things you can’t help but get used to and eventually, get a little bit tired of. She’s happy there’s Drew, though, because he’s either very interested in Marianne’s process and amused by her telling of it, or very good at pretending to be so.

Addie grabs a rather small box with a pink bow on it out of the hallway drawer, right next to a grey envelope, then makes her way to the stack of French books lying underneath the TV. The newest copy of a first-edition of The Unbearable Lightness of Being in French is lying on top of a photo album, the same one that Addie told Drew stories from the last time he was over here. She tucks it under her arm and brings it to the kitchen, which has a prominent smell of Marianne’s cooking – a lot of spices, some of them even scattered around with powder spilling out at the edges, and wine that’s both a part of the dish and accompanying Marianne and whoever’s keeping her company. This time it’s Drew, so instead of wine, there’s a can of White Claw in his hands. Addie chuckles to herself.

Marianne, huddled over the steaming pot, motions for Addie to come closer without looking. ‘How does this smell?’

‘I don’t know how a goulash is supposed to smell.’

‘Like that,’ Drew answers. ‘Stop worrying so much.’

‘If it can be better, I’ll make it better,’ replies Marianne, then asks him to contribute with some spices and then stir it. ‘If it goes badly, you made it. If it’s great, I made it.’

Drew laughed. It was a big kind of laugh, the one that fills out the entire room. Taking a seat at their modest dining table, Addie realised it’s been a while since anyone other than the two of them laughed so freely in this place. (That just made her miserable; she needs to stop focusing so much on work and her studies if she wants to retain a semblance of a social life.) She puts the album down, and places the box right underneath it – just enough to be noticeable.

‘Addie, you didn’t tell me your roommate is basically the female equivalent to Gordon Ramsay.’ Drew’s leaning against one of the cupboards, sipping his drink with a smile. Marianne elbows him in the shoulder, frowning.

‘The kids one, maybe. I don’t swear, that’s Addie’s job. She’s the sailor.’

‘Bitch,’ says Addie under her breath, feeling warmth creeping up into her cheeks as she smiles. ‘Calling me out like that.’

Marianne doesn’t look at her, but Addie hears her quiet giggle. ‘That’s a quarter.’

Addie sighs, and Drew lets out a chuckle that sounds a lot like oh. He probably figured out what the jar filled up with quarters is, and Addie thinks he’s finding it a little too amusing, so she says, ‘Don’t laugh.’

Of course, it doesn’t work.

‘That’s kind of funny, you’ve got to admit.’

‘No.’

He raises his eyebrows at her, not even trying to hide the smile. Addie calls him to look at the albums, after she places a quarter in the jar, because she can feel Marianne is about to side with him and go on a tirade where she makes fun of Addie’s bad habit – not that she minds, really, but she’d much rather see what Drew thinks of the photographs and his birthday present.

It ends up taking him a long time to notice it, which starts driving Addie nuts, but she wants him to be the one to notice it, because… Well. She doesn’t really have a reason.

They go through the photographs and Marianne is hovering over Drew’s shoulder, nearly dripping the goulash a few times onto the album, until Addie tells her that her goulash is burning (it isn’t) and she finally leaves the spatula where it belongs, before coming back to look. She likes the photos, and so does Drew – Addie had most of them developed, both from Waystone and the park they were in. Most of them were of the places, but there were a few of Drew. They weren’t the best quality, but his face was relaxed in them, and he was smiling with a playful glint in his eyes, and Addie liked them more than the ones where he looked like he was posing. (She developed those, too, but still hasn’t quite figured out where to put them. She’ll probably give them to him.) Good memories were made that day, and friendships cemented, too.

When he finally notices the box, his eyebrows shoot up. ‘Is this the present?’

Addie just nods and waits. She’s thankful that Marianne is humming along to the music while she stirs the pot, because it means that there’s no awkward silence while he carefully unwraps the bow, as if it would break if he tugged on it too hard. He opens it, finally, and laughs – Addie feels like he’s been laughing a lot more recently.

He holds the present in his hand, shaking his head. ‘A phone case. Really?’

‘Yep.’ Addie grins so hard she bites a little on the inside of her lip; what if he doesn’t like it? She pushes the thought away. ‘Can’t have us swapping our phones again.’

‘True. Although, it did end up in a pretty good thing.’

‘I guess it did, yeah.’

There’s a moment where they’re just staring at the phone case, as if it is about to start talking. Addie kind of wishes it would, and once again feels thankful for Marianne’s music. She doesn’t want to start reminiscing, but that’s where her brain is going, and suddenly she finds herself thinking about that summer morning where she was hungover and half-asleep when she met him and it feels weird that it’s been nearly six months since that. It feels like it was yesterday, but it feels like Drew’s always been around.

‘Mr. White Claw,’ he reads off the back of the matt case, amused. Addie’s pretty proud of herself for that one.

‘Nothing describes you better than that, basic white bitch.’ She smiles at him, and kicks him under the table so he’d look at her. ‘Happy birthday, dude.’

‘Thanks.’ He raises his can and waits until she raises hers, then says, ‘To swapping phones.’

Addie clinks the can against his. ‘And making friends.’

‘And putting another quarter in the jar. Don’t think I didn’t hear that.’

‘Marianne.’

‘Nu-uh.’ Marianne snaps her fingers, pointing first at Addie as she speaks, then Drew. ‘You, quarter in the jar, and now that the ceremony’s over, I need you back at the cooking station. The goulash ain’t gonna cook itself, mec.’

As Marianne says, the other two do. Addie is honestly just grateful she doesn’t have to be the one helping out in the kitchen, because as much as she enjoys cooking, Marianne’ demands get on her nerves sometimes. That, and Drew is actually enjoying helping her out. Addie gets to sit back and relax, listen to her friends make food and bond over the dishes they can make—turns out Drew is incredible at making his mum’s casserole recipe, and promises to bring it over someday—and she feels like she’s come a long way from being holed up in her room, studying and working. Even if sometimes it feels like nothing’s changed.

In between helping Marianne, Drew puts the phone case in its rightful place. It’s a bit cheesy, but Addie likes the thought that there’ll be a reminder of their friendship with him at all times, if he likes it as much as she thinks he does. It’s a bit silly, too. Addie likes giving and receiving presents that are more silly than useful, which is probably not the savvy and mature way to approach life.

Time wears on, and Addie includes herself every now and then, mostly just chilling on her phone as the two work towards what they claim is going to be a masterpiece. She highly doubts it, and it’s amusing whenever she voices her opinion and they try to argue otherwise. She likes to see them getting along – she’d never admit it, but as much as she knows and loves Marianne, a part of her was still scared he’d get the celebrity treatment. Now, she watches as Marianne threatens to throw goulash if he doesn’t cut the pepper faster, and she can only laugh.

Her phone chimes and there’s a text message displayed over Holden and Addie’s faces – a picture taken barely a week ago. They look happy together, and seeing it brings a smile to her face. As Addie texts back, Marianne ushers Drew away from the pot, finally taking over. Drew joins her at the table with a can of White Claw and a can of Heineken.

She puts her phone down and takes the Heineken with thanks. ‘Cooking time over?’

Drew nods. ‘The chef fired me. I think.’

‘Yeah,’ Addie laughs, ‘the chef tends to do that.’

To prove a point, Marianne gives them the finger, and says a whole sentence in French out of which Addie can only understand ‘merde’, and that is mostly because she turns around for that word, glaring at the two. Drew nearly chokes on his drink, and Addie just shrugs, because it’s Marianne, and no one can really understand Marianne. A conversation starts about photography and how Drew did mean to bring the camera, but he left it with Chase and Madelyn when he was visiting, and he ends up telling them stories from all the sets he’s been on.

When the bell chimes again, he’s the first one to notice, as he’s sitting not even a foot from the entrance into the kitchen. ‘Someone ringing?’

‘Oh, god, I forgot— Thanks!’

Addie makes a beeline for the hallway, giving her friends a quick ‘one moment!’ in lieu of an explanation. She’s at the front door within seconds and opens it with a smile, greeting her boyfriend with a hug, and a kiss on the cheek.

Holden chuckles, and then he’s giving her a brief kiss on the lips before they part. ‘Hello there. You had a bit to drink?’

‘A little,’ Addie says, feeling the heat in her cheeks. ‘I’m glad you stopped by.’

‘Me too.’ His hand falls from her waist and he takes a step back, looking around. ‘You’ve got the papers?’

Addie reaches into the drawer and takes the grey folder out of it, but doesn’t give it to him just yet. ‘I know you’re in a hurry, but Marianne is making enough goulash for a whole village, and Drew’s here, and I want to introduce you.’

‘He’s here?’ he asks, just at the same time as Marianne shouts from the kitchen, ‘WHO IS IT?’

In her defense, she thought it would’ve been a nice surprise for Holden to stop by and stick around for a little bit once he got what he came here for, and maybe chat to her friends for a few minutes. The idea might’ve been fine, but hearing Holden’s little sigh at the realisation and a guaranteed confusion from the two in the kitchen, it might’ve not been a fine surprise. This paired with Holden only meeting Marianne of her friends so far...

‘C’mon,’ she tells him, hoping to reassure herself just as much, and takes hold of his hand. ‘They don’t bite.’

Back in the kitchen, Marianne and Drew are leaning on the cupboards, both of them silent and waiting. Addie walkins into the kitchen first, and she watches their eyes follow her hand – the one which drags Holden in behind her. Marianne shouts his name and nearly leaps to hug him, while Drew remains at his spot, gnacing between the two having a quick catch-up and Addie, who tries to tell him not to worry in the form of a smile.

His eyes keep dropping back to their hands, intertwined, and she can see barely-concealed confusion on his face.

‘This is Holden,’ she says, now that Marianne isn’t hogging him anymore. ‘My boyfriend. Holden, this is Drew.’

They shake hands and exchange the ‘nice to meet you’s without anyone feeling the need to prove themselves to be the Alpha male, so Addie counts it as a win. Not that she thought either of them would do that – she just hasn’t seen Drew interact with anyone who wasn’t her or Marianne, and Drew is, after Marianne, the first person from Addie’s life Holden has gotten to meet.

The more she thinks of it, the more she realises how risky it was.

‘You’re the actor Drew, right?’

For a moment, Addie just watches Drew – his hands are crossed on his chest and he looks a little menacing, now that she tries to see him from Holden’s perspective. Tall and pretty attractive, pretty relaxed in a place he’s barely been to, and with the reputation of a successful actor – and to top it all off, a resting bitch face.

Addie’s heart skips a beat.

Drew laughs and she feels relief wash over her, instead. ‘Is that how she presents me to people?’

‘Drew, it’s literally how we met,’ she says, rolling her eyes at him from across the room. ‘How else am I supposed to explain how I know you?’

‘Fair.’

There’s a moment where the sizzling of the goulash is all that can be heard, but Addie doesn’t think it’s one of those heavy silences, where every person seems like they’re holding their breath. She takes it as a good sign.

Holden pats his thigh, then, and he has an apologetic face when he says, ‘I’ve got to go. Work won’t wait forever.’ He flashes Drew a smile. ‘Nice meeting you, Drew.’

‘You too.’

Addie sighs. ‘You just got here.’

He opens his mouth to say something, but Marianne is quicker: ‘You try this goulash, look me in the eye, and say you don’t want more of it.’ There’s no and then you can go, because Addie has a feeling Marianne knows pretty well just how good the goulash is.

She commands the room as she approaches Holden with the tiniest bit of goulash steaming from the spatula over her hand. Her eyes are determined and there’s a crook in the corner of her lips – the sly kind of smile when she knows she’s already won. Holden doesn’t get a chance to protest, because the spatula is headed for him, and he’s got nothing to do but take it.

The room holds a breath. Even Drew is looking at Holden in expectation, chin resting on the palm of his hand.

For a bit, Holden just coughs and complains about the hotness (Marianne argued he had to have been blind to not see that it was steaming). Once he’s finally back to normal breathing and side-eyeing Addie for giggling at him, he tells Marianne it’s one of the best things he’s ever tasted.

Addie could swear she could see pride and self-satisfaction through Marianne’s eyes.

‘Now that Holden is staying,’ says Addie, ‘can the rest of us have some, too?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ replies Marianne, with a newfound spring in her step, grace in the way she moves. Drew laughs at her, quietly, and Addie finds herself laughing with him.

Marianne brings out the goulash and Addie helps pour it into the bowls, handing each of them one. The chef ends up taking Addie’s chair, on Addie’s insistence, because what does she deserve after all these hours other than enjoying her efforts in peace? So Addie leans on the counter, ignoring Marianne’s protests that it’s dirty (‘These shorts need to go into the wash anyway’) and savours the food. It’s unbelievably good – Drew even comments at one point that it’s as good as the one his Hungarian neighbour made, if not better. Marianne glows after each compliment, so Addie doesn’t really stop giving them. Even as the conversation goes on, and Holden stays a little longer than planned, they keep sprinkling in nice comments about the goulash whenever they can.

Addie’s glad Holden and Drew are here for this, however unplanned it was.

Holden slaps his thigh again, in the very same manner with the very same look on his face and this time, Addie catches herself right before she laughs. ‘I’ve really got to go now,’ he says, getting to his feet. ‘Work calls.’

He walks up to Addie and she smiles at him, elbowing him gently in the ribs. ‘That’s okay, Mr. Workaholic. We understand.’

She thinks maybe she’s pushing it, but Holden smiles and reaches the other side of her waist, tickling just enough so that she groans for him to stop. ‘You’ve got it just as bad as I do,’ he tells her, and she can’t argue.

‘Wait, Holden.’ Marianne twirls her spoon in front of her space, brow furrowed, and a distant look on her face. ‘Can I ask you lot a personal question?’

‘Marianne—’

‘Don’t worry about it, Addie. I won’t bother them too much.’

Marianne does give her a reassuring smile, or what’s meant to be one, because Addie doesn’t feel particularly reassured. The girl, for all the love Addie holds for her, really has a thing for pushing the limits and boundaries without meaning to. Addie sinks into herself, arms crossed on her chest with Holden’s hand still resting on her waist, and hopes Marianne picks her approach carefully. Addie might know her well enough, but Drew and Holden don’t.

‘Sure,’ says Drew, leaning back in his chair. ‘What is it?’

Instead of responding, he looks at Holden until he agrees to it, too. She takes a deep breath, then, and gives them the shaky kind of confident smile as her fingers fix up her bun. ‘How important are romantic things in a relationship to guys?’

Addie resists dropping her head in her hands. She just sighs. Glares a little.

Lets it all unfold.

The hand on Addie’s waist moves a little, with no purpose. She can hear Holden breathe more deeply, as he always does when he’s trying to crack a problem. Drew, on the other hand, frowns; his eyes stare out of the window, the distance noticeable in them. Part of Addie wishes the question was never asked – part of it is as glad that it wasn’t bad as it is honest that maybe, Addie is curious about the answers, too.

‘Probably shouldn’t ask Holden that while Addie’s around,’ jokes Drew.

‘Ha-ha. Very funny.’

Drew looks at her and shrugs, a smile peeking through. (Addie found it a little bit funny and he can see it.) He sighs a little and scratches the place above his eyebrow, glancing at Marianne. ‘What kind of romantic things are we talking about?’

‘I don’t know.’ Marianne waves her hand in a vague motion, then lets it go back to fiddling with the bun. ‘Um, dates, quality time together, gifts or flowers or whatever, that romantic sappy kind of shite.’

‘It depends, then,’ Holden says, voice deep and laced in thought, just as Drew speaks with confidence, ‘Very important.’

Drew chuckles and Holden smiles, too, but Marianne doesn’t look very reassured, so Drew leans forward in the chair, placing his elbows on the table with his hands crossed. ‘Look, it depends on the guy, yeah, but most guys like the romantic stuff. Going on dates, getting flowers and chocolates, candlelit dinners and just spending quality time together is a big deal. Not having that is just kind of… I don’t know.’

Marianne nods. She’s looking at Drew as if she were soaking his words like a sponge, and not one that likes them.

‘I don’t really agree,’ says Holden, after letting out a little ‘hmmm’ sound. ‘I mean, it really depends on the guy, but also the partner. Look at Addie and I – we spend most of our time together at work, or doing work, and it’s something we love doing so the time we spend together doing that is what we’d consider quality time, right? And you don’t— We don’t need all that romantic stuff. If you know someone likes you, there’s no need to constantly show it. If it works already.’

Addie just stares at the ground. All eyes are on her, now, even if not physically – she can just feel the attention on her. Does she agree? Yes, for the most part, and it’s not her Marianne is asking this time. They’ve already spoken about this. Marianne knows Addie enjoys the approach she and Holden have with the relationship.

When she finally looks up, she catches Drew’s eyes for a moment, and then they’re gone before she can read them. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I guess it depends on your relationship and your boyfriend, then.’

‘My friend’s.’ Marianne nods with a smile that looks like it’s about to slip off. ‘I’m asking for a friend.’

Drew leans back. ‘Sure, yeah. I hope your friend manages to sort it out.’

Marianne thanks him, then makes a joke about the goulash being finger-licking, and within moments everything’s as if there wasn’t just a serious conversation. A little later, Addie walks Holden out, receiving a gentle kiss on the lips before he leaves. Drew sticks around for a little while longer and when Marianne invites Drew to their group’s annual Fourth of July party (very exclusive), Addie feels like it’s another unpredictable-Marianne moment she should’ve foreseen.

For better or worse, though, Drew shakes his head with a little sigh. ‘Thanks for the invitation, but I’ve already booked a flight home.’

‘Oh.’ Marianne nods, not even trying to hide her disappointment. ‘Shame. We throw the best parties around Atlanta.’

Drew chuckles, tugging his jacket sleeves over his arms. ‘I don’t doubt that for a second. I’ll catch one of them, at some point.’

‘Yeah. You should.’

Addie is leaning against the wall, watching them talk about their plans for the Fourth of July, and realises she’s happy that Holden’s met Drew. She’s happy he’s integrating into her friend group, at least bit by bit. It kind of makes everything more real; more permanent. Later, she finds out from Marianne that Drew messaged her, thanking her for the goulash experience. When she’s lying in bed, thinking about all the work she needs to do tomorrow because she slacked off today, a thought pops up: Marianne’s birthday is going to be soon, and that is bound to be a wholesome party.

Addie falls asleep with a smile on her face.

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19: THANKFUL

tagging. (let me know if you want to be tagged!) @jjmaybanksbaby @ofpinkfizz @snkkat @drewswannabegirl @yeslifeofateen @rudypnkw @stfukie @x-lulu @drewstarkey @butgilinsky @solllaris @hyperactive2411 @chasefreakinstokes @surferkie @jroseron @k-k0129 @starlightstories @rafecameron

#phone swap series #drew starkey #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey fic #outer banks #obx

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ditttiii · 5 years ago

Text

Brothers Conflict || 03.

Thrust into an already established family, you struggle to find your footing while dodging the advances of seven, incredibly good looking stepbrothers.

Your father marrying, and you suddenly having to live under the same roof with seven step brothers was a royal mess or so you had thought, Because them falling in love with you was so much worse. Or was it?

◈ Genre: Romance, Fluff, Humour, Smut and maybe a little angst. (PG-18) (step brother AU) (I do NOT support incest, this work is inspired by the popular anime/manga Brothers Conflict)

◈ Pairings: OT7 x Reader (reverse harem)

◈ CHAPTER THREE

WC: 2.7k

Warnings: Language (sfw)

Masterlist

"How about this?"

"Nah, it's too sideways," you reply from where you are standing near the doorway of your bedroom.

"Right or left?" Sunmi asks, as she grips the frame and distances her torso from the wall, trying to see for herself where she should shift the frame. From the looks of it, she's failing spectacularly at it.

Suppressing a snort, you answer ‘left’ and hum when she tilts the frame and you are finally satisfied with its position on the wall. Walking back in, you marvel at the sheer grandness of your room for the umpteenth time as you take in all the space around you. Roughly four times the size of your old bedroom, it was huge.

Floor to ceiling windows on the side opposite the bedroom door, before which was your queen-sized bed. A decent size, intricately designed bedside table beside it, with the floor underneath covered with a soft, plush rosy white carpet. A walk-in closet the size of your old bedroom, a bathroom with a jacuzzi, curtains heavy enough to suffocate and kill you if they were to ever fall upon your body; your new bedroom screams rich.

It would be a lie to say that you don't feel intimidated. Raised in a middle-class, humble neighbourhood, you hadn't in your wildest dreams ever imagined living in a room like this. But here you are, soaking in the reality of the moment; and realising that it feels like something between a dream and a nightmare.

Nearly four hours since you first started unpacking, and five since you had first met your new family, most of your room was organised. All boxes untaped and emptied as you and Sunmi worked hard to make the unnecessarily large, empty room less of a hotel room and more like the bedroom of a 19-year-old girl.

Sighing, you push the last book of your novel collection into the bookshelf. Made from some sort of whitewood, much like everything else, it was designed intricately and looming large over your small shadow.

"This is it."

Slouching, you fall onto your back, eyes straying to the ceiling above and the textures carved onto it, refusing to reply to Sunmi’s statement. Agreeing would mean that you'd have to let her go and you don't think you can, the isolation and abnormality of the situation already sinking in and scaring you.

"Mmn," you reply noncommittally instead.

A long sigh, and then your best friend is curling on the floor beside you, her hand snaking around yours, fingers intertwining, as she silently lets you know that she is here for you. Repressing the tears you can already feel trying to escape your eyes, you squeeze her hand back.

The clammy, ice-cold touch of your skin against hers goes unmentioned as you both lay there in silence.

"I'll call you every day," you whisper, your voice choked as your death grip around Sunmi's waist tightens, and she lets out a strangled moan before pushing you away.

"Woman, stop being so dramatic! You'll see me back in college every freaking day once summer ends and you know I'll come to see you whenever you want me to, the hour-long ride be damned," Sunmi chides. There’s no bite in her words, and her voice wobbles despite her trying to act tough, but you don't call her out on it and only nod.

"You better, you airhead, lord knows you'll probably sob your body dry without seeing me every day."

A giggle comes out of your best friend's tall, lean body, one you are entirely too envious of, and her eyes soften, your smile softening with it.

"Take care, will ya?"

"Always," you whisper back, and with one last kiss thrown over her shoulder, she leaves. Her figure grows smaller and farther with every step she takes, and you bite your lip to prevent a call from tumbling out. Not moving an inch until you hear the distant roar of her car driving away, you finally shut the door when you no longer hear or see her car.

Suddenly you feel scarily small. Like a tiny, irrelevant existence born in a world too large and glamorous; a world where you evidently do not belong.

Meandering through the floor, you gaze at the picture frames on the wall as though you are the actress of some old seventies cinema, bemoaning the absence of a long lost lover.

Dramatic, yes, but you have always been more on the theatrical spectrum of humankind, and it isn't like there is much you can do right now anyway. Not unless you want to hole up in your room and stew in your sadness alone. And even though that might sound appealing to most (considering what your room now looks like), it wasn't something you felt like doing at the moment.

So you mindlessly gaze at the pictures, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow in the darkening hallway as you try to find some semblance of familiarity, a speck of comfort or intimacy.

"Y/n?" a soft voice calls out to you, and you twist on your heels, your eyes meeting with those of Yoongi.

"Yoongi-oppa." Voice coming out soft, your words fade at the end as your eyes track the way Yoongi's face glows when the rays of the setting sun hit his skin. Long messy dark blonde hair makes space for his glittering curvy eyes to shine through, and your breath gets caught somewhere in your chest when you look at the vision that was Min Yoongi.

"Exploring?" he asks casually, but even without knowing him for all that long, you can detect the underlying layer of concern in his voice. You don't know if he is being open with you right now, or if you can just read him well, but the concern makes your heart feel a little warmer.

"Something like that." Your answer is ambiguous, but Yoongi doesn't ask you to elaborate, so you don't add anything more, turning back and looking at the pictures again instead.

"This something you enjoy?" Yoongi asks as he moves beside you, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his pants, and leans; making himself comfortable against the wall.

Your eyes stray to him. "Sounds like you don't."

"Not really my forte, I can appreciate it from a distance, sure, but not an enthusiast," he replies, the back of his head hitting the wall behind as he looks up at you.

Humming, you shrug. "Same, I guess, it's just fascinating to me. I wish I was smart enough to understand what half of these actually mean, but I am not, so I just appreciate the beauty and move on."

"Fair enough."

You nod and let the silence reign again, but it's a comfortable silence, the kind of quiet where you are both lost in your own thoughts but at the same time appreciate the company of the other.

Slowly the sun sets behind you, and the glassed walls shimmer one last time before the ceiling lights are switched on, bathing the entire floor in warm but bright light.

Yoongi had been silent the entire time as you explored the floor like a child in a zoo, poking and prodding the potted plants, oo-ing and aah-ing over the art around you, fascinated and occupied with the attractions around.

But when the lights switch on, he clears his throat and gets up from the couch he had taken a seat on some time ago, head tilting as he wordlessly asks you a question. You nod back and smile, making your way to him as you finally get ready to spend some time with the rest of your newly acquired family.

As you both make your way to the main hall, you don't miss how your heart is feeling much lighter now. The silent company that Yoongi had provided you with seems to have put you at ease and calmed your racing thoughts.

Walking into the kitchen alone, you try your best to make as little noise as possible. Yoongi, much to your displeasure, had promised that he'd meet you out in a few minutes only to disappear inside of his bedroom and leave you to your own devices.

The sudden bout of bravado from earlier had left your body too, in its place leaving raring, gut-twisting anxiety.

Tiptoeing to the refrigerator, you take out a bottle and pour yourself a glass. The chilled water slides down your throat, quenching your thirst, and you let out a satisfied sigh, smacking your lips in contentment after.

"That thirsty, huh?"

You jump, startled, heart racing and in your throat, as your gaze snaps to the doorway and finds Seokjin standing there. Suit coat hung over his left arm, and a button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, he was clearly returning back home after a workday.

"Holy fuck, you scared the shit outta me!"

Your brain to mouth filter is seemingly not working after being startled. Feeling anxious was a problem enough, but being scared after was evidently enough to send your last two brain cells out the window. Your common sense and the knowledge that Kim Seokjin was now your stepbrother, eldest stepbrother, flying out the window along with them.

You hear crickets chirping in the distance as an awkward silence blankets the room, and in that moment you want to die. Spontaneously combust and float away into thin air, disappear, dissolve, vanish—die.

"I am so sorry, can we pretend I didn't say that, “you voice out meekly, your eyes avoiding Seokjin’s and instead finding purchase on the wall behind him, seemingly fascinated by the utter whiteness of it.

Hearing a chuckle ring and break the awkwardness in the air, you shift your gaze to the source of said chuckle and catch your eldest brother's gaze. "It's alright Y/n, I get that this is a big adjustment. Please don't feel like you need to rush on anybody's accord, take your time."

And then Kim Seokjin smiles—his pouty, full lips stretched into a small but ridiculously warm smile, and something in your chest clenches at the sight of it. Warning bells ring in the back of your mind, and you squash the thoughts threatening to come forward, their not-so-appropriate nature resulting in an immediate rejection from your end.

Mumbling a thank you, you let him know you'll be down soon and then dash to your bedroom, slamming the door closed once you're inside and sinking down onto the floor.

What the hell was that!?

Raking a hand through your hair, you groan in annoyance, wincing when said hand gets stuck in a tangle and pulls a few strands loose.

Looking back at your impression so far in front of Seokjin, one of your seven step brothers, it had been nothing but absolutely marvellous. So you can't imagine what could possibly go wrong when you sit down at the dinner table and are surrounded by all seven of them.

Nothing, nothing at all, nope-nada-zilch!

Frustrated, you slide a hand down your face, hoping to calm down, but the move only ends up irritating your skin under. The day has been long, and all that you pray for now is that it ends soon. Your bed, which from the looks of it was fit for royalty, was beckoning you over too.

With one last huff, you are pushing yourself up onto your feet and to the bathroom to splash some water, before you go and join the rest of your new family.

Pulling the chair in, you wring your hands nervously under the table, away from any prying eyes. One by one, the rest of your family filters in and takes a seat; Seokjin and Yoongi both pick their seats at the two heads of the table. Hoseok and Namjoon sit on either side of you, with Jimin plopping himself down opposite you, and getting flanked by Jungkook and Taehyugn on either side.

Not much conversation had taken place as they picked their seats, everyone sufficiently tired enough after a long day, but they had smiled or nodded at you when they first entered the dining room.

'Well most of them at least,' you think, eyeing the two youngest, who had both refused to give you even a cursory glance, resulting in your smile going unseen and unreciprocated. Their attitude, however, doesn't bother you too much at this point; as it was, they were virtually nothing more than strangers to you.

Conversations pick up around you, and you feel slightly out of place, as though you are a guest over for dinner rather than their new stepsister, but the feeling doesn't last long, because both Namjoon and Hoseok soon pull you into a conversation. Inquiries come forth about your day, and how your unpacking had gone.

The conversation is mostly superficial, nothing too emotionally challenging; neither of them ask how it feels being a part of their family or something like that, and you are relieved. Grateful, because you don't know if you'd be able to answer those questions anyway. The whole situation is still very odd no matter how many minutes of the day pass.

Someone clears their throat, and your eyes snap to Seokjin, who was pushing his chair back and picking up his glass, the red wine inside sloshing with the movement.

"I've done this before, and yet it never gets any less nerve-wracking," Seokjin starts, and your eyes furrow in confusion, but he continues before you can think about it any more. "Y/n," he says and tips his head in your direction, "I know this must feel a little scary—actually, scratch that, you're probably terrified right now, and that's okay.” he pauses, and takes a breath before continuing, “I'm sure it feels crazy suddenly being thrust into an already established family and being told that now you're one of them, and I just want you to know that I get it. We get it, and we are here for you. If you don’t want to accept us as family, that’s okay too; all of us would understand and support whatever decision you make. I just...” Sighing, he locks eyes with you.

“...I just hope you can let us in eventually, family or not."

Seokjin's eyes bore into yours as he says this, stressing the 'us', and you gulp, feeling the back of your throat tighten at his words. Sensing the fine thread of control that you had over your emotions loosening, you swivel your gaze to the table instead, nodding, your vision growing blurry as you try to blink back the burn in your eyes.

The room goes quiet, as the boys give you time to collect yourself—or sob, you don't know, but you appreciate the consideration nonetheless.

It was going good, it really was. You were holding on, no matter how precarious the hold was, you were holding on. Grasping onto that last string of control and restraint you had with all of your might.

But then Hoseok is wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his side, letting you nestle your face in the crook of his neck, and the string snaps, his neck growing wet as tears streamed down your face and slid down his skin.

For a few minutes, you forget that you were now surrounded by strangers who you had to accept and call your family. For a few false, delusional minutes you forget that they don't know you, that the care they were showing was genuine and not something they were obligated to. That the one whose hands were drawing circles across your back, the one whose voice was whispering reassurances in your ear—stupid sweet-nothings that you would tell a small child to make them feel better, actually gave a shit about you.

You forget the reality and slip into a safe headspace, letting the warmth of another human encircle you, hold you, wrap you in its cocoon as you weep.

A/N: dedicating this chapter to @mel-gonzalez07, one of my oldest, most loyal readers, and more than anything else an amazing friend. ily angel 💖

Y/n is going through some shitt here. Imagine being thrust into a dynamic that has been established for years, and then having to act like you are meant to be a part of it.

The taglist for the story can be found:- here. A kind reminder that tumblr sometimes doesn’t give an alert for a tag notification, but you’ll find the notification in your notification dash. So, check it once a week as I usually update weekly.

Feedback means the world to me, so tell me what you thought. What would you do if you were in oc’s shoes?

Until next time! Take care you sweet soul and Oo! Go stream folklore 💖

Tag-list: @mel-gonzalez07 @favsssxx @imluckybitches @nomimits7 @alex4243 @calling-dips-on-j-hope @joonsinnerchild @iconicgguk @untamedfaith @kaheryn @nottodayjjk @moments-of-melancholy @gee-nee @confusemonkey @beautyyounggirl @blossoming-cherrytrees @seoul9711 @btsismybiass @toochie-too @sugakookie0698 @maboiisuga @kurohas-world @namseokiesmoonv @kerikaaria @chiidbits @girlyyzzyz @loveyoongles @btsfeelzies @knjkitten @honeyspillings @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag @starrykook97 @xanny91 @leilalago @jiminie-08 @voguejoonie @lovelikeyouwant

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captainsolare · 4 years ago

Text

Under the Moonlit Sky

This is a request I got that ended up with a long word count so I'm making it it's own separate post.

Summary: Leopold asks his commoner crush to a party attended by nobility and royalty. She must navigate the party through her nervousness, confused feelings, and the classism of the nobility surrounding her.

Word count: 3140

Tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff, comfort, f!reader

You narrowed your eyes as you studied the boy standing in your doorway, “What did you just ask me?”

He cleared his throat, cheeks a dusty pink as he scratched the back of his neck, “I asked if you would do me the honor of accompanying me to a party this weekend.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly feeling very dry. “A party? Are you sure you’d want me there?”

Leo laughed, the sound almost grating to your frayed nerves, “Of course I do! I always have fun when I’m with you and these parties are so boring.” His lips twitched in disgust as he thought of how uninteresting these types of things were, sure his siblings were fine but with extended family he was expected to act a certain way and it felt constricting.

You smiled, and Leo perked up at seeing the twinkle in your eye.

“Oh I see how it is, I’ll just be your entertainment for the evening.”

Leo nodded, then fully realized the implication of your statement; eyes wide he held his hands up. “No! I didn’t mean it like that, I just want you to be there. Please?”

You crossed your arms, eyeing him with a skeptical look, but the longer he stared at you with those pleading eyes, the more convinced you were. Your frown turned into a giggle and you nodded, “I was joking Leo, of course I’ll go with you.”

“You mean it?” Leo asked, eyes hopeful this wasn’t a joke.

“Yes! I mean it.”

“Perfect! Thanks so much, I’ll be here at 7 PM sharp to pick you up.”

“Great! See you then.”

As soon as Leo left, you sank against the door, the facade dropping. “A royal party? Y/N what have you gotten yourself into?” You groaned, resting your head in your hands.

A party with Leo meant that royals and nobility would be there, and you were just a commoner from the city who’d met Leopold by chance. There wasn’t a drop of nobility in your blood and despite how accepting Leo was, the vast majority of the people there would eye you with contempt. At least you were a magic knight, you were in the Purple Orcas, so that would gain you a bit of respect, but the lack of noble blood was of greater importance. The more you thought about it the more nervous you became, but a promise is a promise and you’d do your best to keep it.

Your eyes traveled to your bedroom, did you have anything you could wear in your wardrobe? You pulled yourself off the floor and made your way to the armoire, throwing the doors of it open. You examined each piece of clothing, holding it up to you in the mirror. One by one, each of your dresses landed in a pile on your floor. Eyes pricking with tears you threw the last dress on the pile.

None of these are acceptable for a royal party, what am I going to do?

Your coin purse lay on your desk and you picked it up, peering inside. You had a substantial amount of money on hand, you’d been saving for a rainy day but you supposed that day had come, besides, a new dress could do you some good. You could wear it to future balls if you someday ended up dating Leo.

Blinking, you dropped the coin purse, of all the intrusive thoughts to enter your brain, it just had to be that one. You and Leo? It was laughable if the unattainability of it didn’t hurt so much, you supposed you did have a crush on him, but what was the use? Even if he did like you back, it isn’t as if you could act on it. Royalty and nobility sure, but you were a commoner, and a royal dating a commoner was unheard of, it felt taboo at times to even be friends with him.

You sighed and gathered the fallen coins, dropping them gently into the bag, perhaps you could do the more practical thing, and rent a dress, or at the very least buy it, wear it for the night and return it later. You pocketed the purse and set off for the store, heart sinking like a stone in your chest.

A bell chimed as you entered the store, and you immediately felt an oppressive wave come over you. The store felt stuffy, and you felt extremely out of place on the posh white carpet.

“Y/N! Is that you?”

You looked around at the sudden call of your name and came face to face with Vanessa from the Black Bulls, you instantly relaxed and let her pull you into a quick hug.

“Hello Vanessa, long time no see.”

You’d met her a few times while on solo missions, and had gotten to know the thread mage rather well.

“What brings you here?” She asked, lightly resting her hand on your shoulder.

Your cheeks warmed, “I actually got asked to go to a party this weekend.”

Vanessa gasped, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Was it that royal boy from the Crimson Lion Kings?”

Your cheeks grew even warmer at her question, was your crush that obvious? You nodded and she smiled even wider.

“Well, we need to find you a gown then, don’t we?”

Vanessa tugged you around the store, taking dresses off the racks and holding them up to your frame. She settled on a gray white gown, stars were woven into the bodice and the skirt, it was beautiful and you hoped it would look just as beautiful on you.

You stepped into the dressing room, tugging off your clothes and replacing them with the ball gown. As you looked into the mirror, you almost couldn’t believe it was you in the mirror. You were still you, that much was obvious and wouldn’t change, but you felt beautiful in the gown.

Opening the door carefully you stepped out and Vanessa squealed. “Oh my, you look gorgeous!”

You smiled, heart full from her genuine smile, “You really think so?”

“Of course I do, and that little lion cub isn’t going to know what hit him.”

You chuckled, imagining Leo’s dumbfounded expression was quite amusing. But you remembered your coin purse and frowned. “Could you take a look at the price?”

When Vanessa read you the price your heart sank, even with what you had saved there was no way you could afford it. Vanessa read the expression on your face and put her arms around your shoulders.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ve got it covered.”

You tried to protest, but once Vanessa had it in her mind to do something there was no stopping her so you relented, handing her the gown after you had changed back into your normal clothes.

The rest of the week passed by in a flash, Vanessa showed up at your door at 5 PM Saturday evening to help you get ready. She laced the dress for you, tied your ribbon slippers and did your hair how she asked, then added a touch of makeup.

Soon there was a knock at the door and you gulped. Vanessa gave you a quick hug and you opened the door.

Leo stood there in a navy blue suit, pink sash tied as a (tacky) belt around his waist. As he laid eyes on you, Leo’s expression was as priceless as you had imagined.

“Come on, pick your jaw up off the floor, it’s still little old me inside this dress.”

“I can’t help it, you just look so beautiful.”

You gave a quick curtsy, “Why thank you kind sir.”

“Leo! Hurry up!” Fuegoleon called from the carriage.

Leo jumped, “Right! Shall we?”

You took his extended hand and he helped you to the carriage. You said a quick hello to Fuegoleon and his expression softened.

“Hello Miss Y/N, Leo has told me a lot about you. You look quite beautiful tonight.”

You swallowed the heat that was creeping up your neck, “Thank you sir.”

“Oh please, no need to call me sir, call me Fuegoleon.”

The carriage ride to the palace was awkward, you tried to make small talk by asking where the oldest Vermillion sibling was but were informed that Mereoleona couldn’t be bothered to come to events like these, and if she did she inevitably ended up setting something on fire.

“Ah, I see.”

You tried to shove down your growing nervousness, you desperately hoped that this night would not end up as disastrous as you feared. Leo helped you out of the carriage and you didn’t let go of his hand, causing heat to rise to his cheeks.

The doors opened and you quickly dropped his hand, your own tingling from the loss of heat. You immediately felt the harsh stares of the royals and nobility in the room; nobles were acutely aware who was outside their circle and although you were dressed nice it was obvious to them you were a commoner. You swallowed thickly as you made your rounds around the room with Leo, he was required to visit with everyone out of respect. You could feel their eyes looking you up and down, silently judging Leopold for bringing a commoner to a place such as this.

Relief washed over you when you finally sat at your designated table with Mimosa and Noelle. You’d met them a few times before, and you knew that you’d have some semblance of safety while you sat here.

“Hello Y/N! You look gorgeous tonight.” Mimosa greeted, pulling you into a quick embrace.

Noelle did the same and you murmured your thanks before taking a seat next to Leopold. “So, we’ve been relegated to the kids table?” You joked, causing the others to chuckle. “It would appear so.” Leopold said, eyes crinkling as he smiled.

Your table called much attention to itself as the four of you joked; it was a relief to be able to feel like you could be yourself here, until you risked a glance at the main tables and saw their judgemental looks. You took a sip of water, trying to force your bitterness down with it; you could brush things off with the best of them, but you had to admit it was hard when you felt you were invading a space you were not welcome in, just because of your social standing.

The string quartet sat down to play and the dishes were cleared along with the tables. Leopold stood awkwardly and asked you for a dance as Mimosa and Noelle giggled nearby. Your cheeks warmed, but you laid your hand gently on top of his and he led you to the dance floor.

“They’re so cute.” Mimosa whispered. Noelle smiled, hand covering her mouth, “I so agree.”

As the strings played, you let Leopold lead the dance. “You’re a better dancer than I thought you’d be Leo.” You said, smiling with a teasing glint in your eye. He stood a little taller at your words, “Why thank you, I’ve been practicing. Hey! What do you mean ‘better than you thought’?” He protested and you just smiled, relishing in the fact you had all of his attention for the moment. Leopold was so easily distracted, but not when he was with you, it made you feel like you were the only girl in the whole world, and at least for now, you could pretend that it would always be this way.

There was a tap on Leo’s shoulder, from a nobleman you didn’t recognize. “May I cut in?” He asked, his voice nasally and grating. Leo nodded, giving you an apologetic glance, and the two men switched partners. The man took your hand with a tight grip, twirling you this way and that across the floor. You could sense the hostility coming from him as he pulled you close to whisper in your ear.

“Filthy commoner, your kind aren’t welcome here. Leave now and never speak to Leopold Vermillion again, or else. We can’t afford anyone tainting the royal family’s blood.”

You didn’t need to ask if it was a threat, your heart was caught in your throat as the man’s words sent ice through your veins. You wanted to protest, but the man had planned it perfectly. You couldn’t make a scene here, and no one had heard his awful words so no one would be able to back your story up, and even if you did voice your concerns, most of the people in this room would likely agree with the sentiment that had been expressed to you.

“We’ll be watching you.” The man said quietly, before Leo could cut in again.

Leo grabbed your hand once more and instantly noticed something was wrong, it wasn’t extremely noticeable, but he had been around you long enough to know when something was bothering you. His hand rested on your lower back as you swayed with him. The lump in your throat grew larger as you met his eyes, then looked back down at your feet.

Did this really have to end? Couldn’t you pretend, for just a moment longer that this would all work out? That Leopold was the person who would sweep you off your feet for the rest of your life? Couldn’t you freeze this moment for the rest of time? Leo’s smile as he pressed his palm into yours?

You felt your heart shatter as the song ended and you pulled away, tears pricking in your eyes. Leopold looked visibly confused, but you brushed him off.

“I just need some air.”

As soon as you were out of eye and earshot you ran, eventually finding a secluded outdoor patio. You slammed your hands on the railing. This wasn’t fair, you shouldn’t have to feel this way because of their prejudice. You’d known the house of cards would come down eventually, the hope that you had placed in a future with Leo, the future you kept locked away in your heart. Tears streamed down your cheeks despite your best efforts to keep them in, and you watched as the balcony railing became slick with them.

Inside, Leopold heard the murmurs of relief that you had disappeared. They sent him bristling, which one of them had hurt you bad enough to make you need air? His eyes scanned the crowd and they fell upon the man who had danced with you last. Without hesitation, he strode over to the man, grabbing his collar. Gasps could be heard all across the room at Leopold’s sudden outburst.

“What did you say to her?” It was like a roar was ripped from his chest, his knuckles were white with the force of his grip.

The man squirmed in his grasp, “I just… I just told her we wouldn’t take kindly to her tainting the royal bloodline.”

Leopold let go of the man, his eyes wide with shock, then anger. “How dare you! How dare you treat a personal friend of royalty that way! I’m disgusted with you.” Leopold’s words came out as spats, and he whirled out of the room, desperate to find you.

He found you, shoulders shaking over the patio railing as you cried. A gentle hand was placed on your shoulder and you stiffened.

“Hey you.” Leo said quietly.

You sniffled, you didn’t want him to see you like this, but there was no avoiding it. “Hi.”

“Can I give you a hug?” He asked.

You nodded and stood, letting him pull you into a warm embrace. You always felt safe here, and that fact made you cry harder, because sooner or later, you’d have to let this go, give up his arms so someone else could be held by them.

“I’m sorry that man said those things to you.” Leo said quietly, stroking your back with a gentle hand.

You sniffled, “You don’t have to be sorry. I knew what I was getting into when I came here tonight, I’m sorry for causing you trouble.”

Leo stiffened at your statement, anger bubbling within him once more as you apologized to him.

“Hey. Listen to me.” He took a step back until only his hands were resting on your shoulders,

“Pardon my language but screw what those losers said! You are gorgeous and I wanted you here tonight. In fact you are the only person I wanted to be with tonight.”

You blinked, not believing what you were hearing. “What-- what are you saying Leo?”

“I’m saying I’m in love with you!” He swallowed, heart pounding in his chest, “I have been for a while actually, that’s part of the reason I asked you here tonight.”

To his dismay you began to cry, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks.

“Are-- are you okay?! Did I do something wrong?” Leo began to panic, studying your face carefully.

You shook your head, “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. These are… happy tears I think.”

Leo looked confused, “Happy tears? Why?”

You laughed at his expression, Leo could certainly be dense sometimes.

“I’m happy because I love you too, dummy.”

Leo wasn’t sure he heard you right, you liked him too? He grinned, smile as wide as the half moon in the sky.

You hugged under the night sky, stars glittering above you.

Leopold wiped the tears from your eyes, and gave you a kiss on the forehead.

“Shall we go inside and give those losers a heart attack?”

You frowned, “Not a literal one I hope.”

He chuckled, “No of course not, just one that will hopefully kick their classist asses.”

You followed Leo back into the ballroom, pinkies intertwined and heads held high.

“Attention everyone, I have an announcement to make!”

The room stilled as everyone turned to look at the royal boy.

He grabbed your hand more fully in his and held it up for them all to see.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and others, this is Y/N L/N and I am in love with her!” He yelled.

Gasps were heard throughout the room at his announcement, nobles looked around in shock.

“I’m going to marry her someday and if you don’t like it, you can leave!” He declared, sending a wash of heat to your face and gasps throughout the crowd.

Silence dominated the room for a long moment, and you were positive at least one woman fainted. Fuegoleon cleared his throat and the attention turned to him, “Well, it would seem we have a pre-engagement to celebrate, so start the music.”

The quartet began to play once more, and you danced with Leo for the rest of the night, if anyone took him up on his offer to leave, you didn’t notice or care; the only thing that mattered is that you loved him, and he wanted to keep you in his arms forever.

#leopold x reader #leopold fluff #angst with a happy ending #f!reader #black clover leopold #aurora borealis

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stickyhoney · 4 years ago

Text

Serene

Title: Serene

Summary: Sy has been training on base for the past week for an upcoming mission, his body being pushed to its limits everyday. You see your husband in pain, so you do what you can to help him relax.

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: Syverson x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Smut, cock-warming, Adult Language

“Hey honey.” You tried to sound cheery as possible, knowing that Sy had been feeling overwhelmed for a while now. Hearing you happy in the past, has always cheered him up. “Hi sweetness. Did you need something?” His tone was curious, since you rarely called him at work. “Just wanted to call you and tell you how much I love you, and I can’t wait for you to come home.” A long sigh comes through the phone. “I am so grateful for you. I’ll be home soon. Love you, bye.” You look down from the bar stool to Benny, the German shepherd Sy gifted you for your last birthday. He was whining under your feet after hearing Sy’s voice through your phone. “He’ll be home soon buddy, I promise.” You bent down and combed your fingers through his thick fur between his ears. Thoughts began to run wildly through your head, like a stampede of wild animals. The clock peered back at you, 7:20 p.m.

Great, you still had 40 minutes to figure out something to do for Sy when he comes home. Racking your brain of things that would calm him down, to bring some semblance of peace to his absolutely chaotic days. Of course! Why didn’t I think of that earlier! You began running around the house setting your tea candles on tables, enough to light the way to the bathroom you shared. Candles were placed very few feet down both sides of the hallway until they reached your bedroom door. Benny was whining while following you around the house, probably worried that his owner had finally lost her marbles.

“Mommy is just getting the house ready for daddy, Benny.” Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you see the time is now 7:45. Thankfully when Sy was building your home, he valued how much you loved baths so he spent a bit more on a larger claw-foot tub. He never would tell you how much he had spent on it. Thousands you were sure, since it was specially made to fit both his larger frame and you.

You turned the heated tile floor on, and sat even more tea candles around the bathroom. Thankfully, you decided on the mega-pack of candles at IKEA, not the small pack. Sy made fun of you for it at the time, but who’s laughing now? His and hers bathrobes were hung on the back of the door, looking extra-appealing tonight. Your robe looked a bit more worn than his since most of the time you were home alone during the evenings. You peeled your clothing off and threw it into the hamper across the room like a basketball, and wrapped yourself in the cozy cotton robe. Every time you put the robe on, like a habit, your fingers grazed over the stitched lettering Mrs. When home alone, this would sadden you, making you remember that your Mr. is half way across the world being shot at. Tonight, it made you happy, he was on his way home to you.

The hot water was pouring into the large white porcelain tub, causing wafts of steam to rise. You poured the rose and tea tree oil in, followed by rose petals. The scent was divine. After filling a little over half way, you shut the water off. Walking your way back around the house, you lit candle after candle, shutting off all other lights in the process. Whiskey! You heard his car door slam shut outside, so you run into the kitchen and grab his favorite bottle of whiskey and two glasses. You giggle hearing his heavy boots hit the porch, him fumbling with his keys. Sy finally gets the door open and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. Standing there in your bathrobe, loosely held onto your body, holding whiskey and two glasses. The candles flickered across your face and frame, almost calling him in for a closer look.

“Welcome home, honey.” He slowly entered and pushed the door until he heard the deadbolt click. Benny’s nails clicked against the wood floor running towards Sy, until jumping up on him for attention. Sy released a grunt when Benny landed on him, stepping back. “Benny, down.” You snapped your fingers causing the trained dog to go lay down in his bed. Sy bends down and envelopes you in a large bear hug, dipping his face into the dip of your neck. His lips kiss softly, making you giggle at the ticklish sensation. “Now, now. It’s not time for that yet.” He groaned at your response. “Then why did you greet me looking like this?” His broad, roughly calloused hands dipped into the neckline of your robe. The touch of his hands against your chest made you gasp, your body nearly begging for his touch. Your hands meet his on your chest and pull them down to your sides. “Follow me soldier.”

You lead him down the long hallway into your master suite. A flood of scents come through when the bathroom door is opened. Sy has a great big smile on his face, sadly one that you don’t see too often anymore. “You did all this for me sweetheart?” He kissed your forehead, and started to untie his shoes. Heavy, black combat style boots clunk against the floor. “Of course. I know how tough work has been on you lately.” With every word, your fingers slunk down his chest, unbuttoning the thick camouflage shirt.

Thick curls bounced out between the separating hemlines, some of them matted down from past sweat of the day. Strong musk diffused into the air around him, rose and tea tree masking it. Soon, he stood naked in front of you, looking like he had stepped out of a war-zone. Deeply colored bruises lined his ribs, showing the blows he had sustained throughout the week. Sinewy muscles were tightly pulled, creating dips and curves on his waist. You fought against the tears threatening to pool in your eyes, blinking them away. It saddened you to see Sy so overworked, he looked absolutely exhausted. Instead of asking what happened, you let your robe fall to the tiled floor.

Breaking tradition, you get in the bath first, pushing yourself flush against the back of the tub. It was his night to be treated and cared for, not yours. His brow raised quizzically, but decided not to question your action. He sucked in a long drawn out breath when his muscles began sinking into the water. Your arms help him down, pulling him in between your legs. “Jesus woman, think you got this water hot enough?” His short hair prickles against your soft chest, softly scratching. Softly placing your arms on his shoulders, your hands fall down onto his stomach. After a few moments of pleasant silence, you begin massaging his shoulders. He has always loved the way you pushed the pads of your thumbs into his muscles, trying to alleviate the tension. Deep guttural groans cause his body to vibrate against yours, sending pulses to your core.

Looking down onto your husband, you see his long eyelashes flutter closed. All the memories made in this bath dance around in your mind, kindling the fire in your core. So many nights like this with peaceful silence, then some other nights that were definitely not so still. Your determined little fingers soothed every little muscle they could find. Your eyes lazily shut, the hot water and weight of Sy against you calming you. If someone had told you that this would be your life ten years ago, you would have laughed. Never would you have thought you could be so lucky. Gradually in your sedative state, your hands made their way down to Sy’s ribs. Not thinking of the bruises formed there, your fingers pressed in. He sharply jerked in pain, the shock causing his eyes to spring open.

“Oh! I’m sorry.” His hands were tightly gripping the sides of the tub, his knuckles white. Obviously shaken out of his near sleep, he readjusts his position in the bath. Grunting from the sore muscles moving along his body. “It’s okay. It didn’t hurt.” He now sat upright, his back to you. “Liar.” Softly your fingers traced shapes on his back. “Honey… Why are you so bruised up? I hate seeing you this way.” He slowly turns his body around, now facing you.

“I know. Today was the worst of it, it won’t be this bad anymore. There’s this mission coming up, it’s going to be particularly rough so they are just making sure I am ready for it.” Sy never wanted to worry you with his work, so he usually kept everything to himself other than when he would be gone. The fact that he was even telling you this much, was a testament to how bad his mission coming up must be. You slid yourself in closer to him, the water sloshing around your frame.

“Sy, I want you home. I want you here with me. I want to start a family when their dad will be here.” His eyes sparkled when looking at you. “That’s my last mission.” You knew you couldn’t have heard that last part correctly, and asked him to repeat. “I’ll be home for good after this, love.” Your chest tightened, you felt your pulse quicken. You nearly jumped on Sy, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. The water splashed out of the tub on all sides. Putting out the flames of some tea candles, darkening the room even more. Your lips pressed harshly into his, his tongue slipping in. You straddled his lap, his erection pressing against your folds.

Your nose was pressed up against his, the two of you barely coming up for air. His tongue was dominating your mouth, slowly dipping in and out. You quickly let a hand escape, and grab Sy’s cock. A deep growl and soft nibble of your lip signaled that he was thoroughly enjoying your touch. Your hand slowly pumped his member, his size increasing. It never took him long to harden, which has served both of you well. His veins were softly throbbing around your fingers, he was ready for you. Gradually you lower yourself onto him, your heat enveloping him. His lips left yours in preference for your breast, hungrily groping them with his calloused hands. Your nipples raised against his harsh touch. His tongue skillfully rubbed against them. You lowered yourself until you felt your ass hit his thighs. Knowing Sy loved being bottomed out in you, you began rocking your pelvis against his. Under his skillful tongue, your lips parted releasing absolutely lewd gasps.

“God you feel so good around me baby. Fucking me how I like.” Waves of water continuously crashed against the walls of the tub, a mess that you will hate to clean later. You had no care in the world in these moments, other than making your husband and yourself feel good.

Muscular arms wrapped around your back, pulling you flush against his frame. His head dipped into the valley of your breasts, his hot breaths hitting your skin. He thrusts sharply up into you, causing you to release a cry. Grunting like a beast, Sy begins to lose himself thrusting up into you at a quick pace. Each time you felt his balls hit against your folds. The quick moments of friction against your clit, were hurling you towards your end. Your hair stuck against your body, from the mix of sweat and bath water. You must have looked absolutely carnal in the moment. Everything your body was doing was only to chase pleasure. Your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders, trying to keep some semblance of balance. Sy was swelling against your walls, his thrusts were becoming erratic. Pushing down against him, you started meeting his thrusts.

“Sy-” You threw your head back, completely lost in the feeling of your husband. “Let go baby. Let go.” After a few more harsh thrusts, you lose function of your legs and feel the spasms of pleasure roll over you. Your skin flushes like a hot fever. Your toes curled in the water. The sensation of your walls clenching him were too much to bear, causing Sy to grunt in ecstasy. You felt the hot spurts enter you, a feeling that you had dreamt about countless nights when you were home alone.

The two of you fall into each other, completely out of breath. Sy leans against the tub, carrying you with him. For an unknown time, you sat there and bathed in each other’s presence and embrace. Even though Sy had gone limp a while ago, you wanted to enjoy the feeling of being connected to your husband in such a close way.

When the water went cold, you convinced Sy to empty the tub and let the two of you out. He carefully dried the water up around the tub enough, making sure that you didn’t slip when getting out. After drying each other off with a warm towel, Sy carried you into the bedroom and softly placed you on your bed. You sighed at the soft cushion of your mattress. Sy fell into bed and pulled you snugly against him. You both slipped under the comforter and fell asleep in each other’s warmth.

#henry cavill #captain syverson #henry cavill x reader #henrycavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill smut

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good-rwbyaus · 4 years ago

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Unnamed Crack Time Travel Fic. Part 3 [first] [prev]

After Salem united all four relics, the gods descended and judged Humanity to be unworthy, obliterating all. Ruby desperately activates her Semblance to avoid the blow and, as a result, becomes only one of two people remaining in Remnant. Months later, the two employ a plan to travel back through time.

Chronic!Backstabber!Syndrome!Cinder, DoneWithEverything!Ruby, transcended!Ruby, crack time travel AU. - mod lilac

p.s this thing seriously needs a name.

Everything had been a blur after Ruby laid eyes on her Mom, her Mom that had been dead for a good part of her life suddenly here in the flesh. She was so out of it that she completely missed the part where Cinder convinced her Mom and the rest of her company to go back home - and that she’d take her to Patch for a check-up with a doctor.

How Cinder knew her Mom, Ruby didn’t know. Why her Mom trusted Cinder to any degree was also something that eluded her. Nothing was right in this universe - nothing at all.

After Ruby was absolutely sure that the rest of them were out of earshot, she turned around and hissed at Cinder, “What did you do?!”

“What do you mean?” Cinder tilted her head, confused and appearing slightly hurt, “Are you okay, Ruby? I know it can be a bit confusing when you have amnesia, but trust me when I say that I have your best interests at heart.”

Ruby paused at the concerned expression on Cinder’s face before shaking her head, “No. Sorry. I’m fine.” She turned around to face the forest path leading to Patch - and missed the bright ecstatic grin on Cinder’s face as she manifested a glass knife into her hands.

Cinder lifted up the knife silently. And with a single motion, she mercilessly stabbed down at her young charge’s back. Happiness lit Cinder’s eyes as the blade encountered no resistance - but she quickly paled as she noticed that she did not draw blood but a flurry of petals instead. The girl she just attacked just turned her head with a mildly annoyed look.

And then everything went topsy-turvy to Cinder as she was buffeted away by a gale of red petals.

“Best interests at heart, my cute ass!” Ruby crowed at Cinder triumphantly, “I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist stabbing me in the back.”

Letting out a small pout, Cinder could only dematerialize her dagger in defeat. Her best shot after two years of planning and she blew it. “I can’t help it. It’s a nice back.”

Ruby rolled her eyes at Cinder’s reply. “Does stabbing people in the back really make you that happy? Can’t you try...to like not?”

“Yes it does,” she affirmed before shrugging, “As for your other question....why mess with what works?”

“Ugh. There’s no reasoning with you,” Ruby clicked her tongue, “Also, not that I’m complaining, but why’s my mom alive? And why does she trust you so much?”

“Well, that’s because I saved her life,” Cinder responded smugly, theatrically shifting her weight on the balls and heels of her feet and not giving any more information past that.

“...And how’d you do that?” Ruby had no choice but to play along.

“Oh you know. Salem bragged about how your mom was the prototype for those talking Grimm, so I asked how long ago she’d been experimenting. Put two-and-two together and knowing where Salem would be at that time, I managed to save your mom from certain death,” Cinder smugly said, tilting her nose high.

A moment of silence fell between them.

“...Thanks,” Ruby said with a soft smile, “I mean it.”

“And then when she was all grateful and saw me having Emerald and Mercury around, I told her that I always wanted to be a godmother,” Cinder continued proudly, “And she made me your godmother. And now I’m in charge of you brats’ training.”

“Wait. Why did you want to be a godm-” Ruby paused for a moment, eyes widening in disbelief. She stared dully at Cinder. “Did you seriously save my mom just so you could stab me in the back and call it training?”

“Nooooo...” Cinder said before crumpling under Ruby’s dubious gaze, “...yeessss?”

Ruby just facepalmed at the admission and groaned in frustration. The sky reacted to her displeasure, fluffy white clouds turning into a sinister gray. The faint rumble of thunder reminded Cinder that the small twelve-year old girl in front of her was still Remnant’s goddess, even if the events that led her there hadn’t quite happened yet.

“So...” Cinder hummed as she changed the subject, “you gonna go smite Salem right now or you gonna pretend to be a harmless 12 year old kid?”

“Well I was going to run away from home and look for Salem,” Ruby admitted, “Not that I can permanently destroy her with the power I currently have but I’d get some satisfaction beating her up after all the crap she’s put me through.” She rested her hands against the back of her head, “But you know, since you did save my mom, I would like to be a normal 12 year old kid for a while.”

“What?” Cinder said in surprise, “I thought you’d be all gung-ho about saving the world as fast as possible. You know, being the hero.”

“Eh, your perspective changes when the entire world starts hunting you and your team for a promise the Queen of All Grimm would never keep. And in the end, didn’t she destroy the world?” Ruby rolled her eyes, “I’ll save the world eventually, but it’s not them I’m doing it for. Besides with me around, no one’s gonna be able to hurt my friends and family.”

“Do I count as friends and family?”

“...Did you murder anyone you weren’t supposed to?”

“I murdered my abusive stepmother and stepsisters again. Which was just as satisfying as before, might I add. And I definitely remembered that I didn’t have my Maiden Powers while I was at it too,” Cinder lifted three fingers as she recalled, “And I st-”

“That’s suspiciously specific,” Ruby squinted her eyes.

“-abbed Rhodes just to say hi. And afterwards, I pi-”

“Who the heck is Rhodes?”

“-cked up the kids and hung around Solitas and Atlas. Pretended to be a researcher for a while and stole all of Watt’s future ideas and reported them as mine.”

“How’d you do that?”

“He was pretty whiny back then about how Ironwood ignored his genius. And very vocal about his ideas and why they were so genius, so I just “beat him” to his ideas.”

“So you stabbed him in the back for something he’ll do in the future?”

“Mad about it?” Cinder rose an eyebrow.

“After what he did to Penny. Not really,” Ruby laughed, “I’m just surprised you didn’t literally stab him in the back too.”

Cinder harumphed.

“I’m not stupid. Stabbing Watts in the heart of Atlas? Even with Emerald, I won’t be able to get away. Besides... I can’t get enough of that smarmy idiot being frustrated that a woman half his age is besting him in brains.”

“Because you’re stealing his ideas.”

“Well, maybe he should’ve been smart enough to prepare for the eventuality that someone would go back in time and screw him over,” Cinder said smugly.

Ruby shook her head as she was once again reminded that she was not going to beat Cinder in shamelessness.

“Any other changes?”

“Not really. I went to Vale. Saved your mom by making Salem have the mother of all temper tantrums. And then you regained your memory by getting hit in the face by Mercury’s boot. Nothing else really.”

“Glad you didn’t change that much then,” Ruby said as she let a breath of relief, pulling out her Scroll.

“Screwing over Watts took up a lot of my time. And then saving your mother. And then screwing over Watts,” Cinder said, “And still failing to properly stab you in the back.”

Ruby blinked as she looked over her Scroll.

“...Cinder?”

“Yeah?”

Ruby held the Scroll so that Cinder could see it. A video with the headline “The Grimm vs SDC: Theories as to why the Grimm are specifically targeting the company” is seen.

“This counts as nothing else?!” Ruby deadpanned.

#cinder fall #ruby rose #rwby ruby rose #mod lilac #rwby #rwby fic #rwby au

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tiptoe39 · 5 years ago

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dessert

So after the pick-up hockey game, it's time for a hurried (and shared) shower at the Haus to clean up before dinner plans. Last night was for the friends, but tonight is for the families, and Suzanne and Alicia bond over color stories and venue ideas, after briefly butting heads as to whether the ceremony should be in Providence, in Madison, or in Quebec. Jack and Bitty laugh a lot and fielded a lot of questions, most with a simple "we don't know yet!" Which was only sometimes true, but how do you tell your wedding-addled parents that you've been talking about it on and off for a half a year?

The meal is luxurious, and the dessert menu looks even more so: tiramisu, pot de creme with chocolate ganache, flourless chocolate-orange cake, key lime pie with apricot whipped cream. But as the families peruse the offerings, Bitty clears his throat and gets to his feet.

"I'm afraid Jack and I already have dessert plans," he says. Jack looks up, surprise lighting his face, but it only takes one glare from Bitty before he's getting up and apologizing too, as though he has any idea what's going on. Both sets of parents pout, but accept their leaving, and Bitty shuttles Jack out of the restaurant like there's a three-alarm fire.

"It's not like you to skip dessert," Jack says as they get in the car.

"We're not skipping dessert," Bitty informs him. "We have other plans. Don't you remember all those groceries I got a few days ago?"

"That you told me not to touch? Yes." They're still sitting in paper bags on the counter, and Jack, true to his word, hasn't laid a finger on them.

"And don't you remember me telling you I was going to make you something special after graduation?" Bitty goes on.

"You're going to bake something now?" Jack checks the clock on the dashboard. "Bits, it's 8:30. It'll be 9:30 by the time we get back home."

"I'm a college student. Or, you know, was just a college student," Bitty declares. "Time of day means nothing to me. And you can't tell me to go to bed early, Jack Zimmermann, because you're not my captain and we don't have practice tomorrow."

Jack knows better than to push it any further. "Whatever you say," he says, and takes the exit for 95 - Providence.

When they get home Bitty makes a beeline for the kitchen. He scolds Jack to sit down. "You've had a big day, mister," he says. "Sit down and watch -- there's a playoff game on tonight, right? Sit and watch that."

"Are you sure you don't want me to help?" Jack asks. "A little?" But he knows the answer.

He amuses himself with watching the Flyers and the Canes play some semblance of professional hockey while Bitty flies to and fro in the kitchen behind him. Jack is used to the noise -- glass bowls ringing, the click-clack of measuring spoons, snatches of humming and grunts of effort from mixing heavy ingredients. He just lets it sink in, thrilling to the idea that this is his forever now. He gets this, for life.

When the mystery dessert goes into the oven, Bitty comes to join him on the couch. "Won't be long," he informs Jack. "Little less than an hour. Oh no, a five-minute major?" He settles in and seems remarkably content to just watch the game, leaning on Jack, smelling faintly of apples and flour.

Jack watches him play with his ring, watches the smiles that flit across his face. Every emotion Bitty's feeling shows, and his lips shift and quirk with every idea that's surely zinging through his brain. But he doesn't talk about any of them, which strikes Jack as odd. He hopes Bitty's not having second thoughts. He can't imagine that's the case. Not from the way Bitty keeps coming back to the ring, and to a secretive smile that Jack only rarely gets to see.

The Flyers have just given up two goals in the span of three minutes when the oven timer goes off. Bitty jumps to his feet, pirouettes with the speed of a dancer, and is in the kitchen with oven mitts on before Jack can even draw a breath. "You know, honey," he says, "you really threw me for a loop today."

Jack frowns. That's what he has to say? He had expected something different, but he had also expected Bitty to go on and on about wedding plans and the fact that he has a ring on his finger, and that didn't happen either. He rises from the couch and heads toward the kitchen.

Bitty stops him in his tracks. "Honey, could you do me a favor? Just set out two place settings on the table there? Small plates are fine, just forks and ... the big pie server, too? Thanks and no peeking!"

Jack does as he's told. And he doesn't peek, even though it's pretty obvious from the scent what Bitty's made.

"And you know," Bitty goes on, "having it be official makes a lot of things easier. Now I know we'll have a lot of planning to do, and Lord knows how long it will take for your mom and my mom to agree on anything, let alone have us approve it, but at least --" He whirls, catches Jack trying to sneak back into the kitchen. "Sit down at the table, honey."

Once again, Jack does as he's told.

"At least it makes things easier for me in one respect." Bitty is heading toward the table now, carrying a platter with a silver lid, like he's a chef at a fancy restaurant prepared to unveil his masterpiece. Jack smiles and awaits the presentation patiently. "I mean, can you believe I'm nervous even now? But it's easier knowing, even if it makes certain purchases kind of redundant."

He arrives at the table, puts the platter down, and removes the lid.

Inside is nestled Jack's favorite, a maple-crusted apple pie. Whipped cream circles the edge, and the lattice is far too perfect for something baked in an hour. But what draws Jack’s eye is a single object, wedged between two thin slices of apple in the center of the pie: a modest gold band.

Bitty drops to one knee.

"Jack Zimmermann," he says, "will you marry me back?"

Jack loses all his words. He lifts one hand to his mouth, covers it. A smile itches at his lips, and his breath is suddenly hard to find. He puts his hand down, looks for words again, shakes his head. There's wetness at his eyes. He lifts his hand again, this time to wipe the tears away.

"Bits," he says, and stops again.

"Come on," Bitty says, looking up at him. "There's only one word in the answer."

Jack drops from his chair. It's silly and he lands on one knee funny, but he's got to be down there, at Bitty’s level. The two of them, today, have both been there, and now they’re here together. The way it should be. The way it will always be, from now on. Kneeling or standing or running through life, they get to do it all together. The thought buoys his heart. He reaches out, cups Bitty’s chin in one big hand, pulls him in with the other. His lips taste like sweet maple and promise.

Jack pulls back, at last. He feared not finding the words today, but when the time came, they came natural as rain. This time he’s only got one word to say, and Bitty’s right -- it’s easy. It’s the easiest thing he’s ever said. "Yes," he says, feeling his eyes itch with tears again. "Oui, Bits. I'll marry you ... back."

Bitty laughs, tears welling up in his eyes too. “Oh good,” he says. “Jack, I was so nervous. Isn’t that silly? But what if I said yes and then you said...”

Jack reaches out for him again, and Bitty’s words die on his lips. And this kiss would put the sweetness of any apple pie to shame.

#sometimes these things just fall out of the sky and land on my head #i did not expect to post two things today #i just took a walk and this landed on me #zimbits #zimbits fic #good night i am done #check please #check please ficlet #omgcp #stuff tippy wrote

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kookiebunnii · 4 years ago

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love you a latte || mark tuan

Working part-time at your aunt’s café was supposed to be a relatively easy task. You get to strike up conversations with regulars and your clothes always smell like dark roast. However, as large coffee chains begin popping up around your neighborhood, your job and your workplace are suddenly threatened. As you scramble to find a way to keep your family’s business afloat, meeting the God of Coffee might just be what you need.

→ pairing: coffeegod!mark x barista!reader

→ genre: fluff mixed with angst

→ word count: 4k

→ warnings: n/a

“How does Love You a Latte have such good drinks? Simple, they make regular sacrifices to the Coffee God.”

→ a/n: this is my submission for @got7writerscollective‘s virgo project! please enjoy my short work and be sure to check out the other talented submissions

Having the desire to burn down a Starbucks had never been on your to-do list, but recently life was full of surprises.

You continue wiping down the same table that you’ve cleaned for the third time today. The giant green competitor occupying your thoughts looms just outside the windows. Slumping into the nearest seat, you fold the dish towel in your hands into neat little squares. Recently, every time your aunt came into the store to check in on you and the other baristas, her face dropped at the empty room. The sadness in her eyes almost breaks your heart, and you don’t think you can stand it any longer. Wracking your brain for a solution, you watch as rows upon rows of laughing customers walk through the doors of the new coffee shop across the street.

How could you possibly beat a brand that had notoriety, cheaper prices, and all the funds in the world at its disposal? As much as you adored the little slice of heaven your aunt built for herself, this shop is a small business that barely makes ends meet when faced with such a famous competitor. You could not afford to lower prices while maintaining quality, nor continually develop new drinks to use individuality as a lure.

At least the one positive, if you could even consider it that, was how quick and easy closing time became. There were less pitchers to clean, less trash to empty, and less in the registers to account for at the end of the day. As you let your hair out of the high ponytail you typically make for work, you take your singular trash bag out to the dumpster in the alleyway.

When you dispose the garbage for the day, you make an immediate beeline for the sink to wash your hands. However, there is a tall man your do not recognize observing the ceramic mugs kept behind the counter, and suddenly your shift becomes a little more eventful than usual.

“Oh, there you are,” he says, as if you were a friend he was waiting on.

You point at yourself incredulously before realizing that this stranger could be very dangerous or very delusional. It wasn’t everyday someone hopped behind the counter without permission and started admiring your workplace appliances. God, was this man trying to rob you?

“There’s no point stealing from us. We don’t have much anyways,” you mumble, raising your hands up slowly in surrender.

This seems to amuse him, because he chuckles darkly before replacing the pastel pink mug in his hands back to its designated spot on the shelf. Hands tucked in his dark jeans, he almost glides over to you and you instantly feel the hair at the back of your neck rise in fear. His head tilts as he observes you, his dark eyes identical to freshly brewed coffee and his skin glowing like the gentle honey brown of the lattes you like to make.

“Are you afraid of me?” he muses, giving you a teasing smile that immediately sparks the fight-or-flight response in your brain.

“There’s a stranger in my store fiddling behind the counter. You tell me,” as soon as the annoyed words leave your mouth, you realize that it would probably be best not to provoke the man.

As you brace yourself for his response to your snide little comment, you don’t expect the laugh that comes out of him. He reaches out to fix your apron strap, the small act immediately causing your skin to flush, before offering you a more reassuring smile.

“I’m not here to rob you.”

Fiddling with the edge of your apron, you try to relax your nerves—a difficult task considering how muddled with anxiety they were. Gathering what little confidence you have, you reply, “Either way, we’re closed for the day. If you’re looking for something, please come tomorrow.”

As you brush past him to hang up your apron, you’re quickly tugged back with an insistent hand on your wrist. His deep chocolate eyes find yours again, and you can’t help but hold your breath as you wonder what would be coming next.

“I’m here because you called me,” he states plainly, as if this fact should be obvious to you.

Your mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish before you stutter, “I don’t even know who you are?”

His features are painted with amusement, as if your confused expression was funny to him. He backs up to lean against the counter casually, letting go of your wrist in the process. The warmth from his grasp lingers, and you find it hard to concentrate on the words he utters next.

“I’m here to help your store. You’re struggling, aren’t you?” he gestures around to the untouched tables, their accompanying chairs all properly tucked in due to lack of use. The observation makes your heart sink again, and you struggle not to let his comment hurt you. Even if this was something you knew already, hearing another person point it out so obviously nevertheless rubbed salt in the wound.

“Hey…I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m here to make a deal with you, and I promise in a week this place will be packed,” he hurries forward, tilting your chin up to look at him as you try to blink away tears. You offer him whatever semblance of a smile you can, and he offers you one of his own in response.

“How are you going to help?” you wonder, “How do I know I can trust you?”

The stranger snaps his fingers and all of a sudden, the ties of your apron begin undoing themselves as if an invisible hand were working at them. You watch, stunned in silence, and your apron drifts over to the man and serenely loops itself over his neck. Apron secured, he strides over behind the counter and sets to work. His motions are practiced with a smooth hand which make his actions as exquisite as a performance. Mesmerized, you watch as he gathers the perfect amount of milk foam over the espresso shots. As he hands the finished cappuccino in front of your eager eyes, you swear his fingers glow slightly against the side of the mug.

Abandoning all reason, you take a sip of the mysterious man’s finished product. Immediately, your lips curl into a smile. It tastes as amazing as it looks, and you swear it’s the best drink you’re ever had. All the notes are balanced perfectly, and the temperature isn’t too scalding either. Even the most experienced barista may not be able to create such a masterpiece, especially with the average ingredients Love You a Latte supplied.

“Who are you?”

He doesn’t answer for a second, simply tugging the cup from your hands and taking his own sip. His mouth lingers slightly against the rim, his eyes observing you with satisfaction. Humming slightly, he taps the handle of the now-empty mug and it begins cleaning itself within your sink before settling back on the shelf to dry.

“I’m the God of Coffee. However, you can just call me Mark. It’s a lot easier to say,” he finally answers, before hanging your apron on the hook with his own hands and not whatever magic he controls.

“You’re a god? I never knew there were actual gods, especially not for coffee…” the idea almost makes you giggle, as you wonder whether there would be a god for cinnamon rolls too.

“Well, fortunately for humankind, we’re very real. You were hoping for a way to save your aunt’s café earlier, and now I’m here,” he rests his chin against his hand that’s propped up against the counter.

“I’m thankful you made me that cup of coffee earlier. I think anyone could trust you after that display,” you quip, much more comfortable now that you accepted that you could actually help your aunt’s business stay afloat.

He blushes, and the dusty pink across his cheekbones actually surprises you. You didn’t think gods would be so easily fazed over a compliment, but his bashfulness only makes Mark more endearing than before.

“So, are you just going to make all our drinks from now on?” you tilt your head slightly as you question him, wondering how you could convince your aunt to accept Mark’s help. She sure wouldn’t be as accepting of a supposed “god” since she was so strung up with figuring out finances already.

Shaking his head, he gives the top of your head a pat before saying, “Nope. I’ll just give you some of my powers.”

“What do you mean?”

“From now on, you’ll be able to add a little special something to any coffee order you make. In fact, I’ll be magicking this store a little so it’ll help improve the customer experience,” as he finishes his thought, he quickly adds, “I don’t just help anyone. You and your aunt have worked hard for this café, so it’s only right that it gets the attention it deserves.”

“You said you’d make a deal with me. What’s my end of the bargain?” you didn’t have much, so you were genuinely curious about what he could want from you.

He reaches for your hands, pressing his fingertips against your right palm before switching to the left. As he does this, you feel a strange warmth flowing throughout your hands, and you’re unsure whether your heart is racing because of the magic or because the way he brushes against your fingers with his own.

When he’s finished, he simply straightens up and replies, “Just make me a cup of coffee once in a while.”

With that, he fades alongside the setting sun.

☕☕☕☕☕

It appears that Mark is telling the truth, because your store is bustling by the end of the week. Word seems to travel fast when it came to delicious foods and drinks, so the amount of new faces you’ve seen make it hard for you to remember names—even if that was your special talent.

You call out orders, taking the time to hand each customer their order and personally wish them a pleasant day. You knew to be grateful for the new development, so you did your best to offer what little you could to add to the positive change. Even if Mark had helped make your drinks stellar, kindhearted customer service was essential too.

Even though you had only seen the man once, you sense the moment he’s in the room. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you look up from the croissant in your hands to see Mark sitting across the room with a smile. You can’t help but grin back, handing the last customer of the day her warmed-up pastry. When she leaves, you sneak off from your position behind the counter to approach him.

As soon as you’re within earshot, Mark says, “You look much happier Y/N.”

Assuming one of his godly duties is to already know the names of those he assists, you brush away the shiver that dances across your spine when he says your name.

“All thanks to you of course. What can I get you?”

“Surprise me,” he replies.

You can’t help the way your arms tremble as you adjust the steam wand into your pitcher of milk. Watching the way foam begins developing as a result of the heat and air bubbling in the liquid, you pray that whatever magic he gave you helps you also make a good decision for what to offer a literal God of Coffee.

Tapping the side of the cinnamon shaker in your hands, you watch as small brown specks dot the snow-white of the milk foam. Satisfied, you carry your creation over to the figure watching you with interest. Your coworkers don’t pay you much heed, opting to simply clean up as quickly as possible in order to clock-out on time. Since you were the manager’s relative, they were relatively lenient with you, never giving you a hard time or questioning you. It was nice at times, but it also made it difficult to befriend them, as they always placed you on a pedestal.

As he takes the drink you offer to him, his fingers brush against your own. It’s a small gesture, but it still does wonders in dispelling the fear you felt in approaching him. Almost immediately, Mark nods in appreciation.

“Pumpkin spice latte. Fits the season quite well,” he notes, before tipping the coffee into his waiting mouth.

“You knew that before tasting it?” you admire, wondering what the extent of his powers were.

“Of course,” he says as if agreeing that the sky was blue.

He waits for you until you finish locking up. In the time that he had been gone, you always wondered whether the sacrifices this god sought paled in comparison to how much he was helping you. After all, the sales generated were well over anything the café had previously mad. Your aunt had been ecstatic, immediately setting to work developing new menus to keep up with the growing engagement. Perhaps she felt that if she questioned why everything was happening, the bubble would burst like a dream. You were grateful for her easy acceptance, smiling whenever you noticed the gentle glow against a customer’s coffee cup that reminded you of Mark’s lingering presence.

“Are all gods like you?” you ask, tucking your keys back into your purse before running a hand through your hair in an attempt to fix any stray strands.

“Not quite. I’m one of the lesser gods, so that probably makes me less full of myself,” he jokes, laughing slightly when he notices the way you cover your mouth to laugh as well.

“I’m glad,” you reply.

He leads you all the way to your apartment, and the fact that he’s aware of your residence is simply another observation you accept as part of his godly duties. When you’re right outside the black metal gates, your hand hesitating against the keypad to open them, you realize that you’re reluctant to leave him.

“Y/N?”

You sheepishly turn to face him with an embarrassed expression, “You’ll be back again? Soon?”

Your question surprises him, as if he couldn’t believe you would request his presence in the way you did. Gathering his composure, he only ruffles your hair adoringly in response. He takes two steps back, his form barely visible when he finally whispers, “Yes.”

You stand there until you’re completely sure he’s gone. The soft ‘thank you’ that escapes your parted lips is quickly caught by a passing breeze. You pray that he hears it.

☕☕☕☕☕

Fall rushes past like a memory that’s difficult to grasp in its entirety. You developed a habit of counting the times Mark had visited you. Originally, you only offered him items available on your menu. You were confident that those drinks would at most be passable, and free drinks were a worthy trade-off for Love You a Latte’s sudden flourishing. Eventually, after some teasing encouragement from the Coffee God himself, you began experimenting. Taking ideas from flavor profiles you already knew would mingle well, you would happily offer those to him instead as his scheduled sacrifice. He was an honest critic, providing tips on how to improve taste or mouthfeel. Laughing whenever you would take notes and hang onto each word he utters; he’d simply call you ‘cute’ before returning to the drinks you offered him.

You wonder if being a deity also means he notices how you were slowly admitting him into your life.

Mark hadn’t been in the store for a week, something that was atypical for the man. Your fellow baristas had long clocked out for the day, bidding you half-hearted goodbyes after you insisted on doing some inventory review. Counting the boxes of oat milk remaining in the storage for the third time, you sigh and hang up your apron. Remembering the way he had fixed your strap absentmindedly the first day you’d met him, you run your fingers against the fabric in mimicry. It was a stupid emotion, but you missed him.

Even then, you couldn’t help the hope rising in your chest that told you he would be waiting for you at one of the tables you wiped down earlier in the day. When that didn’t happen, you told yourself that he would try to scare you as soon as you turn your back to lock the front door of the coffee shop. The music you listened on the way home still couldn’t soothe your powerful expectations, which chased you like hungry wolves all the way back to your apartment.

It’s only when you’ve changed into an oversized hoodie and worn sweatpants, ready to jump into bed and call it a night, that your wishes are finally answered.

“Y/N.”

No many how many times you heard his voice rumble with your name, you couldn’t help the way it felt like a shot of espresso to your system. He’d say it in warning whenever he notices you slyly trying to slip salt into his contracted offering as a prank or in a sort of gentle happiness when he leaves you outside your apartment in goodbye. You knew it was futile, letting yourself be affected by the natural awe that gods likely possessed. Your foolish mortal feelings would mean nothing to him, as he was merely here for business purposes.

“Hi,” you push away the sadness in your tone and clear your throat, “You usually don’t show up in my bedroom.”

Your tease garners an immediate reaction from him. Even though the night settles early in the winter evenings, you notice the scarlet color he tries to hide. You sit up from under your blankets, hoping that he stays longer than he used to tonight.

“I’m sorry I’ve been away,” he continues, averting his gaze.

You’re not used to the sudden awkwardness. Previously, the two of you would talk nonstop at the café and the walk home that were occurring two or three times a week. It was as if the god you knew had been replaced by this uncomfortable clone. It hurt you more than the idea that you would never be meaningful to him.

“It’s fine. I’m sure you’ve been busy.”

You’re not sure what you want. You want him to return back to the Mark you knew, the one who would tell you funny stores about his brothers and help you in the café whenever you needed a hand. You missed the Mark that looked like he didn’t want the day to end whenever he took the time to consume your coffee offering while laughing at your stories of unique customer experiences. You missed the way his hands would brush against yours, whenever he leaned in closer to hear you above the harsh winter winds on your nightly walks.

But above all else, you suddenly want him to tell you he missed you too.

“Y/N, I have other obligations elsewhere,” he finally relents, body sagging with the weight of the information he just exposed.

Even without the details, you know what this means.

“Will the café be fine without you?” you add, hoping to keep the disappointment in your tone at bay.

He moves forward to settle down on the edge of your bed, leaving the previous spot he’d occupied by your window. When his hand rests on your knee, you know you should push him off to rid yourself of the jolt of something you suddenly felt. But you were frozen, eyes trained on the way he looked at you. It was utter, tender love.

“It’s been without me for the past month, Y/N.”

His confession causes you to momentarily lose your train of thought. Did he mean that he hadn’t been using his magic for the past few weeks? But he still stopped by and complimented the drinks you were creating…why would he still be around if he was no longer holding up his end of the bargain?

“The magic in here,” he continues after taking your hand in his, “isn’t simply limited to what I gave you when we first made our agreement.”

You wait for him to continue, unable to help the way your fingers instinctively tighten around his. He doesn’t seem to mind, because he adjusts his grip to allow your fingers to intertwine with his own longer ones. You know you’re blushing, and you don’t need to see the small smirk tugging against his lip corner to know that.

“You didn’t need me to be successful. I gave the shop a small push in the right direction, but soon enough, the hard work and love in each coffee you sold echoed stronger in your customers than whatever strings I could’ve pulled,” he says.

His fingertips brush the tears away from your cheeks. You sniffle, upset that your vulnerability showed so obviously in front of Mark. He tugs on your hand slightly so you direct your gaze to connect with his again. In his eyes, you think you find comfort telling you that he didn’t mind your crying.

“Ever since that pumpkin spice latte, I’ve never given you access to my magic when you made drinks for me.”

“But wouldn’t magic have made them better? Everything I made must’ve only been subpar to you then,” you bite your lip, worrying that he had been lying to you all along that your sacrifices had been enjoyable to him at all.

He chuckles before pulling you into his arms. You drink in the soft scent of coffee beans against his skin, nuzzling close to the crook of his neck to seek the warmth there. His skin radiates heat like a freshly brewed batch of morning coffee. The way he rests his hand against the back of your head, slowly brushing his fingers through the strands of hair there does wild things to your pulse. There’s no way he doesn’t feel it drumming against your chest, with the two of you being this close.

“I wanted to enjoy whatever you made as something uniquely you,” he pulls back so you can see the stars shining in his eyes, “If you’ve learned anything from our companionship these past few months, it should be about how talented you are.”

You grip his own hoodie in your hands, fearing that if you didn’t hold onto him, he wouldn’t disappear just like he had the past 52 times.

“Please don’t go.”

The words fall like fractured pieces of glass on the floor. You let the pain fully seep into your voice now, hoping that he would stay even if it was out of pity. Instead, Mark simply presses his palm against your cheek before leaning in to give you the best kiss you’ve ever had.

He tastes bittersweet, and you wonder if it’s the coffee he’s probably had already or the fact that everything about this moment is a sort of painful happiness. His other hand joins the other to cup your face delicately, as if he couldn’t believe you were real. Lips soft yet desperate, you match his pace as you etch each detail into your memories. As long as you lived, you didn’t want to forget Mark.

At your insistence, he stays with you for the rest of night. Pressed up against his chest, you can almost delude yourself into thinking that you were a normal girl sleeping beside her normal boyfriend. You force yourself to stay awake as long as you could, not wanting to forget the small details of his face. From the bridge of his nose to the sharp line of his jaw, you trace these features until you fall asleep. Giving him a final kiss goodbye, you let the final tear cascade from the corner of your eyelid when he finally murmurs those three special words against your hair that you’ve been waiting to hear.

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savagesbonergarage · 5 years ago

Text

Heat

Savage Opress x reader

Prompt from @secretnerd00 "Could you maybe write some Savage Smut, with his s/o, who is a virgin but has a really dirty mind an goes just wild once there finally alone and ready for some sexy time?"

(a/n: Okay, so I went a bit crazy with this 😅 I haven't written smut in six years so honestly I have no idea if it's any good. There's some angsty bits beforehand, also because I'm not sure if the smut is good, this might end up being a part 1 and I'll write a part 2 if it's well-received. If you get to the end and you're like "that's it?!" yell at me and I'll write the second part lol.)

Warnings! Past sexual abuse (Savage), blood, fits of anger, heat cycles, striptease (kinda?), Masturbation, oral fixation

It had been days since you'd seen him. Even in situations where his presence was usually required, like at his brother's side in the throne room of the Sundari palace, Savage had been absent. Even stranger still was that no one seemed to have a reasonable explanation for why this was, and when you confronted Lord Maul about the issue he uncharacteristically fumbled a rushed response.

"I've sent him off to...hone his skills."

His gaze didn't have the signature menacing expression that he usually did when you dared speak to him without his brother present, yet something else about his tone convinced you not to implore further. If you didn't know any better, you could have sworn there was a semblance of concern in his voice. Even though you were unsatisfied with his answer, you walked away without any reassurance about the well-being of your beloved zabrak.

The entire situation didn't sit right with you whatsoever. Had Savage truly been sent away to train, he would have informed you of it beforehand. He wouldn't have wanted you to worry about him the way you currently were. Moreover, he would have instigated the tradition you both developed of finding a secluded spot to share a kiss goodbye before either of you left.

Something weighed heavily in your chest as you considered the implications of this unusual occurrence. You decided there was no use in spending the night pondering the possibilities; you were going to find out for certain on your own. It wasn't permitted for someone of your status to access the floor that contained Savage's quarters despite the fact that the two of you were on friendly terms, however that wasn't going to change your mind about getting there.

An hour later you stood inside the elevator that would finally take you to your destination, the limp body of the death watch guard stationed in the area crumpled at your feet. Sheer resolve and determination had given you the power to knock him out. You hoped in this case that following your instinct would be worth it, as attacking a fellow palace dweller was sure to have it's consequences if you were discovered.

The shaft finally opened and you snuck through a large hall until you came upon the door that unmistakably belonged to Savage. Creeping closer to better listen wasn't necessary since as soon as it entered your line of sight you heard deep, agonizing groans of pain. Your intuition had been right.

"Savage!"

Stealth was no longer a priority as you flung your body against the door and beat against it with your palm.

"Savage, it's me. Are you okay?"

You heard him approach the door, but rather than open it he lingered behind it. His voice was plagued with concern and he spoke between heavy breaths.

"You shouldn't be here. Leave, now."

His words did little to distract you from your mission.

"Savage, let me in. I won't leave until I see that you're okay. At least let me look at you. Please."

There was a moment of hesitation before you heard the latch click. You stood back as the door slowly opened just enough for you to see the full figure of the man you loved towering above you, clad in only a dark pair of shorts. Your face flushed as your eyes danced along all the defined ripples and crevices that accented the patterns of his tattoos that you hadn't gotten the chance to see until now. His chest was rising and falling with each quick breath he took, and the halo of the moonlight spilling in from a window far behind him caught the beads of sweat that peppered his skin. Maker, he was beautiful.

His resoundingly deep voice brought your attention back to his face as he spoke with firm authority.

"I'm fine. If you're satisfied, go."

You weren't. You knew that he was lying, that he was hiding something from you. From the moment you saw him you rattled your brain trying to decipher the real reason he isolated himself. Something was afflicting him, that much was certain, but you couldn't tell what. He didn't seem sick, he seemed desperate. Your chest thumped as you began to put two and two together.

"Why didn't you come to me?" The words left your lips with a hint of remorse and you found it difficult to conceal the pain in your eyes as you studied him, your revelation serving to stir up the embers that settled within you.

Savage's breath hitched.

"What-"

Before he could properly react you darted through the space between his calves and rolled onto the middle of the floor in his room. As you got up, you took notice of the carnage. Broken furniture, scratched surfaces and obliterated pillows with feathers still wafting around littered the entire space. Your heart sank.

"I knew it. You're-"

Your back hit the ground again as your wrists were pinned above you by his strong arms, eliciting a small cry of pain from your lips as one of his long horns grazed your cheek in the motion. The sound shook him, causing him to pause and look down at the little bit of blood that trickled down your face. He was clearly horrified by his own actions. He swiftly got up and roared in anger as he raked his claws across a shelf, sending everything crashing down with it.

You sat up, watching him with sadness as he knelt and held his face in his shaking hands.

"Savage..."

"I hurt you."

"Savage-"

"Stay back!"

He flung the side of his fist into the wall, a significant crack running up into the stone slab. His horns lowered and he hid his eyes from you in shame, speaking between shaky breaths as he shook his head.

"I couldn't come to you. I would have destroyed you. You're so frail, and I don't...I don't trust myself."

The zabrak had never uttered a sob in his life, but you could tell he was close. You crawled a little closer but still maintained your distance, not out of fear, but out of respect for Savage's concerns. It felt like a weight pressed down harder and harder onto your heart the longer you saw him in this state.

"Why do you insist on suffering? On isolating yourself like this?" Tears threatened to well up in your eyes. "This isn't healthy. What is your plan, to just endure this until it passes?"

"Do you not recall what just barely happened?"

He finally met your gaze with an anger in his eyes that was reserved only for himself.

"I'm a monster, but at least I'm aware of it. I can prevent hurting the one I love by staying away. If I foolishly gave in to this...sickness, I would have no concern for you. I would be no better than them."

You knew who he meant: The Nightsisters.

Everything started to make sense. Savage was afraid of hurting you intimately because he himself had been hurt. The thought had never really crossed your mind, but it was entirely plausible that the witch who changed his fate had also used him as so many others used the nightbrothers they claimed for themselves. His life belonged to her and he had to oblige her whims, despite never truly consenting to it.

The tears finally came. Your heart was breaking for him now more than ever before.

"Savage."

You couldn't help it. Ignoring his groans of protest, you approached him on your hands and knees and threw yourself onto his chest, enveloping him in a tight hug. He recoiled at your touch, but said nothing.

"You aren't sick. You're in heat."

Your hands travelled up over his shoulders and around the nape of his neck until they rested on either side of his face. He was trembling as you pulled back to look at him. You wanted to ease his suffering in any way that you could.

"I trust you. Do you trust me?"

He shook his head.

"Don't."

"You won't hurt me."

"I already have."

"I don't care."

"Then you're a fool."

"I agree."

He removed your hands from his face and you reciprocated by planting your lips firmly against his. An aroused groan escaped him and filled your mouth, causing the fire in your loins to flare up that much more. You deepened the kiss and guided his right hand to your breast. He winced as though he were in pain and broke your connection, and you knew he was doing all he could to hold himself back.

"I'm not some helpless animal, Savage. You think you're a predator and I'm the prey, don't you? You think you'll devour me and that will be the end of it."

His reflective golden eyes were screaming with agony.

"I know it. I won't be able to promise your safety."

"Then don't."

He looked at you as though you were signing your own death warrant. You sighed, frustration starting to get the better of you.

"Do you think I would only help you out of obligation?" The notion made you shake your head. "Have you ever considered, Savage, that maybe..."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and your thighs around his waist, bearing down so that the outline of your heated sex pressed against his growing erection. The sensation drew a mewl from your lips as your own breath hitched before you continued.

"...maybe I'm the kind of prey that yearns to be devoured."

Your name stumbled breathlessly from his panting mouth. You returned his hand to your neglected breast and guided his fingertips to the swollen nub that bade your clit to throb when it was touched. You moaned for him and you felt his impressive cock twitch beneath you, however he still held back. Your eyes were half-lidded and your face flushed with desire.

"I love you, Savage."

You planted another long kiss on the corner of his mouth. As your lips lingered there, a warm wetness trailed against your cheek. The tear was his. You held his face in your hands again and looked deep into those wanting eyes, reassuring him with a smile.

"I may be inexperienced, but I'm not as frail as you think."

Savage was about to break. He offered one final retort.

"I wouldn't be so sure."

It was meant to be a warning, but you took it as a dare. A quiet "oh?" escaped your mouth as you sensually trailed kisses all down his burning neck and chest which caused him to swear. If he was so adamant about how he was going to behave, you were going to make him prove it.

"I think you're making assumptions about your 'prey'."

Suddenly, you retracted your hold on him and backed away completely. For a moment you saw the yearning he tried so desperately to suppress flicker up to the surface. He didn't move. He didn't have to. You wanted to watch his every reaction, every movement from a distance. You stood and took a few steps back.

"Do I have your attention?"

He groaned.

"Always."

"Good. Keep it on me."

He swallowed as his eyes followed you to the foot of his bed. There was a subtle strut in your step and a knowing smile on your face. Truth be told you were nervous as hell, but you didn't care. Your love for Savage was all the resolve you needed. You turned to face him and extended your arms in front of you.

"Don't take your eyes off my hands."

His expression was confused to say the least, but he responded with a slight nod. You tested his listening skills by moving one hand this way and that, and sure enough his eyes followed. You almost laughed, but you weren't there to make him feel like an idiot. Slowly, ever so slowly, you brought your fingers to collar of your shirt and began unfastening the ties. Savage groaned in protest once again.

"Don't-"

"Hush. Remember what I told you."

The zabrak pursed his lips. He might not have been aware of how this strange behavior of yours was keeping him grounded, but oddly enough, it was. For now, curiosity overpowered his carnal instinct. He watched as you continued to make work of your pesky layers, slowly peeling them off one by one. You pulled your bottoms down over your knees and let them fall to the floor, leaving you in only your underclothes.

You could sense Savage's arousal from across the room. Even so, he remained right where he was, gaze still tracking your hands without fail. If there was one thing he was determined about, it was following an order that was given to him. You leaned back against his bedframe as you brought one hand up to cup your breast and guided the other down under the waistband of your panties. You looked to your lover, who was gritting his teeth at the show you were putting on for him. The outline of his dick was fully pronounced through the thin material of his shorts, the sight of which drew a loud moan from your lips as your fingers circled your clit and dived down between your folds and back. You darted your tongue out of your open mouth as you curled two fingers inside and gradually pumped, the back of your hand stretching the fabric of your panties with the motion giving the horny zabrak a peek of the real action.

He cursed. You watched him tremble with need as he grabbed the base of his cock over the fabric of his bottoms and lightly stroked, nearly sending you over the edge. You pulled your hand away before you got too close, Savage's eyes following intently as you brought it up to your face and you carelessly brushed your fingers against your cheek, leaving a streak of moisture that glistened in the moonlight.

The beastial sounds you elicited from the melting man on the ground made you want to beg for him right then and there, but you had an idea you wanted to follow through with. You dragged the tips of your slick fingers to your lips and kissed them, once, twice, a number of times. The kisses became more sloppy until your tongue had flicked across every inch down to the base of your hand. You didn't normally taste yourself, but the reaction you were getting from Savage made you want to behave this way even more. You brought your other hand up and wrapped it around your knuckles, holding your slick fingers in a way that made it allude to something more phallic.

He knew what you were doing, but the anticipation of it almost made it worse for him when you started sucking. If you were able to hear him from outside the door earlier, surely the entire palace could hear him now. You watched as a dark spot appeared on his clothing where the tip of his dick rested against his thigh. You might have been able to tease him further had your own arousal not been demanding you get to the point. You pulled your fingers from your mouth with a loud pop, a string of saliva trailing between them and your bottom lip.

"What are you thinking, Savage?"

You knew damn well what he was thinking, but you wanted to hear him say it. He struggled to get the words out past his groans of desire.

"I'm...envious."

"Of what?" You brought your knuckles up to your lips as he continued to lightly stroke his length.

"Those fingers."

You started mirroring the stroking motions the zabrak was making on them, a shit-eating grin on your face.

"Why?"

He growled, knowing that you were seeking a confession. It was clear as day that you both wanted each other, and there was only one thing keeping you from rutting on every surface in the vicinity.

"I want you to suck my cock. Suck me off just like that and I'll have nothing to worry about."

Those dirty words sounded like magic coming off his tongue, and Maker, were you more than happy to oblige.

Part II!

#star wars #savage opress #savage opress smut #savage opress x reader #savage opress x you #lol take a drink every time reader says his name #no y/n #sorry if this sucks

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whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

Aversions

Hotch is less than dealing with the events of Foyet’s attack.

Warnings: alcohol abuse, child abuse, drug abuse, graphic depictions of violence & stabbing, self-destructive behavior, crying, self harm, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideations, violence with guns, and maybe some out of character Hotch and Emily.

Not sure how I feel about this fic... but I guess, we’re going in with both feet so

“You cannot save people, you can only love them.” --Anais Nin

Aaron Hotchner has never been good with words. Not the right ones, anyway.

But actions can speak louder than words.

He’ll spin Garcia around the dance floor when they go out for drinks. Hands placed just where they should be and he’ll laugh softly when she makes a thinly-veiled dirty joke. And she’ll remember those nights for her whole life. The way he smiled at her as the lights shimmered overhead. The way he blushed when she refused to dance with anyone else, stating she needed a real gentleman.

There are nights at Dave’s. Weekends that he gets to keep Jack, uninterrupted by cases, and they go to visit Pop’s; Jack’s third favorite person (mommy and daddy of course being one and two). It’s the sound of Jack’s happy feet running up and down the hall, Hotch’s thundering voice as he he-ho-hums and chases him along. Dave watching the youth bleed into that scrawny, spunky recruit from some twenty years ago. And Jack always runs into Dave’s arms and in one fell-sweep proclaims him the only safety he can get from his daddy. His giggling face turned into Dave’s shoulder as he shouts, “get him Pops, get him!”

Those memories were just weeks ago.

It’s been two weeks since Dave’s house was filled with Jack and Hotch, smiling and happy and… fuck just healthy.

Aaron Hotchner wakes up dizzy and sore. The pain ebbing into the numb, dull ache of whatever’s being steadily fed into the line disappearing into the pale flesh of his hand. For a moment, he just watches the ceiling spin. An all too familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his gut. Anxiety spreading its claws out to take root but he… he can’t seem to remember why.

Realization floods his chilled limbs with a shudder, the memories hitting his sternum. He leans his head back into the pillows, limp and stiff and cold and so fucking hot-- The stiff tug of the stitches in his abdomen force him to come to an altogether too swift descent. There’s a hissing sound that comes before his right-hand aches, something cold and heavy spreading up his arm and into his chest.

“Good to see you awake,” a nurse greets.

He’s too far gone to say anything.

By the time Emily finds him, he’s had one minor run-in with the staff. A doctor stops Emily in the hall, her tone laced with annoyance and apprehension that bleeds into her threat to restrain Hotch if that becomes necessary. Emily leaves with a nod and promises to keep an eye on him but she leaves with this tight bundle of uncertainty forming in her chest.

He wakes as she settles down in the visitor’s chair.

The stitches along his hip are tight, leaving him immobile despite his foggy brain wanting nothing more than to curl onto his side and sleep just a little longer. But the scent of the antiseptics burn his nose and he can still feel Foyet--

The tip of the knife slowly dragging down his chest. There’s no threat of a scratch or blemish out of place. Aaron’s breathing having long ago turned ragged and shallow. “Have you ever read the reports,” Foyet asks, keeping his slow purposeful movement going. “Tell me, Aaron, have you read what David Rossi and Jason Gideon had to say about you? Young Aaron…”

Foyet smirks as he stops, shifting as he presses weight into the stab. It’s slow and agonizing but, Hotch realizes with a shudder, he’s too cold and weak to even really feel it. His body slowly falling away.

“Not so young anymore,” Foyet comments. He takes a moment to watch the knife’s slow pull from Hotch’s body, smiling when Hotch’s chest catches and he falls silent and breathless. Not even the sound of his ragged wheezes filling the air. “I can see how they’re right, you know?” Foyet lays the knife down on the side, pulling himself up and away from Hotch. “I wonder what’s going to get you killed faster, your loyalty, or your stubbornness?”

His eyes peel open slowly. Uncoordinated and sluggish he raises his left hand to scratch at the dried blood on the side of his face. His fingers manage to clumsy hook the canal running his nose and he pulls it crooked on his face.

Her voice quiet, afraid any sudden movement from her or too sudden a loud sound, might startle him, she calls his name. “Hotch,” she rises from the chair. She hates how her voice wavers. The shift that takes place between them. Any semblance of friendship they might have must be cast aside because… he’s a material witness and a victim. One that she can set off. One she might break.

Stepping into his field of vision, she can see his shoulders relax. Just having someone else close. Someone he knows. “You…” she’s stuck between Emily and Prentiss. Between her role as his friend and his coworker and even her role as an agent. But he’s always commended her undercover work. She’s got a spark for thinking on her feet. “I’m going to fix the oxygen canal, okay? It’s going to agitate your skin otherwise.”

Through slow, coordinated, and purposeful movements she keeps her hands where his darting bloodshot eyes can see. She hesitates when he sucks in a panicked breath but something in the back of her mind says pausing is only going to make it worse so she pulls the canal into place. Her fingers just hardly graze his cheek but she can still his body flinch at the contact.

And all she can think is fuck.

“That’s better, huh?” Her eyes dart to the heart monitor, uncertain if she’s convinced herself that it’s beating erratically fast or if it’s just a fragment of her mind. More than anything else, she makes herself aware of her body. The way that she moves so as not to startle him or, as she’s quickly putting together, touch him.

She steps back to the side, fully aware of the way that his eyes don’t break away from her. “Get some sleep, boss.” There’s something familiar and light about the way she calls him that and she can only pray that gets them through.

He suspects that he’s finally gone and done it. A part of him is relieved to find that fourteen-year-old Aaron Hotchner, a boy clutching to life with bloodied hands, was so wrong. The flash of heat and the open sting of his father’s belt against his back isn’t what finally makes him snap. Forces and pries his tight hold from reality. It’s nine, precise stab wounds and an awful cocktail of drugs that he can’t see his way out of. That’s what breaks him. Then again, it’s so much more than that.

Derek Morgan. His dark blue shirt fitted tightly over his back, the edge of the back tucked into his black pants. Tight muscles shifting under his skin as he stands with his back facing Hotch. His tattoos, body art Hotch had never really cared to mind, staring back at him now. Those tattoos are the only sensible thing about the world as his body is pulled back down.

He blinks owlishly at JJ. Her cold, tiny hand squeezing his and trying so valiantly to get him to talk to her. A question, something pressing, something important but he can’t…

Garcia with her tear-stained cheeks and the mascara running down her cheeks in pools. She says his name, he doesn’t hear but he sees her mouth form the word. He thinks that she might sit by his side and read. He’s got the faintest in and outs of The Hunger Games plot stuck in his brain.

There’s a fuzzy, half memory of Reid. Even in the present, he’s not sure it’s actually happening. A hallucination, maybe, but as he’s looking the young genius over he’s not sure why he’d hallucinate Reid. Then again, who else is left? There’s this look in his eyes, it makes Hotch feel guilty. Wrong. He doesn’t dwell on that feeling for very long. One sluggish blink later and he’s gone… maybe he was a hallucination.

Somewhere between hugging Jack and Dave standing in the doorway to his room, Hotch feels a very deep, uncomfortable weight settle across his chest. A realization on the tip of his tongue-- he wishes that Foyet had just killed him.

Waking with only the weak light of the hall outside, he realizes that he has no idea how much time has passed. Days or hours or even time. Just that the room is dark and there’s a light glow from the machines behind him. The morphine’s going to kill him. He needs to be more alert but the edges of the world are blurry and he’s already succumbing to the warm sting spreading over his body.

His hips ache and he makes the mistake of shifting. It’s just a small movement, sleepy and hazed he’s not capable of too much more. Still, his body is on fire.

“Careful,” Emily whispers from the dark.

He can see her, out of the very corner of his eye, rustling as she moves out from under the mountain of a blanket and uncurls her legs. He watches, silent, as those legs seem to go on forever. Reality melting into the heat of his body, the flames licking up him. And her touch is the water he so desperately craves but he’s lost his sense. There is no up or down or reprieve from the heat.

“Easy,” she breathes across him, the flames succumbing to her. To her will. “Just breath.”

He’s sinking back under the haze, mouth full of cotton and jaw slacked open but he can’t find the words. He can’t seem to remember how to speak. “Prentiss,” he rasps, eyes sliding shut but his hand closes around hers. Begging, pleading that she understands.

“I’m right here,” she promises. “Sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

A week later, she finds him tripping over himself he’s so drunk. Making a mess of himself and everything around him but… that’s all he’s ever been good for anyway. She doesn’t say anything. There isn’t any disappointment in her eyes, despite what he’s expecting.

Haley always hated seeing him drunk. He gets sloppy.

Where Haley had seen only Mr. Hotchner, a broken old bastard, in her husband, Emily just sees a man begging for normalcy. For the pain to numb and for things to return to normal.

Emily just takes the bottle out of his hand. Taking a chug out of the bitter, dark liquid she grunts as she swallows. It burns and she supposed that’s half of the appeal to him. “Come watch the History channel with me,” she says, taking his hand and guiding him to the couch. He goes easily. She knows he likes the History channel and she also knows that he just needs some stability. Something solid. So she leans into his side and holds his hand. Reminds him that he’s not as alone as he thinks that he is.

But even that’s not enough.

“Hotch! Hotch, that’s enough! He’s dead, man,” Morgan falls to his knees, pulling Hotch from Foyet’s body. “He’s dead.”

Emily watches Hotch’s trembling body. The split skin of his knuckles and the way that two of his fingers crookedly bend into his palm. Rough ragged sobs tear through the room, breathless words passing Hotch’s lips. He’s shaking uncontrollably. She watches, his bowed back, snap. His attention, that hawk-like, eerie attention, is moved. It’s changed.

He pulls himself from Morgan’s arms.

Morgan having drawn Hotch to his chest. Bent their bodies to mold them into a folded backward hug. Their heads pressed together. Morgan can’t help his own tears. The abject horror washing over his body at the sight of the mess before him. Great arching sprays of blood and the thick scent of blood looming over them. And George Foyet… a blooded lifeless body before them.

And Hotch…

He stumbles to his feet, pulling his body from where he’d fallen into Morgan. Where he’d allowed himself just a moment's embrace. He takes three, four large steps on shaking legs.

Emily steps forward but Dave catches her elbow. He stops her from moving to Hotch.

He’s not in his right mind. Dave’s only protecting her. Protecting them. Aaron is hardly going to survive today, he doesn’t need to accidentally hurt Emily. He is a live wire and he’ll take them all out in the explosion.

George Foyet arches against his wires and they’re standing right there when his anger boils over and he screams into the nothing. Holding Haley’s body in his arms so delicate and broken. They’re both just broken dolls, their cords cut and the curtain comes tumbling down. One last final blow-- his job really did take everything from.

Jack isn’t enough to save him.

He blows up. It’s not nuclear but it’s unhinged and raw and there’s something about his eyes that makes Emily finally draw the line. He’s hurting but there has to be a line. A place where one of them steps in and says that it’s enough. That he’s got to pull himself together before he sucks them all into the black hole of his chest. And she’s quickly realizing, she’s the only one strong enough to do the job.

She finds him on a bender. He can hardly stand and the light mirth she’d once admired about his quizzical eyebrow raises is gone. The man standing before is a mess and she’s not sure if she hates herself or him more for letting it get this bad. For not finding that line sooner.

“Jesus,” she whispers.

He knows disgust when he sees it. A childhood spent curled into his father’s shoe, cracked ribs, and broken arms, he knows disgust all right. And now, a fully grown man, he just laughs. There’s nothing light about the sound. It’s morbid and twisted in his throat. A hollow sound. She’s disgusted by him.

“You need a shower,” she informs him with a curl of her nose. She steps past him, ignoring the frown she shoots her. She knows that he doesn't want her here but what he wants isn’t really a priority right now. He hasn’t got to tell her. She can see it in his eyes and smell it on his breath. He wants to crawl into a dark hole and die. She’s here to drag his sorry ass out.

Looking around his apartment, the first priority is getting rid of all the bottles. “Where are the trash bags,” she asks, heading to his kitchen. He’s already shaking his head, running his hands through his thick greasy hair. She finds the bags on her own, right where she’d assumed they’d be. Under the sink. “Where’s Jack?”

He falls onto the couch with a huff. “Jessica,” he grunts.

Good, she thinks, for him. Jack doesn’t need to see his father like this. Hell, no one does but… someone has to. At the same time, if Jack were here, Aaron wouldn’t have let himself get this bad.

“He probably misses you,” she says, starting in on tossing his garbage. There’s an astounding lack of food but it’s also not entirely surprising that without one of them hovering over him and forcing him to eat that he hasn’t tried. The word suicidal may not have come out of their mouths but they watch him. They see him. Sometimes you don’t have to speak a truth for it to be true.

And Aaron Hotchner is a coward. They are all. It’s why they haven’t taken his guns and it’s why he hasn’t put one to his mouth.

There are three guns in his home.

Two service weapons that he wouldn’t stain with his own blood. He took a vow and those weapons are not meant for this. It’s a disgrace to the only thing that’s ever made him mean anything.

The third is a gun his father had given him.

He was sixteen.

The words had poured out of his mouth. An aching truth he hadn’t even realized was true until the words were spoken. He did want to kill himself. The abuse was never going to end. He could see no end in sight and his father consumed his every action and thought and even his self-image.

He was tired of his reflection.

His father had grabbed the bottom of his jaw, large fingers digging into his flesh as he’d pulled Hotch’s mouth open. Hotch had shaken, frozen in place, as his father pressed the barrel of his gun to the roof of his mouth. Gunpowder and cold metal.

Sometimes, Hotch can still taste it.

He’d been afraid to die then but now, he longs for it. There is a darkness in his veins, murky and thick, that he needs to spill out. To watch the crimson drip down his flesh so that he can see, so that he can know that beneath this shell he is alive. That there is only a part of his sum that is broken and dead. He is alive.

His ribcage expands with life.

His heart beats with purpose.

But his mind… it has rotted. Desolate and afraid.

His father had beaten him senseless that night but that made it no different than any other night.

And the very gun that had once been pressed between his lips now rests in the safe in his office. Untainted and calling out so wistfully to him. He can hear it now, as Emily calmly collects his empty bottles of alcohol. His throne of glass shattering beneath him. He can always hear it. How simple it would be to get it now. To just end all of this.

“Aaron?”

He looks up suddenly, eyes unfocused and glazed.

“Aaron!”

The bile hits the back of his throat and is thrown out on his hands and knees, expelling the contents of his stomach into the porcelain of the toilet. His head throbs as Emily follows him, turning on the lights. He’s been sitting in the dark for so long, he’d forgotten the sting of the light.

“Just leave me alone,” he grunts, spits falling over his bottom lip as his stomach aches on. Rolling and churning. He’s put nothing in it for the last forty-eight hours other than Scotch, Oxy, and two shitty beers from when he first moved into this shit-stained apartment. He groans as his stomach clenches, leaning his forehead against the cold porcelain.

Emily’s seen enough. She’s tired of this little performance he’s putting on. “No,” she steps to the sink and drenches a rag in the shockingly cold water. Wringing it out only slightly before slapping over the back of his neck. “This bullshit, it ends tonight, do you understand me?”

He grunts as the rag meets his skin, trembling muscles protesting at the temperature difference of his overheated body. Even if he could think of something to say in protest, he’s not sure it would make it past his lips without being accented by more drug-laced regurgitated booze. Besides, he knows she's right. Deep, deep down. Beneath the self-loathing heat and even farther down beneath the frayed parts of him that never survived childhood. He knows. He knows that even if it’s not for him, he has to stop. For the team and his son.

“First,” she whispers kneeling down beside him. “We need to get you sober.” She draws a clean rag over his face, wiping the vomit from his lips. “What have you taken?”

He shakes his head. Can’t meet her eyes. He’s ashamed and he should be.

She reaches out to touch him but he flinches, looking between her hand and her face. As if he’s expecting her to hit him. “Aaron,” she softens her voice. Moving slowly until she’s cupping his cheek. His eyes water, chest hitching as his breathing grows unsteady with the emotions boiling to the surface. “I just want you to get better.”

A tear falls down his cheek and he turns his cheek, trying and failing to hide it from her. He wants to get better.

Tears are falling down his face when he turns his face back to her and pulls in a stuttering breath. He pulls his sleeve up. He shows her the hesitantly made cuts on his forearm. “I-- I don’t…” he pulls away from the hand she reaches out to him with. But when she tries again, he lets her hold his wrist in her hand. Her finger ghosts over the scabs. He hadn’t known what he was doing and he hadn’t liked the blood. He’d just wanted the hurt.

It was too much like Foyet. The knife and the razor and the blood on his white t-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

She shakes her head. No, this is-- this is his fault. These cuts were made by his hand but they never should have let him get so low. They should have done more.

Pulling her eyes from his arm she steadies herself. He isn’t hopeless. He's a fighter and he’s stronger than she is. He’s got more to lose than he realizes.

“I took the oxy,” he admits. “It’s-- It wasn’t enough.” He’s shaking now, coming down from his anger and submitting to the pain. “You need to…” a part of his broken mind screams. It screams to fall silent. That he needs the gun and that he’s just supposed to be distracting her now so that he can follow through with the plan he’s been making for weeks--

The office and the gun. Spinning in the leather-bound chair that Haley had gotten him as a wedding gift and biting the bullet. The letters are written and waiting on his desk. The chamber is full. The gun calls for him.

“There’s a gun,” he whispers. “In my office, you need to-- you have to get it or I’ll…”

She nods her understanding.

He can’t see around the tears pooling in his eyes, “uhm... “ He’s trying to think, what else? What else is left? He couldn’t stomach the thought of slitting his wrist. Never had the nerve to draw a bath and just to sink into warmth… that’s too gentle. He’d needed a bang. A mess and more disgust. More hurt.

And now he can feel the panic of his options being taken away.

“Aaron,” she squeezes his hand. He meets her eyes and feels a fraction of warmth. “Just-- Just--” she wants to tell him to let her in. She wants to tell him that all this is going to pass in time and this awful moment will just be a cruel memory one day. But she’s looking at him and seeing her own reflection. Two people broken by time and unable to trust another human being. She can’t be certain why she does it.

Her mind screams that he’s neither trustworthy nor in the right mind but she wraps her around him and pulls him into a hug. “I love you,” she tells him, hugging him tightly. Feeling his tension and apprehension. Slowly, he lifts his arms and hugs her back. He clings to her. Squeezing her tight but she’s not going anywhere.

He’s vaguely aware of the fabric of her soft cotton shirt getting wet against his face. Her hand comes up and brushes his hair down and he finds that he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’s sobbing in the arms of the very woman who was once hired to end his career. He doesn’t care because he feels the pain and for once, he can breathe.

Emily holds him tighter. Neither is speaking. They just cling together in the storm and Emily hopes that she can drag him out of this mess. That he can come back here, to her arms instead of into the bottle. And she’ll get his gun. She’ll throw out all of the alcohol and call Jessica in three or four days when he’s mopped up and dry and tell her that Hotch needs to see Jack.

And maybe one day they’ll think back to this moment and it won’t hurt as much. But for today, for this moment, they just hold one another.

#tw alcoholism #tw alcohol #tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw guns #tw suicide #tw self destructive behavior #tw self harm #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #george foyet #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau

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