#the struggle of getting the two doors symmetrical killed me

[farfromhome97]

Born Cursed

•TEN•

With strong arms holding you up and Sukunas long legs, it wasn't long before the two of you finally made it to the large kitchen area, Sukuna having to duck his head through the door while also placing a hand over your own so you didn't hit anything either.

Instead of setting you down, Sukuna only adjusted you on his bicep making sure an extra hand was around your back. Going to the pantry he began pulling vegetables and dried meats from storage.

"Sukuna?" Your voice piped up as you watched him place certain spices on the counter below you, only humming in return.

"Can I help with anything?" You placed your hand on the side of his neck, looking up at him, staring at the way his eyes focused on what he was doing, the way the muscles in his neck moved with his arms.

Sukuna only quickly gave you a soft kiss on the cheek before he turned back to cooking.

"Just sit there and look beautiful and enjoy the view."

Resting your head on his shoulder, your thoughts began to take you back to when Sukuna had found you, finding you in the middle of 6 men who were trying to take advantage of you and sell you for a pretty penny. After the fight and calming you down, he had fed you afterwards just like he was now.

•5 Years Ago: Yukai Forest•

"Looks like this wild one is gonna give us troubles, huh boys?"

Whom you believed to the leader of this group of sorcerer's grinned at you, his nasty teeth glaring in the sun while the other 5 men laughed.

Your lips turned up into a snarl as shadows began dancing around in the sun below you.

"I'm warning you. If you wish to live, leave me alone!!"

Getting more laughs in return, you bent your knees slightly as the shadows came from below your feet towards the men, watching them closely as they fanned out around you.

"The ones who struggle always make me excited."

Whipping a shadow in the direction of the man who spoke, you watched as his smile faded while his neck began to bleed before his head fell to the ground.

The other men stared wide eyed and mouths agape at the body slumping to the dirt below, his head rolling in front of him as blood spurted from his neck in fountains, spraying you slightly even at such a distance.

Furious gazes met your own heated eyes as they all took serious fighting stances. Standing up straight you smirked at the men as they watched shadows whip around you.

It had been trouble enough that they were bothering you, but when the now dead man had suggested they use you in ways you didn't want to mention, you decided right then and there that their deaths were warranted, knowing that after this they wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else.

Feeling a strong energy come from the trees behind them, you made the choice to finish them then run, knowing that whatever it was lurking in the shadows was too strong even for someone as skilled as you.

"I fucking warned you."

One by one, you slayed the men in front of you, their blood splattering over your face, body and the scenery around you was the only reminder that they were actually human.

As you sliced open the last man standing, his blood spraying all over the top of your body dripping down your face, panting you turned to run away from the scene not even able to turn your body before a deep voice filled your now ringing ears.

"That was quite impressive, mortal."

What looked like a man but with 4 arms, symmetrical tattoos covering his chest, biceps, wrists and face revealed himself from the shadows. His robes sat at his waist showing sculpted muscles and towering at least 7 feet tall if not taller, was the energy you had felt watching you.

Fearing he was going to kill you, you took a fighting stance, even weary and wore out you would fight till your last breath, swaying slightly.

Giving a small chuckle, the towering man in front of you only sat down on a nearby stump of a cut down tree, giving you a curious gaze and a smirk you felt like slapping off of his face.

"If I had wanted to kill you, I would have done so already."

Somehow knowing the truth behind his words, you only relaxed slightly, knowing you could never be too cautious.

A flame came from his hand lighting the ground in front of you, the man soon pulling out different foods from a satchel tied to his waist you hadnt noticed before.

"Sit. Eat with me. You've drained your cursed energy and you will die soon if you don't do so."

Knowing you couldn't run even if he wasn't capable of stopping you, you sat close to the fire as he prepared whatever it was he had.

As he watched you eat, he offered you a place in his shrine to fight alongside him, also offering to help perfect your cursed technique along with shelter and anything a human like you would need.

Staring down at the now empty bowl in front of you, wondering if this was the chance you'd be praying for to finally feel like you belonged somewhere, agreeing almost too quickly for your liking but much to his delight.

That night was the first night in the Shrine, a warm bathe, bed and hot food for the first time in years raised your spirits, falling asleep with a small smile on your face and a fire warning your body.

* * *

"You've been doing that a lot recently, you sure you're alright?"

His voice brought you back from the memory, your eyes focusing to see Sukuna staring at you with a smirk.

"I was just thinking about when you found me in Yokai forest."

Giving a wider grin, you continued to watch him prepare a soup which you loved.

"Thinking back to it, you ass, why didn't you help me fight?"

Smiling to yourself as you watched him grin.

"What good would it be if you couldn't protect yourself? Besides, I was enjoying the display enough that helping you never crossed my mind."

Hearing his answer, you felt your ears and cheeks flush red, giving his chest a light slap as a pout laced with a smirk graced your features, earning a laugh from Sukuna, watching as his eyes crinkled and his head tilted back.

You knew he was right, what good would have it been for your survival if he fought all of your battles for you.

Feeling his chest vibrate against you as he laughed, you look down and squeal, realization hitting you that Uruame could walk in on you both at any minute while the two of you were naked as the day you were born.

Following your gaze, Sukuna seemed to read your thoughts, pulling away from where he currently cooked as he took you from the kitchen, walking down the shrines corridors back in his room.

Opening the doors, he gave the top of your head a gentle kiss before setting you on the bed, your face flushing at the memories that had just been made there an hour or so ago, earning a wide grin from the curse.

You watched with curiosity as Sukuna strode over to the wardrobes on the far right left of his room.

"I don't think you have anything that'll fit me, Sukuna."

Giving a small giggle, you admired the way the muscles in his back rippled across the tan skin and tattooes as he searched amount the clothes.

"As much as I'd love to see you in my clothes little morsel, I had Uruame move your things in the night you returned home injured. They made this for you, I'm sure they will enjoy seeing you wear it as much as I."

Pulling out a deep purple robe, you gasped at the dark silky material in front of you. The robes were lined in lavender while the main color was a royal purple, a color that was rare to find. A color Sukuna had seen you had previously been curious about when he led his armies through neighboring villages to come home.

Sukuna knew you'd like it.

Handing it to you, you looked back up at Sukuna as he put his own black robe on, tying it to sit at his hips as he done so many times before, now truly seeing how undeniable sexy it was to you.

Kneeling in front of you as you palmed the soft material, Sukunas' hand soon was placed on top of yours causing you to still and remove your eyes from the beautiful piece of clothing.

"Do you like it?"

His velvety voice sounded almost hesitant, waiting for your reaction. Giving him a bright smile, small tears formed at the corner of your eyes at the realization he had truly been watching your every move for a while now, and in a way that made your chest ache with want.

"I love it. Thank you Sukuna, it's truly beautiful."

Helping you stand up, finally being able to balance on your own now, Sukuna still helped you into the soft garments. You couldn't help the very soft groan that left your lips as the material slid over your skin.

Sukuna gazed at you with blown out pupils, the robe falling all the way to the floor, hugging your curves in the most perfect way.

"The color of royalty, fit for a Queen."

Your eyes met his once more, giving him a soft smile as your hands smoothed over the material, almost like you'd never be able to feel it enough, your hands leaving the fabric to wrap around his waist, feeling Sukuna tense slightly before leaning down enough to wrap his arms around your waist.

"I am truly one lucky Queen, if you are the King I am to rule beside."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: OMG I am so sorry that took fucking FOREVER!!! Only 9 more parts to go 😭😭🥹🥹🫰

[wendimydarling]

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112​ gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj​ and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira​ for betaing! 

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death. 

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.” 

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already. 

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet. 

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me. 

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls. 

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter VI: The Importance of Pluck

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault, objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks and flashbacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Author’s Note: Hi! Thank you so much for enjoying this story so far! I can’t wait to take you down this wild road with this cast of characters. As always, if you have any questions or concerns about the story warnings, please don’t hesitate to contact me! Please note that the warnings are subject to change by each chapter.

-Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇢

. . .

FEBRUARY 14TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

“Y/n!” Andrea’s calloused hands pulled you into a tight bear hug, causing you to stumble forward, uncoordinated by the sudden movement of the door and her springing towards you and Autumn. Reluctantly, you melted into the embrace from the sole reminder that this was the same woman that showed you the separation between your traumatic childhood and reclaiming this facade. Not to mention, a few phrases of conversational Spanish. 

“Buena noches, Andrea,” (Good evening, Andrea) you greeted halfheartedly, your foul mood having yet to completely subside from the front of your mind. Without Doña’s need to meddle, you never would have needed to leave the warmth of the guest quarters in the middle of the night in the first place. The mission was completely under your control- the objective remaining as crystal clear as it was on day one. Killing Lord Phantomhive was not nearly the challenge your subconscious was making it out to be.

“¿Dónde está Doña?” (Where is Doña?) You asked once Andrea released you and motioned towards the reins that you clutched in your hand. Asking for the location of a local stable would have been next on your course of action. However, she seemed to know exactly where to keep Autumn for the time being.

“Inside...still waiting for you. Diego will show you the way,” the woman gestured to the familiar man as he crossed his arms in the doorframe. The same playful smirk tugged at his lips, suggesting that he heard some kind of joke that he didn’t dare repeat. Andrea started off with Autumn in tow, the horse’s tail flicking back and forth lethargically.

“The dress hugs tight,” Diego commented patronizingly as he led you through the hall. You could tell by his comment that Diego was only trying to provoke your outrage, no matter how you tried to keep your face neutral. Of course, the dress fit your frame better- you were eating three meals a day alongside some form of an extravagant dessert. There was no shame in enjoying good food while it was available to you.

“You’re one to talk,” you glared at Diego’s back as he walked. His black trench coat was tied around his lean frame tightly, the bottom shifting with each step that he took. The outline of his gun holster was clearly fastened around his waist beneath the coat. There was nothing more ridiculous than the thought of a man like Diego having the morality to murder someone. But you supposed if that was the case, he wouldn’t affiliate with women such as Doña-  or yourself.

“Doña, she arrives,” Diego stopped short before a small living room. The vicinity was warmed by a tame fire in the fireplace, the orange hue painting the rest of the room. As the rest of the rooms were, this room was notably empty- save for two sofas and a single table between them. 

The lady herself, Doña, occupied the middle of one of the couches, nursing a rum-spiked coffee, her thin fingers wrapped around the thin stem of the glass. The scent of the over-proofed rum drifted about the room, causing you to cringe. You’d never understand why Spaniards preferred their coffee with hard liquor mixed in- according to Andrea, the combination was called a carajillo.

“Lovely,” Doña’s painted lips spread into a satisfied grin, the corners of her mouth pulling upwards. “Sit Y/n. Sit,” she said, patting the cushion next to her with a free hand. You made it a point to sit in the middle of the empty sofa across from her, your hands smoothing over your petticoats as you regarded the light ecru Doña wore. The majority of the top layer was made of tulle so to create a softer ambiance to oppose her burgundy lip color- such as a shade that was forbidden for royalty, or any self-respecting woman.

“I’ll go help Carmen with the...bebé,” Diego cringed as the sound of Doña’s wailing child sounded from the floor above. “Excuse me.”

“I haven’t all night, Doña,” you snapped impetuously as you watched the woman’s face, contemplative as she listened to her daughter sob. You heard Carmen seethe ‘¿Por qué no podemos ponerla en adopción ya?’ and in response, Diego only laughed. Andrea was still putting your horse away, but the sobbing would likely stop the second she entered the baby’s line of sight.

“If only you had the same sense of urgency in completing the mission I assigned a month ago,” Doña took a long drink of her carajillo, her face twisting at the taste. “Did you not guarantee me seven days at most?”

In a fit of haughtiness, you had made a claim that went something along those lines. After all, the longest you spent on one mission before this one, was waiting for the servant rotation of Agatha Tolton to switch in your favor. The woman was rarely alone and you preferred to only kill your targets during a mission.

“There are unforeseen obstacles inside the estate,” you lied. In truth, you spent plenty of time alone with the Earl- three meals a day and occasionally, time in the foyer at night. Hiding your dagger in the folds of a nightgown and stabbing him wasn’t out of your capabilities and yet, you were postponing it for the comfortable treatment- even if it was all stolen from Marie’s identity.

“Unforeseen obstacles in the estate,” Doña repeated, unfazed by your lie. “What sort of obstacles could possibly be new to you?”

“There’s something...uncertain about his butler,” this concern nagged the back of your mind from the moment you got there. From the second he greeted you in flawless German and subtly as each day passed on. Despite being the head butler of the estate, he was too capable at some points- always being prepared when you and the Earl requested tea or hot chocolate in the dead of night, answering questions that you purposely keep from saying. His speed.

“Sebastian Michaelis?” Doña’s frown deepened, making her look at least five years older. Creases from constant scowling marred the corners of her lips and between her symmetrical eyebrows. “We discussed his role in Phantomhive’s life. You said-” her accent butchered the Earl’s name, turning the i into an e, which resulted in his name sounding more like Phantomheave, rather than Phantomhive. 

“Doña, I’m aware of what I told you,” you hissed as she brought the flute of spiked coffee to her lips and drank again. “I said that he wouldn’t present an obstacle to my objective.”

“And yet?” She asked, goading your temper, tempting you to take the drink out of her hands and dump the rest of its steaming contents down her nightgown. Your fingers curled into fists, as you compelled yourself to stay seated on the couch. Your nails dug into the flesh of your palm, the sensation tolerable, but something to focus on, nevertheless.

“And yet, I’m reassessing my strategy because of him,” you lied. Sebastian made for a decent excuse, above all of his other uses.

A brief moment of silence passed before she asked, “must I eliminate him for you, Y/n? It would be a shame to need to aid my hired killer-...almost as distressing as wasting a handsome face such as his, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Looks have nothing to do with anything, Doña,” you ignored the turn of her curt grin while she finished off the rest of her carajillo with a sigh. She put the empty glass on the low table that sat in between the two of you, the bottom landing with a soft clink. “If I have to kill Sebastian Michaelis, I will do it myself.”

“We can share tactics with you,” Diego offered from the side of the room, where he and Carmen were standing. The baby had stopped wailing several minutes ago, moments after Andrea returned from putting your horse away. “You seem as if you need many,” he teased, sharing a patronizing laugh with Doña. At your glare, his face sobered, although a smile seemed to taunt the corners of his lips.

“Your tactics,” you scoffed, “what skill does it take to pull the trigger of a gun?” You could recall the weight of the handgun you had used at fourteen, successfully killing two men within minutes of each other. How could Diego pride his reliance on a weapon? 

“You bitch! You’ll, you’re going to bloody p--” James screamed, glowering at you as he struggled to get his fumbling hands in place. But he was too slow. He fell to the ground, blood beginning to blossom near his lower ribs.

“You’re a clever one, Princess,” Diego chuckled, showing the palms of his hands in defeat. “I might ask you for tactics for how you look so detached,” he quipped, shaking his shoulders to create an animated shiver. 

“Princesa de Hielo,” Carmen mumbled, which caused Doña to laugh again, the effects of rum beginning to seep into her cold personage. Her deep brown eyes settled back on you, hardening as you met her gaze. Eye contact was quite a fragile social concept- you weren’t confident with Spanish customs, but in Germany, it expressed attentiveness but in excess it expressed pride. 

“The two of you...go retrieve Y/n’s horse. She’s souring the atmosphere,” Doña shifted on the couch to turn her back to you, and the liquid in her glass flute hit the side and slid down again. There wasn’t much to the drink when you sat down in the first place and now, the glass was nearly empty.

Doña waited for Diego and Carmen to leave before she lazily got to her feet and stood before you, her expression sobering as if she hadn’t finished off her drink. With her proximity, you could smell the faint tinge of rum from her lips.  “And as for you- I want him dead. I don’t care how it’s done- simply finish him off and you’ll have your compensation. Do you understand?”

Her pupils were nearly swallowed whole by her umber irises, the threat in them ever-present.

. . .

FEBRUARY 15TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

Within the first few minutes of riding back to the Phantomhive Estate, snow began to fall, dropping from the clouds in fat flurries that rolled down your neck and made it nearly impossible to see fifteen feet in front of you. The wind whistled in your ears as you encouraged Autumn to continue her steady gait, even as the snow began to stick on the cobblestone streets of the city.

The distance from the manor to the heart of the city was sizable without the beginnings of a blizzard, but the horse’s hesitation, as well as your own, had severely delayed your arrival time. In fact, by the time you were scaling the wall of the manor, the sun was beginning to ascend the horizon, starting the day as the snow continued to pile and stick. Your fingers were numb since you had to remove your thick gloves to properly cling to the stones that jutted out of the main house’s foundation, leaving them vulnerable to the sharp surfaces and cold air. You were lucky that your quarters were located on the second floor, but that wouldn’t matter if Mey-Rin found the room empty upon entering to wake you.

The moment you reached the window beside your bed, you swung one leg over the still and then the other, reveling in the fact that you had, in fact, managed to return before Mey-Rin entered to wake you. Your trembling hands made messy work of tearing off the sides of the gown that were pinned to the stays on your coset, letting each piece of your riding habit fall carelessly to the floorboards until you were left standing in your corset that sat over your white shift- the base of any dress. Unlacing it was never this challenging when you sported middle-class clothing articles, leaving you to tug at the strands that kept the constrictive item together as several pairs of footsteps began to grow closer to the closed door of your quarters.

Your front teeth sunk into the inside of your lip as your descent into panic worsened with each passing second, fruitlessly attempting to untie the knots that you had secured yourself. Clearly, you had made some kind of mistake in re-dressing yourself prior to leaving for Doña’s new home.

This was exactly what you had feared.

“And you absolutely certain she isn’t here, Mey-Rin?” Sebastian’s posh voice questioned, moments before the door swung open, revealing you half-dressed and positioned in front of your open window. Mey-Rin and Sebastian were behind the Earl, the maid’s eyes glassy as if she was about to cry, and the butler’s face completely impassive, like a statue’s. Instantaneously, the Earl’s gaze fled to the ceiling, the floor, anywhere as long as it wasn’t on you.

Your hands fell to your sides and in the most delayed reaction, you exclaimed, “raus!” (out!). You turned your back to the doorway and hugged yourself.

“I believe she is far from missing, thank you,” the Earl’s voice was steadier than you would have anticipated, “my apologies, Your Highness,” the sound of rapid steps that implied his and Sebastian’s departure down the corridor followed as you released a weak exhale. 

“I came to wake you and you were missin’, yes you were,” Mey-Rin said . “I assumed the worst, I’m sorry Your Highness.” she asked for permission to undo the thick knots that you couldn’t undo. You nodded once, facing her as she nimbly undid each one. “The young master is going to want to know where you were off to...he was awfully concerned havin’ just returned from Lady Elizabeth’s…” if Mey-Rin wasn’t paid to fuss over you, you might’ve pitied her.

“I love the snow. I wanted to be outside on my own- I thought I could return before you notice I went out,” you explained, the lie was on the tip of your tongue from the moment you fell behind your plan. Mey-Rin breathed a sigh of relief and began to properly lace the corset and fasten a new stomacher, this one was a deep shade of red, resembling claret with its notes of magenta. The rest of the gown matched the shade.

“The snow is much prettier here in the countryside," Mey-Rin agreed as she continue to prepare you for the rest of the day; twisting your hair into another tight bun, brushes of powder over your face and shoulders and gentle hands of rogue on the apples of your cheeks. Within several strokes of a brush, your familiar blemishes disappeared- like a wave of a magic wand. 

Each step from your room to the main dining room maximized the nostalgic pit in your stomach. You sat to the Earl’s side at the breakfast table, as per usual. He was uncharacteristically quiet, leisurely lifting his steaming cup of tea to his lips and taking a long drink, his eye having yet to properly leave you. Lord Phantomhive did well to remind you of Governess Lydia and the countless instances you were scolded by the woman after an unbearably long silence. 

As a grown woman, you were too old for this. 

“Lord Phantomhive-” you started, only to be swiftly interrupted by the loud clunk that punctuated when he aggressively returned his teacup to its saucer on the table. Droplets of tea ran down the porcelain and pooled on the small dish. What waste.

His voice was fatally calm and as per usual, each word was punctuated to the syllable. “I am entrusted with your life, Your Highness. I thought it was clear that you aren’t to leave this estate unaccompanied without myself or Sebastian,” he said, “My duty to Her Majesty is to protect you to the extent of my capabilities and beyond that.”

“I was within the perimeter of this estate!” You countered, your hand pausing as you were about to spread a healthy bit of margarine over the head of a muffin,  that Sebastian had decapitated for you. Instead, the continent fell from the smooth blade of your knife in a heap before you began to spread it. “If that is your grievance with this morning, then your contention is certainly misplaced. It should not be a crime for me to wish to be outside. Alone.”

“Your Highness, there is a death threat over your head. Your going outside unaccompanied is a point of contention for me, yes,” the Earl said, as if this information should have been obvious. Granted it made logical sense- defenseless royalty needed to remain within lines of defense, however, you posed as a needy princess who was unacquainted with the concept of no. “If you are so fascinated with snow, a commonality in your home country, then you might wait to ask-”

“Thank you for your concern,” you intervened icily, aware that you had waged a losing battle from the moment you protested. “Keep in mind that it’s quite easy for the walls of this mansion to grow dull, My Lord.” 

. . .

FEBRUARY 17TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

The world outside of the windows was blank- completely grey and white. For the third day in a row, you were trapped indoors, hiding from the dense blizzard and idly roaming the layout of the estate. Every single room was familiar to you now- studied not once, but multiple times, making it simple for you to find the source of the rich violin that reverberated throughout the second floor of the mansion. Each step you grew closer to the frantic melody, vaguely aware of how clumsily you moved from the haste of your curiosity. The dramatic violin picked up, growing louder, steadier and more urgent the closer you came. The violin belonged to a special place within your battered heart- the noise caused goosebumps to erupt up and down your arms, despite the plentiful warmth that generated throughout the manor.

From under the closed door, a metronome prudently clicked away and your fingers immediately tapped against your petticoat in response, corresponding with it as your eyes stared into the painted wood of the door in front of you, your dominant hand resting on the gold knob.

One and a two, one and a two, one and a two...

The piece was executed flawlessly- until a new passage began and gradually fell behind the tics of the metronome and your fingers as they continuously tapped your skirt. It wasn’t long until the instrument abruptly paused, leaving the mansion to silence once again. 

“Your technique leaves much to be desired, which is why you fell behind. Perhaps a proper audience might motivate you, sir,” Sebastian suggested, his voice muffled by the door. You were in the process of turning back to the library to continue the book you had abandoned to stretch your legs, but instead, Sebastian opened the door behind you. 

“Your Highness, it would be a privilege for my master to entertain you with his most recent selection: J.S Bach’s Partita for Violin Solo,” Sebastian explained, forgoing his typical use of German, “it would be terribly rude to allow you to listen from outside as he would otherwise have it,” he said pointedly, showing you to a plush loveseat as the Earl stood, his violin and bow poised in hand while he glowered at the score on the music stand in front of him.

“I appreciate it,” you took the offered seat and watched as Sebastian started the metronome once again and pushed up his glasses, which seemed special to his role as a tutor. 

“Again, from the twelfth line. This time, perhaps watch your spiccato and left hand articulation- the aim is to hear every note unequivocally, yet remain up to speed,” Sebastian said, but you suspected that the Earl had properly tuned him out in order to prepare to lift the violin and prepare to play again. 

Your gaze was drawn to his fingers as they danced along the neck of the violin, pressing and moving every second with the tact of a seasoned player. In the light, the gems on his rings winked as the light’s perspective on them changed as he played. It was mesmerizing in a sense, watching the Earl focus on one task entirely. His eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully, drawing closer together during more difficult areas of the piece. You watched his expression remain the same during each time he ran through the section that Sebastian requested as he slowly worked through the tense parts until the butler excused himself in order to begin the preparations for supper. 

“Have you played for long?” you asked, watching as he loosened the string of his bow and began to wipe it with a small, neatly folded cloth. 

“About four years now, I believe,” he cautiously laid the bow and the violin to rest in their case. “Do you play?”

“No,” you said, without thinking. “I am much more partial to the harp- my sister played the violin,” you attempted to maintain the neutrality in your face upon recognizing your mistake. Marie was a mediocre violinist, which meant that the proper answer would have been ‘yes, but not quite so well’. Instead, you implied that Marie was a harpist and the missing, presumably dead princess played the violin. It was a fact that the royal family did not understand until you had left and there was no one playing the harp in the castle. However, it was not common knowledge that either princess had proficiency with the harp in the first place.

He wouldn’t catch such an inconspicuous mistake. 

“The harp,” Lord Phantomhive mused, as if the thought amused him. “Fitting, I reckon.”

Frankly, you couldn’t remember the last time you touched the delicate strings of a harp, the sensation of their vibrations against your fingertips. As a girl, it was the only outlet that you could express yourself without breaking any rules- for the most part, at least. 

. . .

The thick blankets of puffy snow on the ground made it so even the postage arrived late that evening, since roads leading to the countryside out of the city had yet to be cleared. Thus, the Earl flipped through the Westminster Review and you pretended to consciously read the English Woman’s Journal post-supper, between taking turns in a slow-moving chess game, rather than reading through the news at the breakfast table. 

You absentmindedly fiddled with the corner of the thin printed paper as you instead watched the Earl regard the ornate chess set that sat in the middle of you, his side black and yours white. For the second time that day, you were met with his face of complete thought and focus- even if the game was already won on his part. 

Frankly, the Earl was an aggressive player and you weren’t accustomed to someone who played sharply and meticulously at once. Not to mention, the last time you played chess, you were about twelve and huddled up in layers of clothing inside, attempting to stay warm in the conman’s measly shack as the two of you hid from the winter that nipped at your noses. “Checkmate,” he sounded as if he was much too accustomed to saying it. The smug tilt of his head merely exaggerated the false humility of his.

Even though you expected him to make that exact move, your shoulders slumped anyway as you huffed impertinently. You were never the best at losing graceful; not in the castle, not with the conman and certainly not by yourself. Especially coming off of your second loss that night. 

“This evening was the first as well as the last time I’m playing chess as your opponent, Lord Phantomhive,” you rolled your eyes, tentatively scoffing as you began to reset the board, abandoning the newspaper entirely.

“Competitive, Your Highness?”

“Everyone is,” you responded, “the nature of humanity is to win; be it a war, or a simple game of chess. I despise any loss and I’m certain you feel the same, My Lord,” you ignored the piqued quirk of his eyebrow to properly finish setting the pieces to their starting square. 

“I do fit the requisites by simply being anyone- or a human, at the very least,” Lord Phantomhive seemed almost too amused by the statement- and the entendre went above your head. What was the alternative to not being human? You weren’t one to believe in anything you could not see and if there in fact, gods and demons among civilization, surely you might have attracted one, given the life you led. However, you didn’t entertain the thought beyond a stoic chuckle. “Why don’t we begin the next round, best out of five?” he suggested.

“You’re only after the satisfaction of winning five matches against me. Two ought to be plenty,” you accused, not that you blamed him. If your strategic mind could translate to ornate pieces on a board as it did with your profession, then you would happily play the Earl time and time again simply to win.

“Fine, then. Why don’t you choose the next game?” Lord Phantomhive gestured lazily towards the armoire that stood against the wall. Sebastian opened it earlier to retrieve the chess pieces from their velvet box and among the shelves were several boxes of games- several produced by the Funtom Company. Picking one of those would be nearly an instantaneous loss, considering he had a hand in creating it. You decided to settle on a classic and gingerly pulled the box that was labeled draughts. 

Draughts was an easier game in comparison to chess- while each had clear winning objectives, draughts was a straightforward game- capture the opponent’s pieces with your own. Each had equal strength until later in the game, whereas chess was a complex strategic war from the start. Playing draughts, there was much less room for error as games ought to be. Besides, you took pleasure in watching the Earl struggling to move pieces with equal power across the board while you played checkers countless of times against the conman and his friends, on the occasion.

Before you could finish the rest of your newspaper (the poetry bit was rather strenuous to get through), one of your double-stacked pieces- a king- double jumped his, decisively ending the first game of checkers of the night. “I thought you would show more of a fight, My Lord,” you scooped a victorious hunk out of the cheesecake that Sebastian delivered minutes prior. The rich Quark cheese was sweet, marrying the tart raspberry compote that was drizzled on top, syrupy in nature as it pooled around the remnants of the cake slice.

“Chess and draughts require different sets of strategies,” Lord Phantomhive responded, feigning nonchalance so as to take the loss civilly but nevertheless, he wore his frustration on his tightly pursed lips and a lack of eye contact which he normally provided in excess. “I’d bet I could win the next round now that I’m...acquainted with your style of playing.”

“Fine,” you aquised, “one last round for tonight because I simply must see you defeated again.”

. . .

FEBRUARY 24TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

If this pedal harp had eyes, it would have glared at you from across the music room. It was taller than you- glorious and intimidating, the dozens of strings perhaps daring you to pluck at them. The column was made of solid gold and with Lord Phantomhive’s fortune, you could assume that it was as genuine as the rest of the novelties that lived among the estate. This harp was perhaps the most intricate one you had ever laid eyes on, besting the rich mahogany instrument that you learned on as a girl. It was mandatory for the princesses of Schleswig-Holstein to practice womanly, demere hobbies and paradoxically, Marie was by far the worst violinist in Europe in spite of displaying every other desirable trait a young princess could wish to emote. 

You were the most gifted musician out of the four heirs to the German throne, which was a fact that Governess Lydia preferred to keep to herself. Nobody needed to know that it was Glücksburg Castle’s Devil Child who was producing fiercely beautiful Mozart concertos from the confinement of her quarters after a good repremandment for misbehavior. 

“My master requested this pedal harp to be handcrafted for you by George W. Lyon and Patrick Healy, the founders of Lyon and Healy- an overseas company that qualifies as the cornerstone of quality instrument creation. He corresponded closely with the two men over the past week,” you could hear Sebastian’s overly saccharine simper, even as you closely inspected the floral engravings that decorated the harp’s crown, straight down to its foot. The golden column must have been polished recently but even so, it couldn’t completely outshine the work that was put into styling the harp’s wooden soundboard and the neck, which was its signature concave top. “I do hope it's to your satisfaction- the Lord Phantomhive was eager to present it himself, however-”

“He is occupied with hosting his emergent business meeting,” you interrupted haphazardly. The Earl wouldn’t care about the Funtom Company once he was dead and besides, you couldn’t seem to find out why water damage within a single cacao refinery was such a major issue. There were dozens of cacao refineries that Lord Phantomhive funded- nosing through his official documents had told you so. “Well...think nothing of it, I suppose.”

“Of course,” Sebastian bowed, his hand over his heart, “your leniency is much appreciated, Your Highness.”

“I would appreciate being left to my own about now,” your fingertips brushed over a red string, which indicated that it was a C. On the harp, the strings were colored, indicating different notes and as if in a trance, you were tempted to play more of them as Sebastian left the room. 

The blue strings were F strings, A string was the string in the middle of the groups of three, if your memory served you well. It had been about a decade since you last touched one with the intent to sit down and play. You doubted you could, the longer you stared at the abundance of strings and yet, you claimed the upholstered chair behind it anyhow, sitting down. You cautiously pulled the harp back towards you until you found its balance point and allowed it to rest gently against your chest- practically weightless.  

Your the rest of your body seemed to recognize this more than your mind as you subconsciously repositioned the front of the harp to angle it. You could hear Lydia’s seething tone telling you to keep your arms “Halten Sie Ihre Arme in einem Winkel von 45 Grad zur Senkrechten!” (Keep your arms 45 degrees from the vertical!) properly from your body, your wrists curving gently towards the strings. 

Playing the harp was your escape as a child and there you were, once again in need of an escape. Being in a strenuous position with no clear course of action...maybe you hadn’t grown nearly as much as you thought you had.

Or at all.

The back of your neck provided an affirmative stab, causing you to bite your bottom lip, paying the chapped skin over it no mind. Ignoring the reality of the situation, did you well- it chased away nightmares, the interrupting thoughts and ironically, you were sitting before an instrument that used to help you do just that. Except, all it was doing for you then was stir thoughts and memories that could have used to remain secluded for at least one more day. 

“Mozart himself would have treasured your talent, dear girl,” Ida, one of the many maids that were assigned to prepare your sister for important events said. She was tying the back of Marie’s dress from the back, the satin laces a deep abrugene to match the rest of the garment. For young girls, clothing was quite simple- pinafores, dresses, sensible flats or boots. You weren’t introduced to the horrors of training crinolines and corsets until it was the year you went missing and stayed that way. 

“It was nothing, Ida,” Marie-Louise yawned, extending her hand out to another maid, Lotte for her to slide a lace glove onto it, pulling it up to reach her forearm. The team of three maids worked around her like bees in a hive, hovering and flitting about, making useless conversation to please a girl who was nowhere near half of their age. “Music comes easy to me.”

No, it didn’t. The extent of Marie’s musical ability was to pick up a violin and brandish the bow, only to force the poor instrument to squeal about a few noises before she gave up. Marie liked everything to come easy to her- she liked to be a natural talent, a prodigy with anything she attempted. 

Music came easily to you, but within the walls of Glücksburg Castle, all you knew how to accomplish was wreak havoc and delay plans. It didn’t make sense for music to come easily to you and so, no one believed you, no matter what you said or how you said it. 

“They ought to organize a recital for you, Your Highness. Her Majesty would adore hearing you play,” Lotte suggested with a smile that seemed forced- like clothespins were pinching the corners of her lips and cheeks in place.

“Why do that when Mr. Brahms and Mr. Strauss performed for us already?” You couldn’t help but interject, their words irking you as you stood on the other side of the large quarters- in front of your own separate vanity and armoire. Two other maids, Emery and Katharina were assigned to you were also whisking around you like overeager bees, but they didn’t bother to coddle your self esteem. You appreciated that they did their job and silently at that. Nothing could convince you to forget the disappointment that furrowed their faces when they learned that they would be tended to you instead of your mother or your sister. They were treated with stiff contempt from the minute they introduced themselves in lieu of it. “They’re musical geniuses and you’re a princess.”

A lying princess, at that. 

You were asked to remain looking forward while Emery caked your face and neck in thick powder and rouge and Katharina tied a chain of pearls around it. It was the exact ensemble that your sister’s team was assembling for her, except Ida and Lotte were much less time-efficient. The point was, Marie-Louise was free to face and glare at the side of your head, her seven-year-old mind trying to formulate a witty, yet tactful response. 

“You’re a princess as well, Helena,” Marie-Louise hissed, “but you just can’t ever be normal and act like one.” It always had to come down to that, didn’t it.

“Just when did Governess Lydia teach us to lie in Etiquette Class?” You turned to your sister, which was admittedly, the equivalent of staring at a scowling mirage of yourself, who seemed to be on the verge of shedding frustrated tears. Satisfaction bloomed in your chest. “I must have properly missed such a lesson, considering everybody seems to abide by it.”

“Please, that is quite enough, miss. Supper is nearing and we wouldn’t want to present you both late. Poor form is unbecoming,” Ida, the most experienced maid only scolded you in the process of intervening. That was to be expected. 

You didn’t respond and simply allowed Emery to part and braid your hair into a tight bun as Katharina secured your boots in tense silence. Most of your life up to that point was in tense, furthering silence anyway and yet, the royal family had the audacity to be surprised when you fled.

Supper was always the same. Your older brothers, Albert and Christian sat prudently on one side of the table, you and Marie-Louise were across from them and your mother was absent, visiting the Hampton Court Palace to see the Royal School of Needlework to its opening, since she was its first president. While she was one of the most active people in the royal family in charity work, her duty as a mother ended the moment she pushed the twins out of her womb. 

“Helena,” Christian said, acting as if he had lived through the many experiences of a king in only sixteen years. “Your Royal Guard came looking for you in the cricket field this morning- again. Where were you off to today?”

“I was with Hanna,” you lied, puncturing the rough exterior of the sausage on your plate with the tip of your knife before properly slicing it. In truth, you hid yourself in the stables because the animals were better company that anyone on castle grounds. “We were-”

“When did Governess Lydia teach us to lie in Etiquette Class?” Marie-Louise mimicked your words from prior, purposely making a mockery of your voice as she scrunched her nose. “Thora went out to sit with the pigs and the filth, Christle,” she explained employing the frankly bothersome, nicknames that your grandmother started. 

Christian ignored her and instead gave your father a long look, trying to get him to instead chastise you but to no avail. His Majesty was much too occupied with attempting to stab a piece of sausage whilst reading a letter. Kingly duties- and this was what your older brothers wished to embody. 

“It’s getting cold. If you’re so compelled to ignore your duties, may as well do it safely,” Christian mumbed gruffly, causing Albert to snicker in turn. Albert had the right of it as you fought a grin, setting your utensils down to signify that you were finished with your meal- the tips of your fork and knife met on an angle at the top of your plate, similar to a triangle.

“Very well, Christle,” you stood up from your chair, breaking the code of the highest ranking individual needing to finish his meal before anyone else left the dining table. In which case, that would be your father who was still satisfying himself with a serving of knödeln- potato dumplings. He mouthed each word that he read because it was likely written in French or English. “I ought to go to amuse myself, then.”

You showed yourself back to your quarters, Ida’s pleas for you to return to the meal and properly wait for His Majesty to end it. You hesitated in front of the closed door, the impertinent anger from your sister’s mere existence returned in seconds, causing you to impulsively go to the games room, where the harp was kept, and do exactly as you were forbidden to. 

You were forbidden from playing while Marie-Louise was occupied elsewhere- a rule that Lydia had threatened you over. But the moment that servants understood that it was your mastery that filled the castle corridors, they would detest it. Marie-Louise could live with being a little less affable in their eyes and even if she could not…

Some deserved not to. 

You opened your eyes, unconscious to when they had closed. Your fingers froze, the skin on them raw and burning familiarly, your wrists protesting the angle you held them at. Your hands trembled having expertly recalled the daringly simple melody of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major, but before you could try to recall some piece by Liszt (the name was lost to you), Mey-Rin entered which was likely for the better. You were prepared to sit on that chair until your fingers bled, in spite of what it made you recall. 

“Lunch is about ready,” Mey-Rin’s eyes were red and bleary, but you made no effort to question it, thankful that she refrained from commenting on your playing. “Are you feelin’ alright ma’am? You’ve gone a bit red.”

“Yes, thank you. I might’ve overexerted myself,” you suggested, which was true. Your head pounded the moment you tried to stand. 

“Why don’t I bring it all up to your room,” she offered, “you just rest.” She briefly looked down at her boots, presumably checking the laces because tripping was quite a common occurrence for her. How the fragile antiques that Lord Phantomhive collected remained whole was beyond you when the only maid was a clumsy and slightly gullible...täuschen, or half-wit, as the conman might’ve said. But in this case, she had a point. Nothing sounded more appealing than having lunch alone in your room- without his (snarky) Lordship.

. . .

There were no time constraints at the estate- absolutely none that told you when you could play or when you couldn’t. 

This was exactly how you found yourself before the harp once after your nightly routine concluded. You were pulling the harp back to lean on your shoulder like a woman possessed, hungry for control of some kind. Whether it be dragging the blade of a knife across your victim’s throat or more realistically, pulling the strings of a brilliant instrument that must have cost half of a fortune to commission. Besides, if you killed Lord Phantomhive, you would have to leave before having at least a few more chances to make the beautiful instrument sing.

The hour called for something demure, rather than you experimenting with what your muscle memory could or could not conjure. You immediately began with Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major once again, willing your gaze to remain on your hands, actively fighting off any intersecting train of thought while you played. You focused on every flick of your wrists, the shift of your slipper on the pedals all while your hands knew exactly where they needed to be and when. 

At least they did before the shrill vibrato of a violin interjected the alto hum made by your harp. It came from the next room over, the Earl’s office, no less clearer than it would have been from a few feet in front of you. The violin took the melody that you willingly surrendered for the sake of keeping the piece uncluttered and subtle, as it was intended to be. 

This was how Lydia wanted an accompaniment between you and Marie to play out- you vaguely recalled the sheet music that she painfully attempted to teach her. Clearly, your counterpart was never able to grasp the music well enough and the accompaniment never took place- even after you embarrassed her that night. After your father dismissed your siblings, she came to the music room and had an... entirely becoming temper tantrum in your face- such a display would have ended with you being locked in a closet for several hours. Ida simply escorted her back to the quarters you shared and made her a glass of chamomile tea to calm her down.

As the piece came to a mutual decrescendo, it slowly faded away, ending with a soft glissando. It was unlike Lord Phantomhive to give you the last word without so much as the irked look or in this case, an irked trill.

Tags: 

[alitheamateur]

Fantasy Flight

A/N: YOU GUYS. I’M ALIVE. MY CREATIVITY IS HANGING BY A WEAK THREAD, BUT I’M ALIVE. I managed this little oneshot, in a much, much lengthier amount of time than I would have liked, but here we are after months of a dry spell. I’m hoping this will kick-start some more content, and kill my writers block!!!!! Cross your fingers for me, loves.

You meet Steve Rogers on what seems to be a never-ending flight. But, the man has ways to occupy your time...

WARNINGS: NSFW. Smut, oral sex, language, mile-high action.

Steve Rogers x Reader

The mediocre clearance rack novel you picked up before you boarded wasn’t holding your attention nearly as much as you’d hoped, and the free movie playing was one you didn’t care to partake in again. Sure, the window-seat sunset was beautiful. Neon and pink, with fading blues and clouds like fresh linens and cotton. But, you’d never been in the air this long, and your worrisome tendencies were worming their way to the surface with unmerited warning.

Somehow, thank your lucky stars, you’d scored an empty row all to yourself, so the undisturbed nap you’d just stirred from helped shoo the passing of another hour or so on your journey. You concluded with the aid of a couple more stiff cocktails, you’d doze off and be kissing ground before you knew it.

Just as you were about to click on your light for assistance from the attendant, a man across the aisle stretched into your peripheral.

“No use. I’ve been trying to get a bag of peanuts from her for the last half hour. Seems the eligible doctor on the first row is keeping her busy.”

You combed your matted, once-styled hair from your eyes so you could see clearly if his exterior matched his friendly, congenial voice. Your lips stole a smile before your self-control could protest, and the one on his face grew tenfold in return.

His hair was a muddy blonde, cut clean and proper to match his smooth face, revealing a flexed, dominant jaw. You couldn’t tell what the material of his threaded black shirt was made of, but it had to have been something with flexing give the way it pulled over rugged cuts of bicep. His lashes were long, fluttering and youthful, but they didn’t hide the slight simmer of mischievous delight in his storm-ridden eyes.

“Well, if she doesn’t get here soon, I may have to make my way to the liquor stash on this rig.”

He was cockeyed in the aisle seat across the way, hands folded over the armrest before he offered one your way.

“I’m Steve Rogers, by the way.”

You fumbled with a decision on whether to engage furthermore. Travelling alone to another country had its potential dangerous without conversing with a lone man on an uncrowded flight. But, his clean smile, and bright skin told a harmless story, and you figured maybe a bit of friendly banter would pass the time and distract you welcomingly.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you, Steve the peanut guy.” You played cheekily as your thumb brushed over his hand and closed in a shake.

“Peanut guy, huh? Well, I have certainly been called much worse, by a much less beautiful mouth.”

He had captured your hand, and long overdue held its embrace, and you hoped the whispers inside your head weren’t falling into his palms. The plump veins sheathed under his skin pulsed as you watched them, and suddenly your carnal curiosity settled at the gap of your thighs.

“Ah, a smooth talker, I see. Do you make it a habit of picking up lonely women on flights then, Steve?”

He fluttered a requesting gaze at the empty seat next to you, gentlemanly asking for an invitation. You weren’t even sure how he fit through the threshold of the cramped walkway, much less how his broad shoulders rested comfortably in the less than accommodating seats.

“Actually, I’m probably the farthest thing from a man as such, sweetheart. But, the longer I watched you across the way, the more I just had to hear the sound that came out of those lips.”

What you would have classified as trash coming from most men you meet, sounded only like genuine truth from a guy like Steve and his pearly, symmetrical smile.

“And was it everything you hoped it would be, Mr. Rogers?”

He only had eyes for your mouth. And you, for the sudden peculiar growth behind his zipper.

“Beyond it. But, if I’m being honest, there were more than words that I needed to hear…”  

Radiant, obvious flushes of pink pooled at your cheekbones, and something in Steve’s unapologetic face spoke to your every attraction.

“I do have a pretty mean Chewbaca impersonation, if that’s what you’re into.” You remarked, seeing how far you could take him.

There was a glint of a smile, but nothing could break the resolute hunger for Steve to have you in the filthiest of ways.

He cleared his throat. “I haven’t quite figured out exactly what I’m into. But, something tells me it’s whatever is sitting pretty beneath those long delicious legs.”

You’re certain he shocked your heart to a stop, and if it was possible to come by words alone, it may have just happened inside your panties.

Fearful of what you may say, or of leaving a puddle in the cloth of your seat, you fled like a heaving, hot mess.

Very rarely had any man made you blush, or even anything close to such. But, whether it be the way he somehow made his unsubtle innuendos seem uncharacteristically dopey and polite, or simply his God-forsaken, flawless, womb-shattering face, you needed a solo moment to seek out your composure.

The vacant sign on the stuffy bathroom called to you, and you slid in sideways through the cramped door. The peachy lines of your lips were gathering a mist of sweat, and using your even swampier palms to dab the wetness away was useless. It was as if your pheromones had pitched a humid aura around you, and even your hair had frizzed with the static of your arousal.

As you unleashed the cool flow from the faucet to settle your sweltering fever, you heard a double tap in the panel of the door.

“Just a minute.” You chirped, confused as to why the individual couldn’t clearly read that the room was occupied.

You heard a raspy throat clear, the ruins of a chuckle present.

“It’s me, darlin’. You okay in there?”

“I uh, I’ll be out in a minute, Steve. I’m fine, really.” But, the truth was anything but. Your hand quaked against the handle, threatening to open the door just for a quick glance at him. Maybe a hefty enough dose of the slithery sneer to help you tend to the pressure swimming in the lower of your belly.

“You looked a little shaky, Y/N. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t check in on you.”

You were quite rickety on your feet, but it had nothing to do with illness. Unless being irrepressibly turned on was a medical concern.

Before your reflexes consulted your brain, you were unlatching the metal of the door, to see Steve leaned cross-armed in the rectangle entry. There was a crease between his smiling eyes, and in the fluorescent light of the bathroom bulbs, you could see a scuffed scar beneath his prominent chin. He stepped inside abruptly forcing your back to stumble against the wall, probably sharing the fear that you’d suddenly discover some shred of better judgment and dignity and kick him out.

Both of you froze, blood hardened with anxious suspense, and budding expectancy. After only stillness, Steve’s strong, yet concerned hand trapped the side of your cheek, then found your forehead.

“My God, you’re burning up, doll.” He fiddled with a stray hair clinging to your face, the flowing tempo of his breathing thick and struggled. “We should probably do something about that.”

His able fist snaked to your back, gathering up the length of your hair, then he craned his neck to unleash whispering gusts of cool air down the nape of your heat-rashed neck. Steve breathed over your cheeks, over the hills of your collarbones, then aimed his pouted lips down the slit of your v-neck shirt between the canyon of your weighted breasts.

Gulp.

“That… Yeah, that helps a lot, Steve. Th-thank you.” He had you. Your drowsy eyes were lidded with sex, much like the refection in his very own eyes.

“I’m just getting started, gorgeous. I’ll have you feeling all better in no time.”

Somewhere in the beginnings of his performance, you had been too hypnotized to notice he had pulled free the elastic tie of your waistband, and ably situated you to sit on the sink. The head of the water nozzle prodded the flesh of your back, but your suspicions assured you some forthcoming ecstasy would distract the discomfort.

“Let’s give you a good look over, shall we?”

With a faded glance, Steve pushed himself to your lips, paced licks of his tongue swabbing the stains of liquor on your mouth. You moved to dangle your suddenly feeble arms around his neck, but after a playful nip of his teeth, he pulled away.

“Seems your lips are in perfect condition. But, we may give them another look at in a bit. But first, there’s a few other crucial locations I should see have my full attention.”

Veiled in thin cotton, and even thinner lace, your budding nipples felt the very real tugs, and gripped fondles of his seemingly always magical hands.

You squealed. Pitches of ear-shattering octaves broke the barrier of sound as your skirt began bunching at your waist.

“Wow.” You mustered.

His eager, doe-like eyes admired the teasingly dainty pink bow stitched at the center of your angelic white panties.

“What a sweet little doll you are. So ready for me, Y/N.”

With two measly fingers, Steve ripped your cheeky underwear at the seams, and his entire face crashed into your aching center like some sort of erotic magnet. When he inhaled your scent, a masculine cut nose splitting your lips, you heard the crackle and pops of the sink’s vanity cracking beneath you. The very aroma of your desire for him drove Steve so beyond the brink of control, his grip on the edge of the counter had given way to his strength.

“And this. This sweet, sweet cunt seems to be… Mhmm, seems to be as perfect as can be.”

His explicit admirations sounded like murmuring babbles as his lapping tongue was deeply preoccupied, but the smile lines of his dark-sparked eyes told his tale. You tousled his schoolboy combover, the prowess in you guiltily indulging in roughing him up a little, and he hardly nicked at your puffy entrance.

“Mind those teeth, Mr. Rogers,” you brazenly remarked. But secretly, his cheeky bites were only spurring you on from every corner.

Suddenly, twined with slurps of starvation, and swirls of a mindful tongue, came a burst of your most erotic orgasm. There was a rueful knock on the door, no doubt a polite passenger concerned with the wails reddening your throat, but you both snubbed the intrusion. Steve giggled, fucking giggled, as he attempted to catch every glistening drop of your sugar-sweet release, like he was a silly boy feasting at a candy dispenser.

“Mmmm, like syrup, I’m tellin’ ya’. Better give it all, baby.”

Your mascara had smeared, and your missing earring must’ve been somewhere lonely on the sticky floor, but you were rancid with the high of an almost frighteningly rewarding orgasm, and needed more.

“If you don’t bend me over this sink in two seconds, Steve, I may regret this decision all together.” You plopped to the ground, skirt bundled in your fist, and angled your bottom end indiscreetly over his suitable bulge.

Steve pulled his shirt over his head with one capable hand, while the other made headway on his suddenly cumbersome belt.

“Don’t you worry. You just bend over like a good girl, and I’ll make for certain you get off this plane with everything but regrets. Now, bite on this before those lovely little screams get us into trouble, hm?”

He plugged your mouth with the warmth of his t-shirt, his thumb playing at your lips. You could see the blurs of his reflection in the mirror, and you felt a convulse quake over your body at the sight of mountainous canyons of muscle. When you heard his zipper fall, a knot settled in your windpipe. His heat reached your core before his actual flesh, and your orgasmic, weepy eyes fell closed for a moment when he worked his way inside you.

“My. God. What a tight, tight little beauty you are, Y/N,” Steve cried into your ear as he bent over your back.  

The flexes of his abs laying across your spine, dewy slickness parading at your neck where his scalding exhales landed. The whole scene was one for the most blushing of erotica. His rhythm was unsteady. Quick, then lethargic and dirty, with matter of fact grunts punctuating his every move. The unpredictable thrusts kept your entrance hyperaware with luscious anticipation.

You kept your eyes on the mirror, hopeful to catch the clear vision of an emotion on his painfully hot face. Your eyes wanted to give away, surrender to closing at his sexual mercy, but you held watch, nonetheless.

His deep pounds into your slicked center clouded your focus, but quickly you felt the weight of Steve’s head leave your shouder, and you caught eye contact. It was obvious, by the sheepish quirk of a smile, the blown pupils, and impossible thickness of his neck, Steve Rogers was designed to please a woman past the point of return.

A hand like a sneaky snake crawled down the crevice between your pelvis, and shivering thigh, discovering the pleasantly painful swell of your clit. The mirror in front of you, now cloudy with steam from your erratic breaths, caught your handprint as you stretched and clawed for something to take the blunt force of your excitement. A storm of thunderous come brewed inside you, and before you knew it, Steve’s eyes pooled with the onslaught of his own hurricane.

“Round two when we land says I can time this one just right, sweetheart…” He winked, referring to what would be your first unison release with a partner.

Oh, the smugness. The crude, pompous…. Salaciously sexy smugness.

His hips bucked, digging and rooting to the bottom of your belly, while his fingers almost tickled your blossom like the strings of a harp, becoming well acquainted. You matched his showing off, swirling circles around his unfathomably sized cock, doing everything in your power to simply prove his sure ego wrong.

But, with the last push of your pert bum back at him, he flicked at the heart of your sweet spot. Your sight went spotted and white, every hair on your flesh straight as a cats’ back.

“S-S-Steve!”

The pulses of your eruption pulled the red-stricken head of his length, and before your legs even began to fully twitch with satisfaction, Steve howled, and you felt a tickle spewing inside of you.

“Perfect. Fucking. Timing.” He cursed, a puddle of meeting juices pooling at both of your feet.

He kissed the blade of your shoulder, tasting the salt of your sweat, his palms massaging into the cheeks that had left reddening marks on his sculpted thighs. He caressed you, helping you to stand straight, tracing the lines of your body with fervor.

“Looks like we have a date when this plane lands, gorgeous.”  

TAGS: @miidailyinspiration​ @eap1935​ @mollybegger-blog​ @spideypxgirl​ @fanfictionaffair​ @firstangeldragonranch​

(If I missed your tag, PLEASE send me a message. It’s my best way of keeping up with taglists. xo)

[yourdeepestfathoms]

We All Still Die (part four)

i literally burned myself out of all my motivation after Fractal Scarring and i fucking hate it. but i wanted to post, so have the next scene from We All Still Die that was supposed to be longer but this was all i had in my drafts

---------------

Ladies in waiting and maids in waiting alike were lined up in a large council hall, their light green and pale yellow and washed out red and faded blue dresses whisking slightly in the breeze slipping through the half open windows. And, before them, in a glittering silver gown, stalked Henry’s new wife.

She walked up and down in front of them, seeming more like the head of the guard lecturing new soldiers than the queen of England. She was as cruel as the head of the guard, though, as she had just fired a poor lady in waiting just because she was adorned in a green dress. Now, the other girl clad in green was fidgeting anxiously, waiting for her life to be ruined.

That wasn’t Joan, thank God. She was so lucky she decided to not wear the former queen’s favorite color and rather went with a grey and yellow dress. She did, however, have her prayer book on her and a necklace with a false emerald pendant, but she hid them both. Jane’s cold grey eyes slid right past her. For now.

A foot nudged Joan’s heel. She glanced away from the queen to look to her left. She saw Abigail subtly up to one of the window sills and dared to follow her gaze.

A beautiful black bird was sitting on the window sill. Its back was a galaxy of amethyst purple and metallic blue and golden yellow, glinting like melted gemstones in the sunlight.

“It’s a starling,” Abigail whispered.

“It’s pretty.” Joan whispered back, momentarily forgetting that she probably shouldn’t be talking.

“Isn’t it?” A smile ghosted Abigail’s lips. “They’re all over my family’s farm. We had chicks in our-”

“Abigail.” Jane suddenly materialized in front of them like a sparkling silver iceberg in an Arctic Ocean.

“Your Majesty,” Abigail scrambled into a clumsy bow. Joan snapped her head forward and saw the starling fly off, as if it had foresaw the oncoming storm about to erupt inside of the hall. She wished she could sprout wings and fly away, too.

“I do hope you are taking this seriously.” Jane said. She turned her gaze to scrutinize Joan, and she struggled not to squirm.

“I am, Your Majesty.” Abigail said, bobbing her head frantically.

“Hm.” Jane tipped her head. Her eyes narrowed and her glossed lips curled upwards into a wicked smile. “Since you’re so fascinated in the birds at your family’s farm, why don’t you go visit them? Permanently.”

Abigail froze. In the three and a half years she’s known her, Joan has never seen so much terror on her face before, not even when she got the news of Anne’s execution.

“Wh-what are you...”

“You’re done here.” Jane said coldly. “You will not be working for me. I don’t need ladies who are more fascinated in birdwatching than working. Get your belongings and go.”

Abigail opened and closed her mouth several times like a cloth-swathed fish out of water. She stared, dumbfounded, at Jane, who looked two seconds away from striking her across the face before she finally stepped out of the line and headed to the door. She didn’t walk with her usual pomp or confidence, but rather defeat and grief. She glanced over her shoulder one last time, then left the hall. And Joan’s life forever.

“W-wait!” Joan cried seconds too late. “Don’t punish her! It’s my fault! I-I pointed out the bird to her!”

“Do I look stupid to you?” Jane said.

“Illiterate, from what I’ve heard,” Muttered a voice further down the line. Jane whipped her head in that direction, but strangely didn’t pursue the offender. She just set her jaw tightly and craned her head back to Joan.

“No.” She said firmly. “You will do.”

Joan felt dizzy. The queen had approved of her? But not Abigail? Sure, Abigail was silly and loud, but she was so much better at sewing and cleaning and just about everything than she was.

“I-I-”

Jane smiled crookedly at her internal dilemma. Then, so fast Joan and a few others actually jumped, she snapped her head to the left.

Whimpering.

Sniffling.

Shaking breaths.

Someone was crying.

Jane stalked down the line and Joan leaned forward slightly to see her stop before a girl her age. She recognized her as Miriam, one of the girls who had defended her from Mildred when she first became a maid in waiting.

“What is wrong with you?” Jane spat.

“I’m- I’m s-sorry,” Miriam gasped. “I’m s-sorry, I just-”

“I don’t have time for this,” Jane rubbed her forehead impatiently, making Miriam cry even more and frantically blubber out apologies. “Go.”

The girl standing next to Miriam backed away slightly. Jane looked at her.

“No, not you, Patricia. You’re doing fine.” She turned her uncaring gaze back to Miriam. “Yes, you. Box. Your stuff. Out the front door. Courtyard. Carriage. Goodbye.”

“Will you stop acting like a mosquito-buggerer, Jane?”

All heads turned in to direction of the voice, which Joan recognized as the one that had spoken out before. A woman with sleek brown hair and the sharpest, most piercing ice blue eyes Joan had ever seen before stepped forward.

Gasps and murmurs swelled through the line of ladies and maids.

“It’s really her,” Murmured the girl who has taken Abigail’s spot.

“I thought I had seen her, but I didn’t know for sure,” Said the one next to her.

“What is she doing back here?” Whispered a third. “How was she allowed back?”

“I think the real question is: how was she not killed?” Wondered a fourth softly.

Joan had only heard of the grouchy, majestic lady in stories. It started when she overhead the phrase, “Bless’ee Bessie Blount” and when she had asked her fellow maids in waiting what it meant during one of their classes, it spurred all sorts of rumors about her. They swore she was so powerful she could knock down a tower just by breathing on it. They said Henry still snuck out to be with her once every month. They warned that she would climb into bedrooms and rip out the ovaries and eat the wombs of bad little girls who had affairs and committed adultery and had sex before they were betrothed. They said the only reason that that didn’t happen to Anne was because she’s afraid of the dungeon tower and refused to go anywhere near it.

But the woman standing before them all didn’t look like the type to pull out organs and eat them at all, although she did give off a very tough, aggressive vibe. Waves upon waves of anger radiated off of her, hot and flickering and burning like roaring flames. She was covered in damp, rotten vileness and her gaze held years worth of resentment and bitterness, and yet Joan could see warmth and love and care hidden underneath all those layers of ice and thorns. And then, even further beyond that, was locked away trauma and deep-seeded agony.

“Elizabeth Blount.” Jane spat the name like it was a curse.

“Bessie,” The woman corrected. “It’s Bessie.”

She stepped out a little more, and Joan was slightly shocked to realize that she was wearing a dark purple cotton tunic and tan trousers instead of a dress. She wore no jewelry aside from a single diamond-shaped earring that was the color of firelight, had no makeup on, her wrists were strangely blemished in symmetrical scars, and she kept her long, luscious brown hair spilled out on her shoulders and back, with her messy bangs drifting into her mysterious blue eyes. And yet, she was still more beautiful than the queen was and maybe even more than Anne had been.

Jane flared her nostrils and glowered at this woman. Bessie was definitely older than her, but quite a bit shorter. Plus, Joan swore she though she saw muscles rippled across her arms.

“Leave this poor girl alone.” Bessie said. “She isn’t doing anything wrong.”

“I don’t need sniveling mules in my court.” Jane said, curling her nose in indignation.

“She’s mourning.” Bessie replied smoothly. “Whether you like it or not, some of these girls were greatly devastated by the death of Anne Boleyn. You can’t expect them to bounce back instantly.”

Jane couldn’t appear to come up with something good to reply with, so she just just growled out, “Girl. Leave.”

“Girl. Stay.” Bessie said to Miriam, who had taken one step forward to scramble out of the room. The girl was bug-eyed, looking from Jane to Bessie and then back to Jane.

Bessie was arguing with her, Joan realized dizzily. She’s arguing with Queen Jane Seymour. She’s saying no to her.

Who was this woman?

“I’ll have you thrown out on your arse right now,” Jane warned lowly.

“You can’t do that.” Bessie said coolly. “Henry wouldn’t let you.” A smirk twisted on her pale lips. “He loved me more than he would ever love you. And if you dispose of me, that will just get lower and lower until you end up just like—” She then stopped and glanced around her, seemingly noting how many of Anne’s ladies and/or maids were still around. “Me.”

Jane clenched her fists tightly at her sides. She was working herself up to a proper temper, it seemed.

“I don’t even know why allowed whores back in the castle,” She hissed.

Bessie didn’t seem phased, but Joan swore she saw a flicker of pain and guilt and terror flash for a split second in her eyes.

“If that were the case,” She said, “then you wouldn’t be queen right now. Because I’m sure getting knocked up by the king on the day his wife was beheaded, mere minutes after, even, would count as impure.”

Small gasps and murmurs and even giggles sounded from across the line. Jane’s face turned dark red with embarrassment and rage, but she doesn’t strike back. Bessie raised her nose and exhaled a victorious breath. She stepped back in line, but not without noticing Joan ogling her.

The smile Joan gets sent a flurry of butterflies flapping wildly in her stomach.

[the--highlanders]

About Tricking Villains

No’ very well-mannered, those children of yours.”

“When they’re biting, they’re your children.”

The Doctor and Jamie find a gaggle of children.

birthday present for @keatulie!!

on ao3.

“Oh, dear.” The Doctor fumbled with the lock, turning it over as if expecting it to come apart in his hands on its own. “Oh, fiddlesticks. Pass me your knife, would you, Jamie?”

“What’re ye messin’ around with this for?” Jamie drew his knife and handed it to the Doctor, but his voice was sceptical. “I thought ye said we only had a few minutes until they caught us.”

“Well – yes, I did, but if I’m right -” The knife skidded over the metal of the lock, its edge slicing against the Doctor’s finger, and he yelped in alarm. “Fiddlesticks – here.” He shoved the knife back towards Jamie, putting his cut finger in his mouth. “We ought to get this door open,” he mumbled.

“Would this help?” Stepping past him, Jamie took a key from a hook on the wall and handed it to the Doctor, grinning.

The Doctor glared at him, but took the key and shoved it into the lock. When the door clicked open, it revealed only a small room, empty of any furniture. Its walls were painted with a scene of rolling hills and blue sky, peppered at regular intervals with unnaturally symmetrical clouds and trees. In the centre sat a round, plastic dish, filled with water and a cluster of odd, fuzzy creatures.

“Yes, I thought so.” Stepping inside, the Doctor picked up one of the creatures, holding it up to his eye level. Water streamed from its fur onto his sleeves, but he did not seem to notice. “Myz’aikk are a funny species, you know, Jamie. They undergo partial metamorphosis when they reach adulthood. I did wonder if Bennett was keeping some of the children here.”

“Ye mean he kidnapped them?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. They think he’s their saviour, remember? And I – ah – I think these are quite important children.” The Doctor reached up to touch a pendant strung around the child’s neck. They hissed, snapping at his fingers until he withdrew his hand, and the Doctor placed them back down amongst their fellows. “Symbols of the most important Myz’aikk families. I suspect they think he’s just babysitting.”

“Oh.” Jamie studied the creatures more closely. They looked a little like the adult Myz’aikk he had met, he supposed – without the wings, and their fur rougher and longer, but the vague resemblance was there. “Why would Bennett want tae keep them here? He didnae seem the type to look after a bunch of kids willingly -” Jamie nodded towards the bare room. “An’ he’s not doing a good job of it, either.”

“Well, I’m not quite sure.” The Doctor ushered the cluster of children out of the room. They stared up at him with wide, almost luminescent eyes, seeming equally nervous and fascinated. “Perhaps he felt he needed some form of insurance, if any of the Myz’aikk discovered what he was up to.” He tapped Jamie’s arm. “Come along, we ought to get to the laboratory.”

“Aye.” Jamie broke into a jog to keep up with him. “Hey, do ye think Ben and Polly managed tae stop them from lettin’ off that poison stuff?”

“Well, I certainly hope so. But it could still kill everyone on the surface if we don’t find out what it’s made from -” The Doctor stopped, turning around slowly to look at the gaggle of children trailing after him. “Oh, dear.”

Jamie snorted, muffling his laughter with one hand. “They really like ye.”

“Oh dear, oh dear – run along to your parents now.” The Doctor ushered the children back down the corridor, flapping his arms to shepherd them along. One had latched onto his ankle, and he paused to shake his leg gently, trying to prise their grip off. “There. The exit is...” He pursed his lips, waving his hand vaguely. “Over that way, somewhere.” As one, the children turned to look in the direction he had pointed, then back up at him again. “Don’t you want to go and find your parents?”

“I think they want tae go with you, Doctor,” Jamie said, still struggling to hide his laughter.

The expression his comment earned only made him laugh harder. The Doctor was perfectly calm when faced with a madman about to poison the sky for the sake of selling an empty planet, but a handful of toddlers defeated him. “But I can’t take care of children!” he exclaimed. “Not now, when we’re trying to stop Bennett from killing everyone! I wouldn’t even know how to look after them.” The children were clutching at his trousers and coattails, and his resolve was visibly crumbling. “Jamie, tell them – tell them they can’t come!”

“Here.” Scooping up the smallest child and depositing them in the Doctor’s arms, Jamie simply grinned at him. “They can help us figure out what Bennett’s done.” Picking up two more children, he tucked one under each arm and set off down the corridor, leaving the Doctor helpless and stranded in a sea of children. “I can babysit while ye work, if ye like.”

“There’ll be no need for babysitting,” the Doctor said, his voice low and dangerous. “They’re not my children.”

“Oh, aye, I was forgetting. I cannae be babysitting if they’re our children.”

“How convenient.”

The Doctor and Jamie wheeled around, searching for the source of the third voice. “Bennett,” the Doctor said wearily. “I wondered when you’d show up.”

The very sight of Bennett made Jamie’s skin crawl with an inexplicable, instinctive distaste. “I hardly wanted to miss out on meeting the people who have caused me such trouble.”

Setting down the children in his arms, Jamie stepped forwards to shield the Doctor, reaching for his knife. “How did ye find us?”

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” Opening his jacket, Bennett gestured to his own knife. Despite his mild expression and neat, businesslike appearance, there was a steeliness in his eyes that told Jamie he would not hesitate to strike. “In fact, I think it would be better if you made your way out. I think you’ll find the authorities waiting for you.” The Doctor clutched the child he was holding closer to his chest, and Bennett’s mouth quirked into an infuriatingly smug smile. “Quickly.”

The Doctor shuffled his feet, considering, but stood his ground. “Not unless you tell us why you’ve been keeping the children down here.”

Bennett shrugged, still smiling in a way that set Jamie’s teeth on edge. “They’ll be the generation of Myz’aikk that inherits the place once my work is done,” he said smoothly. “Sacrifices must be made, of course, and most of the surface population will die during the terraforming, but I never intended for the Myz’aikk to be entirely wiped out.”

The Doctor let out a hollow, humourless laugh. “You’re not that charitable, Bennett.”

“An’ we’ve seen your sales records,” Jamie put in. “We know you’re just going tae sell the planet off tae the highest bidder. Ye never meant for the Myz’aikk to survive.”

“It’s something to do with these, isn’t it?” The Doctor indicated the pendant hanging around the neck of the child he was holding. “Yes, I thought so. A child from every prominent Myz’aikk family. They were your insurance policy, in case anyone dared stand up to you.”

For a brief moment, Bennett’s calm facade flickered, his eyes flashing yellow and slitted before turning blue again. Jamie took a step back, startled. The revelation that Bennett was not human should hardly have been surprising, and yet somehow it made him seem more threatening. He could be hiding anything about himself. “I think we’d better do as he says, Doctor.”

“Ah – yes, you’re right.” Turning back towards the entrance, the Doctor ushered the children along before him. “Come along, everyone, it’s time we were gone.” He was still holding the smallest child, and busied himself with murmuring to them insistently, as if comforting them. They stared back at him, their dark eyes wide and serious, occasionally nodding at something he said.

When Jamie leant over, the pair fell quiet. “We could take him,” he hissed. “I’ve got my knife, an’ he cannae fight off both of us.”

“That would be rather ill-advised, I think,” the Doctor whispered back. “Better to let him take us outside.”

“So he can poison the world while we try an’ get back in?”

“Now, Jamie -”

“Quiet!” The hilt of Bennett’s knife slammed into Jamie’s back, sending him stumbling forwards, almost tripping over the cluster of children.

The Doctor stared at the corridor ahead of them for a moment, not reacting to either Bennett’s words or Jamie’s yelp of surprise and pain. At length, he set down the child he was holding, letting them scurry over to join the others. “I – I refuse to be treated like this,” he blustered. “You can’t just push us around, you know.”

“I can do whatever I like,” Bennett replied, cold and calm as ever. “You forfeited your legal rights when you broke into my bunker.”

Jamie watched incredulously as the Doctor turned to nudge the closest child towards Bennett with his foot. “Ah – yes, but – we haven’t been accused of anything yet, have we?”

“Aye, who put ye in charge?” Jamie added when the Doctor winked at him. “Surely what happens tae us is for the Myz’aikk to decide.”

Before Bennett could reply, the children surged forwards, pushing past the Doctor and Jamie to swarm up his limbs and drag him down. Bennett struggled to throw them off, but they only clutched at him more tightly, digging their tiny, needle-sharp claws into him. When he yelped in pain, a few of them laughed, and Jamie swore that one or two bit Bennett to make him cry out again.

“No’ very well-mannered, those children of yours,” he said to the Doctor, grinning.

“When they’re biting, they’re your children,” the Doctor shot back. Stumbling forwards under the weight of the children, Bennett made a break for the end of the corridor. Jamie made as if to go after him, but the Doctor laid a hand on his arm, holding him back. “I don’t think he’ll get very far.”

“He’s gettin’ away!” Jamie argued. “An’ what if he hurts the children?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t worry about that.” Leading Jamie after Bennett, the Doctor pointed up a ramp leading out into the daylight.

Rounding the corner and catching sight of a cluster of Myz’aikk in uniform, Jamie sighed, his heart sinking. Bennett wasn’t lying about the authorities, he thought. They’ve got us now, and the planet will die… But when he glanced back up, he saw that they were standing behind Ben and Polly, who held the still-struggling Bennett between them. The children were clustered around his legs, darting to and fro to avoid Bennett’s kicks.

“There you are, you see?” the Doctor said, sounding a little too satisfied with himself.

“Doctor!” Ben called down to him. “What do you want us to do with him?”

“Lock him up somewhere,” the Doctor replied. “Have you taken care of the poison?”

“Yes, it’s all gone,” Polly said. She winced as Bennett tugged away from her, but only tightened her grip on his collar. “It was lucky you told us to come back here, or we wouldn’t have caught him.”

“Ye couldn’t have planned all that,” Jamie protested. “Ye had no idea the children were down here. An’ ye couldn’t have predicted that they’d imprint on ye like ducklings, either.”

The Doctor gave him a knowing look, but broke down into laughter a moment later. “It was quite the stroke of luck,” he admitted. “Ah – Ben, Polly?” They turned back towards him as he shouted. “You will look after the children, won’t you?”

Ben snorted. “Hauling around a criminal and a bunch of children. I don’t know if I feel like a copper or a nanny.”

“Splendid.” The Doctor dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief surreptitiously, then waved it towards the children. “Goodbye, all our little children!”

“Thanks for all your help!” Jamie put in, grinning. As they turned to hurry back into the depths of the bunker, he nudged the Doctor’s side. “All ourlittle children?”

The Doctor huffed. “Hush, you.”

[cruisercrusher]

Dicktiger week day 5- Assassin (This is a rotten thing to keep inside)

If Tiger had to choose one word from his (extensive) vocabulary to describe Wayne Manor, then he figured just ‘BIG’ would suit it fine.

Everything about the manor was big. The rooms, the halls, the windows were all big, even the air, the presence of wealth was massive and all encompassing. Even the furniture seemed to Tiger like it was made for giants-- especially the fireplace at the back of the… Tiger wasn’t sure what this room would be called.

The front doors of the manor led you into a pretty regular sized foyer, symmetrical, two cushioned benches on either side of the door under each of the two windows, and two coat closets. The foyer then opened up into a cavernous space wherein the stairs that led up to all three of the manor’s floors resided. It was almost completely open, and if you stood at the right angle, looked up and squinted you could see the ceiling of the third floor between the railings of all the winding staircases and the chandeliers.

To the immediate left was a doorway that led into a hallway that took you to a parlor, a bathroom, the dining room and through there the den in which there was the entrance to the batcave, the kitchen, the laundry room, and the library. If you wandered further eventually you would find yourself in what appeared to be a home art gallery housing a lot of cat themed pieces, another bathroom, and a billiards room that had a bar and seemed rarely ever used. Many rooms in the manor seemed rarely used. It made Tiger a little mad to think about. All this wasted space.

On the right side was a doorway that led into a family room, called as such because there was a tv there and seemed much more frequently occupied than the other sitting rooms that were more classically decorated, and wide, grand doors that opened up into the ballroom.

In front of the massive fireplace, in the wide space beneath the first floor landing, was a couch and two armchairs, and a plush carpet, as well as a grand piano. On the wall above the fireplace were so many family portraits and photographs that counting them all would take longer than it would to count all the stars in the sky.

It was in this ‘room’ that Tiger found himself in presently. He stood awkwardly off to the side while Dick, his boyfriend of only two four months but his love for over a year, fussed and fawned over the youngest Wayne.

Damian Wayne stood, back straight and stiff, at the bottom of the stairs, designer luggage in hand, waiting patiently for Dick to be done mother henning him.

Damian Wayne was about to go spend the long weekend with his mother. Talia Al Ghul would be coming to the manor momentarily to pick him up herself.

Tiger did not particularly want to be present at the time that Talia arrived, but he wanted even less to be left alone in the manor, away from Dick’s side. It was the first time that Dick had brought him to visit, and Tiger did not want to get ambushed by any of his boyfriend’s family members in a place he couldn’t escape.

Tiger just hoped Talia would not say anything… damaging. Damian seemed content to keep his young mouth shut. Maybe the same could be said about his mother.

Ha. And maybe Tiger would spontaneously become Superman sometime in the next ten minutes.

As if.

“Oh, Dami,” Dick gushed, pressing sloppy, wet kisses to the young boy’s cheeks. “I’m so glad you and your mom are reconciling! Now that both of you are out from under Ra’s’ thumb… this is going to be really good for you, Dami, I know it.”

“I know, Grayson.” Damian grumbled, though a small smile still made itself known on his face even as he wiped saliva off his cheek. “I’m glad, too.”

Then, a knock on the door. Alfred, who had been waiting with them, reached forward to open it, revealing none other than Talia Al Ghul herself waiting on the other side.

“Hello, Mother,” Damian said with a slightly hesitant smile. He walked over to her after one last hug from Dick. “I’m ready to go.”

“Habibi,” Talia greeted him with a hand on his shoulder. Then she looked up at the other people present, nodding to Alfred and Dick, before her gaze landed on Tiger.

Talia’s eyebrows rose very purposefully. “The Tiger King of Kandahar… it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Tiger stilled as Alfred and Dick turned to look curiously between him and Talia. Damian looked down, suddenly finding the wooden floor very interesting.

Well, Tiger thought, it was nice while it lasted.

“You know each other?” Dick asked him, a careful edge to his voice. Tiger couldn’t lie to him (not anymore). He nodded.

“I used to work for her.”

Silence hung heavy in the manor foyer as the implication set in.

“Used to.” Talia stressed, sighing. “Which is too bad, really. You were one of my best assassins.”

Tiger winced. He kept his challenging gaze on Talia, almost daring her to keep throwing him under more buses.

Now, don’t get it twisted, Talia was rarely intentionally malicious. But the last time they saw each other wasn’t on the best of terms, and, well, no one was perfect. Even internationally renowned assassin queens could be petty.

“I am going to go wait in the car.” Damian said, picking up his luggage and leaving out the front door.

Tiger looked at Dick and nearly flinched at the look on his face. A veritable thunderstorm of conflicting emotions roiled across his face. The clench of his jaw said anger but the draw of his eyebrows said upset, and his eyes… in Dick’s eyes was disappointment, clear and palpable. It was the disappointment Tiger couldn’t stand. Dick’s anger, he was familiar with. His sadness, he knew how to soothe. But disappointment…

He had hoped that that part of Tiger’s past could have remained secret for… forever, if Tiger could have helped it. Along with, well, almost literally every other part of Tiger’s past. He’d done a lot that Tiger knew if Dick knew then he might not… love him anymore.

His career in the league of shadows was very high up on that list.

Suddenly Dick moved from his frozen place, like one of Medusa’s stone statues reanimating. He stormed out of the room, shouldering roughly past Tiger.

“Master Richard,” Alfred called after him, but it was no use. Dick was gone in the depths of the manor.

Tiger took the opportunity to glare full force at Talia. She just raised an eyebrow at him, the barest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, Tiger,” she said. “Surely you knew you couldn't run forever?”

And with that she turned on her heel and walked out the door after her son, closing it firmly behind her.

Tiger made to go after Dick, but Alfred stopped him. “Might I recommend, Master Tiger,” said the elderly butler, “Waiting a bit, until Master Dick has had the chance to cool down, and think? He struggles to be rational when he gets upset.”

Alfred’s firm hand on Tiger’s shoulder stopped him from ignoring the advice and going after Dick anyway. Instead, Tiger found himself being led towards the kitchen.

“Come,” Alfred said. “Have some tea with me.”

Damian stared sullenly out the window of the moving car, watching the trees rush by. “You didn’t have to do that, Mother.” He said.

Talia kept her eyes on the road ahead, empty though it was. “And why not?”

“Grayson was very upset. And when he is upset, everyone is upset, including me. And, if Grayson’s relationship with the King ends over this, it will only make everything worse.” Damian crossed his arms over his chest, staring out the window harder. “He thinks I don’t notice these things, but I do, and Richard’s real to fake smile ratio has improved greatly ever since he and the King became romantically involved. Even I approve of him, even if Father still does not.”

“The way I see it, habibi, is that when a secret like this festers, it is only ever that much more rotten when it comes to light.” Talia said. “And this is a family full of detectives, Richard included. Tiger’s history would not have stayed secret for long.”

About an hour and two cups of tea later, Tiger was finally released from the kitchen and allowed to roam the manor in search of Dick. He checked the two parlors at the front of the house first, then the library and every other inch of the first floor for his boyfriend, to no avail. He even made sure to look up and check all the chandeliers. It wasn’t until he checked the ballroom a second time that he noticed the doors that led out to the garden were left open. Slowly he crossed the polished marble floor, his footsteps echoing lightly throughout the empty room. He poked his head out the door and into the garden, and spotted Dick a few yards away, sitting on a bench among the bushes of roses.

Dick pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them as Tiger approached, glaring all the while at the blooms around them, he made no outward indication that he noticed Tiger’s presence. Tiger sat next to Dick on the bench. He was unsure of what to say to make this better. Words of healing had never been his strong suit.

He just couldn’t get the image of Dick’s disappointed eyes out of his mind.

“I’m sorry.” He tried. Dick didn’t look at him.

“What are you sorry about?” He said, voice monotone and hollow. Tiger almost couldn’t stand it.

“I…” he trailed off. He didn’t know. “Everything?”

Dick let out a huff of air through his nose. His eyes stayed trained on the roses. “I’m mostly upset you didn’t tell me before but it’s also… I knew, theoretically, that you’d killed before. As a spy. I knew. It was just-- easier, I guess, when it was more… ambiguous.” He said. “I never watched you kill anyone. I never knew how many people you’d killed. I think that made it easier to look past. When it could have been as low as only one person, if I wanted to be foolishly optimistic.”

He sighed. “But now… an assassin. One of Talia’s best assassins. And I can only imagine how many… the blood on your hands… Tiger, I understand that sometimes killing is done in self defense. Sometimes, there’s no other choice. But I still don’t like killing, Tiger. Really don’t like it. And not just because it’s Bruce’s rule.”

“And I know you’re not that person anymore, I know it shouldn’t matter. But it does, somehow. An assassin-- to be making a living off of taking people’s lives, over and over again. I hate that.” Dick’s voice started to stray from that empty tone. “It-- it’s different for Damian and Cass. They were raised to be that way, since they were children-- Damian still is a child. But you-- wait, Tiger, were you--?”

Dick finally looked at Tiger then, contempt replaced quickly with concern.

“No, I was not raised as a child to be an assassin.” Tiger said. “Though… I still didn’t have much of a choice.”

Dick’s gaze softened, and Tiger couldn’t help thinking he didn’t deserve that look. “Tell me about it. I-- I still love you, Tiger. So please, help me understand.”

“... I was seventeen.” Tiger started after a pause, where he tried to get his thoughts together. He’d never actually told anyone about his past before. He wasn’t quite sure how. But he was going to try, anyway. For Dick. “I was seventeen, and a scout had found me, hungry and dehydrated, out in the desert, far from Kandahar and farther from everywhere else.”

“I was scrappy. I put up a fight. He brought me back to the league of shadows’ base, and I was recruited as a low level assassin. Started training right away. The scout, Abdel, mentored me for a time.” Tiger paused again. Now it was his turn to fixate on the flowers. “Abdel was twenty-two when he found me. And, at the time, I wasn’t delusional enough to think that what we had would last, but I was delusional enough to believe he loved me.”

Dick’s brow furrowed. “You two were…?”

“Yes.”

The furrow of Dick’s brow deepened. “Tiger, twenty-two and seventeen… that’s not--”

“I know.” Tiger said. “I know that now. It’s just-- Dick, back then, I had nothing, and then I had nothing else i became very skilled, rose in the ranks quickly until killing was just about all I knew how to do. I was… poisoned, for a long time, until you came and pulled me out of the hole I’d dug myself into. You were right, Dick, that I have blood on my hands. A lot. But you were also right when you said I am not that person anymore. I never will be again.”

Dick just looked at Tiger for a long moment, searching, considering. “Okay.” He eventually said. “I understand, now. Thank you for talking to me about it.” He reached over and squeezed Tiger’s hand. “And I’m sorry for storming off like that.”

“It’s okay.” Tiger said. Dick let his legs fall back down and leaned over, resting his head on Tiger’s shoulder. Tiger rested his head on top of Dick’s, taking in the scent of jasmine from his shampoo.

They sat like that, together, in silence, until the sun started to go down.

[emeraldwaves]

Title: Start of Something New Chapter 1 Pairing:  Todomomo, side Kamijirou Rating: T Word Count:  2,864 Summary: Momo is thrilled to be spending her winter break on her family ski vacation. Even though she’s anxious about graduating in the spring, she’ll have time to relax, enjoy the slopes and hang out with her best friend. Shouto is not thrilled to be stuck with his father for the entirety of his winter break. It’s anything but a vacation. Even with his siblings there, everything reminds him of his past and he just wants to get back to finishing school and moving on. When the two continuously run into each other at the lodge, both of them realize their vacations aren’t going to be what either of them expected. Read on AO3 Ayyy I’m finally writing a Todomomo focused fic! @its-love-u-asshole read it ahead of time and @lainaraquel was so supportive of this fic and my ideas for it! It’s kind of shamelessly fluff and a high school musical reference but oh well! i hope people have fun!

Snow blustered by the window, and Momo watched her gentle breath fog up the glass. She shivered, though it was warm in the car. She could already imagine the sharp breeze nipping at her cheeks, her nose tinged red as she swooped through the powdery snow with her skis.

She daydreamed about her family’s yearly trip for weeks before. Sitting in class, her mind would often drift to the slopes. She could almost feel the wind brushing through her dark locks, the white powder covering her legs as she zipped down the mountain with her parents.

Pressing her finger against the fogged up glass, she doodled a picture of a mountain on the window, a small smile pulling across her lips.

The yearly trip would be a nice reprieve from her frustrating, anxious thoughts.

"Momo, darling, don't smudge your finger against the window. It leaves prints!" her mother chided, glancing to the backseat. "Take a nap if you're tired. We still have at least another hour left in the car."

Momo jolted, sitting up straight. "Yes, Mother, I apologize," she said, bowing her head. Her cheeks heated up. She wasn't a child anymore, her mother shouldn't have to scold her over something so petty.

She took a deep breath, leaning her head back against the side of the door. For as long as Momo could remember, her family took a two week trip to the mountains for her winter break. They spent the two weeks skiing, ice skating, and relaxing in the hot tub. It was Momo's favorite time of year.

Her parents spent the majority of their time working, and even free time often turned into extra work, leaving them very little time with their daughter. But on their yearly ski trip, most of the time belonged to her.

As a child, there was one year her parents pawned her off on a ski instructor, but after a few days of learning various techniques, Momo was proud to be able to keep up with her parents. Even as a child, she was focused and intelligent.

"Is your friend going to be here this year?" her mother asked, pulling Momo from her thoughts.

When she grew older, there were some times her parents wished to spend alone, which Momo could understand. They both worked so much they barely had time for each other as well. And so Momo spent her free time at the lodge cafe or recreational center, which was how she met one of her greatest friends, Jirou Kyouka.

"Ah! I forgot to text her this morning!" Momo said, pulling out her phone.

[Kyouka: 4 New Messages]

A small giggle left Momo's lips. It was no surprise Kyouka was already texting her.

Kyouka's parents were the clingy type. Both well-known musicians, their winter trip was time for family bonding, and Kyouka often begged to escape to spend time with Momo.

[Text from Kyouka]: Yaomomo, when are you getting here? I'm already dying.

[Text from Kyouka]: My Dad is suggesting our families all karaoke tonight. I only have so many ways to say no.

[Text from Kyouka]: I really hope you're at least on your way.

[Text from Kyouka]: Yaomomo, seriously! Where are you?! This boy just talked to me and I swear, I can't tell if he's cute or an idiot.

Momo couldn't help but laugh at the last text. Momo had to admit, the few times Kyouka was vocal about her various attractions, Momo found herself questioning Kyouka's taste, mostly in men.

[Text Kyouka]: Don't worry, don't worry. We're almost there! Sorry I didn't text back, I was a little distracted.

[Text from Kyouka]: Why does your family do everything in slow motion?

[Text Kyouka]: I apologize, Kyouka! We are really close! Mother said we're about an hour away!

[Text from Kyouka]: AN HOUR!? ...Killing me slowly...

She smiled, brushing her thumb over the screen. Her heart throbbed with anticipation. She and Kyouka only saw each other a few times a year; always on their two week family trips, and occasionally during summer break for a mid-year sleepover.

[Text Kyouka]: Why don't you tell me more about this boy?

[Text from Kyouka]: Ugh. Just get here. He works at the cafe, you'll meet him.

[Text Kyouka]: If you're really bored, you could tell me now.

[Text from Kyouka]: Nope. This is your punishment for being so damn late!

"I take it you two are making plans already?" Her mother's voice made Momo jump, clutching her phone to her chest.

"Oh yes! Kyouka is... very eager for our arrival," Momo giggled.

"That makes two of us," the woman sighed. Momo's mother never did well when they traveled in the snow. It was part of the reason they had such a late start; her mother secretly wanted to wait until the snow passed, hoping they wouldn't have to drive through the light storm.

"We're almost there, darling," her father reassured, and Momo turned her gaze back towards the window.

The snow wasn't falling very fast. It was light and gentle, though it seemed to be sticking to the ground. It was Momo's favorite kind of a weather; cold, but with a purpose, the ground snuggling in its blanket of white.

She let out a soft sigh, not wanting her parents to hear. As excited as she was for the trip, she hated the idea of it coming to an end. And as usual, Momo knew the time would pass incredibly fast, which meant returning to school for the last time in the spring.

A lump formed in her throat as she thought about leaving school. Of course university loomed on the horizon, so it wasn't as if she would be free from studying (not that she wanted to be). But the idea of actually furthering her studies, taking her one step closer to adulthood, terrified her. Momo had no clue what she planned on doing with her life, and university was a strong reminder of her unknown future.

This most likely wouldn't be her last ski trip, but for some reason, she kept feeling like after high school things would feel different.

"We're here," her father said, and Momo immediately pressed her cheek against the window, staring at the giant lodge in front of her.

It never seemed to change. The large wooden building which stood at the base of the mountains was four stories tall, balconies decorated by fairy lights. Large stone chimneys pressed against the side of the various lodges, and Momo could already picture the fire burning in the pits of the lobbies. Behind the lit up building, ski slopes cut through the mountain, separated by long strips of green trees. Various chair lifts and gondolas strung up the mountain, still running even later in the afternoon. After dark, a few trails were lit up for night skiing. For now, Momo saw a few small figures zooming back and forth across the slopes.

"It'll be nice to get out there tomorrow." Her father sighed happily.

"Yes, anything to be out of this car," her mother said, gently touching his leg. "Let's get checked in."

They pulled into a parking spot, and Momo stared at the lodge, completely lit up in front of her. The roof was dusted by snow and the sun shone, making the white power glisten with sparkles. Opening the door, Momo was hit by a cold breeze, but her heart felt warm, as if she was home.

Next to her, another car door slammed shut and Momo glanced to her side. Struggling to hold four different bags, a boy her age with perfectly symmetrical red and white hair stared at her for a moment. His eyes were two different colors, and they absolutely fascinated her. He also had a scar over his left eye, and Momo flushed, realizing her staring at his eyes might have been mistaken for focusing on the scar.

Really, he was quite handsome. Momo had never found herself drawn to someone so fast.

"Shouto! Hurry up!" A tall, gruff looking man stormed by him, pushing the lock on the car.

"Coming," the boy muttered, turning away from her.

"Momo! Come grab your bags."

"A-Ah! Right!" Her father's voice pulled her out of her daze, and she dashed around to the back of the car, grabbed her bags.

She glanced behind her, watching the boy walk away. It wasn't unusual to see new people here every year; it was a popular resort, and expensive, so some people made it a special, one-time only trip. However, Momo couldn't help but follow him as he walked away, wondering if she would see him again during her stay.

~~

Shouto hated car rides, especially long ones with his family. They were usually deadly silent, or consisted of Natsuo loudly (and obnoxiously) singing along with whatever was on his iPod. Fuyumi would attempt to quiet him down, but eventually it would take their father's loud, frustrated voice to get him to stop.

Then it would be completely and utterly silent. So much so, Shouto could hear his own breath, as well as the soft breaths of his siblings, all of them desperate to expel the tension hanging above the car.

Currently, they were past the point of awkward silence, and Natsuo finally started talking again. Unfortunately, his attention fell on Shouto. "Do you even remember how to ski, Shouto? Mom taught you when you were so little."

Shouto's chest tightened at the mention of his mother. "I know," he muttered, turning his eyes towards the window.

"Hah? Shouto!" Natsuo whined and poked at his cheek. "What do you mean 'I know'? Do you 'know' how to ski still? Or are you just saying you 'know' Mom taught you?"

"Leave him alone Natsuo..." Fuyumi tried again, turning around from the front seat, and gently placed her palm on his forearm, pressing against it.

Shouto couldn't help but be jealous Toya got out of this trip simply because he was currently studying abroad and decided not to return home for winter break. If Shouto could leave and never come back, he would've gladly chosen that option.

"I remember," Shouto said finally.

"Oh! Well good then! I didn't want to have to teach you again!" Natsuo chuckled. There was no response.

Finally realizing he wasn't going to garner the response he wished for from either Shouto or Fuyumi, Natsuo lay his head back against the window and shut his eyes.

Relieved, a breath of cold air slipped from Shouto's lips. His father just happened to have the body temperature from hell, and he rarely remembered to put the heat on. There was no way Shouto was going to ask the man for anything either.

"We're almost there," Enji's gruff voice echoed from the front, causing all of the siblings to jump. "So you can all give it a rest."

This whole trip was a bit baffling to Shouto. Before, their winter trips usually happened thanks to their mother, and she was certainly not going to be there this time. Enji always acted as though the ski trips were the biggest burden on him. He didn't even seem to enjoy skiing, though he often bragged he was the best at it. He could've gone pro if he wanted or... something... Shouto usually tried to tune him out when he got to that point.

And yet, even without his mother, somehow they were all on their way up to the mountains. Though Enji chose a new resort this time, one Shouto and his siblings were unfamiliar with. None of them complained though; Shouto wasn't sure if any of them wanted to be here without their mother.

Shouto kept his eyes locked on the snowflakes swirling outside his window. His mother always did adore the snow. When the first flakes began to fall from the sky, she would rush to the window, her gray eyes illuminated with excitement.

"It's snowing!" she would call out, like a young child awake far too early on Christmas morning. "Come here, Shouto." Her small hands would cup at his sides, and she would lift his tiny body up to the window. "Soon," she said, smiling, "the world will be covered in a frozen white blanket. And we'll be nice and warm inside. But maybe... we can go out and play later."

Shouto's eyes twinkled then, his hands curling around the sill. His heart was always full of wonder for their snowy yard. His mother made it sound ethereal; a winter wonderland of adventures waiting for just the two of them beyond the glass of the window.

Things were different now. His breath, though cold, still fogged up the glass window of the car. The world a dull gray as it breezed past them on the highway.

Soon... soon he would be free from this car, and not long after this trip he would be free forever from his father. He could live in the dorms at his university and as far as Shouto was concerned, the further away from that man he was, the better.

"Are we going to be skiing all week, Father?" Fuyumi asked. "I was hoping maybe we could take a day for cross-country? Or ice skating..." His sister trailed off, the words left unspoken.

 "Because Mother also enjoyed doing those things too."

"Do whatever you want during your downtime," Enji said. "You will be skiing at the designated times. I already paid for the tickets."

"I see," Fuyumi muttered, and Shouto saw her head tilt downwards. Fuyumi and their mother often spent a day together ice skating. Of all the winter activities, it was Fuyumi's favorite, and one she excelled at.

Shouto didn't love ice skating, but he had a feeling Natsuo would force Shouto to go with the two of them at one point on this trip. He supposed for Fuyumi, he could stomach it. In fact, doing various activities with his brother and sister would probably be far more fulfilling than anything their father planned.

"We're here!" Natsuo cheered, pressing his face flat against the window. Sometimes Shouto seriously couldn't believe Natsuo was older than him. "Look at this place! It's huge!"

Shouto leaned towards the middle of the car, catching a glimpse at the large four story lodge. His nose wrinkled. His mother would've hated this place. She much preferred smaller cabins, a more homey feel, than... commercialized lodges.

Then again, nothing about this trip was going to feel homey at all, so Shouto supposed this ginormous lodge was more than appropriate.

"Shouto, get my bags while I take down the skis," Enji said, putting the car in park.

It was always him. No surprise there. Shouto didn't answer and instead stepped out of the car, his boots squishing against the dirty, slushy snow beneath his feet.

He made his way to the back of the car and lifted up the trunk, pulling his own bag and the various bags Enji packed. Why his father needed more than one bag was beyond Shouto, but he didn't feel like listening to the man scold him if he didn't grab all... three of them. He sighed, slinging one over his shoulder, holding one on his wrist and the other two in his hand.

He used his elbow to slam the trunk shut and stumbled backwards, clutching two of the bags close to his chest as he tried not to fall. It was then, when he was making a complete and utter fool of himself, that he caught eyes with a girl.

She was probably about his age, and she was, well, stunning. He probably looked like a fool staring right at her, but her sharp dark eyes drew him in. Her pale cheeks were a bit flushed, probably reddened from the kiss of the cool air. Her dark black hair was in a ponytail which fanned out against the back of her head, and red, fluffy ear muffs covered her ears.

Their eyes met and she stared right back, her lips pulling into a curious circle. Shouto could honestly say he had never seen anyone quite as beautiful as her.

How lame.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he had no idea what he would even say to a girl like her. 'Hello' probably would've been a good start. His throat felt dry, frozen in the cold air. What were words anyway?

"Shouto! Hurry up!" Enji's voice cut through his daydream, shattering it onto the ground. Shouto was thankful he didn't drop the damn bags.

"Coming," he muttered, reluctantly turning away from her. It was silly to regret it; it wasn't as if Shouto had anything to say to her.

"Momo! Come grab your bags." He heard a voice call from behind him.

"A-Ah! Right!"

He was tempted to look back, curious to see her one more time, but he supposed he might see her during the trip anyway. The lodge was huge, so the probability was low. But Shouto felt a little lighter as he carried the bags. The thought of seeing her again made his heart beat just a little faster.

Maybe he would survive this trip after all.

[goddamnitdazai]

to whom you serve || Chuuaku Samurai AU

Chuuaku Week Day 5 || Role Reversal - AU  Chuuya had never been bothered by the scent of it. Or the color. It didn’t bother him that it would mix into his hair and become indistinguishable until he washed it in the riverbank, or that the scent of iron within the the blood itself mimicked the scent of a sharpened sword in the right atmosphere. Their faces irritated him, not in the way they looked aesthetically or how they contorted once his blade hit their vital organs, it was the ones who begged for their lives tears streaming down their cheeks as they threw another beneath the hilt of his sword. Their comrades; family. Men like that were the ones Chuuya didn’t mind taking his time with. Ensuring they felt every slice and cut from the very tip of his sword down to the hilt.

Charred wood crackles at his feet sending onyx colored dust and smoke undulating into the night sky. On a farm this far outside of Kyoto it would take at least an hour to be noticed, another hour and thirty minutes before the military police came to check on things. By then the bodies would be scorched to ash. Skeletons left to rot into the earth unable to show how they were killed if the police even bothered to search for another reason outside of a house fire. Chuuya spits in the dirt spots of crimson dotting the soiled earth along with his saliva. One of them had gotten a decent punch on him, apparently. Footsteps echo in the dry grass causing birds flocking the opposite direction. Chuuya’s hand is smooth against the broad end of his sword. Navy cloth wiping the metal until moonlight refracts off the tip before he sheaths it at his side. Akutagawa watches in silence coat fluttering in the wind. Chuuya’s hair catching the same breath of cold air as the moon rises higher in the sky signaling the start of tomorrow. This had taken longer than he expected. “Oi, your boss always send you to watch his hired help or am I just a favorite?” He snaps voice gruff from the smoke. Granite hues follow Chuuya’s movement entranced by the fluidity of his steps. “Dazai-san wanted to ensure you followed orders this time.” He merely states the truth though the tightness in Chuuya’s shoulders make him regret answering. As samurai became more a burden than a help it wasn’t uncommon for them to take on work for those still managing illegal trade under the new regime. Chuuya’s skill was widely known, unmatched, and warranted a high price for his work. A man of honor despite the danger hidden behind azure eyes swirling in the gleam of the moonlight. Akutagawa shakes his head coughing in the smoke, hat nearly dropping from the abrupt movement. “Cover your mouth or you’ll inhale too much.” Chuuya says over his shoulder hair tightly drawn over his nape in a bun. Soft tendrils the color of a sunset kept tidy by a thin white string. Akutagawa nods following a few feet behind Chuuya as they wade through the dried up grass and rice fields heading toward the forest. Akutagawa doesn’t ask the destination. Struggling keeping up with Chuuya’s quick steps was enough of a distraction until his ears pick up the sound of a stream. Frogs chirping in shallow banks hidden by water lilies larger than his two hands combined. This was the opposite direction of home. “Chuuya-san, Kyoto is the other way.” He states. As if Chuuya didn’t know his way back to the capital. The red head rolls his eyes and turns to face Akutagawa. “I’m filthy I need to wash this shit off.” He gestures with a flattened palm to the blood stained on his neck and chest down to the edges of his navy kimono. Akutagawa’s cheeks grow warm but his face remains stone-cold impassive. Years of training..under Dazai. Emotions were the key to weakness and a leg up for the enemy. Supposedly. “Those hats are ridiculous.” Chuuya says as he pulls his arms from the sleeves and kneels down near the mouth of the river. Carefully avoiding mushy areas of mud and grass hands scooping up the cold, translucent water. Akutagawa glances at him with a frown. “I do not choose my uniform.” His voice borders on cold. Chuuya glances over his shoulder a second time. “That’s not even close to being true.” Chuuya replies turning back to rinse himself with cold water. Skin prickling when it splashes against his bare shoulders. Akutagawa counts how long it takes for Chuuya’s spine to straighten under the onslaught of cold skin stretching over rigid muscles outlined in thick, symmetrical curves. Akutagawa blinks and looks away. He didn’t choose. Not exactly. Dazai had brought him up from poverty and when the government began to twist with the time he was given an opportunity to continue to serve Dazai and his family. The government chose his uniform and he took it as a way to thank Dazai for all the training and the food. “The bruise on your face is almost healed. You put aloe vera on like I told you? It’s expensive but it helps.” Akutagawa’s eyes flit up at the sound of Chuuya’s voice. Tongue numbing for a moment. It was a new bruise, same spot. Dazai tended to hit the same area. ‘Building a tolerance.’ “Yes.” The word drags out of him like molasses fleeing a barrel. Akutagawa watches each muscle flex beneath Chuuya’s pallid skin, again. A simple task, throwing water over one’s body, seemed to bring out the defined curves and edges on Chuuya’s arms. Akutagawa looks down at his own through the thin cloth of the cloak. The definition, if any, was merely his skin stretched over his bone. “It’s getting cold. It will take at least an hour to walk back.” Chuuya groans. “We’re not making it back tonight. I’m too tired and you’re too weak to carry me all that way.” Akutagawa scoffs at Chuuya’s remark head turning back to face the never ending forest across the riverbank. He wasn’t weak. That weak. Though, his sister often won arm wrestling matches against men he’d lost to in the bar when Dazai dragged him out. Frowning, Akutagawa steps forward and grabs Chuuya’s hair tie spinning it around his wrist as Chuuya dips his head in the water. “I have somewhere, it’s fifteen minutes walking.” Chuuya says once he’s finished cleaning the blood from his hair. Water trickling down the curved edges of his bangs sticking themselves to sharp cheekbones highlighted by the deep blue of his eyes. Akutagawa shivers; Chuuya frowns. “Oi, you need to eat more.” “I eat enough.” When Dazai found his work to be acceptable. When it wasn’t..he’d learned to like the taste of misou soup and unseasoned tofu. Akutagawa turns on his heel waiting for Chuuya at the edge of the road beneath a large tree. Choking on air when Chuuya appears at his side as if out of thin air kimono still draped over his stomach and hair left dripping over his shoulder. “Won’t you get cold?” Akutagawa asks eyes averted to the floor. Chuuya smirks teeth catching in the moonlight. “No, I’ve got meat on my bones.”                                                          ___________ Akutagawa had never noticed how loud the forest became at night. Most of the time he was stuck in Dazai’s house or around the courtyard at night. Handling security at his meetings, ensuring the tea house had his favorite girl of the night coming with the right kind of sake, and all the inbetweens Dazai didn’t want to handle himself. Crickets chirp and small animals rustle in the grass as the two men walk through a tunnel of trees crumpling over like their leaves had become too heavy for them to hold. Lightning bugs zip back and forth, tiny dots of stardust in an otherwise shadowed path. Orange flickers in the distance growing brighter and softer around the edges the further they walk until the path drops to a small staircase build into the natural dip of the forest floor. Wood creaks beneath Akutagawa’s foot unsure of where Chuuya was taking him so deep into the forest. After a few more steps a small house begins to stick out from the thick trees and bushes surrounding it. Masking the shape in shadows and lush, green leaves. Chuuya yawns and stretches his arms out. “Don’t tell Dazai I have this.” He grates, eyes narrowing over his shoulder until Akutagawa agrees. “What..is this?” The taller man asks slipping his shoes off on the outstretched patio. Chuuya does the same and pushes the sliding door open revealing a quaint space. Fresh tatami mats and a table in the center, wood burning stove near a single counter, and on the opposite side three beds. Chuuya’s eyes lower a fragment voice softening the further he steps into the house. “Old base me and my friends used when we traveled between here and Yokohama.” Akutagawa stops in the center of the floor. Eyes wandering to Chuuya who had begun stoking the fire in the belly of the stove back to life. “Oh.” Is all Akutagawa can muster. Chuuya’s shoulders had slumped and from Akutagawa’s angle Chuuya’s eyes looked lost in another world. Hands moving robotically to set the tea kettle on the now warmed stove, two cups coming down from the shelf. Chuuya had never mentioned his life before this, and Akutagawa had just assumed like most other samurai after the war all they could do was..wander. Find work. Having a life before that seemed..unnecessary. Training and honing the skills that Chuuya had must have taken years. How could he dedicate himself while remaining in close ties with others? Dazai had always said friends were incredibly useless unless they provided something; money, routes, or information. Akutagawa shifts awkwardly waiting for Chuuya to tell him to sit down. “Let’s go outside. It gets stuffy in here.” Chuuya says, holding both teacups and jutting his chin towards the door. Akutagawa turns back around and opens it waiting for Chuuya to sit before he takes the seat next to him. Inches apart. The warmth from Chuuya’s bare skin hovering just close enough for Akutagawa to smell the spring water remaining. Stars dot the sky unshrouded by the lanterns and  sounds of Kyoto. Akutagawa’s eyes drift from the undulating steam in his tea cup to Chuuya’s profile. Veiled moonlight glossing the curve of his nose down to the sharp edges of his jawline. It was not softness Akutagawa found in the expression Chuuya wore, rather, it seemed more akin to fondness mixed with loss. A sadness that wasn’t fresh enough to cause pain only silently roll over the mind now and again as a mournful remembrance. “You do pick your uniform. That wasn’t meant as an insult.” Chuuya finally breaks the silence. Voice tired and silky all at once. Akutagawa felt it in his chest. “I picked this, even though I knew we wouldn’t always be needed. Shit changes, but if you’re proud of it then...that’s all that matters. Even with that tacky hat.” He smiles at Akutagawa before tipping the cup back to his lips. “It...is not flattering on all of us.” Akutagawa admits, sipping his tea as well. “It is repayment for what Dazai-san has done for me. Once the government shifted...he needed reassurance.” Chuuya scoffs. “He needed a pawn to make sure none of the new militia got up his ass.” “It is still my job.” Akutagawa’s eyes meet Chuuyas. “As it is your job to kill when hired.” Chuuya stills for a minute then shrugs. “Yeah, but I look good in my uniform..better than that goofy fuckin’ hat.”  His smirk rides higher up the side of his face. “Just..don’t forget you’re fighting for yourself as well as..whatever your boss wants.” Akutagawa’s brows knit together. “How is killin---” Chuuya stops him with a finger to his lips. “I didn’t mean it in that way. I fought for those who couldn’t fight for themselves, and still do. For my friends..who were forgotten in the wake of the new era.” Chuuya’s eyes dart back to the moon high in the sky hand dropped from Akutagawa’s face and brought back to curl on his knee. “That’s the part I do for myself. I don’t just work for just your boss y’know. You should find something else for yourself..a reason...doesn’t mean you can’t be a pawn if you want.” Akutagawa bites the inside of his cheek turning his head and mirroring Chuuya’s gaze up at the heavens. Thinking for a moment before he finally speaks. “Gin.” He says quietly; Chuuya smiles into his tea cup. “Good.” Chuuya sighs happily, leaning back with one hand on the patio wind curling through his hair. “Good.”

[hazinhoodies]

October part 4

A/N: i had this ready for so long and decided to rewrite it last night and i didn’t proofread to the best of my abilities so im sorry. all parts are tagged under october fic

Warnings: none

Word count: 2k (the longest chapter so far at least)

Emma and Hannah talked for the rest of the night about anything they could. When no one spoke, they sat in a comfortable silence until it was broken with one of them sarcastically threatening the other or speaking with no provocation.

“Cough one more time and I’ll throw you in the lake” -Emma 9:34

“What do you think our pets name us?” -Hannah 9:57

“Thanks, I hate it” -Emma 10:22

“How confused do you think a lion would be if it saw an octopus?” -Hannah 10:49

“Frankenstein is oddly symmetrical” -Also Hannah 

After the last one Emma finally looked up. “You know, it’s times like these when I wonder how we ever became friends’

“We were both lonely so we decided to be lonely together”

“Ah right, the greatest mistake of my life” Emma recalled. Hannah’s jaw dropped in shock

“Emma!”

“Okay okay i’m sorry” Emma couldn’t hold back her laughter “I should probably go, it’s getting late here” She glanced at the clock 11:52pm.

“Oh sure break my heart and run away why don’t you” Hannah spoke flatly before they said their goodbyes and hung up.

Emma hadn’t noticed how dark her room had actually become until Hannah had hung up. Her laptop providing the only light in the room. She quickly changed and got into bed, pulling the duvet up over her shoulders. She started to ponder the events of the day, almost definitely overthinking everything. How could you have already made him hate you.

Harrison lied awake in his bed, he’d been struggling to sleep for a while. The photo still etched into his brain. Did something happen? Was it just for a project?  He’d never craved answers so much. If he could actually talk to her without making a fool of himself then maybe he’d get them. After about another hour and a glass of water, sleep finally took over.

A few days had passed and went pretty well. Emma had already figured out how to get around set, at least to the important parts; Her trailer, Toms trailer, Z’s, Jacob’s. The important ones. Her first interview of the day was Tony, she had to wait an hour or so for Z and Jacob to finish their next scene so she stayed in Tony’s trailer and talked with him.

They asked each other an abundance of questions. By the end of it Tony could have probably written her biography. Emma could have answered any questions you had about him. Favourite food? Favourite colour? She knows it.

“You and Tony got real close huh?” Z asked after her interview.

Emma shrugged “I guess so. I mean, he’s really nice and we had an hour to kill so we just.. Talked. Things just flowed. It was a nice change honestly”

‘Change from what?” Z looked over at her as Emma sighed. “Come sit here, we’re gonna be awhile” she patted the seat next to her and Emma sat down.

“A change from from what?” Zendaya repeated

“Holland and co” Emma paused “They're all super nice don’t get me wrong, Sam and I constantly. Just whenever Harrison is there things get kinda awkward”

Zendayas features soften, her voice filled with sympathy “He’s just like that sometimes I guess. Tom and him have been friends for years already. Just don’t take it to heart Em.” Emma nodded “Good. Now tonight you’re coming back to my hotel with me and we’re gonna talk got it? Great”

Emma chuckled “I see that i get no say in this whatsoever”

Zendaya shook her head “None at all”

Once Z wrapped, her driver drove both of them back to her hotel, which was significantly larger than Emmas.

“Okay important stuff first” Zendaya starts as soon as the door shuts behind them. “Hogwarts house. Favourite musical. Favourite band or artist or whatever” she counts them off on her fingers as she speaks.

Emma smiled “Ravenclaw, les mis or grease, probably Bowie”

“Bowie, really?” Zendaya echoed as they sat down on the couch, Emma nodded

“Yeah or maybe the Beatles” Zendaya looked shocked “What do you think i only ever listen to orchestra music?”

“No just didn’t picture you as a classic rock fan”

“I’m just full of surprises” Emma spoke sarcastically.

“Okay well I still know nothing about you and that seems kind of unfair considering you could google everything about me. So tell me stuff” Z leaned in closer, whispering the last sentence

“How personal do you want me to get?” Emma asked

“As much as your comfortable with” Z explained.

“I mean if were going all the way back I lived with my mom growing up, bout an hour outside of Toronto, never really knew my dad. I have a few vague memories but he left when I was six so they aren’t much. I’ve always been pretty music-oriented and my family never knew where I got it from. They were all science and math people My best friend, Hannah, we met when we were 7 at a youth band thing and have been stuck together since. We did everything together. We actually both graduated early and applied to the same universities but she stayed in the city to do musical neuroscience and I moved six hours away for performance music and then switched into composition” Emma ended.

“What about like dating and stuff? There's no way you’ve never had a boyfriend” Z leaned back, resting her elbow on the back of the couch, holding her head up.

“I dated the same guy for all four years of high school and into uni” Zendaya’s eyes went wide “Yeah it was really good at first but around the end of my junior year it got ugly. But we’d been dating so long I was almost convinced that it was normal. Once I got into university it got really bad and that’s when I came to my senses” Emma spoke calmly. Something about Z made her easy to trust.

The rest of the night went by quickly. They talked, ordered food, and watched Brooklyn Nine-Nine for the rest of the night.

The next two weeks on set went by pretty much the same. When Emma wasn’t doing post-scene interviews, she was in either Toms, Zs or Tony’s trailer. She had become pretty close with some more of the cast, particularly Jacob and Remy, definitely the most comfortable with Tony though.  She’d grown pretty close with Sam and Harry. Even becoming closer with Harrison. To the point were the two of them plus Sam watched the dark knight rises in Tom’s trailer after Emma had admitted to never having seen it. Even still, it was always fleeting gazes or staring way too long with both of them, neither approaching the other unless someone else was there, and still, they were all stutters and flushed cheeks.  

Emma had not had a good morning so far. It was Michael’s last day on set for a while so it was going to be only her now. Of course the first day without Michael and she woke up late and couldn’t get her coffee maker to work and found that the pants she’d planned on wearing, she hadn’t packed. Instead opting for a black skirt and a yellow top with the same pair of ankle boots as always, her hair pulled into a ponytail. Michael had gone in early so the drive to set was just Iris and Emma. It was slightly awkward, normally Michael would be the one to speak up and start conversations but without him there it was silent. The only good part of her morning so far, had been Iris offering to stop and get coffee when Emma told her of her morning so far.

Once she was out of the car, Emma started towards her and Michaels trailer, coffee in hand and her bag on her back. She felt her phone start to ring and pulled it out of the waistband of her skirt and with one hand, answered it holding it up to her ear

“Oh perfect you answered” Michael started, not even giving emma time to say hello “I have some stuff for you to listen to once you get here. I’d really like your input”

“Okay. Iris just dropped me off I’ll be there in like two minutes” Emma found herself walking in between the abundance of trailers.

“Great. You remember which one right?”

“Yes of course I do Michael, it’s been two weeks. I’ll be fine. Bye”

“Okay well just text if you get lost. Bye now”

Emma pushed her phone back into her waistband. She looked up, but not soon enough to avoid the chest she walked straight into, the other person also on their phone.

Harrison

Emma stumbled back, dropping her pretty much full coffee on the ground. Harrisons hands immediately went to her waist to stabilize her, feeling her stiffen underneath his touch.

“Sorry about that, I should’ve been paying more attention” Emma looked up at Harrison. He was easily six inches taller than her. Everything she’d worried about during the very first interview had come true. She wasn’t able to look away now. She noticed the smallest details about him that she hadn’t before. Like the way his eyes got more green towards the outside, or the light stubble along his jaw, or how his cheeks seemed slightly more pink than normal.

“It’s alright darling, just watch out next time, yeah?” Harrison gave a small smile and Emma nodded. They were both lost in each other for a few moments. As if they were trying to memorize every detail of the other. Like the faint freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks.

Darling? It had rolled so easily off his lips, he hadn’t even noticed he said it.

It took a minute before Harrison realized how close they really were. He reluctantly pulled his hands away from her waist. As he did Emma broke their eye contact and took a step back, bending down to pick up the fallen cup.

“Ill uh.. I’ll buy you a new one” Harrison spoke, Emma looked up at him as she stood.

“No no you don’t have to really” She shook her head “It’s just a coffee. It’s not a big deal” They stood there for a moment, neither speaking, Harrisons hands in his pockets as Emma’s fiddled with the now empty cup “I should uh” Emma wet her lips quickly “I should get going” she barely looked up as the both nodded and she walked towards the trailer.

Once she was inside she threw out the cup and grabbed a paper towel to wipe off the  drops of coffee that had bounced up onto her legs. She placed her stuff on her desk and dragged her chair over to Michaels desk.

“You wanted me to listen to something?” she said as she sat down

“Yeah yeah give me one second” he said placing a few final notes in the composition program before hitting play on the theme he had written so far for the movie. After about four minutes, what he has so far ends. He looks towards Emma with a questioning glance “So?

“I uh It’s amazing obviously but.. I think it should have less to do with that triumphant superhero stuff you’ve got going on and more towards Peters loyalty and concern for his friends. I definitely wouldn’t scrap this though, maybe just not for the scene you’ve got it for” Michael nods as Emma speaks. Adding little “hm”s and “okay”s here and there.

“How about this. I want you to write it for this scene” Emma’s eyes widen in shock.

“Waitwaitwait you- I- you want me to write part of the score?” Emma barely stutters out

“Well yeah. Your name doesn’t get put in the credits unless you actually write something because technically you work for me not marvel and I want you name in there as badly as you probably do. So if you write something, you get credit.” Michael looks over at Emma, her jaw dropped. “I’ll take that as yes but Emma you’re going to catch flies. I have a meeting to go to now but you know what to do” Michael grabbed his bag and left.

Heres some writers that let me tag them :)

@cherryhollands @darlintom @starksparker @starksmile @hollandroos @marvelellie @dej-okay @h-osterfield @upsidedownparker

Taglist: @rainbow-marvel (thanks :))

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 5

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 5: Masquerades

The trek from Black Hat’s cell to Flug’s office usually took four minutes, give or take. The psychiatrist didn’t know if his panic attack would wait that long.

“Dr. Slys, wait! Why are you walking so fast?” Dr. Bautista hurried after him, hard-pressed to keep up even with his height advantage. “Please, Doctor, we should review our notes, slow down!”

He refused to slow down, refused to even look at his colleague until they were stuck together in the elevator. Flug almost considered taking the stairs, but his office was on the first floor and he didn’t want to have a breakdown in an echoing stairway where people could hear. Even so, stepping into the lift with this man was a true test of patience.

“Jesus, Doctor, what’s the hurry? We got what we wanted, the schedule’s made, everything’s fine.” Bautista watched, bemused, as his distraught colleague pounded at the buttons. “I don’t understand what your problem is.”

“Oh, my problem? My problem?” Flug snarled at the control panel in lieu of his frustrating companion. “My problem, Doctor, is that a d-dangerous, volatile patient learned my full name when I didn’t want him to. A p-patient, who, if I may I remind you, has only ever been incarcerated for less than a week and who ruined the life of his last psychiatrist.” He slumped against the metal wall as the elevator dropped, clamping his hands against his bag and pulling hard. “And he’s already tried to kill me once yesterday. Who’s to say he won’t try again?”

Dr. Bautista waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry so much, Doctor. That’s why we’re being careful, so you’re not alone with him anymore. He can’t try anything here.”

“Yeah, ‘here’ being the keyword.” Flug took his clipboard from under his arm and flipped hurriedly to a page full of Black Hat’s crimes. “See this? See how many people he’s killed? That’s only the documented ones, they suspect a whole lot more, you know!” The lift dinged open and the doctor slipped out. Bautista followed him. “Who’s to say he won’t come after me if he escapes, when he escapes, whatever!”

“I really think you’re overreacting,” was the grumbled reply. “This place has never seen a successful break-out, and most inmates hold grudges for officers, not psychologists. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t given your first name to patients before.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything, and I don’t gamble.” The yellow gloves were stretched up to Flug’s elbows and he didn’t stop walking when they reached Bautista’s office first. “I’ll email you my notes so you can look over them, but I need to get ready for a counseling session. Thanks for joining me.”

“Oh hey, wait a second,” Bautista called out after him, causing the doctor to hesitate. “You’re going to visit Patient 243, right? Would you be willing to take Martin Naaji with you, for work experience? He’s my intern.”

“Uh…Martin, curly black hair, short, darker skin?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s pretty new so I had him help the nurses out with dispensing medication two days ago, but I heard it didn’t go so well.” Bautista shrugged. “Personally I think the kid’s a lost cause, but he’s here for another two months and I’m trying to find things for him to do.”

Well, that explains a lot, Flug scowled under his bag. “Sure, sure, just tell him to be at my door by 10:50 sharp. If he doesn’t show then that’s not my fault.”

“Will do, Doctor.” His colleague whistled obliviously as he disappeared into his room, and Flug seriously considered putting in a request for a different companion. He decided against it by the time he got back to his office. The man was of a much larger build than him and every bit of muscle would help, regardless of his lack of subtlety.

He stepped inside his personal space, locked his door, and promptly lost his cool.

Less than an hour later, when Martin knocked on his door at 10:49, Flug had reorganized every book on his shelf by publication date instead of the author title as it was previously, wiped down all hardwood surfaces with Clorox as well as the doorknob, cleaned the little window view of the parking lot, and systematically cut perfect, symmetrical goggle holes through fifteen spare paper bags, just in case.

He had been prepared for the intrusion but his jittery energy had yet to fully dissipate and the knock nearly made him fall out of his chair with a yelp. He hurried to correct himself and brushed off his lab coat, folding his hands formally in front of him.

“Come in!”

The knob turned only a quarter of a fraction before it forcefully stopped, and Flug remembered a little too late that he had indeed locked the door.

With a stumble and a quiet “dang it” the psychiatrist scooted around his desk and reached the door in four long strides. He opened it in a flurry and came face to face with the same wide eyes he had scolded two days ago.

“Um.” Martin took a cautious step back. “Hello.”

“H-Hello.” The doctor attempted to look a little more professional by putting his hands in his coat pockets. It didn’t really work. “So, uh…hello.”

The intern looked at the ground, nervous. “Um, so are we going or…?”

“Oh! Yes, I,” Flug turned and rushed back to his desk, scooping up Dementia’s case file and his notepad. He brushed past the teenager and closed the door. “Sorry, sorry, I’m uh, just let me lock the door real quick and we can go.”

“Okay,” Martin had his feet against each other, swaying a little. He tensed to attention when the psychiatrist started down the hall and followed meekly behind. “So…is this okay?

“What do you mean?” Flug tried not to touch his bag as they walked.

“It’s just…isn’t there patient confidentiality?”

“Oh. Well, yes, but we asked Dementia if she’d give disclosure to let interns sit in on her counseling session or review the notes we share for experience, and she agreed. You, ah.” He squinted sideways at the teenager. “You’re the first one who was willing. For her case.”

“Oh. Okay. I mean, I was assigned to this by my superior. But that’s cool, I guess.” They shared the ride up to Floor 5 in awkward, heavy silence. When the doors opened again, Flug stepped out and touched Martin’s shoulder to stop him.

“Listen, I, uh, we met under…unfortunate circumstances t-two days ago and I – I don’t regret what I said, I meant every word of that, but, it’s a new day and I don’t…” He trailed off, struggling to find the right words. The intern stared just under his line of sight, nervous. “Okay, um, what I mean to say is, I’d rather we don’t think of that, encounter, while we’re here together. I know you don’t want to be here with me, and that’s – that’s fine if you don’t like me at all, it’s, I don’t care. But please try to relax when we visit Dementia.”

Martin made real eye contact and his mouth parted in surprise. “Oh, um…okay. I can do that.”

“Good, c-cause she gets wound up really easily when other people are tense and it’s hard to tell sometimes, I mean, sometimes she tries to exploit that and sometimes it makes her wary and withdrawn and I, I really don’t want to have to deal with that, so – ”

“No, I get it.” The intern’s gaze dropped resignedly. “I’ll wait outside her room, if that makes you happier.” He shuffled away from his superior and tightened his lips together.

“Ah no, you don’t need to…actually, that might be a good idea for you to stay away.” Flug winced internally at the way that came out. “I mean, uh, maybe I’ll talk to her first, let her know you want to join us. We’ll see how it turns out.”

“Sure.” Martin didn’t pick his gaze back up as they made their way to Dementia’s cell. The doctor peered through the bars and didn’t see anyone inside. He leaned forward right at the same moment a maniacal, screaming face popped up in front of the window.

“HEY FLUG!!”

“Gah!” The poor psychiatrist reeled backward and nearly crashed into the spooked intern behind him. He recovered fairly quickly and threw his hands in the air. “Dementia! What have I told you about doing that?!”

“Not to do it,” the girl cackled, tongue poking playfully through her teeth.

“Then why did you?” He crossed his arms.

“Because of the noise you make.”

Flug pressed the top of the clipboard against his face, exasperated and exhausted. It wasn’t even noon yet. “Okay, that’s wonderful, really great to know that’s what you value about me.”

“Aww Flug, I’m just teasing, you know I love –” Dementia froze with the ‘you’ forming in her lips as she locked eyes with Martin, just past her doctor. Her playful demeanor drained to something very, very cold. “The hell is he doing here?”

“He’s here to –”

“What the hell are you doing here, Newbie?! Who do you think you are?!” She screamed at him, whole body pressed rigid against the door with a slam. “Wanna try me again, huh! Wanna grab hold of my mouth again, I bet that gets you off real good, you sick fuck!”

“Dementia! He’s not going to do anything!” Flug took one look back at Martin, who had plastered himself against the opposite wall, shameful and scared. The doctor put his head in front of the frothing girl, blocking her view of everything except his bag. “Calm down, please!”

“Why is he here, Flug? What is he doing here?!”

“He’s here to apologize, that’s what he’s here for, calm down!” They faced each other, her nose practically touching the paper on his face. “I’m not going to let him try anything, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Her eyes trembled like furious candlelight. “You promise?”

“I do, I promise.”

“¡Júrame!” It was a snarl, a desperate command.

“Te lo juro, te lo juro.” Flug lifted his goggles just barely, so she could see his sincere, serious brown eyes beneath. “Nadie puede herirte aquí.”

“Better stick to that,” she spat out, irritated but backing down. The girl stepped back from the window and took several angry steps to her bed, where she sat and glared at him. The doctor adjusted his glass-wear back into place over his eyes before turning around. Martin remained at the wall, face open and agitated.

“Listen, uh, I think it might be best if you stay, um by the door for a while, while I talk to her. Don’t, ah, don’t let her see you through the window, please.”

The intern nodded, lips twitching together, and came over slowly. With prompting he sat down next to the cell door, eyes downcast, and Flug patted his shoulder in awkward sympathy before unlocking the room and stepping inside. He closed it behind him and glanced over to the angry, pouting girl who was now staring at a far point on the wall.

So, uh…” The doctor sidled up about a meter from her mattress and settled down onto crossed legs cautiously. “Having nightmares recently?”

“What makes you say that,” she mumbled, refusing to look his way.

“Well, when the incident actually happened, you seemed a lot calmer about it afterwards than you are today.” Flug tapped fingers against his thigh. “So I’m guessing the last few nights have been rough.”

“Pff, what do you know.” Dementia leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling now. They remained silent for a minute before she had the courage to speak up again. “I dunno, I just…it’s hard sometimes. Dreams are hard sometimes. Cause I can’t do anything about them. Can’t control them.” She laughed, short and self-deprecating. “Not like I can control much else about me anyway.”

“Anything, anything noteworthy? Or that you want to work through? Get off your chest?”

“Nah, just same-old, same-old.” The girl nuzzled her chin into the collar of her straitjacket. “That stupid intern showed up in one, but it wasn’t too bad. He didn’t,” her eyes darted briefly in Flug’s direction and darted away. “He didn’t really do anything. In the dream. Was just there in the background.”

The doctor bobbed his head, quiet and respectful. They lapsed into silence again until she flipped over to lay on her back, head half hanging upside down off her bed in his direction. “Hey, Flug?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever get bad dreams?”

“Oh, all the time,” he looked at her. “Being a psychiatrist is stressful, you know. Especially here.”

“No, I mean…” Dementia blew stray bangs out of her face to give him a serious stare. “I mean about before here. Back when, when it wasn’t as safe.”

Flug opened his mouth to respond truthfully, but stopped himself and gave a nervous glance towards the door. He didn’t know how much could be heard out there, and he really didn’t want Martin – or any staff, really – to know things he wouldn’t normally share.

Dementia seemed to understand why he hesitated, because she wriggled closer until her back was on the ground and her legs trailed up and over the mattress. Her head was right next to his crossed knee, curious eyes watching him attentively.

“Well, I don’t know about this place being that safe for me,” Flug offered, pitching his voice a little quieter. “But yeah, before all this it was…really hard sometimes. I had a, a lot going on that I’m not super proud of, that I don’t want to get into for,” he glanced at the door again. “For personal reasons.”

The girl nodded sagely, in understanding brought only by experience, and he continued.

“And it’s not as bad as it used to be, the nightmares I mean. Sometimes they sneak up on me, and sometimes it’s hard not to think about, those times.” He reached up and lightly trailed a line down the cheek of his bag. “But I just have to remind myself that there’s a today, and a tomorrow, and they don’t have to be related to what happened yesterday, or last week, or whatever. I know it’s really cliché to say time is a good healer, but it is a good starting point, at least for me. Does that make sense?”

Dementia turned her head slowly, face searching somewhere beyond him. “I think so, yeah.” She locked eyes with him. “So why do you wear your bag? Is it related to the bad stuff?”

“Well, the bag isn’t really related, per se, but I don’t think I should answer that.” Flug looked down at her, at the sad, reserved expression she wore only when things were starting to be too much. He was very familiar with that look himself. “You’ve asked me about it before, way back when. I will tell you someday, I promise, but right now I don’t think I have the courage.”

“The courage to show me?”

“The courage to remind myself.”

“Oh.” Dementia worked those words over in her mind, and a small, crooked smile quirked up one side of her face. “Well, I better be the first one when you do. It’s only fair, after everything I’ve told you.”

“Trust me, Dementia, if I ever get that brave, you will probably be the only person I show it to.” He took a moment to move his lab coat to a better position across his shoulders, then looked at his mostly-forgotten clipboard. “I had an outline for our session today, but I don’t think we’re really going to follow it. What do you want to do?”

“Mm…” She bit her lip and looked at the door. Something distantly related to pity appeared in her face. “If I didn’t scare the newbie away, maybe…maybe I’ll listen to his apology.” The girl glared up at her doctor good-naturedly. “Doesn’t mean I’ll accept it! Just wanna hear him grovel.”

“Oh absolutely.” Flug stood up and brushed the wrinkles from his pants. He strode over to the door and waited until Dementia sat up and gave him a verbal confirmation to open it. As the doctor stuck his head out, he saw Martin slumped against the wall with his head in his arms between his knees.

The intern lifted his head when the psychiatrist cleared his throat. “Do you…does she want me to leave?”

“No, she’s willing to talk to you.” Flug offered a hand up, which the teen took. “But I want you to stay at least five meters away from her, hands by your sides at all times, and the first words out of your mouth need to be an apology. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Martin agreed hastily, rubbing his arms as if chilled. He ducked inside the room behind the doctor like a wraith. The inmate and the intern made eye contact, and a rambling burst of energy spilled out of the teen’s lips.

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am, I shouldn’t have tried to force you to do anything! And I shouldn’t have touched you that was unprofessional and wrong and I, it…” he ducked into himself, embarrassed with both gazes on him. “I’m…I really hurt you, didn’t I?”

Dementia snorted. “Takes a lot more than a sissy-boy to hurt me, Chiquito, but it’s something.” She stood and ventured closer, keeping Flug between them like a buffer. “Martin, is it? You’re kinda scrawny. Are you sure you’re cut out for this job?”

“Um,” the intern looked to his superior for help, but the psychiatrist was trying not to laugh. She had said almost the same thing to him months ago. “I don’t…thank you? I can manage.”

“I sure hope so, kid, cause I’m one of the nicer ones.” She shook her head and long hair spiraled out around her. Flug rolled his eyes.

“Funny, I thought you were one of the tough ones.”

“I’m both, you dense doctor, I’m well-rounded.” Dementia shimmied in place, pretending to pose like a model. It was quite the sight with her attire. “Anyway, I’m bored now, so either pick a spot and pop a squat or get the hell out of my room. I’m not wasting any more time in my appointment with the only reliable guy here.”

Martin sat where he was, startled, and at his quizzical look the girl smiled like a shark and dove onto her bed. “You think I don’t know what interns do? I’m just surprised you didn’t bring a notebook, you’re not very prepared.” She scooted her feet up and propped her chin on her knees. “Flug, get your butt over here, you’re the one getting paid for this.”

A little under an hour and a half later, the two employees stepped out as Dementia smacked her feet together in lieu of clapping. “Bye Flug! See you soon! Bye Martin Maje! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”

Martin waved half-heartedly as the doctor locked the cell, then whispered quickly, “What does ‘maje’ mean?”

“Ehhh, don’t worry about it.” Flug adjusted his bag and shrugged one shoulder, fidgeting uncomfortably. “She gives, um, nicknames to people sometimes. Don’t take it personally, it means she likes you.”

“O-Okay,” the intern looked confused but dropped it. “So, now what? Do we go over the session? Do I tell you what I think? What’s next?”

“…You don’t know what comes next?” The psychiatrist was baffled by this.

“Well I haven’t, been here very long and Dr. Bautista…” Martin looked at the window of Dementia’s door. “He doesn’t really give me much to go on. Just, ‘go help this person with this’ or ‘go ask the nurses for something to do’. I haven’t done much, really.”

“Oh.” Oh indeed. Flug was really starting to regret accepting his offer to help with the other case. “Well, I’ll talk to him, maybe work out a more concrete schedule. How’s that?”

The intern’s face lifted just a little, then fell. “Ah, thanks but um, I don’t want to get in your way. Especially not after I screwed up with your patient.”

“I’m just glad she accepted your apology,” the doctor said bluntly. “And I’m not going to lie, I’m still upset about that. But we really need all the help we can get here and I’d rather you know what you’re doing than…whatever you’ve been doing the last few days…week? How long have you been here?”

“Six days.”

“Ah, okay. Yeah. That’s, that’s it then.” They started working their way down the hall and Flug continued. “I might just let Dr. Rorschach know you need stuff to do, she’ll probably be better to help than me. Not that – not that I don’t care I just, have a lot on my plate right now.”

The poor psychiatrist had a sixth sense for bad timing, he’d swear up and down, because at that moment there was a distinct hair-raising, ear-splitting shriek from the other end of the hall that was all too familiar. Flug made a pained expression as Martin whipped around in that direction.

“What – what was that?!”

“That would be one of my patients.” He handed his clipboard to the shocked intern and pushed him towards the elevator. “You go ahead back to my office and look over my notes. Get a pad and write down questions or thoughts, save it to show me later. I uh, I need to take care of this.”

“Oh, do you, do you want help or –”

“No! No no no, I appreciate it but please no!” Flug shook his head frantically, not wanting to imagine bringing this inexperienced kid anywhere near Black Hat. “Just, j-just go back downstairs, please, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Um, alright,” Martin complied and started walking reluctantly, and the doctor waited until he was safely in the elevator before putting his hands to his face and moving to the opposite end. There was another shriek and he grimaced.

The lights above the reinforced cells were dimmer than Flug remembered them being just that morning. He stopped carefully in front of the sole occupied room and peeped inside discreetly. Black Hat was there in the other side of his padded prison, kicking angrily at his mattress and straining hard against his straitjacket. His collar blinked but didn’t make a sound.

“Um, Mr. Black Hat?”

The inmate went still in his movements and cracked his head around in a near one-eighty. His face, contorted in rage, restrained itself to a neutral, unreadable position.

“Doctor Flug. To what do I owe the displeasure?” His body turned to match his head, and the psychiatrist winced at the noise it made. “I was under the impression we wouldn’t see each other until the date set tomorrow.”

“Oh, w-well, I happened to b-be here and you…” Flug looked at the abused bed. “Uh, I heard a y-yell, and I was j-just checking in.”

Black Hat’s mouth gave a spasm, but whether in the direction of a smile or a frown it was hard to tell. “I see. Well, I will take more care to keep my grievances to myself, until I feel the need to share them.”

“Good, that’s…good. Is there, uh,” he swallowed. “Is there anything else you need?”

“What I need is not something you’d provide, Doctor.” His patient was settling down a little, at least in energy. He was no longer as rigid. “I highly doubt you’d be willing to entertain my possession of an alternative set of clothing. This one is quite, restrictive.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the point,” Flug mumbled before he could catch himself. He jolted when his brain caught up and put his hands to his mouth, horrified. “I mean, I d-didn’t mean to say that, I –”

“Oh it’s quite alright, Doctor Flug, I prefer honesty.” Black Hat looked vaguely amused again. He stepped closer to the door and the doctor pushed down the urge to take a matching step away. “Which reminds me; you were not very truthful about your identity. Refusing to share your full name? Tut, tut. Rather deceiving, Flug.”

Every use of his first name sent a shiver up his back. “I r-really wasn’t being untruthful, Mr. B-Black Hat. Just evading a f-full answer.”

“I suppose I cannot dispute that,” There was another step. “But now that it’s out in the open, I have to say it’s been intriguing me. It is an abnormal name, after all. Were your parents aware of its meaning?”

Flug clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t letting anything else get past him. His inmate stepped forward some more, only a meter or so from the door.

“Is it a birth name? A changed name? An alias, perhaps?” Step, step. Black Hat was at the window now, hot breath curling out and under the paper bag. The doctor clenched his hands into his coat to keep the flinch from escaping. “Oh come now, Flug. Surely you can’t expect me to believe there are no curious circumstances. Flug Slys is too much of a word to be a name.”

Flug took a loud, slow inhale. “You could say the same thing about Black Hat.”

“Ah, true,” the patient’s mouth curled like the Grinch, “but I use that name for stage and show, something you pitiful humans can wrap your heads around. I highly doubt your situation is similar.”

“Well, m-maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.” His knuckles were white. “But that’s as much as y-you need to know. I’m not – I’m not going to l-let anything else be c-compromised.” He squared himself, trying to look braver than he felt. “Got that?”

They were very close now, face to face just as he had been with Dementia. But there was a different kind of test here, an alternate set of rules. Flug had to learn them before he fell behind, because he had the distinct sense that losing was not an option.

Black Hat’s one visible eye was half-lidded lazily, but through the illusion the doctor could see his pupil searching, studying, sifting into everything he had foolishly allowed to be seen. The smile turned to a grin deliberately sluggish, and the inmate made a noise deep in his throat. It could have been mistaken for a purr if one was suicidal enough.

“Yes, Doctor Flug, I understand very well. You are a man of mystery, keeping your secrets close and your half-truths even closer.” A forked tongue could be seen only briefly behind the deadly teeth. “It will be fun prying every single one from your trembling, broken hands.”

Flug’s hands were so tightly curled in his coat he could feel nails pressing into his palm through the gloves and the fabric. “That’s f-fine, Black Hat, but I h-hope you realize that it’s a t-two way street.”

“Oh I’ve no doubt about that,” the patient backed away from the bars. “But if I recall that will not begin until tomorrow. Official appointments and all that.”

He turned away and only then did Flug release his lab coat from his death grip, taking a few shaky steps of his own, putting distance between himself and the door. He shook as he shuffled away, fiddling with the crumpled ends of his mistreated coat. Behind him, Black Hat cleared his throat.

“Until next time, dear doctor. Ta.”

And so for the third time in two days Flug left that room, shaking and quiet and traitorously, treacherously excited.

Longest chapter so far! Hope you like it!

[hollygopossumlovesj2]

Come Back Down, Part 19

(This gif was taken from good ol’ Google. This is not mine and I take no credit.)

Title: Come Back Down, Part 19

Words: 1,937 (kinda short but has a punch!)

Warnings/Rating: PG-13; There are curse words and some depiction of illness. This story is not Danneel positive, but it does not reflect my personal feelings. Please just read this as the entertainment that it is supposed to be. There will be an explanation as to why she is behaving so strangely.

Summary: As the holidays draw nearer, Jensen, Y/N and his family try to celebrate with as much normalcy as they can manage with danger and drama seeming to lurk at every turn.

Come Back Down Master List

Hollygopossum’s Master List

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 In what I can only describe as insanity, I lived through letting Mom and Y/N drag me around to the boutiques in downtown for last minute Christmas Shopping. It was hard to slip away when I felt like I would heave anything left in my stomach and I’d gotten some dirty looks. But, I’d managed. Their happy faces and banter made the sacrifice worth it.

 I don’t even want to talk about lunch. Let’s just say I’ll never eat at Ghirelli’s ever again. Then, we’d driven through the first night of the Christmas Lights in another part of town. That had been a relief because I got to sit down and blankly stare out the window without having to control the expression on my face. I had no idea how I would be standing up again, but I pushed that thought to the back of my mind for now. Hiding how I felt from everyone was exhausting and I fought to keep my eyes open.

 That had been the highlight of the evening, letting Y/N snuggle in close in the backseat while Dad drove us through. My parents had been their adorable selves and held hands while talking about the different displays. It was basically the same displays every year so I was able to let my eyes slide closed and still participate in the conversation.

 The only mistake I made was to hand over my hot chocolate with the extra marshmallows to Y/N because there was just no way I would’ve been that giving of my Mom’s homemade hot cocoa in good physical and mental health. Especially when it had been laced with a healthy dose of peppermint schnapps. No matter how important you were to me, I never willingly gave up all of my favorites. Call it a flaw born of being a middle child and having to share with both an annoying older brother and younger sister. I didn’t learn to share. I learned to hoard.

 The amount of scrutiny that was received through the rear view mirror made the backseat extremely uncomfortable. I could feel that the flop sweat was only a few minutes away, itching underneath my skin as my abdomen pulsated in pain that had me wanting to curl into a ball and disappear.

 Y/N leaned in close, her lips at my ear, her cocoa and peppermint breath a little intoxicating and nauseating at the same time. How was that even possible? “I don’t know exactly what’s going on with you, but you’re not fooling anyone. I can feel the heat radiating off of your skin and even in just the dim lighting, I can tell you’re pale and rosy cheeked. So, when you’re done being stubborn, I’m here, okay?”

 Suddenly it was a little hard to swallow, my throat felt clogged with relief. Relief that she wouldn’t be upset when I finally came clean about what I’d been trying to keep to myself. I closed my eyes against the rush of emotion that pressed at my eyelids when she grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Okay.”

 She pressed a kiss to my hot cheek before settling in next to me in a way that didn’t cause me pain. Like she had already put the symptoms together and surmised the diagnosis way before I had. “Okay.”

 I was close to nodding off when we finally pulled into the drive way. The extreme relief of finally being home, with all intention of coming clean and crawling into bed were crushed when I saw her. Well, not her, but her red, flashy Escalade.

 It didn’t take a genius to figure out that we were here over the Thanksgiving holiday. The last thing I expected was for her to have the balls to show up and for me to find her sitting on the front door step, pregnant as hell. Could she have picked a better time?

 “You gonna be okay, son?” My Mom asked, obvious flush on her cheeks from the schnapps and a look of protective steel to her eyes. There was no doubt in my mind that the two women in this car would throw down in one way or another in my defense if I needed them to.

 “I’ll be fine.” I answered as confidently as I could, swallowing loudly as I felt the bile crawling slowly up my throat.

 Mom gave us both one last look, searching for any indecision before both of my parents got out of the car like they were practicing synchronicity. We watched them go, a moment of silence falling uncomfortably over the back seat as I could feel her vibrating with anger next to me.

 “Umm, this is completely awkward.” I heard the livid vibration in her voice clear as a bell as I watched my Mom and Dad walk past Danneel and into the house without a word. Danneel was stung by their inattention, but it’s not like I expected my parents to act like she hadn’t divorced me and then blackmailed me into staying with her.

 I squeezed her hand, leaned in to kiss her cheek, and whispered carefully into her ear. “You’re going to go in, sweetheart, and you’re gonna let me handle my own baggage, okay?”

 I knew letting all of my misery show wasn’t exactly playing fair, but it worked. “Jensen, you don’t have to do this, okay? You could just ignore her and go inside. We could get a restraining order or something.”

 “I know it sucks, but if I do any of those things, she’ll start more of a shit storm than she already has. Besides, if she’s the one responsible for your accident and barn damage, then we need to keep her calm.”

 “Fuck, but I’d like to punch her stupid, smug face, Jay. I seriously think it would help me sleep better at night.” The funny thing is, I knew it wasn’t a bluff and it brought a genuine smile to my face for the first time in several hours.

 “I know it’d make you happy, but I need you to help me out here and let me get it.”

 The angry blue bird was in full force as she nodded her begrudging agreement not to start anything, but to walk past and go inside.

 “I’ll do what you think is best, Jay. But, her ass is mine if she so much as touches you.”

 “Easy, Tiger. I got this.” I sighed, just the anxiety of seeing her here zapped all of my meager energy. However, as I struggled to get out of the car, I had a sudden moment of relief. It’s like the pain had gone down to a little ache and nothing more. Perfect. Just in time.

 I gripped her hand as we walked up the walk way, my heart hammering over time in my chest. God I needed an Ativan, big time. When we reached the stairs, I pulled her close and kissed her forehead. Lingering there as I took in her scent of wisteria and let it relax me.

 Then, I squeezed her shoulders, indicating that she should go. She didn’t hesitate, but if looks could actually kill? Danneel would be a smoking corpse. I waited until the door closed before I turned guarded eyes to her. “What do you want?”

 “Spending Thanksgiving with an innocent but chronically frumpy country hick? Really classy, and between you and me? I don’t think the smell of horse manure can be scrubbed off if it’s already oozing out of her pores, Jen.” There was a sneer on her perfectly symmetrical face, it leached any of the beauty that she may have held away.

 “You know that’s not true, Danneel. You know Mom and Dad would want her here, even if she did smell like horse manure. Of which, I can assure you, I have the privilege of being intimately familiar with every centimeter of her body. If she smelled like shit I think I would’ve noticed.” The words were like a lit fuse, the energy dragging out of me and collecting to form a fallout like the second pause before an explosion.

 “Whatever.” She stood, and it gave me a bit of satisfaction to still look down on her. “I’m here because I got served with new papers today. Right in the middle of the grocery store.”

 “You knew it was coming. You manipulated me, and this was my lawyer’s answer.” Was it me, or were the edges of my vision a little black and fuzzy?

 “You know this is going to paint you in bad light, picking on a pregnant woman, right? A brave woman who’s now on her own because her legal husband is playing house with his fucking country hick best friend.”

 She poked her sharp, perfectly manicured nail repeatedly into my chest, and I felt like my eyes were rolling in their sockets when I tried to focus. To be honest, most of her words were lost to the annoying ringing that had taken up in my ears just seconds before. Her angry, pinched face came in and out of focus and I randomly thought that she must be happy that her baby weight didn’t show up in her vapid face.

 “It’s also gonna effect Y/N, her reputation, you understand? I’ll make sure she never sells another damn print, Jensen. Is it that worth it to you? For me to destroy her life over your stupidity? All I’m asking is that you rejoin your pregnant wife in your own home. We can raise these babies, together. We could be the family we always dreamed of being.” I vaguely registered her ice cold hand touching my face as her voice started to fade out more and the world began to spin a little faster.

 Her voice grew in volume, the one that at one time I thought had been adorable, was making the ringing in my ears escalate into eardrum bursting and the darkness threatened to take over. “You’d do anything to get me back, wouldn’t you?” I was feeling so woozy that I couldn’t even berate myself for only being able speak like the words were forced to filter through a meat grinder first.

 “Yes, Jensen,” her relief was almost painful to watch. “I love you. We’re having our babies, finally. You still want these babies. I know you do. That was one of the requirements before you would even marry me. And I was on the same page, I wanted those babies so bad…” I barely registered her hands now sliding down my arms to rest on my nonexistent abs, my breath heaving as I struggled to breathe the air that seemed to be thickening to the viscosity of 50 weight motor oil.

 “Including scaring Y/N away. Maybe even getting rid of her permanently?” I was feeling gradually more breathless, my heart fluttering like rapid fire in my chest.

 The pause is what gave it away, the pause of silence as I struggled to keep my feet. It was then, as I was struggling to make it stop spinning so damn fast, that there was no doubt that she was responsible.

 “Are you kidding me… are you even listening… Fuck y-… Jensen? Jensen?!? Someone, help!!” My thoughts were a little slow, like slogging through marsh mud. My view of the stars disappearing after a sharp pain on the back of my head. Then it was all black. Nothingness. Cool black relief. I don’t know if anyone saw the relief and the smile that must’ve crossed my face. I didn’t feel any pain anymore.

Tagging Forevers: @tas898, @pansexualmeteorite, @mandymoiselle1970, @perpetualabsurdity, @maileann, @daydreamingintheimpala, @gecko9596, @gemini75eeyore, @jotink78, @dancingalone21, @winchesterprincessbride, @sandlee44, @exploratiionist, @arryn-nyx, @littledarlinhavefaithinme, @tiffanycaruso, @boredoutofmymindstuff, @feelmyroarrrr, @raeganr99, @ruprecht0420, @anokhi07, @letsgetyourdeanon, @sis-tafics, @jensen-gal, @theoneandonlysaucymo, @27bmm, @callmesatansprincess, @hbenth, @atc74, @ryansgirl5509, @mysteriouslyme82, @notnaturalanahi, @keepcalmandcarryondean, @sea040561, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @spn67-sister, @uniquewerewolfsuit, @ria132love, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @pretty-fortune, @butiaintgonnaloveem, @justanotherdeangirl, @weasleywinchester, @easelweasel, @akshi8278, @wheresthekillswitch

Tagging CBD Only: @melissaj616, @katrena7, @deansdirtyduchess, @anticipate1003, @jellersquad, @jalove-wecallhimdean, @shamelesslydean

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Don’t You Dare Let Her Die

Dr. Lance Sweets x Reader

Words: 4550

Warnings: Torture, gore and feels

Part One: Promise

Summary: You’re an FBI agent working a case with Booth and the Squint Squad. Your boyfriend Lance starts to get nervous when the serial killer that you’re investigating leaves you a threatening note. You shrug it off as an attempt to scare you and continue the search, leading you straight into a trap.

Note: Again, Sweets is my favorite character from Bones so I absolutely love writing imagines for him. I’m sorry I haven’t done any of your guys’ requests. I’m not ignoring them, I just got so caught up in this story. I’ll be diving in as soon as I can. Also, holy crap this story is long. I hope that isn’t a bad thing😂.

You moved around the room with as little noise as possible, trying not to wake your sleeping boyfriend. The boards creaked under your feet and Lance stirred, but didn’t wake up. You left a note on your pillow telling him that you were heading out early to finish some paperwork about Isabella Buchanan, but you also planned to continue investigating for as long as Booth would allow. He didn’t need to worry about you more than he already was.

As you made your way down the stairs, your phone buzzed, Booth’s picture coming up on caller ID.

“Y/L/N.” You answered. You could hear Booth rummaging through papers on his desk. “Either you’re calling to say good morning or you found something.”

“We’ve got a name.” He replied, the excitement in his voice clear even through the phone. “Marty Keller. He was arrested four years ago on an assault charge, but the victim dropped the charges at the last second.”

“This is great Booth.” You exclaimed, looking through your purse to find your keys. You took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you about this guy. He was in my apartment.”

“He what?” Booth shouted. You held the phone slightly away from your ear to adjust to the sudden change of his volume.

“He left a dead cat in my freezer. Sweets thinks that I might be his next target.” His excitement was replaced but complete rage.

“You need to get over here now.” He demanded. You got into your car. “This bastard could be anywhere.”

“I know, Booth. I’m on my-” Your words caught in your throat in the form of a scream as a pair of eyes stared at you through the rearview mirror. A gun jabbed into the back of your head.

“Y/N? What’s going on?” Booth yelled into the receiver. Marty tilted his head to the side, a completely calm expression on his face.

“Hang up.” He commanded and you pressed your thumb to the little red button, silencing Booth’s panicked shouts. “I have been waiting for us to finally meet, Agent Y/L/N.” He motioned for you to start the car, but you remained still.

“If you are going to kill me, you might as well do it now.” You hissed. You were not about to willingly let this man dissect you like a frog in science class. The barrel dug into your scalp. “Go ahead, shoot me. Get it over with.”

“But where is the fun in that?” He pouted. You still didn’t move. He sighed. “I guess we’ll just have to wait for Dr. Sweets to join us then.” You winced. Chances were that Lance was still fast asleep in his apartment. He would wake up, see your note and assume that you were at work, drinking coffee and sifting through paperwork.

You started the car.

Sweets opened the door to Booth’s office, surprised to see the agent’s distressed expression. Dr. Brennan stood next to him, an equally worried look on her face. Sweets’ brows furrowed.

“You wanted to see me?” He said and Booth’s eyes shot to him, remorse painted on his face. “What’s wrong? Did Y/N tell you about the cat? I think that the killer might be after her next and I wanted to make sure that she told you-”

“Sweets.” Booth cut him off. Whatever he was trying say, he couldn’t bring himself to. Brennan decided to tell him.

“We believe that Y/N has been taken.” Her voice was hard, but she was struggling to keep herself together. Sweets shook his head.

“No. That can’t be right, she was coming here this morning. She left a note. She was fine.”

“When I called her this morning,” Booth started, “She told me about the threat and… she screamed. Then the call ended abruptly.We found her car by the river. No one was inside.” Sweets fell back against the wall. Brennan put an hand on his arm to try and keep him standing.

“The most likely scenario is that Marty Keller found Y/N and took her to some abandoned building to torture and killer her.”

“Bones.” Booth hissed. Sweets had gone pale, his eyes welling with tears.

“We have to find her.” He whispered, barely loud enough for the two of them to hear.

“The likelihood of finding Miss Y/L/N before she dies is very small. Marty could have taken her anywhere. By the time we get to the correct location, the killer would have fled and we will be left with another crimes scene.” Sweets couldn’t help but take her words as cold, though in reality, Brennan was simply trying to disconnect herself from the situation to keep from becoming emotional like she often did.

“Don’t do that.” Sweets spat. “Don’t make everything about science or about statistics. Because we are going to find her. I am not going to sit by and let my girlfriend be butchered.” He turned to Booth with pleading eyes. “Don’t you dare let her die.” With that he stormed out of Booth’s office and retreated to his, trying to think of where Marty could have taken her.

Most likely, he had a car waiting at the river to transfer Y/N to his chosen location. Y/N left the apartment about two hours ago and the river was half an hour away from there. He was going to need Angela’s help making a digital map of possible places. Lance closed the door of his office, sliding down with his back against the wood. Burying his face in his hands, his unyielding tears fell into his palms.

This couldn’t be happening. Just three hours ago, you were asleep in his arms. Safe. Protected. And now you were strapped to a table somewhere. Alone. Scared. Possibly being tortured that very moment. He sat for a little while longer before crossing the room to his desk, searching for the notes he had written after listening to the CD and studying the crime scene photos.  

Knives arranged in straight, perfect order and everything in the room is also arranged symmetrically  indicating the killer may have had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder The killer removed the woman’s faces to possibly discard individual traits and focus on similarities. All victims have Y/C/H and are of the same race, age, and body type, indicating a plausible personal connection.

He examined his copy of the photos. Even though the thick straps covered parts of the wounds, it was still clear that the cuts were neat. But there was something odd about them. There were X’s on each of the wrists, but the pattern of lines across the bodies differed for each woman. That didn’t fit the killer’s OCD persona. As he took a closer look, the pattern began to look familiar. Before he could identify it though, his door opened. Angela stepped inside. He opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him.

“Just come here.” She commanded, wrapping her arms around the young psychiatrist. At first he just stood there, unsure of how to respond. But as his emotions began to rise again, he returned the hug, resting his head on Angela’s shoulder. In his time working with the Jeffersonian and Agent Booth, they had all become like family to him. Angela was like the sister he never had. “I am so sorry Sweets.”

“I was just about to come see you.” He started, pulling away and showing her the pictures. “Do these lines look familiar to you?” She picked up one of the photos, her eyes narrowing as she looked at it.

“Puzzle pieces?” She suggested. Sweets pointed out the X’s on the wrists.

“I thought that at first, but look at the way the lines connect the marks on each wrist.” They both stared at the image until Angela gasped.

“Oh my god.” She grabbed a piece of paper and began to draw the lines. “Look at the way this line turns to the side, leading into this one. And how this one curves there.” Tracing his finger over the pattern, he began to recognize it.

“It’s a street.” He gasped. Angela nodded.

“This is a map.” She collected all of the photos with a clear shot of the wounds. “We just need to figure out what they lead to.”

The fluorescent light above you made the pounding in your head worse. As soon as you had reached the river, Marty stuck some kind of drug in you and now you were still slipping in and out of consciousness. Looking around the room, it was clear that you were in an old auto repair shop judging by the equipment on the workbenches and piles of tires. Marty was nowhere to be found.

“Help!” You screamed into the empty room. Your throat was dry and your voice was rough, barely able to get above a whisper. It was painful to speak, but you kept calling out anyway. You had to try. “Somebody! Help me!” The door on the far right side of the room opened.

“Good morning sleepy head!” Marty exclaimed, his tone venomously sweet. “I was just out getting some toys for today.” He pat the case he was carrying. You struggled against the restraints, but the straps holding you were too tight.  

“So what was it?” You challenged. You weren’t going to die without a fight, even it was a verbal battle. Marty cocked his head. “Did your parents not pay enough attention to you as a kid? Get bullied in highschool?” He laughed at your attempts to provoke him.

“You would do well to remember that your boyfriend is the shrink, not you, Agent Y/L/N.”

“Your wife leave you?” You prodded and this time, you got a reaction. With a dark glare, Marty walked around the table you were tied to and sat in the folding chair across from you. “Ah. She did. I bet she had an affair, didn’t she.” He clenched his fists.

“Shut up.” He warned. You shrugged your shoulders.

“Do you know what most guys do when their wives cheat on them? They find a good hooker. Not slice up innocent woman.” He lifted your head up by your hair, pressing a hunting knife to your throat.

“I said shut up!” You closed your eyes, preparing for the blade to pierce your skin. Marty took a deep breath and the knife slowly slid down your chest, slicing the buttons of your shirt. “I am going to enjoy this.” He pushed the fabric to the side, resting the blade against your stomach. “Nice and slow.” Your scream echoed through the room as he dug the blade into you.

“I’ve got it.” Angela exclaimed. The screen layered the lines of the wounds onto a map of D.C.’s streets. They both examined the first victim’s cuts. “This doesn’t make sense. I get that the first X is the where the victim was last seen, and the other X is where they were found. But this woman wasn’t found in a warehouse like the map indicates.” Sweets studied the image.

“But the second victim was.” He moved to the third picture. “Look, this one starts at the police station and ends at the parking garage, which is where Isabella Buchanan was found. They aren’t maps to their bodies, but to the victims that would follow them.”

“Why would he do that?” Angela wondered.

“Because he wants to be caught. He craves the attention that the arrest and trial would entail. Do you understand what this means? We can find her.” He took one good long look at Isabella’s body, pointing at the second X. “Where is that?” Angela zoomed in.

“Rob’s Auto Repairs.” He bolted for the door, but she called after him. “I’m coming with you.” He was about to protest, but they didn’t have time to argue.

“Call Booth. We found her.”

Everybody knew that your favorite holiday was Christmas. Even Dr. Brennan respected how much you loved the winter celebration. But no one knew the extent of your love than Lance. It was your first Christmas together and he had had no qualms with helping you decorate the day after Thanksgiving.

Now ,on Christmas Eve, you sat on your living room floor, gazing at the dazzling lights and bulbs on the tree, shiny wrapping paper on the presents underneath. Most of them came in pairs- one for you and one for Lance. You had been dating for nearly six months, which was the longest you had ever managed to keep a boyfriend, so your family was very enthusiastic about the relationship.

Two from your mother up in Maine, two from your younger brother Nathan, and four from your big sister Liz. She always tried to top everyone when it came to the holidays. And of course, one from each of you to each other. You had spent days shopping trying to figure out what to get Lance, and you eventually decided to appeal to his nerdy side with a set of Star Wars ties and a Darth Vader coffee mug.

“Do you want hot chocolate or apple cider?” Lance called from the kitchen. You shot him a look. “Right. Wine.” He grabbed two glasses from the cabinet and a bottle of your favorite red wine.  As he sat down next to you, he placed a kiss to your cheek, setting a glass in front of you.

“So we have the option of the Muppet Christmas Carol or It’s a Wonderful Life.” You proposed and he poured the wine into your glass.

“That’s quite the decision.” He hummed. “I’m going to have to go with It's a Wonderful Life.” You shuffled forward and placed the disk in the player. You leaned against him and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“This is pretty great.” You sighed, turning your head to face him, being pulled into a kiss in the process.

“Yeah.” He grinned. “It is.”

Thinking about Lance was the only thing you could do to distract yourself from the pain as Marty carved away pieces of flesh from your arms and legs. Blood matted your hair and tears burned in your eyes, though you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. A short strip of skin from your leg fell to the floor, another scream escaping your lips. For some merciful reason, Marty left the necklace you were wearing alone. Lance had given it to you for Christmas and you used it to focus on instead of the sickening sounds of the knife, it’s gold heart shaped metal glistening under the lights.

“Can you just imagine Agent Booth’s face when they find your body?” Marty smirked, smearing the blood from the knife on your cheek. “He’ll probably blame himself. Get all torn up about it like he always does. But I guess he’s partially to blame for not catching me sooner.” His finger ran under your jaw. “You look just like her.” You recognized the phrase from his previous tapes.   

“And you wonder why your wife left you.” You spat, but he ignored your jabs.

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” He gasped. “Miranda Scott!” Your eyes went wide. “I know all about your childhood trauma, Agent Y/L/N. I research my ladies before I pick them.” He turned to the small table containing his arson of blades, setting down his current one. Something flashed on the screen of his laptop.

“What was that?” The edges of your vision darkened and you felt light headed from bloodloss. The more time passed, the more life drained out of your wounds.

“No no no no no!” He rambled. “Not yet. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. I wanted more time.” He grabbed the largest knife from the table and cut through the straps holding you down. “We are going to have to continue our lovely time together elsewhere.”  He latched onto your arms and pulled you to your feet. Your legs buckled and he dragged you towards the door, which swung open on it’s hinges.

“FBI!” Booth screamed. Marty held you tightly against him, pressing the sharp point of the knife to your side, digging just enough to draw blood. Booth’s gun was firmly pointed at the two of you. Another pair of brown eyes watched you with horror.

“Lance?” You croaked and he stepped forward, but Booth held him back.

“Stay behind me Sweets.”

“You’re crashing the party, Agent Booth.” Marty whined. “Y/N and I were having so much fun.”

“Let her go.” Lance boomed, though his voice was filled with terror. Marty shook his head, sliding a finger up your arm, licking off the blood.

“It’s over Marty.” Booth barked. Each sound ricochet through your head like a bullet as you stared down the barrel of Booth’s gun.

“It’s only over when she’s dead.” The knife dug further into your side, blood spurting onto the steel and dripping down to the concrete. You stood in a pool of red. Lance tensed.“Four woman for the four meaningless years I had her. If only she could see me now. See what she did to me. All of this is her fault!” There was a sharp pressure in your side and a gun shot. Both men rushed towards you. Marty fell to the ground behind you and you collapsed into Lance’s arms.

“You found me.” You breathed, reaching your weak hand to his face. He nodded, taking your hand in his and pressing his lips to your palm. Frantically, he tore off his jacket and pressed it to your side.

“We have to stop the bleeding!” He shouted at Booth.

“From where?” Your partner knelt down across from Sweets. “She has lost a lot Sweets.” He said something into his walkie-talkie about needed an ambulance with the coming back-up.

“Your suit.” You fretted at the deep stains covering the nice blue fabric. Lance pushed a hair out of your face.

“Shhh. It doesn’t matter. Everything’s going to be okay.” As an endless stream of tears rolled down his face, all you wanted was to make his pain go away. Your vision continued to darken. “Stay with me.” Lance begged. Couldn’t he see you were trying?

“Lance.I’m sorry.” You cried. He shook his head. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“That doesn’t matter now. You’re going to be okay.” He cast a desperate look to Booth, who was ripping off pieces of his shirt and wrapping around the deepest cuts.

“Stay with us, kid.” You had never seen Booth like this before. Over your time working together, he had become a big brother to you. Maybe he felt the same way. There was a sudden noise and his attention jerked to the door. “I told you to stay in the car, Ang!”

“I panicked okay! I couldn’t just stay there after hearing a gunshot.” Angela fired back. She looked down at you, her eyes glued to the knife protruding from your side. “Oh my god. Is she-”

“She’s going to be fine!” Sweets shouted. “Just apply pressure to the cut on her leg.” So she did, trying desperately to not freak out. Everyone was spitting orders at each other, all of the noise echoing through the small room.

“Hey Angela.” You coughed.

“I’m right here sweetie.” “Make up with Hodgins.” You watched the confused expression take over her features, but there was a small glint in her eyes when you said his name. “He still loves you.”  She opened and closed her mouth and focused on your leg to avoid eye contact. “And Booth.” You tried to turn your head to look at him, your head still resting in Lance’s lap.

“Take it easy kid.” His brown eyes burned directly into yours, filled with the same look of determination as when he went into hero-mode.

“Will you do me a favor?” You asked and he nodded. A smile crept onto your face. “Ask out Temperance. We’ve all been waiting for the two of you to get together for ages.” His jaw clenched, but you didn’t miss the corner of his lip slightly turn up.

You raised your arm as much as you could and rest your hand on Lance’s cheek, wiping away his tears with your thumb.

“You are the greatest person I have ever known.” A sob made it’s way into your throat, making it hard to speak. But your consciousness was slipping more and more. You had to tell him before it was too late. “Before I met you I had forgotten that there was still a little good left in the world. Thank you for reminding me that it is okay to feel. To laugh or to cry. Or to love.” Angela moved her hands to the knife in your side so that Lance could fully hold you, wrapping his arm underneath you and cradling your head in his hands.

“And I love you Lance. From the moment Booth sent me to your office, I fell in love with you. I never stopped and I never will.” With all of your remaining strength lifted yourself up for one final deep and passionate kiss before the image of his sweet brown eyes faded into black.

“Y/N…” Sweets gasped. “No no no, come one, stay with me.” Angela stifled a cry with her hand. “No!” Lance buried his face in your neck, rocking back and forth on the hard floor. Booth ran his hand over his face, his gut telling him that this wasn’t over.

“Wait.” He started, urging the younger man aside and laying two fingers on Y/N’s neck, searching for a pulse. His muscles tensed and he looked up. “Sweets…”

“One… Two… Three.” The flash nearly blinded you, but you could still see Lance grinning behind the camera.

“Is this absolutely necessary?” You groaned.

“Just one more I swear.” He laughed, snapping another picture of you standing in front of the Grand Prismatic Spring. Yellowstone had been your idea. You used to go camping here all the time when you were younger. That was before you moved to D.C.  

The two of you finished walking around the boardwalk and found the car, debating on where you wanted to go next. You suggested the canyon, but he was thinking about driving through Lamar valley.

“We could go try to spot those wolves you’re always talking about.” He pulled out of the chaotic parking lot, narrowly missing a group of motorcycles.

“We could always go back to the cabin.” You smirked. He gave you a side glance, contemplating the options.

“Tempting… and I’m not usually the one to turn down spending the day in bed, but there a lot of things to see here.” You pouted your lips and made doe eyes. “Come on, don’t do the face, that’s not fair!” He whined. You grinned, rolling your eyes.

“I do want to go see those wolves.” You did your best impression of a howl and he laughed, lacing his fingers through yours. It was nice to have finally gotten away from all the death and emotions of your jobs and just have a peacefully vacation together. If only it could've lasted forever.

It quite literally felt like you had been hit by a bus. Needles connected you to tubes that connected you to machines. A hand held tightly onto yours, just like in your dream. Your eyes fluttered open and closed until they finally settled on the ceiling. Your chest rose and fellow with your shallow breathing. You lowered your gaze to the figure beside you. His head rested on the edge of the hospital bed, his hands holding onto yours like you were the only thing left in the world.

Your partner sat in the chair in the corner, snoring while a woman- the only other one awake in the room- typed away on her laptop. Dr. Brennan look up at you from the screen and a bright smile spread across her face.

“We weren’t sure you would make it.” She closed her laptop and walked across the room, standing across from Sweets. “You lost a lot of blood, and that stab wound nearly punctured a fatal artery.” She explained. “They had to put some skin grafts on you leg where he carved out the flesh. I must admit, I am very impressed that you survived.”

“Thank you Dr. Brennan.” You chuckled. She reached across you and tapped Sweets on the shoulder. He woke with a jolt, frantic eyes staring at her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He asked. She smirked and pointed at you.

“Y/N is awake.” His head turned to you, the worry in his eyes replaced by relief. For a moment he just looked at you, too shocked to say anything.

“Hey.” He finally said, laughing as more tears sprung to his eyes. He shifted his chair even closer to you. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a pincushion.” You joked and Brennan nudged Booth awake. His face lit up when he saw you.

“Welcome back, kid.” He beamed. Lance leaned towards you a pressed his lips gently to your forehead.

“I thought that-”

“I know.” You traced circles in his palm. “But I’m okay. We’re going to be okay.” Dr. Brennan called Angela to let her know that you were awake and said that Angela was on her way with Hodgins. You had never realized how much they all cared about you until you saw the relieved looks on their faces to know that you were okay. You had become part of their family; protected and loved.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to give you.” Lance began. He had been carrying the small box around in his pocket for the past few days, debating on whether or not it was the right time. Almost losing you made him realize that if there was any time to start spending the rest of your lives together, it was now. “I know that it might not be the ideal situation, and your judgement is probably clouded with drugs but…”

He opened the tiny box and set it before you, the ring inside dazzling under the hospital's lights.

“Will you marry me?” Your jaw fell open, tears of utter joy spilling down your face, nodding wildly.

“Yes. Dear god, yes!” Despite the pain, you propped yourself up on your elbow, tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Aw!” Angela gasped. “That was amazing, you guys! Congratulations!”

“This calls for a celebration!” Hodgins exclaimed, but added. “Obviously not until Y/N’s feeling better.” Booth chuckled and pat Sweets on the back before casting a glance at Temperance that you read as more than just a partnership.

“Don’t forget about that favor, Seeley.” You poked his arm and his face turned red.

Sure you were all a little broken and strange and far too obsessed with the dead, but this was who you were. You stopped the bad-guys, even if it meant getting a few scars. You couldn’t think of better people to face death everyday with and now with you and Lance’s engagement, your life in D.C was just beginning.

[monstabaebae]

Taming the Assassin (M)

Characters: Wonkyun (Wonho x Changkyun) Genre: Smut, Assassin au. Warnings: Blood, cursing, use of weapons, bondage, all the dirty stuff. Word Count: 5k Plot: When assassin Changkyun, gets hunted by Wonho. But he’s in for a different kind of killing. Credits to the gif owner!

A soft breeze filtered through Changkyun’s small apartment widow. He lived on the seventh floor, high enough to keep his paranoia at ease, as well as give him an okay view of the gloomy city in front of him. Thank God he wasn’t here all the time, this place knew how to drive him crazy.

Emerging from the bathroom, he brushed his teeth silently as he dumped his backpack onto the bed. He had just come back from a mission and immediately needed a shower. His victim was really drunk and of course gave Changkyun a hard time when it came down to kill him. He was covered in more than just alcohol and he left quite the mess when he escaped the scene.

He needed to kill more than just politicians because all they did was drink and plead. It got annoying real fast.

The male looked over all his weapons. His handgun, his knives, his grenades, trip wire, taser and poison were all there, mixed in with his wallet and some clothes. He usually carried more, but since he was currently visiting his hometown, he didn’t need much.

He knew the city like the back of his hand; knew where to go and where to avoid. This was his turf, no one could fuck with him here.

Despite wearing a hoodie and some large sweatpants, he shivered as he felt the night air hit his face. It was going to be autumn soon, meaning there would be even more crime with the holiday season coming around. Maybe he could get a few more side jobs when he left town again.

He looked at the moon, a bright crescent in a sea of black above. He honestly wondered why he became an assassin in the first place. Sure, it payed the bills and his family’s bills, but it was a sick job. He tortured, maimed, and killed people on a daily for profit.

He wasn’t one of those people who enjoyed it, either. He did it because he had to, but felt no remorse or a even a speck of emotion when he pulled the trigger. Once the job was done, the person was just an old news headline and a memory, and Changkyun felt nothing but empty.

Was he doing the right thing?

He couldn’t help but laugh at the stupid question. Of course, killing people wasn’t the right thing. He was a sinner, a soul damned to live in hell for his existence.

But the sick side of him didn’t mind. It was better than being homeless while he was alive.

Deciding his teeth were clean enough, he walked into the dimly lit bathroom and spat into the sink. Wiping his mouth, he barely had time to set the towel back on the counter as a flash of color registered in the mirror from behind.

Holding up his knife, he blocked the bullet that ricocheted off the blade and threw another blade at his attacker. The offender, a large male with large eyes, smirked and tilted his head to dodge it, avoiding it by inches.

“Wow. So the famous I.M is as stealthy as they say.” The man chuckled, his eyes sinister as he ran a hand through his short-bleached locks. Beside his head, the knife fell onto the floor unceremoniously with a clatter. “But is he really that stealthy, leaving his window open?”

Changkyun glared at the other, whom had attacked him from the shower behind the door. How the man had gotten in without getting detected, Changkyun didn’t have a clue. But it pissed him off.

Pulling out a gun from his sweatpants, he aimed it at the man’s forehead with a blank expression. “What the fuck are doing you in my apartment?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Gwangju’s top assassin is back in town for a visit. I just couldn’t let the chance to meet you slip.” The man raised his gun once more, flicking off the safety with his thumb. “Especially with such a huge bounty hanging above your head.”

Changkyun held the male’s gaze. He had seen him somewhere before, amongst the static over the radio and the flipped pages of the newspaper. “You’re Wonho.” He stated aloud, finally connected a name to a face.

The man smirked, his plump lips full and condescending. “So nice to be recognized by such an infamous person. I’m glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Can’t seem to feel the same way.” Changkyun merely tilted his head, gripping the trigger and blasting the gun out of Wonho’s hand. With the other he quickly reached into his back pocket to rearm himself. Changkyun pulled the other by the arm and swiped Wonho’s side with his blade hand.

The man hissed, slamming his fist down into Changkyun’s head, resulting in the male releasing his grip on the intruder. Completely dazed, Changkyun did his best to protect his body as Wonho lifted the assassin off the floor by his throat.

“You know, you’re kinda cute when you struggle.” Wonho chuckled, his handsome features taking in Changkyun’s with a slow flick of his lips. “I might just spare you, if you let me bang you.”

“In your dreams.” Changkyun rasped, swinging his body upwards to kick Wonho in the chest. Breaking free, he ran out of the bathroom and tugged it shut, cursing under his breath as he locked it with some trip wire against the bed.  It couldn’t be opened unless the wire was cut, and the assassin had no intention of doing that.

How could he have been so stupid and left his window open? Shame filled his cheeks as he quickly packed his bag and loaded his guns with fresh rounds, facing the bathroom door with a crack of his neck. He would have to redeem himself somehow.

In the bathroom, Wonho was banging on the door, attempting to break the handle off. “You’d better let me out before I bust this door down. I don’t think your landlord would be too happy if you fuck this place up.” He called in an almost sing-song way.

“Like hell you could break the door down.” Changkyun called back, two guns raised as he focused on the shaking door.

“Is that what you think? Very well” Suddenly, everything fell quiet. The door stopped shaking, no movement could be heard except the wind brushing against the curtains. It was almost like nothing had happened at all, Changkyun wondering if he was paranoid again,

Then, the door came flying off the hinges. Changkyun barely avoided it, but it managed to slow him down as Wonho ran at him with a sharp blade.

Kicking his legs at the last minute, Changkyun slipped slightly and fired one of his guns. Wonho dodged it at the last second with a tilt of his head, smirking. “Too slow.”

Changkyun ran between Wonho’s legs, giving the male’s crotch a hard kick (cause why not) and ran towards the door, firing backwards while keeping his back to the door. He couldn’t even tell if he was hitting Wonho, since the fucker had crawled under the bed for defense, but stopped caring as he finally grabbed the door handle.

As soon as he opened the door, however, he felt a sharp pain cutting his legs. Looking down, he took in the two symmetrical cuts on his calves that were oozing blood onto a transparent wire.

The fucker had trip wired the front door.

With no other choice, he winced and limped towards the window. He knew it was a seven-story drop, with hardly anything to break his fall on the way down, but he had to jump. Why he was running, he had no idea. Perhaps he had enough killing for one night with that politician, but he just wanted to be free of this mess.

He was lifting his body onto the ledge, practically at the finish line, when a strong hand grabbed his knee. “Going somewhere?”

He all but flailed trying to escape from Wonho, kicking, punching, scratching and hitting anywhere he could reach. But the male put a gun to Changkyun’s temple, and dug his thumb into Changkyun’s wounded calf. The assassin bit his lip to hold back grunts of pain, knowing he had been caught.

“That’s a good boy. No more fighting.” Wonho almost cooed, his eyes dark as he dragged Changkyun up by his hair. “Get on the bed. Now.”

Changkyun was scared, to say in the least. In the three years he had been an assassin, he had never been in this situation, especially not on the victim side. He had no idea how to get out of this, and he was scared shitless without a plan. Unable to see a way out, he limped over to the bed and sat on it.

Wonho watched the smaller boy with a smirk, enjoying his obedience. He knelt on the bed, running his fingers along Changkyun’s face with his fingertips. “I take back my words from before. You’re so damn cute when you obey. You’re quite the turn on.”

Changkyun didn’t flinch or speak, just merely stared at Wonho with a deep hatred in his eyes. This was humiliating, getting beaten by an asshole that wanted to make him his play thing. He never should’ve come home.

“Come now, don’t glare so much. You’re gonna give yourself frown lines.” Wonho chuckled, suddenly tugging at Changkyun’s hair and leaning in close.

Changkyun grunted in pain, looking into Wonho’s eyes. They were centimeters apart, their noses practically brushing as Changkyun took in the scent of tobacco on Wonho’s breath. He didn’t seem like a smoker, then again, he didn’t seem like a killer, yet here he was.

“Are you a virgin?” Wonho murmured, his voice almost lost in the silence of the room, as he took in Changkyun’s features.

Changkyun blinked slowly, dread filling his system. “No.”

“Good. Cause you’re in for a long night.” Wonho shoved Changkyun onto the bed, quickly grabbing the boy’s wrists and tying them to the frame of the bed with a cloth. He smirked as Changkyun tried to break free, running a hand through his blonde hair as he took off his jacket. “So cute.”

Changkyun continued to glare and tug at the bindings as Wonho got on all fours and crawled over to him. Desperate, the assassin kicked the blonde in the face, quickly tugging at the bindings with his teeth to no avail.

Wonho wiped his nose and suddenly pinned Changkyun’s thighs in place, restricting all movement. His eyes were dark. “And to think, I was going to go easy on you. Now, you’re gonna have to suffer.”

Changkyun felt his breath hitch as Wonho tugged off his sweatpants in one quick movement, leaving the brunette’s thighs and briefs exposed. The blonde then pulled out a knife, trailing the blade along Changkyun’s stomach to snag the hoodie and cut it in half down the middle.

The cold air his Changkyun like a wave, trembling as his body was exposed. Wonho took in the bare skin hungrily, his hands sliding up and down Changkyun’s milky torso slowly. “Your skin is so pale. It needs some color on it, don’t you think?” Wonho whispered.

Changkyun raised his arms, attempting to hide his chest as Wonho leaned in close. “Aw, don’t hide from me, cutie. You’re gonna love this, I promise.” Cupping Changkyun’s chin, the blonde cut the space between them and brought their lips together.

The contact sent shivers down Changkyun’s spine, sharp and hot like a flame. His vision was spotting as he slowly moved his lips with Wonho’s, curious and in need of more. He had never felt something like this before, and felt his body growing warm despite the situation.

Wonho kissed him long and deep, like the way a lover would. He suckled on Changkyun’s lower lip, swirled their tongues together in a sweet dance and kissed him hotly. The blonde slowly pulled away to kiss down Changkyun’s neck, biting the skin with a grin. “Damn cutie, you’re one hell of a kisser.”

Changkyun felt his eyes flutter shut, getting lost in the feeling. He couldn’t break free, so why not enjoy the sensations while he’s thinking of a way to escape? However, he found it strangely hard to form a coherent thought with the intruder’s plump lips kissing and tugging at his skin with those sharp teeth of his.

The assassin shivered as he felt Wonho’s lips on his chest. The blonde lazily kissed down Changkyun’s collarbones and pectorals, then trailed his lips to the brunette’s nipples. Without warning, he sucked the perky buds harshly, emitting a moan from Changkyun’s lips.

“Louder, cutie.” Wonho whispered, sucking and tugging at the swollen bud hungrily, while his hand played with the other. The assassin let out breathy sighs and soft sounds, shivering at the graze of teeth on his sensitive skin and the harsh bites that would eventually bloom into bruises after tonight.

Once the blonde finished his assault on Chankgyun’s nipples, he trailed his tongue down the younger’s navel to his abs, biting and sucking sensitive spots in the area. Changkyun was all but trembling by the time Wonho got to his briefs, his plump lips nuzzling into the tented material.

“What’s this?” Wonho asked, his eyes filled with lust as he considered Changkyun with a smirk. “For someone who wanted me dead, you’re so hard you’re leaking.” He opened his mouth and let his pink tongue flick over the wet tip of Changkyun’s clothed length, making the younger gasp at the sensation.

“Shut up. If you’re gonna fuck me, just do it.” Changkyun growled, growing impatient. He already hated the situation, but he was horny as shit and just wanted this to be over with. He was getting needy, but he refused to beg for this intruding douchebag.

“Eager to get fucked, baby?” Wonho winked, mouthing along Changkyun’s neck with a smirk. The brunette was ready to burn this man alive for his endless teasing, if only his hands weren’t tied and glares could shoot lasers.

He found himself staring at Wonho, the blonde placing hot kisses and sucks along Chankgyun’s bulge, before slowly tugging off the material. He pulled away, just for a second to take in Changkyun’s naked form. He gave a satisfied smile and leaned in once more, ghosting his lips along Changkyun’s swollen length.

Changkyun would never admit it out loud, but when Wonho put his plump lips around the assassin’s member, he nearly came right then and there.

The blonde’s mouth was like magic, sucking and gliding up Changkyun’s member like a dream. His mouth was warm, his lips and tongue fluid as he bobbed his head with lewd sucks, the sounds sending shivers down Changkyun’s back. He kept the brunette in place as he hollowed his throat, taking the length in fully with a swallow that had Changkyun gasping for air.

Changkyun was tugging on the bindings so hard in bliss, he felt his wrists lose circulation. He felt his vision growing blurry and his breathing pick up as a once familiar sensation in his stomach began to boil. He bit his lip, trying to hold back from the euphoria that was about to fill his body.

But just as he was about to climax, the blonde gave the length one last suck and swallow before pulling off. Changkyun wanted to kick the male in the face, but the obscene string of cum on the blonde’s lips had his groin throb in arousal.

“No releasing yet, cutie. We’re not done yet.” Wonho smirked, licking his lips before sitting up. His large body hovered over Changkyun’s his eyes never leaving the brunette’s as he reached for his jeans. Changkyun noticed that the other hadn’t even removed one article of clothing, besides his jacket, until this moment.

The assassin watched as the blonde undid his jeans and tugged them down, along with his boxers.

Changkyun has had sex quite a few times, with males and females alike, but he had never seen a dick that was as large as Wonho’s.

For the second time that night, he was scared shitless.

“Suck.” Wonho ordered, grabbing his length in one hand and placing it near Changkyun’s lips.

He had to be joking. Changkyun looked up at the other with a defiant glare. He could hardly even sit up because of the way his arms were tied, there was no way he was going to suck this man’s dick. “Fuck you.”

“Believe me, I will. Now, suck.” Wonho growled, the sound vibrating in Changkyun’s bones.

Changkyun closed his eyes and sighed. Looks like he had no choice. “Can you at lease loosen my binds, so I can sit up?”

Wonho narrowed his eyes, trying to see if there was some sort of trick. After a moment of thought, he undid the bind and held Changkyun’s wrists in his hands, above the brunette’s head. “There. Now, get to work.”

Changkyun rolled his eyes, but slowly looked at the other’s length. It was swollen and fully hard, making it almost intimidating up close. Clearing his throat, the assassin slowly opened his mouth and took the length into his mouth with a soft suck.

He heard Wonho moan above him, the blonde using his free hand to give a tug to Changkyun’s hair. The brunette took his time sucking and swallowing around the length, not wanting to choke as he took more in, inch by inch. Once the length was fully in his throat, he nuzzled his nose against Wonho’s groin and swallowed.

Wonho began to buck his hips, making Changkyun gag and wince in response. He tried to breathe through his nose, focusing on sucking and bobbing his head to the wild rhythm, almost enjoying the fullness in his throat. It made his jaw ache, but it was hot and throbbing, much like the man to whom the muscle belonged.

Above him, Wonho was moaning under his breath and panting. His large chest as glistening with sweat as he cupped Changkyun’s cheeks. They locked eyes as the brunette continued to suck the blonde off, Wonho’s eyes filed with pure lust. “You look so fucking hot, sucking my dick like that, cutie.”

Changkyun gave the male an innocent look, fluttering his eyelashes as he gave the length a particularly hard suck. The blonde grunted in surprise, his thighs shuddering as he grabbed Changkyun by the hair and forced him onto his back. “Get on all fours.” Wonho gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Doing his best with his wrists held, he licked his lips with a wince and got on his knees. He raised his ass so it was in the perfect arch, decided it would be better to just play along then try to hide himself. He was already naked and his length was crying in need, so he’d might as well see this through.

He felt the bed move underneath him, Wonho’s large hands grabbing his thighs to spread them apart. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as the blonde leaned in close, placing his tongue onto Chankgyun’s puckered entrance. The brunette grunted, eyes shut.

“I hope you don’t mind, but you’ve been driving me crazy with those moans and I need to fuck you.” Wonho said, his voice muffled as he licked the tight rim again, this time giving it a firm suck.

“Why tell me if you’re gonna do it anyways?” Changkyun hummed, biting his lip at the strange sensation.

“I’m an assassin, not a rapist. We can stop here, if you want.” Wonho responded as-a-matter-of-factly. 

As though Changkyun had a choice.

Changkyun looked at Wonho with a glare, spreading his legs wider with a hiss. “If you wanna fuck me, just do it. Either that, or get out.”

Instead of getting a harsh remark back, all he received was a chuckle. “Who would’ve thought the famous I.M would be such a slut for sex?” Wonho teased, lifting his head to show his glistening lips, dark eyes and messy blonde hair.

Changkyun tried not to find the male attractive, suddenly at a loss of what to say. He looked up as Wonho sat up, lining up his length to the brunette’s entrance. “Your ass is super tight, so this is gonna hurt. But you’re gonna love it, I promise.”

Changkyun bit his lips, gasping as the head of Wonho’s length pushed against his entrance. The blonde let out a grunt behind him, obviously dissatisfied, before he gave Changkyun a few strokes on his length.

The brunette moaned at the contact, a bit of precum dribbling onto Wonho’s fingers. He could practically hear the blonde smirking as he rubbed the slick along Changkyun’s entrance, stretching him out slowly. “That’s a good boy. Relax for me.”

Changkyun recalled Wonho saying something similar before, about him being a good boy, like he was a dog. All at once, he didn’t want to obey to this guy’s shit, he wanted to be bad and tell him to fuck off.

But he wanted to be fucked. Desperately.

The brunette raised his ass in the air, grinding subconsciously to Wonho’s fingers. He needed something, anything inside of him. It had been so long since anyone had touched him, let alone had sex with him. Maybe it was the atmosphere, making him feel like a victim, or the insanely attractive male marking his body with those plump lips, that Changkyun was feeling needy beyond comprehension.

Wonho continued to prep the smaller male, before slipping a finger inside. Changkyun moaned softly into the pillow, his eyes clenching as he took it with a wince. It was small, but it was something, and he found himself grinding on the digit.

“Do you want more?” Wonho whispered, thrusting his finger in and out at an agonizing pace. He curled his finger slightly, earning a moan from Changkyun’s lips.

“Y-Yes.” The assassin murmured, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he rocked his hips.

The blonde smirked and pushed in another finger. The tightness around his fingers sent a shiver up his spine, Changkyun’s moans making his eyes cloud over in hunger.

By the time Wonho put in his third finger, the brunette was a blushing, sweating mess beneath him. He was gripping onto the sheets, soft pants escaping his lips as he took in the large fingers with glassy eyes. Changkyun looked absolutely wrecked and the boy couldn’t take the teasing anymore.

“W-Wonho…” Changkyun whispered brokenly, his head tilted to look back at the blonde.

Wonho met his eyes, his face fixated into one of concentration, sweat pouring down his neck, as though he were holding back. “Yeah?”

“Fuck me.” Changkyun mumbled.

“What was that, cutie? I couldn’t hear you?” Wonho smirked, his breath shallow and dark as he began to drill his fingers into the boy mercilessly.

Changkyun all but screamed at the relentless pleasure, endless streams of moans erupting from his lips as his toes curled and his vision went white. “P-Please... Please just fuck me! Wonho please, I can’t hold on-!”

“Hold on, baby.” As though he had said the magic words, the fingers disappeared to be replaced by something bigger. Changkyun’s eyes all but rolled back as Wonho’s length filled him to the brim, filling him in ways he didn’t know was possible. His entire body was caving in bliss once Wonho began to roll his hips, endless moans escaping his lips.

He felt Wonho’s hands on his waist, keeping his hips in place while he snapped his hips. The brunette tipped his head back to look at the blonde and moaned at the sight.

Wonho’s face was flushed, his lip curled under his teeth and his forehead covered in sweat. He looked like he was in heaven, rutting his hips as his chest was rising quickly to accommodate his movements. His dark eyes caught Changkyun’s and the brunette felt his body pulse in pure heat.

Without saying a word, Wonho connected their lips in a powerful kiss, bucking his hips roughly against the assassin. The brunette kissed him back hungrily, their teeth and tongues clashing messily as he moaned, letting his body shake and his sanity melt under the hard thrusts.

All too soon, Changkyun felt the familiar heat in his stomach, gasping against Wonho’s swollen lips. His thighs began to shake and his vision was beginning to blur, and he began to mumble. “I-I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum-”

Wonho silenced the boy with a passionate kiss, suddenly digging his fingers into the brunette’s hips and began to drill into the other with all his strength. “Cum for me.” He growled, pushing his length in to the hilt and giving one final snap of his hips.

That was all it took for Changkyun to come undone. His back arched, his eyebrows furrowed and he released with his mouth open in a silent moan. His release splattered onto the bed, sending shocks of bliss throughout his body as euphoria flooded into his mind.

Wonho placed soft kisses along the brunette’s neck, his large hands stroking the boy’s length in slow, steady pumps. Changkyun slowly came back to reality with labored breathing, tilting his head to the side to kiss Wonho almost tenderly, their lips moving as one as they caught their breath.

Changkyun slowly opened his eyes, taking in Wonho with a weak smirk. He looked so fucking good, it should’ve been a sin. “I’ll give you credit. That was amazing.”

“I do my best. It’s not every day a sexy thing like you leaves their window open.” The blonde laughed, his voice airy as he slowly pulled out.

Changkyun moaned at the sudden emptiness, eying the blonde’s swollen length with a hum. “You didn’t cum?”

“I’ll be alright.” Wonho chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair.

“I don’t mind helping you, if you’d like.” Changkyun said, looking the boy over with a flick of his lips.

It was Wonho’s turn to be confused. “What?”

“Lay down.” Changkyun ordered, his eyes sultry and dark.

Wonho quickly obliged, releasing the boy’s arms to lay back on the bed. He rested one arm behind his head, waiting to see what the boy would do.

Changkyun placed soft kisses along Wonho’s lips and neck, leaving soft mark down the blonde’s chest and abs. “You know, I give you a lot of credit for breaking in without my knowledge. How did you get in?”

“I happened to be on the roof and came in. Rumor had it that you live here, whenever you’re not traveling the country, so I decided to come kill you.” Wonho moaned as he watched the assassin kiss and mark down his body.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Changkyun suddenly asked, pausing his movements to look up at the other.

Wonho met his eyes and shrugged, a smile on his blood red lips. “I don’t know. You looked so helpless and cute, being unable to fend me off and giving in so easily. I couldn’t kill an attractive kid like you.”

Changkyun met the boy’s eyes with a sweet smile, his eyes crinkling. “Is that so?” Then, as though a switch were flipped, his eyes grew dark. “Rookie mistake.”

“What-?” Wonho didn’t get a chance to move as Changkyun kicked all of Wonho’s weapons onto the floor. Pulling a knife from under the pillow with his feet, he sawed his hands free from the bindings and tied Wonho’s wrists to the bed with a discarded sheet. Tilting his head, he smirked at the other.

“You didn’t really believe that I was defenseless, did you?” Changkyun grinned, standing up to put on some clothes and grab his bag while Wonho looked at him in disbelief.

“N-No way. You were armed the entire time?” Wonho whispered, trying to break free from the bindings, his cheeks flushed at being so exposed on the bed.

“Yup. Fooled you, huh? I’m never defenseless, I always have a weapon and a plan somewhere.” Changkyun grinned, walking over to the window to see how close the top of the building was. Thankfully, it was one story up and he could easily crawl his way up.

“But if you were armed… Why did you have sex with me?” Wonho called, his eyes open and his face filled with curiosity.

Changkyun hesitated, looking at Wonho with the smallest of smiles. He honestly had no idea why he let the boy have sex with him like he did, it was in the moment and he loved it. But mostly, he did it because… “I love a good chase. And I’ve heard a lot about you. I guess I wanted to take you for a test drive.”

Wonho was speechless, his cheeks red and his eyes wide. He couldn’t form a sentence and it made Changkyun laugh. A real laugh, the sound foreign but warm on his lips. He kinds of liked it, out of character, but relieving to say in the least.

“I know you can break free, so I’ll let you cool down for a while.” Changkyun hummed, tugging on his shoes and making sure he had everything with him. “Oh, my next stop is Busan, by the way.”

“Busan?” Wonho echoed, struggling with the binds as he slowly sat up, his muscles flexing under his shirt from the effort.

“Yup.” Glancing at the boy once last time, Changkyun winked. “Maybe I’ll see you there. I’ll make sure I hide out in a place on a lower floor.” With that, he jumped upwards, out of sight and into the brightly lit city.

In the apartment, Wonho laughed as he watched Changkyun leave. Kicking off his left boot, he shook out a small blade and picked it up with his feet. Once the binds were sawed off, he shook out his wrists and grinned.

“Busan, eh? Looks like we’ll see each other really soon, I.M” Wonho grinned, slowly standing up to grab his things and climb onto the window. Glancing abck at the ruined sheets, the sprawled-out weapons and the Changkyun’s sweatpants on the floor, Wonho disappeared like a shadow in the night.

I hope you all enjoyed the smutty Wonkyun! I haven’t written a smut in awhile, so I’m a little rusty, but I tried to make it fun and sexy at the same time. Let me know what you guys think! xoxo

[musicalgamernerd]

Squipcalypse Story (Chapter 1)

This is a story based on an idea I had about if Michael didn’t come to the play and stop the SQUIPs and I wanted to write it with my OC. So here it is and I hope you enjoy it

Kelly's POV:

I walk down the hallway files in my arms, the sound of my heels clicking on the floor echoing the vacant halls. As I approached my destination I fixed my tie and suit jacket to make sure they both look perfect and neat since I don’t want to get fussed at like last time. 

I knocked on the door softly, trying to be careful not to be too loud if someone else is in there. When I get no response, I open the door slowly just in case. I flinch when I hear a loud noise from the door which makes me almost drop all the papers I have in my arm. Slowly walking in, I look both ways seeing there’s no one in the office. The office is pretty big compared to the rest of the offices I have seen in this building which makes sense for the world leader’s office. If I had to guess I would say my office is an 8th of this room. This office has a huge desk towards the end of the room with bookshelves and filing cabinets lined up perfectly along two of the walls. The whole office looks very organized and symmetrical.

I shut the door behind me and go behind the desk. I place the files to the side on the desk and get out a pen to write a note on a sticky note for the files. After I finish that I walk over to the big window behind the office chair and look at the view outside the main building. The room is pretty high up so I can see a lot. My office doesn’t have a window so I don’t really get to look outside that often unless I am out on a mission. My office doesn’t actually have that much. It only has one door with no windows and it only has room for a desk and a chair. There’s a filing cabinet in there but it’s not as big as the ones in everyone else’s offices. I hate being in my office but sometimes I have to. I don’t see why I have the shittest office. Even some of the people that work below me have better offices than me. I’m not only the secretary for the world leader but I’m also over the world security and I make sure everyone has a SQUIP like they’re supposed to and if not then I have to go give it to them so technically I do three things around here and I still get treated poorly. That’s not all though. I also have to deal with my boss being rude and putting me down. Like who told him he could treat me like that? 

I jump when the office door opens. Turning around quickly I see none other than my boss Jeremy. My eyes widen slightly as I hurry back to the other side of the desk.

“What were you doing behind my desk?” He says in a warning tone.

“I wasn’t doing anything, sir! I was just looking out the window” I quickly say walking away from him. 

“Why are you even in here?”

“You told me to bring you some files”

“I don’t see them”

“They’re on your desk”

“Well give them to me and stop slacking off!”

“S-sorry, sir!” I hurry over to his desk quickly grabbing the files and handing them to him.

He opens the files reading through them.

“Your handwriting is shit” He throws the files back to me “Take this back and redo them. This time with neat handwriting and I want it on my desk by the end of the day”

I go to pick the files up trying to organize them the way they were before.

“The end of the day?” I ask looking up at him, “I can’t do that! I don’t have enough time for that!”

“Well, I guess you better figure it out. Now get out of my office”

“Okay, sir. Will do” I get up, the files back in my arms like before but messier this time, and start to walk out of the room.

Before I get out of the room a voice gets my attention.

“And check your uniform. You look like a whore”

I continue walking out ignoring the comment. Maybe if my SQUIP actually worked like it’s supposed to I might be about to have this work done on time but no. My SQUIP has to be one that likes to be difficult. 

I walk back into my office struggling to open the door due to the furniture in there. Once I manage to get in I sit down and lay my head down on the desk. When I feel tears start to try and break free I quickly grab a tissue and put it under the eyes to stop myself from crying. I look at the files again and grab a pen from my desk starting to work. 

As I was finishing the first page of work my office phone started to ring. I don't even bother reading the number before I answer it. 

"Hello?" 

"Be in my office in 15" I hear Jeremy say hanging up before I can even respond. 

I put the phone down and sigh starting to pick up my work. It's probably another mission where I have to go to someone's house and give them a SQUIP. I open up one of my desk drawers pulling out the gun I had that would give people a SQUIP. I didn’t really like to use it so I mostly just let my SQUIP take over on those missions. 

I sigh, getting up and heading out into the hallway. There’s still not a lot of people in the hallway at this time which is understandable considering that most people in this area of the building sit in their offices or are out on missions. 

When I get near Jeremy’s office I start seeing more and more people the closer I get. Most of the people I see work in the security department with me. Trying to stand on my tiptoes I attempt to look past all the people. Being 5’9 with heels near people who are 5’11 and up, I, of course, couldn’t see worth shit. 

Getting tired of trying to see what was going on, I started trying to squeeze past people. When I finally get into the office, I see Jeremy talking with Jake who is the leader of security directly under me. They both turn to look at me when I enter the office out of breath from struggling to get inside. 

“You want me to come here?” I say sounding more like a statement than a question.

“I know what I said,” Jeremy says looking away from me with a scowl on his face.

“Well, what did you need me for?”

“We have tracked down the resistors and I’m sending you on a mission to eliminate their leader”

“Me?!” I shout out louder than I probably needed to.

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?” Jeremy glares down at me.

“N-no! I just don’t think I’d be able to do it and the rest of my jobs too”

“I’ll get someone else who can actually do their job to finish your paperwork,” He says not even looking at me. “Besides you won’t be going on this mission alone. How stupid do you think I am?”

“I didn’t mean to say that! Anyways, who is going with me?”

Jeremy gestures to Jake who looks at me and smiles.

“You’re sending me on a mission with Jake? Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t be that way. You know he’s one of the top people in security. If he goes you may come back in one piece”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“It means you don’t know how to do your job and you’ll probably be killed on sight. Now I’ve given Jake all the information about the base and the target. You’ll be driving and if you’re not back in 48 hours I will fire you and you’ll be stuck staying with the resistors. Got it?”

“Yes sir” I looked down as Jeremy handed Jake a file and gestured me out of the office. 

When I walk out to the car, I lay my head on the wheel hoping this was just a messed up dream. As I was starting to get deep into my thoughts, I start hearing pecking on the passenger side window. I look up to see Jake.

I give him a questioning look. 

He points the lock of the door which shows the door is locked.

I unlock the door and put my hands on the wheel not looking towards the other side of the car.

“Hey-” Jake starts to say before I interrupt him.

“Listen I just want to finish this mission so I can go back to my office and not have to deal with Jeremy’s bullshit so if you would gladly shut up and just give me the directions to the base I would greatly appreciate that.” 

“What did I even do?” Jake asks. I don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s frowning.

“Nothing I’ve just had a bad year okay? Now don’t talk to me or mess with my radio” I say starting to back up the car. He doesn’t say anything and just starts looking at the files Jeremy gave him. Hopefully, he won’t be that hard to work with.

[notoriginal1111-blog]

"You're Weapon is Pissing me Off!"

Chapter 3

Liz sighed in relief when she noticed Soul’s room wasn’t a complete mess. She could still see the floor so that was good “Thank you.” she said taking off her shoes and snatching the bowl of caramel corn as she sat at the foot of the bed “I don’t bite, you know.” Soul said crossing his arms from his place on the bed “I know you don’t but your body odor is the worse and I’m afraid I’ll find some leftover slice of pizza or something.” Liz frowned when she noticed Kim Possible was on the TV. She made it clear that she was going to pick what to watch during the commercials.

“What the heck, Soul.” she scowled “I called picking what to watch for commercials.” Soul raised a brow “So…” he urged “So, give me the remote.” Liz explained “ If you want to pick so bad then come and get it.“ Soul held up the remote “Bring it on rich boy, I’ve beaten Patty at this little game before and there’s no way I’m going to lose now, so just give me the remote.” Liz reached for the remote but Soul held it out of reach “As owner of this room. I think, it’s only fair I get to choose.” he declared holding Liz back "Well as guest of this apartment I think you should shut your stupid face sharkboy!” Liz pushed forward…

Maka had read and reread the same sentence in her book three times already and still had this nagging feeling to go to Soul’s room and tell them to join her in the living room “Maybe I should just check.” she said to herself and before she had a chance to second guess her decision and go back, a muffled sound of something hitting the floor made it clear. The blonde stood up and walked cautiously towards her partner’s room and opened the door quietly “Hey if you want I don’t mind going to my room if you two…” Maka paused when she notice the position her fellow friends were in.

Soul was on top of Liz, who seemed to be struggling, while he looked at Maka, and looked back at Liz, and back at his meister “Maka…” “I know what this look like but-” “CHOP” Soul couldn’t process any more words due to the book smashed in his head. It took a few minutes for him to process any more words but he was able to manage “Damn Maka what is it with you and getting the wrong idea?!” Soul asked holding a pillow over his head “Me!? I’m not the one going around assuming that just because a girl is in my room that means easy acc-” “He didn’t do anything.” Liz was trying to hold back her laughter at Soul’s misfortune "We were just fighting over the remote.” she explained picking the item mentioned up off the floor and shook it “And guess who just won.” she said in a sing song voice. Soul just huffed and sat back down in defeat…

Meanwhile….

Kid took advantage of the fact Liz wasn’t in her room to make it symmetrical, without disrespecting her privacy of course. He could only imagine the asymmetrical hell Liz would put him through if that were to happen “Now what should I fix first?” Kid asked himself avoiding the closet because Liz would kill him if he messed with her clothes and as long as he couldn’t see them there would be no urge to fix them.

Kid looked around trying to find asymmetrical things to fix but everything was symmetrical. Two stacks of books on each side of her desk, she had two mirriors facing each other and eight nail polishes. Each of them kept clean and balanced on her vanity “Maybe I underestimated her.” Kid said to himself as he explored his weapon’s room “What is this?” he muttered picking up a frame on her night stand….